《Lifestealer: Cursed Healer [A LITRPG Isekai Survival]》


 Chapter 1 - Awakening

    Plenty of people die in an ambulance, but I deserve an award for being the driver.


    His morbid thought made him realise how strange it was that he could still have thoughts. He could clearly remember the ice, the panicked wheel turn, the tree, the pain, and then darkness. That should have been it, but instead, he was still vaguely aware of himself. Maybe he was just knocked out, perhaps in a coma in a hospital somewhere having strange dreams, but something in his gut told him that wasn''t the case. He wouldn''t be getting back up from this, whatever this was.


    It was impossible for him to describe his surroundings as there was nothing for his eyes to latch on to, his mind and perception sliding around endlessly. Darkness couldn''t be the correct term as all around him was nothing but boundless, colourless emptiness. Even looking down at where his body should be came up empty, like a lazily made video game character. From a logical point of view, he felt that he should be freaking out at this obviously abnormal space, but the panic just wouldn''t come. He felt like he should be panicking, freaking out after having an accident and ending up in a void, but he felt robotically detached from his emotions.


    I''m dead, right? It''s the most reasonable explanation.


    "Close. Almost." The words were barely recognizable as such, popping into his brain like an errant thought during a daydream. Just like this void he was in, he had no words to describe them. The words felt like hollow spaces in his thoughts, and he could only understand them by tracing along the outlines.


    "Errr, hello?" Symeon eloquently called out into the nothingness around him. Part of him expected an echo, but the voice that returned didn''t belong to him or the previous entity.


    "Sorry to keep you waiting," it said. This voice sounded more normal, simply like another person was speaking to him through a thick wall. It was distinctly feminine. Her apology made him realise he wasn''t sure how long he''d been waiting in this space. It could have been but a moment or a lifetime. He briefly considered what that could mean for him, was he stuck here? What were these voices? How long had he been here just thinking to himself? His concerns melted away, which would have been itself concerning if he were in the right state of mind.


    "Your soul has been dampened to prevent strain. Still, we must not waste time," explained the female voice, preventing his questions from resurfacing. The words were odd, but the tone was warm, like the gentle reassurance of a mother. As it spoke, he felt the voice circle him before settling to his left, although he couldn''t see the source. "I am so sorry that this has happened to you Symon, I know you wanted to give back to the world so very badly. I know you''re a good person with great capability to spread this goodness, to be a beacon of shining light in a world of darkness. You are here to receive a second chance, should you wish it."


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    Symon considered these words, his thoughts slowly percolating through his numbed mind. "You''re... God? You''re going to, what, bring me back so I can save lives in return? I''m sorry that I, uh, didn''t go to church or anything."


    "Not quite... I can see that you have questions, but it will be best for the both of us if I do not answer." Her tone was conciliatory and, if Symon was hearing things right, contained a hint of pity. "There are rules that even I must follow. If too much is given to you now, the dues you must pay in return will be too severe. Already, the cost of my power will be great."


    Still, he could not see the source of the voice, although he felt it move closer to him. "I give you my blessing. I give you hope. I give you the power to bring this hope to others. I give no orders, only beg that you stay true to yourself."


    With that, he caught the briefest glimpse of whoever the voice belonged to. It was only vaguely humanoid, made entirely of iridescent lights swirling in on itself as it slowly approached him. He opened his mouth to ask a question as it slowly raised an arm, before cupping his cheek and vanishing as if it were never there. He felt an intense, icy numbness spread through his body as the tingly feeling of pins and needles radiated out from where she touched his cheek. It was incredibly, incredibly uncomfortable, although there was no pain. It almost felt as if someone had physically reached into his body and started moving things around. Before he could even begin to understand what was happening to him, that original voice cracked its way back into his thoughts.


    "Blessing given, balance broken. Blessing stricken, balance returned." The voice creaked its way into his mind, like ancient tree roots burrowing through concrete. As before, he felt something circle around him, this time pausing on his right. He was grateful that he couldn''t see it ¡ª some things were better left unknown. Instead of a gentle caress, it oozed around his whole body, holding Symon into place and seeping into him. The first being had been gentle, changing him as subtly as possible. This one was not.


    This time, it hurt even more than dying.


    <hr>


    A concoction of equal parts pain and panic surged through Symon''s veins. He took a deep, shuddering breath in response and promptly began choking on something rough and gritty, and when he opened his eyes ¡ª though he didn''t recall closing them ¡ª he saw only darkness. Thrashing hysterically, he battered against the loose material, eventually managing to flail an arm in the direction he thought was upwards and breach into open air. Using the newly gained leverage, he hauled himself up out of the ground and subsequently coughed out a tsunami of sand.


    She... she brought me back too late. They must have buried me...


    It was too late to save his partner from the ambulance, let alone the patient in the back. He had to figure out what the fuck just happened to him, put he''d be taught your first priority in an emergency situation was ensuring your own safety before you helped others. He''d better check out his own situation first. Lurching into a sitting position, his lower half still buried, he wiped the grit out of his eyes before looking around. For as far as the eye could see was nothing but rolling dunes of white sand and a cloudless sky with three Suns. His face fell as he stared at them blankly, his eyes straining painfully against the light.


    Wherever Symon was, he was a long way from the hospital.

 Chapter 2 - Rough Start

    Symon''s gaze dropped down from the foreign suns to the distant horizon. For as far as he could see, there was nothing but rolling dunes of white sand. When he stood up and spun around, the same was true in every direction. There were no plants or animals, buildings or other signs of civilisation.


    "This is all wrong..." Symon muttered to himself. Clearly, the multiple suns were out of the ordinary, but as he considered his surroundings further his confusion only grew. The sand was a bright white and looked like salt, although he knew it wasn''t thanks to how much he''d inadvertently swallowed. Symon was hardly a desert expert, but he''d never heard of a place like this before. The suns reflected so harshly off the sand that everywhere he looked stung his eyes, so he elected to sit on the edge of the shallow hole he''d just dug himself out of and shut his eyes.


    With nothing helpful in his immediate vicinity, and indeed his not-so-immediate vicinity considering it looked like he could walk for days without encountering anything new, he cast his mind to his recent past for clues. He''d been in the midst of something oddly spiritual, communicating with strange beings although, for the life of him, he just couldn''t remember what had been said. He remembered pain at the end, soul-wracking agony that went on for an indeterminable amount of time before he eventually woke up in the sand, but that was it. He thought for a moment that he''d lost his memory, that perhaps interacting with whatever those things were broke something inside of him, but with a force of will he pushed his mind back further. He focused on his name first and used it as a lynchpin to sift through all his memories. He was Symon Reid, and he''d just started his first day as a fully-fledged paramedic. He was a survivor, even though the doctors had told his parents that it was unlikely he''d make it to his 12th birthday. Sure, he''d hit that tree on his first shift, but no one had ever really thought he''d make it that far anyway. He still couldn''t remember much about what had happened between there and here, but that was okay. He''d never given up on struggling to survive before, and he had no plans to start now.


    With renewed determination, Symon opened his eyes and began to stand up, before freezing. There were words written in the sand.


    [System-Soul connection successful]


    He frowned, staring at them long and hard. It was as if someone had snuck up on him while he was meditating and used a stick to draw cryptic messages in the sand. With the uniform colours and lack of shadows from the bright midday suns, he had a hard time reading the words. Still, he was sure he would have noticed them if they were present earlier considering it was the only disturbance in the smooth sands, excluding his freshly self excavated grave. His brows frowned even deeper as more words slowly appeared before the first set.


    [Beginning class selection sequence...]


    [You have been granted: Cursed Healer]


    Somehow, his frown intensified even further. He was sure he hadn''t selected anything, and he was certain he''d never seen talking sand before.


    "Errr, hello!" Symon offered hesitantly. "Can you... understand me? I think I need a little help."


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.63


    Constitution: 0.87


    Acuity: 0.68


    Intelligence: 0.72


    Will: 0.95


    Vessel (Vitality): 3/7 ]


    Symon felt like he''d been doing a lot more confused staring than usual, and this moment was no exception. The words had continually etched themselves into the sand and, as they went, he felt like they became easier and easier to read. Symon hadn''t played many video games in his life, but this weird message was vaguely reminiscent of some that he''d played. He waited patiently for the text to continue, but it seemed the sand had nothing more to say.


    "Hello? I don''t mean to be a bother, but it''s kind of an emergency. You see, I''m thinking that there''s been a bit of an accident and I''ve ended up somewhere I''m not supposed to be. Do you think you could give me just a little information on wh-,"


    [ Status:


    Abilities:


    Idealise (0): Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (0): Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.


    Titles:


    Blessed by Order


    Blessed by Chaos


    World Traveller ]


    Well... shit.


    If the multiple suns in the sky hadn''t been enough for him, that final title made things clearer. Whatever had happened to him, he was a long way from home. Most people would take this opportunity to scream out in anger at the unfairness, cry knowing they''re so far away from their old family, their old life. For better or worse, a lifetime of living with a terminal illness hanging over his head had given Sy the incredible ability to simply ignore things he didn''t like. A psychologist would probably have a big fancy word for it and lecture him about how repressing and compartmentalising traumas just allows them to fester, but what was he to do? Maybe this was all a hallucination and he was locked in a padded room, maybe he was in a coma after the crash and this was just a strange dream, or maybe he really had been brought to a new world and given magical powers by some talking sand. Either way, Sy did what he did best by ignoring the variety of horrific possibilities and began walking towards the tallest sand dune he could see. Things would come crashing back down on him eventually, sure, but in the mean time he''d try and get some questions answered.


    Behind him, the sand filled in the letters, leaving only a perfectly smooth dune.


    <hr>


    While Symon had decided to simply accept these strange happenings as real and postpone the panic to when he was somewhere safe, he still needed to understand what the messages in the sand actually meant - he needed to make use of any possible advantage to find his way out of this lifeless desert. There was some type of intelligence in the sand, listening to him and responding to his questions, albeit in an oddly structured manner. Perhaps he could get further information on what the different parts of his so-called status meant? Some aspects, like Strength and Intelligence, were obvious enough, even if he was a little offended by how low the numbers were.


    It''s kind of objectifying to rate someone with numbers like that... still, couldn''t I at least get to a whole number?


    "Sand, can you tell me what a vessel does? It holds vitality, I assume, but what does that actually mean? Am I going to die if it empties?"


    He stopped his slow trudging through the sand, his work boots already filled with said substance and his dark blue paramedic''s uniform doing an excellent job of absorbing the intense sunlight -- he unbuttoned it, not that it made much of a difference. He waited a few moments with no response. "At least tell me how I''m supposed to know it''s getting low without having to check with you every ten seconds. That''s gotta be annoying for the both of us." The sand silently reacted to this, although this time an imprint of a hand appeared on its own. No words accompanied it, although Symon didn''t feel he needed this explained to him.


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    With a hesitant shrug, he knelt down and placed his pale hand into the indent. It fit perfectly, as if it was made for him, and the gentle breeze slowly blew the surrounding sand over top of his hand. He expected maybe some magical feeling, a clicking sound like the opening of a lock perhaps, but nothing happened. After an embarrassingly long time hunched over waiting, he pulled his hand out only to immediately notice a difference.


    Symon spotted what looked like a tiny white tattoo in the shape of a simple, unadorned chalice on the back of his left hand. It was the same stark white as the sand around him, as if he''d received a tattoo made from sand instead of ink. He rubbed it gently but felt neither pain nor the sensation of anything being under his skin. While subtle to the point of likely being unnoticed by most people - not that Symon had noticed any signs of humanity -- the chalice was a little under half full with sand. As he tilted his hand around, he watched in wonder as the contents sloshed around while refusing to spill, as if it had an invisible lid.


    He asked the sand to show him how much vitality he had, and glanced from the subsequent message in the sand to the chalice on his hand. The fraction displayed matched what was represented in the chalice. Maybe the sand refused to explain anything about this system, but at least it was happy to make things he already knew more accessible.


    Even though Symon hadn''t travelled very far from where he woke up, trudging through the sand was a slow and strenuous process. While he was by no means an athlete, he wasn''t out of shape either - still, he found it strange how he wasn''t tired after nearly half an hour of travel. He was uncomfortably hot, his eyes were sore from having sand in them when he was buried, and from the continual glare of the alabaster sands, and yet he still felt energised. The bad news was that though he had barely been in the desert for an hour, he already wanted some water - and it wouldn''t be long before that want turned into a need.


    I''m pretty sure Bear Grylls said you could go 3 days without water. I wonder how accurate that is when you have three suns beating down on you...


    Symon didn''t think his last near-death experience was very cool or noble, but dying of thirst in an empty desert was much worse. His first order of business was to finish his march to the top of the large dune and use that vantage point to look for food and water, or really just anything new. As he walked, his mind was focused on his two so-called abilities present in his status; what kind of names were idealise and seize? It reminded Symon of an old university friend who had taken a philosophy elective and started using all these fancy words. When he arrived at the base of the dune that was to be his temporary lookout, he was pondering if there was a reason why both of his abilities were automatic - was his intelligence so low that he wasn''t even trusted with his own magic? The sand near his feet began shifting as if on cue, so he stopped and waited for the message. And waited. And waited some more. He noticed that no letters had formed, and yet the disturbed circle of sand was slowly expanding. In fact, now that he was focused on it there was a steadily increasing vibration, almost as if something was-


    "SHIT!" was all he could cry out as he threw himself backwards, the massive mandibles slicing through the air with a whistle in the place his neck was just moments ago. He bounced and rolled down the dune a few times before landing on his back with a thud. Symon''s eyes snapped to where he''d just been standing, to the creature in his place. At first, the shell made him think it was a crab, but when it fully extricated itself from the sand with an awful undulating motion he saw it for what it truly was - a monstrous centipede-like creature almost half as long as he was tall, with a mottled orange carapace and six-inch long mandibles.


    He scrambled backwards as the creature rushed down the hill towards him, dozens of small but razor-sharp legs impaling the ground and launching itself towards him. With panicked eyes, he looked around for anything that could help him, but saw only sand, nothing he could use as a weapon against this thing. Although he''d only taken his eyes off the creature for a moment, by the time he glanced back it was almost on top of him. With no other plan, he reached down and grabbed a fistful of the sand - his only companion thus far - and flung it in an arc towards the centipede''s face.


    It did nothing but make the creature more mad.


    With a vicious hiss, it scrunched up before launching out like a spring, shooting through the air in a flash with its twitching legs held out to the sides. Too slow to avoid the deceptively fast creature, Symon instead swung his arm out in a wild backhand. His forearm connected with the creature just below where its head joined to the rest of his body, but instead of being launched away like a baseball, a half dozen of its legs stabbed deep into his arm and refused to let go.


    "Fuck! Get off me!" he screamed, flinging his arm with the centipede attached into the air before slamming it down, whipping the centipede''s back half into the ground. This only caused Symon to curse the soft sand as the deceptively light centipede bounced off the ground ineffectually, pulling him off balance and bringing them both to the ground in a tangled heap.


    The centipede reacted faster, painfully climbing its way further up his arm before releasing him with its front legs and reaching for his face and throat with its too-sharp mandibles. They snapped shut and barely missed taking out an eye before its body adjusted its grip on his arm to stretch out even further, preparing for a second snap attack. Simon was on his back with one arm fully extended, attempting to keep the monster away from his face while the other arm delivered a series of ineffectual punches against the side of the thing''s head, unable to get any leverage to deliver a proper blow. Pulling his fist back, he saw the jagged chitin had done more damage to his hand than he''d done to the creature. By this point, his constant cursing and shouting had devolved into a hoarse scream, the situation not helped by a sudden burning pain in his stomach.


    The centipede''s head was snapping at his face, its body was latched onto his arm, and now a stinger on its tail was being driven into his gut. To make matters worse, the burning pain in his stomach had turned into a creeping numbness, rapidly spreading through the rest of his body. Already, his abdominals had begun to lock up, making it hard to maintain his half-sitting half-wrestling position. With his punches doing more harm -- specifically to his knuckles -- than good, he changed tactics, grabbing onto one of the creature''s many legs and yanking on it as hard as he could. Surprisingly easily, it separated with a gentle pop. He quickly flipped it around and plunged it pointy end first towards the creature''s back. It skittered across its carapace before catching a seam between sections, and with a white-knuckled grip, Symon began forcing the leg between the plates. He had ceased his screaming -- or if you were being generous, his battle cry -- focused entirely on penetrating something vital before the creature killed him. In truth, he couldn''t make any noises even if he wanted to, the venom seizing up his lungs.


    Seemingly realising the danger, or perhaps just reacting to the pain, the centipede ceased trying to bite his face and curled around on itself, redirecting its front half to try and get at the hand currently stabbing its back. This brief moment of comparative safety allowed Symon to go on the aggressive, slamming the centipede onto its back and clumsily, with stiff muscles, roll on top of it. The stinger made its return, this time plunging into his thigh, but he raised his claw dagger into the air before ramming it straight down, plunging right through the soft underside of the centipede''s chest, or whatever its equivalent would be.


    The centipede began thrashing wildly at this but rapidly weakened and, after only a few moments, stopped moving.


    Symon struggled to draw air into his ravaged lungs in a victory wheeze. He''d killed the overgrown bug, but at great cost. His right arm was crisscrossed in slashes that wept a steady stream of blood, and almost his entire body was numb from the constant stings. Trying as hard as he could, his lungs simply wouldn''t draw in any air. He could feel his heart beating, much too slowly, especially considering how high his adrenaline was after the fight. Every few seconds, he felt the barest of fluttering thumps from his heart. It was all he could do roll off the centipede and onto his side, his vision greying and narrowing to a pinprick. At least his body was so numb he couldn''t feel the pain, he thought. He attempted to drag himself forward with just his arms, but they refused to respond to his commands any further after flopping down next to his face. The last thing he saw before he passed out was the bruised knuckles on his hand and the tattoo of a chalice, now filled to the brim.

 Chapter 3 - Awakening, Round 2

    For the second time since coming to this desert, Symon woke up by inhaling a mouthful of sand. He panicked, thinking he''d been buried yet again, but rolling over was enough to show he was merely face down in the sand. After coughing it all back up -- this really couldn''t be good for his throat -- he glanced over at the centipede. It was unmoving, curled up on itself like a dead spider. He let out a sigh of relief at this news, further deepened by how easy it was to breathe. It brought back memories of being bedbound, too weak to move, too weak to even drink water by himself.


    Symon shuddered, pushing these memories back down. All that mattered was that he was still alive, and he needed to keep things that way. Still, how was he alive? He''d been unable to breathe, feeling his heart slowly shut down, and yet he woke up fine.


    "Well, maybe not fine," he said aloud. His arm was crisscrossed with angry red lines, but they were more painful than actually dangerous, although that was presuming he had modern medical supplies to combat potential infections. He didn''t, of course. Thankfully, they''d stopped bleeding, same as the narrow but deep wounds on his stomach and thigh. They''d all stopped bleeding, and in fact looked more like they were a couple of days old instead of -- he glanced up at the still-lit sky, the suns noticeably closer to setting -- instead of the hour or two he must have been unconscious. He was a little thirsty, but it wasn''t too bad yet, so he couldn''t have slept through a full day. Confused, he asked the only thing he could for help.


    "Sand, what just happened? Did I come back from almost dying again?"


    The sand responded in its usual manner.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.65 {+0.02}


    Constitution: 0.91 {+0.04}


    Acuity: 0.7 {+0.02}


    Intelligence: 0.72


    Will: 0.96 {+0.01}


    Vessel (Vitality): 0/7 ]


    Abilities:


    Idealise (1) {+1}: Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (1) {+1}: Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.


    Passives:


    Poison Resistance (0) {New} ]


    Symon considered these changes from top to bottom. The first time the sand had shown him his status, he''d been in a bit of a daze and probably paid it less thought than he should have. It wasn''t like he was going anywhere fast with these injuries, so he decided to take the time to try and understand this status thing a bit more. For one, his stats had all improved to varying degrees, except for intelligence. He supposed this game-like logic made a certain amount of sense; his Strength and Acuity improved from the fight itself, wrestling with it and trying to react to its lightning-fast movements -- while his Constitution and Will probably improved due to powering through all that pain. The fact that his Constitution had improved by more than double his next best improvement supported his theory, considering most of the fight consisted of Symon just getting bitten, scratched, and stung.


    He''d used up all his vitality, but for once he was glad he''d been wrong -- it wasn''t as simple as dying when you ran out of vitality, like a health bar in a video game. From reading their descriptions, it was clear that his abilities were linked. Seize had, well, seized the vitality from the centipede while he was fighting for his life, filling his vessel up like a battery. Then, the oddly named Idealise had tried to return him to a "peak state", namely one without a bunch of extra holes and venom in him. This must have drained all the vitality from his vessel, but thanks to the newly gained poison resistance it was enough to expunge the venom and stop him from bleeding out, even if he was still pretty beat up.


    That was it for the changes, as his Titles hadn''t changed at all. Symon doubted he could glean any new information just by reading through his status, although he still had many questions, chief among them being just what the numbers next to his statistics meant. Was a 0.91 constitution good? Before he''d... died, his illness had been mostly silent; he''d been the healthiest he could ever remember being. After waking up in this new world, there''d been no creeping feelings of unease, no nausea or muscle weakness that he''d come to associate with his illness. Did his comparatively high constitution cure him, or was it higher than the other stats because he''d been sick and persevered so long?


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    It would explain will being so high, at least. It ain''t easy being an optimist when you were supposed to die young.


    He figured he''d rested his body enough while going through his status, so he thanked the sand for its help and set his eyes back on his original goal -- climbing this dune and using the vantage to look for anything except for more rolling dunes. Fearful of more centipedes showing up, he pulled out a couple of the claw legs from his defeated foe, and used them to cut off one of the creature''s mandibles. It could be generously described as a makeshift kukri, but Symon was just happy to have something to defend himself with regardless of how cumbersome to use it might be -- it would be better than shredding his fist on spiny plating.


    As he began limping his way up past where the centipede had initially ambushed him, keeping a closer eye on the sand this time, he had a grim thought; what if he wasn''t cured of his illness? What if his healing magic would have to fight it for the rest of his life? He shrugged and did his best to focus on his hike, this would be a future problem either way and he really didn''t want another centipede getting the jump on him. He looked down at the chalice on his hand. It was completely empty.


    Hey, maybe I''ll be the first person to unlock cancer resistance.


    <hr>


    It took Symon almost an hour to get to the summit of the dune. It should have taken only half that time, but he was starting to think that his vessel had been drained to fight off the paralytic first, leading to his leg and stomach getting barely any healing. They weren''t bleeding, but it hurt, only made worse by needing to be used. Still, he found it a better alternative to dying of thirst if he waited for his body to recover more. What he saw from his new vantage point made it worth the effort of reaching it; far to the south, he saw what could only be a small cluster of trees. He couldn''t see anything else new, no roads or trails, no creatures or even any signs of them. The shifting sands would rapidly cover any tracks left behind anyway, but it was still unnerving to see nothing but featureless white sand for almost as far as he could see. He had a destination in mind at least, if there were trees there would be water, and maybe even civilisation if he was lucky.


    <hr>


    As Symon walked, he experimented with his powers. He knew that if he was going to survive this desert, he''d need to make heavy use of them. It felt odd to trust in magic after a lifetime of mundanity, but his abilities had already proven themself by saving his life. They''d levelled up too, although the sand refused to elaborate on what that actually meant. They were better, obviously, but Symon wasn''t sure in what way. There was no way to test his healing without any vitality to use, but he could experiment with Seize. The sand had told him that the ability was automatic, but he didn''t think it was that simple. It drained the centipede without any effort, or even any awareness, on Symon''s part, but if it was truly automatic why was it under the Abilities section and not the Passive? That implied that he had at least some form of control over it...


    Well, there''s no one around to laugh at me if this doesn''t work.


    Symon pointed a hand out and confidently proclaimed "Seize!" For a second, it felt like nothing happened, but suddenly he felt ice in his chest, like he''d just taken a deep breathe on a frosty morning. It wasn''t painful, but it was very odd considering he hadn''t felt anything close to cold in this desert. In a flash, this feeling of ice spread down from his chest to his outstretched hand. He jerked slightly but continued to hold his hand out, but nothing happened even after waiting. Embarrassed despite the lack of an audience, he dropped his hand only to notice something trail slightly behind it. It was so thin that it would probably have been impossible to see, if not for the fact that its dark grey colouration contrasted with the white sand. Symon thought it looked a lot like a little worm that was borrowing into his hand, and reacted instinctively.


    "Shit, not again!" he shouted while swinging his hand around. The thing didn''t get dislodged, so he tried slapping at it only for his hand to pass through it with that same icy feeling.


    Oh, I see... It wasn''t a creature borrowing into him, it was his magic leaving, looking for vitality. He held his palm up to his face, and watched as the little grey thread wiggled around. At first he thought it was blowing in the breeze, but instead it swayed under its own power. Under his own power. With a thought, the thread retreated back down before popping out of his outstretched finger.


    He reasoned that the healing from Idealise probably worked the same way, it would do its own thing but he could also take direct control, not that he was able to test this assumption without any vitality. Still, it would be good to keep in mind for the next time a paralytic was shutting down his heart and lungs.


    He was beat up so bad he could barely walk, the suns were absolutely cooking him, his destination was so far away he had no idea how long it would take to reach, and nightfall was rapidly approaching. He had no food, no water, no shelter, and absolutely no clue where he was.


    But he had magic, and that might just be enough.


    He petted his pocket with the centipede mandible in it, and made the grey thread appear from his other hand. Next time he found a centipede, the fight would go differently. He swore it.

 Chapter 4 - Tower Trouble

    Symon continued his journey towards the distant trees with a spring in his step. Metaphorically, of course, considering his injuries reduced him to a shuffling limp. His previously pale skin was noticeably redder, thanks to the continued efforts of the three suns. He''d discovered that his idealise ability had been protecting him from the sunburn, but without any vitality in his vessel, this stopped.


    Ugh, at this rate I''m going to get skin cancer too.


    He''d been walking for over an hour without incident before something broke up the monotony. Hidden behind a dune that he''d skirted around on the way to his destination, was a dark, blocky structure. It was obviously unnatural, making it the only sign of civilisation he''d found, and indeed the only sign of any life other than that centipede. There were surely more burrowed in the sand, but he hadn''t encountered any and would have no way of spotting them until he was directly over one. With that in mind, he changed his heading and slowly crept towards the structure.


    Although hazy heat lines and the bright reflection of the sand made it hard to pick out details, the scene clarified as he limped his way closer. It was a long, squat structure with no obvious doorways but a few holes that were probably windows. He couldn''t make out much of the interior, with what he could see being nothing but sand. He circled the structure, keeping his distance so as to not alert anything inside. When he made it to the opposite side, he found the entrance -- it was not only sideways, but also collapsed.


    Must have been a tower that fell over.


    Considering it was the only shelter for as far as he could see, it was a good bet that it was occupied. Still, Symon wanted to go in. For one, he needed more Vitality. With his wounds, there was little chance he''d make it to the trees before his thirst killed him. Regardless of future plans, he needed shelter for the coming night. He wouldn''t be able to sleep out under the stars without something waking him up by chewing off his legs, plus he knew deserts tended to get to freezing temperatures at night. With a centipede mandible in one hand and the grey thread of his Seize ability in the other, he slowly approached one of the windows closest to the ground.


    He limped towards the tower as stealthily as possible, equal parts excited and afraid. There were a few shattered black stones on the ground, mostly buried in the sand. They lead up to a window that was at about waist height on Symon. There was no glass or barrier inside the windows and while they weren''t particularly large, he''d be able to squeeze through. The question was if that was something he wanted to do.


    He could charge blindly in and engage in glorious battle with whatever made this structure its home, but Symon would rather prove the sand wrong when it told him his intelligence was a 0.72. He had a diploma, dammit, and he was going to act like it by planning things out.


    First, he cast his senses out, hoping he could immediately notice something useful. The stone of the building was old, worn smooth by the wind and scouring sands. It did have plenty of cracks that he could use to climb on the top -- originally the side -- of the tower if he wanted to. He couldn''t hear anything inside, although the wind passing through the windows made a keening whistling sound that would have covered up most noises anyway.


    Looking through the windows showed him nothing but a narrow cone of sand, blown inwards by the gentle breeze. Due to the thickness of the walls, he''d have to stick his head all the way into the window to have more than a narrow field of vision. Going literally headfirst into an unknown and likely dangerous situation seemed like the worst thing to do if he wanted to prove his intelligence to the sand. Instead, he slowly built up a map of the room by checking out the small slices of vision available through the multiple windows. He was careful to maintain what he hoped was a safe distance, and on the fourth try, he spotted something useful.


    Symon was no master huntsman, but he didn''t need to be to see the pristine print in the thin layer of sand. He didn''t recognise what creature it belonged to, but whatever it was must have been big. The print was as large as his own, although much wider. If he was on Earth, he would have guessed that it was a bear, although it was anyone''s guess what kind of creatures lived in this desert.


    At least it''s not another creepy-ass centipede...


    He circled the tower a few more times but didn''t learn much new. It was 15 or so metres from base to pointy top, which Symon thought was unreasonably tall for a lone tower in the desert. If he were to build in the desert, he''d want something nice and wide to try and stop it from sinking into the sand.


    The original entrance to the tower was mostly collapsed, although it looked like something had cleared a path through. Investigating this gap, he gulped as his eyes roamed around its outline. The gap was much larger than what Symon would have needed. Perhaps his earlier guess of what creature the print in the sand belonged to was influencing his perception now... but this was a hole large enough to fit a bear. Not like one of those massive grizzly bears twice Symon''s size at least, but he wasn''t too fond of the prospect of fighting even a smaller bear.


    He was really glad he''d taken some time instead of rushing into the building; regardless of what it was, it was big enough that he wouldn''t have stood a chance. Symon was confident it was, judging by how clean the print he found was and the lack of any outside. With a simple but hopefully effective plan in mind, he grabbed a fist-sized brick from the ground and shoved it into his pocket -- hardly a great weapon but it would probably help him bash through a centipede''s rough carapace.


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    He doubted he could get any extra useful information from here on the sands outside, but what if he got on top of the collapsed tower? The angle meant it would be a steep climb for the first few metres, before gradually levelling off -- a difficult but very possible challenge thanks to the multitude of deep cracks to serve as hand and footholds. With a final muttered "You got this," Symon began his ascent.


    Being a fairly skinny guy and of average height -- coupled with having next to no belongings on him except for his clothes, some centipede parts, and a small loose brick he''d picked up -- Symon didn''t have too much weight to lift. Still, he''d never been rock climbing and only had one leg capable of supporting his weight. The slashes on his arm were still painful, although didn''t mechanically impede him. He would fully extend his arms to the highest handholds he could, then awkwardly hop up with his single good leg while simultaneously pulling himself up with his arms. It was slow going, but he eventually found a rhythm to the process.


    He''d managed to climb a little over one and a half body lengths before he made a mistake. He''d managed a secure handhold, but when he hopped upwards, his foot couldn''t wedge itself into the spot he wanted to. There was so much loose sand in the crack that his foot would just slip out the moment he put any of his weight on it.


    His heart was hammering in his chest as held himself onto the wall with just his hands, his foot continually kicking at the crack trying to dig out the sand and get a proper grip.


    His arms were burning by now as he dangled, the panicked need to prevent himself from falling warring with the need to make as little noise as possible. He kicked and kicked, slowly pulling and relaxing his arms to try and find a more comfortable position before he eventually managed to plant his foot securely. He let out a ragged sigh as he gave his arms a chance to relax -- it had felt like an eternity for what must have been less than a minute of struggle.


    After his scare, he took his time to brush out any sand in his way first, and slowly made his way to the top. After five or so metres the tower levelled off to a steep incline instead of a sheer wall, allowing him to finally scramble up to the top and stand on shaky legs. He let out a quiet sigh of relief -- he wasn''t afraid of heights, but that might have just changed...


    A few windows were serving as skylights, so he belly crawled to the edge of one, fearful of slipping off. Slowly, ever so slowly, he poked his head over the lip and peered down. Glancing around, he saw more of the same, nothing but shadows, sand, and -- there! He could see large outline of something pressed up against the wall on the same side as the windows he''d looked through.


    That explains why I couldn''t see it...


    And what he did see wasn''t great. It was more catlike than bearish but had the worst elements of both. It was furred, with a lithe form he''d associate with a panther or cheetah, but with a stockier head and massive paws. It stretched out in a way remarkably similar to a house cat and let out a massive yawn as if deliberately showing off its equally large fangs. Staring at the beast, he seriously considered giving up and just risking a night out on the sands. He reminded himself that he needed the vitality from this creature to even have a chance of making it to the trees and, more importantly, the water they must be living off. Plus, this was the only shelter he''d seen, even considering the view afforded by his new vantage point.


    He wanted to sigh but kept his mouth shut this close to the beast, instead carefully picking his way towards the half-collapsed entrance to the tower. He held onto his centipede mandible in one hand and summoned the grey thread of seize in the other, his draining ability at the ready. It felt like he was walking a poorly trained dog who had just smelled something interesting, the thread feeling like it was trying to pull him down towards the creature.


    Worried he''d be pulled down through the hole in the roof by his own ability, he wedged his fingers into cracks in the roof to maintain his position. After a few moments, he realised it was all in his head -- he was just feeling an odd eager sensation from his ability.


    He really wished the thread was longer, then he could simply drain the creature from the safety of the roof; instead, the thread barely extended a few centimetres from his hand. He was going to have to lure the creature to a better position, somehow.


    Gritting his teeth, he stood up over the main entrance, the only one large enough for the creature to fit, and pulled the small brick he''d found out of his pocket. After a deep breath, he lifted the brick into the air before throwing it into the entranceway as hard as he could.


    The ancient brick shattered on impact, letting out a loud clap that echoed through the tower. He dropped into a crouch at the same time the tower''s resident reacted -- it let out a low growl and began padding towards the disturbance with the grace of an expert hunter. Symon only knew it was moving due to his spying from above -- without a visual through the gaps, its silent steps gave no clue that it was on the prowl.


    He stood perfectly still as he waited for the creature to slowly pad its way past his position and towards the entrance. Symon knew the windows were too small for the creature to comfortably fit through, so if it wanted to go outside it couldn''t be going anywhere else.


    Symon mirrored the bearcat''s movements from his position on the roof, slowly creeping his way as close to the rounded edge of the tower as he could without falling off. Shakily, he stood to his full height just as he saw the beast''s head poke out of the entrance, only a few metres directly below Symon. He watched as it pulled back its lips, drawing a deep huff of breath in through its nose.


    The beast glanced left, then right, as if considering something. Eyes wide, Symon quickly leaned back right before the beast finally looked straight up.


    He chewed on his lip nervously, listening to the stones getting scuffed around as it cautiously padded its way through the half-collapsed entrance, the rest of its body directly below him and separated only by the stone roof. It was a tight fit for the creature, slowed down even further by the jagged stones all over the floor, remnants of the brick he''d thrown. He adjusted his grip on his centipede mandible, palms sweaty from a potent mixture of anxiety and sweltering heat. His draining magic twitched excitedly at his fingertips.


    As soon as the creature''s front half made it through the entrance, he took a deep breath, spread his arms wide, and let himself slip off the edge towards the monster.

 Chapter 5 - The Bearcat

    The drop was only a few metres, but it seemed to last a lifetime. It felt like he was skydiving, even though he wasn''t even two storeys up. The bearcat reacted, its ears swivelling to the new source of noise and body twisting around to confront it -- too slowly to foil Symon''s plan.


    Symon impacted blade first, ramming the centipede mandible into the monster''s spine with the full force of his body''s weight. The lack of a handle or even a safe spot to hold it by meant that he slashed his own hand deeply, his palm sliding down the sharp side of the blade as he wedged it in as deep as he could. The beast roared in agony and confusion as it increased its efforts to scramble through the gap.


    Symon knew that if it got out without any further damage, it would have little trouble killing him in straight combat now that his ambush had been sprung. He tried to push the blade even deeper, but it snapped off after half of its length was forced into the creature''s body. Still, it was dangerously close to its spine, although only time would tell exactly how badly the beast was affected.


    He held onto the bearcat''s back for dear life, his legs wrapping around its body like he was riding a horse, squeezing with all his might despite the lingering injuries. With a vicious snarl that would have sounded more at home coming from the monster, Symon gripped the monster''s thick fur with one hand and raised the other into the air, the ethereal grey thread dangling behind it like spider silk caught in a breeze. Finally, he brought his hand down into a slap, gripping onto the monster in a bear hug.


    When Symon was a boy, before his illness, his father had taken him fishing. He''d had a bright blue Transformers-themed rod and had a great time with it out on the water. He remembered holding it as fish took little nibbles on his bait, sending vibrations all the way through the line and into his arms. Eventually, a fish had bitten through the hook and drawn the line taut, almost tugging him overboard with the suddenness of it. He felt something similar now, and he focused in on it.


    He felt a subtle connection between him and the beast, tracing a path -- from inside it, through his thread, through his arm, and settling in his chest just across from his heart. It was weak, barely noticeable, like a tiny line on a misty morning. All of a sudden, as if reacting to his attention, a burning explosion raced through this pathway and into Symon. His heart pounded in his chest and he gasped for breath as the monster shuddered underneath him, roaring in pain and finally freeing itself from the collapsed entrance.


    Symon maintained his white-knuckled grip as molten lava thundered through his veins. It felt unbelievably, indescribably, good. He felt like an addict getting his first dose after a week of withdrawals, like he''d just torn his muscles lifting a car off a trapped child. It felt so, so intensely wonderful and yet his body was screaming at him that something unnatural was happening.


    He felt the heat pulse out in waves, coalescing around his injuries. He stared in awe as his damaged arm, the one the centipede had wrapped itself around and dug its legs into, scabbed over in real-time. This moment of distraction was all the bearcat needed, shaking its entire body like a wet dog and flinging Symon off to the side.


    He flew through the air for the second time this fight, landing heavily and rolling in the sand. He didn''t fight it, allowing his momentum to take him further away from the giant maw of the creature. He might not have been able to stop himself even if he wanted to, his brain feeling like it was rebooting after the intense feeling of consciously using Seize. He staggered to his feet, carefully taking a step back before speeding up once he found the pain in his leg was mostly gone. It still ached, but he was back to running condition. His opponent was still thrashing wildly in pain and probably more than a little confusion, so he spared a glance at the tattoo representing his vessel. It was about half full but dropping by the second, and it was clear why; he was feeling better and better.


    It felt like something was stuck to his arm, and when he brushed at it a mess of scabs fell off, revealing fresh pink skin underneath. It was a little gross, but far from the worst thing his body had been through, even before arriving in this desert.


    The bearcat was still thrashing about -- apparently trying to dislodge the embedded mandible blade -- so Symon continued jogging backwards away from the monster, keeping his eyes on it while trying not to draw any further attention to himself. Eventually, it stopped thrashing, although not voluntarily -- it must have damaged its spine further as its back legs were awkwardly unresponsive. That didn''t stop it from rounding towards Symon and dragging itself further with just its front legs. Even ignoring its injury, the stolen Vitality had noticeably slowed it down, and when both were taken together it had made the creature much less threatening.


    Symon easily maintained his distance from the bearcat as its efforts became weaker and weaker. He led it in a wide circle, ending up back near the tower when it finally collapsed. It almost felt too easy, but he decided to take it as a lesson in remaining vigilant. If it was a massive panther -- with jaws wide and strong enough to crush his skull -- that had ambushed him instead of just a centipede, he would have been done for.


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    It must have been the king of the area, considering it lived in the prime real estate of the collapsed tower, and yet he''d taken it out easily through foreknowledge and planning.


    It was still alive, although not for long. He needed every last drop of vitality to survive his journey. Approaching it allowed Symon to hear its wheezing breaths and see the bloodied spittle dripping out of its mouth. It stared at him with an unfocused angry look, as if it wasn''t sure exactly where he was standing. He moved around to its limp back legs and cautiously summoned the grey thread representing Seize. It had grown in length, extending out from the tip of his finger by a full hand''s length. He smiled, imagining the day he''d be able to defend himself without needing to get so up close and personal.


    A while away at this rate, but still...


    The thread connected to the beast on its own once he brought his hand close enough, as if it was magnetically attracted to the life inside the creature. As before, the same feeling of icy hot, burning cold heat flowed up his hand and settled in his chest. It was euphoric and nearly overwhelming, but he was expecting it this time and managed to stay aware of his target, just in case it made one final effort to kill him. It didn''t.


    He glanced down at his chalice tattoo. By the time the beast had collapsed, it had stabilised at a quarter full, and was now ticking slowly but steadily upward. Without any injuries to spend its stored vitality on, nothing was preventing it from filling up. He considered experimenting with using it to heal the bearcat just a little -- the ability description implied he could heal other beings with manual effort -- but decided not to risk it. It would only take a moment for it to twist around and clamp its jaws down on his head.


    Besides, it seems cruel to prolong its suffering. It would have eaten me if it got the chance, but it''s just trying to survive. Same as me.


    It took 5 nerve-wracking minutes for his vessel to fill up, tense and ready to pull back if the bearcat started moving. He was surprised to see that filling his vessel hadn''t stopped the continued flow of vitality. Without any injuries, he no longer felt the vitality pulsing out through his body. Instead, it continued to gather in the right side of his chest, mirroring his heart. It churned and swirled in on itself uncomfortably, but without any pain -- the freezing burning sensation had subsided a little. Eventually, the bearcat let out its final breath, the flow of vitality stopping a few seconds later.


    The simple, unadorned chalice tattoo -- more of a cup on a stick, really -- was still full. It was hard to see, but even though he hadn''t seen it change he felt like the stem was a little thicker, the base flared out just a little more than previously.


    "Sand, do your thing please." His voice came out as a croak, dry and unused recently bar some shouting and screaming.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.67 {+0.02}


    Constitution: 0.92 {+0.01}


    Acuity: 0.72 {+0.02}


    Intelligence: 0.73 {+0.01}


    Will: 0.97 {+0.01}


    Vessel (Vitality): 8/8 {+1}


    Abilities:


    Idealise (2) {+1}: Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (3) {+2}: Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled. ]


    Symon pumped his fist in the air, "Hell yeah, Intelligence gain! Probably because of my genius plan." Or maybe the sand just thinks so little of me that the fact I didn''t just charge blindly into a dark tower with an unknown threat impressed it...


    All at once, the ridiculousness of the situation struck him. He was celebrating a magical reward he barely understood after killing a living creature. It would have tried to eat him, probably, but he didn''t know that. For all he knew, these bearcats were like the dolphins of the desert, leading lost souls back to safety. He didn''t seriously believe that, but there was no need to be disrespectful to it.


    He''d never killed anything bigger than a fly before -- excluding that centipede -- and yet he didn''t feel as bad as he''d expected to feel. It wasn''t in his nature to want to hurt people -- he''d trained all his adult life to try and save lives and didn''t plan on giving up on that just because he was in another world. So why was it so easy on his conscience? He supposed it was hard to feel bad about something that just felt so damn good.


    Regardless of how he felt on the matter, its death had been necessary to give him a chance of making it to the still far-off trees, but the least he could do was show a little respect for the creature''s sacrifice -- which had helped him massively. Not only were all his wounds healed from the stolen vitality, but he''d received further improvements too.


    His Seize had gone up a whopping two levels after that single fight, probably because of how much time he''d been able to spend draining the bearcat''s vitality. The increase in his vessel size was interesting, although he wasn''t sure exactly what caused that. Maybe just a side effect of improving Seize so much? Experimentally, he manifested the spell. The grey thread appeared near instantly as usual, and while it was still razor thin, it seemed a little thicker. More noticeably, it now extended up to a hand and a half from his body before losing cohesion and fading away. He''d still need to get much closer to danger than he was comfortable with to reach any future monsters, but he''d take any improvement he could get.


    He was so caught up in the feeling of the magic that he''d barely paid attention to the results. The bearcat''s body was... not good. It was so shrunken and shrivelled up on itself that if not for the blade in its back and bloody foam still ringing its mouth, a passerby would have thought it had died of thirst a week ago. When he brushed a hand through its fur, the strands either snapped at the lightest touch or fell out in clumps.


    He stood up and backed away from the corpse, it was a bit unnerving to be around.


    He began making his way towards the entrance of the collapsed tower, summoning and dismissing the thread as he idly wondered what it was originally for.

 Chapter 6 - Investigative Explorations, Explorative Investigations

    If there was another bearcat inside the collapsed tower, it probably would have come out during all of the growling and shouting. Still, Symon wasn''t interested in getting his legs chewed off just because he was impatient to get out of the sun. He decided he''d take the main entrance in case he needed make a quick getaway, as while he could fit through most the the windows they would be a bit of a squeeze.


    Climbing onto the rubble half filling the original entrance, he peered inwards. It was unchanged from what he''d spied through the windows; nothing present in the gloom except for shadows and rubble. After waiting for his eyes to adjust to the darkness -- the windows were deep and let in only narrow slivers of light -- he entered with soft stops.


    Internally, he revelled in the lack of pain from his leg and stomach as he slowly made his way over the rubble and into the main room. After hours of limping through the desert, he was finally pain-free after using the bearcat''s vitality to heal himself. He hadn''t realised just how painful it was until he''d been cured of his wounds.


    Walking deeper into the room, Symon noticed a few things. There was a pile of bones in one corner, and a hole in the opposite wall that must have been the entrance to the next floor, back when the tower was upright. The bearcat must have been here for a while, as the pile of bones was pretty extensive. Dozens of creatures must have died and then had their remains left. He didn''t recognise any of the creatures they must have come from, although there were pieces of brittle carapace that could have come from a centipede or something similar.


    He rooted through the pile, although he wasn''t sure what he was even looking for. The fact that it was something and not just endless white sand meant he couldn''t help but investigate it further. He found nothing useful in the pile, and accidentally destabilised the structure, sending it clattering to the ground with a loud noise. He winced out of principle, although he found it unlikely that anything else living was inside this tower.


    Turning away to check out the rest of the room, he saw something new had been exposed. Previously buried at the very bottom was something unnervingly familiar. He wasn''t sure if it was good or bad news.


    Symon carefully, almost reverently, picked up the human skull. It was bleached white, and he wondered if he''d ever unknowingly passed more bones on his journey here -- it was almost the exact colour of the sand. He didn''t know enough to be able to tell any details as to who this skull belonged to, other than that it was adult-sized. He felt emotion welling up, tightening his throat at the implication.


    People.


    Ill-fated as this individual might have been, they meant humanity existed here. Wherever Symon had ended up, it wasn''t just a near-lifeless desert. There were people, somewhere, and he hadn''t realised just how worried he was that he''d be alone forever. Maybe they''d be near the trees -- where the water was -- or maybe they were elsewhere. They existed, at least, which meant as long as he survived the desert long enough it was only a matter of time until he found others.


    Gently placing the skull into a new spot away from the large pile of bones -- he felt it didn''t deserve to be tossed back in with the monsters -- he brushed some of the sand and dust off that he''d gathered while rummaging through the pile before approaching the entrance to the next room.


    Currently, it was simply a wall with a hole in it leading to the next room, although in the past it would have been the way up to the next floor. Poking his head through, he saw the old door, broken off from its frame and flat on the ground. It was made of wood, thick and so dry that rapping his knuckles against it felt like stone. This room was darker than the last and noticeably cooler, although still uncomfortably warm. At least his healing had fixed his sunburn.


    The passage of time made it difficult to determine what the room was intended for, containing only sand, loose stones, and rotted wood. There were a few small bones too, but nothing recognizable -- human or otherwise. It could have been a dining room, a bedroom, or a prison; it was simply too old and ruined for anything to survive.


    The door to the next room was still sealed into its frame, which meant this must have been a hatch to the next floor, back when the tower was upright. Symon took this as a good sign, there''d been no windows or large cracks he could look through to see into this area, and the only entrance was still sealed. The hatch didn''t have a proper handle, but there was a little concave area that could be used to get a grip. He pulled on it, and when that did nothing, pushed it. It shifted open a fraction, then stopped.


    Must be blocked...


    He tried to look through the tiny crack he''d made, but the room was pitch black. This being the only entrance he knew of to the final remaining room, he was pretty confident that there was no way for a dangerous creature to be in this room. With that in mind, he abandoned his pretences of stealth and delivered a solid kick to the hatch. It wasn''t locked, but there was definitely something physically blocking it from opening on the other side.


    He delivered a series of kicks over a few minutes until he''d eventually opened it large enough to fit his hands through. With that, progress was rapid as he put his back against the door, wedging his arms and then his legs against the doorway to give him something to push off. Finally, he opened it enough to slip through -- after confirming it wasn''t about to slam back into place -- and took in the gloomy room.


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    Ironically, the fact that it was comparatively well-preserved made the room messier. Half-destroyed shelves filled with rotting books lined the walls, and beds with sheets that had turned to dust were strewn haphazardly throughout the room. However, what first caught his eye was the massive metal contraption in the centre of the room -- it looked like a giant brass telescope with dozens of tubes jutting out from it. As with everything else in the room, it was covered in a thick layer of dust. He had absolutely no clue what it was for.


    It was set on a giant gear, which would allow it to rotate presuming he could figure out how, not that he intended to. It was best to not start fucking with unknown machinery, he thought. Inspecting the machine all over, it appeared entirely mechanical; there were no noticeable batteries, charging cables, or anything that looked remotely electronic.


    It was a little bit spooky in the way that an abandoned soviet factory was, a massive contraption for some unknown purpose. Regardless of what it was, it was so old that there was no way it was still dangerous. Probably. Surely if it was going to randomly explode, it would have done so already in the many years it must have been here. It did appear remarkably undamaged, although Symon thought that was just because everything else he''d found thus far wasn''t as long-lasting as metal was.


    Speaking of, he''d been so distracted by the machinery that he hadn''t noticed that the low beds had occupants, of a sort. Most of them had pristine skeletons resting on them, although the mattresses or whatever the equivalent used here had rotted away completely, leaving only a wooden frame. The bones were old, although seemed mostly undamaged, and were all neatly laid out in the same position as one another -- as if they''d all died peacefully in their sleep.


    They all had their arms crossed over their chest like a pharaoh in their tomb, except for a single skeleton that was sitting slumped against the wall.


    Symon frowned to himself. A bunch of skeletons were pretty creepy in and of itself, but there was something more to it.


    Why are the beds and shelves so neat if the tower collapsed? Every other room is filled with trash and rubble.


    The furniture was hardly in pristine condition, but everything was in its proper place. The books were on their shelves, the beds were upright, and the skeletons were on the beds. The only explanation he could think of was that they''d entered this room after the tower had collapsed. Had they been survivors in the desert, seeking shelter in the collapsed tower just like him? If so, why did they put all the books back into place?


    Symon stepped closer to one of the bookcases. It was a simple but solidly made construction -- it had to be to have survived this long, at least a decade but probably much more. The books were in much worse condition, most of them simply breaking apart when he tried to pick them up. There was no water or humidity to have damaged them though, so as long as he ignored the disintegrated leather bindings the pages of the books were partially legible. Or at least they would have been if they were in English.


    Foreign languages were not his strong suit at the best of times, the situation not helped by the poor state of the book -- either way, he had no idea what language this was. The letters or characters were all near perfect circles, each one with a different layout of spirals and spokes. They looked a bit like mini mandalas.


    Feeling a bit like a child, he carefully flipped through the pages looking for pictures but found none. He couldn''t get any information from within the books, but their presence itself was a good sign -- civilisation here was advanced enough to make books. Hopefully, that meant they had plumbing and democracy too.


    He chewed on his lip, thinking about the titles in his status. He wasn''t sure if they actually did anything, or if they were simply records of past happenings. He''d been doing his best to ignore the implication of this magical status and place he''d woken up in, but that denial could only last so long.


    He spoke into the empty air, "Sand, come out, please. Show me everything again." There was barely any sand in the recently unsealed room, but it seemed things still worked. The thick layer of dust shifted, swirling and twisting to reveal his status. Despite the different medium in which it was displayed, the actual contents of his status were unchanged compared to when he last checked it just after defeating the bearcat -- although he paid the rest of it little attention, his focus on the ''Titles'' section.


    If the sand -- or dust in this case -- was to be believed, and it hadn''t misled him yet, he was a World Traveller. He wasn''t an idiot, he knew there was only one way he would have gotten it and it wasn''t because he''d immersed himself in a lot of books, but it had taken a while to sink in.


    Earth had deserts, sure, and some of them probably had white sand, but his position of denial had almost immediately become untenable, even for an expert such as him. Somewhere between the three suns, giant centipedes, magical talking sand, supernatural healing, and monstrous chimeras, his ability to ignore his situation had crumbled.


    Maybe there was a powerful wizard somewhere who could send him back home to his family? His parents must think he was dead. Did he leave a body behind? He cut himself off before he could start spiralling.


    His memories of that place in between this life and his previous were fuzzy and fractured, but he''d got the feeling that getting a second chance like he''d had wasn''t a common occurrence. The chances of there being an established system for getting back to Earth didn''t seem high. He''d be stuck here, in the best case for a very long time and in the worst case, forever.


    Magical abilities were a poor balm for someone slowly dying alone in a desert, so far away from home the distance wasn''t measurable with the terms he knew. His only companions were the dead in the tower, the only other life was the monsters trying to turn him into one of the former. He''d struggled so, so hard in his first life, and on the cusp of the start of a normal life, he''d been whisked away here. His reward for survival far past what the doctors expected was more pain and suffering.


    He''d ended up sitting against the wall in his misery, not so far from the lone skeleton -- the only one not positioned like it was asleep in bed.


    "Here I am crying over my problems, at least I''m alive and free," he said with a sniffle, turning to the skeleton. "You and your friends must have barricaded yourselves in here, starving for food and water, watching each other slowly wither away. I wonder why you''re the only one not with your friends?"


    "I dunno mate, why don''t you tell me?" the skeleton replied.

 Chapter 7 - Tapeworm

    Symon''s response to the skeleton was quick, considering he''d already had a theory of why it was separate from the others. "Well, you must have been the last one to die, putting all your pals in their beds as a sort of--"


    Symon cut himself off with a gulp, slowly turning his head to look at the lone skeleton. Its empty sockets were staring straight at him. He pushed himself to his feet and backed up as fast as he could, raising his fists like he''d seen boxers do. Damn, he really wished he had a proper weapon right now.


    "Oh quit your panicking, I couldn''t move even if I wanted to. Which I do. Very badly." True to its words, the skeleton hadn''t moved, still staring at the position Symon had been sitting in. That didn''t prevent it from speaking in a surprisingly normal, lilting accent. If he''d had his eyes closed, he would have thought the voice belonged to a living man.


    "What the fuck?" Symon asked, not that it was much of a question. He stopped backing away after gaining a couple extra metres of distance but kept his fists raised.


    "A spirit of the restless dead, obviously. Didn''t your mother ever tell you the stories?"


    "No, but I can imagine the moral of the story was something like ''do not trust mysterious talking skeletons''." The skeleton in question was so old he could probably snap its bones with little effort if he had to, but he wasn''t planning on getting close enough to find out.


    "Hmm, smarter than you look. What''s your name, boy?"


    Symon considered his situation. Someone to communicate with and hopefully answer some of his questions would be great, but he trusted this skeleton about as much as he''d trust the dead bearcat outside. Maybe friendly talking skeletons were a common occurrence here, but he wasn''t going to take that chance.


    "It''s Simon, but with a Y."


    This, of all things, seemed to throw the skeleton off his groove. It paused for only a few seconds, and yet it felt much longer. "Wait... your mother named you Yimon? What kind of a name is that?"


    "It still starts with an ''S''!" he responded, exasperated. "You pronounce it the same! Is this the most important thing we could be talking about? For one, I want to know who you are and how you''re talking to me." If the skeleton was going to talk peacefully to him, Symon would do the same no matter how creepy it was. He lowered his fists too -- no need to escalate things -- but kept himself at the ready.


    "Yes yes, I suppose our time is limited anyway. You can call me Captain. As for how I''m talking to you, your guess is as good as mine."


    "Captain? What type of name is that?"


    "The only one you''re getting."


    Symon sighed. Why did the first person he met have to be so difficult?


    "Well, Captain, I suppose it''s nice to meet you. Why is it that we have limited time?"


    "We spirits burn through life force to stay here in the mortal realm. I was peacefully hibernating, until someone woke me up, so now I''m going to die a true death. Thanks for that, by the way. How should we spend my final hour of unlife?"


    Ah, so they have sarcasm here too.


    If the circumstances were reversed, Symon supposed that he wouldn''t have been in the greatest mood either.


    Although... if the issue was a lack of life force, wouldn''t Symon be the perfect person to help?


    "In that case, I''ll cut to the chase. I''ve got healing magic I could use to give you some vitality, but I''m lost in this desert and don''t know, uh, anything at all about this world. How about we help each other out?"


    For the first time, Symon saw the skeleton move, its head rotating in place to look directly at Symon. "You can do that?"


    "Erm, full disclosure, I''ve never done it before, but the ability description makes it seem like I can transfer the energy to others. I might have to check the exact wording though."


    "Huh, some power you''ve got there kid. Ain''t many healers ''round these parts, so it must be my lucky day. You''ve got yourself a deal." The skeleton -- Captain, apparently -- extended a hand, the first time he''d moved his body.


    Simon approached slowly, carefully eyeing over the skeleton. All of its clothes had rotted away, so there was nowhere for it to hide any weapons. The skeleton shifted its head, and Symon felt like it had tried to roll its eyes at him, but he felt perfectly justified in his paranoia. Zombies would try and eat his brains or flesh, but what would a skeleton want to do? Collect his bones or something? Still, he needed guidance, especially with nightfall rapidly approaching.


    He elected to give the skeleton the barest sliver of vitality he could; if it immediately betrayed him, he''d be able to use a similar tactic as with the bearcat and simply outrun it until it collapsed. He carefully reached forward and clasped the skeleton''s hand.


    "I guess we''ve got ourselves a deal," was what Symon began to say, stopping when the skeleton collapsed into itself, whatever magic holding it together suddenly ceasing. He was so shocked at this that he reacted too slowly when a ball of blue mist shot out of the skeleton and impacted his chest. Whatever it was, it wasn''t solid, but Symon scrambled backwards with the impact all the same. "Goddammit, of course this creepy ass skeleton would pull something weird..."


    <Sorry kid, it''s you or me and I''m done with sitting around> came the voice of the spirit, the words appearing in his mind instead of being spoken aloud. Were it not for the chaotic situation, he would have been vaguely cognizant that this wasn''t the first time something had spoken to him like this.


    When the skeleton''s attack had impacted him, it seemed to sink into his chest like a stone dropped into a lake. Immediately, a sense of wrongness invaded his being. Something intimate inside him had been exposed, and it seemed like his sense of his vitality served to make him aware of just how deep the violation ran.


    There was something other inside of him, a parasite latching onto his vessel and gorging itself. The identity of this intruder was clear to Symon.


    As if justifying himself, the voice continued. <Even if you gave me all your spare life force, I wouldn''t make it halfway to the sea. My bones are just too old, you see. But yours... so young and strong. They''ll be just perfect.>


    Symon chose not to respond, scrambling backwards and out of the room. Distance from the skeleton didn''t help considering that thing was already inside him, but he didn''t know what else to do. Fighting centipedes or skeletons was a simple concept, hit them hard enough without getting hit yourself and you win. But Symon had no idea how to beat something that was inside of him.


    The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.


    It was uncomfortably reminiscent of his illness, and he felt that familiar mix of panic and hopelessness. This time, however, he couldn''t just ignore his problems and hope -- already, he could feel himself getting weaker, his muscles sluggish and his mind fuzzy. He didn''t have time to call out to the sand, but his vessel tattoo looked almost empty.


    Stumbling, he made his way through the mostly empty second room and back into the main one filled with sand and bones. With one hand on the wall to support himself, he trudged his way to the half-collapsed entrance. All the while, his chest was feeling like it was slowly filling with stone. He was too dizzy to balance across the rubble, so he went down on all fours, landing on his knees harder than intended as he began crawling his way out.


    Symon maintained his position even when he made it to the warm sand outside, too shakey and weak to stand. His heart was hammering in his chest, his lungs took only shallow gulps of air, and he felt simultaneously too hot and too cold. It hadn''t even been a full minute since the magical attack started, and if he was this weak already, his wouldn''t last much longer.


    He wasn''t sure why he''d done this. Some small part of him said he was panicking, that he needed to calm down and think of a solution. It was drowned out by the pounding in his skull.


    <Why don''t you just stop struggling? You''re only making things more painful.> The voice of the skeleton seemed legitimately confused, as if it didn''t understand why Symon wouldn''t just give in. He''d struggled through years of pain in various hospitals, had been a burden on others for so long. How ungrateful would he be if he let all that effort go to waste? He wasn''t going to let some --


    His trail of thought was washed away in a sudden surge of weakness as he vomited onto the pristine white sands. He pushed himself to the side to avoid his mess, but the motion proved too much for his battered body and he collapsed onto his back.


    Just stop struggling... That''s what the voice had said. Symon didn''t even know how to struggle against this, and yet the voice had seemed quite sure that he was. His body wasn''t working properly right now, barely responding to his commands -- just like when he got stung by that centipede.


    Wait a minute...


    His magic hadn''t needed commands against the centipede! His magic had been draining its vitality without him even telling it to, then using that vitality to heal him all by itself. He''d even blacked out completely in that fight, and it had continued working on its own!


    Once again, his powers were doing their best to save him while he was unaware of the true battle raging inside him. The trickle of vitality from unintentionally draining the centipede hadn''t even been noticeable at the time, but compared to when he''d manually manifested his thread and used it on the bearcat, the flood of Vitality was almost overwhelming.


    With an idea in mind, Symon screwed his eyes shut to better concentrate and manifested the grey thread of his Seize ability. Oddly, even with his eyes closed he could still faintly make out the twisting form of the grey thread, slowly swaying in the air like a snake getting ready to strike. In his half-aware state, he wasn''t sure how long he stared at it before refocusing. This would have to be a mystery for later, as first he had to survive.


    He could pinpoint the exact area of intense wrongness in his chest; the right side, in the mirrored position of his heart. It felt like there was a whirlpool inside his body, the energy swirling around before getting absorbed by his parasite. His vessel was empty by now, but it was still being ravenously pulled at, like a dog trying to get every scrap of meat off a bone.


    He felt his vessel shudder painfully as a feeling of cold emptiness spread out from it. Even though he''d lived 20 years without the magical organ, he felt as if it was something vital to his very being, something no one else should ever touch. It was like someone had reached into his stomach and started rearranging his intestines into a shape more preferable to them.


    With a monumental force of will, Symon raised the thread to his chest. Previously the thread had just passed through his body as if it wasn''t there, but this time it was different. The thread found something inside him and greedily latched its teeth into it in a flash. Instantly, the pressure partially abated, as the stolen vitality was siphoned back out before spreading back through the rest of his body and reinvigorating him.


    With one hand held against his chest, he shakily stood upwards, leaning against the dark stone of the collapsed tower. It was painfully hot from the suns, but he was too focused to care.


    <What are you doing? How... how are you doing this?> The voice was soft and confused, the previous mocking bravado gone. Symon felt no pity. He was still weak, but he felt the scales tip.


    "Shut up! I''m lost in this stupid fucking desert, attacked by stupid fucking monsters on another goddamn planet, and the first guy I meet decides that working together is too good for him and that he''d rather just kill me. So no, I''m not going to monologue about my powers, I''m just going to use them to rip you out like the parasite you are!" True to his words, Symon focused on the feeling of his thread wriggling around in his chest.


    It should have been an extremely odd feeling, and he was more than a little uncomfortable with what was happening in an abstract sense, but he didn''t actually feel much of anything beyond the flow of vitality. Symon pushed all his attention into the thread, forcing it to pull as much vitality as possible from the... ghost? He still wasn''t entirely sure. He figured that his mind being clear enough to wonder exactly what the thing was should be a good sign.


    Although operating more on instinct than a plan, his actions were still clearly effective as he felt the invader reacting. Its screams reverberated into his mind as he ripped the stolen vitality out of it and returned it to his vessel. It would in turn then be siphoned back out by the invader, causing the vitality to flow between the two in a loop.


    After half a minute of this, they reached something of an equilibrium. The spirit in his chest had fully engulfed his vessel, and was no longer losing or gaining any ground in their battle to steal each other''s vitality. It seemed that as it shrunk down, it had an easier and easier time holding on to what it still had.


    After holding this stalemate for a minute with no one breaking the balance, Symon wracked his brain for anything new he could do. It wasn''t painful for Symon but clearly was for the other guy, so he was happy to take some time to think. He still focused on locking down the stalemate, but it didn''t take much physical effort, his ability doing most of the work once he''d shown it what to do.


    Symon wasn''t a violent person, though he felt perfectly justified in doing whatever was necessary to stop this ghost who was actively trying to kill him. The problem was he had no idea how to do that.


    Hmm, why not try the simplest option first?


    "Hey dickhead, how about we walk back to your old skeleton and you just hop back? Things clearly aren''t going how you expected them to. We''ll both just go our separate ways and forget this ever happened?"


    The response was a scream, a moan of pain, then another scream as the spirit abruptly stopped pulling in Symon''s vitality. Symon held the thread to the spirit for a few more seconds like he was using a tazer, to ensure no funny business of course, before slowly retracting the magic. It pulled back reluctantly, although he kept it nearby just in case the spirit tried to take this momentary lull as an opportunity to launch another attack.


    <What in the name of Blaith''s bountiful bosom was that?! I haven''t felt pain like that since dying!> Like someone being interviewed mid-marathon, the voice sounded exhausted and out of breath, despite not needing to breathe.


    "Yeah, it sucks, I''m well aware. Now answer my question, will you get out and go peacefully?" To punctuate his statement, he wriggled the thread threateningly.


    <Fine, fine, you win. Just let me...> Symon could feel the spirit wriggling around, but it still encircled his vessel. He moved the thread closer. <Wait, wait! I''m uh... having a bit of difficulty.>


    "What the hell do you mean, you''re having a bit of difficulty? I think I''ve been more than reasonable about having a ghost try to possess me, so I''m just going to go back to poking you with the pain magic until you leave, okay?"


    <Hang on you little psycho, I''m really trying! I think.... oh godsdammit, that''s not good.>


    Symon rolled his eyes and gave the spirit another little brush of the thread, painfully ripping out a chunk of its stolen vitality. "Seriously man, I''m alone and confused in a strange land. Either leave now or start making sense. I''m not giving you any more time to work on whatever plan you must have thought up."


    <Fine, because you''re not going to trust a word I say, just check your Ledger.>


    "What?" Symon had no clue what this guy was talking about and was growing more convinced by the second that he was just stalling for time.


    <Your Divine Ledger? Divinely gifted record of your strengths and accomplishments?>


    "Ah, right, yeah." Symon found the name a little odd, but he knew what the spirit was talking about. "Sand! Got anything new for me?"


    <Why in the infinite hells are you talking a-->


    Symon was too distracted by the words etching themselves into the sand to listen to what the spirit was saying.


    [You have acquired a new ability: Essence Bond]


    [Essence Bond (0): Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit''s.]


    Symon dropped to his knees in the white sand. "P-permanently... I''m going to be stuck with a ghost in my heart forever..."

 Chapter 8 - Fulcrum

    Symon maintained his position, kneeling in the sand as he stared blankly at the distant horizon. Even his positivity had its limits. He''d been buried alive in the sand, attacked by giant centipedes, and fought a giant chimera monster just for a slim chance of making it to some far-off -- maybe not even existent -- water. Maybe he could have stretched his vitality long enough to get to the trees before dying of thirst or the incessant heat, but that was before this spirit decided he''d like to take half of it. And he can''t even get rid of the thing now?


    I think I might just be doomed.


    Symon wasn''t sure how long he stared at the horizon. He wasn''t giving up -- he''d spent his whole life struggling to survive and wasn''t going to stop now -- but even his willpower could only go so far. He needed a break, to just sit for a while and not think about survival or this horrible situation he''d ended up in. The spirit was silent at least, and hadn''t resumed its attempts to steal his vitality.


    Small mercies.


    <hr>


    Symon liked to think he was meditating, but it was more like the truth of the situation had crashed through his carefully built walls and momentarily shut him down. Thankfully, he was a practiced hand at this sort of thing. Eventually, he managed to force all his worries into a nice little box and focused on what he could actually do.


    "So, I guess we''re partners then," Symon said.


    <It would seem so. Does your Ledger say our bond is permanent too?>


    "Yep."


    <Damn.>


    "Yep."


    Symon took a deep breath. The spirit wasn''t fighting him any more at least, although he wasn''t sure if that was by choice or if the new ability forced it. Either way, he wasn''t too worried about the chances of it turning on him again -- he''d already proved to them both that he could maintain the painful essence drain for as long as he wanted.


    "Right, if we''re going to be stuck together I''ll need to know a few things. First of all, who and what are you?"


    <Captain Keelgrave, or what''s left of him at least. I suppose just Keelgrave will suffice, considering my ship''s probably sunk, stolen, or salvage by now.>


    "You''re a sailor?" Symon asked. It wasn''t an important question, but he''d always had a distant fascination with the sea and couldn''t stop himself.


    <Aye, I was captain of a... merchant vessel. We would sail from port to port and engage in, you know, the various trading activities and such.>


    Symon furrowed his brow, but he had more immediate questions he wanted answered. He''d have plenty of time to ask the sailing expert questions once he ensured his survival. The suns were getting close to dipping below the horizon, so he began making his way back towards the topmost section of the collapsed tower while he talked.


    "Right... where are we and how do we get to civilisation?"


    <Are you serious? You''d have to charter a ship to make it to the Great Sand, you don''t just... get lost and show up here.>


    He had to tread carefully here. He didn''t want to raise some uncomfortable questions about how he''d ended up in the middle of a desert he didn''t know the name of. Maybe it was common for lost souls to get reincarnated here and it wouldn''t be a big deal, or maybe he''d get kidnapped by the local government and experimented on for all of his world traveler secrets like electricity and germ theory.


    He decided it would be best to just keep it to himself until he trusted the spirit, which at this rate would be never.


    "I woke up half buried in the sand not so far from this tower. I don''t remember anything from before then," Symon delivered with a straight face. It was simple and partially true, which meant it was good enough for his purposes. It would be the perfect cover for his lack of basic knowledge, he hoped.


    <Huh, and I thought I was unlucky. You must have ticked off a real powerful mage or something...>


    Did Keelgrave... actually believe that? Symon would have been happy with that news, if not for the fact that it implied wizards wiping your memories and dumping you in a massive lifeless desert was a known occurence.


    "Err yeah, probably something like that. So how do I get out of this place?"


    <The coast to the North was where I came from, maybe if you''re lucky you can make it there.>


    "And there are people there?"


    <Well, not when I was there half a century ago, but you might be able to flag down a passing ship if you''re lucky.>


    He let out a deep sigh. He''d been really hoping there was a town nearby. It still sounded better than the desert.


    "Is this coast close, at least?"


    <Oh quite so, perhaps three or four days travel at a forced march.>


    Symon glanced down at his vessel tattoo. It was almost empty. He passed by the body of the bearcat as he clambered through the entrance to the tower, considering cutting the creature up for its meat -- but he had no way of cooking it. Even if he did, he''d die from the lack of water first anyway.


    "I might have had pretty decent chances until someone came along and helped themselves to most of my vitality."


    <Well, you can''t fault a man for trying, can you?>


    "Uh, yes? I most definitely can fault you. I''m going to continue faulting you for it for a long time."


    <You came out okay, even got a new ability out of it. You should be thanking me, really.>


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    Symon just rolled his eyes. He wasn''t sure if this Keelgrave was being serious or not. It was even odds, he thought.


    He asked the ghost if he knew what their new ability actually did, to which he claimed he was as new to it as Symon was, and by the time he made it back to the top floor he was quite frankly tired of talking with the spirit.


    It hadn''t been very long in terms of time, but communicating with him was uniquely draining. He supposed it was fitting, he had powers to suck the life out of things and in turn he was possessed by a spirit that made his life suck.


    Symon laid down in one of the empty bed frames, the soft parts having deterioated away into nothingness. It wasn''t comfortable, but he found he wanted to sleep bad enough that it wasn''t much of an impediment. He wasn''t physically exhausted -- it seemed his healing took care of that -- but his mind needed rest.


    He was a little worried about the spirit trying something while he slept, but he was confident he''d feel it if the spirit started tugging on his vitality again. Besides, it wasn''t like he could just forgo sleeping.


    Almost as soon as he laid down, the swirling thoughts in his mind calmed down, his tense muscles relaxed, and he drifted off to sleep.


    <hr>


    Symon had many dreams that night, although they all blurred together into one. He was clad in full plate armour like a european knight, fighting the enemy soldiers with his mace and shield. He was taller, stronger, better than all of them; with each step he would shoulder someone to the ground, his sabatons trampling them as he charged alone into enemy ranks. A single lazy swing would cave in ribs, making men fly a dozen metres through the air with the impact. When they retreated like cowards, he reached out with the thick, dark grey coils of his magic and yanked them back, sending them sprawling to the ground. They begged and pleaded, but he couldn''t understand them through the euphoric haze of battle. He wouldn''t have listened, anyway. His magic coiled up like a snake before plunging into their hearts, refilling his reserves and sending them to oblivion. The arrows embedded in the gaps of his armour pushed their way out, his wounds sealing over as he resumed his slow, steady, inexorable harvesting through the cattle.


    <hr>


    He was on the very top of a massive mountain, his skinny, shrivelled body locked in a meditative pose, milky eyes staring at the brilliant night sky. It was perfectly silent, save for the whistling of the wind. A woman had made the journey up from the small town at the base of the mountain, a babe in one hand and a leash leading a large goat in the other.


    His gaze dropped from the stars, settling on a sprawling city that must have housed half a million souls that nearly filled the nearby plains -- this was no tiny mining camp. Just how long had he been in his meditations? It was no matter anyway, time had little meaning after the first thousand years.


    The mother was still standing silently behind him. He could feel her heart thundering inside her chest, but she was waiting patiently without a conscious sound. Good, he thought, at least these new generations still have some respect for the old ways. His magic twitched and vibrated through the air, invisible to all but him -- it was begging to pull the vitality from her defenceless body. He denied it.


    Back still turned, he focused on the two other sources of vitality. The babe was weak, its heart fluttering like a candle on a cold, windy night. Some sort of sickness. The goat''s life was strong, although a little old. It opened its mouth to bleat out and break the silence, but he had already turned it to dust. The babe let out a mewling cry, and the woman stiffened in fear. He let them go with a wave of his hand and returned his gaze to the stars.


    The woman held the babe closer, then turned and made her way back down the mountain, two hearts steadily thumping.


    <hr>


    He was inside a giant worm, holding onto daggers lodged into the inside of its throat to prevent him from slipping any further.  He''d been paid more than generously for needing to come out on such short notice -- the adventurers who were supposed to deal with it almost certainly dead -- but truthfully he would have culled the monsters for free. With such a bounty of vitality just waiting to be harvested, who knew how far he could push his vessel? Which previously impossible places would be open for him to explore? He smiled to himself as the worm writhed in pain, jostling him around as its massive form leaked vitality into him. Hmm, perhaps it would be enough for him to finally get his vengeance on the-


    <hr>


    Symon lurched his way to wakefulness, finding himself back in the darkness of the collapsed tower. He let out a shuddering breath as he centered himself -- what were those dreams? They felt so vivid, so real. The magic felt so familiar to him and yet different from what he''d begun to grow used to.


    Forcibly blinking his eyes, he pushed himself upright and took stock of his situation.


    The room was blissfully cool, but he knew it would be short lived. Soon, he''d be back to trudging through the white sands while the suns try and roast him alive. Staying in the tower would mean dying of thirst, and he knew the dark stone would do an excellent job absorbing the sunlight and turning his room into an oven.


    The ghost was silent, and it didn''t seem like it had done anything untoward while he slept. Symon briefly wondered if the ghost slept too.


    "So, any clue what this thing is?" Symon asked, referring to the giant brass contraption in the middle of the room. It looked kind of like a steampunk telescope, but only vaguely. He wasn''t happy about being stuck with the spirit, but he''d be a fool to not get what use he could from him.


    <Not exactly. Some type of old research tool, we thought. Probably worth a pretty gold piece or thousand to the right collector... shame you''re going to die before you could get it out anyway.>


    "And what do you think would happen to you after that? Going to hitch a ride on a desert centipede after I croak?"


    Keelgrave didn''t reply, but Symon wasn''t expecting a proper answer anyway. Instead, he was giving the contraption another look over for anything useful. The metal was in surprisingly good condition, but some of the joints and screws were made of a different material that hadn''t resisted the ravages of time near as well as the main base of the machine.


    Inspecting a particularly rusted connection, he had an idea. Grabbing onto a long protruding pipe, a little narrower than his forearm and a little longer than one of his arms, he began pulling at it. Nothing happened, so he braced one foot against the base of the machine and heaved back with all his strength. It creaked and shifted ever so slightly.


    <Come on boy, use those skinny little arms.>


    "Oh shut it," he said between breaths, as the pipe slowly bent back at a glacial pace. He pulled and pulled with burning muscles, shifting his grip as he tried to find a better way to grab it. If only he was as strong as one of the guys from his dreams, he could probably have snapped the whole machine in half if he so wished. Well, probably not the old guy, but Symon felt he had a different type of strength.


    Still, by using the weight of his whole body and grabbing the tube by the end to use it as a lever, he eventually broke it off with a snap, one of the bolts flying off and pinging against the wall.


    Thanks, Archimedes.


    Of course, the downside to throwing your whole weight behind trying to rip off a pipe is that you go flying backwards and land on your ass when it eventually does snap, in this case much to the amusement of an accompanying spirit. Nonetheless, after dusting himself off Symon was quite happy with his find -- if you squinted it was effectively a metal baseball bat. It was a little heavier than Symon would have liked, but not to the point that he wouldn''t be able to use it effectively.


    The next time a centipede tried to take a bite out of him, it''d get hit with a big chunk of metal in exchange. It wasn''t exactly a sleek and deadly sword, but its heft was still reassuring to Symon -- not to mention more effective in his inexperienced hands.


    Part of Symon was tempted to try and study some of the books -- who knows what interesting things he could learn about such a foreign culture? -- but he was already pressed for time as is. Besides, he wanted to make a start before the sands warmed up too much.


    Stepping outside, he couldn''t help but take a few moments to appreciate the sunrise. It was beautiful, bright pinks and oranges streaking through the sky and colouring the sands. Even the spirit constantly churning around his vessel seemed to slow down, as if it was taking in the view.


    He supposed it must have been a long, long time since Keelgrave had seen the sunrise.

 Chapter 9 - Pound Sand

    At first, Symon thought the sprawling white dunes and triple suns were beautiful in a mysterious alien way, but after hours of trudging through scalding sands, he wondered what he had ever seen in the scenery.


    He was completely out of vitality, meaning his magic wouldn''t heal him anymore. While he wasn''t in any immediate danger, his parched throat and sunburnt skin weren''t doing his mood any favours. He would have loved a rematch with a centipede, both to assuage his pride and gain some much-needed vitality, but thus far he hadn''t seen a single sign of another living creature.


    Out of boredom, he asked the sand to show him his attributes and abilities. He stepped forward to subtly cover the titles section of his status with his body, but the sand seemed to know he didn''t want this revealed and stopped before reaching that part.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.67


    Constitution: 0.92


    Acuity: 0.72


    Intelligence: 0.73


    Will: 0.98 {+0.01}


    Vessel (Vitality): 0/8


    Abilities:


    Idealise (2): Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (4) {+1}: Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.


    Essence Bond (0): Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit''s.


    Passives:


    Poison Resistance (0) ]


    "Huh, guess you''re good for something after all, spirit. Our little vitality tug-of-war must have trained my magic."


    <Yeah yeah, I already know I''m a blessing.>


    Symon gulped slightly at that wording -- what did Keelgrave know about blessings? He hoped it was just a common figure of speech here too.


    He felt the spirit wrapped around his vessel slow its constant churning as it focused on the words in the sand. <Some strange abilities you''ve got there, kid. How''d someone like you even get cursed?>


    "Err, I wasn''t lying when I told you I didn''t remember anything before waking up in the sands," he lied.


    Truthfully, the memories of his past life were there exactly as one would normally expect, and he hadn''t had any memory problems since waking up, although the gap between this life and the previous was... fuzzy. Two beings had talked to him and argued with one another, he thought, but he couldn''t recall any specifics from that time. "Besides, I haven''t even noticed any curse, unless you count being in this desert."


    <Well, I certainly see an issue. Where''s your mana at?>


    Symon scanned his status again, but couldn''t see it. He was pretty sure he wouldn''t have missed something as cool as having mana. Just in case, he asked the sand to specifically show him his mana, but nothing popped up.


    <It was a rhetorical question, fool. Don''t they have those wherever you''re from?>


    "Well forgive me for being a little confu-"


    <That was also rhetorical.> The ghost let out a sigh directly into his thoughts, as if Symon was an absolute idiot for not knowing how mana works. He assumed it was probably what wizards used to make their fireballs, but how was he supposed to know the details?


    "If you''re just going to be a dick, I''ll poke you with my magic again. How about we see if the extra level makes it hurt more?"


    <But that''s exactly it! It''s not real magic. You should be absorbing mana from the environment, attuning it to yourself, and then shaping it into a spell, but you don''t have a single lick of mana in you!> Keelgrave took a moment to cackle gleefully. <You don''t even have a core! Not even a tiny one!> The malicious laughter returned, with such an intensity and duration that anyone who needed to breathe would have found it impossible.


    No fireballs or flying around like a bird was unfortunate, presuming the spirit was even telling the truth, but Symon hadn''t exactly been living his life with the expectation he''d learn magic. Not even a full day ago, he was just a normal guy on Earth.


    Symon shrugged. "Oh well, what I''ve got is pretty cool already. The next centipede I see is going to get seriously messed up."


    <I''ll give you that it''s pretty unique, and probably quite strong in more competent hands. But it''s passive, right? All automatic. What do you think is going to happen if you walk through a town and someone gets just a little too close to you?>


    That was... a little more concerning. He had control over his magic in the sense that he could force it to work overtime with a flex of will, like when he concentrated on draining the bearcat to death or his little battle with Keelgrave. But he couldn''t actually stop the magic. It had worked without him even noticing its existence on that centipede -- and took quite some time at that -- so it wasn''t like it ripped all the life out of things in an instant. Although, it had been growing in power...


    He would probably be fine, as long as he was careful and wasn''t somewhere crowded. Although, every level increased the range of his ability, and after the battle with the spirit it could reach almost half a metre from him if he really strained it. Previously, he''d fantasised about getting so strong that he could reach the monsters before they could even get close, but now that wasn''t seeming like such a good idea. He wanted to heal others, but it sounded like this would already have some complications.


    He wasn''t interested in being forced to live his new life as a monster-slaying hermit, he''d only been doing it out of a need for survival. Power wasn''t worth being forced to live as a hermit just to avoid killing people who came too close, not to mention he still hadn''t given up on his dream of saving lives. He''d be a poor medic if he killed all his patients...


    Still, he''d be grateful to have those problems because it meant he''d survived this damned desert. He''d eke out every scrap of power he could to give him the best chance of even making it out, and then he''d deal with the problems that were caused as they became relevant. There must be some way of controlling these powers. He''d just have to ask around -- from a distance.


    Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Keelgrave had been blissfully silent while Symon ruminated.


    "Oh well, we''ll just have to figure that out when we get to it." He''d simply do his best to forget about problems he couldn''t do anything about. Talking reminded him of another one of his more immediate issues; the lack of water. His throat was dry, his lips cracked, and to top it all off his previously pale exposed skin was now more of a lobster red colour.


    He''d survive until tomorrow at least, but he was starting to think that three-day survival without water rule didn''t apply to places with triple the normal number of suns. With perfect timing, Keelgrave actually said something helpful for once.


    <There, bottom left of that dune. See the raised line of sand?>


    Symon squinted at the signalled area. It was still a hundred metres away, but he could see a small mound that indicated something was buried in the sand. It was the perfect length for another one of those centipedes...


    With a smile, he slowly approached the pile of sand, noticing the half buried mandibles at one end. He was confident he could take on a centipede; he''d barely survived his first fight with one, but he''d been ambushed then. Now the tables were turned, not to mention the increase in his abilities levels. Finally, the poison resistance should hopefully combat the dangerous part of the centipede, the paralytic stinger. Considering it didn''t have a single level he wasn''t going to rely on it, but it would be a much appreciated safety net.


    He knew he could beat it; it was only a question of maximising the amount of vitality he could drain from it while minimising the amount of vitality he needed to spend healing injuries. With that in mind, he crept around to the back of the creature and hefted the metal pipe. He could see the outline of the centipede''s body, but swinging into the sand would blunt the impact. Still, he wasn''t about to wake it up and let it climb out of the sands just so he could have an honourable duel.


    He was barely a single step from the buried creature when something unexpected happened; a steady trickle of vitality flowed towards his vessel from... his foot? Glancing down, he saw the familiar grey thread exiting from his shoe and leading into the sand. The centipede must have noticed this a moment after Symon, as it let out a hiss as it began quickly sliding out from its burrow. Reacting quickly, Symon swung the pipe down in a heavy arc, getting a glancing blow to the side of the creature as it uncovered itself.


    Symon took a few steps back in response, the small amount of vitality he''d prematurely stolen instantly pulsing back out towards his red and raw skin. He''d rather save it in case he was injured, but he couldn''t stop the healing from applying passively.


    <Legs wider boy, stay balanced. Keep your hands lower down on the club.> The voice of Keelgrave was quick and to the point, and Symon automatically followed his guidance by widening his stance and moving his sweaty palms to a new position on his weapon.


    The centipede had fully extricated itself from the sand by now, letting out a chittering hiss at Symon as it did so. Fully revealed, it was slightly larger than the previous centipede he killed but otherwise identical. It seemed more angry than hurt after Symon''s attack, letting its displeasure known by charging straight towards him.


    It was quick, although this was more due to its many legs allowing it to rapidly stop, start, and turn. He was fairly confident he could outrun it in a straight line, not that he was planning on fleeing.


    Symon wasn''t sure if it was just wishful thinking, but he thought it might have been favouring one side after his admittedly lacklustre blow. Either way, the injury didn''t stop it from coiling up like a spring a few paces away from him. He''d seen this exact move from the other centipede, meaning he wasn''t surprised when it launched itself through the air, claws outstretched to try and grab him. His foreknowledge allowed him to swing his club like he was playing baseball, hitting it in the belly with a satisfying crack and sending it flying backwards.


    The centipede landed on its back with a puff of sand and began writhing around painfully as it tried to right itself. Viscous green fluids dripped from its side, spurring Symon onwards as he charged it. Right as the centipede flipped itself back onto its legs the club came crashing down on its rear end, demolishing the base of its stinger and sending large cracks through its carapace.


    His hand was briefly close enough for his magic to be in range every time he swung the club, a grey thread flicking out to snatch away a trickle of vitality. It wasn''t much by itself but together with the swings from his pipe and the confusion of the ambush, the centipede decided to flee.


    He was initially worried that it would just burrow away through the sand, but it seemed unable or unwilling as it skittered across the surface. With its injuries, Symon caught up quickly, delivering a few running blows as he chased it down. It was difficult for him to land a solid hit on such a short target while also sprinting after it, but even his awkward blows began piling up the damage.


    Eventually, the centipede seemed to realise there was no getting away and turned back to continue the fight. Symon was still completely uninjured and even had a small amount of vitality stored up, so he simply continued pushing his advantage. Swing after swing, the centipede was battered away every time it lunged at him, little chunks of vitality being ripped out and stolen by Symon''s magic every time.


    After every hit, the centipede came back just slightly slower until Symon saw an opening; the centipede had given up on launching itself through the air to grapple Symon and had instead elected to simply try and bite him on the leg. With a quick couple of steps backwards, the targetted leg was pulled out of danger and its position in space replaced by a metal pipe being swung upwards, smashing right between the outstretched mandibles and once more flipping the creature onto its back.


    It writhed similarly to the first time it was flipped, but it was immediately clear to Symon that the centipede was now out of the fight -- its creepy face was smashed inwards, seeping thick green blood. One of the mandibles was completely removed, and the other was damaged so badly that it was rendered useless.


    The creature would likely die from the wounds already inflicted, but he had no intention of letting the vitality go to waste. Using the pipe to pin the creature down -- it was dying but Symon didn''t want to get scratched up by its death throes -- he held a hand out, slowly moving it closer until it was close enough to the centipede for his magic to connect to it. Thankfully for Symon, his magic didn''t seem to weaken as distance increased -- enemies were either in range or not.


    Symon concentrated on the feeling of his magic, encouraging the ability to strain with as much power as he could. It would have been difficult for Symon to put how exactly he did this into words, like describing sight to someone who had been born blind. He simply worked his magic harder in the same way he worked his muscles harder to swing the pipe. It felt perfectly natural to him.


    In fact, it felt good when the vitality flooded into him. It wasn''t nearly as overwhelming as when he''d drained the bearcat, so he was able to keep a close eye on the centipede as he watched the vessel tattoo slowly fill. It was good in the way a strong coffee was, refreshing and invigorating without being intoxicating.


    He did however have a hard time quantifying -- in a meaningful way -- just how much vitality he was draining. Sure, while he could see that his vessel stored a new point of vitality about every 20 seconds, he had no idea what that point actually represented. Just how much healing could that one point actually do?


    If this was a video game, the nerd in him would experiment on his character -- is one point of vitality enough to heal a broken finger? A broken hand? What if he cut it off?


    However, that very same nerd knew he wasn''t just in a video game. He wasn''t at all interested in experiencing very real pain just to test the specifics of his abilities. Besides, he was almost certain he''d end up taking plenty more injuries naturally as he attempted to make his way out of the desert, giving him ample testing material.


    That being said, he was quite proud of how the fight had gone. He''d barely even used his vitality drain until the centipede was already beaten -- he''d won with just his mind and muscles, without needing to use a single point of vitality to heal himself.


    As the centipede breathed its last and the final trickle of vitality entered his vessel, he had one final thought.


    Maybe he wasn''t so bad at this?

 Chapter 10 - Casual Stroll

    <You''re really bad at this,> said Keelgrave.


    "Oh c''mon man, that was pretty good for my third-ever fight!" came the response from Symon.


    <Yeah, you smashed up an overgrown bug. What''s next, picking fights with some orphans?>


    "Oh I see now, you''re just being rude to make up for giving me helpful fighting advice earlier... you do care about me!"


    <What? No! If you get yourself killed by a house pest I''ve got nothing keeping me in this realm, and wherever my spirit goes next ain''t gonna be too nice.>


    "Sure, sure. Thanks for the advice anyway, it did help."


    <Quit getting all emotional like a damn woman and show me the rewards you got from that fight.>


    Symon rolled his eyes but acquiesced ¡ª he wanted to see them too.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.70 {+0.03}


    Constitution: 0.92


    Acuity: 0.73 {+0.01}


    Intelligence: 0.73


    Will: 0.99 {+0.01}


    Vessel (Vitality): 2/8


    Abilities:


    Idealise (2): Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (5) {+1}: Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.


    Essence Bond (0): Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit''s.


    Passives:


    Poison Resistance (0) ]


    Symon was pretty pleased with the solid improvements across the board, especially to his strength. He wasn''t sure if it was just a placebo, but he could have sworn his heavy metal club was just a little easier to swing. His healing was lagging behind his vitality drain, which in one sense was a great thing because it meant he wasn''t getting injured too often. And yet, it had the downside of meaning that when he really needed healing, it wouldn''t be as effective as it could have been.


    He didn''t think that was a problem he could fix any way other than taking injuries while fighting, which he intended to keep to a minimum. Either way, he was happy with the results of the fight, especially because it had healed his sunburn and fixed the perpetual dryness in his throat.


    He was beginning to realise just how temporary this fix was; his magic healed the issues caused by dehydration instead of generating water out of nowhere. His body was still telling him he was thirsty, he just wasn''t being negatively impacted by his dehydration ¡ª at least as long as he had vitality remaining. He was already working on a solution for this by hopefully finding some water where the still distant trees were, but he needed more vitality to tide him over in the meantime.


    To that end he resumed his journey, paying close attention to the base of any nearby dunes for any hidden centipedes. The heat was still uncomfortable, but the spare vitality at least made it pain-free.


    "Hey Keelgrave, what do I have to do to get a heat resistance or something?" Maybe magic could make things easier for him.


    <Oh, simple enough. Just have to get burned until you''re nearly dead.>


    Damn, that centipede venom must have really messed me up if I got poison resistance, good thing I was unconscious for most of it...


    "Is there anything a little less dangerous?" Symon would rather have a resistance before he almost died.


    <Smaller doses over a longer time work too, adventurers tend to pick up a couple of low-level resistances in their careers. You really don''t remember this stuff?>


    "Everything from before I woke up in the desert is completely blank," he lied with a casual shrug.


    <Really? Why do you understand Zyrashian then?> responded the mental voice of Keelgrave.


    Symon begrudgingly realised Keelgrave had asked a good question. He''d been so excited to meet someone he could talk to that he hadn''t considered how strange it was that he could even communicate with them in the first place. In his defence, he''d been attacked by said individual almost immediately after ¡ª which tends to disrupt such questions ¡ª and he''d just never returned to the thought. Symon only spoke English, and it wouldn''t be unreasonable to call him extremely untalented at learning new languages, as proven by years of Spanish classes resulting in almost nothing. Why was it then that he could communicate with Keelgrave?


    "I''m just speaking English... aren''t you?"


    <I didn''t realise you were stupid and deaf. No, I''m not sullying my tongue with your foreign speech!>Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    "It sounds like you are... how else would we understand each other then?" It wasn''t like the native languages had been downloaded into his brain when he got here or anything, he still only knew English and how to count to six in Spanish.


    <I''m not exactly speaking, I don''t even have a mouth. I just think at you real hard with whatever I want you to hear and you understand me.> As if to illustrate his point, he somehow whistled a little tune into Symon''s head. It was kind of catchy.


    "Huh, neat. So this isn''t a magical translation from that Ledger status system thing?"


    <Hah, I wish. No, those enchanter bastards charge an arm and a leg for translation rings and they always fizzle on you right when you need them most. Why, there was this one time we were stopped in Sturvid port, I saw this one foreign beauty with the most massive¡ª>


    "Keelgrave! Christ man, I don''t want to hear it," he said, screwing up his eyes as he tried to move on, speeding up his marching through the sands as if to run away from the conversation.


    <hr>


    Symon had come to begrudgingly admit that Keelgrave might have had a point earlier ¡ª killing the massive centipedes wasn''t actually that difficult. As long as Symon kept an eye out and didn''t allow them to get the drop on him, they usually went down to just a couple good hits from the pipe. It was splattered in green bug fluids but was holding up remarkably well ¡ª it hadn''t deformed despite him repeatedly slamming it into centipedes, and occasionally the sand, not that he was particularly physically strong.


    By the fourth centipede of the day, he''d got things down to a science. The trick was to take things slow and to not panic; trying to finish the fight in a single hit while the centipede was still buried distrubuted too much of the blow into the sand, allowing the centipede to unburrow mostly uninjured. No, instead Symon had learned that it was best to wake the centipede up by stomping loudly up to it, and only attack it when it was mostly out of the sand.


    Doing this, Symon would stun the centipede on the first hit, allowing him to drain the vitality safely. While the centipedes weren''t too common, he still filled his vessel up in good time, helped by not taking any injuries beyond small scrapes. Even with the interruptions, he''d made some solid progress to the trees as well, to the point that he realised the distance was shorter than he''d originally estimated.


    In fact, from this distance he realised that it wasn''t a forest of trees as origininally thought. Instead, it was more of a tall grassy field interspersed with the occaisonal tree, like an African savanna.


    Symon found it quite difficult to judge distances in a massive white desert with no landmarks. Still, there was no way he''d make it to the vegetation at his current speed... but who said he couldn''t go faster?


    One of the first benefits he''d noticed from his magic, before even fighting the first centipede after he woke up here, was that the healing soothed his muscles, preventing his legs from getting sore even while trudging up and down slippery dunes. Theoretically, he could spend the whole day sprinting without rest ¡ª if he had enough vitality.


    That was a big "if", of course, but even if he had to stop to hunt centipedes along the way to refill his vessel he''d be making much faster progress than otherwise. He really didn''t want to spend a night out on the sands, so if he was going to do this he''d have to really commit. He could just go back to the collapsed tower, but then he''d be back to square one. He wasn''t even sure that there''d be shelter or civilisation at the treeline, but it was his only hope.


    He could go back to slowly die back in the tower, relying on others to save him. This wasn''t going to happen, both because there was no one else around in the first place and because Symon didn''t want to be reliant on others anymore. He''d been so weak and frail in his past life, and he wanted to preserve his newfound autonomy. A hail mary run to safety had a higher risk of him dying earlier, but was also his only realistic chance of long term survival.


    His mind made up, Symon''s fast walk slowly accelerated. All this loose sand didn''t lend itself to running, and it was difficult to maintain his balance even while just jogging, but he persisted. His speed made it harder to spot the buried centipedes, but he was confident that he''d be able to outrun them anyway as long as he didn''t step directly on one.


    Gradually, his pace sped up. He would charge up a dune, often slipping and scrabbling on all fours, and then practically throw himself down once he reached their tops. He would have chosen to slide down them when going downhill, but they weren''t steep enough for that. Still, he felt almost as if he was ice skating with how every step would slip a little as they landed.


    He fell a few times, but the soft sand would always cushion his fall. He had the vitality to spare if he was injured anyway, although he''d rather save it for his running.


    Symon''s rapid movement was sloppy at first, but it didn''t take long for him to get more comfortable with it. By the time an hour had passed, he was jogging along at a steady pace and was only down by a single point of vitality. This was pretty good, considering a centipede would give him two or three points of vitality depending on how big it was and how much damage he dealt to it before draining it. He was breathing heavily, but his muscles told him they could work all day.


    When he took a quick pause to calculate how long his vitality would last, he found he was completely relaxed, like he''d just stood up from watching TV on his couch and hadn''t just jogged through a miserably hot desert for an hour. He was uncomfortably warm and sweaty, but that was all. It had a way of fading into the background after so much time in the heat anyway.


    Still, a ''pretty good'' pace wasn''t enough for him to make it to the trees by nightfall. Symon knew deserts got cold at night, but he wasn''t sure how survivable it was; his healing could delay things if it did get dangerously cold, but he wasn''t sure if it would last long enough to see him through to the morning. Shelter would be an important next step, once he found water.


    But what Symon was most concerned about were the monsters. It stood to reason that there could be nocturnal creatures he''d never seen before, and he''d hate for his first contact with them to getting his legs chewed off whilst he slept. Even if there wasn''t anything new, he''d be in for a rough time if a centipede stung him with its paralytic while he was sleeping. He wasn''t interested in testing the strength of his poison resistance.


    With a shudder, he imagined what would happen if a bearcat found him while he was sleeping. He had no idea what their hunting habits were and would prefer to never find out.


    With renewed determination, he set off for his destination at his previous pace, quickly working his way up to an all out sprint. Trees meant water, and water meant civilisation.


    It had to.

 Chapter 11 - Evolution

    Symon soon discovered that healing magic made sprinting through the desert only marginally more pleasant than it would otherwise be. He wasn''t in pain, but that didn''t mean he was having a good time. There was no muscle soreness, no blisters on his feet, no cramps. But there was sand. Everywhere.


    "Keelgrave. I. Never. Want. To. See. Sand. Again," Symon gasped out between breaths. Said spirit had told him that he could probably just hold his breath as long as he had vitality, but he wasn''t interested in wasting the precious resource. Although he had always wanted to go scuba diving...


    <Hah, times like this I''m glad I don''t have a body! Sure must suck to be you right now,> came Keelgrave''s echoey mental voice.


    It did suck, actually. Sand was everywhere it wasn''t supposed to be, although he tried to put on a brave face ¡ª no point in giving the spirit more things to mock him for.


    Speaking of, he felt as if Keelgrave might have warmed up to him slightly. Well, he was frankly still a massive dick, but he had delivered some useful advice along with the insults, especially when it came to fighting. It was simple stuff, but Symon''s sheltered life hadn''t taught him the basics like how to make a proper fist so that he didn''t break a finger trying to punch things. The thumb goes on the outside, apparently. He thought back to his ineffectual attacks against the first centipede he fought and cringed internally. He wasn''t going to mention that fight to Keelgrave.


    Monsters and beasts ¡ª there was a difference between the two, but Keelgrave only knew examples of each and not the actual distinction ¡ª were apparently common threats in this world. So common, in fact, that it was common for young teenagers to need to know how to fight off such threats. Symon hoped the years here were longer than on Earth.


    Keelgrave taught Symon this fact and various other tidbits, seeming to accept his lie that he was an amnesiac. There was nothing else to do while he ran, so he let the spirit ramble on, giving interesting cultural facts in between outrageously exaggerated tales from his sailing days.


    It couldn''t be described as easy, but eventually, Symon no longer had to focus on his running despite how fast he was going over the difficult terrain. The exercise was oddly meditative, but he tried not to let his mind wander too much ¡ª after all, he still had to keep an eye out for centipedes. He''d been running at an all-out sprint for almost two hours ¡ª something that would have been completely impossible for Symon even a few days ago, let alone a trained runner ¡ª when he stretched and re-adjusted his posture. He kept his back a little straighter, pulled his shoulders back slightly, and stopped swinging his arms quite so wildly. Symon wouldn''t have thought anything of it, if not for Keelgrave interrupting himself in the middle of his tall tale.


    <So I said to the guy, he must have been twice my height but I wasn''t scared one bit, I says to hi¡ª wait, what was that?>


    "Huh? What was what?" Symon asked, slowing his running to look around him for any threats.


    <Your running, boy! Just look at your damned Ledger.>


    He hadn''t checked out his status after every centipede, but he wasn''t sure why Keelgrave was making such a big deal out of it now. It was his fault anyway, considering he''d mocked him for wanting to check it after every little thing. Just what had changed? Right as he opened his mouth to speak, the sand at his now stationary feet began moving.


    [You have acquired a new passive: Running]


    [Running (0): Boosts running effectiveness and efficiency.]


    "Oh, that''s handy," Symon said with a shrug. It was helpful, but a little... bland?


    <Well I''ll be...> Keelgrave started before trailing off. <Kid, how much running did you do before we started working together?>


    That was a nice way of describing their forced merging, Symon thought. He still considered the question.


    "Basically none, maybe a bit when I fought the bearcat. It was mostly just me jogging in a circle while it bled out."


    <When you fought the what?>


    "Err you know, that massive cat thing with the bear-like head?"


    <You mean the sand panther in the ruined tower?>


    Symon blinked. That was a much better name. "Um. Maybe?"


    Despite not having a mouth, or even a body, Keelgrave still let out a sigh. <Anyway, what I was getting at is that it''s supposed to be difficult to unlock passives. You can''t just... you can''t bumble around like a fool and get two of them in as many days! The Ledger only records them after extreme danger or dedication!>


    Symon thought back to the first ever centipede he fought. He remembered the feeling of his lungs ignoring his commands, how weak his heartbeat felt as it slowed down to nothingness and he blacked out. It was a good thing he had plenty of distractions to save him from thinking about his near-death experience, like the slightly less near death by dehydration. Hopefully less near, at least.


    "I''d say the danger was pretty extreme," he said softly. Checking his vessel, he found it a quarter full. "Anyway, this was full when I started my sprints. I''m not sure how much damage I''d caused to my own legs to use up six points of vitality, but it had to be a lot. No way I''d be walking around now if it weren''t for my healing magic."


    <Hmm... I suppose it was unreasonable for someone with your stats to run around for so long without any breaks... I guess you are pretty pitiful.>


    As usual, Symon rolled his eyes and did his best to ignore Keelgrave. He''d get bored eventually, right? He decided to distract them both by looking at the gains he got from killing centipedes to build up a full vessel.


    [ Status:


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.77 {+0.07}


    Constitution: 0.98 {+0.06}


    Acuity: 0.78 {+0.05}


    Intelligence: 0.74 {+0.01}


    *Will: 1.00 {+0.01}


    Vessel (Vitality): 2/8


    Abilities:


    Idealise (3) {+1}: Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (6) {+1}: Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.


    Essence Bond (1) {+1}: Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit''s.


    Passives:


    Poison Resistance (0)


    Running (0) ]


    Symon''s eyes widened ¡ª these were some serious gains. In fact, he''d almost doubled his gains compared to the last time he''d checked! It turns out non-stop fighting and running around while carrying a heavy metal pipe is great for training your physical stats, who would have guessed?


    Every ability had improved, even his essence bond. He had no idea what the ability did beyond representing that he had a ghost living on his vessel, and no idea what the ability improving would mean. Turning his attention inward, things were normal ¡ª inasmuch as being partially possessed by a snarky spirit could be described as normal. He couldn''t even use the ability for anything, it was just there. So why wasn''t it classed as a passive?


    He''d been so focused on the impressive improvements that he''d skipped right past his will stat. What was up with the little star? Right as he opened his mouth to ask, Keelgrave cut him off.


    <Oh shit kid, get ready!> came the strangely giddy interjection from the spirit. This only made Symon more confused ¡ª what was he supposed to be getting ready for? Thankfully, the words in the sand didn''t wait to answer his question.


    [Congratulations!


    You have reached the pre-Ledger peak attainable in a statistic for your species.


    As a reward for your efforts, choose any one statistic to evolve.


    Reaching the pre-Ledger peak in further statistics will not provide additional rewards.]


    Interesting, he thought. The sand, this Ledger or whatever it was called, hadn''t spoken to him so directly since he''d woken up.


    [Strength Evolution: Limit Break.


    Gain the ability to overclock your strength beyond what is safe for your body.]


    [Constitution Evolution: Last Stand.


    Upon receiving a mortal blow, cling to life for a single second.]


    [Acuity Evolution: Danger Sense.


    Gain a passive and intuitive understanding of the danger posed to you by those you are aware of. Additionally, sometimes gain a subtle premonition of attacks if you are unaware of them.]


    [Intelligence Evolution: Eidetic Memory.


    Gain a perfect memory; this applies retroactively.]


    [Will Evolution: Pain Resistance.


    Gain a passive pain resistance]


    "Damn..." Symon and Keelgrave said in unison. Every one of these options seemed incredibly powerful, so it was no surprise to Symon that he wouldn''t be able to get them all just by improving his other attributes.


    Limit Break seemed almost tailor-made for Symon; he would be able to effectively exchange vitality for a temporary strength increase. Instead of being a last-ditch emergency technique, Symon could use it almost freely, ignoring the main drawback as long as he had the spare vitality to heal himself after.


    Last Stand was interesting and could potentially be very powerful depending on how it interacted with his healing. Was he always going to die after that one second, or could his healing kick in and save him from death? He didn''t know and had no way to test it without picking it and risking death. Besides, even if it did work that way his healing was still low-level, an extra second of healing would be barely noticeable. It could be very powerful in the future, but Symon didn''t think he should risk it, especially when he wanted immediate power to survive this desert.


    Danger Sense was harder for Symon to see a use for considering he already found everything in the desert dangerous. The warning could be helpful, but against a sand panther ¡ª he still wanted to think of them as bearcats ¡ª a warning would only give him a moment to lament the unfairness of life before he got killed. He discarded this one as an option.


    Symon''s eyes travelled down to the next possible evolution. Having a perfect memory would be nice, especially considering it would apply to all his existing memories including those of his past life, but it wouldn''t do much to help him survive. Maybe he could use the perfect memories of previously half-remembered facts and documentaries to recreate existing technologies from his past life, but he quickly discarded both the idle fantasy and this evolution as an option.


    <No point taking this one kid, you''ll waste all your time trying to be smart to just end up being a weak idiot. May as well stick to what you do best and be a strong idiot.> Keelgrave helpfully advised.


    With the increase in his Strength stat, Intelligence was now the lowest of the bunch. That didn''t mean he was stupid, he just hadn''t been able to improve it much in this empty desert. There was no indication of which specific actions had increased the attribute, but he thought his minor Intelligence gains came from his planning and theorizing.


    Being a paramedic wasn''t as difficult as being a brain surgeon, sure, but it was still something that required intense study. It wasn''t easy! He kept these thoughts to himself though, knowing Keelgrave was just being a dick and didn''t actually believe his own words.


    Maybe.


    Either way, he wasn''t going to take Eidetic Memory. Pain resistance also seemed nice, but it sounded more like something that would improve his quality of life, not help him survive. The bearcat was his benchmark for a proper threat ¡ª if it wasn''t for his ambush almost immediately crippling the one he encountered previously, he wouldn''t have stood a chance. Considering that, only Limit Break gave him a fighting chance considering it would make him faster and hit harder, especially with his big heavy pipe weapon. Pain Tolerance would make being mauled to death less painful, but Symon would rather avoid that altogether.


    "So are you thinking I take Limit Break too? It''s got great synergy with my other abilities, will give me the immediate power we need to survive, and should still be useful long into the future. Presuming we live."


    To his surprise, Keelgrave took his time to think things over. Didn''t he want Symon to be a big strong idiot?


    <I dunno, kid. Numbskull that you are, those abilities of yours still give you some real potential. Limit Break is great, in fact I would''ve taken it if I was offered it for my first evolution, but...> Keelgrave trailed off, and Symon gave him time to think. He was in a rush, but he could spare a few minutes for such an important permanent decision.


    <You''ve got two passives already, both of them because your healing kept you going through something that should have been impossible for you. You could get so many passives and resistances by being smart with your healing magic, worth far more than a simple strength increase. But...> He trailed off, as if unsure of if he should keep speaking.


    When he continued, Keelgrave had an odd tone in his voice that Symon hadn''t heard before. <You wouldn''t know this, but when you take a lot of injuries, it hurts your mind too. You don''t notice it at first, but it never gets fixed no matter how many rare potions or healing abilities get used. It''s the pain, Symon. Every time it reaches into you, it takes something you never get back.>


    Silently, Symon looked down at his options written in the sand. He made his choice after only a few moments and wasted no time before resuming his running. He told himself he was just eager to start improving his running skill, but his mind was too busy going over Keelgrave''s words to be concerned with material gains.


    Behind him, the words in the sand updated themselves before fading away.


    [ Abilities:


    Idealise (3): Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (6): Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.


    Essence Bond (2) {+1}: Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit''s.


    Passives:


    Pain Resistance (0)


    Poison Resistance (0)


    Running (0) ]

 Chapter 12 - In The Groove

    Symon''s shoes pounded into the sand, his long strides melting away the distance between him and the not-so-far-off plant life. He''d be there tonight, thanks in no small part to his new Running passive. There was nothing outwardly magical to it, he wasn''t even as fast as the expert runners back on Earth, but that didn''t matter to Symon.


    All of Symon''s abilities made him feel powerful, but they always felt borrowed. They were instinctual to use, but he still knew that they were something external that had been gifted to him. He hadn''t worked for it. But when it came to Running, he''d earned it through his own effort and copious amounts of sweat. Sure, the healing had made it easier to push himself beyond his limits, he wouldn''t deny that, but it hadn''t been easy.


    Moving around at all under the searing suns was bad enough, but the constant sprinting and fighting required to gain the ability only made things worse. His healing stopped him from collapsing from heatstroke, but that only meant he could suffer for longer.


    It was well worth it, he thought. The rush of wind through his chin-length hair was intoxicating, although he tried not to think about how much sand and dried centipede goo must be stuck in there. He''d never been able to just let loose like this, to revel in the strength of a normal, healthy body. It felt good.


    His stats had grown gradually enough that he only recognised how much better he was once he deliberately compared himself to how he used to be. The improvements to his mental stats weren''t very noticeable, both due to their nature and because they''d had the least progress, but his physical attributes made a big difference.


    He didn''t look any different, perhaps a bit skinnier from the lack of food and water, but his slight muscles were wiry and taut. They responded quickly and powerfully to his commands as he charged across the desert, leaving a small cloud of sand in his wake like how a boat leaves a trail through water. Whenever he stopped to fill up his vitality by draining a centipede, he used the same simple tactic he always did, simple and efficiently executed.


    He would stomp up to the buried centipede, giving it time to unburrow itself. As soon as it did, it would beeline for him and leap through the air, at which point he would slam it back down to the ground with a powerful swing of his metal pipe. If he wasn''t careful, this would kill the centipede and reduce the amount of vitality he could get. Thankfully, his Acuity helped him to precisely hit it in a non-lethal spot as well as moderating his use of force, allowing him to drain the creature to death while it was stunned.


    He''d been doing this running and killing strategy for a few hours now and hadn''t seen any progress in his abilities. This was normal, according to Keelgrave ¡ª the easier things were for him the more time he''d need to spend on it before he saw another level, and by now the centipedes didn''t pose much of a threat.


    Naturally, his running had shot up three levels, and judging by how long ago the last one was he was due for a fourth soon. It was nice to get such immediate feedback, both from the numbers in his status and how much better he was moving across the dunes. He''d also slide down them almost as if he was skiing them, his improved balance meaning he never once tripped ¡ª he wasn''t sure if this was from his Acuity, a side effect from Running, or a mixture of both.


    When he''d first set out from the tower, he worried it would be impossible to get to the treeline before nightfall. Now, though, with the benefit of his improved stats and the Running passive, it was all but guaranteed.


    <hr>


    Symon wiped the sweat from his brow, a centipede curled up on itself to his side. It was unmoving.


    By his estimation, this last centipede had provided enough vitality for him to be able to make it to the vegetation without needing to stop for another refill. At this distance, he could make out more details. The few trees he saw were scraggly and barely clinging to life, but the further he looked the healthier they became. It wasn''t near dense enough to be called a forest, so the giant swathes of dry grass made him think of an African savanna mixed with a wheat field.


    This wasn''t some small oasis of life either, but the true end of the desert. The plants extended as far into the distance as he could see, gradually growing greener, thicker, and taller as they went. He would have sunk down to his knees in relief, but he didn''t want to spend a second longer than he had to in the desert.


    <Ah, it''s been a while,> came Keelgrave''s faintly echoing voice. It really had been, Symon thought. It hadn''t even been two full days and yet he felt like it had been a lifetime. Despite his body feeling better than ever, he was exhausted. Physically, the vitality he''d acquired kept him in peak condition, but it did nothing for his mental state.


    He was doing alright, all things considered, but he hadn''t been given a single moment to properly relax. He''d been constantly on guard for immediate threats, not to mention constantly worrying if he''d find water or civilisation. He''d never gotten used to the heat either, which kept him miserable. Running had helped him to empty his mind, but even then he had to watch out for buried centipedes and keep track of his vitality.


    He hadn''t even found solace in sleep, his nights filled with strange half remembered dreams. He was eager to put this whole ordeal behind him, which is why he didn''t slow his running until he''d reached the first plant.


    It was a tiny cluster of lifeless brown grass, and altogether boring. He passed it by, and then another 30 seconds after. Then another, and another, and another until he eventually stopped in front of a field of waist high yellowish brown grass. It seemed unnatural, both in how suddenly it seemed to start as well as how tall and dense it was. Symon wasn''t sure if that was just how this type of grass grew, or if there was some magical explanation.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    He couldn''t see anything dangerous about it, but that was precisely the problem ¡ª the grass was tall enough that any number of things could be hiding in it. By now centipedes weren''t a major threat to Symon, but what if one surprised him? Unlike in the sand, he''d have no way of knowing how close he was running to one.


    And what if it wasn''t just one? If conditions were good enough for grass to grow ¡ª no matter how unhealthy it looked ¡ª then would that mean more centipedes lived here too? Symon found it very possible. He''d really rather not find out...


    He pictured himself wading through the grass, centipedes swarming until he drowned in a tide of chitin, their stingers preventing him from doing anything as they ate him alive.


    "Hey Keelgrave, you know any other way around this grass? I''ve no clue how many creatures are in it that want to eat me, and I can''t even see the other side."


    <It''s a big ring, all the way around the sand. Maybe there''s a path through somewhere, but I don''t see why there would be.> Keelgrave''s answer was disappointing, but expected. <No one ever comes here, they''d have to be fools to try,> he continued with a mocking tone.


    Symon was about to retort that he didn''t exactly choose to come here, but decided against it. He wasn''t the only one who had ended up in that tower, after all. Who was Keelgrave really mocking?


    Symon realised he''d skipped over some details in his haste to get out of the desert. "Uh, what''s actually on the other side of all this grass?


    <Oh, the sea. There were a couple small settlements along the coast, but if we''re unlucky we''ll just have hope we can wave down a passing ship.>


    Then it seemed to Symon like his only option was to go straight through the grass. He''d just have to deal with the inevitable problems as they arose.


    Glancing at his vessel, it was less than a third full. It would be smarter to backtrack and kill centipedes until he filled it back up, just so that he had the most leeway going into unexplored territory, but he really, really did not want to go back into the sand, even for an hour. Besides, night would fall in a couple hours so he needed to be quick if he didn''t want to be caught out in the dark.


    Although, there was something else he could try first. There was no reason for it not to work, but he''d never had the opportunity to try.


    Slowly, he raised his hand toward the low wall of grass. It seemed unnatural, the way the sparse few tufts of dead grass suddenly transitioned to a thick wall of waist high grass, but he continued all the same.


    When the tip of his finger was two handspans from the grass, the familiar grey thread of his magic struck out like a snake, latching onto a stalk of grass for the barest moment before jumping to the next, then the next, then the next.


    Symon yanked his hand back, surprised by the suddenness of his own magic ¡ª he hadn''t even deliberately manifested the thread yet. His culling of the centipedes had gotten so repetitive that he''d almost forgotten that it would also work on his own, so used he was to forcibly draining as much as he could.


    In front of him, a small patch of the wheat coloured grass had turned a darker brown before collapsing under its own weight.


    Glancing down at his vessel tattoo, he saw that it was... exactly the same as it was previously. Well, he had only drained a few strands of barely living grass, he reasoned. If a centipede only gave two or three points of vitality, out of his maximum of eight, then he''d probably need a metric tonne of grass for a single point.


    Luckily for Symon, he had exactly that.


    <hr>


    "Gaze upon my works, ye mighty, and despair," Symon said to himself before letting out an evil chuckle. Behind him was a trail of brown, wilted grass, stretching back for a few hundred metres until it reached the sand.


    Okay, sure, all Symon had done was stroll through the grass and let his magic feed his vessel, but he was still very happy. The gain was slow ¡ªhe''d only just now noticed the liquid in his tattoo had risen slightly, not even enough vitality for the number to change on his Ledger ¡ª but something was infinitely better than nothing.


    He could, in theory, never need to fight another centipede again, instead using just the vitality from the grass to keep himself stocked up. And it would only get easier too, when he progressed deeper in where the grass was full of life ¡ª not to mention the levels to his Seize ability that he would earn.


    He''d already learned that challenging yourself was an important aspect of developing and growing your stats and skills, but enough quantity was a quality all its own...


    <Kid, we might just make a proper evil overlord out of you. I know a couple small island tribes we could become god-king of, once we get out of here and train you up a bit more.>


    "Heh, I never knew you were such a jokester."


    <Errr... yeah, that''s right.>


    <hr>


    Symon had been walking through the grass for half an hour without anything happening. His draining wasn''t able to clear the grass ahead of him fast enough if he ran, which necessitated the slower pace. The heat was ever present, but by now he was deep enough that the grass was chest height, blocking a large amount of the sunlight from hitting him. It was easy to walk on, the vegetation holding the ground together so he wasn''t constantly sinking and sliding around the sand. He would admit, in retrospect, that he could have been more vigilant.


    <Symon. Turn around, slowly.> Keelgrave''s voice was serious, so Symon did exactly as asked.


    Pausing his walking, he turned back the the way he''d came. He could see the trail of wilted brown grass behind him, but nothing else. All the living grass swayed gently in the breeze, but nothing out of the ordinary stood out.


    He stood like that for some time, muscles tense and ready to react, eyes darting around looking for threats.


    "I don''t see anything," he whispered.


    Almost immediately after, he spotted a flash of movement going against the natural swaying of the grass. Not even a dozen metres away, something stepped out onto the path he''d made.


    It was vaguely humanoid, two arms, two legs, and a single head, but that was as far as the similarities went. It was immediately obvious that the gaunt figure wasn''t human. It had a chitinous exoskeleton like a centipede, but this was the brownish green colour of the surrounding grass instead of black.


    Instead of hands, the unnaturally long arms ended in massive scythe-like blades which twitched back and forth, an almost palpable bloodlust begging to be released.


    Its legs were skinny but yet extremely long, putting its total height at over two metres ¡ª Symon had no idea how something so tall could have been hidden for so long in grass that only went up to his chest.


    On top of its triangular head were two large, spherical eyes. Despite being completely black, Symon knew they were looking directly at him. The pair of mandibles on its face unfolded, revealing a too-human mouth that let out a long, deep hiss.


    He gulped and readjusted his grip on the club, staring back at the creature. Without breaking eye contact, it stepped sideways into the grass ¡ª barely above waist height on the creature ¡ª before ducking down and vanishing into the field.

 Chapter 13 - Close Encounter

    <Gods below Symon, I think that''s a fucking razor stalker. Whatever you do, don''t let it get behind you.>


    Hearing that, Symon whirled around, although he saw nothing but grass. He''d been walking in a mostly straight line, so there was an area of dead grass drained by his magic roughly an arm''s length to all sides of him, as well as a trail of it stretching behind him where he''d walked. Beyond that, nothing but a sea of chest-high grass.


    The monster was somewhere in there, and Symon had no idea where. It could be barely a metre away right now, and he wouldn''t know.


    His heart was hammering in his chest, so loud the monster could probably hear it. That thing was terrifying, and he didn''t like the way it had been able to walk right up to him without being noticed. Although, that wasn''t entirely accurate; Keelgrave had been able to warn him, somehow.


    "C-can you tell where it is? I can''t see shit in all this grass."


    <Only when it gets close, I can feel its life blazing like a bonfire. You know how many people it must have eaten to get so strong?>


    He didn''t, but he could imagine it was a lot. He didn''t have a convenient spell to tell him how strong a monster was, but it looked deadly. Just the blades alone were as long as his entire forearm ¡ª he wasn''t liking his chances if that thing got close to him. He was half full in terms of vitality, which would have been enough to at least heal enough to survive a single good hit, at least on paper. In reality, the thing would savage him in a whirlwind of blows and wouldn''t give him a chance to heal.


    "Just tell me the second you sense it again, okay?"


    No response came from Keelgrave, but he could feel the spirit focusing. The warning would be better than nothing, but if the monster rushed at him from behind he doubted he could react in time. He had no idea why it would deliberately reveal itself to him when it could probably have just killed him immediately, but he wasn''t going to waste any more time thinking about it when he needed to act.


    He needed to clear more of the grass around him to prevent the creature ¡ª a razor stalker, apparently ¡ª from getting the drop on him. He moved slightly closer to the wall of grass around him. It wilted away quickly, but only in a small area.


    Once again he lamented his lack of range. Ironically, the only way for him to open up the area was to get closer to the stalker''s potential hiding place.


    Holding onto his metal pipe for comfort, he took a larger step towards the wall of grass. After a tense moment of waiting for the stalker to leap out of the grass, nothing happened. Forcing himself to take deep breaths, he slowly walked around the perimeter of dead grass, widening the circle as he spiralled outwards.


    Eventually, he''d widened out an area he felt relatively comfortable in. Nothing strange had happened, which served to only make his nerves grow. He''d almost prefer to just be attacked, instead of constantly being on edge waiting for something to happen.


    Symon wasn''t sure what his best move was. He could retrace his steps back out to the sand, where the stalker wouldn''t be able to ambush him, but that would mean getting further away from the coastline that was supposedly on the other side of this grass. It would also be obvious to the monster that he was trying to flee, which might spur it into attacking him before he could escape the grass ¡ª he still wasn''t sure if this was a good or bad thing.


    Ultimately, fleeing would only delay the inevitable; he had to make it through the maze-like grass. He stood in the middle of his cleared circle considering his next action for a while without any further sign of the stalker, eventually deciding he would climb one of the nearby trees for a better view. It wouldn''t do to waste his time planning with incomplete information.


    The short trip to the closest tree he could see was disturbingly uneventful. He repeated his previous strategy of clearing the grass in a wide area around it before turning his attention to the tree. It had a thick trunk, with most of the branches concentrated in a wide canopy at the top. It wasn''t very tall, so with a running start he was able to jump up and grab onto the lowest hanging branch, swinging wildly for a moment before hoisting himself up. It wasn''t easy, but it was possible ¡ª even with his heavy bat tucked into his belt -¡ª thanks to the strength gains he''d acquired in his trek through the sands.


    It was amazing to Symon just how much stronger he''d gotten in such a short time. There were plenty of non-magical people back on Earth who were stronger than him, but it had taken him days to make the gains that they made over months and months. His muscles were still the same skinny size, he conceded ruefully, but hopefully when he got some food into him that would change.


    With this strength, it didn''t take him long to make his way up the tree before stepping onto one of the larger branches. Gazing out from his new vantage spot, he wasn''t too happy with what he found.


    As he''d seen previously, the thick wall of grass continued to grow in height and healthiness, growing greener as it got further away from the desert. The path of dead grass he''d left behind him as he travelled was the only thing breaking up the endless field of grass. Speaking of, his magic had been steadily leeching away the vitality from the tree he was on, although he was leaving the drain in its default state instead of consciously empowering it in an effort to keep the tree alive for longer.


    It didn''t seem to be working very well, as the already brown leaves had all darkened and begun to fall off. He was pretty sure that draining the tree would just kill it while leaving the structure intact ¡ª dead trees didn''t immediately fall over, after all ¡ª but he didn''t want to risk the branch he was standing on snapping any more than he needed to.Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    With one hand on the trunk for balance, he did one last quick check of the area. There was nothing odd in the immediate area, no sign at all of the stalker. Had it just left him alone? He wasn''t sure why it would do such a thing, but then again he wasn''t sure why it would deliberately reveal itself just to hide away right after either.


    The feeling of safety from being tucked away up on a tree helped Symon to calm down, but even with a clearer mind, he wasn''t sure what the stalker was trying to do. Either it was stronger than him and should have just attacked him, or it was weaker than him and shouldn''t have shown itself in the first place.


    It wasn''t acting like how he''d expect a wild animal to behave. Maybe he''d inadvertently walked into the creature''s territory, and it was just trying to warn him away? If he thought of it as a protective mother bear, it made sense that it would just want him to leave. Perhaps it was useless to apply Earth logic to this alien creature, but it made Symon feel a little better to try and reason things through.


    Right as he was about to climb back down the tree, a flicker of movement deep into the grass caught his attention. Or rather, considering the grass was constantly swaying gently in the breeze, it would be more accurate the say that it was the the absence of movement in an area that caught his attention.


    There was a patch of missing grass, maybe a five-minute run from where he was now. It wasn''t a very large area, but he definitely should have spotted it earlier ¡ª other than the dead grass he''d left in his wake and the occasional tree, it was the only thing breaking up the massive field of grass. He stared at it, trying to figure out why he hadn''t noticed what looked like a crop circle earlier.


    By now, the tree he was in was well and truly dead, the trickle of vitality long since stopped. It maintained its structural integrity though, allowing him to keep an eye on the clear patch for long enough to see something interesting. At first, he''d thought it could be the stalker clearing an area for some unknown reason, but the truth was something Symon was much happier to see.


    Before his eyes, the edge of the distant circle expanded slightly as figures walked around the outside, slashing at the grass as they went. After expanding the circle to an acceptable size, they walked to the centre of it. The figures appeared to be communicating, one of them waving its arms around wildly before stomping off. The remaining three did something on the ground and, after a minute, sat down around a small fire.


    Symon''s mouth hung open. He''d done it, he''d found civilisation! Well, sort of. Only a 5-minute run and he''d reach what could only be a small camp of people. The razor stalker was still out there somewhere, but as long as he could group up with the others he was confident that they could at the very least fend it off.


    Of course, he was pretty worried about being intercepted just before he reached safety... although maybe he could shorten the distance somehow?


    "Hey Keelgrave, am I safe to let those people know I''m here? They''re not gonna attack me or anything, right?"


    <What? No, why would they do that? Last I knew there was no one even living here for bandits to prey on, they''re probably adventurers or just lost like you are.>


    Well, that was a relief ¡ª he was actually worried they could be cannibals or something. Shouting out across the grass plains felt risky, but that razor stalker already knew where he was, so it wasn''t like it''d make things worse for him.


    Steadying himself on the tree branch, he cupped both hands around his mouth and, after coughing a few times to clear his dry throat, let out a loud "HEY!"


    Part of him expected an echo, but of course the flat field gave no response. Thankfully, the same could not be said for the people; the ones around the fire all stood up, while the one that had moved apart from the rest of the group walked a few steps in Symon''s direction. It was difficult for him to pick out any precise details at this distance, seeing the figures more as brown and white blobs, but he thought the closest figure was shading his eyes against the sun with a hand while looking vaguely towards Symon.


    With a laugh, he began waving frantically at the other people and before long the lead figure began pointing at him before shouting something back. He couldn''t understand him, but he wasn''t expecting to understand whatever language the group spoke. Even if he did, the distance would have made communicating long phrases impossible.


    The man ¡ª it was one of the bigger figures, and their shout back was deep voiced ¡ª turned back to his group and began waving his arms about animatedly as he presumably explained what he was seeing.


    Symon began climbing his way down the tree in a hurry ¡ª he didn''t want to be rude and force these people to come all the way over to him. The grass was short enough that they''d just be able to see each other if they were both standing straight, so it wasn''t like they could get lost on their way to meet each other.


    He paused halfway down the tree, hands grabbing onto the small stub where a branch must have once been. He couldn''t get too excited by the prospect of meeting people, he thought. The stalker was still out there, meaning he couldn''t relax at any point. It wouldn''t do to get eaten right before the finish line.


    Actually, didn''t the other people seem a little too relaxed? Symon was pretty sure that all but one of them had been huddled around a campfire. Shouldn''t they be more concerned about the monster in the grass? Unless... they didn''t know...


    "Shit," he said to himself, dropping down the last couple metres to the ground. "Keelgrave, how do you say the word danger? In as many languages as you know."


    <Ah, I see. Try varnak.>


    "Varnak!" Symon shouted as loud as he could, cupping his hands around his mouth. The lead figure looked back at Symon and waved, before turning back to his group.


    <Could be zaltei, maybe? Kid wait, that thing could be out there still!>


    Not content to just shout ineffectual warnings from a distance, Symon had begun sprinting towards the other people, all caution thrown to the wind. It was risky moving so fast through the grass, but he preferred that to leaving these people unaware of the danger that could be right behind them.


    When he shouted "Zaltei!" out while running, they all seemed to recognise something was wrong. He wasn''t sure if it was because they understood the word, or if it was just the normal reaction to a stranger shouting something in a panic while running towards you.


    Either way, they all turned to look towards him, the detail in the faces rapidly improving as he pushed the limits of his newly level four running skill. They were so focused on him that he was the only person to notice the razor stalker casually step out of the grass wall to their side.


    Almost too fast for him to see, it dashed forwards before plunging both of its scythe arms horizontally into and through the lead man''s chest, sending arcs of ruby red blood that glistened with the suns'' light. With contemptuous ease, it lifted him off the ground and flicked him off the blades, sending him flying a dozen metres through the air.


    It slinked back into the grass before vanishing, the whole process taking less than a second.


    Symon was just close enough to hear a mocking hiss before the creature disappeared.

 Chapter 14 - Paramedic Problems

    For a moment, everyone was frozen in shock. The razor stalker had hidden itself back in the grass, and the three remaining members of the group were staring at where it had just been.


    Symon was the first to react, sprinting towards where the fallen member had landed. The high arc he''d travelled in after being thrown through the air meant there was no convenient path through the vegetation to him, but Symon just bulldozed through the thick grass. To their credit, the others quickly followed behind him, keeping an eye out for the stalker as they rushed after the injured man.


    At least, Symon hoped he was just injured. Those blade arms were big, and both of them had gone all the way through that guy''s torso. If this were Earth, Symon would have expected the victim to be already dead, but with the benefit of magical skills and constitution enhancements, he had no idea what he''d find.


    They quickly found the fallen man. He was in better condition than Symon had feared but worse than he''d hoped. His white robe had two large, rapidly expanding splotches of bright red on them, and he was lying on his back letting out a wet wheezing sound.


    Symon bit his lip as he glanced down at the injuries, worrying over what he should do. His healing might be able to stop the man from dying, but there was no way he''d be in fighting condition after. If he did that, Symon wouldn''t have any vitality left if -- or more likely when -- the razor stalker returned. Plus, they''d still be down one fighter. Of course, there was another possibility...


    <What are you waiting for, take his vitality before he bleeds it all out!> said Keelgrave, apparently having the same dark thought. In a way, it would be the best choice; they''d be down a fighter either way so he may as well take advantage of the situation to refill his vitality, right?


    But no, Symon wasn''t that type of person. His dream had always been to save lives, and he didn''t think he would ever forgive himself if the first time someone was in need of him, he just sacrificed them to improve his own chances. Mind made up, he crouched down as close as he could get to the man without putting him in range of his draining magic.


    A man behind him said something in their language, the words containing lots of "oo" noises. He had no clue what was being said, but looking back he saw the man with a confused expression on his face, probably wondering who Symon was and what he was doing. He was wielding a spear and shield but wasn''t posturing threateningly, seeming to understand that Symon was trying to help. Behind him stood two people; a man with a short sword in one hand and what looked like a big staff strapped to his back, as well as a woman with two long curved daggers.


    All of them had dark brown skin and white robes over some type of armour -- just leather for most of them, but the guy with the shield also had a chain mail vest. They were all fit and had more than their fair share of scars.


    All three of them were staring at Symon.


    "Keep watch! Zaltei!" Symon barked out, using what he hoped was their word for danger as he pointed to the grass around him. The lead man nodded before saying something to his compatriots, and they quickly made a circle around Symon and the fallen man before slashing at the grass in an effort to deprive the razor stalker of hiding places. They seemed to know how to handle themselves, although he wasn''t sure why they were so willing to follow the orders of a complete stranger.


    His safety as secure as he could reasonably make it, Symon refocused on the injured man. Both blades had entered through the right side of his chest and stomach, curving to come out of his front. The wounds were still gushing blood, and even in the short few moments he''d been communicating with the others, the wheezing breaths had grown noticeably weaker. He was wearing that same leather armour as the others, but his had a metal breastplate too ¡ª the blades had initially completely avoided it by hitting from the side, and had dented the armour outwards where the exit wounds were.


    Moving closer, his draining magic automatically stretched out to finish off the stalker''s victim, but Symon was expecting this and redirected the thread to the grass around him. It wouldn''t take long for him to kill off all the nearby grass, and when that happened he wouldn''t be able to stop his ability from pulling out the man''s life force. Without wasting any more precious time, he placed his hands over the entry wounds and squeezed his eyes shut.


    He''d never consciously channelled his healing magic, let alone used it on another being, so he simply gave in to his instincts. The vitality swirled around in his vessel a few times before pulsing outwards through his body, flooding through him as it looked for anything to fix. He focused the energy towards his hands, which came easily enough. They felt all tingly and warm, but it wasn''t uncomfortable. Like a hydraulic press, his will slowly forced the vitality further and further, concentrating it towards his fingertips.


    With a final mental push, he felt some of his vitality seep out into the air. He couldn''t physically see it, and he lost all connection to it after it left his body, so he wasn''t sure if it worked.


    The injured man ¡ª actually, Symon quickly downgraded him to the dying man ¡ª was still rapidly worsening. The vitality seemed to dissipate uselessly the second it left Symon''s body.


    Glancing at the nearby grass to check the rate it was being drained, Symon estimated he had only one more chance before he wouldn''t be able to approach the man without draining him. He had an idea; it wouldn''t be pleasant for either of them but it would be better than dying.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    With a grimace, Symon pushed his fingers into the open wounds on the man''s side. He writhed slightly in pain, but was too weak to fight Symon off. Someone shouted something, but he ignored it. Once more, he focused the vitality into his fingertips before forcing them out into the wound. The man relaxed slightly, but Symon wasn''t sure if that was because the healing was working or because he was on death''s door. Knowing that he''d need to use all his vitality to give this man even a chance of survival, he pulled all he had from his vessel and forced it into the wounds.


    Symon let out a breath he hadn''t realised he was holding, scrambling backwards to ensure his magic wouldn''t just rip all the vitality back out. The man was blissfully unconscious, and truthfully his wounds didn''t look much different. His healing had worked ¡ª stemming the bleeding from a torrent down to a bare trickle -- but hadn''t been able to do much else, at least visually. Hopefully, it had also worked against any internal bleeding, but only time would tell.


    Looking up, the others had made excellent progress on clearing out a safe area ¡ª the whole healing process had only felt like a few seconds to Symon, but must have been longer in reality. They''d arranged themselves in a triangle around Symon and the wounded man, looking outwards for the threat. The leader of the group ¡ª the one with the spear and shield ¡ª glanced back at Symon, his eyes and mouth opening in an expression of surprise as he stared at the injured man.


    He must have thought his friend was done for...


    He said something to Symon with a questioning tone, to which Symon gave a thumbs up. Upon realising that this probably didn''t translate, he instead gave the man what he hoped was a reassuring smile.


    The dying man was saved, or at least had his death temporarily delayed, but Symon wasn''t sure what the next step should be. Thankfully, the leader pointed to the wounded man, pointed back the way they''d come from, and then said something. Keelgrave chose this moment to interject.


    <He''s asking you if it''s okay for him to move that guy, Atabek, back to the camp.>


    "I''d hope we could keep him still, but it''s probably safer from the razor stalker back at camp. Uh, how do I say that?"


    <Just nod your damn head.>


    <hr>


    They were only a dozen metres away from the start of the clearing that contained their camp, so the leader hadn''t had any trouble picking Atabek up by his collar with a single hand and marching back. Symon cringed at the lack of a stretcher or something similar to transport the wounded man, but this was at least better than leaving him to be eaten by that monster.


    There wasn''t a single sign of the stalker, including from Keelgrave and his as of yet unexplored ability to sense strong sources of life. It had only attacked Atabek when he was separated from the group, which could have explained why they were unbothered on their short but tense trip back.


    What was more confusing was why the stalker hadn''t attacked Symon earlier ¡ª he''d been alone basically the whole time and would have made for a much easier target, being unarmoured and mostly unarmed. Hopefully he wouldn''t have to worry about that in the future though; the group seemed impressed enough by his healing that he doubted they''d try to send him off on his own or something.


    The suns were still up, so he tried to strike a balance between staying close to the group and keeping his distance from the uncomfortably warm campfire. How could they all get so close to it?


    At first, conversation was difficult with the group. As it turned out, Keelgrave hadn''t even heard of their native language, let alone known how to speak it. They did share a language in a form of a widespread trade pidgin, the de facto lingua franca of this world. Symon found it pretty unoriginal that it was simply known as ''Common''. The leader, Aslan, was the only member of the group who could hold a proper conversation in Common, although the others all knew at least the basics. In Symon''s case, Keelgrave simply translated for him, though he complained about it often and made Symon swear he''d learn it on his own.


    It felt a little strange to stand around a campfire facing outwards, but it was necessary to keep a look out for the stalker. The monster was incredibly fast, but they''d cleared a large enough area of grass around the small camp that it shouldn''t be able to sneak up on them. Speaking of, their camp was simple but still much more comfortable than what he''d had previously. They''d given him an extra serving of the surprising tasty stew after he''d devoured the first in an instant, and also let him drink deeply of their waterskins. It was warm and metallic, but it might as well have been pure spring glacier water after two days of marching through the sweltering desert.


    They''d even given him one of their spare white robes, which they''d explained was coloured as such to reflect the suns'' rays. He almost felt they were being too nice to him, but he supposed he had warned them about the razor stalker at risk to his own life, and then saved Atabek''s when he''d been attacked. It made sense they''d be grateful, although he still felt a little guilty about accepting so much from people who didn''t have that much more than him.


    They were all criss-crossed in scars -- the only woman of the group, Safiya, was even missing an eye ¡ª despite none of them being much older than him. They said they were from a tribe on a separate landmass, far off to the east. They were on a sort of coming of age journey, where they were meant to explore the world for a year and return home with a trophy from a mighty beast they''d slain, although Aslan confessed they''d been underpepared for the dangers of this desert.


    Symon had informed the others, loosely, of how his healing worked. They took the fact that merely being in his presence was dangerous in stride, instead focusing on what they could do to help him heal Atabek further. Keelgrave had mentioned healing magic was fairly rare when they''d first met, but it was one thing to hear about it and another to see these strangers ignore so many red flags simply because of his miraculous healing.


    Speaking of, the recipient of said healing hadn''t changed much. He was still unconscious, and while his wounds had been bandaged, Symon wasn''t sure he''d recover as is. The man apparently had an impressive constitution, but those scythe arms had gone through his chest and stomach. His stats were a big help in his continued survival, but judging by the many ugly scars over his body, a stronger than average constitution was not the same as proper healing magic ¡ª none of Symon''s wounds had left even the slightest of marks on his body after being healed.


    Night was rapidly approaching, and Symon wasn''t confident Atabek would survive through it with a damn hole through his lung. They had to come up with a way of getting enough vitality before they were forced into hunkering down for the night, or else the man would die.


    Symon wouldn''t let that happen to his first patient in this new world.

 Chapter 15 - Healing Hands

    <I''m still not getting why you wasted so much vitality trying to save this guy. A big guy like him, he''d have to hold as much vitality as what, a dozen centipedes? At least.> Keelgrave had been simmering on this topic for a while, hinting at it, but he finally decided to bring it up directly.


    "Christ Keelgrave, I''m not going to kill an innocent guy just to grow stronger!" he hissed out, trying to whisper and only partially succeeding. He didn''t really need to bother, considering no one else could understand English, but it still felt wrong to speak such dark thoughts aloud.


    <And look where that''s landed you, now you''re out of vitality and all you have to show for it is a useless cripple,> Keelgrave retorted. In a sense, he had a point -- if the razor stalker returned, the convalescing Atabek would just be a liability, and Symon would have to fight off the creature without anything in his vessel.


    Symon prided himself on always endeavouring to think things through logically and maintain control over his emotions, but he was hardly an unfeeling robot. They''d only been attacked after they came to help Symon, and he couldn''t repay their kindness by sacrificing them just to improve his own chances. He supposed he should have expected this ruthlessness from the spirit that had attempted to possess him in their very first meeting, but being told to murder this guy in cold blood seemed especially egregious.


    But Symon was the one who had won the battle for possession of his body, meaning he would continue to act according to his morals. Keelgrave was just a dark passenger along for the ride.


    He''d already decided that he''d work with these people, just like he''d originally offered to Keelgrave. With that in mind, he needed to figure out how to safely get more vitality for healing the injured man. As if on cue, one of the three remaining adventurers moved closer to Symon.


    He maintained a safe distance -- already having been warned about the dangers of Symon''s ability -- and started speaking. The words were stilted, and Keelgrave informed him that the man''s accent in Common was pretty bad before translating them to English for Symon, but their genuine intent shone through across the language barrier.


    "I am Serik. One thousand gratitude for save life of bond brother," the man said before pressing his fists together in front of him and bowing deeply.


    "Oh, uh... no problem at all," he replied, Keelgrave supplying the words for him to use. Having to go through a translator was getting old for Symon already and he''d only just met these people; he already knew his first big goal beyond survival would be learning the language himself. It would make Keelgrave happy too, which would hopefully mean he''d complain less often.


    Serik puzzled over the meaning of the words for a moment before nodding.


    "You are, hmm, medicine, yes? Medicine need death for life?"


    Symon returned the nod. It was a pretty accurate way of describing things.


    "Hmm, medicine take little death? Or medicine take all death?"


    "A little death? You mean, do I have to fully drain something or can I just take a little? If so, it''s the latter." Serik stared at him blankly. Right, his grasp of Common wasn''t great. Symon wasn''t judging him though, considering he wouldn''t have been able to understand a single word without Keelgrave.


    "Medicine can take little death, yeah," Symon said sagely. With that, a massive smile grew on the other man''s face.


    "Good! Symon take Serik little death. Symon give little life Atabek!" he said while thrusting his hand out as if to shake Symon''s. Instinctively, he took a step back to keep the man out of the dangerous area around him. Although, if he was understanding the man right, he wanted to have his vitality drained.


    "Wait, wait!" he said in English, before slowing down and waiting for Keelgrave to translate what he wanted to say next. "It''s very dangerous, okay? You stay still and let me make sure I don''t accidentally take too much." Seemingly recognising that this wasn''t something you wanted having a miscommunication during, Aslan -- with his superior Common -- held a quick conversation with Serik before turning to Symon.


    "Serik understands the risks and will remain still. He kindly requests for you to take half of his life energy and give it to Atabek."


    "I don''t think that''s a good idea, taking half will mean he won''t be able to fight if the monster returns. How about I just take a little bit from everyone here, that way we''re all still in fighting condition."


    The group leader''s eyes widened. "Truly? Your mana will not be strained?"


    Was that a common problem? Symon had never encountered such a thing before, but then again he''d gotten the impression his abilities weren''t considered normal -- he didn''t even have mana, as far as he knew.


    "No, it should be fine. I''ll just take a little bit to ensure your man will recover from the wounds on his own, I think taking enough to fully fix him would take more than everyone could safely spare."


    If the process of draining vitality and using it to heal was completely efficient -- which he suspected it wasn''t -- he''d effectively be evenly spreading Atabek''s grievous injuries between three additional people. If the razor stalker returned, it would be best that the group could front three tired but still combat-capable warriors instead of four people -- Symon wasn''t including himself in these figures.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.


    After Aslan explained the plan to the others, he and Safiya stood guard while Serik volunteered to go first. Symon manifested the magical thread as he approached the man, the thread dancing through the air as it tried to reach out for him. He didn''t react at all to the appearance of the magic, the same excited but nervous expression on his face as he maintained eye contact.


    Once more, he stuck out his arm as if requesting a handshake, but this time Symon didn''t step away. He allowed the thread to snap forward and attach to the man''s hand, eliciting a sharp intake of breath. The vitality steadily flowed into Symon''s vessel, before he stopped the process by stepping away once it had filled enough to accrue one point of vitality.


    Using Aslan as an intermediary to ensure no details were lost, Serik informed him that he felt fine and was good to keep going. It was difficult to determine how much vitality Serik would normally hold, but considering a centipede was only a small fraction of the man''s body weight while providing three points of vitality, taking just two should be fine.


    They repeated the process, Serik once more claiming he could spare some more vitality after Symon pulled away. The man swayed slightly when he spoke but seemed otherwise fine, although Symon still decided he''d taken enough from him. It wasn''t clear exactly what the side effects of having your vitality drained were, other than that you died once you lost enough, so he figured he shouldn''t push it and learn about some horrific downside by using it on his new ally.


    Now that he thought about it, he realised he didn''t actually know much about vitality. He understood it as some sort of metaphysical life force, but that didn''t clear things up much. For Symon specifically, it was easy to simply picture it as the way he powered his healing magic, but what did vitality do for those without his unique magic? Was it simply a representation of someone''s overall health, or was it something the body normally used to heal itself, akin to a far weaker version of Symon''s magic?


    He had no idea, and it seemed the others knew even less than him; it was just something they accepted was part of them and never thought about, like how you would never consciously think about what your kidneys were doing unless you felt something wrong.


    What he did discover was that the amount of vitality someone had was at least partially linked to their Constitution attribute. He''d realised this after everyone donated differing amounts of vitality -- Safiya had the lowest constitution of the bunch and could only spare a single point of vitality before calling it quits, while Aslan had the highest and could give two without only very minor side effects. At first he thought it was purely because of the difference in body size, but the two men were of similar height yet could safely provide different amounts.


    He wished he had a proper way of seeing how much vitality someone had -- Keelgraves ability to sense the living wasn''t that precise. If he could work out how much vitality he could safely extract from volunteers, perhaps he''d be able to work out some ways to securely maintain his vitality reserves. It was a potential solution to his problems that he''d have to investigate further once he was somewhere safe.


    With five points of vitality in his vessel, Atabek''s chances of long-term survival had shot way up. Without wasting any time, he moved back to the unconscious man''s side and placed his hands over the injuries. Once again, his thread shot out and was promptly redirected to the scarce amount of vitality remaining in the freshly cut grass at his feet. It wouldn''t last long before being emptied, but Symon already knew what he needed to do.


    All of his gathered vitality shot out of his hands and entered the wounds, so Symon stepped back and allowed the vital energy to do its thing. All of his external wounds sealed over by the time a minute had passed, leaving pink skin that stood out from his brown skin in their wake. Judging by how Symon''s injuries had healed, they''d eventually return to their normal colour without leaving a scar.


    Atabek still didn''t look great, nasty bruises covered half his torso and his breathing didn''t sound very relaxed, but he no longer had the open wounds. The fact that he hadn''t died already had meant the first round of healing must have at least partially helped with the internal injuries, with this extra dose of healing making Symon confident that the man would eventually recover even without any further healing magic.


    There were smiles all around after he informed the group of Atabek''s positive prognosis, but Symon found it difficult to get too happy after saving someone''s life knowing the monster that caused the injuries in the first place was still out there. No one had seen a single trace of it since then, not even Keelgrave with his life sense.


    At the very least, his Ledger had made some improvements, although he doubted it would make much of a difference against something that seemed so powerful.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.78 {+0.01}


    Constitution: 0.99 {+0.01}


    Acuity: 0.8 {+0.02}


    Intelligence: 0.78 {+0.04}


    Will: 1.01 {+0.01}


    Vessel (Vitality): 0/8


    [ Abilities:


    Idealise (4) {+1}: Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (6): Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.


    Essence Bond (4) {+2}: Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit''s.


    Passives:


    Pain Resistance (0)


    Poison Resistance (0)


    Running (4) {+4}]


    It had been a while since he''d checked out his Ledger, so it was hard to pinpoint exactly where the gains had come from. Most interestingly, both his Essence Bond and intelligence had increased far beyond their usual speed. What had he been doing that would result in the Ledger recognising such a large intelligence enhancement? He had to admit that he hadn''t done anything amazingly smart recently.


    Similarly, he wasn''t sure why his bond with Keelgrave had levelled up so much, or even what the upgrades were actually improving. Intelligence would allegedly increase his ability to learn and retain information, as well as apply this knowledge, but neither he nor Keelgrave noticed anything different about their connection via Symon''s vessel.


    He was happy he''d made progress, but it paled in comparison with the threat of the razor stalker. They''d have to do something to eliminate the monster, ideally as soon as possible. Everyone had been very vigilant, but even magically enhanced human beings weren''t perfect. Nightfall was fast approaching and they would soon need to sleep, especially the adventurers who had donated vitality.


    They needed to kill or at least permanently drive off the stalker before night; the need to sleep in shifts would mean there''d only be two combat-capable people standing guard. All it would take was the slightest lapse the monster could cut through them all.


    It just wasn''t feasible to remain on the defensive for so long. The stress would wear them down until they eventually slipped up. Symon already had a pit in his stomach, knowing he was being watched but not from where. The others were all eager to get revenge for their wounded companion, but charging off into the grass would get them all killed, not to mention what would happen if they left the still-recovering Atabek behind.


    They didn''t have a proper plan yet, but one thing was obvious.


    It was time to go on the aggressive. Instead of being hunted by the stalker, they had to be the predator.

 Chapter 16 - The Power of Planning

    It was one thing to decide to hunt a dangerous monster capable of killing you in a flash, it was another to actually accomplish it.


    First, he took stock of what was available to him. He had an empty vessel and a hefty metal pipe that made for a respectable club. The others had given him one of their spare white robes to keep the sunlight off him, but they didn''t carry around spare armour.


    In addition to himself, there were three eager and capable warriors hungry for vengeance against the monster.


    Safiya was short but fast, likely the only one who had a chance of dodging an attack from the razor stalker. She was constantly playing with her daggers, flipping and catching them or spinning them around from a small ring at the base of their hilt. Three thick scars passed over her left eye, which was permanently screwed shut. He was slightly curious if it was missing or just damaged, but didn''t feel it was important enough to ask such a personal question. When he had the vitality to spare, maybe he could see if it was something he could help with.


    Despite her small stature, she had some impressive muscles, causing Symon to look down at his own body and sigh. He hadn''t been healthy for long enough in his first life to properly work out, but hopefully he could change that around in his second life.


    Serik had a short sword and what Symon had originally thought was a quarterstaff, but now knew was a massive bow that had been unstrung when he''d first seen it. The archer had a quiver filled with equally massive arrows, each one looking more like a short javelin than something he''d expect a bow to shoot. Like all the others, he had an impressive physique marred by plenty of scars. In contrast with the rest of his battle-hardened appearance, he possessed a rounded, youthful face. They were all young, 20 years or so ¡ª the same as Symon ¡ª but Serik had an extra layer of youthful innocence to him.


    Despite his kind smile, Symon knew that an arrow launched by that bow would go right through him. It was a good thing they were all so impressed by Symon''s healing.


    Atabek still lay unconscious on the ground, his great axe by his side and bloodied robes removed. Even like this he exuded a dangerous aura. This was largely due to his impressive height and physique, even compared to the others in his group. He was built like a powerlifter, a layer of fat over an even bigger layer of muscles. With biceps that must have been as big as Symon''s thigh, he would surely have wielded that massive axe to great effect against the stalker were he not injured.


    Finally, the leader Aslan stood furthest away, keeping a vigilant watch for the return of the razor stalker. He wielded a shield and short spear, and while the others seemed to specialise, he was more of an all-rounder. He was surpassed by his teammates in their individual areas of expertise, but something about his ability to adapt to any situation appealed to Symon. He was also the only member of the group with a better than bare minimum grasp of the Common language, meaning he was the only one Symon could have anything approaching a proper conversation with.


    Symon found him polite and soft-spoken, bordering on deferential. It was actually a little uncomfortable just how much the man listened to Symon. Of course, it would be normal for the man to be grateful after he saved the life of his friend, but Symon wasn''t sure why it was so strong. The man was a similar age to Symon and had obviously seen his fair share of adventures already, making him feel woefully underprepared for this new situation by his previous suburban life.


    Symon knew something was up when Aslan expressed his "Deepest and most profound amazement at your incredible hunting techniques." All he''d said was "how about we set a trap for this thing?" and he was being called a military genius.


    Yeah, something is definitely going on. Keelgrave was even laughing in his mind.


    "Um, you don''t have to try and be so respectful to me man, we''re all in this together, right? I''m sure you''ve killed more monsters than I''ve even seen."


    "You honour me with your modesty, noble warrior monk of the sands!" the man half-shouted half-whispered, trying to contain his excitement as he pressed both his fists together and bowed deeply.


    "See, that''s what I mean. I''m just a... normal guy. Maybe, maybe you could say I have a noble spirit, but I''m not a warrior or anything else like that."


    "You''re... not a warrior?"


    "Not even slightly. Two days ago, I almost got killed by a single centipede. Like, I''m pretty sure my heart stopped for a bit. I''m trying to just not think about that."


    "For you to survive such a long journey through the sands, surely you must be a hidden master! Fear not, for I would sooner die than share your secret with another!"


    "No man, no, I''m really not anything special! I woke up in the desert without any memories only two days ago, you and your group are the first human beings I''ve seen." Once again, he repeated his lie of being an amnesiac. They seemed like good people, but he had no way of knowing how they''d react to him being from another world. Why risk it?This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    "You really don''t remember anything?"


    He shook his head in response. He didn''t feel good lying to these people who had been nothing but nice to him, but he''d seen too many movies about the government wanting to experiment on people with strange powers to stop.


    "Then... you are a hidden master who has removed their memories to challenge themselves!"


    Symon''s sigh was drowned out by Keelgrave''s laughter.


    <hr>


    Eventually, he convinced Aslan that no, it was not a test when he asked what they knew about razor stalkers, and he was in fact legitimately in need of information. As it turned out, they knew very little beyond that it was a dangerous monster that their mothers would sometimes use as a cautionary tale as to why little children shouldn''t wander off alone.


    Helpfully, Keelgrave had something more detailed. He should have expected he''d have something to share, considering he''d recognised the creature the second he saw it. He explained that the stalker is named as such due to its hunting pattern; it picks a single target to stealthily follow until it has an opportunity to quickly kill them and abscond with the body. He inferred that it wasn''t targeting Symon or Atabek, considering it had plenty of chances to kill them and hadn''t taken it.


    One of the three remaining adventurers were being targeted, and they had to kill the stalker before it succeeded. The cover of night would give the creature a large advantage, not that it really needed help hiding. They still weren''t sure how the creature was so easily able to hide in the grass in broad daylight.


    In response, the group huddled together to form a plan. Well, the rest of them huddled with an awkwardly large gap for Symon to stand in, far enough to not start draining them. They were fairly confident that the creature wouldn''t try anything as long as they were all together, but if they were ever separated it was sure to strike. Perhaps they could use that to their advantage.


    <I vote we just send them out into the grass one by one to see which one the stalker wants, then make a break for the coast while it''s eating.>


    "Dammit Keelgrave, we aren''t sacrificing our new friends!" he thought back at him. This was something they''d recently learned Symon could do as well ¡ª their telepathic communication was two way.


    <Friends? They only like your healing, boy. Not you. They''d sacrifice you, if you were the one it was hunting.>


    Symon''s lifesaving healing probably bumped up their view of him, but that didn''t mean they were using him. They probably wouldn''t have been so trusting, but he seriously doubted they''d try to offer him up to the stalker even if he didn''t have any helpful abilities. He barely knew this group, and the language barrier made things clunky, but he could tell they weren''t that type of people.


    Symon refocused on the group, doing his best to ignore Keelgrave''s less-than-moral ideas. He''d gotten pretty good at it by now.


    "We know the stalker is targeting one of you, but it won''t try anything unless its sure of its success. As long as we watch each other''s backs, it won''t be able to get the drop on us,'''' he said in Common. The translation was pretty fast by now, Symon thinking what he wanted to say and Keelgrave instantly providing the right words. It required an annoying amount of concentration, and his pronunciation was probably atrocious, but it worked well all things considered.


    "The problems is," he continued, "that even if we sleep in shifts, it''ll be too easy for the stalker to rip through us while half of us are asleep or recovering. We have to kill something that we can''t see and can''t catch before it gets the advantage of night on its side."


    That was easier said than done, something even the most optimistic member of the group picked up on.


    "We strong. Monster stronger," Safiya said succinctly. She had a point; even if they could face the monster in a fair fight, there was a considerable risk they wouldn''t win. They would have stood a better chance if Atabek was in fighting shape, but even if that were true the odds weren''t great. It would be better than slowly and inevitably being picked off, but that wasn''t saying much.


    Although, maybe Keelgrave''s idea to use someone as bait wasn''t entirely unreasonable. Only, they would be used to lure the monster into an advantageous position, instead of being sacrificed so everyone else could run away.


    He would have been the bait, but frankly put he was by far the weakest of the group. The abilities he had gave him incredible potential, but he''d been starved of vitality and unable to fully unleash it. Plus, he hadn''t been benefitting from the magical improvements of the Ledger for even two full days, while the others had some twenty odd years of experience. Granted, they probably weren''t making massive gains as babies, but who knew how it influenced childhood?


    Even if he had a full vessel, the healing wouldn''t count for anything if the monster killed him straight away ¡ª something that he found scarily likely. He had no armour, no supernatural speed to avoid damage, and a Constitution that hadn''t even surpassed some of the people back on Earth. His healing was fast relative to normal people, but such life-or-death fights were measured in seconds or scant few minutes. Much too quick for his low level healing to save him from a continued assault.


    It seemed that if his plan was to work, someone else would have to be the bait.


    Symon was hesitant to suggest this plan ¡ª after all, he knew he probably wouldn''t react well to being told he would make excellent monster bait. It turned out this reluctance was misplaced, as Serik instantly and enthusiastically volunteered for the role.


    This was in turn immediately vetoed by Aslan, who proved he was the leader for a reason when he said, in no uncertain terms, that the archer of the group would be the worst possible choice to deliberately send into melee range of a lightning-fast monster. Said archer begrudgingly conceded, but not before claiming that Aslan just wanted all the glory that came from being bait for himself.


    Symon thought he was making a joke at first, but Serik was dead serious. The whole reason they were even on this adventuring journey far from their home was to slay a mighty monster and prove their strength, and what better way to show your courage than to lure it using your own life. He didn''t follow this logic, but it made perfect sense to Serik.


    Symon would rather be a living coward than a dead hero, but to each their own.


    Aslan was the clear best choice, the reach from his spear meaning he might be able to keep the monster at bay for a few moments, and his shield meaning he could hopefully block a few hits. It was very uncertain though, considering the razor stalker was named as such for its massive scythe arms ¡ª they''d already seen the way they could dent metal.


    If they couldn''t win in a fair fight, then they''d just have to play dirty.


    "Hey guys, adventurers carry around rope, right?"

 Chapter 17 - Showdown

    It had been nearly two hours since the group had relocated to the tree where they''d first seen Symon, and there''d been no further signs of the razor stalker. Atabek had continued to slowly recover from his wounds but hadn''t yet woken up. His breathing no longer sounded so wet and wheezing, and he wasn''t leaking any blood, but he constantly murmured to himself as he slept. They all felt like he''d rest easier without the looming threat of such a dangerous predator.


    Aslan approached the edge of their clearing around the tree, where the flat ground rose into a wall of grass. His shield was held lazily at his side, while he used his spear as a walking stick. He spared a glance back at his teammates ¡ª they were all sitting around the campfire with their weapons in hand despite their relaxed posture. Serik was even softly strumming something on the string of his bow, seemingly without a care in the world.


    Focusing on his task, he let out a deep breath to calm himself. They''d been constantly on edge waiting for danger to strike, but he had to dig to new depths of courage now. Standing this close to the wall of grass meant the stalker could be right in front of him, and he wouldn''t know it. It was still light out, though not for long, so he looked out over the grass. Nothing broke up the monotony except for the occasional tree and dead trails of grass marking where Symon had walked. These trails looped out in a wide arc before reconnecting with the clearing ¡ª he''d be able to follow them in a big circle and end up back where he started, not that he was suicidal enough to go out there alone.


    He let out another deep breath. He''d been standing here on watch for barely a minute, and the stress was already making him jittery. It wasn''t so much the fear ¡ª although that was there too ¡ª but the slowly building anticipation of something finally happening after hours of being stalked by an unseen threat.


    It was one thing to be right next to your bonded battle brothers and sister, but being alone out here was getting on his nerves. They were watching him out of the corner of their eye from over by the campfire, but it wasn''t nearly as reassuring as seeing them by his side, weapon in hand.


    He stiffened as he spotted the barest flash of movement, something passing over the looping trail that Symon had made in the grass. It could only be one thing.


    He forced himself to relax ¡ª he needed to be as fluid as possible for what was to come. Gently, he raised his weapon before tapping the butt of his spear against the ground twice. The conversation of the people behind him instantly quieted in response.


    The air around him felt charged with danger, as if he''d been caught outside on top of a mesa back home right before a storm. The hairs on the back of his neck and arms stood straight out, though he''d lost all sign of the creature. Taking a half step backwards, he readied himself to dodge ¡ª without being able to spot it beforehand, he''d have to rely purely on his instincts and reaction time.


    Thankfully he was no slouch when it came to his Acuity, meaning his mind and body were just barely fast enough to react in time after seeing a wicked pair of curved blades emerge from the grass.


    "NOW!" he shouted as he fell backwards, the pointed tips of the razor stalker''s arms skittering off his shield with a horrible metallic screech. Rolling backwards, he shot to his feet and levelled his spear at his opponent. The fight was on.


    <hr>


    Symon was up in the tree, the one he''d first spotted the adventurers from. He watched as Atabek strode up to the grass wall and looked out over it.


    <You sure about this, kid? It''s a long drop.> Keelgrave''s voice was tinged with just the faintest touch of worry.


    He gave the rope he was holding a gentle tug, feeling the resistance as it scraped against the rough bark. "I''ll be fine," he replied, "its just like I''m rockclimbing and rapelling down a wall." He''d never been healthy enough as a child to do such a thing, and he''d been too focused on his studies as an adult, but the theory was there. How hard could it be? "You''re not afraid of heights, are you?"


    <What? Ridiculous... of course not!>


    Before Symon could investigate this obvious lie, Atabek thumped his spear against the ground twice.


    "Shit, it''s happening already, get ready."


    <Boy, I''m a ghost trapped in your vessel. I can''t do anything ¡ª I see it, go go go!>


    Right as Keelgrave said that, he heard Atabek''s voice call out "Now!". Needing no further incentive, he gripped onto his rope even tighter before stepping off the tree branch.


    He felt completely weightless for the barest moment before gravity began tugging him back down, his stomach pulling upwards into his chest as he fell. The rope he was holding was thick and heavy with plenty of friction, but he still fell like a bag of bricks. The branch he''d leapt from was only as tall as a single story house''s roof, and the floor was a combination of sand and a thick layer of grass, so he wasn''t too worried about hurting himself. He couldn''t complain though, his job was still much safer than Aslan''s.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel.


    He landed a little roughly, but without hurting himself.


    As soon as he impacted the ground, he glanced over at the fruits of his labour, of painstakingly subtly laying out their rope in a very particular pattern as they moved from their old camp back to the tree where Symon had initially spotted the adventurers from.


    The trap had been successfully sprung, the razor stalker caught in a net that was suspended in the air. Symon had used his own body as a counterweight, pulling the net tight and hauling the monster into the air ¡ª but this was not a perfect solution. The monster was lithe and light for its intimidating height, but even still Symon was being pulled off his feet and back into the air by the weight of the monster.


    If the monster released itself now, it would be free to run away or fight back as it pleased ¡ª but their whole point in trapping the monster was to give them every possible advantage and turn what would have been a dangerous fair fight into something favouring them. Gritting his teeth, he leaned back while hauling on the rope in the world''s most dangerous game of tug-of-war. He wouldn''t win this, but that was okay, he just needed to delay as long as he could and allow the team to deliver as much hurt as possible.


    Thankfully, they didn''t need any prompting as he could already see one of Serik''s giant arrows protruding from the monster. As he watched, another shot into the creature. Being the bait, Aslan was already in position, thrusting upwards with his spear into the creature. The blows didn''t seem very effective, scoring large marks in their wake as the metal spear tip glanced off the creature''s carapace, but every little bit of damage counted.


    Their ability to deal damage was limited, both due to the awkward angle and natural resilience of the creature, but also due to their limited timeframe. The creature wasn''t content to get whaled on like a pinata, the wicked curved blades on its arms flashing out in a whirlwind, shredding through the net keeping it trapped. It was also letting out an awful high pitched hissing sound, hurting Symon''s ears even despite him being the furthest from the creature.


    Safiya would be instrumental in melee combat, but had little in the way of ranged attacks to use. She could have thrown her daggers, but would rather save them for the inevitable fight. Instead, she assisted Symon by hauling on the rope, preventing him from being the one pulled up into the air and keeping the monster safely suspended.


    Safely relatively speaking, of course. Multiple of the javelin sized arrows were protruding from the creature, and it dripped red blood from the many shallow cuts delivered by the spear, but things had finally gone right for it. Whether through skill or pure chance, one of the bladed scythe arms cut out at the perfect time to cut straight through the wooden shaft. Aslan was at least quick to react, tossing away his ruined weapon as he drew a short sword from his side, but it signalled the shifting in the tides of battle, and not in their favour.


    Moments after disarming its opponent the stalker managed to free itself, slashing through the last pieces of the net that kept it restrained. It landed gracefully, despite the arrow sticking out of its hip and stomach. It seemed to briefly consider fleeing, before its eyes snapped to the discarded spear and then to the man who had dropped it. With another hiss, it advanced.


    Even with his shield and chainmail armour, Symon knew the man couldn''t last long. Their archer would provide ranged support, but could do little to directly help Aslan survive. Recognising this, Symon followed after Safiya as she dropped the rope and zoomed off to the fight, circling around the monster as she went. She was almost comically faster than him as she shot across the ground, almost as fast as the razor stalker. Recognising he''d be the latest addition to the fight, he circled around in the opposite direction to Safiya, aiming to attack the creature from behind while it was distracted with the others.


    As he ran forwards to join in, he watched the fight. Aslan''s shield was made of thick, unadorned metal, and yet he managed to move it around with surprising speed, beyond even what Symon would expect for something with enhanced physical attributes. Getting the shield into position to intercept the stalker''s massive blades was all well and good, but the shield was already struggling to stay in one piece. Jagged serrations were left through the metal every time the blades swiped across them with a metallic screech. Sparks were sent flying every time they impacted, the bone blades of the monster winning out against the metal of the shield. Just how strong were those arms to remain undamaged?


    Without the reach of his spear Aslan was unable to effectively counterattack, but Safiya was already in position at the monster''s side. The next time it struck forward, apparently too focused on breaking through Aslan''s guard to notice the second threat, Safiya reacted. Her twin daggers flashed out, reminiscent of the stalker''s attacks as they stabbed deeply into the monster''s side. One dagger was ripped free, but the other had gotten stuck in the creature''s thick skin ¡ª from his closer view, Symon wasn''t sure if it was just dense hide or a carapace like shell that would fit with the monster''s mantis-like appearance.


    Reacting to this new threat quickly, the stalker twisted away from Safiya. Reacting even faster, she released her grip on the embedded dagger to avoid being pulled off balance, instead rolling with the movement as she avoided a vertical slash that sliced through the spot she was in just moments before. Taking this opportunity afforded by her distraction, Aslan leapt forward and delivered a quick slash to the top of the creature''s arm, in-between the bicep and shoulder ¡ª or at least in the equivalent position considering monster anatomy was likely different from humans. Once again, the attacks weren''t nearly as effective as they would have hoped, something about the monster''s skin or perhaps just a high Constitution preventing a solid attack from landing.


    Although, this seemed to only include the slashing attacks of the group, with Serik''s arrows penetrating deeply into their target. By running to the right of Aslan, Symon had put the archer behind him, something he was made uncomfortably aware of as an arrow shot over his shoulder before slamming into the back of the monster. He could have sworn he felt the fletching of the arrow brush his ear, although he hoped it was just the air rushing past and it hadn''t actually been so close to hitting him.


    Symon finally reached the back of the monster, readying his club for an attack. He hoped it would be enough, because as it was it seemed like they''d mostly just managed to annoy the monster. They were locked in a stalemate, slowly whittling the monster down ¡ª but it would only take a single mistake for those razor-sharp bone scythes to reap one of their lives.

 Chapter 18 - Beatdown

    His back to the tree, Symon, Safiya, and Aslan had formed a triangle surrounding the razor stalker. Serik had continued to launch shots from his giant bow, but now that it was free of the net it had a much easier time avoiding them. It was certainly annoyed by all the attacks, but didn''t seem particularly injured even including the arrows sticking out of it. At the very least, its movement wasn''t being impeded, as evidenced by its rapid strikes that were only barely deflected or dodged.


    With the pipe positioned over his shoulder like he was winding up to hit a baseball out of a stadium, Symon waited for an opportunity to strike. The stalker must have already recognised he was there; it was simply choosing to focus on the others. This meant he needed to wait until it had committed itself to an attack before striking, considering how cumbersome it was to swing such a heavy weapon. There would be no rapid attacks like Safiya with her daggers, no expert deflection of attacks like Aslan with his shield, so this single attack had to be Symon''s defence as well. Hopefully, the weight of the blow meant it could crush through the natural armour of the creature where previous attacks had failed.


    It looked like he''d get a chance to test this soon, as the creature renewed its assault on Aslan''s shield, slashing its scythe arms into it and shearing off a large chunk of its side even despite being made of solid metal. Seizing this opportunity, he let loose with the most powerful swing he could muster, slamming the heavy metal pipe into the creature''s side with a satisfying crack. Not one to be shown up, his magic also lashed out, connecting to what he now saw was a ceramic-like carapace as he focused his magic and empowered the draining. It had several noticeable cracks through the shell on the side of its torso, but it wasn''t the crippling blow he''d hoped it would be.


    He was confident that he could do some serious damage given a few good swings at that spot, but of course the stalker wasn''t going to allow that. He''d drawn its attention, which meant his allies could continue their attacks against a dangerous monster... but also meant he''d drawn the attention of the dangerous monster. The range of his magic meant it wasn''t safe to continually use it, only when he stepped closer mid-attack could he reach. Especially now that it was trying to kill him, there was no way he could maintain the connection for more than a second at a time.


    Now, the roles were reversed. He needed to survive long enough to allow his teammates to attack the creature from the back and sides.


    Stepping back and out of reach of his magic, he switched his grip on the pipe to hold it in a way that would hopefully allow him to block; holding it horizontally with his hands spaced far apart. It was a thick weapon, and the metal hadn''t accrued a single scratch on it during his travels, but he wasn''t sure how it would hold up against his most fearsome opponent yet. Seemingly intending to test it, the stalker aimed an attack to cut straight through it as it had done to Aslan''s spear, slashing downwards toward Symon.


    With a metallic ring, the bone blades caught on the metal pipe. If they''d penetrated through, they would have sliced him right down through his chest, something that would have killed him considering his vessel contained just the barest sliver of vitality from that brief moment he''d been able to drain it. If only he had more range to his magic, even just a single extra metre could make all the difference...


    As Symon wasn''t near fast enough to even attempt dodging the lightning-fast attacks, blocking had been his best option. That didn''t mean it was perfect though, especially when he wasn''t using a shield or even a sword with a proper cross guard. His vitals were protected, but not his whole body. He recognised this danger right as the stalker did, but that didn''t count for much when the creature was able to move so much faster.


    Tilting its blades to the side, the stalker scraped them across the pipe with a ringing schwing sound. They were so sharp that at first he barely even felt it as the fingers on his left hand went flying off.


    Numbly, he looked down at his hand. It hadn''t even started hurting yet. Nothing remained except for the thumb and four tiny stumps. The shock and adrenaline only lasted so long, something Symon discovered as he felt his hand bloom into burning agony.


    Stumbling back, he awkwardly waved the club one-handedly in an effort to ward off the monster from approaching, so caught up in his survival that he wasn''t even worried about potentially being crippled. What use was worrying about future problems when you were seconds away from death?


    Serik came to his rescue, his attack heralded by a sharp whistling sound as another one of his arrows thudded into the monster, this time perfectly hitting where Symon''s pipe had cracked its carapace. The resulting injury was the biggest the stalker had taken yet, the massive arrow burying itself almost all the way up to its fletching. While previously a light brown, almost wheat-like colour ¡ª a perfect match to the surrounding half-dead grass ¡ª the carapace around the injury seemed to fade to a dull green.


    Another hiss of pain and rage sent Symon''s ears ringing, although instead of taking this chance to strike it charged past Symon, in the direction the arrow had came from. If his mind were clearer, he probably would have been confused by the actions of the stalker ¡ª why did it keep switching who it was attacking instead of finishing them off one by one? Naturally, instead of considering the oddity in its behaviour, he was focused more on his sudden lack of fingers. He felt the tiny sliver of vitality he''d stolen shoot out of his vessel towards his missing fingers, but if it had any effect, he didn''t notice it.


    He stared dumbly at the stumps on his left hand as they spurted out blood, just his thumb remaining. To say they hurt badly was an understatement ¡ª they felt as if someone was shoving burning hot pokers into his flesh ¡ª but he wasn''t completely overwhelmed by the pain. He could still think, even if he found it difficult to concentrate on the ongoing battle.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    <Focus, boy! Don''t let it get away!> Keelgrave shouted into his mind.


    Letting out a shuddering breath, he shoved the hand under his armpit and squeezed it tightly, hoping to prevent some of the blood loss. Turning around, he rapidly took in how badly things had gone. It wasn''t that he''d been distracted for a long time, but simply how fast the razor stalker could move and attack when it was unimpeded.


    At the base of the tree lay Serik, bow snapped in twain and short sword only half drawn. Symon was close enough to see the rapidly expanding pool of blood under him. They''d thought the distance would keep him safe, but the man had paid for this miscalculation dearly. Symon didn''t have any vitality to spare, the small amount he''d managed to take from the stalker already gone. There was no possible way for him to get the quantity of vitality he needed fast enough, except by taking the rest of the monster''s. It was Serik''s only hope.


    The others were shouting and screaming something in their native tongue, leaving Keelgrave unable to translate, but the meaning of the words came through clear enough. They were equal parts grief and rage, as they sprinted after the stalker that had turned back to face them.


    The monster spread its arms wide as if to welcome then, before it too began charging towards its opponents. Aslan threw his mostly ruined shield towards the creature as he charged it, dealing no real damage as it cracked off its shoulder but giving him a chance to get in close without being immediately cut down. Gripping his short sword with two hands placed atop one another, he swung his blade into that of the stalker''s, biting into the bone weapon and forcing the monster to pit the strength of just one of its arms against all of Aslan''s.


    As this happened, Symon had already begun sprinting after the pair, tossing his club to the side as he did so. It was too heavy to use effectively with only one functioning hand and would currently only serve to slow down his run. As it stood, he had only one weapon left, dangerous as it may be to get close enough to use. It would still be a few seconds before he was in range, meaning he could do nothing as the stalker raised its other blade into the air, all its attention on the nuisance that had dared to lock its weapon blade to blade.


    Thankfully, Safiya was there to intercept, ramming her one remaining dagger straight into the elbow joint of the monster, where the scythe blade met the rest of the arm. The creature, with its single-minded rage, had once again largely ignored all the other threats to focus on what was currently annoying it the most. Even with this glaring weakness they were still a razor''s edge away from sudden death.


    The creature''s right arm was still locked together with Aslan''s sword, while its left arm hung limply at its side after Safiya''s attack. Its main weapons were disabled, but these weren''t all it had. Stooping its tall frame downwards, it snapped forwards with its mandibles, barely missing Safiya as she danced backwards. Simultaneously, Aslan yanked its arm downwards with all the force he could muster, trying to throw the monster off balance.


    He succeeded, at least partially, giving Symon just enough of an opening that as he arrived at the battle ¡ª approaching from behind the monster once again ¡ª to strike. Not with a physical weapon, or with his hands, but with his magic.


    Pushing off the ground with as much strength as his legs could give, he launched himself through the air higher than he''d ever imagined he would be able to. His damaged hand trailed ribbons of blood as he shot through the air, his whole body impacting the monster from behind as he wrapped his arms under its shoulders in a bear hug. This was a similar strategy to what he''d used against the so-called sand panther back in the collapsed tower, and he hoped it would be as effective.


    It was painful, both because of how rough and sharp the monster''s exterior was and how hard he was squeezing with his damaged hand. He only had the knuckles and tiny stubs protruding from them on that hand, so he was pressing with his palm of that hand to try and hold on ¡ª this was not how you were meant to treat such a wound. He could feel his magic greedily ripping away the vitality of the monster, and he gave his full attention to accelerating the process as much as possible.


    The warmth of that precious resource washed away the pain, although he knew this was simply because of how intense the euphoric feeling of power entering his system was and not because it had already healed his injuries. For the first time in a while, he wasn''t forced to scrape up the barest fraction of a sliver of vitality from grass that was already mostly dead before he''d even gotten to it, or to laboriously cull centipedes for their meagre life force. He''d been lacking for so long, but now a veritable feast awaited him, and he wasted no time digging in.


    He could feel the bonfire of the creature''s life force, like a blazing star in a lifeless void ¡ª he would extinguish it and take the power for himself. He''d been starved of food and water until recently, and yet quenching his thirst then didn''t feel nearly as good as it did now. The others were shouting and screaming something, but he didn''t ¡ª couldn''t ¡ª care. The monster had thought itself better than him, had thought it could get away with killing his new friends, had toyed with them. He''d show it just how stupid it had been!


    The shouts of his allies were growing distant ¡ª both due to the increasing distance and the thickening bloodlust clouding his mind ¡ª but that didn''t matter. He was still holding on to the creature as it fled like a coward, so it would die like one too.


    He felt a line of hot pain flash across his back, once, twice, so he looked down to investigate the cause. The one functional blade of the stalker was wrapped around the creature''s body as if it were hugging itself. It scraped and slashed its way across Symon''s back, but why should he care? He didn''t need his back intact to continue to flood his veins with molten power. Still, when the creature found the proper angle to stab into Symon instead of just across him, he got mad.


    He was already ripping the vitality out as fast as he could, and all of his limbs were needed to maintain his stranglehold on the creature''s body... but he had one final method of attack he could use.


    ''Die! Die! Wither and die you bastard!" he shouted at the creature before rearing back. "Think you can stab me and get away with it?!" He coughed out a splatter of blood onto the creature''s back. "Think again!" he screamed before slamming his forehead into the creature''s carapace, right where his blood had landed.


    Something cracked, and it wasn''t his opponent, but he could already feel his vessel launch out a wave of the stolen vitality to mend some inconsequential injury. Pulling back, he slammed his head down once more. This time his aim was slightly off, and he felt his nose break. He didn''t care. You didn''t need a nose to kill.


    "Die! Die! You are nothing!" he screamed out before repeatedly slamming his head into the same spot. Despite the blood in his eyes, he could feel the monster slowing and weakening every second as the cracking noise continued, even as his own grip weakened ¡ª the injuries building up faster than he could heal them.


    Pounding his head against the slowly expanding spiderweb of cracks, Symon broke down in manic laughter.


    Keelgrave joined in, too.

 Chapter 19 - Victory and Defeat

    If someone were to pass by at this very moment, they would see a two-and-a-half metre tall mantis monster sprinting through a field of grass in a panic as a skinny young man held onto it like an unwanted backpack.


    The man was panting like a dog and had more open wounds than unmarred skin on his back, but the monster wasn''t in much better condition. A dagger and multiple arrows were stuck into it, as well as a plethora of less severe slashing wounds that nonetheless added up.


    Thousands of years ago, humans hunted mighty beasts by making use of their superior endurance, wearing their prey out over time until it eventually collapsed, unable to put up a fight. They had done this with flint spears and without the benefit of magic.


    Symon had made his caveman ancestors proud, building upon this strategy by attaching himself like a parasite to the creature until, eventually, it couldn''t take it anymore and gracelessly stumbled to the ground.


    He blinked rapidly and shook his head to clear it, coming back to himself. He''d felt more or less aware of what was happening and could have simply let go if he''d wanted, but it felt so good to fill his vessel that he hadn''t seen a need to stop fighting. Plus, why stop when you were winning?


    <Focus up boy, it''d be embarrassing to get killed now,> Keelgraves voice reminded him.


    Right, right, the razor stalker isn''t dead yet, he thought. He could think more deeply about what he''d just gone through later on. Already, the stalker was trying to push itself up on unsteady limbs.


    With his mind clearer, Symon was a lot less confident about approaching the creature without a weapon, even in its weakened state. Still, he recognised that every second he waited allowed it to recover further, so he quickly approached from where he''d rolled off when it had collapsed.


    He duly noted that his magic must have levelled up, as the draining thread now snapped out as far as his forearm and hand combined. Once more, he felt that powerful rush of energy as the vitality entered his body, although this time he fought against giving in too deeply. This was made easier as his adrenaline rapidly faded away, letting the pain of his many, many injuries come to the forefront. For one he had a splitting headache even though he was sure he hadn''t been hit there. Strange.


    Glancing down at his own body, he let out an involuntary gasp. His clothes ¡ª his paramedic''s uniform, plus the white robe the adventurers had gifted to him ¡ª were completely shredded, the same as the flesh below them. Although by now, the white robe was mostly red. Forcing his eyes back to the monster, he stumbled the remaining step closer until he was near enough to touch it.


    He was already doing all the damage he could without a proper weapon, although he wasn''t sure if he would have had the strength to use one even if he did have one, especially the heavy pipe he''d discarded earlier. He must have lost more blood than he''d realised, as the best attack he could muster was to fall on top of the monster, pushing it back to the ground with a thump. It let out a weak hiss in response, but it had already proven itself unable to dislodge him previously ¡ª and that was before having most of its vitality drained. All Symon had to do was lay there, preventing the creature from escaping, and wait.


    Well, presuming he didn''t die of his wounds before then. His body was a complete mess of crisscrossing slashing wounds, but what most worried him were the multiple deep stab wounds to his chest. His vessel had been full for a while now, but had continued to greedily steal the stalker''s vitality regardless, meaning his magic had plenty of vitality and must have been doing its best to patch up his injuries the whole time he''d been grappled onto the monster. Even through the pain ¡ª like ice-cold knives were stuck in his body all over ¡ª he was aware enough to worry it wouldn''t be enough.


    He had so many wounds all over that his magic was spread thin, pulsing outwards evenly from his vessel as it searched for injuries to fix. It was impossible to even tell if the wounds were getting better... perhaps they were bleeding slightly slower? The pain was too much for him to concentrate, both a blessing and a curse. His Pain Resistance was keeping him conscious where any normal man would have already passed out from the pain, but that meant he was aware enough to experience every excruciating second.


    His mind latched onto his magic; he knew it was his only way out, but how? The razor stalker had resumed its squirming, so he refocused on his draining magic after losing concentration on it due to the pain.


    Wait a second...


    That was it! He''d always known he could consciously empower and guide his Seize ability, forcing it to drain faster against foes and directing it towards the plant life when he needed to get close to an ally. He''d theorised that he could do something similar with the healing from Idealise in the past, but hadn''t had the chance to test it.


    With no time to waste ¡ª the stalker''s blood was also red, but he thought most of the substance around them was his ¡ª he tried to focus on the feeling of his vitality. Not on the sensation of it being ripped out of his enemy, but on how it would leave his own vessel. A torrent of vitality flooded into his vessel, but the amount that left it was comparatively much weaker. Focusing on this latter flow, he tried to encourage his vessel to release more, to heal him faster. It didn''t work. It was like he was trying to tell his kidneys to work faster; this wasn''t a muscle he had any control over, or if he did, he had no idea where to even begin.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    If he couldn''t get more vitality out of his vessel, then he just had to use what he already had more efficiently. He thought back to when he''d healed Atabek after he was attacked by the stalker. He''d pulled the vitality from his vessel and guided it into his fingertips, before transferring it directly into the man''s wounds ¡ª maybe he could just do the first step here? It was the only thing he could think of, so he immediately tried.


    As the next pulse of vitality shot out of his vessel like a shockwave, he forced his will upon it and guided its path. Instead of spreading out evenly, he forced it to remain in his chest. His vitals were there, so it seemed a good place to keep the vitality while he searched for the wounds he needed to heal. His whole body was in such pain that he wasn''t sure where any single wound started and another ended, so he wasn''t sure which spot needed healing the most. Raising a hand to brush away his tattered clothes and inspect his wounds, he paused with his hand in midair. Only the thumb was remaining.


    Right, he''d lost them ages ago. They were barely even bleeding, so he had bigger things to worry about. The cut had been so clean that he''d forgotten about them, barely even feeling their loss compared to the pain of all his other wounds. With his other hand, he ripped off his shirt and looked down at his body.


    Predictably, he was a mess. The front of his body was the least injured, as it had been relatively safe pressed directly against the stalker''s back. His back had been slashed up pretty badly, sheets of blood still flowing out of him. He wasn''t a squeamish guy ¡ª you couldn''t be, to do well in healthcare ¡ª but this was a lot to handle. Awkwardly twisting around, he could see the white of his ribs visible through some of the cuts, and that was just what he was able to see with the limited view of his own back.


    Swallowing his rising bile, he pushed the vitality backwards, towards the surface of his back. He needed to seal the largest wounds before he died of blood loss, so he continued to push all of the emerging healing vitality to that area. As he did so, he continued his examination of his wounds. His breathing was fine, all things considered, and he knew his heart was undamaged because he was still alive. There were plenty more organs beyond your heart and lungs, but as long as those two were fine he wasn''t likely to suddenly keel over from an internal injury in the immediate future.


    Ah, there we are, he thought after spotting another area that needed attention, a stab wound just above his hip. That scythe arm must have stabbed straight into him from the side, just like how the monster had first attacked Atabek hours ago. What would have required serious surgery to fix back on Earth had a simple solution on this planet ¡ª huh, he just realised he hadn''t even asked Keelgrave what this place was called.


    Recognising the blood loss and shock was making his mind wander, he pulled all his vitality up to the surface of the wound. The internal damage could wait until he stopped actively bleeding to death. This was the first wound he was able to get a good view of as it healed, watching as the pierced muscle pulled itself together and the skin crawled inwards from the edges. He found it morbidly fascinating to observe, meaning that when the adventurers ¡ª just Aslan and Safiya ¡ª caught up with him they saw him staring at his own wounds, absolutely coated head to toe in blood while curled up on the back of the faintly twitching razor stalker.


    "Oh hey there guys," he said in English while flashing what he thought was a reassuring smile, "I''ve got everything handled!"


    The two adventures shared a long glance, the meaning lost on Symon.


    <hr>


    Much like when he''d defeated the bearcat, he patiently waited alongside the defeated but not yet slain monster until he finally drained all the vitality from it. After it collapsed, it had taken another ten full minutes to finally stop moving, by which point he''d gotten himself to a state where he felt mostly healthy. It had been a little awkward to explain why he wanted to remain laying atop the dying razor stalker, but he''d already told them how his magic functioned so they''d caught on to his reasoning quickly.


    Once more, he used Keelgrave as a translator from English into Common, turning to the adventurers that had been patiently discussing something in their native tongue while they waited for him to heal himself.


    "Are you guys okay?" he asked, just now noticing they each sported a collection of fresh wounds ¡ª they''d all been bandaged already, at least. It must have happened while he was focused on healing himself.


    "We will be fine, friend Symon. Please, save your energy for aiding Atabek''s recovery."


    Well if they said they were fine, he''d take their word for it. Although, hold on, Atabek''s recovery? What about their archer? Last he''d seen, Serik had been collapsed in a pool of his own blood after the stalker had broken free of the melee and gone for him. It must have been a full ten minutes ago when that happened, he had to go help him now!


    Not wanting to wait the extra fraction of a second for Keelgrave to supply the translated words, he simply pointed back the way they''d came and shouted "Serik!" before standing up. He expected to feel weak and shaky, but if it wasn''t for all the blood and ruined clothing he wouldn''t have been able to tell he''d even been wounded.


    However instead of worrying, Aslan casually waved off Symon''s panic.


    "He''s okay?" Symon asked.


    "Do not trouble yourself, he is already dead," Aslan responded bluntly. He seemed oddly... okay. In fact, he almost looked pleased. Looking at him, Symon wouldn''t have known that he''d just lost one of his closest companions.


    "He ¡ª damn, really? Fuck, I''m sorry guys," he mumbled out. If only he''d allowed the wounded stalker to flee instead of letting himself be dragged away. Then, maybe he could have been there to save Serik... the vitality he''d drained then might have been enough to keep death at bay for him. He barely knew the man, so he was hardly going to break down in tears, but he''d still felt attached to him. He supposed that being one of the first people he found while lost in a foreign desert on an even more foreign planet contributed to that, but the fact that his genuine selflessness had so easily bridged the language barrier meant he deserved Symon''s respect.


    It seemed that good people dying young wasn''t something unique to Earth.

 Chapter 20 - Hands of a Healer

    Aslan and Safiya had tied ropes under the razor stalker''s body and begun dragging it back to their new camp against the tree, with Symon following along behind them, watching the trail of blood the creature left in its wake.


    Part of him felt bad about having Safiya lug the big monster around, some deeply ingrained Earthly notions of chivalry making him think he should offer to do it. Of course, the short woman was in possession of a physique he would have previously believed was only attainable through the heavy use of steroids, were it not for the existence of the Divine Ledger, so he kept his mouth shut. The sooner he internalised that he wasn''t on Earth any more, the better off he thought he''d be.


    Walking behind the others, he frowned to himself. They others seemed incredibly unbothered by Serik''s death, a man they had sailed across seas and fought through many life-or-death situations alongside, if his previous tales around the campfire were to be believed. They were even whistling a simple tune in tandem as they dragged the corpse of the monster who had slain their friend through the grass.


    "Keelgrave, is there a reason these people don''t seem particularly sad after their friend just died?" he thought towards Keelgrave.


    <No, these people are psychos! You know what, go ask ''em what their deal is.> His answer wasn''t what Symon was expecting, not that he really knew what he''d expected. Maybe they thought he could bring back the dead? His healing explicitly said it only worked on living targets, but they might have forgotten that.


    "What? Keelgrave, I can''t just go up to them and ask why they aren''t sad about their dead friend!"


    <Why not?>


    "Wa¡ª, why not? Because it''s insensitive, that''s why."


    <Gods below kid, figure something out then because I really want to know.>


    Symon wanted to know too, so he''d just try and be diplomatic about it. Jogging up to the others ¡ª while keeping a wide berth ¡ª he asked a leading question he hoped would politely lead to the answers he wanted.


    "So... what kind of funeral arrangements do we need to make?"


    Aslan responded to him as he continued to haul the monster''s corpse. He wasn''t even slightly out of breath, as if he was just out on a normal stroll. "Funeral? That is not needed. Our people, the Dumosi, know that to give your life to kill a superior foe is the greatest of deaths. There is no purpose in having a funeral, as Serik''s soul is surely already with the ancestors."


    Oh, so it''s a Valhalla type of thing, Symon thought. "I see... so we''re happy for Serik?"


    "Exactly so, friend Symon," the man said with a smile.


    He wasn''t sure how he felt about that. It was good the others were in a positive mood, but this talk of the afterlife unnerved him. He hadn''t been religious in his past life, but the fact that his Ledger contained two Blessings implied the existence of something beyond him. It wasn''t necessarily an all-powerful God in the Abrahamic sense of the word, but there was definitely something ¡ª he still had the vaguest recollection of communicating with two entities in that transitory period between his lives.


    All that was to say that it was a very real possibility that Serik was indeed currently celebrating with his ancestors, drinking, making merry, and being celebrated for having such a courageous death.


    It was a nice thought, at least.


    <hr>


    With the razor stalker now dead, the trip back to their camp was predictably uneventful. The campfire was still going, providing a welcoming aura as the suns dipped precipitously close to the horizon.


    Serik''s body had been quickly moved away from the camp, and Symon was grateful he didn''t have to look at him. The others had a very utilitarian view of the corpse, stripping it of all useful possessions and leaving the body far off in the grass, where it wouldn''t attract any creatures to their camp. It felt harsh not even giving the man a burial, but their culture considered the body left behind as a fleshy shell, with the true Serik having passed on. To give any significance to the remaining body was to imply the soul had not been worthy enough to ascend on its own.


    It made a certain kind of sense, and Symon even had some evidence supporting the existence of a soul considering he had a spirit living in his vessel, but it still made him uncomfortable to hold the dead man''s sword.


    "He''s not using it," Aslan had said before dropping it ¡ª sheathed, of course ¡ª onto Symon''s lap. It was simple and unadorned, but appeared well made and maintained to Symon''s untrained eye. It didn''t have any rust or noticeable scratches in the metal, although its scabbard had obviously been in use for a while. Hilt included, the weapon was almost as long as his hand and forearm put together ¡ª its blade and hilt length made it clear this was a sword intended for one handed use. The edge was very sharp and it could no doubt be used quite effectively... in better hands.


    Cool as it would be to fight with a sword like a knight of old, he had to admit that he was essentially a complete beginner when it came to combat. He would treasure the gift, but he would be better served by the simplicity of clubbing his foes with a big metal pipe ¡ª until he learned how to use it, he''d be just as likely to cut himself as he was whatever monster he was fighting. He would be keeping it, of course, but he didn''t intend for it to see any real combat until he''d received even just a basic level of training.


    But the sword wasn''t the only thing he''d earned by slaying the razor stalker, he''d yet to check out the rewards from his Ledger. Turning away from the rest of the group ¡ª Aslan and Safiya were both discussing something in their native language as they poked and prodded at the monster corpse ¡ª he summoned his Ledger, the grass at his feet twisting and rearranging themselves into letters.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.81 {+0.03}


    Constitution: 1.08 {+0.09}


    Acuity: 0.85 {+0.05}


    Intelligence: 0.82 {+0.04}


    Will: 1.08 {+0.07}


    Vessel (Vitality): 9/13 {+5}


    Abilities:


    Idealise (7) {+3}: Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (8) {+2}: Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.


    Essence Bond (5) {+1}: Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit''s.


    Passives:


    Pain Resistance (4) {+4}


    Poison Resistance (0)


    Running (5) {+1}]


    That was... really damn nice. It turned out that surviving what should have been lethal wounds was a great way to train your healing and Constitution. Everything except for his Poison Resistance had improved, even his vessel''s capacity. He still didn''t know precisely what increased it, but he wasn''t about to complain.


    Thankfully, an increase in his vessel''s capacity didn''t translate to an increase in its physical size, or at least not to a noticeable extent. He''d hate for it to grow to some ridiculous size and make him unable to move or something.


    His Will had shot past the first tier, apparently meaning he had a stronger will than anyone who hadn''t benefitted from the Ledger. He wasn''t sure if he agreed. He could be pretty stubborn when he needed to be, such as when he clung onto the razor stalker and took all those slashes just to kill it, but this wasn''t something impossible for a normal human to attempt. Sure, they''d have to be a little crazy, very brave, or a bit of both, but it could definitely happen. So then how could the Ledger say he was better in this aspect than everyone on Earth? He wasn''t even confident he''d have the willpower to make it through an army bootcamp, so how could he be called better when plenty of people had done exactly that before?


    He didn''t have a guidebook for this Ledger, but he still thought he knew what all the words meant, at least. Perhaps he just didn''t fully understand the concept of Will?


    Oh well, an improvement is an improvement.


    He''d improved a lot since he''d first arrived in this desert, both in terms of stats and in a more mundane sense. He was a lot more confident in his ability to beat minor monsters such as the centipedes, and he trusted his magic with his life despite only having it a short while. His changes were gradual enough that he didn''t really notice them, but when he took the time to test them...


    Quickly cracking out a few pushups, he found his muscles barely straining as they smoothly pushed his body up and down. It took until the twelfth repetition before his vessel started sending out tiny waves of vitality to his muscles, so he stopped in order to not waste the precious resource while it was still so limited. It used up so little he could barely even notice it leave his vessel, but he wouldn''t waste even that. Even without his healing, he definitely could have kept going with his exercise ¡ª something that would have been impossible for him on Earth. Although, if he did have enough vitality stored up, he could theoretically do pushups for hours with no break. He wondered what kind of effect that would have on his Strength...


    As he''d gotten down to do his pushups, he realised he''d forgotten something important. They''d stopped hurting a while ago, so it had somehow completely slipped his mind ¡ª maybe he''d been unconsciously trying to ignore it ¡ª but he was still missing four fingers on his left hand. All his other injuries had healed, and he still had plenty of vitality stored in his vessel, but his fingers hadn''t changed much. They''d long since sealed over and stopped bleeding, but there were still only tiny nubs extending from his knuckle instead of the full fingers he''d hoped for.


    Simply put, this made Symon very uncomfortable. The only reason he was merely uncomfortable and not freaking out was because of the description of his healing magic, still shown in the grass at his side. Missing fingers would surely mean he wasn''t in a ''peak state'', so why were they still gone?


    Sitting down and concentrating on the feeling of the vitality flowing through his body, he watched as a small amount exited his vessel and traced a path down towards his hand. Once it arrived there... it stopped.


    Hmm, I haven''t seen that before...


    Indeed, his vitality was never completely still, even when it was inside his vessel it continually churned and spun around itself like clothes in a washing machine. His hand was slowly growing saturated with vitality ¡ª it was neither leaving nor being consumed to heal him. Holding his finger stumps right up to his face, he inspected them closely. Like the rest of his body, there was plenty of dried blood but no current injury, just smooth skin over their ends. As he watched, the vitality continued to float around in his hand aimlessly, as if it were confused.


    It had always known exactly what to do with all his previous injuries, so what was different about this one? Obviously this was the first time he''d actually lost a part instead of having a simple injury, but he didn''t know why that would make a difference to the magic. He continued to stare at his hand and missing fingers for some time, vitality slowly trickling in until something finally happened.


    Right before he decided to simply force more vitality into his hand and hope it worked, the slowly growing cloud of vitality seemed to reach a critical mass. All of a sudden, the tiny pool of vitality began moving towards his finger stumps, like a plug being pulled out of a sink''s drain.


    The first thing he noticed was the itching, the feeling of something foreign under his skin. It felt like a splinter was in each of his fingers, or like they had open wounds someone had poured sand into. There wasn''t actually any pain, but it was uncomfortable enough that he almost wished it hurt just to take his mind off it. Ignoring how queasy it made him feel, he forced himself to allow the process to continue, keeping a close eye on his hand all the while.


    After the itching came the writhing, little spasms over the smooth skin of his stumps that made it look like worms were moving under his skin. Before he could complain to Keelgrave about how gross his magic was, the feeling of splinters in his stumps intesified as tiny bone spurs pushed their way out into the open air.


    "Shit man, is all healing this... visceral?" he mentally asked the spirit.


    <Hells no, but just be grateful it''s working. We could make so much money healing rich cripples with this, you know. Regrowing missing parts is damn expensive.>


    He supposed that was nice, but he was finding it difficult to think about a future career right now. The first knuckle bone of each finger was now fully protruding from his hand, tiny tendrils of red flesh growing up it like a plant''s vines. The bone slowly inched its way upwards, flesh slithering up to surround and hold it in place as it went.


    After a few minutes of discomfort, the final bit of flesh grew into place on his fingertips. Joy at having his fingers back warred with how brutal the process had looked, but the fact it hadn''t even hurt meant he didn''t have much room to complain.


    The freshly regrown fingers looked identical to how they had before he lost them, even regrowing his nails to the exact length he always cut them to. Experimentally flexing them a few times, they felt completely normal. He still didn''t have an explanation for why his vitality had behaved so strangely in taking so long to start fixing his fingers, but he was grateful enough to have them back that he didn''t care too much as to the how of the matter.


    Despite taking so long to finish, the process hadn''t used up as much vitality as he''d been expecting ¡ª only four points, meaning he still had five left. And with the threat of the razor stalker no more, he didn''t have to worry as much about needing to maintain a reserve in case of an unexpected emergency, as the Dumosi adventurers had been in the grass plains for at least a week without encountering a single threat anywhere near as strong as the razor stalker.


    Considering they''d even been actively seeking out a powerful monster to slay and bring a trophy back from without any success until now, he decided it wasn''t a big risk to share some of his recent windfall of vitality with the others in order to ease their wounds.


    Glancing at the dead stalker''s massive scythe arms, he decided he''d keep a reserve, just in case.

 Chapter 21 - Travel Plans

    With only five units of vitality left in his vessel, Symon had to think about how he''d share it between the others. Aslan and Safiya had bandaged their own wounds and assured him they would recover on their own, so he ignored them for now. In the morning, he could drain a whole bunch of grass and give them the vitality from that.


    He felt a little bad about leaving them wounded when he could fix it now, but he knew he''d feel so much worse if they were attacked by something and died just because he hadn''t left any vitality spare.


    Considering Atabek was still unconscious, he knew he''d have to give the man something. He''d been recovering impressively fast from having two giant bone blades pass right through his chest and stomach, but he''d still need a bit of extra help if he was to be in travelling condition any time soon.


    At first, he''d found it awkward to heal the others while simultaneously keeping them safe from his draining, but by now he''d gotten things down to a science. By focusing his draining on the plant life near them, he gave himself the few seconds he needed to quickly push the vitality into them before he killed all the nearby grass. Doing so, he gave Atabek two units of vitality, bringing his own reserves down to three units. This he would keep for an emergency, his short time on this new planet showing him just how important it was to be prepared for surprise threats. It was better to be safe than sorry, especially considering Atabek was already naturally on the mend.


    The suns had slowly taken their turns to dip below the horizon while he relaxed after the battle, the skies lighting up in beautiful pinks and oranges. To the South was the desert he''d come from, while to the North was... well, he wasn''t sure. The coastline was in that direction but had been completely barren of humanity when Keelgrave was there, some fifty or more years ago. Seeking to rectify this lack of knowledge, he approached the pair of Dumosan adventurers.


    Symon stood at a safe distance as he watched them butcher the creature. Fascinated, he observed their practised motions as they stripped the monster of its parts. Its namesakes, the massive razor-sharp scythe arms, had already been removed, as well as its entire head. Currently, Aslan was elbow-deep in the creature''s neck hole, face scrunched up in concentration. Symon didn''t want to interrupt whatever was going on here, but it didn''t take long for Aslan''s face to light up before extracting his arm, something clutched between his blood-soaked fingers.


    It was small, maybe the size of a large marble. It looked like a ruby ¡ª although it was hard to tell if that was its actual colour or just a result of all the blood ¡ª and judging by the wide smiles on both their faces when he held it up, it must have been as valuable as one.


    "What''s that?" Symon asked.


    "Core!" Safiya practically shouted back at him in her excitement. Her simple, joyous smile seemed so out of place on her rough, heavily scarred body. It was easy for him to forget that these adventurers couldn''t have been any older than him.


    "Indeed so," Aslan continued, "it is the beast''s core. Quite a large one. With this as a trophy, we will earn much respect once we return to our people." Wiping away some of the blood on a small rag he pulled from his pocket, he revealed that under the grime it had a deep ocean-blue colouration.


    "It''s pretty... I''m glad you found a nice trophy to return with, but I actually wanted to ask you some questions about where we''re going."


    "You have my attention, friend Symon," Aslan replied, tossing the core to Safiya. She snatched it out of the air and dropped it into a small pouch, her depth perception apparently unaffected by only having one eye. She caught him staring, offering only a good-natured wink ¡ª or was it technically just a blink? ¡ª before wandering off to her bedroll.


    "I know you''re from an Eastern continent and are as foreign to this desert as I am, so I was wondering how you got here. Also, are there other people here or just us?"


    "To answer both your questions, we exchanged coins for passage on a merchant vessel, one that was making a stop at a small port here."


    "Wait, there''s an actual city here? That''s great!" Symon exclaimed. Other than these adventurers, the only sign of other people he''d found were ancient ruins. He''d begun to fear this entire giant desert island ¡ª although really only the centre was a proper desert ¡ª was inhabited only by monsters.


    "I would not call it a city, friend Symon. More of a... ugh, how do you say..." ¡ª he made a swirling motion with his hand before suddenly lighting up ¡ª "ah yes, a shithole."


    "Oh. I see." In the comfort of Symon''s mind, Keelgrave laughed.


    <Figures we won''t have somewhere nice to go. If even the savages think it''s bad, it''s gotta be real bad by our standards.>Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    "Keelgrave, you can''t call them that! It doesn''t even make sense, they''re obviously educated," he angrily thought back, feeling the need to defend his new friends despite them being unaware of the insult. Ignoring any further provocations from the spirit, he refocused on the verbal conversation.


    "A few hundred people lived there, mostly miners and their families."


    "Hmm, then we can just wait for the next trade ship to show up for the ores and pay for passage to the East, right?"


    "Indeed so, that was how we have always intended to return home. Where would you go, once we make landfall?"


    That was a question he had no answer to. He had almost no knowledge of this world, no connection to any of the countries beyond a potential link via Keelgrave, no responsibilities to anyone except to himself. In a way, it was freeing to be able to choose whatever he wanted, but he didn''t even know what his options were. Maybe he''d travel and try them all?


    "Actually Aslan, I''m not really sure where I''d want to go. Somewhere with more water and less monsters, hopefully."


    The man''s eyes shot open as he suddenly stood straighter, before excitedly launching into his response. "Then, I would be honoured to show you our homeland, friend Symon! You have helped us to slay a mighty foe, and saved the life of bonded brother Atabek. The elders would surely recognise you as a blooded warrior and friend to the Dumosi!"


    His initial reaction was to try and respectfully decline, but the more he thought about it the more the idea grew on him. The Dumosi adventurers had been good to him, and he really wanted someone on his side other than Keelgrave...


    There was safety in numbers too, especially considering how competent they were. Even despite never seeing him fight, he included Atabek in his estimation of the group''s strength. The man was a giant, still intimidating even when he was half dead. There wasn''t any harm in sticking around with his new friends, especially considering they could always just go their separate ways once they got to the East if he did end up changing his mind.


    "That sounds great, you''ll have to tell me all about your homeland while we travel. I wouldn''t want to embarrass myself by accidentally doing the wrong thing."


    "Hah, being such a brave warrior will give you plenty of leeway with my people."


    Symon blinked at that. Brave? He could see how his actions might have seemed like that, from an outside perspective. But he wasn''t sure if he could even call it bravery. To him, being brave was a conscious decision. You needed to recognise and understand the danger, and then make the informed choice to be brave. Symon had... not been thinking perfectly clearly, he could admit to himself.


    He had still been aware and in control, but in a similar way to the feeling of having a few bottles of beer, enough to get buzzed but not completely hammered. He''d allowed himself to give into the intoxicating feeling of his power in the same way you would let loose a little to have fun with your friends, to allow yourself to forget about your insecurities for a time. Although, instead of giving him the confidence to talk to that pretty woman, his power had given him the confidence to risk his life to take down an extremely dangerous monster.


    It had worked out well in this situation, but could just as easily have gotten him killed in another. What if he''d been up against something he couldn''t possibly beat, would he have been able to restrain himself and make the smart choice to flee? He hoped so, but he wasn''t sure.


    Aslan was still staring at him expectantly, so he realised he''d gotten lost in his own thoughts.


    "Oh, thank you. You guys were super brave, too. The way you went blade to blade with the stalker was awesome! Oh, and remind me to thank Safiya when she wakes up. It was a close call even after she disabled one of its arms, so I''d hate to think what would have happened if it had been able to open twice as many holes in me."


    "Indeed, she is very impressive! Ah, if only you could have seen her fight when she still had both eyes... we have a long journey ahead of us, so I must rest and recover. May your dreams be safe, friend Symon."


    "Oh, of course, I didn''t mean to keep you. We can try and get some more vitality for you in the morning after I check on Atabek." They wished each other goodnight before parting.


    He didn''t feel physically tired, although there was a certain mental exhaustion from constantly fighting, running, and maintaining a watch for a deadly monster. A good night''s sleep would be great for him ¡ª his first proper rest on this new planet. He had food in his belly, he''d slaked his thirst, a reasonably comfortable bedroll awaited him, and he was surrounded by good company. Things could be a lot worse, especially considering how recently one of the group had lost his life. Dwelling on the negatives wouldn''t do him any good, although he quickly promised Serik that he''d inform his family of his bravery, once the group made it back to Dumosa.


    Before sleeping, he had to take care of something else; he was absolutely caked in dried blood. They could only spare a small amount of water for reasons other than drinking, so he first scrubbed himself mostly clean with scraps of his old clothing and handfuls of dead grass, the latter working surprisingly well as long as he ignored how itchy it made him.


    Even after finishing, he felt he could still do with a bath, but it was as good as it was going to get out in the field. He really hoped the town ¡ª or perhaps village was the better term, he wasn''t sure ¡ª had running water. By the time he''d finished his ablutions, night had finally fallen completely.


    Laying down on his generously provided bedroll, doing his best to not think about who it had belonged to, he asked Keelgrave a question.


    "What''s your homeland like? Is it near Dumosa?"


    <Near? Not really, opposite ends of the same continent. I''m from the top, they''re at the bottom. There''s about as much land between them as there is sea between Dumosa and where we are right now.>


    "Mmm, thanks," he mumbled, the sleepiness sneaking up on him all at once as soon as he laid down on his comfortable roll. "You never told me what it''s like there."


    The comforting embrace of sleep claimed him before he heard an answer.

 Chapter 22 - Dream Bond

    His brigantine, the Grymjaw, misted him and his crew with a heavy spray of water as they cut through the house-height waves.


    "Captain!" came a young, clear voice from the crow''s nest, ringing out like a bell. "They''re gaining on us!"


    "Hells take those bastards," he murmured to himself before calling out his orders to the crew: "Unfurl both jibs and hold them tight!" He felt the ship lurch in response under him as it suddenly picked up speed, the two smaller sails attached to the bow flying out to catch the wind.


    The gain in speed was minor relative to their already impressive speed, but they needed more. It was already difficult to maintain the ship''s heading and ensure they cut through the waves instead of smshing into them side on, but he would manage it ¡ª you didn''t reach the cusp of the third evolution in Helmsmanship without picking up a few tricks.


    "More mana to the air elemental," he spoke quietly despite the roar of the sea and shouting crew, trusting that the wind would carry his words to their Elementalist.


    "Farron, we''re already running too much through it," came the reply of One-Tooth, sounding as if the orc was directly beside him despite being belowdecks.


    "I don''t give a damn, burn it out if you have to! We''ll catch you another, but we have to survive first."


    The ship gave another burst of speed in response, shooting along so fast it felt more like it was skimming across the surface of the water instead of floating through it. This feeling was intensified every time they launched off the peak of a wave, flying through the air for multiple seconds at a time before crashing back down into the water. A lesser ship would have broken apart from the sheer forces involved, but he''d sank too much time, money, and mana into her for the hull to fail now. It groaned in protest, and he could feel the strain through his connection, but he knew it would hold.


    The Scout''s voice rang out from the crow''s nest again, "We''re gaining distance! Wait..." he trailed off, disabling his loudspeak enchantment too slowly. A rookie mistake to not cut it off in time. Sometimes, he forgot how fresh their new Scout was given how reliable he''d been. "They have an artillery mage! Fire aspected, by the looks of¡ª incoming!" the boy screamed out.


    "Brace!" he ordered his crew, hauling on the wheel as they all hunkered down and grabbed for something to steady themselves. The only man still standing, he glanced backwards, seeing only the faintest of red flickers. The approaching projectile was mostly covered up by the dark thunderclouds and flashes of lightning. It was too far away for his non-specialised eyes to see the pursuing Empire ships that had launched it, but that wouldn''t be a problem for long. The incoming attack was rapidly growing in size and brightness in his vision as it shot towards them.


    The missile left a trail of steam in its wake despite being a dozen metres above the surface of the water. It must have been ridiculously expensive mana-wise to pack so much power into a single fireball and to then launch it such an extreme distance. Those Empire dogs must have realised they were going to lose the Grymjaw and put all their mana into a last-ditch attack in the hopes of slowing them down. As long as he could maneuver the ship to avoid the brunt of this attack, they''d get away.


    "One-Tooth, more mana, now!" he shouted, "trim the sails, this is it lads!"


    A thrum from belowdecks signalled their bound air elemental burning through the ship''s mana reserves, while a few of the bravest crew leapt up to grab the ropes and angle the sails to catch as much of the produced wind as possible. His high Leadership skill gave them an increase to their physical stats at the cost of some of his personal mana, a necessity to maintain their footing during these rough maneuvers. They''d be getting the first pick of the loot tonight, he promised.


    The overcharged artillery spell had eaten up the distance deceptively fast, the sheer scale making it hard to put into perspective exactly how much time he had until impact ¡ª but it couldn''t have been more than a few seconds.


    Of course, the bound elemental took that exact moment to give up, the sheer quantity of foreign mana being forced into it being too much to take, resulting in the elemental collapsing in on itself. As the thrumming felt through the hull died down, the wind changed from being an ally always pushing from their backs to its natural state. The storm was now releasing its pent-up fury by buffeting the ship from every direction, trying to spin them out of control and allow the towering waves to wash his crew out.


    With a final turn of the wheel he spun the aft of the ship out, drifting sideways through the water right as the projectile impacted. It wasn''t a direct hit ¡ª impacting into the water off the starboard side of the ship instead ¡ª but for an artillery spell with such quantities of mana woven into it, there was a very, very large range between ''direct hit'' and ''no longer dangerous''.


    The explosion annihilated all the nearby waves. Moments after, it all came rushing back in a tidal wave to fill in the massive bowl-shaped depression that had just appeared in the sea''s surface. The hull along that side splintered, fragments of the enchanted wood flying through the air with such force that they passed straight through several of his crew. Those lucky enough ¡ª in a certain sense of the word ¡ª to survive experienced a sudden fog of scalding steam, their screams echoing out into the burning fog. Some of them were washed overboard, the pain too much for them to remain steady in such tumultuous waters, but the captain didn''t turn back or slow down.


    Already, his Elementalist had done something to disperse the steam, his crew picking themselves up and moving to wherever they were needed most. They had no proper healer on board, but a sailing life was a rough one and thus meant they all had a high Constitution ¡ª enough that full-body second-degree burns wouldn''t stop them from doing their jobs. The pain and injuries were a secondary concern when they were all already willing to give their lives to the cause.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Using the last of his mana, he erected a temporary barrier to fill in the massive gash along the ship''s side. It would only last a few minutes, but that was plenty of time for the crew to bring out the boards and nails and patch up her wound.


    With that, he knew they could make it through the storm and to safety. After putting all their mana into a last-ditch attack, his pursuers had no reserves remaining to continue the chase with.


    A lesser man might have taken this moment to sigh in relief, but there had never been any doubt in the mind of the captain.


    <hr>


    As was becoming a habit, Symon catapulted out of his dreams and into wakefulness with a start. Panting heavily, he rubbed the sleep out of his eyes as he recalled the dream. Why did it feel so familiar?


    <Ugh, what in the hells was that shit,> Keelgrave chimed in.


    "I don''t know man," Symon replied before pausing. "Wait, you saw that too? The Grymjaw sailing straight through that storm to avoid those other ships?"


    Suddenly, he felt the swirling vitality in his vessel impact something solid. He''d never encountered anything similar, so he quickly focused his awareness on this internal energy. His vitality was churning around violently as always ¡ª it reminded him of the storm-wracked seas from his dream ¡ª but it had to move around a blockage every loop it did. This blockage was all the energy that comprised Keelgrave, sitting perfectly still and condensed.


    <Repeat exactly what happened. Very slowly,> he said, his tone an ice-cold steel. Was he... angry? Sad? Symon wasn''t sure.


    "Uh, I had another dream. I was steering a ship away from some other ships. I''m not sure who they were or what they wanted. We had to go through this storm to avoid them, but they fired his giant fireball thing at us. Oh, and then right before it hit¡ª"


    <The elemental burned itself out?> Keelgrave interjected.


    "Yeah, exactly! So you had the same dream, too?"


    <No, Symon, no I didn''t. I lived it, sixty years ago.>


    That meant he''d, what, dreamed some of Keelgrave''s memories of the distant past? He knew magic could do some impressive things, but that seemed pretty far-fetched. Although, the dream had been remarkably vivid while also feeling oddly familiar, leading to an intensely surreal feeling akin to deja vu. It almost felt like it was one of his memories that he''d simply recalled in a dream.


    Almost immediately, Symon thought he knew the likely cause. They already knew that his Essence Bond ability allowed him to communicate with Keelgrave just by sharing thoughts ¡ª it was what enabled them to understand one another without a shared language ¡ª but who could say that was all it did? Keelgrave had never heard of the ability or anything similar to it before, but together they''d already worked out a vague understanding of what it was capable of.


    The most obvious feature was the communication aspect, but it also provided Keelgrave with immunity to Symon''s passive vitality drain, almost as if they were considered a single being by his magic. The ability had levelled up several times since they encountered the adventurers, and yet it didn''t feel any different.


    He did feel like their communication speed had improved, but this had seemed more like him gaining a better understanding of an existing ability, and not improvements stemming from a magical increase from the Ledger. Perhaps their ability to communicate quickly had been trained through providing Symon with fast translations of and into Common, but he felt that the improvements were a more mundane thing coming from simple practice, in the way that he was more confident with his pipe club even without gaining a skill for it. Even if the benefits were all from the magical Ledger, he didn''t feel they were large enough to explain so many new levels.


    Going from level 2 to level 5 in his other abilities was enough for a very noticeable increase, even if he wasn''t able to quantify it precisely. His Seize had improved in range and draining speed, levels to Running made him run faster with less effort, so what had all these levels to Essence Bond done?


    Apparently, their bond had deepened enough to allow the transfer of more than just deliberate thoughts. Eager to understand this ability as deeply as they could, the pair engaged in a quick test of the dream''s accuracy. Keelgrave would ask Symon questions of what felt like every mundane thing in his dream, such as what a certain crewmate''s hair colour was or if they had any noticeable scars. Though his improvements to his Intelligence supposedly improved his memory, it was far from being perfect ¡ª let alone noticeably changed. Still, he answered every question either correctly or with an ''I don''t remember''.


    As it turned out, nothing was noticeably different from Symon''s dream and how Keelgrave recalled things happening in reality. In fact, they decided it wasn''t entirely accurate to call what Symon had experienced a dream. He''d simply been reliving a memory.


    "Well, what does that mean for us?" Symon asked. Personally, he wasn''t sure how he felt about the deepening of their connection. Reliving the spirit''s life while he slept was an odd experience, but didn''t seem harmful. In fact, it had been kind of cool, almost like a super realistic VR movie where you were able to experience the thoughts and emotions of others. The part that worried him was how little they knew about the ability, specifically how it would continue to grow. Keelgrave had been helpful when it came to combat advice, which he seemed happy to dispense, and for use as a translator, a task which he performed only begrudgingly... but that didn''t mean they liked each other and wanted a literal magical bond to grow stronger between them.


    Just from that short glimpse into Keelgrave''s past, he could tell that his previous life was a rough one. Being hunted by powerful enemies across the sea was an obvious sign of this, but it ran deeper than that too. Despite the life-or-death situation, Keelgrave hadn''t once thought of his family or friends, the life of his crew, the ship itself, or even his own life as anything more than a means to an end. He''d just been... angry. Angry at some nebulous concept that Symon didn''t understand, considering the memory had started and ended while still deep in the thick of things. It was like Symon had read a chapter from the middle of a book that was Keelgrave''s life and didn''t have enough context to understand the details.


    Keelgrave had been angry at his pursuers, angry at wherever they came from, and angry at himself for taking too big of a risk ¡ª not because of the danger to himself and the others, but because it meant he could have died before taking out his anger on his enemies.


    Symon wasn''t a hateful, violent, or aggressive person. It just wasn''t in his nature. That was why it felt so confusing to reconcile that intense loathing he''d felt in the memories with how he felt in his own life. The feelings weren''t lingering in the sense that he felt he was being influenced by them, but it was very strange to temporarily feel so different to how he normally did.


    Simply put, the new aspect of his ability was an interesting novelty, and he already had some ideas of how it could help him presuming they could consciously control it, but currently, it didn''t seem to change much.


    Symon was happy to put this whole thing to rest, safe in the knowledge that their connection was more or less unchanged, before he remembered something. He''d been so caught up in how strange his dream had felt, that he''d completely glossed over that Keelgrave had also woken up extremely confused. They''d already established at the very start of their conversation that Keelgrave didn''t have the same dream as Symon... so what had he seen?


    If Symon had peered into Keelgrave''s past...


    Had the spirit done the same?

 Chapter 23 - Secrets

    Symon stretched, letting out a big yawn halfway through. His conversation with Keelgrave regarding his visions of the spirit''s past life had already woken him up, but it still felt good to do.


    <Boy... why in the hells does an ambulance make that gods-awful sound?> Keelgrave asked, taking that opportunity to ruin Symon''s morning.


    Shit. This was not good. He''d already guessed that the memory transfer might have gone both ways, and unfortunately, his prediction seemed correct. He''d wanted to keep his status as a reincarnator a secret, at least until he could confirm it wouldn''t be something that had him hunted down by wizards who wanted to experiment on him. He needed to stall for time while he worked out what he could do.


    "Uh, it''s to make sure the traffic doesn''t get in our way when we''re taking a patient to the... hospital," Symon responded, hesitating slightly at the end as he considered what was a good idea to reveal. He wasn''t even confident this was the type of thing he''d be able to lie his way out of, not when Keelgrave must already know that Symon hadn''t been truthful with his story about having amnesia.


    If Keelgrave was asking about ambulances, then one relevant memory jumped out to Symon as the most likely one that Keelgrave had seen ¡ª the last memory he''d had before he died. If that were true, there would be no way he could simply explain all the advanced Earth technology such as cars as simply from some distant continent, not if the cat was out of the bag that he''d died and ended up here.


    He''d wanted to keep this hidden indefinitely, but it seemed like he didn''t have a choice now. He didn''t have any real evidence that being known as a reincarnator would be bad for him, it had been more of a gut feeling. Although, what was the downside to Keelgrave knowing? Even if Keelgrave would have seen Symon as an invader of his planet that needed to be killed or had some equally violent reaction ¡ª which he didn''t believe was the case ¡ª it''s not like the ghost could really do anything beyond saying some mean words. Besides, being separated from Keelgrave didn''t seem like something he''d be able to do anytime soon, so chances were high the spirit would eventually figure things out even if he did somehow manage to lie his way out of this.


    Ultimately, the risks of Keelgrave knowing the truth didn''t seem very high, so he decided to stop fighting the inevitable.


    With a sigh, reluctantly continued. "Okay, just tell me what you saw and I''ll explain everything after that, so I''m not repeating things you already know."


    <Let''s see... so you do have your memories after all. I figured as much already. You really are a horrible liar, you know that, boy?>


    Symon rolled his eyes in response.


    <Fine, fine, you were at the helm of this ambulance thing and you crashed, that was it. But where the in the hells even were you?>


    In answer, Symon rolled to the side and manifested his Ledger simply by mentally requesting it. For the first time since encountering Keelgrave, he didn''t focus on having the ''Titles'' section not show up. In fact, he requested for only that section to appear, considering he''d just checked the rest of it before he slept.


    [ Titles:


    Blessed by Order


    Blessed by Chaos


    World Traveller ]


    Before the dead grass next to his bedroll finished twisting into the words on his Ledger, Keelgrave had already let out a soft sigh.


    "Yeah, that probably clears things up. I died, and then two beings brought me here. It doesn''t take a genius to figure out they were probably Order and Chaos, but I don''t know anything else about this world except for what you''ve told me and what I''ve been able to guess just from surviving here."


    <Well shit, boy. That explains a lot. Best we keep this between ourselves, for both our sake. You understand?>


    "Uh, kind of but not really. I wasn''t planning on spreading it around, but what''s so dangerous about it? The different nations here are going to want to experiment on me or something?"


    Keelgrave took a long moment to finally reply. <Not exactly. World Traveller''s are rare, but not unheard of. There are some stories about them, myths and legends mostly, but there are a few well-known examples commonly accepted to be true, at least in certain circles.>


    This immediately brightened Symon''s mood. Other World Travellers? It wasn''t guaranteed they were also from Earth, but he still took it as a good sign. If others have been transported here, maybe they already figured out a way back, or at least have some ideas.


    "I still don''t get what''s so dangerous about it," he continued.


    <I don''t fully understand it, you''d have to ask a priest and even then you''d only get one side of the story, but otherworlders invariably come into conflict. Don''t ask me why because I don''t know, but in every story the only times they ever seem to work together is when another otherworlder is their mutual enemy.>


    "That seems strange. So they just fight each other all the time?"If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    <Again, the whole thing is pretty rare, but in the few examples I know of, yeah, pretty much. The bastards just all seem to hate each other. At least it explains where your magic comes from, the otherworlders in the stories always have strange but powerful abilities.>


    "So if the fact I have the World Traveller title became commonly known, a bunch of really strong people will just come kill for a reason neither of us knows?"


    <Errr, yeah. So don''t go spreading it.>


    Obviously, he wasn''t planning on it, and he was pretty confident that Keelgrave wouldn''t either. He couldn''t communicate with anyone other than Symon in the first place, but even if he could he''d have good reason to keep Symon''s secret ¡ª namely, he''d have nothing anchoring him to this world if Symon died, meaning he''d pass on to wherever dead people''s souls went.


    "You''re the only other person who knows, so let''s keep it this way. The adventurers seem pretty trustworthy, but there''s no benefit to revealing it, right?"


    <So you are learning! There''s hope for you yet, dear sweet Symon. Yes, keep it between us,> Keelgrave answered. This was the closest thing he''d ever gotten to a compliment from Keelgrave, even considering how sarcastic it sounded. Oh well, he''d take it.


    "Now that you know my secret, I guess I can be more open about things. Where I''m from, we had no Ledger and no mana. Monsters were just in stories, and most dangerous beasts were only found rarely and in specific countries. Most regular people don''t know how to fight because they just don''t need to. Even the soldiers fought in ways that you would barely recognise, not with swords, magic, and raw strength but with technology."


    <Hmm, a world of weaklings?>


    "What? No, we just evolved past constantly fighting each other. Well, sort of. Ugh, it''s not important anyway, everyone''s waking up."


    Indeed, the others had already begun their own morning routines, performing stretches akin to yoga in Aslan''s case, while Safiya started the fire back up after snapping off one the the smaller branches of the tree that Symon had drained to death yesterday.


    Even Atabek began stirring, grunting as he slowly pushed himself to a sitting position. Symon would rather the man kept still until he''d checked out his injuries, but he didn''t speak any Dumosan. As it turns out, he still ended up getting his wish.


    As soon as the still recovering man finished pushing himself upwards, he spotted Symon. Immediately, his eyes widened as he began scrabbling for his massive axe. Right, the last thing he''d seen before being picked up and almost cut in half by the razor stalker had been Symon running straight at him. He''d been trying to warn the man of the danger, but Atabek had been unconscious since that incident and would have no way of knowing what had actually happened.


    Thankfully, Aslan came to his rescue quickly before he had to engage in what would have been an incredibly awkward battle with a dangerously muscular yet still very wounded man. He said something in a reassuring tone to his travelling companion in Dumosan, and eventually the man calmed down. He had a deep, rough voice, and according to Aslan didn''t speak a lick of Common. This meant Aslan would have to translate Dumosan into Common, then Keelgrave had to translate that into English for Symon.


    Symon had no talent for foreign languages, and had already decided he needed to learn Common himself, but it was looking like he''d also need to learn Dumosan, especially if he was sticking with his plan of travelling with these people back to their homeland. He wasn''t looking forward to that challenge at all, but hopefully, the benefits of a magically improved Intelligence would make things easier for him. Thinking back to how poorly he''d done in foreign language classes back in high school, he shuddered. He''d much rather fight a thousand centipedes than have to repeat that process, but it was looking like he wouldn''t have much of a choice.


    While he''d been distracted thinking about the horrors of needing to return to studying, Aslan had finished explaining what had happened to Atabek. He''d described Symon as a wandering healer who had saved his life, and then been instrumental in defeating the monster that had attacked them ¡ª he supposed this was all technically true, even if it left out a lot. He''d also explained how Serik had achieved a proper warrior''s death, resulting in a giant smile from the equally large man.


    Symon still wasn''t used to these people''s casual relationship with death, but he supposed that if the world was as dangerous as he''d been led to believe then it made sense to always expect it.


    After carefully explaining how Symon''s draining magic worked to him ¡ª after he tried to hug Symon as thanks for both saving his life and helping his comrade to achieve a good death ¡ª he was finally ready to actually check over his patient. The fact that the man was so lively was a positive sign, but he still wanted to at least give him a once-over. It was possible the man wasn''t healing right, but he also needed to determine if he''d be able to travel today or if he''d need more time and vitality to recover.


    After getting the man to lift up his shirt, he squatted a few metres away as he inspected his wounds. He felt the man might have had a bear as an ancestor, considering he was both as massive and almost as hairy as one. Regardless, he was still able to get a look at the man''s wounds. He''d healed incredibly fast, mostly because of the vitality Symon had given him but also because of his impressive Constitution. The blades of the stalker had gone all the way through the man just yesterday, although all the open holes in him had healed over with thick red and raw scabs. He''d probably make a full recovery on his own given enough time, but Symon felt he wasn''t yet in travelling condition.


    Even with the benefits of a superhuman Constitution, he would still need some time for it to work its magic. Healing multiple times faster than a normal person was great, but that only meant that the recovery period for such a severe injury was measured in days and weeks instead of months. Of course, that wasn''t the case once factoring in Symon''s healing ¡ª recovery could be sped up essentially as much as you wanted, as long as you could afford the vitality cost. In this case, they couldn''t. Symon only had three points of vitality saved up, and he''d prefer to save them for an emergency. Really, he''d rather he had a lot more than that, but they had something of a scarcity.


    There was much work to be done to refill his vessel and get Atabek into travelling and fighting condition, but they had an important task first.


    The group sat around ¡ª or in Atabek''s case, laid around ¡ª the campfire while consuming their breakfast. It consisted of a dense, hard bread slathered in some type of jam. The bread left much to be desired, but the jam had a delicious sweet and tart taste. It was also a slightly offputting green colour, but when Symon closed his eyes, it almost felt like he was back on Earth eating some stale toast.

 Chapter 24 - The Hunt

    Breakfast now complete, Symon wanted to harvest some more vitality for Atabek before it warmed up too much. With two suns already in the sky and the third still creeping over the horizon, it was inevitable that the blissful cool of night would soon be chased away. His sleep had been quite comfortable, the ground retaining most of its heat while the air cooled down nicely, so he wasn''t looking forward to the sweltering heat. Best to start early before it got too bad, he thought.


    After letting the others know what he was going to do, Symon began walking the perimeter of the cleared area around their camp, hugging the wall of grass as he went. Doing so, he slowly spiralled outwards, considering what he could do to refill his vitality reserves as he collected a pittance of the energy from the dead grass. Considering he''d gone to sleep fully healed, fed, and watered, he''d awoken with the same amount of vitality he went to sleep with ¡ª three units.


    He had no concrete idea of exactly how much healing one point of vitality could do, but he figured that ten would probably be enough to heal Atabek. Perhaps not enough to completely erase the injuries, but at least enough for him to safely move around and fight if need be. He also wanted to keep a reserve in case some emergency healing was needed ¡ª his newly expanded vessel enabling him to store up to 13 units of the stuff, and he wanted to make use of it.


    A larger maximum capacity was great, but Symon still had the same problem he always had; no easy way to get vitality. He could borrow a few points from the healthy adventurers, but he''d prefer to save that for last if he couldn''t find another way. The grass around him was barely clinging onto life, meaning they had barely any vitality for him to take. After almost an hour of walking around in a circle draining the grass without even a full extra point of vitality to show for it, he realised he''d need to do something more active.


    Hunting the centipedes back in the desert would give him a couple points of vitality from each one, and he could find several each hour. He could run back there pretty quickly if he wanted to, but it was still the opposite direction of where they wanted to be going. Plus, he detested the desert. The thought of willingly going back there wasn''t something he was interested in when he still had other options to explore.


    There was almost certainly something they could hunt for vitality in this horizon-spanning grassy plain. The others had been trekking through it for about a week without encountering anything particularly dangerous ¡ª not including the razor stalker ¡ª but that didn''t mean they hadn''t found any other life at all. The grass grew healthier the further it got from the desert, meaning it would provide him with more vitality, but the fact that Atabek needed to be travel-worthy in order to travel to the source of vitality was a non-starter. They needed another source to get him moving in the first place.


    The camp was only a short jog away considering he''d been going in circles around them, so it didn''t take long before he was back discussing what they could do with the leader of the Dumosan adventurers.


    "We have encountered a few local beasts in our travels. If you wish for a large quantity of life essence with minimal danger..." Aslan considered things, stroking his short beard as he did so. "I know of a good option. My comrades and I have encountered large, flightless birds that gather in herds. We slew a few, but they provided little challenge and made for poor eating, so we have not bothered with them since."


    Oh man, Symon hoped these weren''t penguins. He really didn''t want to kill something if it was so cute, but he''d do what he had to do to ensure everyone still alive made it out.


    "Lead me to them," he said.


    <hr>


    After an hour of wandering around, they''d made it to where the creatures nested. Well, from Symon''s perspective, they just wandered around, but Aslan must have been following a trail. Thankfully, the monsters ¡ª or were they just normal animals here? Symon still wasn''t sure how the vernacular worked ¡ª were not cute penguins.


    A hundred or so metres in front of them were a few dozen creatures, looking a lot like ostriches that had tried to disguise themselves as a bush and failed miserably. The largest of the group, presumably the adults, were a little taller than Symon, although a solid portion of their height came from their long necks. Instead of the large talons he was expecting, their legs ended in hooves like a horse. He found this to be great news. He''d rather get kicked by a solid object than get disembowelled by a massive claw. Their beaks didn''t seem particularly sharp, and he doubted their skinny necks allowed them to peck with much power.


    The main body was the strangest part of the creature. None of them had any visible appendages such as the wings he would have predicted they had, instead being coated in long, looping coils of what looked like verdant vines and roots. They stood out sharply from the brown half-dead grass surrounding them but probably blended in well with the healthier green grass that Symon and the Dumosans hoped to reach soon.


    It was just Symon and Aslan here for the fight, but they were confident. There were only a half dozen of the adult creatures, while the rest of their numbers were made up of their young. According to Aslan and his team''s previous encounter, only the largest ones would fight while the others all fled. One of the monsters was noticeably taller than the others, but they had a plan to deal with them all.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    It was inevitable that most of them would flee, so Symon''s job would be to run in and go for the legs, crippling as many as he could and ensuring he could safely drain them afterwards. Meanwhile, Aslan would hold their attention until Symon got all of the slow ones, after which they would work together to take down the adults. Symon had felt it would be best to go back for help, or perhaps find a smaller herd to attack, but Aslan hadn''t been very impressed by the ostrich monster''s combat prowess previously and was confident he could safely hold the majority of their attention.


    With a final nod to each other, the duo split up and began circling the monsters in opposite directions. They had chosen to maintain their distance as they weren''t very stealthy, especially considering there was always one of the ostrich monsters using their long necks to keep a watch out over the grass.


    Leaving a trail of dead grass behind him as he crouched through the grass, Symon didn''t feel very sneaky. Maybe it was worth the effort to learn a stealth skill, considering how many vicious monsters there were in this world. If he encountered something too powerful for him, which seemed inevitable, his only option would be to run away.


    Ignoring potential plans for the future, Symon refocused on the present. It was about to start.


    Aslan suddenly stood up out of the grass on the opposite side of the bush ostriches, loudly talking in his native tongue as he casually strolled towards the creatures. Immediately, the little ones moved behind the adult creatures, their plantlike bodies puffing up like a cat trying to make itself seem larger. They didn''t attack, standing their ground and bobbing their heads up and down as they let out deep hooting noises. It must have been their attempt to seem intimidating, but to Symon, they just looked silly.


    Taking the opportunity given to him by Aslan''s distraction, Symon quickly began creeping closer to them. He had his club slung over his shoulder, while his new sword was sheathed at his side ¡ª it would remain there unless his primary weapon proved ineffective. Judging by the creatures'' thin legs and necks, this seemed unlikely.


    Aslan was still shouting something and banging his sword against his shield ¡ª his previously used spear split in half in the fight against the razor stalker ¡ª while the creatures seemed content to continue their weird dominance dance. This gave Symon the easy opening he needed to make it the last couple of metres into the clearing.


    The creatures were so distracted by Aslan''s performance that he could simply stroll right up behind them. It felt so easy that he almost felt a little bad, but when one of the hip-height younger creatures turned around to face him, any feeling of remorse vanished. The thing was hideous, looking more like a crocodile with a beak than the bird-like features he was expecting. He promptly brained the creature with his club before remembering he wanted to keep them alive to drain as much vitality as possible.


    Aslan had charged towards the creatures the moment Symon had revealed himself, so he quickly focused on his own task and got to work. He trusted Aslan to be able to handle himself long enough.


    Symon crashed into their backline like a tidal wave, his club snapping twiglike legs with every blow. The little monsters made an angry coughing noise and kicked at him in response, but the attacks did nothing more than bruise him, his vessel sending out a tiny trickle of vitality to almost instantly heal them away. They barely even hurt, feeling more like ant bites than anything serious. Stubbing a toe would have hurt more. Symon wasn''t sure if this was because of his Pain Resistance or if the attacks were really that weak. The small amount of vitality consumer was immediately returned ¡ª with interest ¡ª as the grey threads of Seize automatically snapped out to the nearby downed creatures.


    The process was remarkably easy, and by the time all the smaller monsters began fleeing he had already knocked down a dozen of them. The runners, despite being half Symon''s height, were incredibly fast and practically vanished into the grass. This alone would be enough to fill his vessel and then some, so he turned to help Aslan with the only real threats.


    The man was unwounded, playing a defensive game as the monsters had him half surrounded, the largest one standing behind the crescent the monsters had formed as it seemingly observed the fight. As he watched, one of the ostriches tried to peck at Aslan. Instead of taking the attack on his shield as he had with most of the others, he smoothly stepped back and cleanly decapitated the monster with a single quick swipe of his sword. Like a chicken, the headless monster remained standing for a few moments as it began swaying drunkenly, the neck spurting blood as it whipped around like an unattended firefighter''s hose.


    That left four of the creatures forming a crescent line around Aslan, with a larger one still standing behind as it imperiously observed the fight. Judging by how easily Aslan had just killed one of them, he would be fine against the remaining four. This left the big one for Symon.


    It seemed the creature had the same idea, turning around for the first time and laying eyes on him. For the first time, it noticed what had happened to all the other creatures in its pack. Aslan had lured them far enough away and had been a loud enough distraction that Symon had been given more time to act than they''d initially planned for, but his ability to act unhindered while they were busy was over.


    The alpha of the pack, standing a little over two metres tall, let out a low, deep noise somewhere between an owl''s hoot and a wolf''s howl. It advanced slowly towards Symon, clacking its beak together as it did so. While the other creatures had small, blunt nubs in their beaks for chewing through plants, this one had sharp verticle spikes of keratin akin to fangs.


    They''d probably hurt if the creature started biting Symon, but he wasn''t too concerned. As the creature stalked towards Symon, the coils of vines wrapping around its body began to move. Some of them flopped off and began trailing along the ground, making him think the creature was shedding the strange material ¡ª he wasn''t sure if it was actual plant life or a part of the creature that just looked like vines. The creature was shrugging off its camouflage to make itself lighter, preparing to defend its flock against the attackers.


    At least, that was what Symon thought was happening. Instead of detaching, the trailing vinelike growths started twitching and jerking. Suddenly, they all shot out as they lifted under their own power, spreading out through the air. Suddenly, Symon wasn''t just fighting a giant ostrich, but a giant ostrich with vines spreading out behind it like the feathers of a peacock.


    Only, instead of being beautifully coloured feathers, the ostrich monster''s vine appendages were a dark green, coated with hundreds of dangerous-looking sharp thorns.


    Just my luck, Symon thought before he charged in.

 Chapter 25 - Chicken

    With its vines spreading out through the air like branches in a tree, the monster in front of Symon looked like some unholy mix of cassowary, octopus, and plant. When taken individually, nothing about the monster seemed too dangerous; being kicked by its hooves would hurt, but a cracked rib could be healed pretty fast. The beak would deliver some painful bites, but as long as he kept it away from his face and throat it wouldn''t be too bad. But those vine tentacles... they were the real threat.


    Symon quickly closed in, his feet kicking up small sprays of the sandy dirt as he charged. His Running skill showed its value as he accelerated fast enough to give him a good shot of making it as an Olympic sprinter. The bush ostriches had already shown that even the smaller ones were capable of outrunning Symon, so his plan was simple. He would close in as soon as possible and keep the monster on the defensive, preventing it from using its mobility and allowing Symon to use his magic.


    At least, that was the plan. As it turned out, the monster wasn''t content to sit there and let itself be killed. In fact, it was quite mad at the human who had just cracked a bunch of its young over the head with a pipe. It expressed this displeasure by whipping its vine tentacles through the air, sharp thorns passing by Symon as he threw himself to the side to avoid them. His speed made it hard to maneuver and he almost slipped, but he was able to push himself upright before he completely fell over. The creature was already turning to face him, its vines still swiping out blindly as they searched for him.


    Taking that opportunity to strike, he swung his club towards the centre mass of his opponent. Its long neck twisted around the second it had lost vision of Symon, and it stared at him with a cunning rage in its eyes. With Symon now back in its sight, the vines returned to their more focused state as they curled in on themselves, forming a dense shield in the air between them that caught Symon''s blow. His heavy metal pipe slammed into the bramble shield but the force of the blow was absorbed like a car''s suspension, the shield being pushed back towards the creature but not doing any harm. The grey threads of his draining magic, now almost as long as the pipe, also lashed out and connected to the vine tentacles, greedily ripping out as much vitality as it could. The affected tentacles jerked backwards in response, as Symon continued pushing against the shield with his pipe, eager to remain close and steal as much vitality as he could.


    He didn''t want to check the vessel tattoo on his hand in the middle of combat, but his experience with his abilities meant he always had some awareness of the vessel in his chest. It was already almost full from his fight ¡ª if you could even call it that ¡ª with the smaller monsters, but he wanted more. By now, the briar shield had been forced up against the monster''s body as it tried to push back against him, his grey threads swaying happily as they guzzled up more vitality.


    He wanted more, more, more! He was the apex predator here, and he would assert his dominance over these pathetic beasts. He would take their strength for his own, he would use it for his own designs as he crushed all who stood in his path! He would be the¡ª


    No, no, that''s not right, he thought as he shook his head like a dog. What was he doing? He was the master of his abilities, something he repeated in his mind as he forced himself to take in his surroundings and think about what he was doing. His thread was still draining the monster''s vitality, good. He was uninjured, good. His club was still pinning half the creature''s vines down, good.


    Wait, where''s the other half?


    Answering his question, he realised the vine tentacles had been slithering across the floor. He realised this because they had suddenly lashed out and then pulled across the back of his legs, delivering dozens of cuts to his legs using their razor-sharp thorns. He staggered forward slightly from the blow, tiny sparks of burning pain shooting across his legs, but while the injuries were numerous the thorns weren''t able to cut very deep. Already, some of his stolen vitality was washing out from his vessel, stemming the blood flow and slowly beginning to close the wounds.


    The razor stalker had been scary, but this thing just looked stupid. He wasn''t going to let some ridiculous half-bird half-bush monster force him to use up so much vitality. He wanted to keep his vessel nice and full! Plus, while the Pain Resistance was helping, it wasn''t Pain Immunity. The attacks still stung something fierce, so Symon elected to return the favour. It seemed he''d outlast the creature, his magic killing it faster than it could damage him through the healing, but he didn''t want to just endure it, he wanted to win.


    Once more Symon smashed his club into the creature''s shield, not doing any damage but forcing it away. Jumping backwards to avoid the vines lying on the ground, Symon knew he had to change things up. First, he threw the pipe at the monster. It spun through the air with a sharp whistling noise but was swatted aside by the creature''s vines. It only served as a minor distraction, but that was all Symon needed.


    In a mostly smooth motion, Symon unsheathed the late Serik''s sword. The half expected a metallic schwing sound, but that had turned out to just be movie magic. The sound of the metal blade sliding out of the leather scabbard was simply a soft rustle. He brandished the blade with a smile, both hands around the grip. Now this was a real weapon, not just some salvaged hunk of metal. But he didn''t draw it for some romantic notion of knighthood; he''d noticed how ineffective his blunt weapon had been against the vines.You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.


    It was time for some pruning.


    Once more, both Symon and the monster charged at each other. But this time, when his weapon clashed with the thorny shield the monster had shaped, he cut deep into it instead of bouncing off. The mass of vines was too thick for him to cut all the way through, but the blade was sharp enough that he could yank it back out without too much effort. In response, the creature let out a guttural ululating cry before swiping at him from the side. Symon had grown stronger and faster since arriving in this desert, but this moment showed him just how far he had to go in order to be truly safe against these monsters ¡ª the vines were whipping towards him almost faster than he could see.


    He managed to barely begin an upward slash, cutting through some of the vines that were going for his legs again, but a wall of them were still approaching. Before he could even try to attempt something else, they crashed into him like a wave. They would have swept him off his feet if not for the fact that they began wrapping around him, the sharp thorns embedding into him and preventing him from easily sliding out. They slithered and scraped his way across his body, but he at least managed to get one hand under the vine that had curled around his neck before it could constrict his airways. There was a thorn right in the middle of where his palm was pressing outwards, but the pain was better than being strangled.


    Gritting his teeth, he half-pushed half-pulled the vine away from his neck. He continued levering it away even after the force of his exertion caused the thorn to pierce out of the back of his hand. The vine itself wasn''t very strong, but the awkward angle coupled with the other vines pushing him off balance and distracting him with the pain of their hundreds of thorns made things harder than it would otherwise have been.


    But Symon wasn''t idle while this was happening. For one, his vitality drain had continued to weaken the monster and in turn provide Symon with continuous healing. Less subtly, his sword arm was still free, something Symon painfully reminded the creature of as he continued slashing at the monster''s vine tentacles.


    Symon was growing frustrated. Neither of them were able to deal much damage to the other, although Symon was gradually getting further and further wrapped up by the vines. Although, the more the vines were wrapped around Symon, the less space that put between them...


    With an idea in mind, Symon switched to a reverse grip on his short sword. He almost dropped it due to a combination of inexperience, adrenaline, and the slick blood all over his hands, but he managed to keep hold of it. His plan was simple ¡ª the monster had dedicated the majority of its vines to constrict Symon and prevent him from moving away, almost as if a rubber band connected the two together. And if he couldn''t move back, why not just do the opposite?


    Most of his torso was wrapped around with vines, with one arm caught up in being used to stop him from being strangled, but his legs were mostly free. With a wordless shout, he charged forward, the vines helping him along as they pulled him inwards. With renewed courage after Symon had stopped slashing through the vines, the last vestiges of the vine shield broke apart as the appendages previously used for defence slithered aggressively through the air towards Symon.


    Somehow, the expression on the bird''s face looked smug, as if it thought it had the upper hand. It wasn''t expecting Symon to simply crash carelessly into the sharp vines simply to get into melee range of the creature. It realised too late what was happening, as Symon lifted his sword into the air before stabbing it downwards with all his might. The dozens of vines wrapped around Symon not only constricted him, but it also prevented the ostrich monster from easily separating from Symon.


    This meant it had no room to dodge as the sharp steel stabbed deep into its body, finally dealing some serious damage for the first time in that fight that had, until that point, been something of an awkward struggle for both participants. He expected the creature to respond with another one of its weird cries accompanied by a redoubling of its attacks, but the truth was much simpler.


    With a wet wheeze from the creature, the vines wrapping around Symon quickly lost all their strength as they released their grip on him. He pulled the sword out, ready to continue his assault, but the monster merely stumbled away a few steps before collapsing in a heap.


    "That wasn''t so bad," he said aloud, mostly to himself.


    A grunt and a scuffle responded to him from behind. He''d been so caught up fighting that monster he''d completely forgotten about Aslan!


    Turning around, he saw he didn''t have anything to worry about. His companion had just finished up with his final foe by slapping the flat of his blade against the neck of the last remaining ostrich so hard that he broke its neck. He didn''t have any visible injuries, but he had a slight limp as he walked towards Symon. He''d probably been kicked in the leg, Symon guessed.


    "Great job!" Symon called out as he brushed himself off, the shallow scratches over his body already sealing together. "I''ll have plenty of vitality left for Atabek, even after we''re both healed up."


    "Excellent news, friend Symon, and well fought! I wish to apologise though; when we last hunted those creatures they did not appear to have any control over the plants covering them," Aslan ruefully expressed. "I suspect the one you fought was stronger than the previous ones."


    "Oh well, no harm done. Just let me finish harvesting the rest of the vitality and I''ll heal you up as we head back to camp," Symon said with a smile.


    Keelgrave took that moment to chime in. <Well fought? What was well fought about that? You almost got strangled to death by an overgrown chicken! And your swordwork, oh gods, it''s an affront to the craft to even call it that...>


    Symon''s smile grew strained as he walked back to the smaller monsters he''d knocked out or crippled at the start of the fight, draining the last of their vitality as he did so. Yeah, his skill with the sword left a lot to be desired, but considering it was his first time using it he felt he''d done well.


    "Ugh, and I ruined another set of clothes..."

 Chapter 26 - Vessel

    Symon had been victorious over his foe, but at great and terrible cost. Not to his body, no, for that was already healed. Nor was it his vitality reserves ¡ª in fact, there had been so much that he still had a full vessel even after healing both himself and the slightly wounded Aslan.


    The true cost of the battle was to his clothes. His replacement white robe was once again dyed red with his own blood, although by now it was more accurately described as strips of cloth hanging off his body instead of a functional piece of clothing. Apparently, it wasn''t common for adventurers to bleed out half their total volume of blood in every fight, but Symon''s mother had always said he was special. While Aslan poked around in the creature''s nest, Symon wandered off a few steps to open his Ledger in peace. Seeing himself improve always made him feel better.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.82 {+0.01}


    Constitution: 1.11 {+0.03}


    Acuity: 0.87 {+0.02}


    Intelligence: 0.83 {+0.01}


    Will: 1.13 {+0.05}


    Vessel (Vitality): 18/16 {+3}


    [ Abilities:


    Idealise (8) {+1}: Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled.


    Seize (9) {+1}: Absorbs Vitality from a target and stores it in the wielder''s Vessel. This ability automatically applies to valid targets and cannot be disabled.


    Essence Bond (6) {+1}: Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit''s.


    Passives:


    Pain Resistance (5) {+1}


    Poison Resistance (0)


    Running (5)]


    Not bad for only an hour''s work, he thought. The battle itself had only been a few minutes, but tracking down the monsters in the first place took some time. That increase in his pain resistance was appreciated but unexpected ¡ª his injuries had hurt, but it hadn''t felt too bad.


    Furrowing his brows, he stared at a specific line. His vessel size had grown again, but the amount in it had somehow surpassed even this new maximum. He didn''t even realise that was possible. What was the point of having an upper limit if you could go past it? This question and more flittered through his mind until, suddenly, the eighteen dropped down to a seventeen. Now he wanted to know where this excess vitality had gone. His awareness of his vessel felt a little more solid, but he wasn''t sure exactly what was causing this. Although, this gave him an idea he needed to test.


    A few of the smaller monsters that had been knocked out by Symon''s club ¡ª he''d already picked his trusty weapon back up after he''d thrown it ¡ª so he quickly approached one and knelt beside it, the familiar grey threads snapping out automatically once he moved close enough. He felt like the threads were slower than they usually were when it was operating automatically ¡ª it still worked, although it felt different. While normally his magic brought to mind the image of a starving beast leaping on its prey and ripping out chunks, currently it felt more like someone had stuffed themselves at a buffet and was slowly trying to cram in another bite of food. Did it work slower when his vessel was full?


    As long as he concentrated on the magic and encouraged the draining, it continued at the speed he''d expected. But when he allowed it to automatically do its own thing, it slowed down noticeably ¡ª to a little less than half the normal speed.


    They''d been planning to just let these unconscious ones go free, considering his vessel was already overfull and they didn''t need to hunt them for their meat or anything else, but he needed to test a theory.


    He concentrated on the feeling of the vitality entering his body, following along the path of his ability as it worked its way towards his vessel. Only, instead of being absorbed into the storage as it usually did, it bumped off the outside walls of it. Looking closer, he barely noticed a tiny, diffuse cloud of vitality was already surrounding his vessel, this freshly arriving vitality now joining it. The interior vitality was constantly swirling around like water down a drain, but the vitality stuck outside was barely moving, as if it was glued to the outside of his vessel. He quickly stole the last of the creature''s vitality as well as that of the final unconscious monster.


    Once he was finished, he took stock of what he''d seen his internal energy do. It seemed almost as if it had vanished ¡ª neither entering his vessel nor leaving his body. He hadn''t even noticed that the amount of free-floating vitality was shrinking until it was almost all gone. But if it hadn''t entered the storage, and it hadn''t left his body, where did it go? Once more, he opened his Ledger. Only one thing had changed.


    Vessel (Vitality): 17/17 {+1}


    "Yes!" he said aloud in his excitement, quickly returning to simply thinking his words at Keelgrave. He didn''t want Aslan to think he was crazy. "I always wondered what exactly made my vessel grow, and I think I figured it out! Well, partially at least. I just have to try and fill it up with more than it can take, and the excess gets used to increase the maximum. Somehow."


    <Not bad kid, sure is easier than trying to increase the size of your mana core,> the spirit added.Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    "Oh? How does that work?" he asked. He knew little about mana, considering he wasn''t able to use it.


    <Same as growing your muscles I suppose, lots of use. Absorbing cores from monsters or people helps too, which is why your friends were so excited to get such a nice one from that razor stalker.>


    "Neat. Wait, did you say people? Like, they rip the core out of people''s chest?"


    <Sure, sure, and it''s more common than you''d probably think, judging by how cushy your old planet seemed. It''s illegal to own or trade in non-monster cores, but once you absorb it no one would have any way of knowing what you did. Plenty of rumours about those mages.>


    "Yeah, I can imagine," Symon said, images of medieval organ harvesting flashing through his mind. Hopefully they wouldn''t be interested in his vessel.


    <Although, it is strange just how much your vessel has increased by... exactly how big was it when you first came here?>


    Symon barely even had to try and remember, the value quickly flashing into his mind. A sign his improved Intelligence was doing something, he thought. "It had a maximum of seven, the first time I checked." That had only been a few days ago, so it was hardly impressive that he remembered it. Still, it wasn''t something he''d consciously memorised, and he''d never had a great memory in the first place.


    <So it''s been what, not even three full days and your vessel has more than doubled in size? That would be unheard of growth, if it was a mana core we were talking about.>


    "Well now that I know how to grow it, I''m going to pack on as much as I can. Being able to store more vitality would be amazing for so many situations. Well, not that we have tonnes of spare vitality to use just laying around, but it''s something to keep in mind."


    <Good attitude. You''ll lament not using every advantage you have to grow stronger when you''re at the mercy of someone more powerful.>


    Symon initially felt that Keelgrave was just being paranoid, but the more he considered it the more the grumpy old spirit had a point. If he was alone against the razor stalker, he would have died in a flash. If the Dumosan adventurers had decided they wanted to kill Symon, they could have done so easily. His healing wouldn''t have mattered when they were strong enough to cut his head off with a single swipe.


    This world seemed much more dangerous than Earth. If you lived outside of the cities, you had to always be worried about monster attacks. If you lived in the cities, you had to be cautious of what were essentially criminals with superpowers. And probably also monsters there was well, if they were as sneaky as the razor stalker had been.


    The point was that even if someone wasn''t a soldier, monster hunter, or something equally violent, death and danger often still found you. And considering Symon had spent most of his life without the benefits of the Ledger, he was essentially starting from scratch. It was like everyone had a loaded gun pointed at him, and the only reason he was still alive was because no one had fired it. He knew that not everyone would be as nice as the Dumosans, and not every monster as easy to beat as the centipedes and bush ostriches. He needed to use the unique advantage his healing gave him to maximum effect to secure his long-term survival.


    "Friend Symon, are you ready to return to camp?" Aslan''s voice asked from behind him, causing him to jump. He hadn''t heard the man''s footsteps approaching.


    "Uh, yeah, I''m ready," he said, forcing a smile. Dammit, why had Keelgrave''s words gotten to him like this? The adventurers had proven themselves to be good natured people already, and he should have been more than used to ignoring the spirit by now. Plus, if they''d wanted him dead, they''d had plenty of chances to do it earlier. They wouldn''t have offered him food, water, clothing, and the weapon of their dead friend if they weren''t good people.


    He thought he knew why he was feeling like this. It was the helplessness, back to haunt him. In his past life, he hadn''t had miraculous healing magic. Instead, he''d been completely at the mercy of fate.


    And now that he''d been given a new lease on life, it could all be taken away from him in a heartbeat. Sure, objectively there were some major negatives to this new world, namely all the violence and death, but it was death he was facing on his own feet. A death he had agency over, something he could meaningfully struggle and fight against. Or at least, it would be if he was stronger. The growth he''d managed in three days had been very noticeable, perhaps it could even be called impressive given how little resources he''d been operating with, but he needed more.


    If healing as powerful as his was as rare as Keelgrave had implied it was, then he''d be in high demand. Or rather, his abilities would be, and Keelgrave had already shown that not every person this planet was averse to simply taking what they wanted, damn how it affected others. He needed to be able to look out for himself.


    "When we get back, how about you teach me how to properly use this sword? I feel like I''m dishonouring Serik by slapping his weapon around like this."


    The adventurer awkwardly scratched the back of his head. "It is an... interesting style, friend Symon. I would be happy to give you some pointers.


    <hr>


    Back at their temporary camp, Symon gave Atabek some additional vitality. Five units, to be precise, leaving him with twelve to spare in his freshly expanded vessel. It wasn''t even noon yet, so part of Symon wanted to use up all his vitality and start their journey back to the nearby ¡ª if you considered a little less than a week''s worth of travel as ''nearby'' ¡ª town, but another part of him felt like he should take his time.


    There was no reason to rush, now that he was able to share in the food and water from the adventurers. He had a full belly, a mostly full vessel, and good company. There were dangers out here in the desert and the grass fields, but from how Aslan had described it, the village wasn''t much better. His Ledger had progressed well in just a few days, and that was when he was dying of thirst while half starved ¡ª both of food and vitality.


    He''d already proven to himself how useful his healing could be for training new things, both in a mundane sense and in a way recognised by the Ledger. His Running was a prime example of this, his healing allowing him to push his body beyond its limits over and over again.


    With a bit of time, a lot of vitality, and an inhuman amount of effort... just how much could he grow?

 Chapter 27 - Bread and Blades

    Panting from exertion, Symon stepped forward before delivering another slash. The blade whistled through the air as it swiped downwards, the off-angle causing it to catch the wind and be pushed off slightly to the side.


    <Adjust right,> Keelgrave barked at Symon, to which he complied. It had been his idea to do this, after all. <Again!>


    This time he overcorrected, tilting the blade too far past a neutral position and causing him to end up with the original problem, just in the opposite direction. By now, almost every muscle in his body was aching from overuse. Even the ones he hadn''t thought were used in sword fighting were protesting the treatment he''d given them ¡ª his hips and thighs especially. He''d thought swinging a sword was all in your arms?


    Keelgrave had disabused him of this notion in his usual abrasive manner, although like always the spirit''s advice regarding fighting matters was helpful despite how harshly it was dispensed. He''d been forced to assume a half-squatting posture that was allegedly important for maintaining balance. At first, it had just made things worse. He''d felt that a single push would send him stumbling over his own legs. But now, after hours of non-stop practice, he had to admit it made a difference. There was more of a physical connection between him and the ground, an awareness of where his body was in space.


    His hips and thighs were killing him as he hadn''t given them a single break since he''d started his training exercise, but a steady trickle of vitality ensured he never needed to do so. It still felt like he was on the verge of tearing a muscle, and he was pretty sure he actually had at one point after an especially ill-performed strike, but the vitality kept him going. He hadn''t even had to use as much of the energy as he''d expected. The injuries weren''t that bad, at least relative to all the others he''d healed, so it stood to reason that they didn''t need as much to fix as the others.


    He felt that some of the benefits from the Ledger were helping here, too. For one, he had a noticeably higher Constitution compared to when he first woke up half-buried in the desert. He was at 1.11, which didn''t sound like much until he considered that 1.00 was as high as a regular human could get without the use of mana. It made sense that the strain of pushing his muscles beyond their limits wouldn''t affect him as much as it used to, which would in turn mean they needed less vitality to maintain their effort. Being 11% more durable than the toughest man on Earth seemed like the kind of superpower a genie who hated his job would give, but it was still a noticeable and much-appreciated improvement.


    Also, it seemed likely that the increase in levels in his Idealise ability was helping him out. The Ledger was painfully tight-lipped when it came to explaining the details of what the levels actually did, and he couldn''t even ask Keelgrave considering the spirit had never encountered someone with a spell like his, but he still had some ideas.


    He remembered back when he''d fought the bearcat, how the vitality he stole from the creature had been used to heal the old wounds he was still carrying from a centipede. The lacerations had healed like a normal wound would be expected to, simply sped up to an incredible degree. They''d scabbed over just like a real wound, and then that scab had fallen off to reveal fresh, pink skin that had then in turn rapidly aged to match the rest of his skin, not leaving even the tiniest of scars behind. But more and more, he''d noticed his magic behaving differently. It seemed to skip most of the normal healing process, cutting out inefficiencies as the pure vitality shaped his body directly back to the way it should have been.


    This was something he was grateful for ¡ª if his magic had been stuck to simply accelerating his natural healing, he''d never have been able to regrow his fingers. He was curious about what other changes the levels had brought. For Seize, it was obvious; he drained vitality faster and from a longer range. But other than the change in the healing process, he wasn''t sure of all the things that had improved with that ability. It seemed to have gotten better all around, the same wound taking less time and vitality to heal, but he wasn''t sure if this was something directly from the improved level or if it was a side benefit from the way it had changed the way it healed.


    <Stop.>


    The whole time he was thinking about his abilities, he''d continued his training. Continually performing the same downward slash through the air wasn''t something that required much conscious thought. He was operating on autopilot, only changing things up when Keelgrave barked out another command.


    "Huh? Are we done?" Symon asked, mentally projecting his thoughts toward Keelgrave.


    <With this move, yes. You are... barely passable. Now, we will teach you to thrust.>


    Symon suppressed a snicker. He''d thought he was above finding stupid innuendos funny, but something about the serious and grumpy Keelgrave saying that almost made him giggle. He kept it restrained, though. He didn''t want to have to explain it to Keelgrave.


    His body was always quickly healed, but perhaps all the effort had made his mind a little unfocused. Either way, he pushed on.


    Over the next few hours, Keelgrave worked him to the bone trying to ingrain the basics of sword fighting into his coddled modern-day Earth mind. Symon felt good about his progress, at least in a vacuum. It was easy to follow these complicated patterns and dances when he could go through them as slowly as he needed to, a spirit''s voice in his mind correcting his mistakes as soon as they occurred. Even then, his actions felt robotic. Things just didn''t flow naturally for him, and it felt like Keelgrave had to constantly remind him of the same mistakes he was making.


    A steady flow of vitality meant he could work himself at maximum intensity nigh-indefinitely, but a few hours of hard work wasn''t enough to turn Symon into a capable amateur. Not when it was something so different from anything he was used to. He felt a little bad that he hadn''t unlocked a Swords Passive, even though he knew it was unreasonable. Keelgrave had explained to him the three pillars necessary for having the Ledger recognise a skill: time, effort, and understanding. Symon had effort in spades, but it wasn''t enough to compensate for the near-complete lack of the other two. It would come eventually, as long as he kept at his training. Which he would.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    But first, it was time for lunch. There was no point starving his body and wasting vitality when they had plenty of spare food available. The others had been happy to relax around at camp while Symon trained, thankful for an excuse to take a day off. They''d been exploring every day for a few weeks before they''d met Symon, never sleeping in the same place more than once. All that free time meant they could cook something more involved ¡ª and it was well worth the effort.


    They''d prepared another stew, which was a good start. They''d also made one for dinner last night, and it had tasted much as he''d been expecting a stew to taste. He wouldn''t have thought twice about it if he''d been served it in an Earth restaurant.


    Atabek was also well enough to move around after the recent round of healing, so he contributed in his own manner. The big man had taken out a wide, flat sheet of metal from his pack before coating it in flour he poured from a large leather pouch. He then added water to it, kneading the dough into thin discs before delving into yet another pouch and sprinkling a different powder over it. After that, he pressed the dough down flat with his sledgehammer-like bare hands before transferring the tray directly over the fire. He clapped his hands together to dust the flour off, the impact of each meaty palm sounding like thunder.


    Stiffly, he lowered himself into a sitting position as he waited for the bread to cook, letting out a satisfied sigh as he did so. It smelled delicious even though it had barely started cooking, a strong herbal scent that he had no close comparison for.


    Symon licked his lips as he stared at the bread. All that training built up an appetite. Turning away from the fire, he caught Atabek''s eye. The giant of a man had a smug look on his face as if he knew exactly how good the bread smelled. Symon offered a smile and a thumbs up, the only direct communication they could have considering Symon spoke no Dumosan and the adventurer spoke no Common.


    In response, Atabek squinted at Symon''s raised hand. Slowly, he raised his own hand, thumb outstretched. It seemed the power of the humble thumbs-up transcended all cultural and language barriers.


    <Quit slacking off, boy! Last I checked you weren''t a fire mage, so staring at the food won''t cook it any faster,> Keelgrave suddenly reprimanded.


    Fine, he might have been trying to delay things. Despite the pain and effort required, he enjoyed the physical exercise. It was something he hadn''t been able to commit so much time to until recently, so it was a novel experience for him. But the next part of his training... he wasn''t sure if he would be able to handle it.


    <No more stalling! Go find a spot far enough from the others that they won''t hear you talking to yourself. It''s time for your language lessons.>


    With one last forlorn look at the frying bread and sizzling stew, he trudged off to begin his lessons. The food would be done soon, hopefully, and save him from what was to come.


    <hr>


    <No! It''s kuh, not kuh!> Keelgrave practically shouted. The lessons were going even worse than Symon had expected.


    "You just said the same thing twice!" Symon complained.


    <The sound needs to start in the back of your throat and then travel forwards along your tongue. You just sound like you''re sick.>


    Symon took a deep breath before trying again. "Kuh. Kuh. Kuh."


    <Finally! Took you long enough... you know, in comparison to this, you''re a real natural with the sword.>


    The pair was just feeding off one another, making the experience miserable for both teacher and student. In truth, Symon wasn''t doing that poorly. He''d already been speaking Common with Aslan, or more accurately he was speaking Common at Aslan, considering he was just repeating what Keelgrave told him, but that still meant he''d been having practical experience with the language. In his more recent conversations with Aslan, he''d found himself able to occasionally pick out the meaning of some words even before Keelgrave supplied the translation.


    His improved Intelligence must be helping, but he also suspected that his Will was helping here. It had been his highest attribute from the moment he came to this planet, although Constitution was quickly catching up. He felt like his Will was allowing him to stay focused for longer, especially when it was something he didn''t enjoy. Learning to use a sword was exciting, even if Keelgrave had him doing the same couple swings over and over for hours at a time. Learning Common, on the other hand, was something he had to force himself to do. Foreign languages had always been a weak point of his, but he was powering through. As much to spite Keelgrave as anything else.


    Symon successfully endured his lessons for an hour before the food was finally ready. Symon had hoped it would have been done in half that time, but the tough jerky they used in their travel rations needed to be simmered in the stew for a considerable time in order to soften.


    The stew was simple but tasty, with a light citrusy taste. He would have preferred some nice big chunks of meat, but the jerky had mostly broken down into small fibres. Not the most appetising texture, but still enjoyable. It would have been a more than acceptable meal, a strong six out of ten... but then came the flatbreads that Atabek had made.


    They were delicious. A soft, still warm interior coupled with a flaky and crispy exterior. They somehow tasted buttery, despite Symon never witnessing Atabek add any of the substance. Whatever he''d sprinkled on the dough just before he moved it to the fire gave it a spicy garlic flavour. The others used their breads as both a utensil and a food, scooping up their stew and eating the two together. When Symon tried it, he almost shed tears of joy. He told himself his eyes were just watering from the spice. This sure beat not eating for days and only using vitality to keep your body going.


    After lunch, Symon returned to his sword training with gusto, repeating the same downwards chop a thousand times before switching to a stab, and then a sideways slash. Eventually, it was time for more language lessons, during which he made a conscious effort to try and forget his past shortcomings and simply give his all in the moment. It was marginally effective.


    As night fell, they had their leftover lunch for dinner ¡ª it was almost as good reheated as it was fresh.


    Crawling ontop of his bedroll under his open faced tent, he let out a contented sigh. A life of near death experiences fighting monsters would cause you to grow incredible in some regards, but would also leave other areas distinctly lacking. He felt like he''d made good progress towards bringing these aspects up to par.


    He doubted he''d ever come to enjoy learning Common, but with the benefits the Ledger had provided him, he felt it was more tolerable. At least sleep would grant him escape from the lessons.

 Chapter 28 - Cultural Transfer

    He sprinted deeper into their hideout, boots slamming into the cave''s stone. Some of the lookouts called out to him, but it was half-hearted ¡ª more curiosity than a genuine attempt to stop him, considering their group was small enough that everyone knew each other.


    He slammed his shoulder into the old door, forcing it open with a groan. Damn thing was heavy. "Commander, great news!" he called out into the makeshift office. "I''ve got their supply lines all drawn out right... here..." The man standing across from him was the second in command.


    "Sorry, Farron. The Commander''s dead," Duarte said. He had his elbow resting on the chaotic, document-strewn desk. Beady, calculating eyes peaked out from where his hand rested on his face. They seemed tired.


    "Shit, what? When?" Farron asked.


    "Must have a few hours after you set out. An ambush. He bought us time to retreat back to the rat tunnels and blow the entrance shut. Mean old bastard took down four of em'', if it makes you feel any better."


    Fuck, Farron thought. Without their Commander, they''d have little way to communicate with the other resistance cells. They''d have to make use of the data he''d just acquired without any extra support.


    "Then now''s the time to strike! I''ve got their supply lines drawn out here, stretching all the way back to the capital! While they occupy themselves trying to hunt us in the forest, we cut them off from the back. And you know we need the supplies for ourselves."


    Duarte leaned back in his chair, the thing creaking ominously as he did so. Heavy dark circles were visible under his eyes. "What''s the point?" he asked, the words coming out as a sigh.


    "You know damn well why we do this!" Farron shouted back.


    Instead of getting angry, their acting Commander just seemed to shrink in on himself. "Things were looking grim even before the Commander died. We''ve been out here for months, Farron, months! And what do we have to show for it?"


    "We''ve made them bleed! For every spec of Usas land they''ve claimed, we''ve made them pay us with their lives."


    "Exactly, Farron. Can''t you see the writing on the wall? They''ll throw their numbers at us, and they''ll grind us down until nothing is left. The surrounding villages are already too afraid to give us any supplies after what happened to the last one that showed us any sympathy."


    "They died as martyrs!" Farron roared. "Look at us. Civilians give their life to the cause, while the last remnants of the Usas army cower behind women and children!"


    "We''ve already lost!" he shouted back, the first ember of anger entering his tone. Forcibly, he calmed himself down before continuing. "No matter what we do, we''re only delaying the inevitable. Either we accede and integrate peacefully, or they stamp us all out." Before Farron could reply, he raised a hand placatingly. "I don''t like it either, but it''s the only way for Usas to survive."


    "Pathetic." Farron practically spat the words. "It''s not the land that makes the country, it''s the people. And anyone here won''t be Usasi. The Empire would replace our laws, our gods, our culture with theirs. We''d be corrupted, completely and absolutely. Subsumed into their blight, used as fuel to continue their expansion."


    "I''m sorry Farron. Really, I am. But most of us have had enough of scurrying in the dirt like goblins or cave elves just to delay the inevitable. We''re tired, and we''re going home. You''ll have a dozen men left with you, so just... oh who am I kidding, just do whatever. I''m leaving." Duarte stood to leave, and Farron drummed his fingers against the pommel of his blade. The coward paused in front of him.


    For a long moment, the two stared at one another. The tension was so thick Farron wasn''t sure if he could have cut it with his sword. Eventually, he stepped aside and the rat scurried away.


    Farron approached the desk, brushing aside documents as he looked for what he needed. As is, the supply line plans would be helpful, but less than they could have been. They were covered in annotations, all of them written in the invader''s foul language. As a youth, it had been a point of pride never to learn the tongue of their largest neighbour, but now, as a grown man, he regretted it. His misplaced honour was useless for winning. Discarding it would be a small price to pay for victory ¡ª or if victory was unattainable, at least making more of the bastards bleed before they finally took him out.


    He couldn''t find the key to the desk, but that was fine. It was made of regular, unenchanted wood, so he simply slammed a fist into the middle and split it in half. The contents spilled out onto the floor, but he immediately spotted his target and stopped it before it could roll away. Picking up the small, turquoise ring between two fingers, he held it up to his eye. It was the old Commander''s translation ring. The original purpose was obvious, but they''d been using it to help them send and receive coded messages by linking the rings together, creating a coded language that only they could decipher.


    The rings were a delicate piece of enchantment work in the best of times, and it was long since overdue for maintenance. But that was exactly why they were slowly losing; they didn''t have the massive, specialised industries available in the way the Empire did. No enchanters, no smiths, minimal leader-type classes, nothing but militiamen, a few soldiers, and patriotic farmer boys.This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.


    He tightened his fist in anger, almost crushing the translation ring before he stopped himself. He slipped it on his finger, before laying out his stolen plans in a way that enabled him to read them all at once without needing to flip through any pages. The enchantments were on the verge of fizzling out, so he needed to be quick.


    With a quick breath to prepare himself, he steadily pushed his mana into the ring. Instantly, his mind began to feel hot and itchy, but he powered through. Looking over the gathered plans, the meaning of the annotations became clear; exact times for travel, specific quantities and qualities of various items as well as danger in the area. Quickly, he got to work on coming up with a plan of his own.


    <hr>


    Like most mornings, Symon shot upwards immediately upon waking, heaving for breath. He''d been expecting another memory-dream, but it had just felt so odd yet vivid and realistic that it had been impossible to prepare for them. He could still picture the feeling of using that magic ring, the words burning themselves into his mind as he ¡ª no, not him, it was Keelgrave ¡ª as Keelgrave read over the plans he''d stolen.


    "Ugh, that sucked," he mumbled to himself before shimmying out of his tent and drinking some water. His mouth felt dry after that.


    <Hmm? What happened?> Keelgrave asked.


    "Another one of your memories ending up in my dreams. You didn''t see anything yourself?>


    <No, just normal rest for me. Normal for a spirit, at least. What did you see?>


    "You were trying to translate some documents you''d stolen." Keelgrave just made a hmmm sound in response, so Symon continued on. "It was right after your Commander died, and that Duarte guy ran off."


    <Ah, I remember now. Heh, what a prick, that guy. I wonder what ended up happening to him? Well, he''s probably dead now either way.>


    "I wonder if it made our bond ability level up? Ledger, do your thing. Oh, and show me only the things that changed, please."


    Looking down to the grass at his feet, he got his answer and more.


    [You have acquired a new passive: Languages]


    [Languages (0): Boosts learning and recall of languages.]


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.83 {+0.01}


    Constitution: 1.13 {+0.02}


    Acuity: 0.88 {+0.01}


    Intelligence: 0.87 {+0.04}


    Will: 1.14 {+0.01}


    Abilities:


    Essence Bond (7) {+1}: Permanently bind your essence to that of a spirit''s.


    Passives:


    Languages (0) {New} ]


    <You don''t have to act so damn polite to the Ledger, it''s not alive. Although maybe you should say thanks for the new passive...> Keelgrave said.


    "Well, it''s certainly appreciated. Thanks Ledger!"


    <I wasn''t being serious.>


    "Well, I''m still thankful. It''s exactly what I wanted, actually." It would be a big help, and the only price he had to pay was a slight headache that was already receding. Considering that learning Common was already giving him headaches, it wasn''t much of a drawback at all.


    He''d also had some minor gains to his physical stats, but he chalked that up to all the sword training yesterday. It really highlighted how much faster fighting real threats were for raising your stats, but of course that brought with it more risk. Plus, there was more to being good at fighting than just stats.


    Wanting to test out the new passive, he approached Aslan. Everyone else had woken up around the same time as him ¡ª they might not have had a digital alarm clock, but the three suns made it hard to stay sleeping with how much light they put out.


    As he approached, he mentally ran through any new knowledge he had. As it turned out, the only new information was an understanding of the words and numbers he''d seen through Keelgrave''s eyes on those logistical documents. That part seemed to have been implanted into his brain, but according to its description, the new passive only aided the learning process and didn''t automatically give him anything. Even if it only shaved a single hour off his language lessons, he''d still be eternally grateful. Although, exactly how powerful it was remained to be seen.


    "Hi Aslan," he said aloud. He already knew how to say such a simple and often used phrase, even before the dream.


    "Greetings, friend Symon. Did you sleep well? I heard you mumbling to yourself," Aslan replied. He knew the first phrase''s meaning, but he needed Keelgrave to translate the last ones. So he was right, no knowledge directly implanted into his brain except a few specific logistical terms. It wasn''t that he didn''t believe the Ledger''s description, but he''d still wanted to check.


    "Yeah, just a couple dreams," he said, once more having Keelgrave supply the words he needed to say. He''d already learned a few phrases himself, but hopefully that would speed up now. "Can you ask Atabek how he''s feeling? I can give him some more healing, then we can get back to our travelling."


    With a nod, the other man began discussing things with Atabek, who was currently sipping water as he gazed at the sunrise. As they did so, Symon checked his vitality reserves. He was down to eight units. He''d been at twelve after healing Atabek previously, so that meant he''d used five units of vitality for about as many hours of sword training. He''d drained some of the nearby grass in the process of his training, but it was so little he chose to just ignore it. Overall, not a bad trade off, he thought.


    Aslan unknowingly interrupted Symon''s musings. "Atabek claims to be back in top shape, but..." he trailed off, a disbelieving expression on his face. "He is just trying not to be a burden, I believe. He will manage travel, but fighting will be unlikely."


    "Well, you can tell him I already think he''s plenty tough for surviving that attack from the razor stalker in the first place, no need to put on a brave face." He''d meant it half in jest, although it was impressive he''d survived after being stabbed all the way through ¡ª twice, no less.


    After Aslan passed the words on, the massive man had an equally massive smile on his face. After informing the others, he quickly darted in to give him a few more points worth of healing before he retreated out of range of his own draining ability.


    Atabek stood slowly and carefully did a few stretches, the speed and intensity of them slowly growing as he progressed through them. His movements still seemed slightly stiff, so they checked again to ensure he really was good enough to resume their travel across the grass plains to the nearby town.


    In response, he simply gave a single thumbs up. Aslan and Safiya seemed confused by this gesture, but of course Symon understood it. After all, he''d been the one to teach it to him.

 Chapter 29 - Marching Stories

    Symon lead the way as the entire group, Atabek included, marched single file across the grass-filled plains. He was up front for a few reasons. For one, his healing meant he was uniquely equipped to delay and give his friends time to react if he stumbled across some type of trap. The adventurers had already travelled through this sea of vegetation and hadn''t seen any particularly dangerous monsters, but he didn''t feel he was being paranoid by remaining on guard. After all, they hadn''t known the razor stalker was there until it was too late.


    Another benefit to being first in the marching order was that his magic automatically cut a path through the grass for him, saving the others from needing to cut through it. The grass had grown taller and healthier, making it harder to simply push through, but that was no problem for his vitality drain. In fact, it was quite the opposite ¡ª the amount of vitality he could take from the grass before it died was slowly but steadily increasing as they went deeper in.


    While the march couldn''t be called comfortable on account of the heat, it was quite boring. Nothing happened, which Symon supposed was a good thing, but putting one foot in front of the other ad nauseam made him almost wish for another razor stalker to jump out at him. Almost. He wasn''t becoming an adrenaline junkie was he?


    He''d even been alone in his own head, as Keelgrave had been uncharacteristically quiet since Symon had described the memory he''d relived. He wanted to give the spirit time to bring it up on his own terms, but, well, he was really damn bored. They hadn''t even been doing his language lessons!


    Symon broke the metaphorical silence, considering the words were kept contained to their mental communication. "You told me you were a trader, shortly after we got linked together. I know you did have a ship, but I''m getting the idea that it wasn''t as simple as that. I told you about my origins, so how about you do the same?"


    <I suppose I may as well. These dreams don''t give any sign they''re going to stop, so you''d find it all out anyway. No, I wasn''t a merchant or trader. My crew and I sailed up and down the coast of the Empire, sinking their ships and raiding to sustain us. But I''m getting ahead of myself, it all¡ª>


    "Wait, you were a pirate?" Symon asked, accidentally stumbling in his march slightly before quickly correcting his stride.


    <Ugh, I hate that term. We were privateers, fighting for the Usasi Resistance.>


    "That... still just sounds like pirates."


    <Oh shut it boy, do you want to hear my tragic tale or not?"


    "Sorry, sorry, go ahead please," Symon said, a slight smirk on his face.


    <Yes, well, you already saw some of the last moments of a unified Usasi resistance movement. But we are a proud people, and all the true sons and daughters of Usas continued the good fight even after the last vestiges of our official military capitulated,> Keelgrave spoke with a wistful, nostalgic tone, sounding as if he was recalling a summer vacation and not gruelling guerilla warfare. <To cut a very long story short, we ¡ª that is, me and the stragglers brave enough to remain ¡ª stole a ship, then took it up and down the coast, helping out the other city-states struggling against the Empire wherever we could. By killing the imperial pigs, of course.>


    "Right, right," Symon said. He''d expected nothing less.


    <Anyway, we slowly grew our own power, then the power of our ship more directly after I picked up a very nice evolution to my Helmsmanship. Being the Captain pays, kid, remember that. That went on for, oh, 25 years before I finally conked it here in this desert after a failed expedition. Oh well, I had a good run. And now you''re here to carry on in my stead!> the spirit said cheerfully.


    Symon''s eyes widened slightly as he walked ¡ª that was a pretty carefree attitude towards your own death, he thought. Although, he supposed Keelgrave did have quite some time to come to terms with it, considering he spent half a century as a spirit trapped there. Wait, hang on a second, what was that about fighting in his stead?


    "Woah woah woah, who said you could just pass down the torch to me? I don''t want to try and restart some war that''s probably been over for fifty years already! Don''t pretend like you''re going to try and take my body over again, we already know I''ll just beat you again."


    <Well, the new generations of Usas probably see themselves as imperials, yes. But I seriously doubt they''ve stopped their expansions, so you''d have plenty of allies who would appreciate some support,> Keelgrave replied. <And I won''t have to force you, boy. I already know you''ll see the truth on your own.>


    "Yeah, right," Symon said, his words still clearly coming across as sarcastic despite being projected thoughts. Whatever was going on over there, Symon didn''t want to get involved. Dying in someone else''s war was the last thing he wanted to spend his new life on. Plus, he''d probably get killed the first time a soldier fought him, considering how untrained he was.


    Considering the Keelgrave in his dream hadn''t been much older than Symon was now, the man must have easily spent more than half his life fighting the Empire. Symon wouldn''t say that Keelgrave was unjustified in his hatred of this Empire ¡ª they''d invaded his homeland, after all ¡ª but he felt that spending your entire adult life hounding them was just a waste. Better to move on and start a new life, he thought. Certainly not the bravest of moves, but he''d never claim to be a courageous person.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Glancing down at his chalice tattoo representing his vessel, he smiled. It had gone up slightly during the half a day they''d been marching ¡ª he couldn''t tell the exact number without manifesting his Ledger, but it was about two units. He could also estimate how much he had just by focusing on his actual vessel, where it was in his chest. This was much more inaccurate though, as the vitality inside his vessel behaved more like a gas than a liquid. This meant it took only a few units for his vessel to visually appear full, even despite only being filled to a fraction of its maximum capacity ¡ª more vitality could be pushed in, safely increasing the pressure inside his vessel and storing more in the same volume of space.


    In short, the chalice tattoo was his best way of measuring his current vitality reserves if he didn''t want to manifest his Ledger. The tattoo had noticeably changed, and not just the liquid inside it. The cup itself has grown, the stem and base thickening and flaring out, while the top cup portion had stretched both upwards and outwards. It was kind of neat, he thought. It was growing alongside his vessel, but he wasn''t sure if it had any deeper meaning or if it just represented the higher capacity. He had no way of knowing, so he simply moved on with a slight shrug.


    He wanted to ask Keelgrave a question that pertained to his long-term prospects in this world. The spirit had once mentioned that they could make a lot of money off Symon''s healing, as his ability to regrow lost parts was quite rare, and thus an expensive service. But he had no idea how other people''s healing worked in this world, both magical and mundane. Luckily, Keelgrave had a surprising amount of knowledge on the matter.


    <You''ve got the strongest healing I''ve seen, at least if you ignore your need to burn vitality. A normal Healer would use mana for their spells, which regenerates on its own over time. Well, then you''ll have to factor in the actual strength of their spells ¡ª they''d be able to stop someone from bleeding out, or accelerate someone''s recovery in a hospital, but they tend to specialise in one or the other. Even with a very powerful Healer, you still need time to recover. Like that guy you wasted all that vitality on¡ª>


    "Atabek," Symon supplied.


    <Yeah, yeah, I don''t care what his name is. What I''m trying to say is that, if you had a large enough vessel, you would have been able to bring him right back to top shape in a couple of minutes, and he could go charging off to battle again. Regular healers, no matter how much mana they have, aren''t able to do that. People still need time to heal, and magically healed injuries have a tendency to weaken the area for a while, even when they seem normal.>


    "Hmm, and my ability doesn''t do that. I''ve always been in perfect shape after healing myself. Well, even beyond perfect considering it seems to help my Constitution grow too."


    <Exactly, it''s why I can train even a weakling like you for so long without your muscles giving up. Regular healing is more a combination of patch jobs and accelerated recovery. Yours does both and does it better, which is why it''s so valuable!>


    "How much money are we talking here? Err, keep in mind I don''t have any baseline for how much the currencies are worth here."


    <Oh, lots. You could live in a decent house, in a nice part of a large city for, hmm, probably about a month with the gold from a singular healing session. That was true half a century ago at least, but I don''t see any reason for it to have changed much.>


    Symon''s eyes widened at the amount he''d be able to make. It made sense, he supposed; he''d be earning at least as much as a very good surgeon would on Earth. "Damn, that''s some good money."


    <Yeah, but it''s risky, too. Especially given how weak you are, you''d be conscripted to be some noble house''s retainer the moment word got out about how powerful your healing is. Or forced into a military, I guess.>


    Symon initially thought Keelgrave was being a bit dramatic. Sure, it was a possibility, but was it really that likely? He would have no way of knowing considering he knew nothing about the society here except what Keelgrave told him. He needed a second opinion.


    Looking over his shoulder, he made eye contact with Aslan, who was directly behind him in the marching order. "I was doing some thinking, and I was wondering if you knew what would happen if more people learned about how powerful my healing was?"


    Eyes, suddenly widening, Aslan raised his hands reassuringly. "Fear not, friend Symon! We will all take your secret to our grave. Our tounges will be silent, even to the elders of our people," he said, seemingly misinterpreting the reason for Symon''s question.


    "Oh, I trust you guys, that''s not what I meant. Although, what kind of things should I expect to happen if my secret did get out?"


    "I understand what you mean now. Sometimes I forget you are without memories, friend Symon," he replied, taking a few moments to ponder his answer. Symon had maintained his amnesiac lie with the adventurers, considering the risks involved and the lack of any real benefits to revealing the truth. "In Dumosa, you would become inundated with requests for aid, although it would be very dishonourable indeed for anyone to attempt to force the matter. Healers are respected already, but especially the ones that are also blooded warriors. But in other parts of the world... I suspect there would be many who attempt to order you instead of simply request."


    Well, that aligned with what Keelgrave said. Was this really such a ''might makes right'' world? Even on Earth the rich and powerful could get away with a lot, so it made sense that this problem would only be exacerbated by the power provided by the Ledger.


    "Have you been practicing your Common, friend Symon?" Aslan continued. "Your accent sounds much smoother than when we first met."


    Symon had noticed a bit of a difference, ostensibly the result of his new Languages passive. He''d still been simply repeating the words that Keelgrave told him to say, but they had been feeling more natural, requiring less focus for him to properly enunciate. He sounded a lot more like a fluent speaker of the language, although his actual understanding was lagging behind severely.


    "Thank you for noticing," he said with a slightly strained smile. He felt a little odd accepting credit for something that was from the Ledger, but he supposed it was still his Ledger. But he had another reason for suddenly feeling uncomfortable.


    The talk about how rich they could potentially become had gotten Keelgrave out of the funk he''d been in after that last memory dream, which meant...


    <Ah, that reminds me, no reason we can''t continue your Common lessons while you march! We''re going to have to work you non-stop!>

 Chapter 30 - Four Hands on Deck

    After four full days of uneventful travel through the sea of grass, Symon had developed an even stronger appreciation for his abilities. His vessel was back to full after draining just so, so much grass. It was slow going, but it was essentially free ¡ª the only things he''d drained were the grass and various small bugs. That was another underappreciated benefit. The others were continuously harassed by various insects, mostly mosquito and tick-like bugs, but they couldn''t bother Symon. They were so small and had so little vitality in them that they died almost immediately after getting in range of his draining.


    In the interest of not wasting the excess vitality ¡ª technically, it would slowly increase the size of his vessel, but it would take weeks at this rate for an increase of even a single point ¡ª he used the extra to finish healing Atabek. He didn''t have any type of medical diagnostic magic, just his regular paramedic training, so he couldn''t guarantee that the man was back at 100%, but he was at least very close. He had an awareness of his vitality only for as long as it was inside his body. This meant he''d know if he had a hidden injury somewhere, as he''d notice the vitality moving to go fix it. But when healing others, he simply transferred some vitality to them and it did its own thing, without any possible oversight from Symon.


    Convenient in most cases, but Symon could already picture scenarios when he''d want more control. If he had a patient with a broken arm, he''d give them just enough vitality to fix it and then pat himself on the back for a job well done. But what if the patient had also hit his head, and simply died of a brain bleed that Symon had no way of knowing existed? He needed either an entirely new diagnostic ability or greater control over the vitality he used on other people. Unfortunately, he didn''t have many ideas for either of those options. Keelgrave had already shown an ability to detect strong life forces by tracking the razor stalker, but it wasn''t anywhere near precise enough for what Symon would need it for. Plus, he didn''t trust Keelgrave to pay enough attention to the lives of others, self-centred bastard that he was.


    Speaking of new abilities, Symon''s Ledger showed some improvements since they set out on their march, something he took a moment to appreciate while taking in his full status during their lunch break.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.84 {+0.01}


    Constitution: 1.14 {+0.01}


    Acuity: 0.88


    Intelligence: 0.92{+0.05}


    Will: 1.16 {+0.02}


    Vessel (Vitality): 17/17


    Abilities:


    Idealise (8)


    Seize (10) {+1}


    Essence Bond (9) {+2}


    Passives:


    Languages (5) {+5}


    Pain Resistance (5)


    Poison Resistance (0)


    Running (6) {+1}


    Titles:


    Blessed by Order


    Blessed by Chaos


    World Traveller ]


    His physical statistics had barely grown, but considering all he''d been doing was walking, he was making good progress. His Running had even improved slightly, which he found odd considering he''d kept a walking pace the rest of the group could maintain without needing any vitality to support them.


    Most significant were his gains in Intelligence and Languages, both of them obviously a result of his continual language lessons with Keelgrave, but listening to the adventurers speak in their native language might have contributed slightly too. As much as he hated doing the lessons, they were very effective. He was nowhere near fluent, but he could understand the most commonly used words in the language which generally enabled him to piece together the overall meaning of a sentence. Their lessons had covered a wide range of use cases, but they''d been focused on things useful for combat. He could call out how many enemies there were, what arms and armour they had, and explain simple tactics without needing to consult Keelgrave.


    Being able to warn someone of an approaching arrow in a quarter-second instead of a half-second was a small difference, and yet it was potentially lifesaving.


    Seize had also slightly improved, as it turned out that sheer quantity was a quality all its own. Following the three pillars of skill growth that Keelgrave had explained ¡ª time, effort, understanding ¡ª he''d only really used the first aspect. He hadn''t put any effort in, and he didn''t understand the magic any deeper. The early levels came fairly quickly; there was an initial hump to unlock something in the first place, then it sped up for the first few levels, and then it slowed back down as the level increased. Without focused effort, and better targets to use it on, Seize would grow very slowly. Although, it did have something of a snowball effect to partly counteract this phenomenon; as the level increased, so too did the range and draining speed, allowing him to drain more grass in the same amount of time.


    It would still slow down without something new to push it, but not as slow as other abilities would. By now, it could stretch up to one and a half metres from him, or about five feet. He''d hoped that the level 10 milestone would give him an evolution like he''d had for his attributes ¡ª when he''d unlocked Pain Resistance ¡ª but he''d unfortunately found out that he was only halfway. Still, with some focused effort and dedicated training, he wasn''t far off.


    Finally, there was his Essence Bond. He''d had more dreams reliving Keelgrave''s memories on the first two nights of their journey, but the last two nights had been completely regular dreams, and he had a solid inkling as to why. The first night''s memory dream had been a peaceful recollection of the time Keelgrave and his crew had anchored their ship, gone fishing, and then had a barbeque with their catches. It was surprisingly nice, although he wasn''t sure why he''d seen that memory in particular. Similarly, the next dream was also pleasant, at least for Keelgrave.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.


    He''d been celebrating a successful raid, getting drunk in a tavern and loudly boasting about his accomplishments. Wherever they were, they must not have been fans of the Empire either, as the whole tavern would cheer every time he described, in vivid detail, killing the "imperial pigs". Two women in particular had been so enamoured in his tale that they graciously accepted an offer for a "private tour of the Captain''s quarters", at which point Symon realised what was about to happen and managed to wake himself up just before seeing something he wouldn''t be able to forget.


    He''d been worried that the next night would simply pick up where the dream had left off, but his sleep had been blissfully empty of any memory-reliving dreams.


    Originally, he''d wanted to repeat the process of learning the Languages passive ability by reliving Keelgrave''s experiences with the sword, but obviously, there''d been a misunderstanding between him and his bond ability.


    He wasn''t going to give up on that ability ¡ª getting new passives literally in his sleep wasn''t something he could afford to ignore ¡ª but both he and Keelgrave were certain that the dreams alone wouldn''t be enough to get him a new passive anyway. Once he made more progress on his sword training, he''d try the dream technique again and hope it would be enough to push him over the threshold into unlocking the zeroeth level of a sword skill. The dreams could give Symon a boost to his understanding of sword technique, but the time and effort would have to come from him. It had fallen by the wayside considering he couldn''t train it properly while hiking through the sea of grass, but it would be a priority once he made it to the village.


    Speaking of, he needed a medium and long-term plan now that his short-term survival prospects were looking good. If he was going to die in this desert, it would have happened already.


    Long term, he wanted to go back to Earth, or at least let his parents know that he was okay. Presuming such a thing was even possible, it would likely take years and years to figure out. He''d need to grow his own magical knowledge as well as grow in influence and power ¡ª he doubted a powerful wizard who knew anything about the process would want to hear out some random nobody. Considering this wasn''t guaranteed to be possible, and would take a long time even if it was, he also wanted to live comfortably in the interim. He''d probably try and do some travelling around the world, then settle down in a nice big city where he could start his own clinic. However, living as part of civilisation necessitated him learning how to control his draining magic, or at least some type of workaround that would stop him sucking the life out of everyone he passed by.


    He suspected that this would be the focus of his time spent in the nearby town. Already, his threads stretched out from his body as far as Safiya was tall, and it would only keep growing. It was the whole crux of his class, so he couldn''t just ignore it and try to never level it. But already it made the interactions in their small camp awkward and dangerous, and it wouldn''t be long before he wouldn''t even be able to be in the same room as someone else. Hopefully, the level twenty evolution for the ability would give him some tools to work with, but he doubted it would up and fix the problem in its entirety. He didn''t think about it often, but his Ledger said his class was Cursed Healer. He saw no reason why the issue would suddenly fix itself, not when it was seemingly a part of his class. It was similar to someone with a Warrior class suddenly getting a harp-playing skill ¡ª it just didn''t fit.


    Similar to his plan to return home, he doubted that the answer to his problems would be found in the Ledger. His solutions would need to be solved externally, through self-research, the knowledge of experts, and a deeper understanding of his ability. And there was another problem he wanted to remove...


    <What? I can feel you looking at me, you know,> the spirit locked in his vessel said.


    "How does that even... I''m just thinking, don''t mind me," Symon said. It was clear to Symon that Keelgrave wanted him to be a pawn in some century-long grudge, and Symon wasn''t interested. His training and general knowledge of this world were admittedly helpful, but Symon hadn''t forgotten that Keelgrave had tried to take over his own body when they first met. At least the spirit seemed to have mellowed out slightly, but that wasn''t saying much.


    Thankfully, this wasn''t a problem that was getting worse and needed his immediate attention. The memory dreams felt very strange, but they weren''t harmful. He wasn''t sure how Keelgrave felt about a separation, so he decided to ask, keeping the conversation in his mind to prevent any unneeded questions.


    "So, do you have any plans for how we''re going to unbind ourselves? I can''t imagine you want to stay in my vessel forever."


    <I''d love to never have to see you again, but I''ve got no clues myself. We''d need an Arch-Necromancer, and that ain''t likely to happen,> Keelgrave enigmatically supplied.


    "They''re dangerous?" Symon asked in response, choosing to just ignore the snarky remark as he always did.


    <All mages are, it''d just be extra difficult to get in contact with one of them. Necromancy isn''t illegal, but it''s so frowned upon and regulated that it may as well be. People don''t like the possibility of their dear old Pops rising up out of the grave to fight in someone''s army, and that goes for peasantry and nobility alike.>


    "So it''s even less likely than finding someone who would know how to get me back home?"


    <I really dunno kid, both these things are so far above us I''d just be guessing. It won''t be happening anytime soon though, I''ll tell you that. It ain''t all bad though, your vessel is a lot more comfortable than hibernating in my own corpse.>


    "Oh, shit, that reminds me. I never asked how you died," Symon suddenly asked. It was probably an insensitive question, but Keelgrave wasn''t the type to care. He''d found Keelgrave''s skeleton in that old collapsed tower, where it had been sitting against a wall. There were other skeletons there, but they were all laid out on beds like they were sleeping. They were most likely some of his crew.


    <I... don''t remember,> Keelgrave''s faintly echoing voice replied.


    "Really? Are you trying to pull the old amnesiac lie like I did? You can just keep it to yourself if you''d prefer, I get that it''s probably a personal question."


    <What? No, why would I do that?> he asked completely shamelessly, as if he''d never once lied to Symon. <Seriously, I don''t even remember entering that tower. Although, it was upright when I was there. You can always just use that dream thingy, if you don''t believe me.>


    "So you remember walking up to the tower, and then nothing until we met each other?"


    Well, it looked like they''d still be stuck together for a while yet, and now he had yet another mystery for the future: what had killed Keelgrave and his crew?

 Chapter 31 - Eye For Detail

    After five full days of travel, the grass field had transformed into a jungle. They were only a couple days travel away from the coast and the village that was placed on it, which gave the plantlife easier access to water. This in turn meant that what had begun as a waist-high field of wheat-coloured, half-dead grass was now an almost impassible solid wall of vegetation. The Dumosi adventurers didn''t have a special technique to circumvent this issue. During their previous travels through it in the opposite direction, Atabek had needed to laboriously cut through the overgrown grass with his axe.


    Getting a look at a healthy specimen, Symon wasn''t sure that grass was even the correct term for it. Each individual strand of the plant was as thick around as his pinkie finger, and was much less flexible than grass should be. Visually, it just looked like giant grass, but he was beginning to picture it more like bamboo. It would explain why it didn''t collapse under its own weight, considering it towered over Atabek, who was himself at least two metres tall.


    While Symon was interested in travelling this new world and learning about its completely foreign cultures, he wasn''t typically one for spending so much time thinking about a plant, strange as it may be. The reason for his attention was that his magic was beginning to lose its effectiveness as a path clearer. He''d been the one up front, draining a path for the others to follow, but the process was getting slower and slower. His draining magic essentially had two modes. The first was when he did nothing, allowing the threads to automatically seek out a target and begin siphoning the vitality out. This process wasn''t particularly fast but had still been good enough against the unhealthy grass, being able to kill and flatten it out before he reached it with a fast walk.


    He could also choose to exercise a degree of control over the threads ¡ª while he couldn''t directly prevent them from draining something, he could force them to drain something else first, presuming there was a valid target. This was how he healed the others without draining them, by latching the threads onto plant life and quickly healing them before moving out of range. If he took too long, his magic would finish with the vegetation and start attacking his travelling companions. As well as steering the threads to a new target, he could also encourage them to drain faster. It felt similar to breathing; the process was usually automatic but one could also choose to take deep breaths.


    Not only was the passive draining slower than the active draining, but both aspects became sluggish when his vessel was full. They still attempted to steal vitality, but it was much slower than when his vessel still had space. His full vessel, coupled with the fact he''d been focused on his mental lessons with Keelgrave and wasn''t able to consciously empower his draining at the same time, meant that the denser and healthier grass blocking their path was taking a lot more time to collapse.


    Having a full vessel wasn''t such a bad thing, of course. He''d had a lot of excess vitality, which had all gone to Atabek. By now he had no further signs of his previous injuries, barring one notable exception. There were four new scars on his body; the entry and exit wounds from both the razor stalker''s eponymous blades. They remained completely unchanged even after Symon transferred vitality directly into the scar tissue.


    The scars were quite noticeable, so he''d expected them to shrink or fade even just slightly after the vitality infusion, but nothing happened. None of Symon''s own wounds left any sign on his body at all, so why was it different for someone else? The description of his healing ability made no distinction between who it was used on. For that matter, he found it strange that none of the many scars on the other two adventurers had been affected, considering he''d also previously healed them both.


    Keelgrave wasn''t sure either ¡ª healing wasn''t his area of expertise in the first place, and scar removal was also typically a complex and expensive technique, similar to regrowing lost parts. Or at least it would have been, for a more standard Healer.


    Symon''s best guess was that there was some type of time limit, but that didn''t feel right either. Something that important would have been mentioned by the Ledger, or at least he hoped so. Perhaps the fact that the healing had been split between Symon''s magical healing and the natural recovery process of someone with a strong Constitution meant it just healed like that. Even then, he saw no reason why his magic wouldn''t be able to fix the scar after. It was purely visual, with no physical loss of strength or range of motion, so it wasn''t a big issue right now. Still, Symon wasn''t sure why the healing wasn''t working, and was a little worried this meant he wouldn''t be able to fix old injuries for others in the future. He was more focused on being able to help those in need, but he had to admit that the prospect of getting rich off it sounded pretty nice too.


    Luckily, he had a convenient way to test it.


    <hr>


    They had fresh meat for dinner that night, a welcome divergence from the palatable travel rations. He must have marched right past the snake, but Symon barely even saw it before Aslan ran it through with his sword. It had writhed around for a bit more, but quickly died. Symon hadn''t even been able to get any vitality from it, as the transition from thrashing around violently to being dead happened in just a few seconds.This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    Atabek seared some thin strips of it over the fire, but not even his talent was enough to make up of their lack of any real seasonings. The taste of it was fine, though ¡ª somewhere between fish and chicken ¡ª but the real problem was the toughness. He was pretty sure he could train his Strength just by chewing it, so the final portion of the meat was put into yet another stew to soften up.


    As they waited around the bubbling pot over their fire ¡ª the grass burned well, but needed to be refreshed often ¡ª Symon spoke up, directing his question to the only adventurer who could properly understand him. "Aslan, can you tell me more about Safiya''s eye? Like, is it missing or just damaged?"


    The woman in question perked up in response to hearing her name, but the focused expression on her face made it clear she didn''t know what his words meant.


    "Oh, why do you ask?" he replied, but he continued on before receiving an answer. "It was taken out entirely, yes, by a monstrous wolf. She was worried that it would severely affect her combat potential, but she has adapted well," he added with a shrug.


    Symon wiggled the fingers on his hand, the ones that had been divorced from his hand by the razor stalker and subsequently regrown with his magic. "I''d like to try regrowing it. Would you ask her if that''s okay? Um, but make sure she knows I can''t guarantee it''ll work," he said.


    Ironically, Aslan''s eyes almost bulged out of his head in response. Surely they''d already recognised this as a possibility after his fingers came back? In fact, he felt a little bad about waiting so long to even try, although he''d never had a consistently full vessel like this.


    "You... you would be willing to, honoured friend Symon?" Aslan asked, leaning forward excitedly. Safiya picked up on the energy despite not understanding the words, her one eye quickly darting between the two. Atabek was casually stirring the stew pot.


    "Of course! Your team was so brave in that fight against the razor stalker, and you''ve given me so much stuff," he said, motioning towards the short sword at his side, as well as the bedroll and small tent behind him. It was even more meaningful, considering all these items used to belong to Serik. It still felt a little odd just how quickly they had seemed to move on from his death, but that was just the Earth mindset speaking. Judging by the violence of Keelgrave''s life and the quantity of monsters Symon had encountered, this was a dangerous world. The adventurers were only as old as Symon, and yet they''d lived their whole surrounded by magic and monsters; it made sense that they would have a more casual relationship with death.


    While he was staring at his sword and contemplating the dangerous world he''d found himself in, Aslan had been talking to Safiya. He listened in, hoping that his new Languages passive might be able to help him out, but the words were just as foreign as they always were. The only parts he recognised were their names. Perhaps if they only spoke Dumosan around him he would begin to pick it up through immersion, but that hadn''t happened yet. True to its name, Common was so widely spread that it would be enough in the vast majority of places, so ideally he wouldn''t have to attempt to learn too many new ones.


    The two adventurers rapidly shot back and forth for a few moments longer before Aslan turned to him. "Honoured friend Symon, we wish to know if there is any preparation needed, as well as how long it will take," he asked.


    Symon took a minute to think the process over before replying. "No, I don''t think so. Just have her stand close to a thick patch of grass so I have something to drain instead of her, and we can start now. I''m not sure how long it will take, but maybe..." he trailed off as he tried to estimate a timeframe. To replace four of his fingers, he''d used four points of vitality over just a couple minutes. An eye was fairly complex, but his missing fingers had a lot more mass to replace than a missing eye, especially compared to the much smaller Safiya. To be on the safe side, he''d try and give her six points of the healing energy ¡ª although his transfer wasn''t very precise. Whatever arbitrary unit of measurement the Ledger used to quantify his vitality was just that: arbitrary. He had no easy way to measure how fast the inflow and outflow of vitality was, other than looking at his Ledger or chalice tattoo and manually figuring it out.


    He wished he had a better understanding of just how much vitality was needed for a certain injury, but he had enough of a surplus that he could afford to overshoot. With a final nod to himself, he focused back on Aslan. "It''ll only take a moment for me to give her the vitality, then a few minutes after that for the magic to work."


    Aslan relayed his words to Safiya, after which all three of them stood up from their positions around the fire and moved over to the nearby wall of bamboo-like grass. They were both obviously excited, so he really hoped this worked. Safiya was practically bouncing as she walked off, an eager smile on her face.


    She quickly hopped over to the edge of their small clearing, pressing her back to the grass before looking at Symon expectantly. Aslan stood off to the side, arms crossed as he chewed on his lower lip nervously. They hadn''t given any indication that her missing eye was a major concern for them ¡ª it certainly hadn''t seemed to slow her down in the battle against the razor stalker ¡ª but he supposed she''d had a while to come to terms with the loss.


    First, he inspected things from a distance. He had her pull open her eyelid, revealing what he expected; an old wound with no lingering damage, not including the missing eye. The need to keep her out of range of his draining made it a little awkward, but he was checking for anything lodged in the socket, or any remnants of the eye. He didn''t want to bring back her eye just to find that it had grown around a shard of claw from the wolf that had originally done this. The vitality might be able to push foreign objects out, especially in his own body where he could make wounds heal from the inside out if he desired, but there was no reason for him to risk it.


    Thankfully, the socket was completely empty, allowing him to start. "This shouldn''t hurt, but it''s going to feel very weird, okay?" he warned. She gave a quick nod in response after Aslan translated for him.


    With a few breaths to steady himself, he stepped forwards and, as quickly as he could while still being gentle, placed the tips of his fingers around the outside of her eye ¡ª three of them resting just below her dark eyebrows, with his pinkie and thumb under the socket. Focusing inwards on his vessel, he pulled out a steady stream of vitality, tracing it down his arm, into his fingertips, and with a final sharp push, into Safiya.

 Chapter 32 - Growing Pains

    Symon removed his fingers from around Safiya''s eye socket and took a few quick steps backward, although he was moving quickly more out of principle than necessity. It would take some time to fully drain the surrounding grass and put her in any danger, but Symon wanted to set the habit of being extra careful whenever he could.


    Almost immediately... nothing happened. The empty socket remained completely unchanged. Similarly, the scars around and over the eye hadn''t begun fading. Safiya''s single eye danced between Symon and Aslan nervously before she said something, which Aslan translated for Symon.


    "She says she doesn''t feel anything," he said before continuing on with a question of his own. "You said it wasn''t painful, correct? Perha¡ª"


    All of a sudden, Safiya let out a low groan. Symon took an automatic half-step forward in response, but hovered just out of range of his draining magic. Aslan had no such restriction, so he rushed to her side to support her. She collapsed to a knee before he could reach her, one hand on the ground as the other rubbed at her eye. Symon could see she was blinking heavily, just like how he would if he had an eyelash in his eye.


    "Get her to stop touching it!" Symon called out, to which Aslan grabbed the offending hand and began speaking quickly to her.


    Something is happening, let''s hope that means it''s working, he thought. There was nothing else he could do for her now beyond hoping it worked and making sure her probing fingers didn''t disrupt anything. Like always, he''d lost all awareness and control over the vitality the second it left him, so he simply had to trust that it was still doing what he wanted. Regrowing his fingers hadn''t been painful, but it had felt exceedingly uncomfortable. She would be happy with the end result, but Symon sympathised with having to endure the process. He just hoped it was working properly...


    Aslan helped lower her to a more comfortable sitting position ¡ª something Symon realised he should have already put her in ¡ª where she assumed what looked like a meditative stance. She had her legs crossed, while her hands were in fists that rested on her knees. They kept clenching and relaxing, and he could see the veins popping from on her hands and up her forearm. She mumbled something in between sucking in deep breaths and equally forceful exhalations.


    "She says it feels bad," Aslan supplied.


    Symon frowned to himself. "Bad? Is it painful or just strange? And make sure she keeps her eye closed for now," he said, wanting to make sure nothing foreign could get into her eye and make things worse.


    After a quick back and forth, Aslan answered. "Her eye doesn''t hurt, but she keeps seeing flashes of light. She''s dizzy, and her head is aching as well."


    Symon considered both what he should do, and what he actually could do. His draining could remove the excess vitality if it was causing any issues, but he wasn''t sure that was the case. Her eye was completely gone, so Symon interpreted the sudden flashed of light as a good thing. Something was better than nothing, at least. Similarly, he hoped that the headaches and dizziness was just her brain adapting, but he was flying by the seat of his pants here.


    He repeated his theory to the others, although he phrased it more confidently. No sense in panicking them when he could just fix any issues that might crop up. Probably.


    With nothing to do but wait, Symon manifested part of his Ledger to check his exact amount of vitality, finding that he''d used seven points up. He was confident that would be enough, considering he''d only used four units to replace as many fingers.


    Gradually, Safiya''s writhing and ragged breathing slowly calmed down. It took almost ten minutes, twice as long as it had taken for his fingers, but she let out a final sigh of relief. She''d scrunched both her eyes tightly shut, still listening to his previous request to keep them that way.


    Did it work...? he thought, disappointment already tinging his words. The wicked scars across her face were still there, completely unchanged.


    All of a sudden, her eyelids fluttered open, eliciting a gasp of surprise from every observer. Symon leaned in closer, shocked to see two deep brown eyes looking back at him, squinting slightly from the glare. It... had actually worked! He hadn''t been confident once he saw the scars weren''t fading. The three massive lines still marred the left side of her face, but her eye was back!


    Both of Safiya''s eyes were glistening with moisture, but she let out a loud, joyous laugh as she looked up at the sky. Atabek skidded to a halt in front of her, before stooping down to look at her new eye. All of a sudden, she was flying through the air with an "eeek!" as the giant of a man tossed her up into the air before catching her like a parent would with a child. The adventurers all huddled together, cheering and jumping around in celebration.


    Symon stood apart, a slightly bittersweet smile on his face. He wouldn''t be able to get close to them, of course. Atabek noticed him off to the side, and made to reach out as if to usher him into the group hug. His mouth formed into a small ''o'' of surprise as he remembered why he couldn''t, the excitement momentarily causing him to forget the danger. His outstretched hand slowly morphed into a thumbs-up, to which Symon just smiled and nodded for him to go back to the hug.


    Symon walked back to their campfire, letting the group have their moment. He suppressed a slight sniffle as he mixed the stew pot, ensuring the bottom wasn''t burning.


    C''mon Symon, keep it together, he thought to himself. He knew why it was affecting him like this. It was an emotional moment, sure, but he hadn''t known these people for long. It was the realisation that while he might physically be in a new world, he''d be living in a separate one from everyone else. Logically, he already knew that his draining magic would cause issues for him, but he hadn''t been expecting it to hit him in the face like this. The adventures were experienced at staying out of his range by now, to the point that it was easy to forget there was any danger, but he''d just been starkly reminded.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    A few seconds of being drained wouldn''t be a big issue ¡ª everyone had willingly donated some vitality when Atabek had been injured, and they''d all recovered just fine. His draining wasn''t that fast, especially when he wasn''t empowering it. Plus, the adventurers were hardy people who had already demonstrated they could recover well even without his vitality, which went a long way to helping Symon sleep better. It wasn''t like they''d shrivel to a husk the moment they stepped into his range, but it wasn''t something he wanted to do needlessly.


    He still didn''t know if there were any longer-term side effects. He''d been thinking of it a bit like blood, as a substance in your body that would naturally replenish itself over time if needed, but he didn''t know if it was safe to repeatedly draw like how someone could donate blood.


    And he hadn''t forgotten that his draining would slowly grow in both speed and range the more he used it, something he couldn''t prevent from happening. He''d been looking forward to getting to live his new life without his mortality constantly looming over his head, but it was looking like he''d be missing out on more and more of this new life.


    <What''s going on with you, boy? I thought you''d be happy it worked, but you''ve been staring at that pot of stew for a minute straight,> Keelgrave interrupted.


    "I am," Symon said in the comfort of his mind. "It''s just sinking in that I won''t be able to live a normal life with magic like this."


    <Fuck a normal life, why would you want that? We''re going to get so rich, we''ll have a personal golem to feed you redberries by the handful.>


    Heh, that would be kind of funny, he thought to himself, picturing a little robot feeding him berries like an ancient king being fed grapes. Cool as it may be, it wasn''t really what Symon was looking for. Well, he would definitely get one if it was feasible, but the problem was the lack of human interaction. He''d been a sickly child and then a workaholic obsessed with his studies as a young adult, a poor combination for meeting people. Now, with a healthy body and no responsibilities, he wanted to make some genuine friendships, especially considering how unlikely a quick return home seemed. He got along with the adventurers, but the language barrier coupled with their awe at his healing made things difficult.


    The group in question broke his contemplation with their return to the campfire, so he turned around to greet them, forcing a smile on his face as he did so. The adventurers were all grinning, while Atabek had upgraded his previous thumbs-up to a two-handed thumbs-up. The image of the giant battle-scarred man assuming such a child-like pose caused Symon to let out an unintentional snort of laughter. "No problems with the eye?" he asked immediately, trying to move on from the embarrassing noise.


    Before Aslan could answer, Safiya stepped forward and began to speak, the previous joviality replaced with a serious expression. "Thank you... honour... friend Symon," came her slowly delivered words, the vowels stretched out and rolled due to her heavy accent. She pressed both fists together in front of her before bowing so deeply Symon thought she would be able to see what was behind her. She held this position for a few seconds before rising back up, and when she did so the smile was back on her face.


    "It was no trouble," Symon said, trusting Aslan to convey his meaning. "You seemed dangerous enough already against that razor stalker, so I bet with both eyes you''ll be a real menace against the next thing that tries to eat us."


    She simply smiled and nodded, leading Symon to think that was all. But with a mischievous glint in both her eyes, she suddenly darted forward and wrapped him in a hug.


    Despite the height difference, she easily leaned back and lifted him so that his feet were dangling off the ground.


    He barked out a short laugh before speaking. "Safiya, you know my magic¡ª urk," was all he got out before she squeezed him tighter, feeling like his bones were creaking as she did so. He''d been sitting in one spot for too long, meaning his magic had killed all the nearby plants already, leaving Symon with nothing to distract the dark grey thread of Seize. He could do nothing to control it as it attached to Safiya, pulsing gently as it slowly siphoned out the vitality like a giant leech.


    At first, Symon struggled and writhed, trying to escape her bear hug. His efforts were ineffectual ¡ª maybe he could have escaped if he really tried to hurt her, but that was the opposite of what he wanted. After a few moments of panic at the damage he would inadvertently cause, he began to relax. Safiya wasn''t stupid, and by now the adventurers were all well aware of the danger of his magic. It wasn''t that fast, but they all knew they should avoid it nonetheless.


    He shot a pleading glance towards Aslan and Atabek, but those traitors were having the time of their lives laughing at his predicament. Sighing, he simply gave into the moment, trusting that she would release him before she hurt herself. He gave her a couple of awkward pats on the back.


    Jesus Christ, he thought, her back muscles feel like they''re made of stone. Where does she get all the protein?


    After what felt like a very long time, but must have been only ten or so seconds, Symon was released from his confinement. Even in that short time frame, he felt like he''d noticed her grip weakening. It was subtle, to the point he thought it might have just been his fears causing a placebo, but he interpreted it as an effect of the stolen vitality. It wasn''t even equivalent to a single full unit, but he wouldn''t want to push it any further.


    He took a step back as she gracefully danced backwards too, delivering another bow after retreating to a safe distance. She had an open, innocent smile that seemed out of place on a face with such harsh scars. The three lines in her skin passing over and around her eye were still there, mocking him for his failure to completely finish what he''d wanted to fix. Even the one in the centre that passed directly over her eyelid was still present, although the new eyeball appeared in perfect condition. Symon was completely stumped as to why this happened. He''d delivered the vitality directly to her eye area, giving more vitality than was necessary just to be on the safe side. So why were the scars still present, when all of his own were removed?


    It didn''t appear to bother her, at least. In fact, she''d always seemed quite proud of how the scars looked. The adventurers had obviously lived a rough life by Earth standards, but that seemed the norm for this new world. It wasn''t like they had an especially dangerous career either; he thought of them as adventurers, but it was more of a temporary coming-of-age ceremony than a long-term thing. They''d already told Symon about some of the dangers of their homeland. The monsters and wild beasts seemed so common that he wasn''t even sure if Safiya had lost her eye before or after setting out on this adventure.


    Regardless of the dangers of the world, he found his mood rapidly improving. The hug had lifted his spirits, although a part of him wondered if she was helping him train Crushing Resistance.


    He had some solid, dependable allies with a strong bond of mutual trust, even if it was hard to develop a true connection with most of them considering he could only communicate properly with Aslan. Of course, fighting side by side and risking their lives for one another had a way of binding them together in a way that simple conversation could not.


    Either way, a simple hug communicated what words could not.

 Chapter 33 - Taking Stock

    The adventurers Symon had spent the last week travelling with seemed so competent that it was easy to forget they were barely a few years into adulthood by Earth standards. In fact, he''d learned that in the culture of their people, they weren''t even considered full adults yet. Going out into the world and bringing back a trophy ¡ª in this case, the core and head of the razor stalker ¡ª marked their transition to adulthood. They already referred to Symon and each other as "blooded warriors", but technically they were still children, at least until they actually delivered the trophies to their elders and performed the relevant ceremony.


    As usual, Symon was at the head of the marching order, using his magic to kill the grass and clear a path to walk on. But this time, they had a new target in mind. Instead of heading due North to make it to the coastline ¡ª only a day or two of travel away by now ¡ª they instead took a short detour after Safiya spotted a large pond. They weren''t dying of thirst, but they''d been rationing their water and were all looking forward to the opportunity to bathe.


    When Symon was in the desert proper and had first spotted the grass sea that he had now almost completed his journey through, he''d initially thought it developed into a forest or jungle. He''d be forgiven for thinking this, considering how tall and thick the grass grew, but it wasn''t the case. The only plant life he saw was the same bamboo-like vegetation; no trees had been allowed to grow here. He assumed they''d all been choked of sunlight. Safiya had wanted to put her new eye to use by scouting around, but the fact that the grass grew taller than even Atabek made that plan difficult.


    Her solution was simple; she had climbed up Atabek like a monkey and stood on his shoulders. Her balance was strong enough that she could maintain this position even when the giant man was walking, giving her the unobstructed vantage point that allowed her to spot the water in the first place. They looked pretty funny in Symon''s mind, like some kind of acrobatic circus act, but he couldn''t deny had worked well.


    After half an hour of travel, they reached the body of water. It was roughly a dozen metres across, with a small stream flowing out of it that headed Northwards. The water was surprisingly clear, something Symon got a very up-close view of as he almost fell right into it. The wall of grass had stopped suddenly, immediately being replaced water without the gradual transition that he would have expected.


    Symon quickly cleared part of the shoreline, his draining speed no longer slowed down by having a full vessel as he''d yet to refill it after restoring Safiya''s eye. The others fanned out around him, weapons at the ready as they searched for threats. Even Symon could recognise that the only source of water he''d seen since waking up in the desert would be a popular watering hole for various monsters.


    Luckily, their caution proved unnecessary. No dangerous creatures were present, neither around the water nor in it. He half expected some type of giant monster to come charging out of the water, but it was both shallow and clear enough that they could see the bottom. A few fish were swimming around in there, but they seemed normal to Symon. Keelgrave turned out to recognise them from his seafaring days, informing him that they were harmless and also quite tasty.


    He didn''t need to tell the others this, as they were already spreading out around the pond and staring hungrily at the fish. Their travel rations had been decent at best, and last night''s stew made from the snake meat hadn''t quite hit the spot. As usual, Atabek''s breads had been the highlight of the meal, but even they could only elevate things so far.


    As everyone else slowly spread out, he considered how they could catch the fish. Aslan''s spear would have been their best bet, but it had been snapped in battle some time ago. He still carried around the two halves, but Symon wasn''t sure how well it would work like that.


    Taking a step closer to the water, he was distracted by his own reflection, all thoughts about fish vanishing from his mind. It was the first chance he''d had to get such a good look at himself since arriving here.


    He had mixed feelings about the young man he saw staring back at him. His dark brown hair was overly long, which might have looked nice if it had been styled. Instead, it was slicked back by sweat and small clumps of what must have been dried blood, although he wasn''t sure if it was his. His eyes were the same brown colour he''d always had, but he felt that there was a certain intensity there that he hadn''t had the last time he''d looked in a mirror. He didn''t know how to describe how they had changed, but they looked more... focused.


    The rest of his face was smooth, with no acne or blemishes on his skin. He hadn''t had anything too bad, but his healing must have cleared up his skin completely. Plenty of dirt was smudged over his face, but the skin itself seemed perfect.


    Eyes trailing down his body, he grimaced at what he saw. His fighting style tended to consist of outlasting a monster as it scratched and bit him half to death, which really did a number on his wardrobe. His original paramedic uniform was long since destroyed, alongside the replacement clothes the adventurers had given to him. He''d taken off the second white robe that they''d given to him ¡ª it had a few rips in it, but the real problem was how much blood had been soaked into it. His magic took away many of the consequences of being hurt, but it did nothing for his clothing.Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    He needed a method of avoiding injury in the first place. It would make his vitality last longer for one, but he also didn''t enjoy being getting savaged in every fight. His Pain Resistance tried, but it could only do so much. Maybe a shield would be nice, or perhaps some nice thick armour. Even just learning to dodge better would be helpful.


    Compared to his clothes, the body underneath was in much better condition. He was of course completely healthy, not a single scratch or scar on him. He was grateful he could heal his own scars at least, even if he was still unsure why it didn''t work on the others. He was a pasty white colour, but at least his vitality kept him getting sunburned. He shuddered slightly as he remembered the lobster-red colour his skin had become when he was stuck with an empty vessel in the desert proper. At least the adventurers hadn''t seen him like that.


    His only concern was that, well, he was still skinny. His Strength wasn''t particularly high, so he wasn''t expecting to look like Atabek, but he''d still been hoping for something to visibly change. He certainly felt stronger ¡ª he could swing his metal pipe club around noticeably easier than when he''d first acquired it ¡ª but if his body had grown since coming here it was too slight to notice. This wasn''t the first time he''d noticed the lack of a physical change, but it had resurfaced in his mind after Safiya''s crushing hug. He''d bounced some ideas as to why this was the case off Keelgrave, but the spirit hadn''t been very helpful.


    His Strength wasn''t far off from being a full 1.00, which meant he was approaching the strongest a normal person would be able to get without the Ledger''s help. He had no easy way to test this, but he trusted what the Ledger said ¡ª he could certainly do a lot more pushups than he used to be able to do. But the reason he still looked much the same as he did before coming here? His best theory was that the Ledger was changing him, it was simply taking its time. No one really knew how the Ledger worked, at least according to Keelgrave, but it was a fair assumption that mana was involved in some capacity. He had a vessel instead of a mana core like everyone else, so it wasn''t a large leap in logic for him to guess that his lack of mana could be harming the process.


    <Eh, I wouldn''t be too worried about that. Plants absorb mana perfectly fine and they don''t have cores,> Keelgrave explained once Symon professed his fears.


    "How would you even know that? I thought you were a pirate?" Symon asked. Keelgrave seemed to know a little bit about a lot of different things, which he supposed made sense when he considered how many adventures the old ghost must have been on.


    <A privateer, damnit, not a pirate! And I know it works because how else could you make potions? The plants obviously get mana somehow,> Keelgrave replied with a smug tone.


    Symon wasn''t sure why''d he be expected to know that, considering he hadn''t even known potions were a thing until this conversation. And while he wasn''t a plant, he still chose to believe the process worked for him too. He was just assuming that the Ledger used mana to work its magic, but it made sense that something was powering it. Similarly, he imagined that the first few days in the desert without food had harmed his potential gains. Even since meeting the adventurers, he hadn''t been eating a whole lot, especially when you considered how active he''d been. Could it really be something so simple?


    His musings were interrupted by a splash in the water. Glancing up, he discovered that the Dumosans had a simple yet surprisingly effective technique for catching the fish. The pond was only up to his chest at the deepest point, so Safiya simply waded in and... picked up a fish with her bare hands.


    He''d seen how fast she could move already, but he''d been largely focused on not being stabbed by a giant mantis monster at the time. Now, without anything distracting him, he could really appreciate it. The moment a fish got in range ¡ª admittedly, her arms weren''t very long ¡ª she would snatch them right out of the water, deliver a quick stab with one of her daggers, and then toss it to the shore near Atabek. The whole process took less than a second, meaning she''d caught a full meal for them in a matter of moments.


    Keelgrave must have been paying attention to her too. <That''s why you can''t get complacent and neglect your training, boy. Imagine if she wanted to kill you; she''d cut open your throat before you even knew what was happening.>


    "Dammit Keelgrave, what was that for? I''ve been good about my training!" Symon responded. He didn''t need more reminders about how weak he was.


    <Good? You''ll have to do better than just good if you want to make up for 20 years without the Ledger.> The old ghost might have had a point, but Symon didn''t know how he could possibly fit more training into his life. He marched all day, during which he also practised his Common in mental conversations with Keelgrave. When the party rested, Symon practised with the sword. He didn''t need to take a break, as long as he had the vitality to spare. The only time he wasn''t training was when he was asleep.


    "What could I even do?" Symon asked, exasperated. "I''ve got no more time left in the day for training."


    <We aren''t going to add more, we''re just going to change what you''re already doing,> the ghost replied.


    "Care to enlighten me?"


    <Ideally you''d have more time to practice, but it won''t be long before we reach that village. You need that Swords passive before we get there.>


    Symon rolled his eyes. "And? How am I going to do that?"


    <The big oaf is cooking fish, and the woman is catching them. That leaves their leader. It''s time you had a proper spar.>

 Chapter 34 - The Art of the Sword

    Blood dripped from a long, shallow cut on Symon''s forearm, a gentle pitter-patter of the red liquid that reminded him of rain. Panting heavily, he took a few steps back before flicking his arm several times, trying to prevent the blood from flowing down to his hand and loosening his grip on the sword.


    The first flick; a small tide of crimson splattered against the dead grass.


    The second flick; a few more droplets added themselves to the pool of blood at his feet.


    A final flick; nothing. The wound had sealed over.


    "Again!" he cried for what felt like the thousandth time, raising his sword into a defensive position as he did so ¡ª or at least his best imitation of one.


    Aslan approached him slowly, one hand behind his back while the other held a sword of his own. His preferred weapon was the spear, but he possessed the Swords passive too. It was a much lower level, but his raw stats coupled with his general combat experience meant he would have beaten Symon even without it.


    Symon didn''t need to beat Aslan, though. He simply needed to be better than the Symon of five minutes ago.


    All of a sudden, Aslan''s sword whipped out, coming at him in a wide sweeping arc. Symon knew his sparring partner was deliberately using inefficient attacks to give him a chance to react ¡ª he could have stabbed him in the chest before he could even see it coming ¡ª but even then he only barely managed to slap the blade away with his own. The impact jarred his arm, the heavy vibrations moving up through his bone.


    <Idiot, don''t push directly against the blow, deflect it at an angle!> Keelgrave shouted into his mind. It was good advice, but Symon was finding it hard to focus on the fighting with a ghost making such a racket in his head. He hadn''t realised thoughts could even be loud, but Keelgrave had shown him they could.


    Aslan had taken a step back after the attack, ensuring he was out of draining range. After all, this was to train Symon in the art of the sword, not to use his magic.


    Another horizontal sweeping attack came his way, the same strike as the last except this was from Symon''s right instead of his left. Once again he tried to deflect it, paying extra attention to the angle of impact as the blades collided. This time, the blade scraped against his with a painful screech before being successfully deflected. Well, mostly successful. He''d pushed his opponent''s sword away from his body, but he was pretty sure the force of it had sprained his wrist in the process. His Pain Resistance made it hard to determine how bad the injury actually was, but the dull ache quickly faded to nothing as his healing went to work, so it must have been minor.


    He didn''t know Aslan''s exact Strength, but he knew it had to be at least twice his own. Aslan could have used brute force to power through any attempted block of his, so he had to rely on perfectly deflecting a sword moving so fast he could barely see it. Predictably, he was finding this quite difficult.


    Once more, the fighters took a step back from one another, preparing to reset their attempt. Symon stole a quick glance at his vessel tattoo. He was burning through his vitality, although it was happening slower than he expected. He remembered his magic taking half a dozen points of vitality to heal the shallow wounds inflicted by one of those damn centipedes, but now he expected a similar wound would only take half that amount to heal, and in half the time.


    "I think I almost have it," he said to Aslan between gasps for air. "This time, I want you to treat it more like a real fight. No stopping after every attack."


    Symon immediately spotted the hesitation on the other man''s face. Their sparring was already far more intense than what most normal people would consider, but Symon''s magic wasn''t normal. He''d barely had his abilities for a week, and yet he trusted them implicitly. They''d saved his life many times over already, so how could he not? The rules of the spar dictated no shots to the head, so he was confident that he''d be able to survive any singular blow. He really wasn''t looking forward to getting hurt more, but a bit of pain now could be the difference between life and death in the future.


    "You are sure, friend Symon?" Aslan asked, to which Symon gave a nod.


    The moment Aslan raised his sword, Symon charged forward. Other than his healing and draining magic, Symon had few advantages compared to anyone else, but he still had a trick up his sleeve. He''d earned and trained his Running Passive by using his vitality to sprint and full power for hours at a time, and now it was time to show it off. Being a Passive meant it was always working, but he''d had few opportunities to go all out with his running since meeting the adventurers ¡ª they weren''t able to maintain the speed he could, not that it was possible to run without clearing a path through the grass first.


    That was to say that the others didn''t understand just how fast Symon could move. It wasn''t even close to the whole body dexterity of someone like Safiya, but his legs could move pretty damn fast when he pushed himself.


    With a deep breath, he launched himself forward like a bullet, moving directly towards his opponent standing at the opposite end of the cleared circle of grass they''d been using to spar in. The skill improved all aspects of his running, meaning he accelerated to his maximum speed incredibly quickly.


    The moment he saw the tip of Aslan''s sword begin to move to intercept him, he used the skill to the opposite effect, slowing down to a stop almost immediately before changing his heading and resuming the charge. His plan was simple; get Aslan to think he was going in one direction, then quickly switch to Aslan''s more undefended side. Considering the stat disparity, this normally wouldn''t have been enough. Symon could run faster, but Aslan was faster in general and was more capable of the quick reactions needed for combat.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    Luckily, Symon had the element of surprise; none of the adventurers had gotten a proper look at him really leaning into his Running.


    Aslan''s eyes widened in shock as his blade passed through where Symon should have been, catching only air instead of flesh. He was already swinging back around, but by now Symon had finished his run in the opposite direction of the first strike, giving the blade the longest possible travel time to return to him.


    It was only an extra fraction of a second, but often that could be the difference between life and death. Of course, they were both pulling their punches for the spar, which was why Aslan slowly lowered his blade once he realised the fight was over. The tiny nick on his chest told him as much.


    Panting heavily ¡ª moving like that took a lot out of him ¡ª Symon pulled his blade back from where he''d pressed it near Aslan''s heart. Despite how easy it would be to slip and stab his sparring partner right in the vital organ, Symon wasn''t worried. He had enough vitality and was close enough that he was confident he could have fixed it in time, but that wasn''t the source of his newfound confidence.


    His grip on the blade had subtly altered, the weapon feeling much more secure in his hand. The posture of his entire body had shifted slightly, ensuring his balance was kept even with the blade extended.


    "I think we did it!" Symon said excitedly, also no longer needing Keelgrave''s help to translate the simple sentence.


    With a smile on both their faces, they clasped hands for the brief moment Symon needed to send a small amount of vitality towards his sparring partner. The mark the sword had left was barely more than a papercut, but Symon donated an extra point of vitality to ensure his ally''s muscles recovered faster. Aslan hadn''t needed to push himself against Symon, but he still wanted to give the other man a thank you.


    "Well struck, friend Symon!" Aslan said good-naturedly. "I was not aware you could move so quickly." It was a statement, but Symon recognised the unasked question. He''d noticed something similar in their occasional discussion as they marched ¡ª it seemed like something of a faux pas to discuss the details of someone else''s Ledger, akin to him asking someone how much their job pays.


    "I did a lot of running in the desert and managed to earn a passive for it," Symon volunteered. He didn''t have the same hangups about it that others might, or at least he didn''t with people he trusted.


    "It was impressive, although the maneuverability seemed limited. Perhaps it would be more effective when paired with a spear, hmm?" he asked. At first, Symon thought that was just Aslan''s bias for the spear ¡ª he still carried around the broken parts of his old one, which had been his primary weapon ¡ª but the more he considered it, the more he liked it. His Running passive was very helpful, but it was more for repositioning than for directly dealing damage.


    But with a spear, he''d be able to make better use of his momentum, like a jousting knight who was able to run faster than any horse. Well, he wasn''t that fast yet, but the dream was there. Of course, adding more momentum to his sword''s attacks as well as using it to dodge was still very viable too.


    There was nothing preventing him from learning both, although that would mean he''d have to split his attention and effort, which would lead to slower skill growth. This would in turn mean fewer evolutions for his skills, which, judging by the previous options he''d seen when he''d been able to evolve his Will and gain Pain Resistance, seemed quite powerful. He''d need to find a balance between being able to adapt to every situation without becoming a master of none.


    With that in mind, Symon gave a two-fisted bow and thanked Aslan for the spar one last time before moving away to check his Ledger in private. Sure enough, the hours of training and sparring had paid off.


    [You have acquired a new passive: Swords]


    [Swords (0): Boosts all aspects surrounding the use of swords.]


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.87 {+0.03}


    Constitution: 1.18 {+0.04}


    Acuity: 0.90 {+0.02}


    Intelligence: 0.94 {+0.02}


    Will: 1.18 {+0.02}


    Vessel (Vitality): 6/17


    Abilities:


    Idealise (9) {+1}


    Seize (10)


    Essence Bond (10) {+1}


    Passives:


    Languages (7) {+2}


    Pain Resistance (5)


    Poison Resistance (0)


    Running (7) {+1} ]


    He''d finally done it! Taking only a week to earn a new passive entirely from scratch might have been pretty fast, but it hadn''t felt like that for Symon. He''d swung that sword over and over until his muscles and mind were numb, repeating the same few simple strikes on the empty air until the process had been hammered into his brain. Even his dreams were sword-themed, although they hadn''t been magical memory dreams.


    Even without any levels, the effect was subtle yet noticeable. Mostly, these were tiny adjustments to his posture ¡ª the sword sat more comfortably in his grip, and he was sure that would translate into being able to deliver stronger strikes.


    With a few practice swishes in the air, he also had a greater sense of where the blade was in space and how fast it was moving. It wasn''t like he was some sword master who considered the weapon an extension of his body, but he did have an unconscious understanding of how far his reach would be.


    But the passive didn''t just help him use the sword aggressively. Thinking back to his many fights with Aslan, he could already recognise several times when he''d misjudged Aslan''s reach, needlessly putting himself into a dangerous position without any benefits. Similarly, he felt like he''d do a better job of parrying attacks, especially when the opponent was also using a sword. He intrinsically had a better understanding of how to angle his blade for both a proper deflection and a straight-on block.


    "Hmm, I never considered that part," he said to Keelgrave. "The Ledger wasn''t lying when it said all aspects of how you use a sword. I''ll be better at fighting with it, obviously, but it''ll also help when someone is trying to use a sword against me."


    <Yes, but your specific style ¡ª not that you have anything beyond wild flailing ¡ª will shape the skills progression, so try not to rely on it to predict others,> Keelgrave advised. <If you rush off and get yourself killed because you were an overconfident idiot, I''ll find your ghost and give it a good thrashing.>


    Of course, Keelgrave just couldn''t give useful advice without adding random accusations regarding Symon''s intelligence and ego. Oh well, he had to admit that the grouchy ghost was a very helpful combat trainer. Having someone watching, analysing, and judging every little thing he did probably saved him at least a month''s worth of effort. Putting up with the snide remarks was a small price to pay.


    This Sword passive would go a long way to making him feel secure in this new world, the only question was... what would he learn next?

 Chapter 35 - Night Shift

    Symon liked the idea of having so many skills that he''d always have one for every situation, but he had to focus his efforts. It was currently afternoon, and they expected to make it to the village before nightfall of the next day. The Dumosans had passed through it on their journey towards the desert, so he already knew there was an inn and tavern combination they''d be visiting first.


    He was looking forward to sleeping in a real bed. It was apparently a tiny village that had sprung up around a mine, so he wasn''t expecting a high-class establishment, but he''d feel safer if he had four walls around him when he slept instead of a thin tent.


    He''d been told it was so small that there wasn''t any organised crime ¡ª and the adventurers hadn''t had any problems when they were there ¡ª but Symon figured it would be better to be safe than sorry. His allies had already sworn themselves to secrecy regarding the power of his healing, but it was very possible that someone would oversee something and put things together.


    Even if things weren''t dangerous, he could easily become a target of opportunity. After all, his home city back on Earth was considered quite safe, but he''d still be a fool to walk around at night with a briefcase full of cash. And with how powerful and in demand his healing was, he may as well be made of solid gold. As far as he was aware, he could heal any physical injury as long as he had enough vitality. Well, there was the fact that it hadn''t done anything to fix the other''s scars, despite the magic working fine on himself. He still wasn''t sure why that was, so he''d need to test it some more when he had the chance. His best guess had been that the scars were simply too old to be healed, but he''d noticed all of his had vanished. From the tiny line on the back of his thumb from when he''d crashed his bike as a kid, to the barely noticeable scars from needles in the crook of his elbow, they had all faded away completely.


    Healing scars was something he already knew the more powerful healers were capable of. Despite them using mana instead of vitality, he was confident he''d be able to do it. He just wasn''t sure what he was missing...


    Shaking his head slightly, he refocused on his more immediate concerns. The scars were just a visual thing anyway, and they even looked kind of cool. The most important thing was to ensure he could hold his own against threats, be they monsters attacking the village or magic-empowered criminals.


    So what could he do to protect himself? Well, not much that he wasn''t already doing. Secrecy would be his first line of defence, then if it came to combat he had his magic and his new Sword skill. His best bet would be to continue sparring with Aslan, gaining levels in the skill as well as the mundane but no less important type of fighting experience that wasn''t listed on his Ledger.


    And if there were any problems, he at least had some reliable allies to back him up. Most things would avoid picking a fight with him if Atabek was nearby, at least if they were smart.


    If a monster snuck up on him while he was sleeping or similarly distracted, his healing would probably give him enough time for his friends to come help. He wasn''t sure exactly what types of wounds were survivable for him, but he''d been doing some thinking on this matter since a recent spar ¡ª the one where he held the tip of his sword to Aslan''s chest, with a particular line of questioning standing out.


    What was the worst wound he could take and still survive? If someone stabbed Symon through the heart, would he be okay?


    Crazy as it felt to say, he was pretty sure he''d survive someone stabbing him through the heart. Naturally, this had some conditions to it. If someone was willing to stab him in the heart once, chances were high that they''d be willing to stab him more than once too. He''d likely be helpless if that was the case, considering he''d be so focused on healing his grievous injury before he died.


    There was also the problem of what would happen if something was stabbed into him and then left there. He''d need it pulled out first before he could properly heal himself, something he hoped he wouldn''t need to do for two main reasons. For one, it would fucking hurt, even with a Pain Resistance. Secondly, it would take precious seconds that he might not be able to afford. Getting a knife stuck in his palm would be an easy fix, but getting one in his throat? He''d need to move very quickly to keep himself alive.


    Similarly, he needed to keep his head safe. This seemed an obvious thing to say, but Symon was used ¡ª in a certain definition of the word ¡ª to getting his body shredded up by monsters. It was easy to forget that a single good hit to his head and he''d be done for, no time for the healing to kick in.


    With that in mind, he looked over his shoulder at Aslan. They were following a small creek that led to the coastline where the village was located, so it was easy to keep on heading in the right direction. "Hey Aslan, you said the village is set up around a mine, right?"


    "Indeed so, I believe most of the villagers are miners and their families," he supplied.


    "And do you know what they''re digging for there?"


    "Iron, I believe. But I must admit to not paying much attention. We mostly kept to ourselves when we were there."


    "Perfect! Then hopefully there''s a smith there who can make me a helmet and something to protect my chest."If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    It was more of an idle thought than a question, but Aslan still considered it for a few moments before replying. "I suspect there would be someone who maintains the mining equipment, at least. They would be your best chance of finding someone with a Smithing skill ¡ª but the general quality of the village did not seem impressive."


    Well, that was fine in Symon''s eyes. Beautiful ornate plate armour would be great, but he''d settle for an ugly slab of metal strapped to him as long as it stopped sharp things from poking him.


    "Thanks, I''ll have to track them down once we arrive," Symon said. He couldn''t imagine armour would be easily affordable, especially for the flat-broke Symon, but he was sure he could find a way to earn some money. Mining couldn''t be a safe career, so he was sure there would be a few people in need of healing.


    <hr>


    That night ¡ª hopefully the last one they''d spend out in the grass ¡ª Symon took the first watch. Their journey had been uncharacteristically peaceful, but they weren''t going to get complacent, especially so close to their goal. It would be downright embarrasing to be taken out in their sleep less than 24 hours from their destination.


    It was odd, though, just how little monsters they''d encountered. Back in the white sands of the desert proper, he''d been attacked several times a day, every day. The monsters were all centipedes, yes, and even back then they hadn''t been much of a threat, but in the grass sea they''d barely found anything.


    There was the razor stalker, of course, but that had been the only true threat. The bushlike ostriches seemed like more of a prey beast, and the occaisonal snake that they encounted tended to flee as soon as it noticed them. He would have expected to find more monsters considering all the plant life and water to be found here.


    With nothing else to do while he was on watch, he decided to practice his sword forms again. Everyone had pushed themselves hard on the march to ensure they could make it to the village before nightfall tomorrow, so his friends had basically collapsed asleep right after eating. Symon didn''t really get physically tired though, at least as long as he had the vitality to spend.


    He should be fine staying up late to practice, then getting a few hours of sleep to refresh his mind. The problem was the cost in vitality that he would spend delaying his rest. After restoring Safiya''s eye and his intense sparring with Aslan, he was still only had a half-filled vessel. He would strongly prefer to have it filled up by the time he arrived at the village, both for use in an emergency and to get some money by selling his healing services.


    And as it turned out, his initial estimations for how long it would take to fill his vessel had been off, and not in a way that benefitted him. Despite the grass around him growing taller, thicker, and healthier as he progressed towards the coast, the vitality he managed to absorb lagged behind. If the grass was twice as tall, it would give him twice as much vitality ¡ª or so he''d thought.


    He''d come to the conclusion that there was some type of qualitative difference between the vitality inside of plants compared to the vitality of animals and monsters. A single one of those silly looking bush ostriches, even a juvenile one, gave him as much vitality as two or three hours of walking around automatically draining the grass. He could of course choose to empower his draining, but that required so much focus to ensure the grey threads of his magic snapped onto the grass he wanted it to that it made it hard for him to do anything else, namely watching for threats or keeping up a mental conversation with Keelgrave. Once his thread had latched onto something, it was easy to keep it empowered ¡ª the problem was how quickly the grass died, which necessitated him consciously moving the thread to the next strand of grass. And considering he marched for hours and hours at a time, it was incredibly taxing to keep the process going.


    That was to say, Symon didn''t have as much vitality as he would have liked, and wished to rectify this issue.


    He was the only one on watch so instead of wandering off, he walked around the circumference of their clearing, practicing slashes and lunges with his sword as he went. By his estimation, he did this for four hours. It might have seemed strange that each of the four members of the group stood watch for four hours each, with no overlap between their shifts, but Symon had realised something he probably should have noticed sooner. The three suns visible in the daytime made it clear different the astronomy was very different from Earth''s solar system, but he hadn''t noticed the difference in the day-night cycle. Keelgrave had told him there were 12 months, each with exactly 30 days, so Symon had simply shrugged and considered things close enough to what he was used to for all practical concerns. But he''d originally missed just how long a full day was, considering the figure Keelgrave had told him was measured in a unit he didn''t understand.


    As it turned out, a full day here was somewhere close to 30 Earth-hours. It explained why he felt like he''d been here for so long, despite it only being a few days over a week ¡ª and that meant seven of these extended days to Symon, as the Common language didn''t have a term equivalent to weeks, just days and months. He''d thought all the constant adrenaline had warped his perception of time, and it probably had, but there was that more mundane explanation too.


    He found it easy to stay focused, even with the long nights; there was something almost meditative about repeating the same strikes over and over, feeling his body slowly grow more confident as he did so.


    One benefit of having such a low level skill was how easy it was to improve. He quickly checked his Ledger, a specific line in mind.


    [ Swords (1) {+1} ]


    Symon pumped a fist in the air, hissing out a quiet "Yes!" as he did so, careful not to wake any of his sleeping compatriots. It was hard to determine how much of his newfound comfort with the sword was from the new level and how much was from simple experience, but it was there regardless. It was very subtle ¡ª the gap between level 0 and level 1 was much smaller than the gap between not having the skill and having it at level 0 ¡ª but it was still there.


    With a satisfied smile, Symon considered his next plan of action. The rush of gaining a level, of having the knowledge that you were suddenly quantifiably better than you previously were was addicting. He couldn''t do anything fancy with his sword, but it would have taken him months to get as comfortable with it as he was now if he was back home.


    He could keep practicing as he was now, but swinging his sword around through the air was much less efficient training than a proper spar. He''d be better off filling his vessel instead. Draining the grass was painfully slow, in addition to ironically being mentally draining for him. Thankfully, he had a simple solution.


    He needed to hunt.

 Chapter 36 - Fishing for Fun and Profit

    As much as Symon wanted to rush off and find some vitality, he was ostensibly guarding the sleeping bodies of his friends from nighttime monster attacks. The feeling of growing stronger might have been addictive, but Symon didn''t want to put his friends in danger just because he got greedy.


    With that in mind, he held his recently neglected pipe in one hand as he approached Atabek. The sleeping giant had been snoring all night, a low rumble that Symon could feel vibrating the ground when he got close.


    Carefully, he gently prodded Atabek''s side with the tip of his club. The range of his draining magic was just barely under the distance he could poke with his club, ensuring he didn''t accidentally steal any vitality. It took a couple of tries, but he eventually succeeded in waking him up.


    Symon''s Languages passive had helped him to pick up a few words of Dumosi, but it really wasn''t much. He was beginning to regret focusing solely on learning Common, but hand signs and context clues would have to be enough.


    Softly clearing his throat, Symon pointed to the other man, then pointed outwards. "Atabek go... uh, Atabek go eyes?"


    The eyes in question squinted at Symon, before slowly looking around. Even without understanding his words, there was only one reason why Symon would be waking him up in the middle of the night. Well, two reasons, but Symon didn''t think either of them had the right orientation for the latter. Luckily, Atabek''s freshly awoken mind realised this too.


    After rubbing the sleep from his eyes, he stood up and stretched. When he was done, he hefted his axe onto his shoulder before giving Symon one of his now signature thumbs-up.


    With Atabek now on guard duty, Symon wasn''t putting his friends in danger by going off at night. Speaking of which, he had a plan. He wouldn''t be going far ¡ª there was a solid chance of nocturnal predators being a threat to a lone Symon, but his targets were a known quantity and near enough that he could call for help if need be.


    They had put their camp along the small stream they had been using to guide their way to the shore, so Symon quickly made his way to it. His idea was that he could follow the water for some time, draining the fish for vitality as he did so, then follow the stream back up to the camp. It would be easy to get lost in the maze of grass, but as long as he stuck near the water he''d be fine.


    He doubted he would be able to fill his vessel to full unless he travelled dangerously far from his allies, but that was fine ¡ª it didn''t need to be full, just as much of a reserve as he could get before they reached the village.


    With that in mind, he began a slow walk toward the creek. It was dark, his only light source a softly flickering torch ¡ª a stick with cloth and some type of sticky substance around the end. There wasn''t even any moonlight to guide him. There were multiple different moons, but he''d never seen more than one at once in the night sky, and there were none out tonight.


    <I can''t believe those broke bastards don''t even have a single lightstone between them. Well, I can believe it, but not a single piece of enchanted work is pathetic. It''s only a single gold piece for a good lightstone!> Keelgrave complained out of nowhere.


    "You know I don''t know how much a gold piece is worth."


    <Ugh, right, sometimes I forget you''re basically a little baby. You could buy a sword like the one you have now for ten gold,> he explained.


    That example didn''t help Symon much, as he wasn''t sure what a sword was even worth. 500 bucks? Probably a bit more, he thought.


    "How much does a meal cost, then?" he asked aloud, as they were far enough from the others to not bother them. It would be a good way of understanding the currency''s worth here.


    "A gold for a real fancy inner city meal, half a silver or less for a cheap one," Keelgrave replied. Symon opened his mouth to clarify something, but Keelgrave continued. "And before you ask, it''s ten silvers for a gold. Ten coppers for a silver, too."


    Symon was good with numbers, but he felt that having all these different valued coins was needlessly confusing. Still, he had a rough understanding of their value, at least enough to ensure he wouldn''t get completely scammed. A gold was somewhere around a hundred dollars, which put a silver at ten dollars and a copper coin at a single dollar in value ¡ª or at least close enough.


    By now, Symon had made it to the creek. His magic had cut a path straight back to the camp, so he could still see the flickering light of the campfire. There was still some danger in being separated from the others, but he was still near enough they could come to each other''s aid in an emergency.Find this and other great novels on the author''s preferred platform. Support original creators!


    He had planned to simply sit on the banks and allow his magic to drain the fish as they passed by, but what he saw gave him a new idea.


    Tiny, multicoloured lights floated gently along the surface of the water. Most of them were red and orange, but a few were a greenish colour. They would blink out, and then light back up in a slightly different position. At first, he thought they were fireflies, but when he held his torch closer he soon realised the lights were coming from the fish.


    They all had tiny bony protrusions on their heads, which he had noticed during dinner but thought nothing of. Some fish just looked weird. But now, he saw they gave off the gently pulsing lights as the fish swam up and down the stream. It was a pretty sight, almost hypnotic to watch the little lights travel up and down the stream, but he hadn''t come here to sightsee.


    Part of him felt bad about what was about to happen to the fish, but he had already eaten some of them for dinner, so it wasn''t the time to get squeamish. He placed his foot just on the edge of the creek, being careful to not get his boots wet considering they were the only pair he had. There were plenty of fish in the creek, much more than he''d initially noticed ¡ª unsurprisingly, the flashing lights made them easy to spot in the pitch-black night. Without the light pollution he''d grown accustomed to in his last life lighting up the night, he''d discovered a newfound appreciation for fire.


    He planted his torch into the soft, sandy dirt and waited for a fish to pass by, sending the grey thread of Seize out into the water like a fishing line as he sat down and waited.


    When he''d first tried to show his adventurer friends the range of his magic ¡ª so they knew how to stay out of it ¡ª he''d been surprised to find that the others couldn''t see it. In fact, they weren''t able to even feel it draining them unless he empowered the effect. Even Keelgrave wasn''t able to see the threads, although he could sense the vitality contained within them once they started draining something. He''d just assumed that everyone could see it but was so used to magic that they didn''t pay it any attention. He hadn''t explained to the others that he could actually see the threads, and so they never thought to mention that they couldn''t see it.


    Despite its small size, the stream was filled with fish, so it didn''t take long for one to lazily pass by Symon. Immediately, the thread quickly snaked its way through the water and latched onto the fish. It wasn''t moving fast, but his range wasn''t very long and he didn''t want to have to chase it up the stream, so he focused on the thread and encouraged it to pull the vitality out faster.


    The fish slowly spun around, looking behind itself. His friends said it felt cold and wrong when he empowered the draining, so the fish was probably confused but not smart enough to recognise the threat.


    That''s strange, Symon thought to himself. I would expect a fish to be more skittish...


    The reason for the fish''s odd behaviour quickly became apparent, as it turned belly up and began floating down the stream in the opposite direction to where it started.


    "That was fast," he said to Keelgrave.


    <Great work, mighty hunter. If the healing work doesn''t pay enough, you can always become a fisherman.>


    Symon just rolled his eyes in response. He was here for vitality, and he''d been successful. It wasn''t enough for a full unit, but he''d felt a solid amount stream into his vessel and join the swirling vitality contained within.


    It was certainly much faster than draining grass, and all he had to do was sit and wait for the fish to come to him.


    <hr>


    Symon spent nearly an hour out there, but his torch had burned down to almost nothing and he was beginning to get creeped out by the darkness. Atabek had come to check on him, but he''d waved him off ¡ª their sleeping friends were the ones who needed someone watching over them, not him. Keelgrave kept him company, for what little that was worth, but Symon elected to return with his vessel two thirds full. It was good enough, and he still had a full days worth of grass draining ahead of him tomorrow.


    That meant he''d arrive at the village with a mostly full vessel, but that still didn''t sit right with him. He didn''t like how paranoid he''d become ¡ª being in the village would be the safest he''s ever been since arriving on this island, but he was still nervous about it. Keelgrave had constantly warned him about how dangerous those who spent their whole life benefitting from the Ledger could be, and he had to admit that the adventurers, whom he trusted, could be scary even without meaning to be.


    At least out here in the desert, things were simple. You''d find a monster, it would either run away or fight you, and then you would either kill it or it would kill you. Symon wouldn''t say he enjoyed it, but there was something reassuring about the simplicity of life. It was like a return to his caveman roots. But people? People were complicated.


    With a soft sigh, he stood up to begin trudging back to the camp. He''d thought of himself as a trusting person, but Keelgrave''s constant warnings had managed to taint his thinking. He wanted to be cautious, not paranoid. Just like home, he imagined the people in this world could be both good and bad ¡ª with most just being normal people trying to get by.


    After stretching out the kinks in his back from sitting for so long, Symon looked up and down the stream before hopping over it. Downstream, he saw a collection of the glowing lights all clustered unmoving around one another. Approaching it, he found a group of the fish he''d drained the vitality from, all of their bodies caught against a bend in the stream.


    "Hmm, their lights are still glowing," Symon said, half to himself and half to Keelgrave. They were no longer gently pulsing on and off, instead they were all stuck lit up.


    <And?>


    "Well, it''s magical, right? These guys must have died at least ten minutes ago, but their lights are still glowing. Where''s the mana coming from?"


    <I suppose it''s a little odd, now that you mention it,> Keelgrave admitted. <They''re so small, there should only be enough for a few seconds of light stored in their flesh.>


    Symon barely knew how his own vitality worked, let alone mana, but if the fish weren''t big enough to store enough energy normally...


    "Does that mean they''ve got a core in them?" Symon asked.

 Chapter 37 - Tracking

    Symon wasn''t a squeamish guy, even back on Earth. Early on in his paramedic course, one of his first classes had a dissection of a human cadaver, designed to weed out those with a weak stomach. Then, he''d seen some pretty rough things as a trainee going on ride-a-longs in the ambulance. The motorcycle accidents in particular had a tendency to spread their victims across a wide area.


    It had been too much for many people, but not Symon. The world could be a dark, horrible place, but when he''d recovered from his illness against all expectations, he knew it was his duty to make things better, to save those in need no matter how grim things could appear.


    Symon found it a little challenging to maintain this positive philosophy while both his thumbs were rooting around inside the brains of a fish.


    "Ugh, this is disgusting. You''re sure the mana core is inside its head?" he asked.


    <Kid, I''m not even sure it has a core,> Keelgrave replied. <It shouldn''t have one, but then again its horn shouldn''t be glowing either.>


    He probably should have waited for morning to do this, but they were both too curious to sleep. The flickering torch provided just enough light to ensure his workspace was covered in shadows, so he was operating almost entirely off of touch. The razor stalker''s core had been the size of a marble, so the comparatively tiny fish must have had a similarly small core, presuming it even had one.


    With a wet squelch, part of the fish''s brain matter slipped out of its skull and landed on the sandy dirt. Immediately, the faintly glowing horn went dark.


    "Oh goddamnit," he mumbled to himself before getting down on one knee and pawing around in the darkness. After a few seconds of half-blind searching, he felt something wet and scooped up the piece of brain, which had now collected a healthy coating of sandy dirt and dead grass.


    "And to think I could have just gone to sleep," he said wistfully as he stared at the clump of fish innards in his hand, holding it up to his torch for a better view.


    <Shut it and keep searching! It''s gotta be in there!> the spirit demanded.


    "What do you think I''m doing, you old bastard!" he hissed out in response. He usually just ignored Keelgrave''s little remarks, but the experience was annoying enough even without him. Symon slowly picked off pieces of the brain, checking them for anything odd before discarding them. Like this, he slowly shrank down the potential hiding places until he eventually felt something new.


    Quickly digging through the remaining mess, he pulled out what could only be the mana core. It was tiny, less than a quarter the size of his fingernail, and felt like a little glass marble. Being extra careful to ensure the current didn''t pull it from between his fingers, he washed all the grime off in the small creek. The revealed core was a blue colour, but he''d have to wait for the suns to come out to get a proper look at it. Torchlight could only go so far.


    <Well, shit. I''ve never heard of something this small having a mana core.>


    "Our lucky day, I suppose. They''re valuable, right? How much do you think one of these is worth?" he thought towards Keelgrave. Something that he could easily trade for a meal and bed would be perfect.


    <Cores are valuable, more so if they''re bigger or from something powerful. These are neither,> Keelgrave explained. <And if every fish has one, they''re probably common enough that the value goes down.>


    "Supply and demand, right. But how much do you think I can get for one?" he asked again.


    <A few silvers to a gold, probably. But if the village is as much of a shithole as it sounds like, I doubt there''s a thriving magical goods market.>


    It was equivalent to less than a hundred dollars, but that was pretty good for how much time he''d had to put in. He felt a little bad accepting all the food and clothing from the adventurers, so he''d been looking to pay them back for it. This would go a long way to easing his conscience. After washing his hands as thoroughly as he could with just water, he put the core in his pocket and began heading back to camp.


    <Where are you going boy, there''s plenty more fish you have to check!>


    With a sigh, Symon turned back to the dead fish.


    <hr>


    The next day, Symon was in a good mood. He had a half dozen of the tiny cores in his pocket ¡ª they likely weren''t worth much, but he was confident he could get some better clothes and a decent meal with them. Proper armour was currently out of his budget, but he''d take anything that wasn''t shredded and partially blood soaked.


    He''d tried to give some of them to Aslan as a thanks for all the sword practice as well as the various items he''d been gifted, namely clothing, a tent, a bedroll, and a sword, but Aslan had staunchly refused the thank you gifts.Stolen novel; please report.


    "All spoils of our hunts will be gifted to our elders when we return," he had said. "It would be improper to pass off your kill as my own. Keep it, and spend or save it as you please."


    It made sense, Symon supposed. The Dumosans were essentially adventuring out as a test to prove that they could personally kill a dangerous monster, not that they could trade or otherwise get gifted a valuable trophy. Not that the mana cores Symon had harvested were particularly valuable, but it was more the principle of the matter.


    The fact that Symon had a little more cash jingling in his pocket than he otherwise could have wasn''t the only reason for his good mood. They''d just recently spotted a landmark that the adventurers were familiar with; a tree, poking up out of the grass. Trees were rare but not unique out in the grass sea, but this one was easily recognised by the others due to its distinctive Y shape.


    The tree itself was nothing special, but it represented good news. They were closer to the village than they''d thought. Originally, they''d expected to arrive shortly before nightfall, but it was looking like they''d make it closer to noon. Plus, the excitement at the prospect of getting to have a proper bath and sleep in a real bed meant everyone was marching extra hard.


    At first, Symon had tried to drain the fish of vitality by walking along the banks of the stream, but it was too difficult to match his pace with one while simultaneously ensuring he drained the grass at a reasonable pace. Shortly after, they adjusted their heading slightly, breaking off from the waterway to cut a more direct route to the village.


    As Symon drained his way through the grass, he noticed that their march had slowly turned into more of a hike. They ground was slowly sloping upwards, as if they''d been in the center of a giant bowl. Off in the distance this elevation became more and more extreme, to the point where he wasn''t sure if they''d even be able to pass over the mountains that jutted up out of the ground like teeth. For mountains, they weren''t especially tall, but that was like saying Atabek wasn''t an especially tall giant. The others must have managed to pass them somehow, but he hoped there was a convenient valley so they wouldn''t have to climb over them. Even with the vitality keeping his muscles going, marching non-stop wasn''t fun.


    Luckily for Symon''s thighs and calves, he wouldn''t have to climb over any mountains. There was indeed a narrow passage between two mountains that they were aiming for, of which they reached the entrance of only a few hours into their journey.


    The whole group had fanned out slightly, looking down the valley. Normally, they were forced to march in a single file line due to needing to carve a path through the grass, but this was no longer a problem. The sandy dirty quickly transitioned into a gravel and stone texture that prevented more than the occasional scraggly shrub from surviving.


    Peering into the valley, he didn''t see much of interest. It was around a hundred metres wide, but narrowed considerably at certain points. It was mostly straight, but twisted enough that he was unable to tell how far it extended by sight alone. He''d already been told it would take a few hours of walking to make it through, though.


    Symon found the whole thing... empty. The mountains where impressive and he was sure they would offer a great view, but the valley itself was just grey stone and tiny shrubs. It was almost suspiciously empty, just like the lake they''d encountered previously. Wouldn''t any creatures in the area also pass through the valley?


    Fortunately for Symon and the rest of the group, he wasn''t the designated scout. When he noticed he''d walked slightly ahead of his friends, he turned back and noticed Safiya down on one knee, staring intently at a patch of gravel.


    "What did she find?" he asked as he approached the group.


    "Tracks of some type," Aslan answered. "She''s investigating further."


    Symon looked back over his shoulder, deeper into the valley. There was still nothing there. He tried to look at the patch of gravel that Safiya was staring at, but it just looked like, well, a patch of gravel. He elected to stand guard and wait for Safiya to work her magic ¡ª not literally, he thought.


    "Wait a second," he said towards Keelgrave. "How come I haven''t seen them do anything magic? They have mana, right?"


    <Yes, they have mana, although probably not much. They''re all martial classes.> He let out a sigh before continuing, although Symon wasn''t sure what it was directed at. <If you define magic as simply using mana for an effect, then they''ve been doing magic already, you just can''t sense it.>


    "What do you mean? I know why I can''t sense it, but what magic have they done?" Symon asked. His own healing was obviously magic, even to an outside observer, but he hadn''t noticed anything magical about his friends beyond their Ledger enhanced stats.


    <Gods above, we''ve got to find you a picture book for children to explain the basics of the Ledger for you. Every class gives you at least two abilities, which get powered by mana. You''re the only exception, seeing as you don''t have a core. The woman has some type of speed enhancement, I''d bet a platinum coin the big guy has Power Strike, and the talkative one... something shield related, probably.>


    "Oh... I never noticed. I thought Safiya was just fast because her stats were so much higher than mine."


    <Well she''s not always flashing around, is she? Yes she''s faster than you, but the reason you can barely see her move when she fights is that speed enhancement. She''s probably got something for her perception too, considering her missing eye didn''t make much of a difference."


    That explained a lot, actually. Her lack of an eye certainly hadn''t seemed to diminish her in any way, but he''d assumed she''d just adapted to it. Keelgrave''s explanation made a lot of sense. Although...


    "How can you even tell what skills they have?"


    <Experience, boy. Keep training hard and you might just live long enough to earn some of your own.>


    Symon looked back at Safiya, who was herself still staring at the patch of gravel at her feet. Was she doing magic right now? If she was, there wasn''t any indication. Her eyes weren''t glowing any strange colours, there were no mystical sparkles in the air... she just looked like a young woman staring at the ground.


    She pushed herself up from a kneeling position, pointing a finger at the spot she''d investigated before pointing that same finger deeper into the valley. "Monsters. Small. Many," she said, her accent strong enough that it took Symon a moment to realise she''d been speaking Common.


    With a final glance at the spot she''d initially investigated, he once again didn''t notice anything, Symon wondered how she''d managed to find all that out.

 Chapter 38 - A Minor Miscalculation

    Symon''s Dumosan allies had a rapid-fire conversation in their native tongue before Aslan turned to Symon.


    "Safiya has spotted monster tracks. At least a dozen of them passed through here into the valley. It happened at least an hour ago but less than three hours," he said quickly and professionally, eyes looking around for threats as he talked.


    "I see," Symon said. "Any ideas? Are we going around?"


    "It should not be required. The creatures appear small and should pose only a minor threat. And... I do not know any other ways through the mountains," he added sheepishly.


    "A dozen smaller creatures... wolves?" Symon asked.


    Aslan spoke a few words to Safiya, who shook her head in response. "The tracks belong to something smaller than a wolf. These creatures are less than waist height."


    Symon''s first thought was well that''s good news, while his second thought immediately after was holy shit how big do wolves get here.


    "So, we just continue straight through?"


    "Indeed so, but let us discuss a change in the marching order..."


    <hr>


    Symon had begun to notice something of a theme in this world. Things would be calm, even downright boring, for days at a time until all of a sudden things went wrong. Even knowing they needed to be vigilant, it was impossible for them to maintain a complete awareness of his surroundings. What he was aware of, however, was the sudden sensation of being stabbed in the side by a hot poker.


    "Ow, fuck!" he shouted, jumping into the air more out of surprise than pain. A trained soldier or experienced adventurer would have looked outwards to get eyes on the threat, but Symon was neither of those things. Instead, he looked down in confusion at the projectile embedded in his side.


    It looked like an overly large porcupine quill, although it was a solid white colour like bone. That wasn''t counting the bright red blood coating it. It didn''t appear to have penetrated very deep, but there was still a problem. Like a spigot in a barrel, the end of the quill was pouring out Symon''s blood at a prodigious pace. The quill must be hollow to allow the blood to flow, he thought.


    Keelgrave shouted into his mind, snapping him out of his shock.


    The vitality was already pulsing out of his vessel, so he wrapped his fingers around the blood-slick quill and yanked it out. Yet another spurt of blood shot out of the wound, but it rapidly petered out now that nothing was keeping the wound open. As the tear in his flesh sealed shut, he took in his surroundings.


    They were surrounded by several creepy looking monsters. They were four legged, with thin limbs that, coupled with their pale white colouration, gave them a skeletal appearance. But the strangest part of them was their head ¡ª namely, their complete lack of one. Their bodies were long and cylindrical, but the only thing attached to it were their legs. They didn''t even have a neck, but they were still pointed unerringly towards Symon and his friends.


    The creatures hadn''t made any noises yet, but as they swivelled to face ¡ª not that they had proper face ¡ª the others, that changed. It was an odd coughing noise, reminiscent of a cat with a hairball. After a moment of this, during which Symon unsheathed his sword, they let out a final, deeper cough.


    As they did so, little white projectiles came flying out of their strange, tube like bodies and pelted the party. Aslan raised his shield in time, deflecting the quills with a staccato tink-tink-tink against his metallic shield. Safiya simply dodged them, contorting her body impossibly so that each of the missiles embedded into the ground instead of her. Atabek let out a deep grunt, slamming the shaft of his massive axe against the ground and... stood still. To Symon''s surprise, most of the projectiles simply bounced off of him, despite the fact that he wasn''t wearing proper armour. He was even shirtless!


    Symon unintentionally used the same strategy as Atabek, but he had no realistic way of avoiding injury. His healing was obviously great for recovering from injuries, but it did nothing to prevent them from occurring in the first place. This meant that, instead of having the spines bounce off him, they peppered his side as he raised his arms to protect his face.


    Multiple pinpricks of pain blossomed down his body ¡ª one in his forearm, two in his ribs, and one in his thigh. The wounds themselves appeared minor, but the real problem was the bleeding they caused. It was unnaturally fast, torrents of blood spraying out of him like a firefighter''s hose. Not wasting any time, he yanked them all out, uncaring of any extra damage the process was causing. Once again, the bleeding rapidly slowed before stopping completely after a few moments.


    Symon knew something had to change ¡ª they couldn''t just stay there and take the attacks. If only Serik were still here to shoot them with that giant bow, he thought. Considering neither he nor anyone else had a proper ranged attack, so they had to get up close and personal.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    The creatures had ambushed them from the sides of the valley, so it would be difficult to reach them. It wasn''t a sheer wall, but it was a steep enough slope that it would take a dangerously long time to reach them.


    But instead of keeping the high ground and raining down attacks, the monsters did the exact opposite. Perhaps they had only a few shots each that had all been used up already, maybe they knew something Symon didn''t, or it could be that they were just mindless bloodthirsty monsters that made poor tactical decisions. Either way, they all came charging down the valley from both sides, moving so fast they were more falling down the slope instead of running down it.


    There were close to twenty of them, which meant the four humans were at a severe numbers disadvantage. Safiya and Aslan faced one slope, while Atabek and Symon faced the other. The monsters reached to Symon''s mid-thigh, but most of that height was in their spindly legs.


    "Two against ten, that''s not too bad," Symon said aloud.


    Atabek couldn''t understand his words, but he appeared to agree with Symon''s sentiment. With a deep, animalistic roar he charged straight into the biggest cluster of the monsters, his heavy footfalls exploding into the ground and propelling his massive body forwards.


    Symon ran after him, his Running passive allowing him arrive in the fight at the same time as his ally. Up close, he got a better look at the creature''s... neck hole. Rows of tiny, shark-like teeth were visible down the creature''s slathering maw, as well as messily crowding the outside of what could only be its mouth. He wasn''t sure how it knew where he was, as he couldn''t see any eyes or any other sensory organs, and the only noise the creature made was the skittering impacts of its bony feet against the gravel and loose stones.


    The creature''s animalistic intelligence perceived Atabek as the biggest threat, so they focused on him with only a few stragglers directing themselves to Symon. The bone-white monsters had been accurate in their assessment, as shown when Atabek lashed out with a kick from his tree trunk sized legs. It hit one dead on, right in the centre of its spindly body, and the results were predictable.


    With a sharp crack that echoed through the valley like a gunshot, the monster flew backwards through the air for a dozen metres, landing in a messy heap. Its body was bent at an odd angle, while its legs thrashed out wildly before rapidly slowing down. It did not get back up.


    Symon had no more time to be impressed, as the monsters were upon him. There were only three of them, and he had his magic and a sword as well as its relevant passive skill, so he was as confident as he could reasonably be when fighting creepy tube monsters.


    The monsters fanned out in front of him, their weird circular mouths snapping shut threateningly. Individually, they were small and not too intimidating, but he didn''t want to allow them to surround him. One hand gripped his sword, while from the other the grey threads of Seize dangled, twitching slightly in anticipation.


    "Let''s see what you''re made of, you ugly bastards," Symon said, aiming his body to face the pair standing together while watching the one circling him out of the corner of his eye. It stepped sideways, getting ready to attack him from behind. In response, Symon suddenly accelerated into an all out sprint, pushing his Running passive to the absolute limit.


    The wind whistled in Symon''s ears as he moved almost too quickly to properly control, only barely able to transfer his momentum into a swing of his sword as he skidded to a halt. His fingers held a white knuckled grip as the blade impacted the creatures side.


    Their pale white colouration and skeletally thin appearance had lead Symon to suspect that they were some type of undead bone monster, but his assumption had been wrong. His blade had cut almost completely through the body of the creature, his momentum sliding the blade the length of its body and disembowelling it. The ruby red blood, sausage-like intestines, and the various other organs he didn''t recognise from his anatomy classes spilled out of the creature, evidence that it was a living creature. It already wouldn''t remain that way for long, but Symon extended his left hand and allowed his magic to feast. Vitality seemed to rapidly fade away from dead creatures, so Symon grabbed as much as he could while he turned to face the remaining pair of monsters.


    The sounds of battle still continued around him, but Symon couldn''t spare them any attention. He would kill these two as quickly as possible first, then move to help his friends.


    The thin lips around the monsters'' mouths peeled back, revealing even more fangs, though their charge continued to be silent. Just like the centipedes he''d fought so many times, these monsters appeared too short to attack anything above his legs, and they employed a similar tactic to the bugs. In tandem, their legs bunched up like a coiled spring before they leapt through the air, heading straight for Symon.


    Symon raised his free arm for defence, while the armed one swung out in a warding strike. The creature was moving so fast that, when his sword impacted its leg, the force cut straight through and severed the limb, spinning the creature head over heels as it shot past Symon.


    That left the remaining monster, which had attached itself to his forearm with its oversized lamprey mouth. "Fuck!" he cried out as he felt the mouth attempt to force itself shut, grinding its teeth deeper into Symon''s flesh. He could feel its warm tongue rubbing against his arm, but the pain won out over the creepiness.


    He shifted the his draining magic from the disembowelled and rapidly dying monster on the ground to the one attached to his arm, encouraging the magic to rip the vitality out as fast as he could. But it was far too slow to rely on as his only offense. A couple minutes to kill the creature might not have seemed like much, but it may as well have been a lifetime during battle.


    Despite its sleek appearance, the thing was strong. As the jaws enveloping his arm continued to grind together, he felt the bone beginning to strain in a way he''d never experienced before. This was surely going to result in another level of Pain Resistance, but for some odd reason he didn''t feel particularly grateful in that moment.


    With a sickening crack, he felt something in his arm shift. The sudden realisation that the creature was chewing through his goddamned arm spurred him into action. He lifted his arm up with little difficulty ¡ª the creature was surprisingly light ¡ª though his eyes were blurring from the pain, his vision darkening at the edges. He staggered slightly on the uneven gravel, steadying himself in time to avoid falling over. Why was he feeling so dizzy? The pain was intense, but his resistance kept his mind from being consumed by it, so he didn''t think it was the cause.


    As something crashed into him and took his legs out from under him, sending him sprawling to the ground, he knew it could only be one thing. Looking down, he was unsurprised to see the freshly-three-legged monster latched onto his calf, ravenously trying to gnaw his foot off.


    This wasn''t going as well as Symon had hoped.

 Chapter 39 - Heart

    With the benefit of hindsight, Symon could admit that he''d been a little overconfident after getting his Swords skill. He''d cut off that monster''s leg pretty smoothly, but he didn''t have the experience needed to do well in such a fast-paced and scrappy fight. Ultimately, he wasn''t that much more capable in a fight than the average man from Earth, but he did have experience responding to emergencies.


    Time felt like it slowed down as he triaged his own situation. He felt dizzy, weak, and his vision was simultaneously blurring and darkening. Not good, but he didn''t know what the cause was and guessed it would take too long to figure out ¡ª he had more immediate concerns. He had rolled onto his back, so one monster was lying across him as it chewed on his left forearm, while the second, three-limbed monster was attached to his left leg. Certainly a more pressing issue than some vague feelings.


    He knew the current problems he faced, and the order he would fix them in. He had to take out the monsters first before he could fix whatever was causing the dizzyness, before finally moving to help his friends. But what tools did he have to do that?


    His draining magic was already going at full intensity, so there was nothing he could do there. His healing magic was working in the background ¡ª he could direct it more precisely, but he didn''t feel he could manage that, empowering the draining, and fighting with his sword all at the same time. His brain could only focus on so many things at once, after all, and he needed to prioritise.


    With that in mind, his numb fingers tightened their grip on his sword, before raising it up into the air. In his weakened state, it felt ten times heavier than it should have been, but he still managed it. With a grunt of effort, he brought it down and impaled the monster that had been trying to chew through his arm.


    Unnervingly, it didn''t let out a single sound as it released him. He almost missed the centipedes and their constant hissing.


    He then leaned forward, delivering a similar blow to the monster that had latched onto his leg. Neither of them had even attempted to avoid the blow, seeming to prefer to inflict as much damage as they could with no regard for their own life. This one took an extra stab to detach, but it too fell to the ground beside him, rapidly dying alongside its packmate.


    His vessel had been flooding his body with waves of vitality, but he took control of it and directed it to his leg. His arm was more severely damaged, but it was his non-dominant hand, and his weapon was a shortsword designed to be used with one hand. He put pressure on his damaged arm as he slowly stood on unsteady legs, the muscle knitting itself together.


    As he healed, he took in the ongoing battle.


    Atabek appeared undamaged, casually cutting all the way through a monster with every swing of his axe. Looks like he doesn''t need my help after all, Symon thought. Safiya also appeared undamaged, but she hadn''t been able to take down many of the monsters herself. Not including Symon, Aslan was the worst off out of the group. None of the lamprey-like monsters were currently attached to him, but he had a number of freely bleeding wounds across his limbs. His bleeding wasn''t nearly as fast as Symon''s had been, so they didn''t seem to slow him down too much as he deflected a leaping monster into the ground before skewering it with his sword.


    By now Symon''s leg had ceased all bleeding, and while he could have limped around he knew he still couldn''t run or fight properly. No one needed immediate help, so he directed his vitality to his forearm, looking at the wound properly for the first time.


    "Ah, fuck," he groaned, looking at the visible white bone. The monster had completely chewed a chunk of the muscle off, and then cracked partially into the bone itself, weakening it enough to snap it. Once again, Symon lamented the relative weakness of his Pain Resistance. He was glad he''d picked it when he''d gotten the chance to evolve a stat, as without it he would have surely been helplessly screaming on the ground, but he really wished it could do a little bit more, especially considering what he knew was coming next.


    He painfully rotated his limp hand to get a look at his vessel tattoo ¡ª it was slightly higher than when the fight had started, currently sitting at almost three-quarters full. Seize was still ripping the life from the rapidly dying monsters at his feet, but he knew he already had enough vitality stored anyway. There was no putting this off any further.


    Gingerly, he placed his arm against his stomach, taking a deep breath to prepare himself. Before he could think his way out of it, he dropped his sword and used his now free hand to push the bone back into alignment. He screamed out a wordless curse as his still blurry vision momentarily flashed red, the pain blurring his vision. Luckily, his magic didn''t need him to think in order to work, so the bone rapidly fused back together now that the ends were touching. He pushed more vitality to the area, picking up his sword with his other arm as he started stumbling back to the fight. His vision felt slightly better, his balance improved just a little, but not by much. He still wasn''t sure what was happening.


    "Ugh, Keelgrave... so dizzy..." he thought, not trusting himself to speak clearly but aware enough to hope the spirit had some advice.This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.


    <You''ve bled enough to fill a bathtub, stop going towards the monsters you godsdamned idiot!> he shouted into Symon''s mind.


    Dizziness, weakness, loss of focus... all symptoms of bloodloss, Symon realised. It was the best fit, but Symon didn''t understand how it had gotten so severe so quickly. He would figure out the cause later, as fixing the issue and helping his friends came first. His arm had stopped leaking blood, so he released his grip on his vitality and allowed it to spread out evenly as he thought about where to direct it. He knew that fresh blood cells were largely created in bone marrow, but he also knew that his healing only partially followed the natural healing process of his body.


    Blood, blood, more blood... but how?


    His heart beat a panicked but weak rhythm. It felt like a small bird was trapped in his chest, struggling rapidly but ineffectually. With a sudden surge of inspiration, he once more clamped his will down onto the vitality flowing out of his vessel, this time moving it only slightly. He shifted the vital essence to the side, focusing it in and around his heart, and let out an immediate sigh of relief.


    As soon as the vitality touched his heart, the organ greedily absorbed it. In turn, it began pumping harder and harder until it was back to the strength and speed he''d expect from an adrenaline-filled combat. He stood slightly straighter, the blurriness of his surroundings slowly faded, and the dark edges of his vision began to recede.


    Once he thought he could move without falling over, he released his hold on his vitality, once more allowing it to spread out to his still painful wounds. His stores of vitality had ticked up ever so slightly, Seize still working diligently in the background to finish off the monsters at his feet, so he remained still and allowed both it and Idealise to continue working as he planned his next move.


    He''d wanted to charge in and help Aslan, but he also accepted he''d just get torn to shreds again if he tried. Instead, he needed to help one of the others, helping them with their section of the battle and allowing them to both go help Aslan.


    First, he directed his attention back to Atabek. At first, he was shocked to see how quickly the tides had turned. The giant of a man was almost completely coated in blood, although he quickly realised that his worry was misplaced. Before his eyes, a monster leapt through the air and grabbed onto Atabek''s arm, just as it had done to Symon. The man then shouted something in Dumosi before lifting the attached monster into the air over his head, gripping it with both hands, and then tearing it in half. The blood showered down onto his grinning face ¡ª some of it got in his mouth, but he didn''t seem to care ¡ª before he threw the pieces away and turned to the next monster. It was the last one on his side.


    It was the first time he''d seen Atabek properly fight, and the results were even more impressive than he''d expected. Maybe he could ask him for some exercise tips...


    He was sure that upon killing his final target, Atabek would then pick the largest cluster of monsters and charge directly towards them. In this case, that meant the ones harassing Aslan. Together, the pair would mop up the monsters, so he instead turned his attention to Safiya.


    She was doing fine, but her skillset and weapons weren''t designed for dealing with several enemies at once. She was much faster than her foes, but it would only take a single hit to slow her down, that one hit quickly snowballing into more and more. She would probably be fine on her own, but there was no way Symon could just sit by and watch when he could be doing something.


    The wound delivered to his calf had been minor in comparison to his forearm injury, so it was already mostly healed. It ached, but after testing his weight on it with a few steps he found it to be good enough to fight with.


    The group had naturally spread out as they fought their own group of monsters individually, so Symon had some time to observe Safiya''s fighting as well as continue healing himself as he walked towards her. She continually circled around the small group, feinting in and causing them to snap outwards, allowing her to deliver a quick slash with her dagger before dancing backwards. He couldn''t replicate her style exactly ¡ª he was nowhere near quick enough for that ¡ª but perhaps he could accomplish a close enough approximation by using his Running for a hit and run tactics.


    Aslan had previously brought up the synergy of a spear in tandem with a way to boost your speed, which would effectively turn Symon into a jousting knight, just without the horse. The more he considered it, the more the idea appealed to him. He was too undefended, especially considering his sword had such a short range, putting him right in the face of danger. A nice long spear to safely pick off enemies at a distance sounds wonderful...


    There were only a few monsters left, but he noticed that Safiya had begun to slow down. She just didn''t have the endurance everyone else did ¡ª except Symon, but he could fake it with his healing ¡ª and couldn''t maintain such a superhuman speed for long. Not wanting to wait for her to be hurt, he sped up into a run. His leg protested painfully as he did so, but not in a way that would slow him down.


    Holding his sword out, he ran past the monsters as he released a wide, sweeping arc with his sword. He felt the impact dig into something before sliding out, and when he turned around he saw one of the monsters had been flipped upside down by the sheer impact as it was cut nearly in half by the blade, instantly taking it out of the fight.


    Of the three remaining monsters, only one broke away to chase after Symon. Without its ranged attacks ¡ª he still wasn''t sure exactly why they''d stopped ¡ª and without a numbers advantage, Symon had a much easier time. Whenever it would approach, he would hop back and deliver a quick but weak strike. This happened a few times, until the creature snapped forward just a little too far, allowing him to plunge his sword all the way through its body, pinning it to the floor.


    When he looked back he saw that Safiya was fine, although she was heaving down great gulps of air as she stood next to the corpses of the last two monsters on her side.


    All that remained were those that had initially focused on Aslan, but he made short work of them in combination with Atabek. Before long, the last skeletal, doglike monster was cut in half by his massive axe, and the battle was over.

 Chapter 40 - Pursuit of Knowledge

    The ambush was over, the monsters were defeated, and no one was seriously hurt. Well, Symon was hurt pretty badly, but he''d healed himself back to peak condition by now. Aslan had also acquired a few bites to his limbs, which similarly required healing, but hadn''t seemed to affect the man nearly as much as Symon had been. Counting the bodies, they found 27 dead monsters, the majority of which had been focused on Aslan. Symon could admit he was currently the weakest link in the party, so he was unsure why the creatures targeted the most well-defended member instead of him. With his shield, light chainmail armour, and general combat experience, he''d endured the swarm for far, far longer than Symon could have.


    It had worked out in his favour, but this wasn''t the first time he''d observed illogical behaviour from the various monsters here. He was hardly an animal behavioural expert in the best of times, so who was to say there wasn''t a perfectly normal explanation once one factored in the existence of magic?


    He''d healed everyone who needed healing, so it was time for the best part of surviving life-or-death combat; the rewards.


    Okay, living is better, but this is a close second.


    With a mental command, Symon told his Ledger to manifest. At first, nothing seemed to happen, but as he looked down at the ground he saw the slowly expanding pool of blood from a nearby monster corpse slowly fill in the cracks in the stone. When viewed from above, the red lines formed letters.


    [You have acquired a new passive: Bleeding Resistance]


    [Bleeding Resistance (0): Reduces rate of blood loss from wounds. Reduces the physiological impacts of hypovolemia.]


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.90 {+0.03}


    Constitution: 1.24 {+0.06}


    Acuity: 0.93 {+0.03}


    Intelligence: 0.97 {+0.03}


    Will: 1.22 {+0.04}


    Vessel (Vitality): 17/17


    Abilities:


    Idealise (13) {+4}


    Seize (11) {+1}


    Essence Bond (11) {+1}


    Passives:


    Bleeding Resistance (3) {+3}


    Languages (8) {+1}


    Pain Resistance (7) {+2}


    Poison Resistance (2) {+2}


    Running (8) {+1}


    Swords (3) {+2} ]


    A brand new resistance! Symon wasn''t expecting it, although when he looked at how much of his blood had been spilled out onto the stone, he supposed it made sense. Although...


    Keelgrave asked, mirroring what Symon was thinking.


    "That''s a good question," Symon said back, trawling through his memories as he tried to figure it out. He hadn''t checked his Ledger in a while, so the poison wasn''t necessarily part of this fight, but he couldn''t find an obvious cause. He might have guessed food poisoning, but Atabek was too good of a cook for him to seriously consider that.


    No, it has to be something more recent...


    The bleeding resistance was obvious, he''d bled so much and still survived that the Ledger felt him deserving of a resistance. It was probably why he also gained so many levels to his healing, although it did feel like he''d almost gained too much. Did he really bleed that much? For that matter, why did he bleed so much? He''d become uncomfortably accustomed to rapidly estimating how severe his own injuries were, and he was pretty sure that he shouldn''t have been bleeding nearly as fast as he did. Thinking back to the great spurts of blood that had shot out of him, it was kind of ridiculous in retrospect. If he''d seen it happen in a movie, he would have rolled his eyes at how unrealistic it was. It was akin to a car blowing up in a massive fireball after being shot with a few bullets.


    A mysterious increase in his poison resistance, and a mysterious extreme amount of bleeding ¡ª he was pretty sure he knew what was going on.


    He squatted down next to a dead monster, pulling open its strange circular mouth and inspecting the bloodstained teeth. "Hmm, I think its saliva is an anticoagulant."


    <An anti-what?>


    "Blood thinners, makes it harder for your body to clot a bleeding wound. I''m guessing it''s why they weren''t intimidated by us, they''re used to using their pack tactics to bleed out larger prey," Symon said. That last part was just a guess, but it made sense to him.


    <Wait, what? When did you get so... insightful? What happened to the Symon I know?>


    Symon sighed. "You''re insufferable, you know that? You also know I went to a medical school, right? It''s kind of my thing." There was a big difference between the med school a brain surgeon would go to and the much shorter course a paramedic would take, but he felt no reason to clarify that now.


    His studies had also taught him the value of the scientific process and empirical testing, so he wasn''t content with leaving his theory as just that. He sat down next to the monster and, as gently as he could, put a small cut into the tip of his finger using his sword. It was so small, barely even a papercut, that the wound closed together by the time only a single drop of blood appeared. He studied the droplet for a moment, before flicking it off onto the floor. Next, with a slight grimace, he scraped his finger across the tooth of the deceased creature, staring in fascination as a small stream of blood poured out of his finger, quickly slowing down but taking a full eight seconds to stop completely. He''d timed it.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    "Yeah, it''s definitely a blood thinner, probably part of its saliva. The Ledger must have recognised it as a poison and given me levels in both resistances."


    <Your lucky day, then. The more resistances we can cram into you, the better your chances.>


    It was difficult for Symon to feel lucky after being used as a chew toy, but his Ledger had just grown by leaps and bounds. The Bleeding Resistance in particular would be especially helpful. Generally, his first priority for treating wounds was to stop the bleeding, then fix enough to get his body into fighting condition. His healing had levelled up, making it more powerful directly, but he''d also been given extra leeway in not bleeding to death. He didn''t intend to rely on it in order to ignore wounds, both due to its low level and because he didn''t want to bleed everywhere, but he was still appreciative. Just like with Poison Resistance, it wouldn''t do much in his day-to-day life, but he could think of plenty of scenarios in which he''d be grateful to his past self for earning them.


    By now, the battle had been over for a few minutes. Everyone was done checking their Ledgers, and were ready to resume their journey through the valley.


    "Hang on a second," Symon said. "Aren''t we forgetting to loot them?"


    "To... loot them?" Aslan asked, the confusion evident on his face. "What would you take from them?"


    "Err, their mana cores?" he replied, also looking around in confusion. Of course he wanted to hurry to the village, but there must have been so many cores here. They''d be throwing away money by not harvesting them!


    Aslan looked at a nearby monster corpse for a few moments, back to Symon, and then back to the corpse. "Friend Symon, these monsters are far too small to possess a core."


    "I''m not so sure about that. Those six little cores I showed you over breakfast were from fish," he said.


    "Ah, yes, some type of mighty aquatic beast you had slain before we met?"


    Now, it was Symon''s turn to be confused. He had told Aslan where the cores came from, right? Or had he...


    "No," Symon replied. "It was the same fish we''d had for dinner the night before, the ones with the little glowing horns."


    "How big were these specific fish you killed?"


    Symon held his hand out in front of him.


    "Oh," Aslan continued, his eyes widening as he looked at the space between Symon''s hand and the ground. "That is much bigger than the ones we had for dinner."


    "I meant that the fish were about the same size as my hand."


    "Oh," Aslan said. "Then perhaps you should cut one open."


    <hr>


    Safiya had loaned him one of her knives, although he''d had to promise several times that he wouldn''t damage it. Now, it was being used to butcher one of the monsters. They were doglike, but only in the vaguest of senses, so he didn''t feel bad about doing it. They were all a pale, bone white, as well as being skeletally thin. They''d looked like undead, sun bleached bones, but he''d already discovered they were living creatures when he fought them and disemboweled one. Skeletons didn''t have intestines, after all.


    The skin was tough, but so thin that he doubted it provided much protection. He hadn''t noticed much resistance when his sword cut through them, supporting this theory. The strangest part of them was the lack of a head, as well as their odd, cylindrical bodies. If anything, they looked the most like stick insects.


    Glancing over at the rest of the team, they were having a quick snack as they recovered from the exertions of fighting.


    What a waste, Symon thought. They''re so numb to the wonders of magic. This is the weirdest thing I''ve ever seen, and they don''t care to find out how it works...


    No one recognised these creatures, so when he asked how they could see without a head or indeed anything resembling a sensory organ, the answer was incredibly dissatisfying. "It''s just magic," he''d been told with a shrug. That had flipped a switch in Symon''s mind ¡ª he''d been the type of child to always ask "But why?" after every question. It must have annoyed his parents and teachers, but he''d just been too curious to care. There were so many things he just didn''t know about the world, and this was his chance to finally be the only one in the know, instead of the only one in the dark.


    Magic surely had some influence on the creature''s biology ¡ª the mana core was a physical organ, after all ¡ª but it seemed sad to no longer wonder how such fantastical things were possible. He hoped he never got so used to magic that he found it mundane. Of course, he understood that not everyone was willing to do... this, just to learn something new.


    With a soft snap, he cracked off some of the thin ribs of the creature, exposing the internal organs.


    "Look here, at its heart. It''s way too small for a creature this size," he thought, directing the words toward Keelgrave. It wasn''t strictly necessary to focus for the communication to work, but it made the words easier for them both to understand if they were concentrating on each other. Thankfully, Keelgrave wasn''t able to actually read his mind, just his internal monologue.


    <What, it has a defect or something? Why should I care?>


    "No, I''d bet that all of them are like this," he replied, ignoring Keelgrave''s complaints. He peeled back more of the creature''s meat. "The circulatory system as a whole seems too small, the veins and arteries don''t look big enough to supply a creature this size with blood."


    Keelgrave was silent, but he could tell the spirit was paying attention as he continued cutting open the creature. He wanted to figure out what was up with those quill projectiles. He''d taken a look at one he''d pulled out of himself after the fight was over, finding it to be a spike of a bone-like material, roughly the thickness of his finger but twice as long. It was hollow like he''d previously guessed, meaning the projectile wouldn''t plug a wound shut and instead allow the blood to flow freely like a spigot. When coupled with the anticoagulants, it made sense why he''d lost so much blood only shortly after taking a few hits.


    Cutting open the long tube that was the creature''s body, it wasn''t long before he found the source of the projectiles. A long, esophagus like tube ran half the length of its body, with a blood filled sac at the end.


    <I still don''t get why you¡ª hmm, go pull that bag of blood out,> Keelgrave said suddenly.


    "Why, what''s up with it?" he asked as he begun carefully slicing around the organ.


    <I''m sensing a lot of mana in it... not enough to be a core, but closer than it should be.>


    When he pulled the organ out, it looked like a small stomach. It began spilling blood out of a few small holes before he turned it around to face upward. "Does that mean it''s valuable?"


    He felt Keelgrave''s spirit vibrate and twist in his vessel as he considered the question. <To an alchemist or another crafting class, yeah. Less valuable than a core though, and you''ve got no way to store that thing for long enough to sell it.>


    "Yeah, no way I''m going lug around a bag of rotting blood for a little extra cash."


    <A waste of time, but maybe we''ll find more of these things in the future.>


    "I wouldn''t call it a waste of time," Symon said, looking at the cracks in the floor that had filled up with ruby red blood as he''d worked.


    [You have acquired a new passive: Anatomy]


    [Anatomy (0): Improves awareness and understanding of biological systems.]

 Chapter 41 - Never A Punishment

    <Aww hells kid, two new passives in a day?> Keelgrave said, the disbelief clear in his tone.


    Bleeding Resistance and the Anatomy passive from one single battle was a great haul, so Symon felt like Keelgrave was justified in being surprised. The resistance was reasonable, he''d survived an inhuman amount of bleeding, but all he''d done to earn Anatomy was cut open a single monster corpse and take a look at its insides. They''d thought that gaining the Swords passive in less than a week was good, and he''d been able to train for it at an unsustainable intensity for anyone without his healing.


    Symon was too distracted staring at his arm to think about Keelgrave''s implied question any further. He''d always been so pale that his veins were easily visible ¡ª the nurses had loved that ¡ª but they felt more... tangible. He could look at them, close his eyes, and then still feel the blood flowing through them. It was like his proprioception, that sense of his own body, had been dialled up to eleven.


    "Damn, this feels so crazy," he said aloud as he opened and closed his hand into a fist. He could feel the bones in his hand, the way the muscles and ligaments pulled against them to curl his finger. He''d been able to feel his vitality moving around his body, as well as when and where it was absorbed to heal wounds, but he hadn''t been able to sense his own body so clearly. This was by far the most noticeable passive he''d gained, to the point that it was distracting. "Keelgrave, how do I turn this off? I can''t fight like this."


    <It''s a reward from the Ledger, not a punishment. Just... focus on your core, uh, on your vessel, and try to ignore it,> Keelgrave advised.


    Symon did so, closing his eyes and drawing his attention inward. He paused briefly at his lungs, watching them fill with air for a few breaths before continuing to his vessel. It wasn''t that he was literally seeing inside himself like an x-ray, but a separate sense that was closest to touch. It was akin to his awareness of the threads of his draining magic. He could always tell where they were, even if he had his eyes closed.


    When he reached his vessel, it was the first time he could take a proper look at it. Up until recently, he''d never been able to feel the actual structure of his vessel. He''d been aware of the vitality inside it, meaning he could estimate its shape by tracking where the vitality could and could not go, but it had been lacking in detail. He''d already known that it was similar to a mana core in that it was spherical, but he could now see the differences. While a core was perfectly smooth like a marble, his vessel was covered in small, symmetrical hills. It reminded him of the pattern on a turtle''s shell.


    He took deep breaths as he did what he now realised must be some form of meditation, doing his best to ignore the feeling of the air entering his lungs and oxygenating his blood with every breath.


    As his awareness traced over the contours of his vessel, his mind mapping and visualising their shape, all the myriad bodily processes began to fade into the background. When he opened his eyes, that strange sense of his own body was only barely there. When he focused on his hand he began to see the minutia of its internal components, but they faded away into the background once he stopped paying attention to it.


    Symon let out a short sigh of relief before speaking aloud. "Man, that was strange. I think I''m better now."


    "New skill?" he heard Aslan ask. When he looked around, he saw the rest of the group resting on a nearby boulder. The shadows were all a little shorter than how he remembered them, and when he looked upward, the suns had shifted slightly on their journey through the sky.


    "Yeah, just took a bit to get used to. Sorry for making you guys wait, I didn''t realise it had taken so long."


    The other man waved him off good-naturedly. "It is no bother, some skills take some getting used to. We shall drink together to celebrate this new skill, as well as your swordsmanship, once we reach the village."


    Symon felt the muscles in his face adjust minutely as they twitched into a smile. "That sounds great, just don''t expect me to be able to drink as much as Atabek." The feeling from the new passive was much less noticeable than previously, but still slightly distracting. He''d get used to it in time, hopefully.


    The others all dusted themselves off from where they''d been sitting and resumed their journey through the valley. Symon took a few quick steps to join their two-by-two formation, although naturally he was offset from everyone else.


    "I take it you did not find a core in the creature?" Aslan asked.


    Symon shook his head. "No, no luck. There was this bag of mana-rich blood, but no core. There wouldn''t be any alchemists in the village who would be interested in that, right?"


    Much like Keelgrave had suggested, Aslan confirmed that the village was both too small to have a dedicated alchemist and too poor to afford one''s work. After that, the conversation naturally died down as everyone kept their eyes out for another attack. Symon still had questions about the fight, but conveniently he had a captive audience to bother instead of his friends.This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.


    "Hey Keelgrave, why did Atabek not get hurt at all during that fight? Is this like with Safiya''s situation where her stats make her faster than me but she has a skill for when she needs to go extra fast?" he whispered into the privacy of his own mind.


    <Yeah, exactly. It''s definitely Iron Skin, although it was impressive he could maintain it the whole fight. By spending mana for every blow you receive, it makes your skin¡ª>


    "As hard as iron? I can figure that part out. Is it possible for me to get it for myself?"


    <Yeah yeah, you get two passives in a day and now you''re a smartass. And no, it''s a class skill, so you''re shit out of luck. It uses mana anyway, so you''re extra fucked there,> Keelgrave replied.


    "Damnit, that would have been the perfect skill for me, but I guess it makes sense. It would be like trying to teach Atabek how to drain vitality and use it to heal."


    <Exactly. If you wanted a specific class skill, you should have picked that class once your body absorbed enough mana to awaken its Ledger.>


    Symon rolled his eyes, a common occurrence when talking with Keelgrave. "I didn''t exactly choose to pick a cursed class, you know..."


    <Well, sucks to suck, doesn''t it?>


    <hr>


    As was becoming a strangely recurring theme, their travels through the valley were largely absent of any monsters. The centipedes had been everywhere in the desert, and yet now there seemed to be fewer monsters, especially considering that the plant life and easy access to water should have drawn them in.


    "Guys, do you find it odd how few monsters there are around here? Is that just normal for the area?" Symon asked.


    <It is a bit strange. In my experie¡ª> Keelgrave began before being unknowingly interrupted by Aslan.


    "Yes to both questions, friend Symon. We noticed the monster density is... strange. The population is high immediately surrounding the village, and for a few kilometres¡ª" Symon was converting the units for distance in his head "¡ª surrounding it, but then it dips down to almost nothing for, well, a very large area. We did not notice it picking back up by the time we met you."


    "It certainly picks up a bit once you reach the desert, but most of the monsters I found were small," Symon added.


    "Hmm, odd indeed. We were not sure why they appeared concentrated towards the village," Aslan said.


    Symon gave a wordless grunt in reply as he considered the matter. "What do you think Keelgrave, are the monsters all trying to eat the villagers?"


    <As I was trying to say before someone interrupted me, in my experience monsters are perfectly happy to just eat each other. It''s not like people meat is any tastier than monster meat.>


    "Hmm, I see. What was it like when you were here half a century ago?"


    <There weren''t any villages back then, so I can''t say in that regard. But there were a lot more monsters, far more than you or your little pals would have been able to survive. Monsters as strong as that razor stalker were common.>


    "I suppose it works out in my favour then, but I still want to know why it happened."


    <Me too, it''s definitely suspicious. I''d say they moved for greener pastures, but the ambient mana levels are actually fairly high here. This would be a great place to grow some smokeleaf...>


    <hr>


    His time with the Dumosans had been 1% life-or-death fights and 99% boring marching. Aslan had told him this was a common occurrence for adventurers, and Keelgrave said it was very similar in both war and sailing as well. It seemed all of Symon''s allotted excitement had been used up with the first batch of monsters, as the remainder of their journey was lacking in any visible monsters.


    That wasn''t to say that nothing had changed. As soon as Symon exited the valley, he was immediately struck by the salty smell of the sea. He''d never been a big fan of beaches, but that was changing now. To him, the brine of the ocean smelled like freedom. It was freedom from the desert, from constantly looking over his shoulder for monsters, and worrying that they''d eat him while he slept. Though in many ways, this second chance was both a blessing and a curse. He''d be able to save a lot more lives with healing magic than he otherwise could have, but it seemed he was liable to get killed before he could put it to work. Perhaps he could spend half his vitality on healing others and half on training?


    He didn''t want to delay doing something so important, both to himself and those he would heal, but he understood now just how important personal power was in this world. Even if there were police or guards or whatever the equivalent here was, they wouldn''t do him much good if a monster had already eaten his head off. He''d been sick for a good portion of his life, and he couldn''t help but feel that he''d missed out on working towards his true life goal of saving lives, so he wasn''t a fan of delaying this even further. Thinking back on it, it was almost cruel that he died on his first-ever shift as a paramedic. The patient in the back had surely died after the crash, too. It reminded him of that old saying ''Man plans, god laughs''. Only, he hoped that wasn''t the case here, where there were beings powerful enough to add blessings to his Ledger.


    Shaking off the melancholy, Symon took in the forest that stretched out to the sea. The exit of the valley wasn''t elevated enough to see the sea proper, but the fact he could faintly smell it meant it wasn''t far. Noticeably the forest in front of him was a real forest, not just towering stalks of grass. It had large, leafy trees that he didn''t recognise ¡ª although he doubted he could have recognised many trees from Earth anyway. A few birds flew overhead, the first he''d seen since coming here.


    He stopped and stared at a small, squirrel-like creature. It stared back, its bushy, reddish-brown tail swaying slightly. When Symon waved at it, it scurried off away from him.


    At least not every animal wants to eat me, he thought as he hurried to join up with his friends.

 Chapter 42 - The Village

    Walking through the forest was much nicer than the desert, for a variety of reasons. The biggest was the moderate temperature, a result of the shade from the dense trees as well as a gentle sea breeze. Regardless of the climate, they would have been in a good mood simply due to how close they were to the village.


    As expected, the monster density had picked up considerably as they got closer. This had been something of a self-solving problem ¡ª more monsters meant more monsters fighting each other instead of trying to eat Symon and his friends. Several times, a creature had approached, gotten a good look at them, and left. Symon was glad the creatures here weren''t all suicidally homicidal and behaved more like how he''d expect living beings trying to survive would act, but it was still unnerving to be stared down by a massive wolf that was almost as tall as Safiya was.


    "Nothing will attack us unless it is confident it will win quickly and without suffering serious wounds," Aslan said reassuringly. "If a hunt takes too long, other monsters will come to interrupt it. All the creatures here know this."


    "So they keep each other in balance?"


    "Exactly so. Just ensure you put on a strong front, and try to keep as close as you can."


    Symon was in the back of the marching order. He wasn''t sure if this was the best or worst place to be. If he were a monster, he''d go for the shmuck in the back. But the people at the front, in this case, Atabek and then Safiya, were typically the first to encounter any danger.


    He''d just have to continue keeping an eye out, something that was thankfully easy to do as, while the forest was fairly dense, it wasn''t nearly as bad as the solid wall of grass he was used to.


    "Hey Keelgrave," he whispered into his mind. "Are there monsters that turn invisible?"


    <Complete invisibility? Nothing I''ve heard of, but there''s always the possibility of a camouflage ability. I''m keeping an eye out too.>


    "Actually, I''ve been meaning to ask about that. How do you even see things?" he said as he looked upwards himself. He''d just remembered that trope that people never look above them for threats, but he found nothing there.


    <I see what you see, plus I''ve got a passive called Life Sense. You can guess what that does, smartass.>


    "Yeah, I probably can. Wait, how do you even see your Ledger?"


    He felt the spirit in his vessel swirl around a few times. Generally, Keelgrave sat still at the bottom, but he was able to move freely within the confines of Symon''s vessel. No matter what they''d tried, the walls of his vessel were completely impassable for Keelgrave. <Some of the vitality condenses into letters on the inside of the shell. You''ve never noticed it?>


    "Nope, it just feels like a ball filled with swirling mist to me. My perception isn''t good enough to see any details. Although, maybe with that Anatomy passive..."


    <I had it manifested when you were staring at your vessel right after getting it, so it seems like that''s a no too.>


    "I guess I''ll just have to level it up some more and try again," Symon said with a shrug.


    <There''s not much in my Ledger, especially compared to what I used to have,> Keelgrave continued, being surprisingly forthcoming. He didn''t need to breathe, but he still projected the sound of a sigh into Symon''s mind. <Ah, you would have pissed yourself in amazement just seeing it...>


    Symon wanted to roll his eyes, but he kept them focused on his surroundings instead. "It changed when you died? Is anything helpful still in it?"


    <Mostly just some knowledge-based passives. I still have the Helm passive at least ¡ª that''s for steering a ship, mind you, not for wearing helmets.>


    By employing every ounce of his Willpower, Symon kept his eyes firmly fixed on his surroundings. "I see. If we ever find someone with portal magic, we can try and teleport a tiny little boat into my vessel for you to sail around on."


    The ghost chuckled slightly. <I might just take you up on that, you know.>


    With a smile on his face at the mental image of the grouchy old ghost bobbing around on a little toy ship, Symon slowed down just in time to keep Aslan out of range of his draining. The others had all stopped, fanning out at what Symon now saw was the edge of the forest. It could only mean one thing.


    Symon scrambled around them, pausing at the edge of the forest as he took in the view. Low hills covered in blessedly normal-sized grass rolled away from them before giving way to cultivated fields. He wasn''t sure what most of the crops were, but he recognised an orchard of apple trees off to the side.


    The others, eager to reach the village, had already set off, so Symon quickly followed behind them.


    After the fields sat the village proper. It was comprised mostly of a few dozen small, single-story buildings. They were made from large, uneven stones roughly mortared together, while the roofs were thatched with a dark plant material. They were small, maybe one or two rooms by Earth standards. A few buildings stood out from the messy sprawl of small homes.The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    Roughly in the centre of the unordered village was a large, box-like structure. The first two floors were made of stone, while the third was made of wood. It looked generally higher quality than the other buildings, the cleanly cut stones it was made from were closer to bricks than the random rocks the other buildings had used. Even at a distance, it looked much better than the smaller buildings. Many figures were moving in and out of that building, the distance making them seem like tiny ants walking along a trail.


    There was another, similarly sized building closer to the shoreline, but this one was obviously in the early in the construction process. It was more a rough outline of waist-high stones around some scaffolding than a proper building.


    The final thing to stand out was the presence of some ramshackle docks. They extended out into the water a few dozen metres, but there weren''t any ships moored. There were plenty of fishing poles stuck in place, but no fishermen could be seen.


    "Seems kind of empty," Symon said. "I only see people around that big building in the middle."


    Aslan offered an answer as they all quickly marched towards the town, eager to find out what was going on. "It is the, hmm, the sleeping and meal-providing place, I forget the Common name for it."


    "Oh, like an inn and tavern?"


    "Ah yes, exactly so," Aslan replied. He then said something to the others in Dumosi, of which Symon only picked out the word for faster. When he turned back to repeat it for Symon, he''d already moved into a light jog. With a nod, he turned back ahead as the party quickly made their way onto a path that cut between fields and started jogging down it.


    It wasn''t long before they made it into the village, although it was impossible to define an exact line that separated the inside from the outside, considering it had no wall or other boundary. They slowed their pace slightly as they entered the village, not wanting to alarm anyone. It would be easy for a random passer-by to get the wrong message if four armed people sprinted into their village.


    Occasionally, pairs of eyes would furtively glance at him from within the glassless windows of the homes before quickly looking away. None of the stares were directed towards his friends, though Symon presumed that was simply because they recognised the adventurers from when they were in town a few weeks ago.


    The streets themselves were eerily empty, and no one had been out working in the fields either. Everyone had been gathered around the central inn.


    "Are they afraid of strangers? This seems a bit much for just little old me," Symon said.


    Aslan shook his head. "Something else must have happened. Safiya didn''t see anyone standing watch for monsters, so they wouldn''t have spotted our approach."


    Before long, the empty streets widened into a square plaza filled with people. Symon and his friends maintained their distance from the crowd ¡ª he didn''t want to put people in danger of being drained, and no one wanted to join the crowd itself.


    The mass of people was disproportionally male, physically fit, and dark-skinned like his Dumosan friends. As a whole, they wore simple and dirty clothing, although it was still an improvement over Symon''s wardrobe considering all the holes and old stains in his clothes. None of them wore any armour, and they were either unarmed or had just a knife at their hips. Probably the miners, Symon guessed.


    Judging by the hard gazes and shouting, the crowd wasn''t happy about something. They were speaking Common, but so many of them were speaking at once that he wasn''t able to pick out any one phrase. Safiya might have been able to, although she didn''t speak it well enough. As it turned out, Symon didn''t have to wait long to find out why the crowd had gathered.


    He wasn''t able to see exactly what was going on, but it was clear that the people on the opposite side of Symon were being pushed back. A few louder shouts broke out in that direction but quieted down after a few moments. A man had stepped onto a box and began peering out into the crowd. Instinctively, Symon moved behind his friends, standing in the shade of a nearby building.


    The man was light-skinned and slightly chubby, with a massive bushy moustache visible even from where Symon stood. He had a sword sheathed at his hip, as well as what was clearly an expensive outfit. He was wearing dark pants reminiscent of slacks, but his vest was a garish red and gold colour. He was even wearing a small cape! As his eyes roamed over the man, he felt Keelgrave roiling at the bottom of his vessel. Before he could ask for his thoughts, the man on the box started speaking.


    "My new dear friends, I greet you most sincerely!" the man proclaimed, his voice a deep, powerful tone that was at odds with his soft appearance. "I understand that this is a confusing time for you, and that there has been something of a miscommunication regarding some sort of hostile takeover. Let me put your minds at ease by assuring you that I have nothing but the noblest of intentions for Brackstead and its people." He paused for a long moment, making eye contact with a few people in the crowd. "Oh, but where are my manners, I haven''t even introduced myself!" he said in a way that made Symon suspect this was still entirely on script for him. "I am the Baron Pepjin Rogier von Routland, but you may simply call me Baron Pepjin. As you may have guessed, the previous mayor has graciously abdicated his position, and as such I shall be the one to guide his humble town towards the noble heights I know it is capable of!"


    A few people in the audience called out "What happened to the mayor?" or some variation thereof, but everyone quieted down when the Baron held out his hands placatingly. He said something to a person directly below him who Symon was unable to make out due to the crowd being in the way, and before long another man was picked up and bodily placed on the box alongside the Baron.


    He was quite old, appearing at least in his eighties, though Symon wasn''t sure how the Ledger impacted aging. He was very thin, and was supported by both a cane and the arm of the Baron around his shoulder. "Feast your eyes my new subjects, your old mayor is doing better than ever after some infusions prepared by the most skilled Alchemists of my homeland!"


    "He speaks the truth, my old friends," the ancient man spoke. His voice seemed weak and thin to Symon, especially in comparison with the Baron, but it must have been an improvement to his previous health judging by the positive reactions of the audience. Symon found it a little odd how quickly the people went from almost riotous to acceptive of what seemed like an invasion, albeit a bloodless one, but he had to admit the man was a charismatic speaker. Cheers and claps of support went out from the crowd at the news of the mayor''s newfound health, and once they died down the Baron continued speaking.


    "So you see, my new friends, there are many benefits to being subjects of the Eternal Empire," Baron Pepjin proudly announced.

 Chapter 43 - New Threads

    <You have to kill that stuck-up Baron prick! He''s a thrice-damned Empire pig!> Keelgrave practically shouted into Symon''s mind, the ghost ramming into the walls of Symon''s vessel. Keelgrave wasn''t able to get out, but it did feel very strange.


    "Hey, cut that shit out! I''m not just going to go up and kill some random guy for you!" Symon shouted back as, after some final parting words, the Baron in question stepped down from his makeshift podium. The gathered crowd began to slowly disperse, mostly trickling away in the opposite direction from where Symon had initially approached the village. Whatever the Empire did or did not do, Symon wanted no part of it. Sure, Pepjin did give Symon sleazy used car salesman vibes, but that was hardly something worth murdering him over.


    <He''s not just a random guy, he''s godsdamned imperial nobility here to annex this village!> Keelgrave once again tried, but Symon wasn''t having it.


    "So what? It''s not my village. I''m not going to fight in a war I have no stake in, especially not when there was no actual fighting. I''m pretty sure this village doesn''t even have proper guards." He could feel Keelgrave wasn''t done trying to convince him, so Symon cut him off. "Look, if he turns out to be a vampire or something, then... well, I guess we''ll deal with him. I''ll have a chat with the mayor and the Baron individually, but at least let me get settled in first."


    <Ugh, fine. I suppose you need some proper clothes, at least. Mark my words though, that Baron isn''t as innocent as he looks.>


    Symon wasn''t necessarily denying that, but he felt his dark secret was probably tax fraud, not draining the blood of children for eternal youth. Speaking of draining, the dispersing crowd highlighted a problem; namely that with Seize''s threads now stretching out two metres from his body, it was borderline impossible to avoid draining people in such a crowded space. He was at the edge of the plaza, where a main road joined onto it, so he simply began walking back the way he came.


    Thankfully, the streets were only this packed because of the recent announcement, but that didn''t help him currently. The Dumosans fell in behind him as he retreated, but he felt they could afford to take a break ¡ª they''d been looking forward to getting to experience the benefits of civilisation, and he didn''t want to prevent them from doing so. Symon looked over his shoulder towards his friends before speaking. "You guys want to go get a drink? I''ve got to get some new clothes, and I can meet you back at that inn once things die down a bit."


    "I shall remain with you, while the others can go on ahead. It would be best if you had someone to watch your back," Aslan said.


    "Will the others be okay? With the whole not speaking Common thing, I mean."


    Aslan turned to the others and said a few words. Safiya elbowed Atabek in the ribs a few times before whispering something ¡ª it looked painful to Symon, but the big man barely reacted. When he did, he turned towards Symon, raised one finger, and said "One beer, please," in his deep, gravelly voice. It was even deeper than the Baron''s, but lacking the sense of refinement.


    "They''ve memorised the important phrases, at least," Symon said with a chuckle.


    With that, they separated into two pairs. Safiya and Atabek went deeper into the village, while Symon and Aslan circled its outskirts. As Aslan guided him, he appreciated that the roads were actually paved with large, flat stones and weren''t just compacted dirt. Given the small size of the village, it wasn''t long before they reached their destination. It was a squat, sad-looking structure made of roughly cobbled-together dark stones, much like the other buildings in the town, except this one was twice as wide. It had a wooden sign hanging out front, but it was so weather-worn that Symon couldn''t make out any details beyond a single vertical line in the middle of it.


    The front door was slightly ajar, so he pushed it open and stepped it. The hinges creaked loudly in protest as he stepped into the dark room. Two small windows were present on the far wall, but they didn''t do much for the gloomy atmosphere. There were a few rows of coats, hats, boots, bolts of cloth, and other random articles of clothing strewn about with no apparent sense of organisation. To his side was a large desk, of which a woman was currently slumped over, snoring softly.


    "Hello?" Symon called out hesitantly as he stepped further into the building, Aslan following behind once there was enough space.


    The woman shot up into a sitting position and, to her credit, took only a moment to orient herself, take in her surroundings, and reply. "Oh, customers? Pardon me, I don''t get many of those. Let me turn the lights on." She fiddled with something behind her counter and then pulled out a tiny, lamp that was glowing a soft blue colour. It didn''t do much to brighten things up, but it was at least pretty. It reminded him of the glowing horns of the fish he''d harvested previously. She glanced briefly at Aslan, but stared for longer at Symon with a suspicious look in her eyes. "Did you arrive on the ship? I don''t recognise you."This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.


    "No, I came from, uh, the desert. What made you think that?" Symon asked as he inspected her in turn. She was middle-aged and had a noticeably nicer outfit than most of the villagers. It wasn''t anything like the Baron''s, but the fact that it was clean and didn''t have any holes in it already made it far superior to the average.


    "The desert, really? Well, I won''t ask and I don''t want you to tell me. Nothing good comes from there. It explains your... attire, at least."


    Symon looked down at the clothing in question and, yeah, saying it wasn''t great was a huge understatement. It was more tatters than fabric at this point.


    "Wait, did you say a ship?" Symon asked. The small docks had seemed empty of any ships.


    "Yes, the imperial one that dropped off that nobleman and his guards a few days ago. It didn''t stay long. You''re not bringing any trouble, are you?"


    "Damn, it''s just my luck," he mumbled to himself. Of course, he''d miss a ride off this island by a couple of days. "Um, no, no trouble. I''d just like to purchase a set of decent clothes."


    Once more, she suspiciously eyed him up and down for a few moments. "Do you have any coins? My materials might be basic, but I''ll have you know I''ve evolved my Tailoring skill once already, so I''d want to see a gold piece for my trouble."


    A single gold piece... that''s somewhere around a hundred bucks. Not bad for a full set of clothes.


    "Well, not exactly, but do you accept monster cores as payment?" he offered.


    "Monster cores? Hmm, let me see ''em," she said before slapping the table between them. He pulled one of the tiny mana cores he''d collected from the fish out of his pocket and rolled it across the counter toward her, the theatrics necessary to keep her out of his range. She didn''t comment on it though, instead scooping up the core and holding it right up to her eye. Symon wasn''t sure how she saw any details without any proper lighting, but she didn''t seem to have any problems. "Purity is average, and it''s pretty small. Where''d you say you got it from?"


    Symon opened his mouth to answer, but a sudden thought interrupted him. Wait, am I haggling? Shit, I think we''re haggling. He briefly considered how he was going to handle this. Should he exaggerate the danger of the monster he got it from? Surely that would make them more valuable... but they were so small he didn''t find it likely she''d believe him. Then again, how many monster cores would she have seen in her life? But no, Symon decided to try a different tactic ¡ª mysterious. Plus, he''d feel bad for lying to her if she did end up believing him.


    "My sources are my own," he said, crossing his arms and leaning against a rack of loose clothes. She arched an eyebrow at him, while Aslan looked on impassively, yet to utter a word.


    "Fine, how many do you have then?" she asked.


    "Enough," he replied.


    The raised eyebrow furrowed back down. "In that case, it''ll be three of these cores for a shirt, pants, undergarments, and hat."


    Symon pretended to consider the offer for a while, but he already knew he was going to accept. He didn''t realise how badly he wanted a hat to keep the suns out of his eyes until now. "Let me see the goods first," he said.


    She moved out from behind the counter and down one of the aisles of clothes, sorting through piles and digging into heaps before pulling articles of clothing out. Most of the time, she tossed them back into a pile, usually not the same one it came out of, but she occasionally saved a piece by putting it over her shoulder. After a minute of work, she was back at the desk with the aforementioned clothes laid out between them.


    As the tailor had alluded to earlier, the clothes weren''t made of anything fancy. It appeared roughspun, but when he rubbed it between two fingers it was surprisingly soft. "You''ve got yourself a deal," he said before rolling two more cores her way. "I''m Symon, by the way."


    "Delara. You come back if you find any more cores, you hear? I also do mending, if you give them the same treatment as your old clothes."


    "I''ll keep that in mind. Oh, and do you have a changing room?"


    <hr>


    A few minutes later, Symon stepped out of the tailor''s. His eyes stung at the sudden glare after so long inside the dark room, but he put his new hat to use to alleviate the issue. He quite liked it; it reminded him of a straw cowboy hat. His clothes were a simple wheat-brown colour, and as comfortable as modern Earth clothing. Everything fit him perfectly despite Delara never measuring him, something he chalked up to her Tailoring skill. For a poor little town, he was quite impressed by the quality.


    Similarly, that magical lamp was interesting, if ineffective. It might not have done much now, but he was hopeful that it meant more advanced towns would have proper magical equivalents to his earthly technologies like running water and proper plumbing. The village smelled clean so far, but he''d yet to investigate the toilet situation.


    "How badly did I get ripped off?" he asked Aslan.


    "It was not so bad. The price was fair, although the cores would have been worth more in a larger city."


    Keelgrave didn''t chime in. Symon suspected he was still sulking after he refused to murder the Baron.


    He decided to chalk this whole encounter up as a victory. He needed more than one set of clothes, but it would be enough to tide him over for now until he could drum up some more cash. He had three little cores left, but he still needed to pay for a room and food.


    "Time to meet back up with the others?" he asked.


    "It would be good to have some food," Aslan replied. They hadn''t eaten since breakfast, and by now it was solidly past noon.


    The pair set off for the plaza where the Baron had given his speech, which by now had emptied of people. They''d passed a few villagers who had stared at Symon when he passed by, but the streets were mostly empty. He''d seen a few people back in the crop fields when he''d exited the tailor''s, so he assumed they were all just back to work. Before long, they arrived outside the inn. Or tavern. Symon thought it might be both.


    When the door opened and a clearly drunk man stumbled out, Symon got a glimpse inside of the building. It wasn''t crowded, but he could already tell there was no way he could get in there without draining someone. It might have been fine if he just ran straight through, but it simply wouldn''t be possible to sit down for a meal without seriously hurting or even killing people.

 Chapter 44 - Decent Fellow

    Symon chewed on his cheek as he considered if it was even feasible for him to rent a room in the inn, only stopping once he felt a tiny amount of vitality float out of his vessel toward his now slightly bleeding cheek. He was sure one of his friends would just bring out some food for him, but that didn''t help with the sleeping situation. Maybe there was an empty house they''d let him sleep in? Perhaps he could just climb up to a second floor room with a rope?


    Symon just didn''t know enough about the village to come up with a proper plan, but he knew one way to get some information. The tavernkeeper always had their finger on the pulse of the area. It was a staple of every video game, book, or movie, and Symon expected it would be true here in Brackstead too.


    When Symon peered around the back of the inn, he found an outdoor area with a few tables and chairs set up, but no one else was currently there. There were still many hours before nightfall, so it was likely that the majority of the establishment''s customers were still down in the mine. He


    Nice and empty, perfect for me.


    "Hey bud, think you can order some food for me and have someone from the village bring it out to me? I''ll be at that table getting some shade under that tree," he said to Aslan. "I''ll pay you back once I get some coins!"


    The other man waved him off and made his way into the building, entering through the backdoor. It led into the main room, while one of the side doors was probably for the staff. Man, Aslan really is such a nice guy, Symon thought. He''d been the only one to buy something from the tailor, meaning Aslan had come with him just to keep him safe, not that it had been necessary. The villagers seemed a little wary of strangers, but nothing out of the ordinary. Still, he wanted to get something nice for him and the others to show his appreciation, but it would have to be a quest for the future.


    Symon didn''t have anything to do but wait, so he did exactly that. The chair out back of the inn was wooden and a bit uncomfortable, but the breeze was pleasant and the heat was not too bad here under the shade of a large tree. He considered striking up a conversation with Keelgrave, but the spirit was still seething over the imperial Baron. He wasn''t sure how he could tell this ¡ª it wasn''t like Keelgrave had any body language to be read ¡ª but it must have been from their bond.


    Before long, a barrel-chested man with overgrown mutton chops exited the inn. He was carrying a steaming bowl of food, as well as a small pitcher that sloshed around dangerously close to the edge as he walked.


    "Foreigner," the man said as he approached. "You are from the empire?"


    "No, I came from the desert. I''m just a simple wandering healer. The name''s Symon."


    "I''m Durga, owner of this establishment," Durga said as the placed the food and drink on the table. The ground was paved stone here, meaning no plants grew and Symon had nothing to drain, but the innkeeper stayed barely out of Symon''s range. "You came from the desert? Some kind of sand spirit?"


    "Err, no, I''m just a regular guy." Well, mostly normal, he thought to himself.


    "Then why are you so pale?" he asked honestly, a confused expression on his face.


    Symon knew his skin marked him as an obvious foreigner ¡ª he was even lighter than the imperials ¡ª but he hadn''t drawn the connection that, yeah, he was pretty close in colour to the bone-white sand of the desert. "I came to the desert from someplace else," he replied. It wasn''t a lie, but it still left out the truth, perfect for Symon.


    "Ah, from another continent? In that case, you must tell me what your foreign palate thinks of my cider! Drink up!" he said, gesturing to the small pitcher he''d placed on the table.


    Symon had been a little thirsty, so he didn''t have to be told twice. There weren''t any cups, so he simply picked the pitcher up and raised it to his mouth. It was room temperature, but still delicious. It had a smooth, crisp taste, and was very sweet with only the faintest taste of alcohol. When he placed the pitcher back down, he noticed that Durga was staring at him nervously.


    "Well? What do you think?" he asked.


    "It''s delicious!" Symon said, causing the other man to visibly slump in relief. "It would be better chilled, but I guess your village doesn''t have a way to do that?"


    Durga shook his head. "I''m afraid not. I''ve heard of these enchanted coolers, but there certainly aren''t any enchanters here. All everyone knows here is swinging picks at rock and drinking beer. No appreciation for a cider..."


    "Well, I don''t drink much and even I can tell it''s good. Say, do you have any recommendations for how a healer could make a few coins? I''m not looking to rinse your people of their money, I''d just need enough to get by. I''m happy to do some odd jobs too, if you have any ideas."If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    He could tell by how Durga pressed his lips together slightly harder than usual that he was considering what he should say. Wait, how can I tell that? His own eyebrows furrowed in confusion, and he was keenly aware of the way his facial muscles shifted to move his eyebrows.


    Oh, right, my Anatomy passive. I almost forgot it works on other people if I focus enough on them.


    "Well, I probably shouldn''t be sharing this with an outsider," Durga said. "But... you seem a decent fellow, and maybe your healing can help. Our mayor, or I suppose our ex-mayor"¡ª his expression darkened slightly before quickly shifting back to a forced neutral ¡ª" has been poorly for a while now. It''s just old age, from what I hear, but perhaps you can help some."


    Symon nodded. "I think I can help, at least a little." That would be the perfect two birds with one stone scenario ¡ª getting to ask the mayor a few questions about what the hell was up with the Baron, as well as earning a bit of money. Plus, it couldn''t hurt to be friendly with the former leader of the village.


    "And if you''re looking for non-healing jobs, I''m sure the foreman would love a new miner. Oh, and if you fancy yourself an adventurer you could check out the old manor. Probably some old coins up there, or at least something to sell."


    Symon skipped over the idea of working as a miner for the clearly more interesting mystery manor. "Really now? I haven''t seen any manors."


    "Well..." Durga said, looking over his shoulder as if worried someone would overhear. "I''ve only been here a few years, but... there was some type of incident with the noblewoman who lived up in some fancy manor, off to the west."


    "What kind of incident are we talking about?" Symon asked.


    "No one here seems to want to talk about it, and it happened some 30-odd years ago, but I''ve heard a few things from some old timers who were deep in their cups. From what I gathered, the lady died under mysterious circumstances. No one seems to know how, but everyone has their own theory. Beast attacks, secret demon-worshipping cults, she was secretly an advanced golem that ran out of mana and exploded. Some pretty crazy stuff, but I doubt most of them."


    <Demon cults wouldn''t stop at just one sacrifice,> Keelgrave stated, speaking up for the first time in a while. Symon wasn''t sure what to make of that.


    "And what do you think it was?" Symon asked aloud.


    "Personally? I''d have guessed a robbery, but that doesn''t explain why no one who goes in ever comes out."


    This went from mystery treasure to haunted murder house in a heartbeat, Symon thought. "Well, I''ll try and scope it out from a distance, maybe. It would be good to warn people if there''s something dangerous still there."


    Durga shrugged. "It''s your life, kid. Just try not to get yourself killed."


    "Do people vanish often?"


    "Everyone''s learned no good will come from even going near it, so no. I probably shouldn''t have even brought it up, knowing some bright-eyed youngster like you wouldn''t be able to resist investigating. If you die, you can''t say I didn''t warn you, okay?"


    "Sure, sure, I''m not going to get myself killed just for some theoretical treasure that might not even exist," Symon promised. He wasn''t a greedy person ¡ª money was only useful as a means to an end, in this case having a stable living while he saved up to get passage on a ship to the mainland. "Oh, and before you go, can I ask how often a ship comes by here? One I could book passage on."


    "Looking to get out of here already, eh? I can''t blame you, this place is a dump. There''s usually one every month, it brings in some outside goods and we load it up with ore from the mine in exchange. It just left a few days ago, so you''ll be waiting for a while."


    "Hmm, a month isn''t too bad. I appreciate the meal and all the information, I''d tip you if I had any coins at all," Symon offered.


    Durga guffawed at that. "Heh, even just the intention to tip is better than all my usual patrons! You stay safe now, Symon," he said before returning back the way he''d come.


    Symon returned his attention to the meal in front of him, taking another sip of the cider while he considered just what was in that steaming bowl of food. It was a very unappealing-looking porridge-like sludge. Hesitantly raising a small portion to his mouth with a roughly carved spoon, he found it to be... passable. It didn''t taste like much initially, but had a faint meaty aftertaste and needed a bit more salt. Or maybe some hot sauce.


    "I know what you''re going to say," he thought to Keelgrave. "No Symon, you big idiot, don''t go wandering off to the obvious deathtrap you were specifically warned about. Something like that?"


    <No, I think it''s a great idea, actually,> Keelgrave said. He was generally a sarcastic person, but he seemed serious in this moment.


    "Wait, what? Why?" Symon said aloud, accidentally sputtering out a small spray of gruel in his confusion.


    <A mysteriously dead noblewoman, and now some Baron shows up decades later to claim her land? Whatever''s going on, her old residence is our best shot at figuring things out. You''re still a big idiot, though.>


    "Thanks bud, right back at you." Symon began quickly shovelling down the tasteless gruel while mentally chatting with Keelgrave. "I''m going to go check in with the mayor, then with my friends, then we head out for the manor. Sound good to you?"


    <Sure, but do you know where the mayor is?>


    "I figure I can just ask someone on the street," Symon thought as he finished off his food. It wasn''t great, but hopefully, if he continued to power through it he wouldn''t look so skinny. I''ve gotta eat big to get big, after all. He also chugged the rest of his cider ¡ª it was only a cup left, and it didn''t taste very alcoholic. Besides, his Constitution should prevent him from being a complete lightweight.


    Actually, why don''t I check my Ledger now?


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.90


    Constitution: 1.21 {+0.01}


    Acuity: 0.95 {+0.01}


    Intelligence: 1.00 {+0.03}


    Will: 1.23 {+0.01}


    Vessel (Vitality): 17/17


    Abilities:


    Idealise (13)


    Seize (11)


    Essence Bond (12)


    Passives:


    Anatomy (2) {+2}


    Bleeding Resistance (3)


    Languages (9) {+1}


    Pain Resistance (7)


    Poison Resistance (2)


    Running (8)


    Swords (3) ]


    Considering he''d last checked it only this morning after the fight with the weird tube monsters in the valley, the results were decent. And he''d even reached a full 1.00 in his Intelligence, so maybe Keelgrave would stop calling him an idiot.


    Well, probably not.

 Chapter 45 - Whats This Guys Problem?

    Brackstead was small enough that you couldn''t really get lost in it, but that didn''t mean Symon knew where everything was. As he stepped out from the back of the inn, he considered how he was going to find the mayor. They''d first entered the town from the Western side, while he was currently in the South-East where the inn was. Mountains lay to the South, while the sea was to their North. He decided he would just walk towards the centre of the village and have a look around there.


    The streets were sparsely populated, but it wasn''t a complete ghost town. He passed a woman carrying a wicker basket full of clothes, who averted her eyes as she passed him. Two kids ran by him, one chasing the other in a game of tag, although their lack of attention for Symon seemed accidental ¡ª they cared more about winning their game than some foreigner.


    After a few minutes of wandering through the village, Symon found one of the only buildings that was different from the rest. He''d spotted it previously and noted that it was still early in the construction progress, but he had to do a double-take when he saw it again. When he''d first arrived, it was just a waist-high square of stones. Since then, he''d visited the tailor, and gotten some food and information at the inn. It couldn''t have been much more than half an hour since he first laid eyes on the construction, but things had progressed at a blistering pace. The walls were almost completely done, and it looked like some of the many workers were beginning work on the roof. It seemed Ledger-assisted builders could really work fast, even with just simple hand saws and hammers. When it was done, it would be about the same size as the inn.


    Symon walked up to one of the workers who must have been on break and asked for directions to the mayor''s office. The man looked him up and down a few times before responding. "Who are you? Are you with the Baron?"


    He was getting a little tired of having to explain this, but in the villager''s defence, it was a reasonable assumption. Everyone in the village was ethnically homogenous, while the Baron and Symon were both obviously foreigners, and similar looking at that. The Baron had more of a Mediterranean olive complexion, while Symon was noticeably paler, but they were certainly more similar to each other than they were with the villagers. Not to mention, they just so happened to have shown up in the village around the same time.


    "No, no, I''m just here with a couple friends on an adventure. It''s a cultural thing for them, I''m just tagging along. No relation to the Baron," Symon replied. "Could you just tell me where the mayor is and I can get out of your hair?"


    The worker stood up straighter, crossing his arms over his chest and frowning. "And why''d you want to know, huh? What are you scheming?"


    "What?" Symon asked. "Listen man, I''m just a travelling healer who thought the mayor might have need of my services. I''m not looking for any problems."


    "Yeah, well, I think you might be. You expect me to believe you''re a healer who just appears from thin air to come help our mayor?"


    "I came from the desert, actually, bu¡ª"


    The other man guffawed loudly. "You think I was born yesterday? There ain''t no way you came from the Wastes. The way I see it, you''re either a changeling or an assassin. So which one is it?"


    Okay, this is escalating way too fast. What the hell is this guy''s problem?


    Symon held out his hands placatingly, and when the other man stepped forward, Symon took a step back. "Seriously man, this is all a big misunderstanding. If you just let me explain..."


    The other man lowered his arms from where they''d been crossed against his chest, though Symon didn''t take that as a good sign. He could see the builder''s calloused hands were clenched into fists and the way his whole body had tensed up slightly in anticipation. Symon might not have noticed it, if not for his Anatomy passive making it obvious to him.


    As the man continued to approach, Symon lowered his outstretched hands and rested one on the pommel of his sheathed sword. "Seriously man, you don''t want to do this. It''s really dangerous for you to get close to me, you''re going to get hurt," Symon warned.


    That stopped the man in his tracks, but it had the opposite effect to what Symon had intended. "And now you''re threatening me? You think I''m just going to let some foreign spy come into my town and start threatening me?"


    Changeling, assassin, now he''s saying I''m a spy. I''m starting to get the feeling he''s just coming up with any reason to pick a fight.


    The aggressive man was fairly well muscled, as he''d expect from someone working physical labour. He was currently unarmed, although he did have a hammer attached to his belt. He probably just had a Builder class, meaning he wouldn''t have any special combat abilities beyond being strong. In contrast, Symon had his sword, his recently neglected pipe club ¡ª though it would probably take too much time to untie it from where he''d strapped it to his back, and of course both aspects of his magic. Overall, Symon was confident he could take this guy if it came down to it.


    As his eyes flickered to Symon''s sword, he seemed to come to the same conclusion. "Oi, lads, I need a hand over here!" he shouted out over his shoulder. The high wall of the in-progress building had been between them and the current workers, and the site was noisy enough that no one had noticed Symon and the worker arguing in the short period of time it had been going on. Sensing an opportunity, Symon moved his hand from the sword to his club, quickly trying to unstrap it. The other man seemed happy to wait for his friends to show up, so he managed to take the club out even after needing to fiddle with the straps.


    He wasn''t sure what this guy''s intention was, and although it obviously wasn''t something good, he didn''t want to jump straight to trying to kill them with his sword. He was sure that''s what Keelgrave would have done, but Symon didn''t want to kill another thinking being unless he absolutely had to, regardless of the fact this guy was being a dick for no apparent reason. Besides, it wasn''t like getting hit in the head with a heavy metal pipe was non-lethal, anyway. If he was going to be living in Brackstead for a month until the next trade ship arrived to ferry him away, he wanted to have a good relationship with the villagers. Misunderstandings could be explained after the fact, but not if he just started stabbing.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Emboldened by a few of his friends coming out of the construction site, the man resumed his slow approach. Symon took a few more steps back to maintain a distance, but felt his back bump into something. It was the house behind him.


    Fuck, I was so focused on not letting him get close I ignored my surroundings! Awareness of both one''s opponent and surroundings was something Keelgrave had attempted to drill into Symon, but he was still a combat novice ¡ª especially against people. Recognising Symon''s mistake, the angry builder charged straight for Symon, a vicious snarl on his face.


    <Don''t let the fight go to the ground, not when he''s got all his pals to back him up,> Keelgrave advised. Not wanting to distract Symon, the spirit rarely said anything during real combat, so it must have been important if Keelgrave decided to bring it up.


    Taking the advice to heart, Symon tried to stay light on his feet, or at least as much as he could when wielding the pipe. He''d let himself be backed into a corner, and the only way out was through his opponent. Symon quickly accelerated, his foot pressing off the wall behind him like a sprinter''s starting block. His sudden acceleration caught the other man off guard, and he reacted too slowly to completely avoid the oncoming pipe. Symon landed a glancing blow on the man''s arm, sending him spinning but not doing much actual damage.


    The two men turned back to face one another, but no one moved to continue the fight. Symon''s adrenaline was already pumping, but he saw that the other workers were already at both ends of the alley, boxing him in. They weren''t moving any closer, at least.


    "What''s going on, Boyan?" one of the workers said while casually leaning against a wall.


    "This rich little bastard thinks he can get away with mocking me to my face without handing over any money, so now we''re going to teach him a lesson," said the aggressive man, apparently named Boyan, looking around at his coworkers with a cruel smirk on his face. The fuck? Now it''s a mugging? I don''t think he even knows why he wants to beat me up.


    "We?" asked the new arrival. "I don''t think you need help with a little weakling like him." It felt like the other man was looking down his nose on not just Symon, but also Boyan. "Wait a second, isn''t he an imperial?" Immediately, his expression changed from contempt to... fear? "Boyan, maybe you should apologise to the nice man for the misunderstanding, yes?" he asked. Symon still wasn''t sure what the villager''s opinion of the Empire and the Baron was, but it seemed to be working in his favour in this case.


    "He''s a godsdamned assassin! I''m going to stop him, and then Mariyka will see how capable I am!" Boyan practically spat out.


    "Wait, what the fuck? You''re seriously trying to beat me up to impress a girl? You''re like, thirty, bro, at least." Was all this really just because of some childish infatuation? Symon had been thinking it was an attempted mugging of a seemingly vulnerable foreigner, or that he was just crazy. But maybe the truth was... stupider.


    Symon''s words must have pissed the other guy off, because he yanked his hammer off his belt, tearing it free of the loop that attached it.


    "Uh, we aren''t getting involved with this," said the still-nameless man, the more reasonable one who seemed to speak for all the other workers judging by their worried looks and nods of agreement.


    <Symon, beat this idiot''s ass. I think he''s volunteering to pay the vitality tax,> Keelgrave said.


    Symon smirked at the spirit''s words, something that sent Boyan into a frenzy. Once more, he came charging at Symon, and once more Symon charged back. This time, when he swung for the centre mass with his pipe club, it landed. Something cracked as the heavy metal pipe slammed into Boyan''s chest, but that didn''t stop the momentum of his body from continuing onward into Symon. He was both stronger and heavier than Symon, so their collision resulted in Symon being tackled. He didn''t go down immediately, instead stumbling back a few steps, before once more having his back slammed against the stone wall behind him.


    He felt all the air get knocked out of him, but his opponent wasn''t doing too well either. What the others didn''t know was that Boyan was already on a timer ¡ª Symon''s threads had latched onto the other man the second he got in range. The man was doubled over, his shoulder pressed into Symon''s chest and pinning him to the wall, but he wasn''t content to just let his magic work. The angle was too close and awkward for a proper swing, but even still it would hurt. He brought the pipe up in one hand, then slammed it down with as much force as he could muster, which admittedly wasn''t much.


    In response, Boyan slammed his hammer into Symon''s side, its smaller form compared to Symon''s unwieldy club making it more suited to what was essentially wrestling. He felt something crack in his side, and his Anatomy told him two of his ribs had partially fractured.


    "Fuck off!" Symon hissed out in pain and anger, dropping his pipe to instead slam his elbow down on the man''s exposed back. Boyan let out a grunt in response, which was better than what he''d got from the pipe. Already, he could feel that the hairline fractures in his ribs had fused back together, so he was happy to continue this messy combat. He encouraged Seize to go as fast as it could, and he knew it was only a matter of time before he won. The next time Boyan reared back for another swing of his hammer, Symon grabbed onto his wrist. He wasn''t able to completely stop the swing, but the impact wasn''t enough to do more than bruise ¡ª with his Pain Resistance, Symon barely felt it.


    With both men in some type of awkward hug position, Symon took the chance to look around at the other workers. They were all observing the fight with a variety of expressions, but not one had moved to help or hinder either participant.


    That meant Symon was able to rain down blows on his opponent''s back, and it wasn''t long before the hammer swings weakened enough to the point that Symon could stop them completely, eventually pinning the weapon at his side while continuing to both elbow and drain the vitality from Boyan. It felt like a long time, though it couldn''t have been more than a minute or two, but eventually, he managed to rip the hammer out of his opponent''s slowly weakening grip.


    With a heave of effort, he pushed the other man off of him and back into a standing position. He had a slightly unfocused look in his eyes, and swayed drunkenly as he stumbled backwards from Symon''s push. He spared a glance at the hammer now in his possession but dropped it onto the ground. Stepping forwards, he quickly went over the steps that Keelgrave had taught him what felt like ages ago. He planted his feet firmly and, with a slight twist of his body, wound up before delivering a massive haymaker right to Boyan''s jaw.


    The impact stung his hand, but it was much worse for the other guy. He span around a full 360 degrees from the force of the blow before collapsing in a heap, unconscious. Symon could see that his jaw was broken, even without any helpful passives. Briefly, he considered healing him. No, he deserved what he got.


    Symon stood up straighter and rolled his neck, any injuries he''d sustained already healed. When he looked around, he was surprised to see that none of the builders were paying attention to him. Instead...


    "In the name of the Baron of Brackstead, I command you to halt immediately!" came the commandeering voice from down the alley.

 Chapter 46 - Interrogation

    Everyone in the alley froze. Symon, the ring of builders that surrounded him, and of course the unconscious Boyan. Whatever voice had commanded everyone to halt didn''t just expect their order to be followed, they knew it would be.


    "Move aside immediately," the same voice said. There wasn''t any anger in the tone, simply a monotone, business-as-usual command. The accent was similar to that of the Baron''s, but when the builders pressed themselves against the walls of the alley to allow the two armed and armoured men to approach, Symon saw that the voice belonged to someone different.


    One was slightly taller than the other, but that was the only difference between the two. They were both wearing full-plate armour like a European knight, while their hands rested on a sword sheathed at their hips. Even the inexperienced Symon could tell that both the armour and weapon were high quality, the steel polished to a mirror finish. Confidently, they strolled past the builder, their heavy footfalls slamming into the ground with every step. They each had a small, red and gold cape over one shoulder. The shorter man had a more ornate cape, with more gold inlays.


    The same colour as the Baron''s outfit, Symon remembered.


    The one with the fancier cape approached Symon, while the other one began silently staring at the builders. They all averted their gaze.


    Fancy-Cape raised his sallet, exposing a classically handsome face. Thick eyebrows, a sharp nose, and a strong jaw framed intense blue eyes. "Kinsman? I do not recognise you from the ship," he asked, although Symon felt it was more of a statement.


    "No, sir, I''m just a wandering healer from the desert," he answered anyway.


    The knight, or whatever he was, raised an eyebrow in surprise, although not at the part Symon expected. "You''re a healer? Are you able to prove it?" he asked.


    "Sure, uh, I mean yes sir," Symon said. He pulled his sword slightly out of its sheath, and softly ran his finger against the edge of the blade before putting it back down. The other man hadn''t reacted to Symon reaching for his weapon beyond carefully observing. Next, he showed the slowly bleeding cut off, before flicking the blood off and wiping the remainder off. When he showed his finger again, the cut was gone.


    Satisfied, he nodded. "I am Guard Captain Fons, but you may simply call me by my name if you give me yours. No need for formalities. You said you came from the desert?"


    "I''m Symon, nice to meet you. And yes, I came from the desert. I''ve been exploring around with some Dumosan adventurers," he added. He still had his old cover story of being an amnesiac, but he didn''t think it was particularly believable, so he''d just keep it to himself for now unless specifically asked. He couldn''t think of anything better that would explain why he looked similar to the imperials that didn''t reveal he was from another world. He could just agree with whatever assumptions they made.


    "I see. You do not have any brand or tattoo?" he said in a polite yet bored tone.


    <Say no, and hide that chalice tattoo,> Keelgrave commanded, his tone serious.


    "Nothing of the sort, Captain Fons," he said with a strained smile. His tattoo had simply appeared when he''d wanted a visual indication of his current vitality reserves without needing to check his Ledger, so he focused his thoughts and asked the Ledger to get rid of it for now. It had always responded to his intentions, so he just had to hope it worked.


    "You wouldn''t mind me checking?" Fons asked. Symon wasn''t sure what the importance of this was, and he didn''t have time to check with Keelgrave. Their mental communication was faster than speaking aloud, but it would still take a suspiciously long time to figure things out.


    "Of course not, there''s just a slight problem with my magic. Would we be able to speak in private?" he asked. He was fine with telling others he had uncontrollable magic that could harm others if he got close, but he''d ideally keep it to himself and not risk getting ostracised by the community as some kind of leper. In contrast, the true extent of his healing magic, his nature as a World Traveller, his blessings from two gods, and also the ghost in his vessel were things he wanted to keep secret from everyone. The Dumosans knew how powerful his healing was, but everything else was still secret.


    "That is fine," Fons said before giving a hand signal to his guard partner and walking further down the alley with Symon, away from prying eyes. "What was the issue?"


    "My magic, it starts harming people who get too close, it''s some type of curse. About two metres from me is the limit," he explained.


    "Curious, do you know the source of this curse?"


    "Nope," Symon replied honestly. He had some theories regarding his blessings, but nothing solid. "I''m hoping to gain more control over it as Ievel it, but currently I can''t get close to people without hurting them." Symon left out the part where he hadn''t made any progress towards directly controlling his draining. He''d been hoping the evolution at level 20 would help, or at least point him in the right direction.


    The guard captain stroked his chin. "Interesting, I haven''t heard of anything like that, but I''m hardly a curse expert. In that case, would you mind moving your collar so I could inspect for brands?"A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    "Of course," Symon said, doing as asked while trying to hide his confusion. When he raised his hand to his collar, he saw that his chalice tattoo had faded away. He blew out a sigh of relief he didn''t even notice he''d been building up.


    After a cursory examination, Fons must have decided that things were fine, as he pulled back and relaxed slightly. "Everything checks out, of course. My apologies for the suspicion, but I''m sure you understand it''s just standard procedure."


    "Of course, you''re just doing your job," he replied with a smile that masked his complete confusion at the process. Maybe it was like Japan, where some people saw tattoos as only for criminals. He''d watched a documentary, once.


    "With that out of the way, can you explain what this incident was all about?"


    "Ah, well, I''m honestly not really sure. I asked for directions to the mayor''s house¡ª"


    "The former mayor," Fons cut in. Despite the interruption, his tone wasn''t hostile.


    "Right, sorry, I asked for directions to the former mayor''s house. That man back there on the ground, Boyan I think his name was, took offence to my question. He started accusing me of all these insane things like being some type of monster, then he got all up in my face. He said something about proving himself to some woman, but I''m not sure if that was the truth or if he was just talking crazy. Then he came at me with a hammer, we tussled for a bit, and I eventually knocked him out right before you arrived."


    "Hmm, that hammer on the ground down there was his?"


    Symon looked back to where Fons was gesturing. "Yeah, that one. He got me pretty good in the ribs a few times, but I''ve healed it all up so the injuries aren''t there any more. All the builders around us saw it happen, though."


    The guard captain waved off Symon''s assurances. "Not to worry, I believe you. And do you believe that man was aware you possessed a Healer class at the time of the attack?"


    "Uh, yeah, I told him I was a Healer when he asked who I was. He probably thought I was an easy target because of it," Symon said. From what he''d been told, it was rare for Healer classes to actually go adventuring, or to even see any combat. Most of them lived cushy lives in big cities ¡ª why risk your life in the wilds when you could be paid more, be safer, and have access to all the comforts and commodities of a city? And those rare healers who were part of adventuring parties tended to stay safe in the back while everyone else fought. They certainly weren''t swinging a sword around in melee with vicious monsters like Symon had been.


    "Hmm, let''s see..." Fons said, taking out a small notebook and writing something in it with an attached pencil. "Assault with a weapon against a protected class, quite a serious crime. Rest assured that we''ll handle things from here, Healer Symon."


    "Thanks Captain Fons, I''d shake your hand, but, you know," he said with a smile.


    "Of course," the other man said with a nod. He pointed to the still-under-construction building that all the workers had been on. "This is to be our future barracks, so come by here if you have any more problems. Oh, and did you still need those directions?"


    <hr>


    "Well, that could have gone better," Symon said to his unwilling spirit guide. "Fons was pretty nice, at least. Although I feel like things went a little too smoothly for me with this questioning. He really didn''t seem too bothered by me randomly showing up in the village out of nowhere."


    <You do look kinda like a native imperial, so he must have just assumed you were one of them and cut you some slack.>


    "Hmm, maybe. You got any idea why that dude hated me so bad? Oh, and what''s up with being checked for a brand?"


    Symon frowned. Slavery? It was easy for him to think of this world as just medieval with magic, but it had actually seemed more progressive. The age of adulthood was higher than it was on Earth, as long as you accounted for the longer days which worked out to each year being roughly a quarter larger than the Gregorian Calendar, and child marriages were illegal. Judging by Safiya and a few of the miners he''d seen, women weren''t relegated to specific roles either. The Ledger equalised most differences between the sexes, and at least in Dumosan culture, they were equal in rights and responsibilities.


    That was why Symon was surprised by the legality of slavery, but perhaps he shouldn''t have been. It would be easy for someone to claim they were superior when the Ledger breaks down everyone''s worth into hard numbers.


    Symon sighed as he approached the door to the mayor''s house, his club now returned to its position strapped to his back. Of course, this world was far from being a paradise. He checked over his appearance as he stood outside the door, trying to flatten down his clothes that had been creased in his scuffle. He looked fine, but he wished he could have had a shower or bath first. Washing in a river just wasn''t the same.


    Symon tucked some of his too-long hair behind his ears and, as satisfied with his appearance as he was going to get, raised his hand to knock on the door.


    "I can''t believe you''d just roll over like that!" shouted a voice from inside. It was male, and strong enough that Symon knew it couldn''t have belonged to the weak old mayor. The elderly man''s reply must have been too weak for Symon to overhear, but he did hear the first man respond to whatever was said. "I know, father, it''s just... we''re really all going to..." he trailed off.


    Not wanting to get caught eavesdropping, Symon knocked on the door. He heard movement inside, then the door opened to reveal what must have been the mayor''s son. He was a tired-looking middle-aged man, whose hair was dark with many flecks of grey.


    "Can I help you?" the man asked, his tone making it clear he really didn''t want to.


    "Actually, I was wondering if I could help you," he replied, feeling like a door-to-door salesman. "I''m a Healer by class and trade, so I wish to offer my services to the mayor, and anyone else who needs it."


    The man in the doorway frowned. "Just because he''s the mayor doesn''t mean he''s rich, you know? We can''t afford any magical healing."


    "I''m not here to bleed you guys dry, I just want a place to sleep, food to eat, and enough money to afford passage on the next trade ship. You think we can make a deal?"


    He considered for a few moments before sighing and gesturing inwards. "Fine, come in and follow me to the study." Well, Symon had hoped for a warmer reception, but he was sure things would improve once his magic got to work. It was hard to dislike the healer, after all.


    "Oh uh, I''ll need to follow at least two metres of distance behind you. I have a harmful ability I can''t turn off, but you''re perfectly safe as long as you keep as far from me as you are now."


    "What the hells kind of Healer has an ability like that?"


    "A cursed one," Symon said with a smile.

 Chapter 47 - Healing & History

    "Don''t worry, it''s not a contagious curse or anything like that," Symon assured the mayor''s son. At least, he tried to. "As long as the only time I''m close to someone is when I''m healing them, it''s perfectly safe."


    "I see..." the man said, the sceptical look on his face making it clear that no, he did not see.


    "I had a nice long chat with the guard captain and he''s perfectly fine, so you aren''t going to have any problems. You know the Dumosans, right?"


    "Yes, I''m aware of them. Good people. Why?"


    "I''ve been travelling with them for a week now and they haven''t been harmed," Symon said. He even spoke a few words of Dumosi to prove his point, although he hadn''t picked anything up beyond the absolute barest of basics. And some swears, but they were essential.


    "Very well, I''ll take you to see my father. He... could use some help. Close the door behind you, please," the other man said, opening the door wide and striding deeper into the home.


    Symon did as asked and stepped into the room. He was in a mixed kitchen and dining area, although it seemed empty and disused. A slight layer of dust coated the dining table. It was thankfully much better lit than the tailors, so he had no problem following through into the next room.


    It was clearly a study. A large bookshelf sat against one wall, though it was only a quarter full of books. The wall across from him had a desk pushed up against it, as well as a large window providing plenty of light. It actually had glass in the window, making it the first time he''d seen it since coming to this village. It was cloudy to the point he couldn''t make out any details outside, but the light still came in just fine. Against the final wall was a large cot, where the old mayor was currently lying.


    "Father, we have a guest. A healer for you," the son said.


    Immediately, Symon could tell the old man wasn''t doing too well. He''d last seen him only an hour ago, where he''d needed support to stand but had otherwise been doing decently considering his advanced age, but he must have been putting on a strong showing.


    "Ah... welcome to... my Brackstead..." the old man wheezed out. He chuckled to himself, but it quickly devolved into a coughing fit. Spittle flew onto a cloth that his son quickly held to his mouth. Symon could see it was already tinged red.


    "Thanks for having me, I''m Symon. I''ll do my best for you, okay?" It might have been better for Symon to negotiate for payment before doing the healing, but he wasn''t the type of person to need payment to save a life, and this old man didn''t have long.


    The mayor nodded, then pointed to himself. "Temuri Lavyaz." He pointed to his son, his bony finger trembling slightly. "Lado... my only child."


    Symon gave a quick nod to Lado but refocused on the mayor. "Well, Temuri, how long has this been going on for?" He already had some ideas as to what it was, but he wanted to narrow it down. He didn''t really need to understand the problem for his magical healing to fix it, but he still wanted confirmation. He didn''t want to heal the man for it to just come back in a month.


    "Few years... bad recently," he coughed.


    "How recently? You seemed much stronger at the Baron''s speech."


    "Yes, about that," Lado said. "The... Baron¡ª" he practically spat the word "¡ªgave father an alchemic for his health. He overstated how long it would be effective for, as you can see. Just long enough to prop him up in front of our people, and not a moment more."


    "Hmm, I''ll want to ask you some questions about that guy after I''m done here, if you don''t mind."


    "Heal him, and I''ll answer whatever you wish."


    Symon nodded. "Any pain, particularly in your chest?" he asked Mayor Temuri.


    "Aye... in chest," he said.


    Symon wasn''t a doctor, and he knew next to nothing about the different diseases of this world, but it sounded a lot like the mayor had lung cancer. It wasn''t exactly the type of thing paramedics typically dealt with, but Symon was more confident than most would have been. "Alright, I think I know what it is. Here''s what''s going to happen; I''m going to step up, do my magic, and step away. You may or may not feel anything happen, but it shouldn''t be painful."


    Temuri laboriously nodded, while the previously cool Lado gave a quick, nervous nod. He knew Symon wouldn''t make things worse, but he''d been given hope and was now worried it be in vain. Symon didn''t want it to be, so when he stepped up to the prone man, he decided to try and get everything done in one go.


    He placed his hands gently on the man''s chest, feeling his bones through the papery, wrinkled skin. Quickly, he pulled a large chunk of vitality from his vessel, shoving it down his arms until, after the tiniest moment of resistance, he pushed it all into his patient''s chest. As soon as he was done, he stepped back and tried to watch the magic work.


    Visually, nothing much changed, but Symon wasn''t expecting it to. The problem was internal, after all.


    The mayor frowned in confusion and surprise. "I can... feel something..." he gasped out before devolving into another coughing fit. This went on for a minute straight, alternating between coughing his lungs out and gasping for air in between fits.


    "Is this meant to happen?" Lado asked while wringing his hands.


    "Of course, everything is just fine," Symon said with confidence he didn''t entirely feel. His healing had never failed him, but it hadn''t worked on his friends'' scars. He still wasn''t sure why that was, so who was to tell if this would mysteriously fail too? Regardless, there was no point in worrying the others ¡ª it would either work or it wouldn''t, but he knew it wouldn''t harm the elderly mayor.This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    Lado continued holding a cloth to his father''s face as he spat out chunks of bloody phlegm.


    Shit, I think that''s literally pieces of his lung. Just what was his magic doing in there? As always, he had no perception of it when it left his body, but he could make some educated guesses. Healing minor injuries was pretty fast, while the bigger ones, such as replacing missing parts, took noticeably more time, in the order of minutes instead of seconds. The fact that whatever was happening was still going on meant it must have been something serious. But if pieces of lung were coming out instead of being healed...


    "Pass me that cloth," Symon said.


    "Uh, this?" Lado asked, holding up the bloodstained handkerchief.


    "Yes, yes, quickly now." As soon as the piece of fabric was handed over, Symon sniffed it. He had a pretty strong stomach, but even then he almost gagged. The chunks of lung smelled rotten.


    Hmm, well the good news is it''s not cancer, Symon thought. Whatever it was, parts of Mayor Temuri''s lungs had died completely, which was why they were now coming out to make room for the freshly regrown lungs. He already knew his magic didn''t bring back the dead ¡ª he''d tested it on a recently dead snake once on their travels through the grass just to make sure ¡ª so it was the explanation that made the most sense.


    "Everything is fine," Symon assured them both, and this time his confidence was honest. "His body is just removing the bad material to make room for the healthy part to regrow. It shouldn''t take too much longer now." He put the cloth back on the cot and backed away, allowing Lado to go back to helping his father.


    As Symon had predicted, it didn''t take long for the process to finish. Temuri let out a throaty sigh that was noticeably stronger than his usual breaths. "That was... certainly an experience," he said. "I feel amazing, though!"


    His son laughed and hugged him tight, and the old man''s thin arms wrapped around his back and pulled him closer. They remained like that for some time, while Symon waited patiently in the corner. Eventually, they released their embrace, after Lado kissed his father on the top of his bald head.


    "My deepest gratitude for what you have done for my father, Healer Symon. Now, there is the matter of your payment. We have some gold saved up, but not enough to pay you what you truly deserve."


    Temuri spoke up, his voice still a little thin but no longer containing any raspiness. Plus, he wasn''t breaking out in coughing fits every few words. "You said you just want food, a bed, and enough for passage on a ship?"


    "Yes, that''s right, although I''m not really sure how many coins that would cost," Symon replied.


    "Well, how about you stay in our guest room? It''s not like we ever have visitors, so you may as well stay there and save your money. That way, the few coins we can give you can all be put towards saving for that ship."


    Lado opened his mouth to say something but paused. Symon could see the gears turning in his head. "Hmm, it''s not such a bad idea. It would be best if you used the side entrance though, to avoid any proximity issues. Ah, and speaking of, no funny business with my daughter."


    "Oh, of course," Symon said awkwardly. "I wouldn''t spit on your generosity like that. And it is a very kind offer."


    "It is mutually beneficial; you save some extra coins and are nearby in case father''s illness returns, yes?" Lado explained.


    Symon shrugged. "I don''t think it should, but it won''t hurt to be extra cautious. In that case, I accept your offer. Do you mind if I ask you two a few questions about the Baron and the village''s history?"


    The father and son shared a look, although Symon wasn''t sure what it was communicating. A touchy subject, it seems.


    "What is it you wish to know?"


    "I''ve heard rumours about an incident involving a noblewoman?" Symon asked.


    "Ah, yes, that..." Lado said.


    "A sad tale, one that most here are too young to remember," Temuri continued. "Lady Renske was kind, especially for a noble. She treated the commonfolk with respect, and was loved in turn by her subjects."


    "You knew her?"


    "Aye, I was the steward of her House, back in the Empire. We were uprooted from the old lands after issues at court, the details of which she did not deign to share with me. In effect, she was exiled and no longer held a position of nobility, although we still considered her our Lady."


    "Sorry, you''re an imperial?" Symon asked. Everyone kept confusing Symon for one due to his light skin, but Temuri was as dark as everyone else in the village.


    "Ah, I see you are not familiar with the ways of the Empire. They are expansionistic, as you might have guessed by the Baron''s actions, and our original country became part of the Empire long before I was even born. As such, I am considered a citizen of the Empire. It is the only home I had ever known. Lado was born there, too, though he was too young to remember our flight."


    I get it, it''s just like what happened to Keelgrave''s homeland. "So everyone followed Lady Renske?"


    "Most everyone in her household, as well as a few families of the surrounding peasantry that thought they would have a better life. The rest remained behind."


    Although he must have already heard this story, Lado still sat and listened in rapt attention.


    "It was hard the first few years," Temuri continued, "but our Lady led us through them with a steady hand. Once the mine was up and running, and the trade route established, things became much easier. I, hmm, are you well versed in global geography?"


    Symon shook his head. Keelgrave had given him the broad strokes, but he''d spent almost all his living days in and around the Eastern continent, which contained the Empire, Dumosa, Keelgrave''s homeland of Usas, and dozens of other smaller countries.


    "In that case, when viewed from above the lands and seas would form a large bowl. The Eastern continent is predictably on the East, the Wastes, where we are now, stretch along the South, while the Smallfolk lands are to the West. The Great Sea fills the stretch in-between, so most of the ocean crossing ships skirt along our coast, preferring the relative safety of shallower waters."


    "Right, right, and how does that tie in?" Symon asked. It was good to know, he supposed, but wasn''t sure how it was relevant.


    "These lands are called the Wastes for a reason. What little soil exists is barely arable, while barely any mana permeates the air."


    Symon frowned. He couldn''t sense mana himself, but Keelgrave could, and he''d told Symon that there was actually more mana than average, not less. More mana in the environment meant more mana for the people, and more magical resources occurring in nature.


    "Father, are you sure it is wise to¡ª" Lado began before being interrupted by his father.


    "Yes, yes, can''t you tell by the look on his face that he already has some idea already?" the old man asked rhetorically before continuing on. "While the Wastes as a whole are mana-barren, Brackstead and its surrounding region is quite the opposite. The monster population can be a problem, but the rare ores we bring out from the earth far exceed the costs incurred. And yet, the deeper we dig, the mana density only gets stronger and stronger. I''m sure you know that only one thing could be causing this," he said, staring at Symon expectantly.


    He had no idea, actually, not having grown up on the stories of this world nor having been given a magic-focused education, but Keelgrave had come to the right conclusion.


    <Gods below, these idiots built their home right on top of a dungeon.>

 Chapter 48 - Questions and Answers

    "You... settled on top of a dungeon?" Symon asked.


    "It was not intentional," Temuri chuckled, misinterpreting the source of Symon''s confusion. "We simply picked the only location that could support any crops, unaware of what lurked below."


    "Quick, what''s a dungeon?" he asked Keelgrave. He was familiar with the general concept of a dungeon as a place filled with monsters and treasure from video games and movies, but he didn''t know how closely that aligned to reality here.


    <Highly mana-dense locations, filled with monsters that are loosely controlled by some type of intelligence. They''re rare, extremely tightly managed by whichever country owns them, and incredibly valuable. Entire wars have been fought over control of a single dungeon.>


    That... could explain a lot of things. They''d both found it strange how few monsters there were out in the grass sea, especially considering the mana levels were good out there. But if this dungeon had even more mana, it stood to reason that most of the monsters would have migrated there.


    "So you settle here, eventually find out there''s a dungeon, then... Lady Renske dies out of nowhere?"


    Temuri''s face darkened, the deep lines around his eyes screwing up painfully. "Aye, in essence," he said, a far-off look in his eyes. "The dungeon claimed her manor in the middle of the night, and that was the last anyone ever saw of her."


    "Damn, I''m sorry. She must have been an impressive woman to be remembered so fondly after all this time."


    "That she was," Temuri said, visibly steeling himself. "She would have been killed by the dungeon monsters, so I only wish I could have buried her body properly. But alas, none of those who tried to revisit the manor have ever returned."


    Durga the innkeeper had mentioned something similar, although he hadn''t known any details. "I take it this isn''t common knowledge, then?"


    "Just the three of us, and Merab. He''s the foreman of the mine," Temuri answered.


    "I trust you will keep our confidence, yes?" Lado said. "If word got out, Brackstead would be torn apart for its resources. The only reason you are being told this much is for saving my father''s life."


    "Of course, I''m no stranger to keeping secrets," Symon replied. The existence of the dungeon explained a lot of the recent strangeness, and he suspected it had something to do with the recent appearance of a Baron from the empire, too. "Are you sure no one else knows? Isn''t that why the Baron is here?


    "Yes and no," Lado said. "The dungeon possesses a myriad of natural treasures; rare ores, plants, and monsters with valuable components, but we do not actually delve it. Much too dangerous, and we have no true combat classers. Instead, we mine around the circumference of the dungeon in relative safety, extracting only mana-enriched iron. It is our sole export, so the trade ships simply believe we struck a large vein of mana iron. Lucky, but nothing out of the ordinary."


    "Hmm, how confident are you that he doesn''t know?" It seemed a little too convenient that the Baron would show up and unknowingly claim land with a dungeon on it, given their rarity and value. The simplest explanation usually tends to be the correct one, and in this case, the obvious explanation was that the Baron knew of the dungeon and wanted it for himself.


    "As sure as we can be," Lado replied. "We all know nothing good would come from the existence of the dungeon becoming widespread, not without a proper means of defending it from those who would take it, so I know that Merab wouldn''t have let it slip. And if any miners had put it together, he would have informed us already. You might not suspect it of a mining foreman, but he''s an intelligent man."


    Symon still wasn''t sure he was completely convinced, but he decided to take their word for it. A thousand little coincidences happened every day without him noticing, so what was one more? "And what can you tell me of the Baron himself? I presume you''ve interacted with him?"


    "Barely. He simply showed up one day without warning, getting dropped off along with his guards and some supplies. The Baron might look fancy to us commonfolk, but Father suspects the Baron isn''t doing as well as you might think ¡ª he wouldn''t sail halfway across the world for some mana iron if he wasn''t desperate. Plus, the ship must not have been his, considering it didn''t stay behind, and he doesn''t have any of those fancy guards some nobles do."


    "And then he just took over the town?"


    "He waltzed right in like he owned the place, told us the town was now his land, and demanded a new residence be built for him and his men. What would you have us do, tell a noble and his dozen loyal combat classers no?" he said with venom in his voice, though Symon doubted it was directed at him.


    "I''m not judging you guys, it sounds like you didn''t have much of a choice. There was no bloodshed, though?"


    They both shook their heads, but it was Temuri who replied. "No, it would have been a slaughter if we resisted, so we didn''t. Ah, yes, that''s another thing I should mention ¡ª he had no Inquisitors with him. They would have been present if he was aware of the dungeon''s existence."Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    <The secret police of the Empire,> Keelgrave supplied, pre-empting Symon''s question. <Scary bastards, I only ever managed to take down a few in my career, and it wasn''t an easy thing.>


    Symon nodded in response to both Keelgrave and the living man. "I see... so what has he actually done?"


    The father and son shared a glance. "Nothing, as far as we can tell. There are vague promises of developing Brackstead into a powerhouse, but he hasn''t done anything beyond giving speeches and commissioning a nicer place built to live in. He hasn''t even entered the mines, just talked with Merab about iron outputs. There was plenty of patrolling around, and they ¡ª the guards, that is ¡ª killed a few monsters in the nearby forest, but they''ve barely bothered with the mine."


    "Perhaps you are right after all, and he really doesn''t know the truth," Symon said, not fully believing his own words. "Either way, you have both been very helpful, but I should give you some time to rest, Temuri. My magic is quite strong, but it''s no replacement for a good sleep. Speaking of, would you two keep the extent of my healing here between us as well?"


    After agreeing to a mutual pact of secrecy, Lado showed Symon to the guest room they had loaned to him and explained where the side door was to safely exit the house. He retreated back to the study his father had remained in with a final thank you for healing him.


    The room was small and had been disused for quite some time judging by the general dustiness, but the bed was comfy enough. Almost anything would have been better than a thin bedroll on the ground anyway. He didn''t spend much time appreciating his new accommodation though, as his mind was whirring with all the information he''d gotten from the ex-mayor and his son.


    Symon was glad he''d finally got some answers from someone who knew what they were talking about, but he couldn''t help but feel like he had more questions than what he''d started with. What had truly happened to Lady Renske? Why did the Baron arrive in Brackstead mere days before Symon did, despite the village exporting their valuable mana iron for decades now? For that matter, did he really not know about the dungeon? If so, what were his plans for the village?


    And perhaps the most important question... what, if anything, should he do about the Baron?


    They''d never met face to face, though his guard captain had surely told him about his encounter with Symon, so he couldn''t simply hide away. The Baron shouldn''t have any reason to want to hurt Symon, but he also wasn''t completely convinced he knew what the man''s plans were. A meeting seemed inevitable, though he didn''t know how he should present himself. Unassuming and boring could work. He would of course keep the true extent of his healing magic a secret no matter what, but he could deliberately portray his magic as even less impressive by only using small amounts of vitality at a time and feigning a lower vitality capacity.


    A weak healer could be easily taken advantage of, but would also be underestimated. He doubted the Baron would want to let a healer, even one appearing weak, slip through his fingers, but this would probably take the form of wanting to hire Symon, not something nefarious ¡ª at least, as long as Symon acted agreeable. Not the worst outcome, and he''d probably be able to find out more details on the Baron this way, but would he be allowed to leave on the next trade ship?


    Conversely, he could take the opposite strategy. By portraying himself as stronger than he truly was, and by actually becoming stronger through training and growing his vessel size, he could make himself too big of a risk for the Baron to get involved with. The problem here was that there was no way to grow quick enough to be able to ignore the Baron and his guards. If his bluff was called, it would be over for Symon. Even if he involved his Dumosan friends, they were outnumbered three to one. Perhaps it would be enough to make the guards think twice about causing problems for him, but it wasn''t a permanent solution.


    No, an aggressive approach just isn''t feasible, while playing weak puts me too far into the Baron''s control. But if I can do a bit of both...


    He would do his best to appear as a simple and humble healer, while secretly training his skills, mostly his two class abilities and his Swords passive. This would hopefully insulate him from the scheming and politicking for as long as possible, then when he was inevitably drawn into it, he''d be strong enough to survive. Also, he could build up his reputation with the villagers by providing free or cheap healing, making the Baron less likely to cause issues for the beloved healer. It was an overly pragmatic way of saying that helping people would mean they would help him in turn. Healing those who needed it was something Symon wanted to do simply because it was the right thing to do, not for any external reward, but he''d take any advantage he could get.


    And it did feel good to use his healing to save a life. Technically, Atabek had been the first, but Symon wasn''t counting that considering he was partially responsible for distracting the man and getting him ran through by the razor stalker in the first place. Temuri''s lungs had been literally rotting away inside him ¡ª shit, that''s another thing to investigate too ¡ª so he wouldn''t have lasted much longer without Symon''s intervention. He''d always joked that the reason he''d recovered from the illness that would have been a death sentence for most was because he couldn''t die without repaying the doctors, nurses, and all the other hospital staff for their efforts.


    This had taken the form of wanting to do what they do ¡ª saving lives. Now that he''d done it for the first time, he felt... a little empty. He''d gained incredible powers, but he''d lost a lot in the process. Even ignoring the cursed and uncontrollable nature of his draining, it was hard to want to celebrate when his parents and few friends were, well, he wasn''t even sure how far away they were. In the best-case scenario, the bare minimum time he''d need to return home would be measured in months, and he was starting to feel that was a long shot. Keelgrave had told him about mages with space magic who would be his best starting place, but even portals between cities were rare and expensive, so the chance of being able to go back to Earth seemed slim.


    It was a rare discipline of study, for an already rare type of class, so little was publicly known about them. For that matter, magic in general seemed less common than he''d expected. There was nothing overt, no fireballs or people flying around through the air. That would change in a bigger, richer, and more developed city, but it still struck him how mundane the people were. Sure, the builders he''d encountered were easily carrying large buckets of stone that must have weighed half a tonne between just two men, but there wasn''t anything flashy. If he extrapolated the ratio of mages to non-mages based on the village''s population, then picked out the ones willing to help him, then found the ones actually capable of it, presuming it was even possible to teleport back to Earth in the first place...


    Symon might have to start thinking of this new world as a permanent home.

 Chapter 49 - Focus

    Symon lay on the bed in the spare room Mayor Temuri had loaned to him. It was stuffed with hay or something similar, and was comfortable enough. It was nothing compared to a memory foam mattress, but it was leagues better than his thin bedroll. His healing could do many wonderous things, but did nothing to make stones and bumps in the ground digging into his back less annoying.


    The room had a single foggy window, meaning it was filled with muted shadows. It matched Symon''s mood ¡ª dark yet unfocused. It could have just been the general stress associated with being attacked by monsters for the past week, but he thought it was the human element. That crazy builder guy had already tried to beat him up and he''d barely been in Brackstead a few hours. He''d won the brawl, and fairly easily at that, but he didn''t think the other man had been taking things completely seriously, not until Symons draining had already weakened him considerably.


    "Hey Keelgrave, what do you think that other guy''s stats were? The crazy dude with the hammer, I mean," Symon asked aloud. The burly worker had definitely been stronger than Symon, and he wanted to know by just how much.


    <Hmm, his Strength was somewhere between 2.5 and 3. Acuity was at least a full point lower than that, and his Constitution was somewhere in between the two,> Keelgrave said. There was no easy way ¡ª or really even any way, as far as they both knew ¡ª to know someone''s exact Ledger details without being shown them, but Keelgrave''s lifetime of fighting a variety of people and monsters meant Symon trusted that his guess was close enough.


    That meant he''d been about three times stronger than Symon, which matched with what he''d experienced. Once he''d grabbed onto Symon, he hadn''t been able to escape until his draining had stolen enough vitality that he could push the weakened man off him. He wasn''t sure if the disparity in strength was more or less than he''d been expecting. It was certainly significant, but he''d been growing quickly. Hopefully, village life would allow him to focus on his training without needing to constantly worry about monster attacks and basic survival needs, so it wasn''t that ridiculous to think he could catch up within a month by making use of every advantage he had.


    "Let''s see how close I am to matching him," he said aloud before summoning his Ledger. He wasn''t sure how it could manifest in a dark room like this, but it had never struggled before. He noticed the lighting in the room shift slightly as the imperfections in the cloudy glass subtly aligned themselves into letters. When the sunlight hit them, he could see the words of his status projected on to the far wall. Don''t show me any passives that haven''t changed, he quickly amended.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.93 {+0.03}


    Constitution: 1.23 {+0.02}


    Acuity: 0.96 {+0.01}


    Intelligence: 1.02 {+0.02}


    Will: 1.24 {+0.01}


    Vessel (Vitality): 8/18 {+1}


    Abilities:


    Idealise (15) {+2}


    Seize (12) {+1}


    Essence Bond (12)


    Passives:


    Anatomy (4) {+2}


    Pain Resistance (8) {+1} ]


    Since the last time he''d checked his Ledger was at lunch ¡ª not even a full hour ago ¡ª this was all from the brawl with Boyan, as well as healing the ex-mayor. "You know," Symon started, "I''m really not that far behind, time-wise. I''ve had the Ledger for a week or two, and that guy must have had it for at least 30 years, but my stats are already around a third of his."


    <You''ll catch up to the average man fast enough. The first couple points build up quick, but you have to really push yourself after that. It''s why it''s the average, most people stagnate there. Of course, if you push yourself now and use that healing to train even harder, we can build you up faster than most people could ever hope.>


    Symon nodded. His magic had really shown its value in that fight, allowing him to heal the damage from hammer hits faster than they could build up, while draining vitality faster than it could be consumed. In fact, his vessel capacity had grown slightly from having more vitality crammed into it than it was meant to hold, so he must have really turned a profit. It highlighted the difference in vitality between plants and animals, and not just in quantity. There was some qualitative difference between the two ¡ª despite the vitality feeling the same as it flowed into his vessel, it took a lot more from a plant to increase his reserves by a single point than from an animal, including people.


    Given his near-constant experience of draining the living things around him ¡ª only stopping when there was nothing left, like when he slept or sat still ¡ª he''d come up with a more in-depth model of how his magic worked. A lot of it was guesswork and intuition, but as far as Keelgrave knew there was no one else with the ability to directly affect vitality like Symon could, so he had to rely purely on himself. Every living creature had vitality inside them, but that wasn''t the whole story. As a ghost, spirit, or whatever the term was, Keelgrave was an orb of vitality covered in a layer of mana. As best as he could tell, the vitality was Keelgrave, and the mana formed a shell around him, keeping his essence from dissipating into the air and presumably resulting in a final death.


    This shell wasn''t a perfect seal, however, as a spirit would slowly leak out their essence and eventually die. They didn''t regenerate mana or vitality in the way living people did, so their only way to replenish this was to take it from others. That was what he''d tried to do to Symon, back when they''d first met.This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    So, both the living and undead had vitality, but only the former could naturally regenerate it, and not all living things were equal in this regard. The feeling and process of taking vitality from a plant compared to a human or monster was much the same ¡ª his thread would latch onto a target, then siphon the vitality out of them and into his core. That seemed to be a necessary step, as he wasn''t able to circumvent his vessel and redirect the vitality flowing through his thread directly to a wound. He wasn''t entirely sure why this was the case, but a neat theory was that it was similar to blood types, or like a transplanted organ rejecting its new recipient. Taking vitality directly from someone and putting it into someone else wasn''t possible for Symon, as he simply had no control over the vitality until it reached his vessel for the first time.


    It was impossible for him to prove one way or the other, but it seemed to be the best explanation he''d have for now


    But once the vitality did reach his vessel, something changed. Not in how it looked ¡ª for it wasn''t something he could truly see ¡ª but in how it behaved. His vessel did something to the vitality to... stamp his signature onto it, was his best explanation. After the unknown process occurred, the vitality was ready to be used, either on him or someone else, without any problems. There might have been some hidden, lingering issues that it was causing, but he would have noticed something in the Dumosans by now, especially with his Anatomy passive. Plus, his abilities had saved his life many times over, and he trusted them. The problem was his weak body...


    "You were in the military, right? How did they train you when you first joined? My magic is already strong and only getting better, but I really need to be more capable in combat in order to leverage it properly," Symon said.


    <It was simple. Lifting heavy stones, lots of running, lots of fighting,> Keelgrave replied wistfully. <Ah, those were the days.>


    "You mean sparring?"


    <There was plenty of that, but also fighting monsters. There''s no better way to train a skill than proper combat. Sparring is just a pale imitation of the true danger of life-or-death combat. It''s easy to say you''ll train hard, but it''s impossible to push your skills beyond their limits when you know you''ll be cozy and safe in your bed that night.>


    "Makes sense, but the problem with life or death combat is the part where you can die. I''ve already had enough of that, thank you very much."


    <It''ll come for you eventually. Better to meet it on your own terms, at least.>


    "Hmm, point," Symon said. He''d already been attacked on his first day in the village, although he still wasn''t sure if the other guy had been trying to kill him or just beat him up. "Anyway, enough laying around. I wanted to go check out that manor, but I think it can wait for tomorrow. Maybe I''ll go get some drinks with the Dumosans. That''s what friends do, right?"


    Keelgrave was silent, so Symon just shrugged and straightened out the bed where he''d ruffled the blanket with his body. With a thought, he dismissed his Ledger and made his way out of his new room and out into the backyard of the house. It wasn''t fenced in, but there was plenty of space between his temporary home and his neighbours.


    There was also a woman sitting in the middle of it.


    "Umm, hello," Symon offered as he stepped out onto the compacted dirt.


    She looked over her shoulder, noticed Symon, and then shot to her feet. "Who are you?" she asked, her tone suspicious.


    "I''m Symon, I''m a healer. I just finished working on Temuri. And you... oh, you must be his granddaughter?"


    Instantly, her mood lightened. "Really? How is he?" she asked.


    "He''s well, I believe his sickness is cured but I''ll be crashing in the guest room, so I''ll give him another checkup in a bit."


    Once more, her face shifted, though this time it was displaying confusion. It was almost comical how quickly she was bouncing between the different moods. "You... intend to damage the guest room? Why?"


    "What? No!" Symon said, now joining her in being confused. "Why do you ¡ª oh, I get it." He no longer needed Keelgrave to act as a translator for him, as he was mostly fluent in Common by now. However, even with the Languages passive working overtime, it was impossible to get to a native level in just a week. He still thought in English, and sometimes when speaking in Common he used a direct translation of English words. Usually, this was fine ¡ª the others would still be able to piece together what he meant, and Keelgrave would let him know the word didn''t work like that so he didn''t make the same mistake in the future ¡ª but evidently, the word he''d picked to represent crashing was too specific for how he''d used it.


    "I meant that I''ll be staying in the guest room, for about a month. I doubt I''ll be here much except to sleep, so I shouldn''t be too much of a bother."


    "That makes more sense," she said. She had dark skin, hair, and eyes like all the other villagers, although her hair drew his attention in the way it cascaded down her back like a curly waterfall. "It is good to meet you then, Symon. I am Mariyka."


    "The pleasure''s all mine," Symon replied. The two stared at each other in awkward silence for a few moments. "Oh, you probably want to go check on your¡ª"


    "I should visit Grandfa¡ª" she said, speaking at the same time as Symon.


    "Right, sorry, don''t let me keep you," he said, stepping out of the doorway. "I''ll see you again? Uh, I mean, I''ll probably see you later because I''m sleeping here," he stammered out. Damnit Symon, focus! He took a few extra steps to ensure she was well out of range of his draining.


    There was a soft, amused smile on her face as she stepped past him. "Naturally."


    Symon blew out a heavy breath of air as she shut the door behind her.


    <We''ve got a real merry weather on our hands. The first time a half-pretty peasant woman flutters her eyelashes at you and you start stumbling over your own legs,> Keelgrave mocked.


    "Keelgrave!" he complained, keeping his shout contained within his mind as Mariyka would have heard him talking. "It''s not like that, I was just surprised someone was out here in the backyard is all." Well, maybe that wasn''t entirely true. Symon could admit that she was pretty, but he had more important things to focus on. Besides, he''d only be here for a month and wasn''t that type of guy. Not that such a thing would even be possible with my magic...


    <You know, I could give you some tips. My ship has stopped in many ports, if you catch my drift.> Symon was sure Keelgrave would have been waggling his eyebrows right now if he had any.


    "Ugh, of course I can see the very clear meaning! And what the hell even is a merry weather?"


    Keelgrave projected the sound of a disappointed sigh into Symon''s mind. <Not what, who. Cassian Merriwether is a famed bard. Well, he was. Probably gotten himself killed by now, but if he hasn''t he''d be old and wrinkly.>

 Chapter 50 - Story Time With Keelgrave

    "You know, you don''t exactly strike me as a connoisseur of the fine arts, Keelgrave," Symon said as he walked down the streets of Brackstead, keeping his conversation mental so he didn''t seem like a crazy person to anyone who saw him seemingly talking to himself. His destination was the inn he''d had lunch at, the same one his friends were currently in. Today would be a nice relaxing time, celebrating their return to civilisation as well as the success of a hunt for a monster worthy enough to bring as a trophy for their elders. Plus, Aslan had mentioned something about celebrating Symon''s new skills, so all in all he expected a lot of drinking and fun.


    It would be the first time in a while he''d do something for enjoyment, and not just survival.


    <You''d do well to not underestimate any class. Sure, a Bard doesn''t have the immediate power of a Warrior, but give any skill a few evolutions and it''s bound to be strong,> the spirit replied.


    "I''m not talking shit about bards, I''m just saying that you seem like the type of guy who would."


    <Of course not! They''re an integral part of keeping morale up! Sometimes, people needed a reminder of what they were fighting for, and a proper Bard was the best way to do it. Not like the Empire let us keep our history books, so it was all we had. Plus, if you get on a bard''s bad side they''re likely to spread some... unfavourable stories about you.>


    Symon frowned. At the idea of book burnings, that was, not the spreading of fabricated rumours. "I''ll keep that in mind. That reminds me though, how common are skill evolutions? That tailor lady had one and seemed quite proud of it, but I''m not that far off in some of my skills and I''ve barely been here more than a week."


    <Hmm, well, I suppose getting the first evolution isn''t bad considering the low quality materials she has to work with, but it''s generally pretty common. Most people should have an evolution after a couple years in their career, but it falls off sharply after that. You''ve gotta be real good at your craft to get the second evolution, and the third is basically unheard of. It''s easier for a combat skill, but the numbers are pretty close considering most people get themselves killed way before they get their combat skills anywhere near good.>


    "What about those guards the Baron brought with him? Can you guess how high their combat skills are?" Symon asked. They definitely seemed intimidating, but they hadn''t actually demonstrated any skills. The builders had seemed terrified of them, but he wasn''t sure if that was because of their personal strength or the power of their authority.


    <They''ll be at least first step, but I doubt even their captain is particularly close to the second step. Still, you won''t stand a chance against them yet.>


    Symon wasn''t planning to get on their bad side, so that was fine with him. "And what about you? How far did you get before you, you know, died?"


    The spirit tsk''d disapprovingly but Symon could tell his heart wasn''t in it. Not that he had a heart, literally and metaphorically. <You know it''s rude to ask someone for their level...>


    "Rude question for a rude old ghost, seems fair. Besides, you see my Ledger all the time."


    <Heh, true. It''s not like I can actually read your native words though, you know, I just understand your thoughts. Besides, I''m going to brag about mine anyway ¡ª my highest was my Helm passive at 64 when I died, so I was a third step.>


    The numbers didn''t really mean much to Symon. His healing was already at 15, and while he knew every level got harder and harder to acquire, especially when you started evolving skills, he didn''t understand how impressive something like level 64 was supposed to be.


    "That''s nice, I guess. What''d the evolutions do?" Symon asked, intentionally keeping his reaction minimal just to spite Keelgrave.


    <It was more than just nice! My Grymjaw was a thing of beauty... I could captain her from a distance. At first I still had to be close to the wheel, but I got it further and further through practice. Didn''t seem like much when I first got it, but it came in handy plenty of times. And there''s nothing like sailing a ship from inside your bed, I tell you that. Then, there was a self-repair function. It was slow, not like your healing, but it was the only reason we lasted so long. There was no infrastructure to support such a large ship, in hostile territory, but this filled in nicely for it. Then, for the third evolution... I gave her a soul.>


    Symon paused in the middle of the street. "You did what?!" he accidentally said aloud. One of the villagers on the other side of the street glanced his way briefly. Symon cleared his throat and quickly resumed his journey, his steps quickening to get him away from his embarrassment faster. "Where did you get a soul from? Don''t tell me you trapped someone inside your ship..." he said, maintaining the presence of mind to keep his words contained.


    <Of course not! I''d never, say, trap a sapient being inside a magical prison from which there is no escape. That would be a horrible and incredibly unethical thing to do, especially if they had barely any room to move.>


    "You tried to kill me first, dickhead!"


    <Yeah yeah, no one''s perfect. But no, I just awakened the Grymjaw''s own soul,> Keelgrave explained.


    That wording struck Symon as odd. Awakened? Did that imply everything already had a soul, and it was just hibernating? He glanced suspiciously at his sword. "How would that even work? Did it... she, talk?"If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    <Well, no, not with words at least. It was more like sharing emotions and feelings. A bit like our Essence Bond, but much simpler. Perhaps if I''d been able to level the skill further...> the spirit said before trailing off.


    "Okay, fine, that does sound pretty cool. What was it like?"


    <Hmm...>


    <hr>


    Farron Keelgrave''s head emerged from the foamy seas. There was no Captain title, as this was a solo mission ¡ª neither ship nor crew accompanied him. They were a talented enough lot, and every one of them was loyal until death, but they weren''t suited for this task.


    As his head breached the surface of the water, he resisted the urge to gulp down air. Even for a man with his impressive Constitution and Swimming skill, it taxed him to him to hold his breath for over a half hour. It was an unfortunate necessity, as there was no way his Grymjaw could have directly dropped him off on an Empire port, especially one so deep into their territory.


    Silently, he made his way up the sea wall. The slick coating of moss and algae wasn''t enough to slow him down as he grabbed onto the rough stone handholds and hauled himself up. The sound of a cart rolling by caused him to pause, dangling on the outside of the wall by his fingertips. Looking down, he saw the waves smash hard against the dark stones of the wall. The continual sound of waves thunderously roaring the anger of the seas drowned out any noises Farron made, although he still made an effort to minimise them.


    As the noise of the small cart faded away until all he could hear was the waves, he peeked his head over the lip of the wall. It was near midnight, so the only source of illumination was that which was provided by the scant few lamps. This close to the docks, and in the poorer southern part at that, most of them were non-functional. They were either damaged or stolen, pawned off to provide enough food to keep a poor family fed for at least a few days. The moonlight did next to nothing to provide any visibility, considering it was the youngest sister in the sky.


    All things considered, it was the perfect night for what Farron had planned.


    In one smooth motion he lifted himself over the wall and firmly planted his feet onto solid ground. He''d already spotted a nice seedy alleyway, so he quickly made a break for it. At this hour the streets were nearly deserted, but he hadn''t made it this far trusting assumptions. His clothes, finely made yet understated, rapidly dried as the cleaning enchantment got to work. The drain on his mana was negligible, but the erasure of his tracks were priceless. It wasn''t easy to track someone in a city, but not if they were dumb enough to leave a trail of water droplets behind them. Besides, being sopping wet would draw extra attention, the opposite of what he needed.


    No one spotted him as he entered the alleyway, though he waited in one of the shadowed doorways for a minute just to make sure. If the alarm was raised, he''d much prefer to make a quick getaway instead of having to run through half the city. Paradoxically, he was so far into imperial territory that he was actually less likely to get into trouble here than in a frontier town. This province hadn''t seen any fighting for hundreds of years, so the guards had never experienced true battle. Perhaps there were some old veterans here having a cushy half-retirement, but they wouldn''t be on the midnight shift. Even a squad of second step guards wouldn''t be much of a threat, so the first steps were essentially bugs to him.


    Of course, there were bigger threats than simple watchmen in such a big city. Lots of peasants meant lots of nobles, and nobles meant Praetorians or even Inquisitors. Farron had grown powerful, much more than most would have predicted given his humble beginnings. A life of fighting and an unconventional build had propelled him to impressive heights, but there were limits, especially when compared to the Eternal Empire''s elites. A single Praetorian would probably be within his capabilities to handle, but a squad of them, or if he was unlucky enough to encounter an Inquisitor? Too much of his power was tied into his ship and crew for him to stand a chance solo.


    Nothing out of the ordinary had occurred, so he felt confident in saying his beachhead infiltration had been successful. He used his Navigation skill to highlight the safest path to his destination, something only possible thanks to his extensive preparations. The maps he''d had were old, so he''d splurged and brought out the farseer. It had cost a weeks worth of mana generation from the Grymjaw''s reserves, but it was a small price to pay for an accurate and up to date bird''s eye view of the city.


    Farron twisted one of the many rings on his finger before stepping out of the shadows of the alley. The man who exited had short hair, light skin, and a slight pot belly. He passed his fingers through his ''hair'', feeling the bald scalp underneath as he shifted the illusion to a more natural position. The embedded core would only last twenty minutes, but it would be enough if he hurried. He was too recognisable to put the disguise off any longer, as the more he pushed it the higher the chances some urchin or upstart adventurer hungry for his bounty would run to the guards. He strongly doubted they''d pay out the small fortune to some powerless kid, but hunger and simple greed could mar even the sharpest of faculties ¡ª not that he expected much from the uneducated masses in the first place.


    He couldn''t blame them, though. He''d been a starry eyed kid who thought he could save his country once, too.


    Farron winded through narrow alleys and marched across streets, maintaining a pace that was fast enough to seem purposeful but slow enough to seem casual. His Stealth wasn''t particularly high, but no one expected him here. Plus, he had a few magic items to fill in any gaps for him.


    No plan survives first contact with the enemy, so Farron wasn''t surprised when a cloaked figure jumped off a rooftop of the alley he was in and landed in front of him, blocking the path forward. His enhanced senses picked out two more figures landing behind him, too. Farron stopped but didn''t turn around, taking in the man across from him. He was not impressed with what he saw.


    "Oi mate, giz us yor'' stuff, yesh?" the figure slurred. His blue lips, unfocused eyes, and knife in hand marked him as a nectar addict looking to score a few coins.


    The idiot had landed barely a few metres in front of him, so with a dismissive sneer Farron stepped forward and wound up a backhanded slap. The ensuing blow was so fast that the nameless man didn''t even register it coming. Even if he wasn''t inebriated, the way he held his knife made it clear he wasn''t even on the first step. As Farron''s hand impacted the kid''s face ¡ª he was a little under 20, based off the Imperial calendar ¡ª the neck snapped with a sharp crack as the body landed with a light thud a moment after.


    "Yew... yew killed Georgie!" one of the two men behind him said, the noise making Farron wince. This was supposed to be a stealth operation. Thankfully, he had an extensive bag of tricks, born of both Skills and items. An unexplained body would put the guards on high alert, so he''d give them an explanation ¡ª a simple mugging gone wrong, then a fight over the loot after. He placed one hand over the amulet hanging around his neck ¡ª a gift from a siren ¡ª and coupled it with a high Leadership skill.


    He glanced over his shoulder, quickly making eye contact with both of the lowlives. "Kill each other."

 Chapter 51 - The Hassle with Hostages

    Normally, Farron wouldn''t have bothered killing the nectar addicts. Unlike some, he gained no enjoyment lording his power over the weak. Given the right circumstances, he might have even felt an inkling of pity.


    These were not the right circumstances.


    As his softly spoken command wormed its way into the would-be muggers'' minds, their already vacant gazes clouded even further. Mental manipulation had severe limitations, more than most magic. Even with the siren''s amulet and an almost third step Leadership, issuing an order that ran so directly opposite to their interest barely worked. The only reason he was able to overpower their Willpower was the nectar overconsumption weakening their wills.


    Stiffly, the two men turned to one another. Even in their addled state, they managed to resist briefly. Slowly, inevitably, they raised their knives in unison, before plunging them down in a twisted mirror. Farron turned away as the two men slashed into each other, trusting his orders would be followed to completion. Using a magical compulsion left him feeling oily inside. Even after all these years, some small part of him still roiled in shame and disgust. He was fighting for the freedom of Usas, ostensibly, and yet he took it from these men. Technically they were imperials, but he wasn''t deluded enough to think street rats were his enemy just because of where they were born.


    He never used his Leadership like that on his own men, of course. They would have died for him, or for Usas, or their own homeland, or just to spite the Empire even without being forced to.


    In the end, the results of the ''fight'' were the same as if he''d done the deed himself. Three men lie still behind him, their lifeblood filling in the cracks in the cobbled road, and he alone was the one to leave the alley. He wiped the blood off the back of his hand ¡ª from the first man whose neck he''d snapped ¡ª and allowed the cleaning enchantment on his clothes to dispose of the evidence.


    He quickly squashed that tiny, niggling voice in the back of his mind with a practised hand. He couldn''t afford to not seize every advantage he could, not against the overwhelming might of the Empire. If he was caught now, after all this time and effort, just because he got a little soft? Unthinkable.


    Putting the scene behind him, he quickly approached his destination. Before he turned the final corner, he picked up the final element of his disguise ¡ª a small wooden crate next to a vacant stall. It was empty, but the guards wouldn''t know that. Slowing his pace, he observed the jailhouse once it finally came into view.


    It was a squat and unassuming stone structure, although Farron knew the look was deceiving. The simple stone walls were heavily reinforced and enchanted, while the tiny windows ¡ª more arrowslits than something designed to let the light in ¡ª provided a 360-degree view from the inside while preventing an outside observer from peeking inward. The streets and alleys were a claustrophobic place, the walls leaning over you like the boughs of a tree reaching for sunlight. That wasn''t true for the jailhouse though, as several metres of cleared space encircled the building, its neighbours leaning away as if afraid.


    He knew that the bulk of the jail was underground, although the details available to him were limited. The petty criminals were kept on the second floor, while the guards'' quarters were at ground level. Bribery of a few previous guests of the jail meant he had a solid floor plan for the aboveground levels, but he''d be in the dark for the maximum security area. Of course, that just so happened to be where his target was.


    Casually, he walked up to the front door, box in hand. The single entrance was guarded, although he used that term loosely. Two men stood on either side of the entrance, a sword sheathed at each of their hips. One of them had his spear in one hand, its butt firmly planted in the cobbles. The second had his spear lazily resting against the wall.


    "Halt!" the first one commanded, puffing out his chest as he did so. "The Guardhouse is a restricted area. State your business."


    The other guard had his arms crossed and was silently staring at Farron as he leaned against the doorframe. From up close, he could see that the talkative guard was younger, probably fresh out of training, while the other was closer to middle-aged with a thick layer of stubble on his face.


    "I''m just a humble dockhand here to drop off supplies, sir. I have a delivery for the warden," Farron replied meekly, drawing his shoulders inward as he did so.


    "Present your signed requisition papers for inspection, citizen," he commanded, before gesturing for him to place the box on the floor.


    "Erm, requiwhat papers? Bossman didn''t tell me anything about that..." he said, feigning an embarrassed look. Acting wasn''t one of his talents, but it wasn''t hard to align yourself with someone''s preconceived notions. In fact, it could be difficult to escape them. The young guard expected some idiotic grunt worker here to drop off food for the prisoners, and so that was all he saw. It wasn''t magic that caused the guard''s attention to slide off the dangerous intensity of Farron''s eyes, or the slightly out-of-place accent, or the oddly light thud of what should have been a heavy box being dropped onto the cobbles. Instead, it was simple human nature.


    "No papers, no entry."


    "Well, if you say so. But I thought this was a really important delivery..." Farron replied.


    With a sigh, the other guard straightened up from the wall. "Gods above, Micah, let''s just check it ourselves. It''ll be our asses on the line if we turned away the supplies."Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    For the first time, the imperious guard hesitated. "But... it''s in direct violation of protocol! It clearly states that all inbound and outbound deliveries require a signed and¡ª"


    "Fuck the protocol," the more jaded guard interrupted. "You want to be the one to tell the warden his prisoners are going to starve? Check the damn box, and if he''s screwing with us we''ll just beat his ass and toss him in a cell for a few days."


    Micah grumbled wordlessly to himself before relenting. He approached the box, coming well within Farron''s range. As he bent to lift the box off the ground, Farron''s hand flashed out and wrapped around his throat.


    To his credit, the other guard reacted quickly as his partner was lifted bodily off the ground like a misbehaving child, but not quick enough. Micah''s surprise quickly turned to panic as his hands scrabbled ineffectually at the iron grip, leaving him defenceless as Farron stole his sword.


    "Move another muscle and he gets it," he said to the older guard as he shifted into a one-armed choke from behind, his forearm and bicep squeezing the sides of Micah''s neck. The stolen sword swished lazily at his side.


    The guard had grabbed his spear from its position against the wall and levelled it at him, but now he hesitated, his eyes following the trail of the sword''s tip. "This isn''t going to go the way you think it is," he said, once more doing a respectable job of remaining calm.


    Farron smiled in response. "Open the door, nice and slowly. Make any noises, call for help, or shape any mana and little Mikey will be dead before you know it."


    He just stared at Farron, but when he tightened his grip and Micah let out a strangled groan, he got to work. With slightly shaking hands he pulled out a thick ring of keys before using one to unlock the door.


    "In we go. If you''ve got any pals in there, you tell them I have a hostage before they do something stupid," Farron said.


    With a wordless nod, he pushed the door open and entered. Farron followed just behind, close enough to plunge the sword into his back if need be.


    Predictably, no one was just hanging out in the first room past midnight. The lobby was surprisingly normal looking, as long as you ignored the thick manacles attached to a row of chairs in the waiting area. Multiple powerful bright white lights kept the room fully illuminated, the artificial colour and lack of shadows making the lobby appear oddly flat. There were two doors, and he already knew where they led. The right went up to the next floor, where the majority of prisoners were kept, while the left led to the rest of the ground floor where the armoury, supplies, records, and break room were.


    It also contained the hatch to the basement.


    "Left door," he ordered, loosening his grip on Micah''s throat slightly and allowing him to draw in a thin breath. It was easy to forget just how strong one was, especially for Farron who spent months at a time at sea with his crew, all of which were second step. Most people didn''t spend the majority of their lives fighting and training, even the soldiers, but Keelgrave had been at war for years. The only people he could consistently compare himself to were his crew, who were similarly powerful due to living a similar lifestyle. Chances were high that these two guards, especially the younger one, had never actually killed a man. Chasing after thieving street rats and beating up belligerent drunkards did not a powerful fighter make.


    Much like the first room, the hallway behind the left door had eerie, stark lighting. He didn''t spend any time appreciating the architecture, instead pushing his unwilling guide onwards. The guard hesitated slightly in his steps as he figured out where Farron was taking him, but a little nudge in the back with the tip of the sword encouraged him to pick up the pace.


    "You picked up an orc, about two days ago. Take me to him," he ordered once they reached the door he knew led down.


    This time, the guard paused completely. "You''re here for him... gods above and below. He''s an enemy of the Empire, not just some common murderer! Just who even are you?"


    "Someone worse," Farron smiled. "It''ll be best for you and your little friend if you turn your brain off and try not to guess."


    With an audible gulp, the still-nameless guard returned to his ring of keys. By now, he was shaking so badly that someone less generous might have assumed he was trying to use the noise of the jingling keys to alert someone, but the faint sheen of perspiration visible on the back of his neck told Farron it wasn''t a ploy.


    "Here''s what''s going to happen," Farron continued. "We''re going to go down into the secure hold. We''re going to lock you and your pal in one of the cells. I''m going to leave with my friend. Everyone gets to live happily ever after as long as you behave."


    He nodded emphatically, relief warring with stress on his face. "Please, I have a wife and two¡ª"


    "Shhhh," Farron hissed, "I don''t care." He pointed back to the door, and the guard resumed searching through the keys.


    The door eventually creaked open, revealing dimly lit stairs. They reached down to an equally dimly lit hallway lined with heavy metal doors. He didn''t know exactly what they were made of, but it was presumably mana steel, and he could feel the ward schemas even from a distance.


    After taking the keys and sword from the guard, he pushed him into a vacant cell and threw the now blue-faced guard in after him. As he checked on his companion who was gasping for breath, Farron slammed the door into place and locked it. Someone would eventually realise they were gone and find them here, or they''d be noticed the next time someone came down to feed the prisoners.


    It did seem a little odd to him that he hadn''t encountered any other guards. There were many guardhouses spread across the city, so it wasn''t like all their forces would be concentrated here. The guards had their own homes and families they would go back to when not working, so there wasn''t a barracks filled with sleeping guards here on the premises. Even still, he''d expected more defences.


    I guess they just don''t expect someone to sneak right into their seat of power...


    One by one, he went down the hallway, checking on the insides of each cell through a tiny slit in the door. Most of them were empty, but a few had occupants.


    Two cells side by side had identical human twins in them. Each of them were covered in bright blue tattoos, visible even in the darkness of the cells. They both looked at him through the feeding slit in the door, but were both silent. For whatever reason, they were wide awake at this late hour.


    They creeped him out with their identical reactions to him peering through the door despite not being in separate cells.


    The next occupied cell had, of all things, an elf. The feral beast launched itself at the door when Farron opened the tiny viewing and feeding slit, but a massive chain clamped around its neck arrested its leap midair. It fell to the floor and landed on all fours, hissing and snarling at him in the way elves do, so he quickly moved on. He had no idea why they bothered imprisoning such a creature instead of just killing it ¡ª you wouldn''t lock up a wolf for eating your child.


    It just so happened that the final cell at the very end of the hall was the one that contained his target.


    "One-Tooth you big bastard, wake your lazy ass up!"

 Chapter 52 - Flight

    Farron jammed the key into the massive cell door and hauled it open. They were all labelled with a number that matched up to a door, thankfully. The figure in the cell let out a low groan as he slowly woke up.


    "On your feet One-Tooth, they didn''t exactly welcome me in here," he said. His gruff words belied his concerned tone as he shook the orc fully awake.


    "Who... Captain, is that you? You came back for me?" he asked, revealing his eponymous missing tusk in the process. Like most orcs, his eyes were small, rounded, and close-set. His skin was a dark and smoky red, reminiscent of a garnet. He had on only a pair of simple prisoner''s shorts, although he wasn''t one for a lot of clothing in the best of times.


    "You didn''t think I''d let you abandon ship so easily, did you?" he smiled. "Are you injured? Can you fight and run?" he asked more seriously.


    "A bit, but nothing serious. My core''s empty, though. The cell drains it if you''re in here for too long."


    Farron hauled his captive friend to his feet, steadying him for a moment as he stretched. He was skinny for an orc, but that wasn''t saying much. One-Tooth was the Grymjaw''s Elementalist, in charge of maintaining the air elemental engine and various other magical support tasks. Even still, he was more than a match for most Warriors in close combat, so he handed him one of the two swords he''d taken from the guards.


    He was limping slightly as he followed Farron out of the cell. "You want a mana or a healing potion?" Farron asked.


    One-Tooth didn''t think long. "Mana restorative. Can you carry me?"


    Farron opened the pocket space in one of his rings ¡ª it was small, but so were potions ¡ª and tossed a mana potion his way. He was a strong man, but One-Tooth wasn''t exactly light. Thankfully, making heavy things go fast with his magic was his main role on the ship.


    "Don''t get used to it," Farron sighed as the orc chugged the potion and climbed onto his back like some kind of overgrown child. Farron put the empty bottle back into his ring ¡ª no point leaving evidence behind. As his Elementalist situated himself, Farron took a moment to close his eyes and concentrate. He''d been on the third step for more than a year, but he still needed to focus on this. He found the tiny channel in his mind, centred his thoughts on it, and...


    Come here.


    The groove thrummed happily in response, and he could feel the phantom sensation of mist spraying against his hull as he stabbed through the waves. He still wasn''t entirely used to the bleed-through.


    "I don''t exactly enjoy this, you know," One-tooth said. "If my clan could see me now... as if they need more of a reason to hate me."


    "Well, let''s agree to keep this between us," Farron huffed as began walking up the stairs and out of the basement. It wasn''t strenuous for him, but he''d be slowed down if he had to run, which seemed inevitable considering how much attention they''d draw once outside. "How''s the mana looking? That potion was expensive, and we''ll really need a speed buff."


    "Oh, don''t act like you paid for it," One-Tooth laughed. "Just get me up into the open air and I''ll be able to summon some spirits."


    Wordlessly, they climbed out of the high-security area, into the lobby, and then out onto the street. The daring jailbreak had been surprisingly easy, but he supposed that was to be expected considering all the planning and preparation work that had gone into the operation. Even just getting the Grymjaw close enough to the port so that he could swim the rest of the way had been an ordeal.


    One-Tooth sighed contentedly. "You don''t understand how good it feels to connect with the wind again. It was so dead down there..."


    Farron didn''t ¡ª he wasn''t a mage, and Elementalists used their mana differently from most mages anyway ¡ª but they could catch up once they were safe. "Just get that tailwind up and we¡ª"


    "Incoming!" One-tooth shouted. "Above and behind!"


    Before Farron could even react, he felt the street buckle under him as something slammed into the ground like a meteor. The impact left a furrow of broken cobbles, ripping up the stone road for a dozen metres before the projectile stopped.


    "Hello," it said, standing up from the small crater it had made. It was a figure, but he couldn''t tell much of anything beyond that. It was man-sized, but Farron couldn''t tell much more. It was as if he was looking at it through a cheap pane of glass, the ones that were so cloudy you could only see shadows through them. "You have something of mine," it spoke. Much like its appearance, the words distant and muted, but still legible. It could have been a man or a woman, and could have had any accent and tone of voice, yet he couldn''t seem to figure it out.


    "Inquisitor," he spat, tamping down his nerves. This was not good. In fact, it was one of the worst-case scenarios for this mission. Short of the Emperor himself showing up, this was as bad as it gets. Well, there could have been two of them...


    "Farron Keelgrave," the figure spoke, "captain of the Grymjaw and its crew. Although, they do not appear to be present." Even while only being able to see a vague outline of the figure, Farron could tell they were smiling.Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.


    "It would seem so," Farron said, measuring his tone. In the back of his mind, he could feel the connection slowly growing stronger. Too slowly. "I''m not entirely without my crew, though."


    In response, One-tooth unleashed the spell he''d been building. With a screeching howl, a sudden torrent of air slammed into the Inquisitor, picked them up off their feet and slammed them through one of the nearby buildings. It collapsed with a thunderous boom and sent a billowing cloud of dust into the air.


    One-tooth called out for him to run, but Farron was already sprinting towards the docks. Without needing to be subtle, he could move fast enough that he wasn''t worried about anyone in the city other than the Inquisitor. Even a second step would see only a passing blur, as Farron''s legs slammed into the ground and propelled him forward as the eddies and currents of the wind guided him. One-Tooth was on the third step too, but they both knew they weren''t enough to stand up to the Inquisitor. Having a building dropped on one was nothing but a delaying tactic, and not a very effective one at that.


    "I can''t do much more," the orc said, his voice sounding clear in Farron''s ears despite the rushing wind. "There are only a few lesser air spirits here. How''s Misty?"


    "You can ask the damn thing yourself, we''re almost at the docks," he said as he leapt directly onto the roof of a house before jumping further down the street. Wind Elementals didn''t like being chained in the best of times, and without One-tooth''s skills, it had been a real bitch.


    He''d hoped to get maybe a minute from dropping a building on the Inquisitor, but that had turned out to be far too optimistic. In his defence, he''d never fought or even seen one before, and it was difficult to tell which of the stories about them were true and which were propaganda.


    That was why neither of them expected the figure to return, leap through the air after them, and once more slam onto the roof behind them. "Now now, Captain. If you wish to run, how about I help you? We have time to play," it mocked. As soon as Farron turned to run, the figure flashed forward and slammed into their backs with the force of a landslide, sending them flying through the air.


    "Ah fuck!" Farron and One-tooth shouted in unison as their bodies windmilled through the air. Through some miracle, they''d managed to stay mostly together, the winds guiding them closer as they shot through the air like an arrow. It had a similar effect to what they''d just done to the Inquisitor, only much more powerful. They were at least fifty metres in the air, and still rapidly gaining altitude.


    "The docks! Aim us there!" Farron shouted, looking down at the distant ground and the figure of the Inquisitor. They were standing motionless on a roof, tracking the pair as they trailed through the air. They suddenly flashed forward, running so fast they almost appeared to teleport as they followed underneath the airborne duo. Farron and One-tooth would probably survive impact with the ground, but they wouldn''t be in fighting shape. The Elementalist had been burning through the scant amount of mana the potion had given him, and if he arrested their momentum completely he''d just be in even worse shape than when he started ¡ª no mana to give them a fighting chance against the Inquisitor.


    One-tooth coughed out a wordless reply, the wind ripping the blood out of his mouth as he tried to speak. Of course, he''d absorbed most of the hit from the Inquisitor...


    Farron wasn''t too worried about the health of his closest friend. Powerful as it had been, it was just a punch, and there weren''t any open wounds on his naked back. Trying to keep him alive?


    Some of his internals might have been damaged, but at a certain point, Constitution became strong enough that most internal organs were more of a strong recommendation than an absolute necessity. The blow would have turned most men into a spray of viscera, but the fact that One-tooth hadn''t instantly died meant he had at least a couple minutes of consciousness, more than enough to end this.


    The rushing winds hugged them tighter, and Farron fanned out his arms and legs to help the wind guide him. One-tooth was making some disturbing noises, but he was still able to focus on channelling his wind magic and keeping them aloft. The Inquisitor was either unable or unwilling to launch any ranged attacks, simply following along on the ground as the duo continued flying through the air.


    It was dark, although neither side was affected much by the lack of proper light. The weak street lights were more than enough for Farron to see by, and the Inquisitor didn''t seem to have any problems tracking them through the air. The sea itself was a different story ¡ª nothing was lit up out there, not at this late hour.


    The groove in his mind was more than enough to guide him towards his target, though. The sense had grown stronger and stronger as he moved further to the sea, his ship sailing directly for him at the same time.


    By his estimation, they''d been airborne for around thirty seconds and would land in the same amount of time. It wasn''t easy to relax and keep an accurate count after being punched into the air by one of the strongest individuals in all of Cathar, but he managed. The whole situation was so obscenely dangerous that he''d wrapped back around to not being concerned. Either he''d make it out, or he''d get caught by the Inquisitor and die instantly. Either way, there was no point worrying.


    It didn''t take them long to reach the docks, and their momentum continued carrying them over the ocean. He''d seen One-tooth flying around plenty of times, but the sheer speed they had now was nothing close to the norm. The Inquisitor had stopped on the edge of one of the docks that stretched out into the bay like fingers, seemingly unwilling to enter the water. He seriously doubted it was because his foe was unable to ¡ª even if he didn''t have a Swimming passive like Farron and One-tooth, his raw stats were obviously enough to catch them. Plus, Inquisitors had the full wealth of the Empire behind them, especially in the form of magical items and dungeon artefacts, so it seemed likely that they had a magical solution to water travel.


    As it turned out, the figure had a different reason to stop. In the darkness of the night, a massive ritual circle array suddenly flared to life. The whole point of a ritual array was for long-term and group casting, so he was confused by what was going on. Inquisitors were physically powerful, sure, and if the stories were to be believed they were all master mages as well, but even still there should have been no good reason to use such a large array. It was at least a dozen metres of electric blue lines and runes, rapidly brightening as truly insane amounts of mana were poured into it.


    Farron could feel the power, even from such a distance. One-tooth must have also noticed it, as he let out another pained grunt. Whatever that circle was for, it had to be stopped, and it had to be stopped fast. Luckily for him, he''d flown close enough to the Grymjaw to give more precise commands.


    He smiled.

 Chapter 53 - But A Scratch

    From up here, far above the waters surrounding the imperial docks, Farron''s crew looked like ants as they scurried across the decks of the Grymjaw. One of them hopped away just in time as part of the front deck unfolded, part of it growing upwards from belowdecks as if alive. In a way, it was. Through his bond with the ship, he felt anger that Farron and One-tooth had been attacked, and eagerness to enact vengeance.


    The massive piece of machinery emerged with all the finality of the executioner''s axe. He didn''t understand how the technology and magic worked ¡ª no one did ¡ª but they knew enough to power it. The ship''s mana reserves were down to half after using the farseer to scout out the jail, but Farron still commanded the Grymjaw to put all but the barest of reserves into the weapon. This was not the type of fight where he could afford to be closefisted with his resources.


    It was a single, large brass tube several metres in length. It was completely smooth, tapering to a point that was slowly turning to face the docks. There was a lever and crank for this purpose, but the Grymjaw was moving it on her own. All in all, it wouldn''t look like much from an outsider''s perspective. The crew could have helped aim it faster, but they were afraid of it. He didn''t blame them, for he was too.


    The ritual circles surrounding the Inquisitor had stopped getting brighter, which Farron interpreted as a very bad sign. Three of them were arranged around the figure; one at knee height, one around the waist, and another around the neck. He told the Grymjaw to hurry it up, sanctioning the use of the last of the mana. He was lucky their communication was mental, as he feared his voice would have cracked if he spoke aloud. How did one person have so much power? Such a large circle should have been used by a full coterie of mages, so where was all the mana coming from? He didn''t recognise the exact spell, but he was confident it was siege magic, designed for overwhelming defensive wards and enchanted walls. In this case, it was aimed at the Grymjaw itself.


    From his position high in the sky, the only thing Farron could do was watch as both sides charged up.


    He shared a worried glance with One-tooth, who was aware enough to recognise the gravity of the situation. If that ritual was completed the Grymjaw would be either destroyed or damaged so badly that there would be no opportunity to flee. Given how far into imperial territory they were, as well as the proximity of the Inquisitor, there was no way they could make it out to the relative safety of the deeper seas.


    Suddenly, the three disparate rings surrounding the Inquisitor connected together with blue, lightning-like veins of magical energy. The figure brought its hands together in a final clap.


    The massive weapon mounted to the front of the ship finally finished charging, and the Grymjaw didn''t hesitate to fire. A mortal would have paused considering if they really should release it, but the ship''s intelligence was not capable of feeling fear or empathy for those outside the crew.


    The unassuming tube lit up with a dizzying coating of runes as its payload was unleashed. Reality shivered like a struck bell as the world itself held its breath. The sound of the whistling wind in his ears, the distant waves, the shouts of his crew, and the raspy breathing of One-tooth ¡ª all these things and more turned silent as a beam of nothingness launched out of the cannon and swept across the docks.


    It had no colour, as it was the absence of any thing. The projected fist-sized beam of nothing lanced across ships, buildings, the occasional person out at this late hour... and the Inquisitor.


    The last thing Farron saw before a massive, billowing cloud of dust obscured his view of the city was a hazy figure lying bisected on the docks.


    --------


    Symon blinked his eyes furiously, finding himself leaning against the outside wall of someone''s home. "Ugh, shit, what the fuck Keelgrave!" he hissed, fighting off a sudden wave of nausea.


    <Huh, did you see that?> the spirit asked. He sounded legitimately surprised, with no trace of his usual sarcasm.


    "Yes, I fucking saw it! It was just like the memory dreams," he said, swaying unsteadily. "Damnit, I better not throw up. How long was I out of it for?"


    <Barely a second, you just stumbled over to the wall once I started thinking back to¡ª>


    "No, no, don''t do it again!" Symon half-whispered and half-shouted, but nothing happened. He sucked in deep breaths, feeling the dizziness rapidly fade with every lungful of air. "That was way worse than when I''m asleep."


    <Hmm, well, I just tried it again and it didn''t work...>


    "Ugh, you little shit. Seriously, cut that out. I don''t want to pass out in a gutter before I even get to drink with my friends in the off chance you get it working again."


    Symon wasn''t sure if Keelgrave was being serious or not about trying to recreate the memory dream. As much as he could be caustic and selfish, he''d been good about not trying to use their bond negatively. Plus, the fact that Symon''s continued existence was the only thing tethering Keelgrave''s spirit to this world meant he was confident that he wouldn''t push anything too far.Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    <Fine, fine, not like I want you spying on my past even more.>


    "We hardly have privacy from each other in the first place anyway," Symon said, pushing himself off the wall and resuming his journey back to Durga''s tavern. It had been a bit awkward the first time he''d needed to relieve himself, but it had at least seemed that the spirit didn''t want to dwell on it any more than him. Mutually ignoring it was perfectly fine, in Symon''s opinion. "Question, though, what''s Cathar? That Eastern continent?"


    <No, it''s the planet. Has this really not come up before?>


    Symon frowned to himself. He initially hadn''t wanted to ask Keelgrave what this world was named, as it would have made it more obvious he wasn''t a native. When Keelgrave eventually found out the truth, Symon had already gotten so used to just thinking of it as ''this world'' that he hadn''t thought to ask for its actual name.


    "Huh, I guess not. Cathar... not a bad name."


    <You know what is bad, though? Your stupid memory loss cover story. We need to come up with something better,> Keelgrave said.


    "I''m not going to deny that, but how can we even come up with something convincing? I barely know anything about anywhere, especially outside of this village."


    <Exactly. You don''t, but I do. I''ve been doing some thinking¡ª>


    "Really? That''s new."


    <Wanker. Ahem, I''ve been doing some thinking on this matter, and I have a good cover. Or at least, as good as we''re going to get. You''re very pale, even for an imperial, but we can work with that. Your mother was an imperial citizen, while your father was a sailor from the far North. You never met him, and you were raised in a small backwater village in Usas.>


    "Do I really need another tragic backstory? I think my real one was bad enough."


    Keelgrave''s spirit vibrated in Symon''s vessel. Somehow, he could tell it was a shrug. <It''s a common story, which is exactly why it''s good. It''ll draw less attention than claiming you just woke up in the middle of the godsdamned Wastes without any memories.>


    Symon had reached the main plaza of Brackstead, meaning he was halfway to his destination. It didn''t take very long to get anywhere in this tiny town, as long as you knew where it was. "And because you''re from Usas you can fill in for me if I don''t know something obvious, I get it. It''s a solid plan. Maybe we can say I left to become a travelling healer once I... unlocked my Ledger? What''s the term for it?"


    <Your awakening, yes. It''s a way better cover story than your last.>


    Symon chuckled. It was a pretty crazy story to claim he just woke up in the middle of a lifeless desert which was itself in the middle of a near-humanityless continent. Teleportation magic existed, but it wasn''t even close to being strong enough to go across the seas, not to mention the prohibitive cost. "How does that even work?" he asked. "Awakening, I mean. I don''t think I went through the normal process."


    <You just have to wait for your body to absorb enough ambient mana, then it condenses down into a core and your Ledger unlocks.>


    "That easy?"


    <It''s simple, but not always easy. The more environmental mana where you live, the better it is for you. It''s why this shithole is the only place in the Wastes that people actually live. Anywhere else and their children wouldn''t awaken until they were in their thirties,> Keelgrave explained.


    "Shit, that long? I guess I must have lucked out having a vessel instead of a core." If Symon had followed the normal process of awakening, he would have been trapped in the desert without a Ledger. I would have died to the very first centipede when it stung me and paralysed my lungs.


    Something gently struck Symon''s side, bumping him out of his thoughts. Looking down, he saw a vaguely familiar kid land on the ground with a soft whump. Greedily, the grey thread emerged from his side and lashed out, attaching itself to the young boy. He was still sitting down as he rubbed his forehead, so Symon quickly stepped backwards. The magic almost seemed to stretch, holding onto the kid like an elastic band before Symon finally got far enough away that it released him.


    Shit, that was three or four metres before the connection broke. He hadn''t tested draining just a small amount from people in a while ¡ª the last time being when the other Dumosans had volunteered their vitality to heal Atabek ¡ª but it was clear his magic was becoming more and more inconvenient as it levelled, just as he''d feared.


    "Hey kid, are you okay?" Symon asked. Naturally, he hadn''t been empowering the draining, but his vessel was still half empty from when he''d healed former mayor Temuri. This meant they hadn''t benefited from the slower draining associated with having a full vessel. Still, it had only been a few seconds of passive draining, not enough for even one full point of vitality.


    The boy nodded tearfully, his little hand rubbing against the bump on his forehead, but remained silent.


    "Just be careful about running in the village. Was someone chasing you?"


    He shook his head. "Sorry mister... I was just playing monsters with Markie and then I was running and then he almost caught me but then I climbed under a fence. Oh and Markie is too big to fit, so then I was running again and then I was tired from running but then I got better so I started running again and then I bumped into you. Sorry..." he trailed off, out of breath from the sudden deluge of information. He stood up again, one hand still pressed against his forehead, which just so happened to be the exact same height as Symon''s hip bone.


    "Well bud, it just looks like a little bump, so you''ll be fine. Just slow it down a bit around corners, yeah?"


    The boy nodded his head emphatically before glancing back down the side street he''d come from, presumably checking for this Markie. "You won''t tell Mama I was playing monsters in town?"


    Considering I don''t know what this kid''s name even is, let alone who his mum is...


    "You''re fine, little guy. Hurry along before Markie catches up with you," Symon said, giving the boy a pat on the shoulder and transferring a bit of vitality back. His threads lashed out again in the process, so he pushed a little extra over to make up for it. The boy skipped forward a few paces before turning around and waving at Symon. When he saw that the bump on his forehead had already gone down, he also smiled and waved back.

 Chapter 54 - Thinking & Drinking

    Symon waved back at the boy and continued along the road, his mind whirring as he contemplated how his healing worked. He''d given the kid back as much vitality as had been accidentally taken from him, and yet the injury still healed. The total amount of vitality was the same, so Symon was a bit confused as to why it had worked. It was like he''d taken water from a bucket, poured it back in, and then ended up with more than he''d started with.


    That didn''t make any sense, as even magic couldn''t just make something from nothing. If a mage were to generate fire or water from thin air, it would cost them mana. If he were to heal someone, it would cost him vitality. How was it then that he could use someone''s own vitality to heal them, without any extra from his reserves entering the process?


    The issue lay in that Symon still didn''t know what vitality was. It had some link to physical health and robustness, as someone with a high Constitution like Atabek could safely give more than someone like Safiya, who had focused on different stats. Physical size also seemed to have an effect on how much vitality something had, with small bugs dying almost as soon as the draining thread attached to them while the much larger Razor Stalker took several minutes to go down from his draining, and that was even including the Dumosans injuring it.


    So, everyone had vitality in their bodies, presumably also Symon. In addition to most people, he also had the vitality storage in the form of his vessel, which was displayed in his Ledger. Just like Symon, there was no ''body vitality'' section in anyone else''s Ledgers. In fact, both Keelgrave and the Dumosans treated the word vitality similar to the English word ''health''. The very old, very young, and the sick had poor vitality. Those in their physical prime, especially those who were particularly fit, were said to have a strong vitality.


    That was easy enough for Symon to understand, as long as he pictured vitality as just being a representation of someone''s overall health. The problem was he didn''t understand how it worked. Vitality wasn''t just some abstract concept, it was a tangible thing he could take, give, and feel. Even now, he could sense the gently swirling mists inside his vessel.


    He already knew that his magic did something to the vitality he took when it reached his vessel. This was what enabled him to use foreign vitality to heal, so perhaps it also made the vitality... stronger? If he took one unit of vitality from someone, and gave them back one unit of Symon-enhanced-super-vitality, it would result in a net positive for them.


    Symon let out a deep sigh as he walked. Damnit, then where does that bonus even come from? I''ve just worked myself back to that something-from-nothing problem...


    He considered this problem for a while. Perhaps it wasn''t that his vessel was making the vitality stronger, just more focused. After all, the bump on that kid''s forehead would have healed on its own eventually. Had Symon just taken some of his vitality, told it ''go heal that injury now'' and given it back? That seemed feasible to him. If that were true, the kid would still have less vitality in his body, meaning his injury was healed but he was overall less healthy. Presumably, it would be easier for him to get sick, and any future injuries would heal slower, at least until his vitality naturally regenerated.


    Actually, it''s kind of like how chemo might get rid of your cancer, but you wouldn''t say it''s healthy.


    It was just a theory, but it seemed to fit with his past experience with the magic. He could even test if it was true, although obviously not on the kid. He tried to imagine explaining to the kid''s mother that he only needed to cut her son a little bit and laughed. That sounded more like something his spirit roommate would do.


    <What''s so funny?> Keelgrave asked.


    "Nothing, nothing, just thinking about how different we are," Symon said.


    <Naturally. I''m smart and handsome, and¡ª>


    "You were kinda short though, right?" Symon had only been slightly above average back home, but most people here were noticeably shorter than him.


    <What?! I was not!>


    "Unless everyone in that city were half-giants and built their doorways to scale, yeah, you were. You can''t lie when I see your memories," he laughed.


    <I was perfectly normal for an Usasan, thank you very much.>


    "I''m sure you weren''t compensating for anything with that giant gun you strapped to the front of your ship. Seriously though, what the hell was that thing?" It had seemed oddly futuristic, more like a laser gun than the fireball cannon he''d been expecting. He could still remember the fear Keelgrave had felt when it fired, even though it was his own weapon, as well as how eerily silent it had been as it decimated the docks of that city. Plenty of uninvolved innocents must have died, but he knew better than to admonish Keelgrave for it. It would have been pointless.


    <I''m still not sure. It was an old, old weapon that we barely got working. The crew didn''t like it, and I didn''t either. It felt... wrong.>If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    "I know what you mean, I felt it through your memories as well. The Grymjaw seemed to like it, though."


    Keelgrave chuckled softly. <Yeah, that''s my crazy girl. She wasn''t really capable of proper emotions. Maybe if we''d had more time...>


    He sounded legitimately sad, one of the few times he''d shown any approaching that kind of emotion, which was saying something considering Symon had first encountered him trapped in a room with his long-dead crew. I thought he could only be sarcastic and angry...


    "What happened to, uh, her?" Symon asked.


    <Dead, not so far from here. Eastern tip of the Wastes, at least. I... wasn''t even there when it happened.> His voice sounded so small that it was easy for Symon to forget they were talking about a ship. He still remembered how Keelgrave had felt about the Grymjaw during the memory, though. Somewhere between a beloved pet and a child.


    "I''m sorry. She seemed really badass," he said, not feeling like he should push for any details.


    <That she was. Now pay attention, you''re almost at the tavern. Have a drink for her and my crew.>


    Symon smiled. He could certainly do that. Durga''s tavern and inn were in view, the familiar squat stone and wood structure taking up the same space as several houses. It was still work hours so it wouldn''t be particularly busy, but there was no way he''d be able to sit down in there. Once again, he''d have to stay out in the back.


    That was fine, though. His friends could join him out there, and the outdoor weather was much more pleasant than he was used to with the cool breeze from the sea.


    When he walked out back, he found that things were much the same. Simple benches and chairs sat out, arranged without any sense of planning, while a few large trees provided shade. A lone older man was nursing a mug of beer off to the side, but barely spared Symon a glance before returning his attention to his drink. Symon nodded at him, but he didn''t think he''d even seen it. With a shrug of his shoulders, he approached the back door before opening it up and peering in.


    There were about a dozen people spread out through the interior of the building, mostly burly men that he assumed were miners. He also spotted Durga, polishing a mug behind the long bar that took up an entire wall. It was such a prototypical bartender thing to do that he couldn''t help but smile. For as different as Cathar could be, some things were also strikingly similar.


    More importantly, he also spotted his Dumosan friends. They were all in one corner, Safiya and Atabek appeared to be arguing over something, while Aslan sipped his drink and observed. Their words were loud, although the tone was friendly. That was one thing he''d noticed about them in their travels ¡ª they''d never gotten into a fight or even just been snappy with each other, even with the stress of travelling through monster-infested fields. He only knew a few words of Dumosan so he supposed they could have just been wishing death upon each other in a cheery voice, but he didn''t think that was the case.


    He gave them a wave and Safiya ¡ª the only one facing him ¡ª spotted him after a few moments. She pointed him out to the others, who turned around to face him. Aslan gave a nod, while Atabek enthusiastically waved before giving a thumbs-up.


    He''s really taken a shine to the thumbs-up...


    Symon pointed his own thumb over his shoulder, signalling back the way he''d come. The others understood he wasn''t able to safely come inside, so they all stood up and made for the door, taking their drinks with them. Aslan paused to speak to Durga, so Symon guided the remaining pair out to a nice large table with plenty of shade.


    He scooted all the way to the end, leaving them plenty of space to sit without getting in range of his draining.


    "Hey guys," he said. "Things been calm for you?"


    The two Dumosans shared a glance, Safiya having to crane her neck back to a comical extent just to make eye contact with Atabek. The height difference was even more pronounced when they sat next to each other. They seemed to come to the agreement that Safiya would attempt the talking. She had slightly better Common, for one, but Atabek also just wasn''t a very talkative person.


    "This... uh... this?" She said, pointing toward her big clay mug of beer.


    "Um, I think it''s a stout," he guessed. He didn''t really know the types of beers, but he was pretty sure stouts were dark like the drink the mug was.


    "Yes, yes, stout! This stout-beer good," she said with a satisfied smile. If that was the most important thing she felt like mentioning, then he was confident that nothing bad had happened. It wasn''t that he''d been expecting something horrible ¡ª after all, they''d been in Brackstead before they''d met him and hadn''t had any problems ¡ª but it was always good to check in.


    "Symon beer?" she asked.


    "I think Aslan is getting me one," he said, to which both she and Atabek nodded approvingly. "And I''ve got the spare coins to pay for it now, too." He pulled out a small pouch that Lado, the old mayor''s son, had given him, and jingled it suggestively.


    At that point, both Safiya and Atabek started pumping their fists in the air and chanting "Beer! Beer! Beer!" Everyone paused when Aslan returned, but redoubled their efforts once they noticed he had two mugs in each hand. After a moment''s hesitation, Symon joined in with the chanting too.


    "I see you have gotten them all riled up, friend Symon," Aslan said with an amused smile.


    Symon laughed. "I think they might have had a few drinks already."


    "Indeed so. I cannot attest to the taste, but it is cheap. Were your travels well? The hearthkeeper Durga informed me you went to visit the mayor of this village."


    "Well, there was a minor incident, but nothing I couldn''t handle myself. It all went pretty well, and I learned a lot from the mayor and his son. Oh, and they''re letting me stay with them as a thank you for the healing. Sure beats trying to figure out how I was going to get up into a room on the upper floors here," Symon said, looking up at the top levels of the building that contained the sleeping rooms.


    "Your magic goes through walls, yes? I suspect the rooms are small enough that it would be a problem even if you climbed in through the window."


    "Hmm, yeah, that''s true. The range has gone up too, after that little scuffle I had. At least three metres, so be careful." The table they were seated at was plenty long enough, but it did make passing drinks a little awkward. Aslan just slid one of the mugs down to him, but he suspected he might miss one if he got truly drunk.


    Aslan passed out the other freshly filled mugs to the others, and everyone lifted theirs up into the air.


    "To new friends!" Symon toasted.


    "To new friends," Aslan said with a smile.


    "To new friends!" Safiya chirped, a big grin on her face.


    "To new friends!" Atabek rumbled, although it was clear he didn''t understand the words. That didn''t stop him from chugging down his drink right after, though.

 Chapter 55 - Toast

    Symon had never been a big drinker, but he felt confident in saying this beer wasn''t the greatest. It managed to taste both too bitter and also watered down at the same time. He much preferred the cider he''d had earlier.


    Atabek and Safiya didn''t seem to mind it, judging by how quickly they were going through it, but Aslan was sipping his at a more reasonable pace.


    "So," Symon asked, "did anything interesting happen while I was gone?" He''d asked a similar question of the other two, but he''d prefer to hear an answer from Aslan. Not only could they have an actual conversation that wasn''t mostly relegated to pointing at things, but he was also the more responsible of the bunch. While there wasn''t strictly a group leader, Aslan was in all but name.


    "Nothing much. There has been no trouble with the locals, and Durga the hearth keeper was welcoming. Of our coin, at least."


    "Oh, that reminds me! I got paid by the mayor, so here''s your cut," Symon said, reaching for his pouch of coins.


    Aslan waved both his hands dismissively. "Please, please, that is not necessary. You have fought alongside us, and we all consider you a friend."


    "Nuh-uh," Symon said, his scathing intellectual argument dismantling Aslan''s points. "You covered for me at the tailor, and also for these drinks. Plus, all those sparring lessons that helped me get that Swords passive." He picked out two gold coins from his pouch, leaving eight in there plus a smattering of lower denominations, and rolled them across the table. Each gold coin was, very roughly, worth around a hundred dollars. "If you can''t bear to keep them, just use ''em to buy the others some more drinks. We all deserve a break from fighting monsters and shitting in holes."


    "Shitting in holes!" Safiya and Atabek said in unison. They clinked their mugs together and took several large gulps.


    Atabek weighed at least three times as much as her, but she was somehow still keeping up with him. "I never asked; why is it that your Common is so strong compared to theirs? I''m pretty sure they don''t understand what they just toasted," Symon said.


    "Dumosa is isolated from others and has little in the way of foreigners. There is also the sentiment that using Common is a betrayal of our people''s culture."


    "Ah, yes, I understand that. Your people have had issues with the Empire then?"


    "Only minor. We do not share a direct border, and the Dumosan Plateau is well-defended by its nature," Aslan said.


    "But you''re not, like, at war with them?"


    "No, nothing as serious as that. Just increased taxes and such, I do not know the full details. They seem more focused on those closer to them."


    Symon took another sip of his beer. It was just as bad as he remembered. Once he finished with it, he''d see if Durga had any more of that cider. "So what made you want to learn Common, though? Even with Languages to help, it takes a lot of time to get anywhere with it."


    Aslan sighed. "The Ledger only saw fit to grant me with the passive some months into our excursion from Dumosa. If you had heard me right after we left..." He turned in his seat to face Symon directly. "As to why I decided to learn ¡ª someone had to. There is more glory and honour in hunting a distant monster, and a grasp of Common was necessary for the journey. Would you trust those two to be your spokesperson?"


    When Symon glanced over, Atabek was cheering as Safiya juggled her daggers. Every time he shouted something, she would go a little bit faster.


    "I see your point," Symon said as he edged away slightly. "How much have they had to drink? I couldn''t have been gone for more than an hour."


    "Not that much. They are simply making up for the months we''ve spent travelling and fighting. Though I expect them to have made a sizeable dent in this tavern''s supplies come nightfall."


    "I can help with that, although I recommend the cider. Durga made me try some and it was much better than the beer."


    "Cheers to that," Aslan said before taking another sip of his beer and wincing. "My uncle makes some good wine back home. You''ll have to try some when we return."


    "Deal," Symon said as he leaned in. "Though, I had some ideas for what we could do in the meantime. It''ll be around a month until the next ship comes by, from what I''ve heard."


    "Oh? Do tell."


    Symon checked around him for any potential eavesdroppers. No one else had shown up out in the tavern''s back, but the older man was still nursing his drink on the opposite side. He was far enough that Symon didn''t think he''d be able to overhear, even with the Ledger enhancing people''s senses. He leaned in as far as he could, but the effect was ruined due to the extremely inconvenient constraints of his magic. He was starting to miss only having monsters for company.


    Okay, not really, but still...


    "There''s something fishy going on in the forest," Symon continued. Seeing Aslan''s confused expression, he elaborated. "Something strange, I mean, sorry. Figure of speech. There''s an abandoned manor in the forest, and the noble Lady who used to live there died a few decades ago, and yet no one who ever enters it comes back."Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.


    Symon could see Aslan considering this news, although he wasn''t sure how interested he was. Symon had to admit that he was personally curious, but it wasn''t worth getting himself killed over.


    "Is there a reward for investigating?"


    "Not directly, although if no one has ever managed to return it means any valuables she had should still be in there."


    Aslan tapped his chin contemplatively. It seemed like he was about to decline, but paused at the last moment. "It... would be beneficial to acquire some wealth. Although, we would have to assess the risk before committing to anything."


    "Agreed," Symon said while the other man took another grudging sip of his drink. "We could just coast for a month, but that seems like a waste of potential to me. Although, if the manor doesn''t work out we can always explore the dungeon."


    Symon was suddenly misted by a fine spray of not-so-fine beer. "Explore the what?!" Aslan sputtered.


    "Oh, right, I hadn''t mentioned that. There''s one in the mines, just don''t mention it to anyone because it''s supposed to be a village leader secret," Symon whispered. He knew Aslan wouldn''t go spreading the news, not when he already trusted him with the knowledge of how powerful his healing was.


    "It''s right here? Underneath us?" he hissed in response.


    "I''m not sure, exactly, I just know the mines lead to it."


    "You haven''t seen it yourself?"


    "Nope." He didn''t even know what a dungeon was supposed to look like. A creepy castle filled with skeletal archers? Dragons? I don''t think I''ve even heard someone mention dragons before. I feel like it would have happened by now if they existed here.


    "And this is not some jest? Sometimes I do not understand you well," Aslan said. His fingers were digging into the table.


    "No, it''s real, at least according to the old mayor and his son."


    "Well... shit..." Aslan said. He leaned back so far on the bench that Symon thought he would fall off. "Would we have access to it? Is it under someone''s control?"


    Symon had to consider that, but only for a moment. "I''m pretty sure I can figure something out. After all, I did save the mayor''s life."


    Aslan looked over at the others, who were still juggling knives. "I think... we might be staying here for more than one month."


    <hr>


    Symon waved goodbye to the others as he left the tavern. They''d spent the rest of the day drinking, relaxing, and having simple conversations with one another. It had made him realise that he didn''t actually know much about the Dumosans, for all that they called each other friends. The language barrier was mostly responsible, which was something Symon could work on. If he did go back to their homeland with them, he''d need to learn the language. Plus, a better baseline level of communication would be important if they were going to go poking around dangerous situations.


    It wasn''t just their imperfect Common and Symon''s nonexistant Dumosi that had meant he hadn''t been able to get to know them well, though. Simply being able to relax, comfortable that monsters wouldn''t jump out of the grass to try and eat you at any second did wonders for their ability to socialise. Safiya had always been focused on scouting for monsters, while Atabek had always been on the opposite side of the marching order from Symon. As it turned out, the massive roided up looking guy was actually pretty kind. He''d been very patient as he pointed at things and taught Symon the Dumosi word, and had done a good job himself of remembered the Common word when Symon told him.


    For as meatheaded as some might assume he was at first glance, it was important to remember the influence of the Ledger. Some parts were obvious, like Strength and Constitution, but his understanding of how Intelligence influenced you was more opaque. It didn''t seem to actually make someone smarter, it just made their mind more efficient. You could think faster ¡ª although this synergised with Acuity in a way that hadn''t been explained very well ¡ª and remember things better, being more able to draw connections and make assumptions based off them, but it didn''t make you think better.


    An idiot with a high Intelligence could quickly come up with a bad plan and remember it flawlessly, but it wouldn''t directly help them make a better plan. Conversely, a genius with a low Intelligence was very possible, although they tended to improve that stat quickly. Personally, Symon had noticed his memory improving, but he wasn''t able to conclusively say he was thinking faster. Maybe slightly, but it wasn''t much.


    All in all, they''d had a great time. He hadn''t realised how wound up he''d been until he finally had a chance to relax, but in retrospect it had been pretty bad. He''d been jumping at shadows, constantly thinking about how a monster could leap out at him or that his new friends would die. They''d toasted in the memory of Serik, their fallen archer, but had moved on quickly. Their people believed that to speak positively of the dead implied you did not believe their death was honourable enough to be worthy of making it to their afterlife, and that you were essentially begging the gods to allow them into the afterlife. Not a good look, apparently. Symon thought that funerals were meant to comfort the living, not the dead, but he nonetheless respected their customs.


    He couldn''t lie and say he was choked up over the death of someone he barely knew, but the reminder made him wonder if they would be able to survive without casualties if another razor stalker or similarly powerful monster showed up. He''d grown a lot stronger than he''d been at the time, but was it enough to make up for the missing member?


    Symon sighed. Probably not.


    At the very least, he wouldn''t have a hangover in the morning. They''d drank a considerable amount, but Symon barely felt it. At first, he''d been worried that the alcohol was draining his vitality, but that hadn''t been the case. His vessel had remained stable the whole time. Constitution protected from the effects of alcohol, but in Symon''s case he was sure it was mostly because of his Poison Resistance. He''d been able to get to a certain level of tipsyness, but hadn''t been able to push it into truly drunk territory.


    He''d tried.


    It''s not counted as a poison until the dose gets high enough? I suppose it would need to work like that if it was supposed to protect you from overdosing on a medicine.


    Eventually, Symon managed to return to Temuri''s residence. By the time night had fallen, the miners had all gotten off work and flooded the streets and the tavern, suddenly transforming the unnervingly empty town into a bustling and active nightlife. It had been Symon''s cue to call it a night once they''d shown up at the tavern ¡ª there hadn''t been any issues, but dozens of drunk miners and his draining magic was a recipe for disaster.


    Even just walking through the streets had been difficult, but by backtracking a few times and walking the outskirts of the village, he''d returned without harming anyone. Tonight was the time to rest and recover.


    Tomorrow was shaping up to be a big day.

 Chapter 56 - Spry

    Symon''s night was blissfully dreamless. He''d been worried the recent daytime memory dream was a sign things were getting worse, but it hadn''t been the case. Monsters could be scary, but at least you could fight them or run away. The same couldn''t be said for sleep. In the end, it will always win.


    Symon stretched as he rolled out of bed, but it was just a reflexive action. His muscles didn''t seem to get tense or stiff from something as banal as laying in the same spot for eight hours anymore. Still, it felt nice to do.


    "Is there anything obvious I''m missing, oh mighty adventurer Keelgrave?" Symon asked as he checked through his equipment. He had his two weapons ¡ª the sword and club ¡ª as well as some basic supplies including a waterskin and rations. He had his new clothes from the tailor on, simple but clean and undamaged. He also had his straw cowboy hat.


    Truthfully, it looked a bit silly in Symon''s eyes, but he still liked it. It felt nice to do something simply because he wanted to, and not just because he needed it to survive. The mayor''s house didn''t have a mirror, so he used the polished flat of his sword to check himself out.


    He tucked his long, curly hair behind his ears. It was getting to the point that he considered just lopping it all off ¡ª after all, dying because your hair got in your eyes at an inopportune moment would be pretty embarrassing. It wasn''t quite at that stage yet, though. Hmm, I wonder what someone with a Hairdressing skill would be able to do... these clothes are pretty nice for being made of straw, and the tailor was only on the first step.


    <No, I think that''s all, presuming you''re done preening,> Keelgrave said. <Some proper armour would do you well, but there''s no way you could find anything in a backwater like this. You know, those guards had some pretty nice sets...>


    "I know you would never suggest I join as an imperial guard, so that can only mean one thing. There''s no way I''m going to try and steal from them."


    Symon would love some nice thick armour to protect him from monsters, but it wasn''t as easy as going down to the adventurer store and buying one. First off, he didn''t have enough money. A full set of plate armour was expensive, and even just a standalone metal breastplate would cost him almost everything he had. More gold could always be acquired, whether by charging for his healing or through adventuring, but Brackstead was simply too small to offer what he wanted. It had miners, farmers, and the people required to support them. That was it. Perhaps the new Baron really would turn the village into the shining jewel of the Wastes given enough time, but he wasn''t interested in waiting around long enough to find out.


    He stopped himself right before he left his room. I should probably check my Ledger, first.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.93


    Constitution: 1.25 {+0.02}


    Acuity: 0.97 {+0.01}


    Intelligence: 1.00


    Will: 1.23 {+0.01}


    Vessel (Vitality): 9/18


    Abilities:


    Idealise (16) {+1}


    Seize (13) {+1}


    Essence Bond (12) {+1}


    Passives:


    Anatomy (3)


    Bleeding Resistance (3)


    Languages (10) {+1}


    Pain Resistance (8)


    Poison Resistance (3) {+1}


    Running (8)


    Swords (3) ]


    Symon''s eyes flicked between his Constitution and his Poison Resistance. "Wow, that''s a pretty big gain just for one night of drinking." He hadn''t had that much.


    <Yes, it''s nice, but don''t expect it to last for long. You could probably get a couple more levels just from drinking shitty beer, but you''ll eventually need something more serious.>


    "I understand the early levels go by fast, it''s just funny to think I''m tougher than I was last night just because of some alcohol," he said. "Anyway, let''s get this show on the road. I told Aslan I''d meet them at the inn in an hour from now, but we should probably get breakfast first."


    Keelgrave was silent, so Symon listened out to make sure he wasn''t about to walk straight into someone. After assuring himself he wasn''t about to accidentally kill one of his hosts, he opened his door and walked out into the main room.


    Mariyka, Lado''s daughter and thus Temuri''s granddaughter, was seated in the mixed living room and kitchen. She was reading something, using a small, glowing stone to compensate for the dimness of the early morning light.


    Symon had paused in the doorway, but quickly cleared his throat to get her attention. Probably don''t want to be the weirdo who stares at women in the dark, Symon. "Hey Mariyka, do you know if Temuri is up? I''d like to give him a check over before I head out."


    She pulled a feather from behind her ear, placed it on the page she was up to, and closed the book. "Yes, he should be awake by now. Was there a problem? He seemed much better last night."This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.


    "No, no, nothing like that. I just want to make sure he doesn''t need any more healing and also get his advice on something."


    "That''s good," she said with obvious relief. "He''ll be in the study. Oh, and thank you again for helping him."


    "Not a problem," he smiled. "It''s what anyone would have done."


    "Maybe," she said, going back to her book.


    Symon approached the door to the study, knocked twice, then slowly opened it. "Hello? Mr. Lavyaz? Are you¡ª"


    "I heard you out there already, youngster. Come, come," the now much steadier voice of Temuri Lavyaz called.


    Symon swung the door all the way open and stepped into the study. Lado wasn''t present, but the old mayor was sitting at his desk. Much better than laying in a cot, Symon thought.


    "Good morning, I''m just checking that everything is alright with the healing?" he asked. "Your cough hasn''t returned?" Symon was fairly confident that the problem was completely gone, but he wasn''t sure what had caused it in the first place. For all he knew, there was some monster snuck into your house at night and blew poison on you when you slept. Oh god, why did I just think that? My room is creepy enough at night.


    "Why, I feel twenty years younger!" Temuri exclaimed. By Symon''s estimation, that meant he felt like a seventy-year-old man. Not exactly the peak of health, but a marked improvement from when he was literally coughing out pieces of his lungs just a day before.


    "That''s excellent news," Symon said, his tone light. Slowly, his smile evened out, then turned into a slight frown as he studied Temuri''s features with a squint. He did look much better. He felt his Anatomy passive ping as his eyes roamed over the slightly less developed wrinkles, the barely reduced jowls.


    "Is... is everything alright, Symon? I really do feel great," Temuri asked, the concern slowly growing in his noticeably less rheumy eyes.


    Symon forced a cool expression onto his face. "No, nothing''s the matter. Everything''s just great. I was merely glad it worked so well, is all. Uh, I just wanted to ask again about Lady Renske''s manor ¡ª me and a few friends are going to go check it out this morning, but I realised I don''t actually know much about the dangers."


    "Neither do we, I''m afraid. It''s all... blocked off."


    "Blocked off? How?"


    "I''ve never seen it myself," Temuri shrugged, "but it''s all misty, like fog over the docks in winter. I don''t know anything about what the inside looks like, not anymore. No one''s ever come back."


    "Right, you mentioned that. We''ll be careful, we don''t want to get ourselves killed for some coins." Of course, money wasn''t Symon''s primary motivation here. For one, he wanted to solve the mystery of the noblewoman''s death. Whatever did it could still be out there, waiting to hurt Symon, his friends, or the innocents in the village. Then, there was some possible link to the new Baron. He''d been assured it was all coincidental, but he wasn''t sure he believed that. Those were all secondary concerns, though. Simple curiosity or greed wasn''t enough to make Symon risk his life.


    It was the dungeon. Symon didn''t want to spend years training just to still be outmatched by a first step with a dedicated combat class. This dungeon could be his ticket to growing powerful enough to not need to fear for his life and freedom, so he needed to investigate the supposed link it had to the manor. He''d been lucky enough to not draw the attention of someone powerful, but he knew it would only be a matter of time. It wouldn''t be soon, hopefully, but when the true power of his healing as well as his status as a world traveller got out, he wanted to be ready.


    "I''d better head off now, I don''t want to be late. Thanks for the advice," Symon said with a nod.


    "Anytime, young man. You be safe now, alright? It wouldn''t do to get a bright young lad like yourself killed."


    "Will do, Temuri. You make sure to let me know if you start feeling ill again."


    "I was already planning on it!" Temuri smiled at Symon as he left, shutting the door behind him.


    "Is everything alright?" Mariyka asked as he walked through the main room.


    "Perfectly okay," Symon said. "More than just okay, even. Sorry, I''ve gotta head out now." Before the conversation could continue, he gave another nod and quickly made his way out of the house.


    The area behind the old mayoral residence wasn''t fenced off, but none of the nearby buildings had a direct path to it. Most of the houses had only a single door, but he supposed there were some benefits to having been the village''s leader for decades. Still, he briefly checked for anyone nearby before slumping down against the wall. His empty room was on the other side of it, so he was confident he wasn''t about to accidentally tag someone.


    "Did you notice anything strange about the mayor?" he asked Keelgrave.


    <Strange? I wasn''t paying much attention to him, but he looked much better,> the spirit replied.


    "Yes, exactly. Don''t you think it worked a little too well? He looked younger."


    <Well, he was basically on death''s door. Having all the pieces of your lungs back in your body would do that to¡ª>


    "No, really, Anatomy was telling me he was physically younger. I... think my healing fixes aging."


    Keelgrave was silent.


    Symon rapped his knuckles against his chest, on the spot above his vessel. "You okay in there?"


    <Say that again,> Keelgrave said. To Symon''s ears ¡ª not that he needed them to hear Keelgrave ¡ª he sounded both nervous and excited.


    "I think my healing cures old age?"


    Keelgrave let out a long, drawn-out "Fuck". <You''re being serious... I can''t believe you''re actually being serious. Go bring up the Ledger for your healing, yeah?>


    [ Idealise (16): Consumes Vitality to return a living target to its peak state. This ability automatically applies to the wielder and cannot be disabled. ]


    Symon stared at the slight impressions on the packed dirt yard as they slowly spelled out words. They were in English, but he could feel Keelgrave focusing on their connection, piggybacking off Symon''s knowledge.


    "It says it right there. Peak state," he said, his mental voice numb.


    <Shit, I never even considered... Blaith''s bountiful bosom, do you understand what that means?"


    Symon continued staring for a while. The truth was clear, but it was one thing to suspect it and another to believe it. "I''m... immortal."


    <No, Symon, we''re immortal.>

 Chapter 57 - Formation

    Once more, Symon and his allies were outside the village. A night in a real bed had done wonders for everyone''s mood and general state. They had all washed up and groomed themselves. Weeks focused on survival and fighting monsters did not lead to the best personal hygiene, something Symon could appreciate now that he''d had a chance to better take care of himself using some of the few comforts afforded in such a remote civilisation.


    They looked much more put together, like young but professional adventurers instead of scruffy travellers. Currently, they were on the edge of the western forest, having already made their way past the cultivated farmland. Thankfully for the farmers, wide roads of packed dirt between their fields allowed Symon to pass by them without damaging their crops. Speaking of, they''d purchased a small bag of apples from a farmer they passed in the fields for only a few copper coins. The manor wasn''t supposed to be too far from the village and they weren''t planning on staying out for a long time, but they still decided that having some fresh food to eat was worth the slight inconvenience of the extra weight.


    Technically, they probably weren''t actually apples, but they were close enough in Symon''s mind. They were the right shape and size, an appealing green colour, and had a refreshing sourness that balanced out the sweetness.


    Oh, they''re probably the ones Durga makes his cider from, Symon realised.


    He finished up with his snack as he took in the scene before him. The forest around Brackstead had a fair number of monsters and dangerous animals, to the point that the villagers would only enter it when they absolutely needed to, but it looked normal enough to Symon.


    The tree and other plant species weren''t recognisable, but then again he doubted he could name many Earth plants, either. For all he''d been warned against it, it looked completely normal. Of course, he already knew how quickly a nice stroll could turn into a monster ambush, so his guard was already up.


    "Okay everyone," Symon said, and the three Dumosans turned to him. "We''re just going to check this manor out. We don''t know much about it or what kind of dangers it might hold, so let''s not get cocky. I''m not going to be disappointed if we decide it''s too dangerous and need to turn back, okay?"


    Aslan nodded, while the other two looked at him expectantly. He quickly translated Symon''s words for them. Learning Dumosi was on his to-do list ¡ª he knew the most important phrases for a combat scenario, but not much else. They still relied on Aslan for anything more complex than the most basic of phrases.


    They all set out once everyone was in agreement. The dungeon was somewhere underground in the direction they were heading, which meant more ambient mana and more monsters, so everyone was on edge. They knew it wouldn''t be a matter of if they were attacked, but when.


    They wouldn''t be going to the dungeon today ¡ª he didn''t even know how to get in, other than that it had some link to the manor and the mine ¡ª but even just the surrounding area would be dangerous enough, not to mention whatever was going on at the manor itself.


    Safiya and Atabek were together in the front. With her enhanced senses and his overwhelming physical might, they were the best equipped to spot and quickly handle smaller threats. Aslan was in the middle, all the better to react to anything that was unforeseen, while Symon was in the back. He was there by necessity, as otherwise, the group would be too far out as they tried to avoid his draining.


    All the plant life meant he could have used his usual technique of distracting Seize with vegetation instead of harming his friends, but he didn''t want to leave a big trail of dead plants behind him. Instead, he''d quickly move between the largest trees, the ones that wouldn''t die after just a few seconds of draining and leave obvious clues behind. Such a technique wasn''t very compatible with careful marching, which is why he was at the back.


    The curse wasn''t something Symon kept secret, but it wasn''t something he wanted to announce for no reason, either. He''d considered trying to keep it completely to himself, but there wasn''t a reasonable way to convince people to stay out of his range while making sure they knew how dangerous a mistake could be.


    I could just tell people I''m really sick and contagious, but who would trust a sick healer?


    If the true strength of his healing was public information ¡ª especially how well it had just worked on Temuri ¡ª he would be in big trouble. Healing that powerful, from someone so comparatively weak was a recipe for being taken advantage of. The second someone powerful caught even a whiff of potential immortality, Symon could enjoy living the rest of his very long life in a dark box far underground. On the other hand, having dangerous magic like his draining wasn''t that special. Proper mages weren''t common, but being able to throw massive fireballs was much better in most scenarios. He wasn''t about to be conscripted into someone''s army just because he had some pretty decent single-target magic with only a few metres of range.You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    His vessel was around half full, which he considered to be good enough. Of course, he would always want more if he could, but if something was able to burn through half a vessel''s worth of vitality before he could drain it back, it could probably burn through a full one too.


    The reserves were slowly going up as he travelled through the forest. Plants gave little vitality, but draining the larger trees was noticeably better than draining grass and small shrubs. I really need to come up with a better way of charging my vessel that isn''t hours of tromping through vegetation...


    A hand signal from Safiya broke Symon out of his musing. One hand was raised, while the other had drawn one of her daggers. The only reason for her to stop was if she noticed a threat.


    Symon looked ahead of the group and saw nothing but trees and bushes. He checked both flanks, behind him, and even the canopy above him, but nothing stood out. When he looked back in front, Safiya had both her daggers out, while Atabek was flipping his axe side to side in his hand.


    Not wanting to be left out, Symon also drew his sword. Something was out there, but Safiya''s senses were so enhanced that it was probably further than he''d expected.


    Straining his ears, he heard nothing beyond the trees gently rustling in the breeze, as well as the occasional distant sound of birds and insects. "What is it?" Symon asked, "I don''t hear anyth¡ª"


    A sudden, piercing howl cut through the natural sounds of the forest. It continued on for several long, long seconds, before finally stopping. In its wake, the entire forest was silent. None dared to attract the attention of something confident enough to announce its presence to all the other predators in the forest. Even after the howl had stopped, he still felt an echo vibrate through his whole body. It took him a while to realise it was his Anatomy passive highlighting how hard his heart was thumping in his chest, the shock of the organ pounding sending ripples through his blood.


    He unconsciously gulped, suddenly aware of how dry his throat was. He''d seen and fought some scary monsters, but there was just something about that howl that¡ª


    A second howl rang out. It was on his right, the opposite side from the first. It was either much louder, or much closer.


    Shit, they''ve got us surrounded, he thought. His first idea was to run, but they''d travelled too far into the forest. There were too many roots to trip him up, and the trees were too dense, so he wouldn''t be able to use his Running to get out. Besides, he wasn''t about to abandon his friends, no matter how scared he felt.


    "Square formation," Aslan said, his voice a bare whisper.


    Cautiously, everyone arranged themselves into a two-by-two grid, facing outwards to watch for threats. Symon caused the formation to be uneven, needing to stand an awkward distance away instead of nearly shoulder to shoulder like the others. They moved to try and expand the formation, ensuring Symon wasn''t dangerously sticking out on his own, but he motioned them back.


    "Cover each other," Symon hissed, "I''ll be able to last solo longer than you." That wasn''t strictly true ¡ª Atabek''s Iron Skin ability let him spend mana to block attacks, for one, although it was gratuitously expensive. Plus, recharging a core was much slower than recharging a vessel. There was enough greenery around that Symon could have drained that while he was in the formation, but constantly adjusting the threads required too much focus when he needed to be prepared for an attack.


    With his shield and chainmail armour, Aslan would have also faired well on his own, but Symon wasn''t willing to put his friends needlessly in harm''s way. Either they could all separate, making things equally bad for everyone, or Symon could trust them to come to his aid if the monsters targeted him first.


    Before long, the source of the uncomfortable silence made itself known. It came from the right of the path, meaning it was likely the creature that unleashed the second howl. It, in most aspects, simply looked like a large brown wolf. Its shoulders came up past Symon''s waist, and it would have been as tall as him if it stood on two legs. It was certainly a big creature, but he didn''t think it was any bigger than a normal Earth wolf. There was one key difference though ¡ª or rather two.


    A pair of sweeping horns nestled atop its head. They were more reminiscent of a devil than a deer. They were about as wide as Symon''s wrist but proportionally not very long. They tapered to a wicked point, the same as the wolf''s teeth, which it was currently showing off with a snarl.


    "I see one," Symon said, not taking his eyes off the creature. The others probably already knew it was there, but he wasn''t about to turn around and check.


    It drew back its lips further and let out a snarl, but didn''t come any closer.


    "Another here," Aslan said from Symon''s opposite side, his voice tight but clear.


    "One," Atabek''s low voice rumbled. The wolf''s eyes flicked to him for a brief moment before focusing back on Symon.


    Safiya was silent. She''d been positioned furthest away from the town and still hadn''t seen anything. Either she was missing one ¡ª which Symon found unlikely ¡ª or the wolves had been smart enough to cut off their path of retreat, not that Symon had seriously considered it as a good option.


    Three wolves against the four of us, that''s not so bad, Symon thought. He adjusted his grip on the sword, feeling the sweat on his palms. The grip was good quality, so it was at least not about to go flying out of his hand the second he swung it.


    Slowly, the wolf padded forward. Symon tensed, but didn''t react any further.


    Twenty metres away.


    Fifteen.


    Symon bit down on his cheek. Once it was close enough, he could lunge forward and get Seize working on ripping out its lifeforce. He just had to be patient, and not make any rash decisions just because he was afraid.


    Ten metres away, the wolf paused mid-step, slowly lowering its paw. It glanced to both sides.


    Is it reconsidering? Maybe it realises we''re going to be tough prey.


    As if it could hear his thoughts, it let out another angry snarl. The horns on its head suddenly began glowing cherry red, like a piece of metal pulled from a forge. They let off a thin trail of smoke, like a candle that had just been extinguished.


    Well shit, that can''t be good, was Symon''s last thought before the creature swivelled to point its horns directly at him and unleashed twin jets of flame.

 Chapter 58 - Forest Barbecue

    If there was one thing Symon had learned since waking up alone in the Wastes, it was that a careful plan can make all the difference in the world. Monsters could be declawed through cautious preparation, playing to your strengths, and emphasising their weaknesses. But sometimes, that just wasn''t possible to do.


    This was one of those times.


    As twin jets of fire flamethrowered out of the wolf''s horns, it was all he could do to cross his arms over his face and roll to the side. The flames washed over him for only a brief moment, but even that was far too long. It was like the time he''d, as a child, opened up the oven and stuck his face in to get a better look at the Christmas ham, only much, much worse. Once he''d completed his roll and he was free of the flames, he drew in a breath of scalding air that made his scorched throat protest angrily, forcing out a wracking cough as he tried to focus on his opponent. He could hear the shouts and growls behind him but put them out of his mind. He couldn''t afford to be distracted.


    His upper body looked pink, like the world''s worst case of sunburn, but he wasn''t actively on fire. The wolf was still channelling flames from its horns in Symon''s previous location, seemingly unable to see well with the blinding flames pouring from his forehead. It wasn''t completely clueless, something it proved as it swivelled to face him again once he was clear of the flames.


    Doing his best to delay and allow the healing to soothe his aching skin, he once more dodged to the side. In response, the monster braced itself like a fireman holding onto a high-pressure hose as it quickly whipped its head to the side, sending a lash of flame chasing after Symon as he circled the wolf.


    He barely threw himself down onto the dirt in time, the wave of fire passing over his prone form and continuing on for several metres before slowing down and petering out. The flame attack seemed powerful, but equally difficult to control. Safiya would have done much better, being able to dodge the unwieldy flames and getting into stabbing range easily, but his friends had their own opponents to deal with.


    I can''t just keep delaying and letting it burn through my vitality, Symon thought. I''ve got to do something, now, while it''s still recovering!


    Dreading what was to come, he grit his teeth and pushed himself to his feet, maintaining his white-knuckled grip on his sword the entire time. Without wasting a second, he charged directly for the wolf. It was a dozen metres away, not nearly close enough for him to get into melee range before it brought the flames back to bear on him... but he accepted that.


    His Running passive enabled him to make it further than he''d expected ¡ª just over halfway ¡ª before his canine foe had him back in its sights. Once more, he covered his face, but instead of attempting to dodge, he continued onwards. The wolf reacted predictably, but just because he knew it was going to happen didn''t make it any easier to get through.


    Even through his closed eyes, the world turned red as the wave of flame washed over him. Even though he knew it was just fire, it felt like a physical wall had slammed into him. Prickling pain covered the top half of his body, and he could already feel the vitality rushing out of his vessel. The pain quickly ramped up, the sensation strong enough to wash away his awareness of his vessel.


    The horrible heat battered into him, tears streaming from his eyes that rapidly turned to steam, but he pushed on. Once more, he lamented the lack of power that Pain Resistance had, but the fact that he was aware enough to even do so meant it must have been working overtime. Without it, he would have been thrashing mindlessly on the ground.


    Still, he pressed on. Every second, the pain worsened, his skin tightening and releasing a fresh wave of torment on each and every shaky step. A sudden, involuntary cough let the flames and superheated air in, blistering his throat and crisping his lungs.


    Up until now, Symon had been silently enduring the torture. That was no longer true.


    Uncaring that it would only worsen the problem, he shouted out his pain and rage, the long, drawn-out sound transitioning into a hoarse scream as his abused throat finally gave in.


    But Symon didn''t. He needed to kill this wolf, now. His friends needed him.


    I''m not going to let you... take another one of them, he thought. Serik had died because he hadn''t been strong enough to defeat the razor stalker, hadn''t been fast enough to get to him, and hadn''t been strong enough to heal his mortal wounds. He needed more.


    In a blinding world of flames and pain, Symon felt a familiar sensation. A connection snapped into place, a part of him reaching through the fire and yet not being burned.


    He grinned savagely, his melting and blistered lips cracking as a sudden stream of vitality poured in through the connection. His starved vessel welcomed the rush of vital energy, his magic taking his rapidly refilling reserves and sending it out through his body as he commanded Seize to its maximum speed. He didn''t dare to open his eyes or remove his arm from covering them, but he could still feel where the thread was pointed.


    If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    It felt like he''d been walking through the flames for an eternity, but really, it couldn''t have been more than ten seconds. With renewed vigour, he followed the trail of his thread, every pulse of vitality he received pulling him closer and closer. Even if he''d had a full vessel, his healing wasn''t nearly fast enough to match the speed the flames damaged him, but he had a simple ¡ª not that he was currently capable of anything complex ¡ª plan to solve that problem.


    The wolf had already shown it had difficulties controlling the fire. It wouldn''t be able to fight up close without turning it off.


    He couldn''t sense the wolf itself, but he could sense where his thread ended, which was good enough. Raising his sword, he brought it down with all the force his weakened body could bear. His nerves were too fried for him to feel the impact, but the effect was obvious.


    All of a sudden, the flames died.


    Hesitantly, he cracked open his eyelids and moved the arm he''d been using to protect his face back to his side. There in front of him was the wolf, his sword buried halfway into his forehead.


    Huh. That was easy.


    The monster''s legs flopped out from under it, Symon''s grip on his sword being the only thing that held it mostly upright. He did his best to ignore the protestations of his body, as well as the shouts, screams, and the cracking roar of fire behind him. Instead, he focused on ripping every last shred of vitality free before the creature finally died.


    "You... cunt..." Symon gasped out at the wolf as the light in its eyes slowly faded. The pain had been horrific. It still was, too, albeit slightly less so than when the flames were actively burning him. Looking down at himself, he winced. Even that just that simple action caused more pain.


    The wolf must have been targetting his torse, as his legs and head had suffered mostly minor wounds, at least relatively speaking. His chest and stomach were another story. If he''d had the best Earth doctors to immediately treat him, he would probably have survived, but he would have been disfigured for the rest of his life. His front was coated in third-degree burns, and that was only the beginning. In a few places, the flames had reached all the way through his skin and into his muscle, although thankfully it hadn''t lasted long enough to do much deep tissue damage.


    Not wanting to leave it up to chance, he took control of his flowing vitality and began an expanding sweep. He started by holding it over his vital organs, then slowly releasing it and allowing it to spread further and further. Once he saw that nothing inside him was sucking up the vitality, he was content to let the tiny amount left in his vessel do its own thing.


    He still looked horribly burned from the outside ¡ª because he was ¡ª but everything past the skin was now healed. In effect, he''d lowered the degree of his burns. This meant the only thing currently impacting him was the pain, which was currently a dull, warm throb that encompassed most of his body. With a now empty vessel, that wouldn''t be getting any better unless he did something to change it.


    The only way out is through, Symon thought as he turned his attention back to the ongoing fight. Ideally, he would have tracked everything that was going on in the back of his mind, but it just wasn''t possible for him to multitask like that when he was being barbequed.


    Looking back at the fight, it seemed like the two sides had mostly stalemated. There were four other wolves still alive out there, meaning there were two more than he''d originally thought, but one of them was already badly wounded, a large slice across its side dripping blood onto the forest floor.


    Atabek had some minor burns, but they didn''t seem to be slowing him down much as he circled the largest wolf, his opponent also doing the same. Safiya and Aslan seemed healthy, although his shield had a few wisps of steam trailing from it. Symon found it unwise to use a metal shield to block fire, but he had to admit that it seemed to be working just fine, although he wasn''t sure why the heat didn''t just transfer to Aslan''s arm.


    To his surprise, none of the wolves were using their fire. He hoped that meant they were out of mana, and not that they were saving it for him. There was no more use theorizing, so he made his way towards the injured wolf.


    It was backing away slowly from the fight, limping heavily as it favoured one side.


    Symon stiffly followed after it, doing his best to ignore the pain. In comparison to what he''d had to go through while inside the inferno itself, this was practically a nice stroll through a park. Safiya noticed him walk past, her eyes widening in horror as she took in his condition, but he waved her off. He didn''t want help killing the wounded wolf ¡ª in fact, he needed to keep it alive for as long as possible.


    He sheathed his sword and quickly began taking the club off from where he''d strapped it to his back. After the brawl with that crazy builder, he''d asked the others for help on how to make a quick release. He didn''t want to be scrabbling with a rope for longer than he''d needed to, but Safiya had shown him a useful knot. Pulling on a free piece of the thin rope, the club was freed and landed softly in his outstretched hand. The sensation in his extremities was numb and muted, but he still managed it much quicker than the last time.


    Hefting the club, he approached the retreating wolf. He didn''t run, simply keeping pace with it until it reached a thick cluster of bushes and stopped, unable to retreat any further. It growled at him, its hackles raised, but no more magical fire came from its horns.


    Oh thank God, I was really hoping it hadn''t just been saving it.


    The plant life around him had been providing the barest trickle of vitality, enough that Symon almost couldn''t feel it. At this rate, it would take hours to heal himself back to normal. Of course, he wouldn''t be maintaining the same rate for long.


    He focused his will onto Seize''s thread manifestation, guiding it toward the wolf. It reached out hungrily, though at five metres away, it was just barely out of range. Taking another small step forward, the thread managed to brush against the tip of its outstretched paw. Once it touched, the connection snapped into place.


    Instinctively, he started to empower the draining, but quickly changed his mind. As long as he allowed it to drain in its passive mode, it would be much harder to detect. A significant part of the danger of his magic was that the draining itself wasn''t felt, just the weakness once it had taken enough. When empowered, it was described as an icy sensation, but he decided to save that for later.


    Empowering it with his focus wasn''t a massive bonus ¡ª around a quarter stronger than when he left it alone ¡ª so this still slowly refilled his reserves, even as part of it was drained away to heal his damaged and destroyed skin.


    By the time the wolf realised something was wrong, it would already be too late.

 Chapter 59 - Charging Up

    Just as predicted, by the time the already wounded wolf realised that there was something else also sapping its strength, it was too late. With a wall of dense, thorny bushes behind it, it had no option but to attempt to flee past Symon.


    To describe it as running would be overly generous. Instead, it stumbled drunkenly, completely defenceless as Symon''s club slammed into its side and knocked it down into the thick mat of fallen leaves that coated the forest floor.


    Idly, Symon realised that it must be Autumn, ignoring the creature''s whimpers and yelps as it struggled to stand up. It was hard to have any pity for it, not when its packmate had enveloped him in an inferno so recently. It had been completely unprovoked, at that.


    Instead of empowering the draining like he''d originally planned, he instead allowed it to continue passively as he focused on his healing. His vessel was full now, the excess being used to inefficiently increase its maximum capacity. It would be better to heal himself completely, then spend any extra he had on expanding the vessel. He still wasn''t sure how that worked.


    "Keelgrave," he thought, "do me a favour and keep an eye on my vessel. Let me know if anything changes."


    <Sure, it''s not like it''s completely surrounding me or anything,> the spirit quipped.


    "Yeah, yeah, just tell me what you see when the storage size increases," Symon said as he looked out over the battle. Part of him felt bad about just watching, but it would be better for him to heal up to full before joining the fight. Besides, they looked to have things well in hand. Aslan was still squared off against one as he slowly whittled it down, while Safiya had already killed hers. It was already dead, but she continued to stab and slash at it over and over again. Meanwhile, Atabek was... wrestling with the remaining wolf. He was winning.


    Symon took in a breath of fresh air, savouring the way the cool air slid down his freshly healed throat. He''d gulped down flaming air before, but there was no longer any pain. The remaining surface-level wounds had also been healed, leaving behind fresh, pink skin. Soon, even that would disappear, with no trace of his wounds left on his body.


    Not long after, the wolf he''d been stealing the vitality of finally expired. It had been still for a while, but he noticed it was dead once the threads detached and began draining a nearby tree. Even with a full vessel, his magic was never sated, sluggishly attempting to gorge itself evermore.


    Keelgrave hadn''t commented on anything changing, and Symon suspected it was because he hadn''t gotten an increase to the capacity in the first place. He needed a lot of vitality to raise it, after all, and his healing had consumed more vitality than he''d expected.


    Something to do with the type of damage? It''s a lot easier to seal a cut than to replace burned skin, Symon thought. It made sense to him, but he also knew his magic didn''t follow the normal healing process he was used to. Another thing for me to try and figure out later.


    By now, the battle was all but over. Safiya had finished with her foe, and had ambushed the one Aslan had been facing off against. Together, they''d made quick work of it.


    That left only Atabek, who had also defeated his opponent. He had it in a headlock, its paws ineffectually scraping at the dirt. It looked like the battle was over.


    "Well, good job everyone," Symon said. "Does anyone need healing?" He noticed Atabek had some minor burns, but the others appeared uninjured. Still, it was good to double-check.


    Safiya shook her head, a smile on her face as she gazed intensely at the fallen opponents.


    "We two are fine, but perhaps Atabek could use some assistance," Aslan said.


    Hearing his name, the big man perked up. "Symon," he said simply. Then, he pointed at the ground, right in front of the still-struggling wolf.


    What does he... oh, I see.


    Symon approached them, the wolf letting out a low whine in warning. Atabek gave it a thump on the head. Once more, he couldn''t bring himself to have much pity for the creatures, not after they''d attacked him first, and not when their attacks were so painful.


    When he got close enough, he guided the thread to the wolf, allowing it to start working on something more substantial. It would be a minute or two before it was weakened enough to where Atabek could release it.


    "Thank you," Symon said in Dumosi. The big man smiled back appreciatively, and Symon gave him a pat on the shoulder. He had to reach up to do so, transferring a few units of vitality over in the process. The grin on his face widened further as the surface-level burns healed before their eyes.


    It was much easier to see the fresh, pinkish skin change to match the rest of him on his darker friend. Why doesn''t it just grow back matching already? Why the extra step? He had yet more unanswered questions.


    "Are you alright, friend Symon?" Aslan interrupted. "You seem fine now, but before..."


    <He has a point, you know. Fire is bad for you,> Keelgrave interrupted.


    Stolen story; please report.


    Symon waved them both off. "I''m fine, nothing a little vitality couldn''t fix." There was one casualty, though. His new clothes.


    His hat had been blown away during the fighting, but he saw it sitting on a bed of leaves, undamaged. The same couldn''t be said for his shirt, as the entire front of it had a large, blackened hole, exposing his less-than-muscular chest. Hey, my stomach looks flatter. If I squint, I can almost see my abs.


    At least his pants were mostly fine, just a bit of char around the waistline. He''d have to get a new shirt, but that wasn''t a big problem. After healing the mayor and giving some of his earnings to the others, he was still left with eight gold coins.


    He wasn''t rich, but by the standards of Brackstead... he kind of was. A miner earned something like two gold a month, and that was for long days of back-breaking labour. It had taken Symon only a few minutes to heal the mayor.


    "Hmm, I think I understand why most healers just take cushy jobs in a big city. They don''t have magic like I do, though," he said to his spirit companion.


    <Not as suicidal, either.>


    "Come on, it wasn''t that bad. It''s usually not the fire that kills, it''s the smoke, and I''m not going to suffocate from the equivalent of a bonfire in an open forest."


    <Huh, really?>


    "Yeah, you breathe in the smoke, then you pass out and suffocate to death. Straight-up burning to death takes a long time, and I don''t even have to deal with infections, which are a big danger too." Symon hardly enjoyed the feeling of being on fire, but if it was necessary to win quickly and he knew he could heal himself back to normal after, he thought it was worth it. In this case, his friends were probably strong enough that he could have just sat things out, but he hadn''t known that going into things. It had been entirely possible that another dozen flamethrower wolves would show up, and then he''d regret not fighting back with all he had from the very start.


    By now, everyone''s nerves had settled after the fight. They were all in a close circle, which included Symon for once. He could get as close to the others as he wanted, as long as the wolf stayed alive and kept his thread occupied.


    "Are we all good to continue in a few minutes? I didn''t realise the monsters in this part of the forest were this strong, so there''s no shame if we want to head back," Symon said.


    "We can continue," Aslan said. "Emberwolves are only a moderate threat, and I find it unlikely anything stronger lives in this forest. If it did, Brackstead wouldn''t still exist."


    Symon decided that Emberwolves sounded much nicer than Flamethrower Wolves. "Alright, just give me a bit to finish draining this one and check my Ledger. Oh, and the range increased, so be careful. For reference, I can just about reach that plant," Symon said, pointing at a bush around five metres away.


    Aslan nodded and disseminated the information, while Symon checked over the others just in case they were putting on a brave face.


    "Is your arm okay? It looked like it took a bunch of fire, but it didn''t seem to hurt you."


    "It didn''t. It''s a good shield, and I have the Passive to help out," Aslan said.


    "Oh, interesting. It just... blocks heat?"


    "Yes, it''s a shield." Aslan shrugged as if it explained everything.


    "Fair enough," Symon said. He wasn''t about to complain about helpful magic. However, it was worth considering how high the Passives had to level before they started doing blatantly magical things. His Swords passive just made him a little better at fighting with a sword, while Aslan''s Shields passive could violate the laws of physics, albeit in a fairly minor way.


    Still, even minor reality warping was impressive. Keelgrave had given him an estimation of their skill levels before, but this narrowed things down. It only took a single skill evolution to be considered on that step, so the others must have been first steps, likely less than 30 on their highest skills. Symon''s highest was already more than half that, which he found to be excellent progress. He''d check his Ledger soon, but there was something else he wanted to figure out while he had the chance.


    "Safiya," he said, and the woman whipped her head over to face him. She''d been keeping a lookout for more emberwolves, just in case that wasn''t all of the pack. "Your eye," he started, pointing to his to make sure she understood. "It was a wolf, right?"


    She nodded, then dragged three fingers down her face. "Wolf go. Now..." she frowned, trying to find the right word.


    Aslan sighed and stepped in. "Yes, it was a wolf, just a normal one. It attacked her when she was young."


    She''d certainly taken her anger out on that thing, stabbing it over and over again, long past the point of death. Symon wasn''t sure what to say, so he just kept his mouth shut. He didn''t know if she just hated them now for taking out her eye, or if it was something deeper. She didn''t seem that bothered now, but she''d been almost rabid in the moment.


    Before he could consider anything else, the wolf that Atabek had pinned down for him finally stopped struggling. Knowing he didn''t have long before the creature died and his magic was once more unleashed, he quickly thanked Atabek for his help with another clap on the shoulder before moving away.


    "I''m just going to check over my Ledger real quick," Symon said. "I won''t go far."


    Aslan gave him a nod. True to his word, Symon only took a couple extra steps away from them once he was out of draining range and summoned his Ledger.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.95 {+0.02}


    Constitution: 1.31 {+0.06}


    Acuity: 0.99 {+0.02}


    Intelligence: 1.02 {+0.02}


    Will: 1.31 {+0.08}


    Vessel (Vitality): 20/20 {+2}


    Abilities:


    Idealise (19) {+3}


    Seize (16) {+3}


    Essence Bond (13) {+1}


    Passives:


    Anatomy (4) {+1}


    Bleeding Resistance (3)


    Languages (10)


    Pain Resistance (14) {+6}


    Poison Resistance (3)


    Running (8)


    Swords (4) {+1} ]


    "Holy shit," Symon breathed, "that''s crazy. Six levels of Pain Resistance, just from that."


    <Holy shit is right. You''ve gotta light yourself on fire more often.>


    "Funny," Symon chuckled softly. "Why didn''t I get Fire Resistance, though?"


    Keelgrave sighed. <You''re so spoiled, you know that, right? You''re supposed to need to suffer enough injuries to kill you several times over before you develop a resistance. If all it took to get it was being set on fire once, every Fire Mage would be useless. There''s a reason why most adventurers don''t have even a single resistance; if they were injured enough to get it, they probably just died.>


    "Well, it bumped my Constitution up a bunch, so I suppose even without the Resistance I''ll still be able to handle fire better. There''s nothing special for getting my vessel up to a maximum of 20, though, that''s a shame."


    <More vitality is a good reward anyway. It works the same with a core, the mana is the benefit. Oh, and I had a good view of when the capacity increased. The vitality just seeped into the walls of the vessel. I think they might be a little thicker, but it''s hard to tell.>


    Well, Symon wasn''t complaining. Being lit on fire sucked, to say the least, but he couldn''t argue with the results.

 Chapter 60 - Black Mist

    Symon took a deep breath of forest air, doing his best to ignore the lingering scent of cooked meat wafting from his clothes. Thankfully, the view was enough to take his mind off his involuntary salivation.


    The party had stopped at the edge of a large, open clearing, at least a hundred metres across. He wasn''t sure exactly how big it was, because Lady Renske''s manor blocked his view. Or at least, he assumed there was a manor in there.


    In his mind, he''d been imagining a large, plantation-style building, maybe with a hedge surrounding it and some imposing wrought iron gates. Instead, he saw what could only be described as a landed thundercloud. A vaguely circular blob of dark mist sat hunched in the middle of the clearing, the ominous substance expanding and shifting like the lungs of a mountain-sized creature. Slight currents were visible, the entire mass rotating like a tornado in slow motion. Occasionally, more concrete tendrils of the hazy darkness would lazily stretch outwards before breaking apart into fine particles and being reabsorbed into the whole.


    The mists obscured any detail of the interior, forming an opaque wall after just a few metres. Even the nearby trees leaned away as if trying to keep as much distance between them. Symon suspected they would have uprooted themselves and fled, if it were possible.


    It didn''t make any perceptible noise, and the rest of the forest was quiet too. That had been true for the last couple minutes of walking, without the usual chirping of birds or the occasional distant sounds of monsters fighting one another.


    "Any ideas what this is?" Symon asked. It was certainly ominous, but it didn''t appear to be doing anything. It certainly didn''t explain why those who entered it never came back.


    Aslan shook his head. "No, but it seems safe enough to approach as long as we do not make contact with it. The nearby plants appear unharmed."


    "Agreed, let''s get a little closer." The quartet ¡ª plus Keelgrave ¡ª did so, walking down the gentle slope and stopping a few metres from the mists.


    "Hmm..." Symon started, trying to spot something he might have missed. All he saw was the black fog; a few metres of worsening visibility before it quickly dropped to nothing.


    <Whatever it is, it''s not conjured. The mana''s slightly higher than normal, but it''s still naturally occurring.>


    Symon supposed that made sense. It must have been here for at least two decades, so it probably wouldn''t have lasted that long if someone had to keep charging it. There were a lot of probablies and maybies there, but Symon was hardly a magic expert. The others were barely any better. It sounded logical to him, but without a proper magical education, a reasonable-sounding guess was the best they were likely to get.


    Aslan and Atabek were peering around the outskirts of the mist, but Safiya was intently staring directly into it.


    "See something?" Symon asked.


    She glanced over at him before pointing inward. "Flower," she said, the deeply accented word coming out more like ''flooweer''.


    Symon looked again in the direction she was pointing, but he still saw only darkness. Then again, her eyes were much better than his. Everyone else looked but had a similar result, so Aslan quizzed her for more information. After a quick back and forth, he filled Symon in.


    "There are black flowers in the mist," he said. "Just a few at first, but they grow more common deeper in. The mist obscures even her vision after that."


    "Black flowers ¡ª the same black as the mist?"


    "Yes, an identical colour," he confirmed after checking with Safiya.


    Symon scratched his chin as he looked over at Atabek. He seemed completely lost by the exchange. Well, no help there. "Hmm, maybe the flowers eat the mist?" Symon said, thinking back to his primary school ''science experiment'' where they watered plants with dyed water.


    "Perhaps," Aslan said, but Symon could tell he wasn''t convinced. Or, more accurately, he wasn''t convinced it was useful information.


    After another minute of wracking his memories for anything useful ¡ª something that felt a little easier to do, thanks to his improved Intelligence ¡ª he figured that he wasn''t going to pull some random tidbit out of nowhere that would solve this mystery for him


    "Well, I think I''m just going to touch it," Symon said.


    "Is that wise?" Aslan asked. His tone made it clear how he would have answered his own question.


    "No, but it''s not like it will instantly kill me, and I''ve got a full vessel. Maybe tie a rope around me just in case?" It looked, for all the world, like dark fog, but Symon wasn''t going to make it more risky than he had to. Not when he''d been warned about the manor so many times.


    As it turned out, the Dumosans were a practiced hand at creating rope harnesses. They lived on a giant, raised plateau, so it was an important skill for dealing with the rapid elevation changes. Before long, they''d tied off some ropes wrapped around and under his armpits, making him look like one of those kids on a leash. The effect was only further compounded by how much larger Atabek was. More accurately, Symon had tied the knots under their guidance, but his surprisingly nimble fingers meant their instructions only ever had to be repeated once.


    You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.


    A little embarrassment is a small price to pay for the added safety, Symon told himself. He mostly believed it.


    "Alright, I''m good to go. Everyone ready?" he asked. Mostly, this was directed toward Atabek. He''d be the one using his prodigious strength to haul Symon back in an emergency.


    The group all nodded, and Symon took a deep breath to prepare himself. Slowly, he approached the mist. There was no clear demarcation where it began, not when it was continually shifting in and out. There were the occasional strands of mist that poked out and were reabsorbed, further complicating the matter.


    Regardless, Symon steadily walked up to the mist. On a sudden whim, he attempted to shift his thread up into the mist, but it refused to budge from the grass at his feet. That meant that the mist wasn''t a valid target for draining ¡ª it wasn''t alive.


    Well, that''s a good sign.


    Quickly, he swiped a hand through the inky substance and took a step back, just in case it reacted. Nothing happened, though, save for him introducing an eddy into the mist that rapidly filled in. It felt like he''d swiped his hand through empty air, and nothing more.


    He looked back at the others. "Didn''t seem to do anything." They nodded, but continued to stare at him intently.


    When he inspected his hand more closely, he found it lightly dusted with a black coating. His first instinct was to slap at it or try to blow it off, like when you''re surprised by an insect crawling on you, but he resisted the urge. His vessel hadn''t sent out any vitality, meaning the dust wasn''t harming him. It made his hand feel a little warm, but that slowly faded until he decided to brush it off.


    "It seems okay, just a little warm. I''m going to try something else," Symon said, seeing their hesitant looks aimed his way. He wasn''t a fan of being a human guinea pig either, but figuring out the mystery of the manor would be his best chance at quick power. It had some connection to the dungeon, and he needed to find it. He wouldn''t be able to catch up to those who''d spent a lifetime benefitting from the ledger without taking a few risks. Plus, now that he''d seen the roiling black sphere out in the woods, he wasn''t sure he''d be able to get much sleep until he knew what it was.


    Once more, he turned back to the mist, this time stepping fully into it. It passed over him and caressed his skin, but he felt nothing but a faint warmth. He looked back to the others and gave them a thumbs up, just so they knew not to pull him back. Atabek returned the gesture.


    After a few more seconds of this, Symon returned to his friends.


    His eyes were a bit watery, but a few rapid blinks cleared them up. He''d gotten a little in his throat ¡ª uncomfortably reminding him of swallowing sand ¡ª but it didn''t cause him any issues after coughing it out. Still, his vessel had remained full.


    "I feel fine," Symon said. "It''s oddly warm, but it didn''t hurt me. We should probably tie some come cloth around our mouths, though."


    After a quick search through their packs to find some spare handkerchiefs and such that they could use as masks, the group was finally ready to delve into the unknown. Symon had taken off his rope harness and walked in first, Safiya following directly behind him. By the time he''d walked in far enough that she could enter without being drained, she was only barely visible to his senses, the mists clouding out most of the outside world. It felt like he was in a dark tunnel, while she stood at the entrance.


    His sight might have been muddied, but his hearing wasn''t. When he heard her sudden yelp of pain, he immediately turned back, taking a wide angle back to pop out of the mists a safe distance. He half expected it to close in on him before he made it, but he emerged unscathed. It really did just seem like creepy, slightly warm fog to him.


    Obviously, that wasn''t true for the others. Safiya was wincing and cradling an arm, while Atabek crouched down next to her as he inspected it with a concerned look on his face. Aslan explained what happened as Symon approached, or at least as much as he understood.


    "The second she touched the mist, she jumped back as if struck," Aslan supplied.


    "Odd... let me take a look before I kill all the grass here." By levelling up Seize, he''d increased its maximum range. It had more than doubled since first coming to Brackstead, growing dangerously fast. One might think this would allow him a larger grace period before the thread had no option but to attach to his friends. This wasn''t necessarily wrong, but it was important to remember that the speed of draining also increased. It wasn''t enough to completely negate the added safety net, but it still greatly reduced it.


    With that in mind, Symon didn''t waste any time before crouching down side-by-side with Atabek and inspecting her arm. The back of her right hand was blistered slightly, uncomfortably reminding him of his recent burns. He poured a single unit of vitality directly into the wound. Immediately, the red inflammation subsided, and the large blisters shrunk, although they didn''t disappear completely. Her hand still had some of the black particles on it, looking like she''d dipped it in a bucket of ash.


    "Water, please," Symon called out as he pushed another unit of vitality into the wound. This time, the blisters vanished completely. When Aslan passed a water skin ¡ª already unstoppered ¡ª over his shoulder, Symon quickly cleaned the substance off her hand.


    I need to be more careful with that... what if the wound had healed over it and trapped it under her skin?


    Mostly satisfied, Symon stepped back. Safiya let out a sigh of relief as she flexed her fingers. Curiously, Atabek seemed even more relieved than she was. Symon figured he''d felt helpless.


    Just what the hell is this stuff?


    It was slightly gritty like ash, and clung to the skin, but had seemed completely harmless to Symon ¡ª if a bit annoying to get in his eyes. In contrast, Safiya''s hand had looked like it had been splashed with acid or held in a fire.


    Aslan gave him a good look up and down, his investigation turning up nothing. "You still appear unharmed... what was different between you?" Aslan asked. Before he could get a reply, he reached out with a single finger and quickly dragged it through the mist.


    His reaction was immediate, letting out a wince as he yanked his hand back. "Like the sting of a Burrow Bee," he said, shaking off his hand. He then used it to wave Symon off when he made to move over and heal. "No need, I was in there for less than Safiya."


    True to his words, Symon noticed that the finger was only slightly swollen, without any of the blistering Safiya had experienced. Even still, Aslan had only made contact with the mist for a fraction of a second, so the substance worked impressively fast.


    Experimentally, Symon swung his hand through the mist too, but once again experienced nothing beyond a slight warmth.


    If he was going to go investigate the manor, he''d be doing it alone.


    Well, Keelgrave''s here, but that''s almost worse.

 Chapter 61 - Into the Mists

    <It''s a dungeon, Symon,> Keelgrave said emphatically. <I know you don''t understand what that means, not really, but it''s big. You need it ¡ª we need it.>


    "You''re right; I don''t understand what''s so special about them," Symon thought back as he stared at the swirling wall of mist in front of him. Looking behind him, he saw all of his allies. They each gave him an encouraging nod, Atabek throwing in an extra thumbs-up. "The mana makes the plants and other materials more valuable, I get that, but why is it so important? Surely it''s not just for the gold we could get by selling it."


    <No, it''s not, although that''s a nice bonus. Dungeons are like... challenges. Dangerous, even deadly, but they have a sense of fairness to them ¡ª the reward is commensurate with the risk.>


    "Yes, yes, but what is the reward? What is it that makes you think me charging in there alone and potentially getting us both killed is worth it?"


    <Fine, I''m not sure exactly what we''re going to get out of it, but I know it will be good. It''s not like I''ve been in a dungeon before, you know.>


    Symon sighed, watching as his breath shifted the mist right in front of his face slightly. "So I''m doing this... for some vague promise of rewards?"


    <Ugh, no, I''ll give you some examples if that''s what''ll make you stop whinging. Artefacts ¡ª dungeon-made magical items ¡ª are probably the most well-known. They''re like normal enchanted items... but better.>


    Symon pinched the bridge of his nose. His watching friends would just think he was psyching himself up to enter the mist, but truthfully he was wondering how he''d gotten himself into this situation. "So, you don''t actually know what''s special about them?"


    <Well, there are plenty of legends and stories...>


    "And you''re sure this is worth it?" Symon cut in seriously. He was giving Keelgrave a hard time ¡ª everyone''s reactions to the dungeon told him they were a powerful resource ¡ª but he was also a little worried about being eaten by monsters for nothing. That wasn''t exactly a fresh concern, though. And it would always be a concern for as long as he was easy prey.


    Before he could get an answer, Symon adjusted the cloth covering his lower face and stepped into the mists. The cloud of dust or ash or whatever the hell it was once more brushed against him, warming his skin but leaving him unharmed.


    <That''s the spirit. Alright, focus up. This isn''t the dungeon so it won''t be too bad, but stay on your toes. I''ll keep a lookout.>


    Symon nodded wordlessly and continued deeper in. He tried to listen out for any danger ¡ª his visibility was next to nothing after going only a few metres in ¡ª but the gentle whistling and rustling of the mist obscured any potential ambushers.


    He had his sword out and a full vessel, so there wasn''t much else he could do beyond continuing his cautious approach. Keelgrave''s ability to sense living things would just have to be enough.


    With his eyes squinted against the mists, Symon trudged on. He breathed through gritted teeth, doing his best to keep his mouth free of the substance, but some still made it through. It was uncomfortable, and oddly tingly, but still didn''t cause any actual damage.


    Why doesn''t this stuff hurt me? My Constitution is lower than everyone else''s, so it can''t be that. Vitality isn''t being consumed, so it''s not even hurting me. That means it''s not just Pain Resistance letting me ignore it, it''s another resistance blocking it entirely.


    "It must be some type of poison dust," he realised, sending the thought to Keelgrave. "Any ideas what it is?"


    <Not really, it could be a million different things,> the spirit replied.


    Symon shrugged, refocusing on his surroundings. He could try and figure it out once he was somewhere safe. The fog hadn''t given him any indication it was actually dangerous to him, but it was still very eerie. Already, he could feel the solitude pressing in on him.


    Even though he''d only been with them for around a week, he''d grown used to always being with the Dumosans. Without someone to watch his back, he couldn''t help but feel that something more sinister was watching him. The knowledge that Keelgrave was here with him helped a little, but a bit of advice and some life detecting couldn''t compare to a six and a half foot tall man with a massive axe ready to split any monsters he found in two.


    Symon did his best to relax while still remaining vigilant. Keelgrave had needed to teach him that while being jumpy and tense might mean you could react to a threat faster, it usually meant you would react worse.


    Slow is smooth, smooth is fast, he repeated to himself as he went further and further into the mist. Occasionally, he''d spot one of the flowers that Safiya had mentioned seeing with her enhanced vision. He was no botanist, but he still recognised what could only have been a rose. True to her word, it was completely black, thorns and all. He supposed it was pretty, but after a gentle nudge with his boot revealed no reaction from the plant, he ignored it. His draining would eventually kill it once it finished with the remaining patches of grass, but he wasn''t going to sit around long enough for that to happen.


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    It was difficult to judge the exact distance, but before too long the visibility began to improve. Where before he could only barely see his outstretched hand, this distance quickly increased. The mist was thinning.


    Eventually, he broke free of the mist entirely, though small wisps and tendrils caressed him as if trying to keep him. There was no force behind it, no more than a gentle breath of air.


    The view ahead of him reminded him of the eye of a tornado ¡ª or at least the way they were depicted in movies, as he was pretty sure real storms didn''t work that way.


    An opaque ring of black mist surrounded the manor and its grounds, which Symon could now see for the first time. The air was still slightly hazy, but not enough to block his vision of the opposite side.


    The building was large, made of the same dark stone as most of the houses in Brackstead. Only, the walls here were made of neat and symmetrical bricks instead of the haphazardly cobbled-together walls he was used to. It was two stories tall, but one end had mostly collapsed while another had a squat tower connected to it, reaching up an extra floor. Like everything else, it was made of the same depressing grey stone.


    A few single-room buildings were scattered around the grounds ¡ª he presumed they were storage or for the servants to live in ¡ª which was itself cordoned off by a low stone wall. It was only around waist height, and was coated in a thick mat of black roses and their roots. He knew this place had fallen decades ago, but it was in surprisingly good condition, barring the collapsed room in the manor itself.


    Thick-walled stone structures could last a while, as evidenced by the ruined tower he''d met Keelgrave in, but it was more than that. While the roses coated almost every free space they could, there were exceptions.


    The numerous pathways linking the building were free of any obstruction, without a single creeping root trying to invade them. Even the walkway near the collapsed side was clear, although the room itself was still filled with rubble.


    While the fog had cleared up significantly, it still made it difficult to see the details of the manor. From one side to the other, the clearer ''eye of the storm'' area was less than a hundred metres, with the manor being on the opposite end to Symon.


    He brushed as much of the dust off as he could while he observed the grounds, but nothing happened even after several minutes of waiting. The only movement was the gently swaying roses and the surrounding wall of dark mist.


    "Well, nothing to it but to do it," Symon muttered.


    <Be careful,> his spiritual passenger said.


    Symon paused outside the gate, which was just a single solid wooden slab on a hinge. "I... yeah, I will."


    Experimentally, he pushed on it. It didn''t budge at all; the hinges were rusted beyond use. Instead, he simply clambered over the waist-high wall, coming to rest inside the estate''s bounds. He half expected something to happen immediately, but the same eerie quietude continued.


    He felt as Seize''s thread automatically slithered outwards and latched onto one of the nearby roses. To his surprise, the tiny flower gave him an incredible amount of vitality. By his best guess, it would take four or so of the flowers to equal one unit of vitality. That didn''t sound impressive, but considering the number of roses must have ranged into the thousands, it would be a valuable windfall.


    "You feel it too, right? There''s so much life in the plants. Even if this is the only thing of value we find, it''ll be amazing." The sheer abundance of vitality could mean a dramatic increase in the capacity of his vessel, but there were other possibilities too. Symon hadn''t wanted to experiment with his vitality too much ¡ª what if he used it all right before someone was critically wounded? ¡ª but this field was essentially a massive battery of vitality, ready for him to drain as needed. He''d finally be able to use his healing for some truly intense training without worrying he''d be shooting himself in the foot.


    In a testament to its strength, it took several long seconds for the flower he was draining to begin to droop, and the same amount of time again before it collapsed completely. After that the thread moved on to the next flower, having stolen every drop of life from the first.


    Symon began considering where he would start in his investigations, but the decision was made for him. The door to one of the outbuildings ¡ª just a squat, single room shed ¡ª flew open, and a hulking figure squeezed through the doorway.


    It was at least six feet tall, even after the severely stooped posture was taken into account. It was bipedal, but hunched over so badly it could almost have walked on all fours. A shirt, ragged shorts, and a mud caked apron contrasted with dull, lifeless green scaled skin. Despite the clothing hinting at a civilised nature, its long crocodilian snout displayed rows of uneven and overlapping teeth in a vicious snarl. The mist and distance made it impossible for him to pick out any finer details.


    "Ah, shit," Symon whispered. The creature ¡ª or man? ¡ª drew itself further upright as soon as it cleared the low doorframe. Immediately, it turned to face Symon, it''s gaze lowering to the slowly dying roses at Symon''s feet. The other being stood at the opposite side of the grounds, but it was easy for Symon to see its head turn due to its overly large snout.


    Symon took a half step backwards. The thick claws and powerful musculature marked it as a dangerous opponent, so direct combat wasn''t going to be his Plan A. He could probably run away. His friends weren''t too far away, and as long as he could lure it out of the mists they''d be able to kill it.


    But he didn''t want to. He wasn''t planning on being a lone wolf his whole life, but he couldn''t grow reliant on others, either. He''d handle this thing using his own strength and powers. He''d prove to himself that he wasn''t the weak and confused young man who woke up drowning in sand.


    The crocodile man let out a low rumble, the sound like two boulders rubbing against each other. "Intruder..." it moaned in Common, the tone angry.


    The clothes had hinted that it wasn''t some mindless beast, but hearing something with such a monstrous appearance speak still surprised him. It certainly didn''t look friendly, but he wasn''t going to initiate a fight to the death with a sapient being for no reason.


    "I''m not leaving," Symon said firmly, "but we don''t need to fight. How about we help each other out? Maybe you need some healing?"


    It let out another rumble, this one continuing on for several seconds. It took Symon a while to realise it was laughing.


    "No leaving... you stay... fertilise garden..." it snarled, dropping down onto all fours.


    "Shit," Symon said one final time. Then, the battle was on.

 Chapter 62 - Pity

    The crocodile man accelerated towards Symon with all the speed of a greyhound and all the grace of a drunken bull. Somehow, it managed to stay charging along the cleared pathways and completely avoid crushing any of the roses with its massive bulk.


    Considering Symon wasn''t interested in seeing how his Constitution held up to getting hit by a half-tonne humanoid crocodile, he had to come up with something fast. He doubted he could outrun it over open ground, so he wouldn''t even try, but that didn''t leave him with many options.


    Charging at it with his sword... he''d leave that for plan B. With Swords guiding his weapon and his magic to sustain him, he''d be able to put up a good fight, but he wasn''t going to try something that risky unless he had to. A capable beginner like him would have his work cut out for him against something so physically superior. Symon didn''t have any more time to plan, the long strides of his opponent rapidly eating up the distance between them, so he had to do something before it was too late. After all, perfect is the enemy of good.


    With that in mind, he made a break for another one of the small sheds, one that was positioned between them and off to the side. Neglecting following the cleared pathways, Symon ran through the roses, heedless of those he crushed underfoot.


    His opponent let out a deep roar, but even despite its rage, it didn''t stray from the cleared footpaths in its circuitous pursuit of Symon.


    He huffed out deep breaths as he sprinted for cover. Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed that the flowers followed him like sunflowers tracking the sun. They didn''t seem to be doing anything else, so he just filed it away for later. The heavy footfalls behind him ¡ª dangerously close ¡ª spurred him into increasing his own pace and ignoring any oddities.


    The inhuman snarling was only getting louder, but Symon refused to slow himself down by looking over his shoulder. Physically, the roses weren''t a barrier. Their small thorns scored little lines in his shoes as he trampled over and through them, but they inflicted no injury and didn''t slow him down. Even if they had scratched him, such minor wounds would vanish in only a few seconds, while the vitality from the roses could power his healing indefinitely.


    That wouldn''t be the case if he got into claw or fang range of his pursuer, so he once more picked up the pace. His legs drove into the ground like pistons, slamming down as fast as he could force them to as he launched his body across the grounds. His Running adjusted his posture, keeping him upright and mostly balanced as he practically flew over the uneven terrain.


    The growling and snapping behind him hadn''t gotten any closer by the time he arrived at one of the freestanding sheds, but he hadn''t gained any distance either. He didn''t have a proper plan for how he was going to use the building, so he''d have to come up with something fast. Either way, it sure beat running away on flat ground and getting caught ¡ª the waist-high wall encircling the grounds wouldn''t have slowed either of them down much.


    Without any time to plan, all Symon could manage was the need to get away. He crouched down before launching himself up in a move that would have made a kangaroo proud. He wasn''t about to be leaping over skyscrapers in a single bound anytime soon, but even his comparatively meagre Strength was enough to send him a good distance up.


    While the building appeared well made, the passage of time had still worn it down. Several of the formerly neatly packed bricks were loose or even missing entirely, giving him ample footholds and handholds as he scampered up the wall. The roses had further contributed to the damage, the flowers sprouting from the roof and sides, their roots pushing through the mortar.


    To his surprise, the charging lizard man didn''t plough into the wall directly behind him. Risking a glance down, he saw it standing in one place, its massive form completely still as it stared up at him from the cleared pathway. He''d expected it to be heaving for breath, at least.


    It was difficult for Symon to climb the wall with a sword in one hand, but he managed it. The whole time, his opponent still hadn''t made any move to continue the attack. It was only a single-story building ¡ª with a low roof at that ¡ª but it made no attempt to jump up after Symon, something it could surely accomplish. The roof was slightly sloped, but Symon wasn''t in any danger of falling off. He used the sudden break in the conflict to get a better look at his opponent, now that he wasn''t running for his life.


    It was less of a half-crocodile, half-human and more of a bipedal crocodile with clothes. There wasn''t any humanity in its face, although the eyes were intelligent, even clouded by anger as they were.


    The first thing Symon noticed was the smell. The roses were completely odourless, but now he was picking out the sickly sweet scent of rot. A cursory examination made it clear the lizard was the source. It was covered in old wounds, seemingly from a variety of sources. He recognised large slashes from a sword, smaller and deeper wounds from an axe, and little punctures the size of arrowheads.


    <There''s something wrong with this Gharzoth,> Keelgrave said, giving Symon a name for the species.


    "Yeah, you''re telling me. All the wounds are clearly old, but none of them have even begun to heal," he thought back. It felt very strange to calmly observe the being that just seconds ago was chasing him down, but it made no move to do anything beyond growl and glare.


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    It was barely in range of his draining, so he shifted the thread from one of the many roses to his hulking opponent. He left it unempowered, hoping to steal as much vitality as he could stealthily. To his surprise, the moment the thread made contact, it reacted. Its smaller upper arms ¡ª not on the same level as a t-rex, but still noticeable ¡ª pounded against its chest like an ape before slowly stepping back. Once the thread was forced to snap off, it stopped its slow retreat.


    The hell? It can feel the threads work?


    Symon probably shouldn''t be thinking of the gharzoth as an ''it''. He could admit that he had difficulty empathising with something ¡ª someone ¡ª that looked so completely inhuman.


    But they had spoken to him. They even had a silly little apron on, although any quaint effect was ruined by the rust-coloured bloodstains on it. And in a way, Symon had invaded their home.


    "Hello," Symon tried. "My name is Symon. What''s yours?" He wasn''t seriously expecting diplomacy to work, but he saw no reason not to try. Worst case scenario, it tries to kill him, which was just where they''d left off before.


    The hulking lizard let out a wordless snarl in response. This gave Symon an uncomfortably detailed view of the inside of the Gharzoth''s mouth. He shuddered involuntarily when he saw rosebuds growing on the tongue and cheeks. When the being shifted slightly, he spotted a large, gaping wound on the back of its neck. It didn''t go all the way through to the other side, but it was close. Like with all the other injuries, it was clearly old and without any bleeding, but distinctly unhealed.


    "Are you seeing that shit?" he asked his only companion.


    <Yes, it''s...> Keelgrave trailed off.


    "Dead, right?" Symon added. If it could walk around with mortal injuries like that, it probably wasn''t so mortal. Keelgrave''s very nature had shown Symon the undead existed.


    <Well, yes, but I was going to say ''unnatural''. It must be a revenant, but I''ve never heard of one talking. It''s got a tonne of vitality in it, too, but I''m not sure if that''s normal.>


    "Do you understand me?" Symon spoke aloud, doing his best to enunciate his words. He''d been told he had an odd, unplaceable accent. As it turns out, having a native language from another world and then being taught a new one by someone born almost a hundred years ago in a relatively small country that had since had its culture absorbed into the Empire...


    Yeah, I must sound a little strange.


    He knew the Gharzoth could understand him, what with it being able to speak a few words of Common, but he doubted it was interested in talking things out.


    "Intruder..." it growled simply while staring up at him.


    For whatever reason, it didn''t want to climb up to get Symon, while he wasn''t interested in climbing down to get it. They were at an impasse.


    "Yes, I''m an intruder, but I didn''t know someone still lived here. I''m just looking for information on the dungeon, then I''ll stop bothering you."


    "No... escape..." it ground out. It was difficult to ascribe human emotions to it, but the anger came through easily enough. Some things were universal.


    Creepy bastard, Symon thought. It was clear to him he wouldn''t be getting out peacefully, but he could at least try and get some information from it.


    "How long have you been living here? Did you know Lady Renske?" he asked.


    Another slow groan emerged from its gaping maw, this one containing something other than just anger. "I... protect..."


    Symon frowned. It protects the grounds and manor, or the Lady? If it was the latter, is she a revenant like the Gharzoth?


    "Maybe I can help the Lady," Symon offered. "I''m a healer, and a good one at that." It sounded like it was far too late for any healing, but it could be the in he needed.


    The gharzoth took a half-step forward, obviously struggling with something. "No... I protect flowers... kill intruder..."


    Really? He''s mad over me stepping on some flowers? Looking at the roof he''d been standing on, most of the flowers that had been growing on it and the supporting walls had been drained to death. Only a few remained. The building was small enough that his central location gave him enough range to reach all of it with his threads.


    It seemed more likely that the Lady Renske was long out of the picture, and this guy was just going through the motions. He wasn''t sure if Gharzoths were just simple beings or if it was the undead nature. Even on Earth, spirits were known for haunting the place they died, not that Symon had believed in ghosts until recently. It was feasible that something about being undead simplified their mind and made it stick to one place. Although...


    Despite being a disembodied spirit, Keelgrave had the personality of a normal guy. Well, that wasn''t exactly right, but it was mostly the same as when he was alive and normal for Keelgrave. He seemed a little harsher, but that edge had always been there, judging by the memory dreams. Growing a little jaded during life wasn''t necessarily caused by magic.


    His simplistic interlocutor wasn''t a spirit, though. Revenants could easily just be the equivalent of a brainless zombie.


    The hulking lizard man took another slow step forward, growling all the while as if responding to his thought. Another step, and he would be in the range of Symon''s draining.


    Symon stared at it nervously. He figured his best course of action was simply to wait. It seemed to be working itself up to climb onto the shed, its head thrashing side to side as it struggled with something, but he could still use it to his advantage. It didn''t seem to care for the pain the wounds would have inflicted on a living person, but he was sure that damaging the muscles enough could still prevent it from using them. Of course, magic was involved, but he didn''t know to what extent it aided movement. For all he knew, the flesh was just for decoration and it was really just a walking skeleton propelled entirely by magic.


    He didn''t think so, though. Anatomy was helping, showing him the way the foreign musculature shifted and pulled to allow movement. Symon silently observed as its low growl slowly ascended in pitch, turning into a keening whine. Its arms wrapped around its own body in a hug, the large claws leaving bloodless furrows as it drew them across its torso. Tearing away his gaze, he looked back at the overgrown, partially ruined manor, then at the field of carefully manicured roses and impeccably maintained pathways.


    "It looks like you''ve been taking care of this garden for a while, bud. Maybe it''s time you rest."


    He didn''t feel scared of the big lizardman anymore. He only felt pity.

 Chapter 63 - The Groundskeeper

    The gharzoth had come to a resolution for whatever internal conflict it was having. Symon suspected it had been unwilling to climb the building he was standing on and risk damaging the roses itself ¡ª the roses that Symon had now killed with his proximity. Without anything to stay its anger, it advanced a single step.


    When he''d first seen his opponent, he''d been so focused on the animalistic savagery and hulking form that he''d missed the smaller details. Looking at it now as it slowly advanced on him, still carefully stepping over the roses Symon had crushed in his mad dash for safety... it looked pathetic.


    It was tall, but not crazily so. Atabek had it beat there. It was bulkier, sure, but its large body was scored with dozens upon dozens of small wounds. Individually, none of them affected it. But when added together, the result was noticeable. Something was wrong with a knee, leaving it unbalanced, which it compensated for by holding its tail off to one side. He hadn''t even noticed that it had a tail until he''d gotten onto the roof and been able to take his time observing it. In his defence, he''d had bigger things on his mind at the time.


    Like everything else, its tail was large and covered in old wounds. The appendage didn''t seem particularly threatening, and yet he knew the massive muscle could easily crack his ribs if he allowed it to.


    The moment his thread lashed out and connected to the gharzoth, its growls lowered in pitch. It could feel it, somehow, even without Symon empowering the draining. He did so immediately after, wanting to get as much of an advantage from the relative safety of the rooftop before he was forced to fight.


    The vitality he felt being pulled through his threads was powerful but also tar-like in more ways than one. His magic still worked, but the stolen life force seemed to partially resist him. If he thought of the thread as a pipe that vitality could flow through ¡ª which was accurate, if a bit simplistic ¡ª then the stolen vitality was clinging to the walls, necessitating the use of more force to pull it through. Keelgrave had more control over his own vitality too, so it could have been due to their undead nature.


    Where they differed was the flavour of the vitality. The spirit''s had been powerful, but otherwise indistinguishable from a living being. In contrast, the gharzoth''s thick, sludgelike vitality felt dirty to him, like grease clogging a drain. Even his usually ravenous magic seemed to only begrudgingly work, like a child being forced to take their medicine.


    Regardless of the feeling, Symon forced his way through it. The resistance wasn''t enough to overcome his Willpower and nearly evolved Seize.


    <Ugh, depths, this is disgusting,> Keelgrave complained, but Symon ignored it. He needed to focus on the fight. The first round had been him fleeing, but the second would be different. He''d put the creature out of its misery.


    The low, groaning growl continued to deepen in pitch until its anger had built up enough. Like a dam finally buckling under pressure, it took one step, then another, before falling into a sprint towards Symon. He was perched on the low roof, but he doubted the creature would have any trouble simply jumping up.


    Sword at the ready, the gharzoth finally reached him. Its powerful legs bunched up, ready to launch its large frame through the air, but that wasn''t what happened. With a roar, it slammed right into the wall, crashing through the old bricks and entering the building through the new hole in it. Symon lost track of it for only a brief moment before it barrelled out through the opposite wall in a spray of dust and pulverized bricks.


    It skidded to a halt just outside of his range, before turning back around and repeating its charging move straight through the building. All the while, it continued the same low growl. Naturally, his thread snapped back on every time, which elicited another wave of complaints from Keelgrave. Naturally, he ignored them.


    He could admit that the feeling of vitality flooding into his vessel and body was somewhat intoxicating. More than once, he''d done things in the heat of combat that, in retrospect, was not something his normally analytical mind encouraged. He''d charged after the razor stalker when it had attempted to flee, ignoring his injured friends in favour of proving his superiority and taking the powerful source of vitality for his own. Just recently, he''d been a little overzealous in taking down the emberwolves, taking injuries he might have been able to avoid just because it was the quickest path to victory. Sure, his healing got rid of the consequences, but he hadn''t been thinking about that in the moment. He''d just been angry, and wanted to win.


    That was to say that, while he felt he was getting better, his beginner combat instincts were still often overwhelmed by the influence of the stolen vitality. In this case, the corrupting influence of the gharzoth''s undead lifeforce wasn''t whipping him into a rabid frenzy, but it was doing... something.


    The thick sludgelike vitality was pooling in his vessel. It was being purified, he could already tell that, but the process was slow. He was confident he wasn''t about to have a repeat of the Keelgrave situation ¡ª two voices in his head was quite enough ¡ª but it still didn''t feel great. Judging by Keelgrave''s continued complaints, he wasn''t enjoying the process either.


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    He''d been content to let the gharzoth wear itself out and give his draining time to work, but this opportunity was about to end. The continual damage to the walls of the shed as his opponent charged back and forth through them had reached a tipping point, and it wasn''t safe for him to stay on the roof any longer. If he risked it, he''d be liable to get stuck under the collapsed roof, leaving him at the mercy of the hulking lizardman.


    And he didn''t exactly seem in the mood to sort out their differences over some tea.


    The next time the gharzoth charged through the wall, Symon leapt off and landed in the area his opponent had just been standing. It had only been a few metres, meaning he easily rolled with the landing and came out of it unharmed. The low height had also enabled the thread to reach his target easily ¡ª his foot had only been a little higher than the gharzoth''s head.


    He turned back to face the shed, sword at the ready. Remembering the spray of dust and chunks of bricks with every crash through the wall, he backpedalled a few steps. Getting knocked out by a giant lizard running through walls Kool-Aid man style would be embarrassing.


    <You really need to kill that thing fast, this vitality isn''t right,> Keelgrave complained.


    "It''s fine, the vessel is cleaning it somehow. Just be patient and quit distracting me," Symon said. Generally, Keelgrave kept quiet during fighting for that very reason, so it must have been pretty bad for him to speak up. He supposed that Keelgrave was being coated in the stuff, while in Symon''s case, it was contained within the thread and vessel.


    Pushing all distractions from his mind, Symon refocused on the shredded wall in front of him. The thread had detached after the range had gotten too far, so he no longer knew the revenant''s exact location, but it was enough to know it would be breaking through the wall in a second.


    He wasn''t sure if the revenant had noticed him leaving the roof, but either way, it smashed back out his way just as predicted. Its head quickly swivelled before locking on to Symon.


    The chunks of brick blown out in the abrupt creation of a new doorway skittered across the ground, harmlessly stopping in front of Symon. Right behind it came the gharzoth, continuing its charge as soon as it spotted him and closing the distance in a flash.


    Symon was ready, though, flicking his sword out one way while dodging in the opposite direction. The blow was weaker than it would have been with the full force of his body behind it, but his opponent''s momentum still meant the sharp edge slashed a line through its shoulder.


    Both opponents twirled to face one another, the revenant taking a slightly longer time to do so. The wound was minor, barely breaking through the tough scales and exposing the grey meat beneath it, but it was added to the collection of dozens of old, unhealed injuries. Coupled with the stolen vitality, Symon was confident that he was more agile, although he''d still get caught if he ran in a straight line.


    Even with Keelgrave''s ability to sense life, they could only vaguely estimate the revenant''s reserves as ''a lot''. Considering it took around a minute to drain an emberwolf to the point of collapse, he couldn''t rely on it alone for the much larger and more powerful gharzoth.


    Predictably, the gharzoth did the two things it was good at. It made angry noises, then it charged at him in a straight line. Seeing no need to change up a strategy that was working, he once more dodged to the side at the last second. His Running passive was awkward to use in this manner ¡ª it made him better at running, not reacting and dodging ¡ª but it was still helpful.


    He stepped to the side, his blade swept out, and his opponent collected a new wound. This time, he''d aimed for the knee. It had landed a little high, but that was fine. He wasn''t in a rush.


    This continued several times, the gharzoth''s blind rage preventing it from trying something new. By now, it was stumbling drunkenly, its much-abused legs finally showing true signs of damage. Although the adrenaline of combat made his heart hammer in his chest, he didn''t change things up until, finally, his next attack sent it stumbling to its knees.


    Breathing heavily, he approached his downed opponent. It was kneeling, glaring up at him with hate-filled eyes, but that changed as he approached. The revenant almost seemed to relax.


    If it had died when Lady Renske did, then it must have been out here for two decades, all alone as it cared for the field of roses. It was unlikely it had even fought with any intruders, considering Symon doubted a random villager could make it through the mists.


    It didn''t struggle to its feet, instead staring at Symon with large, watery eyes. Another growl escaped from its mouth, but it sounded plaintive instead of angry. Even as he approached, it made no move to attack him.


    "Do you have a name?" Symon asked. It was clear to him this was only going to end one way, but he thought he should at least know the gharzoth''s name. Even as a zombie, it wasn''t just some dumb animal. It deserved that much.


    "Just... Groundskeeper..." it rumbled. It stared straight into his eyes, easily in range of a claw swipe, but continued to sit still. This close, the scent of rot was almost overpowering, making his eyes water.


    "Be at peace then, Groundskeeper," Symon said solemnly. After a moment of hesitation, he continued, "the roses are beautiful."


    "Lady''s... favourite..." it said, rotted lips pulled back in what was only vaguely recognisable as a smile. Slowly, its eyes clouded over once more, the mouth closing into a hissing growl, but Symon ended things before it could escalate.


    Pulling back like he was swinging a baseball bat, the well-honed edge of his sword cut deep into the Groundskeeper''s neck. Wrenching the sword free of the dense flesh and tough scales, he repeated the process once more, sending its head and body toppling to the ground in two separate directions.


    Symon let out a deep sigh. "Damn, poor guy. I can''t imagine dying and living in purgatory for twenty years like he must have been..." He looked down at the severed head, gazing blankly at the sky. Neither it nor the body had twitched a muscle. It was truly dead.


    "I hope your soul went somewhere nicer than mine."

 Chapter 64 - Vanishing Act

    Atabek slowly twisted his body around, causing his lower back to release a series of cracks like the sound of a falling tree. Surreptitiously, he cast a glance Safiya''s way, admiring her many scars as she spun a dagger around by a ring at the base of its hilt. He tore his eyes away, his gaze sweeping over the forest as he checked for anything sneaking up on them. Predictably, he saw nothing. No other creatures were willing to come so close to the mysterious dark cloud. It wasn''t so bad out here, although it was hard to truly relax with a massive orb of swirling dark mist a stone''s throw away. Granted, he could throw a stone quite far, but that was beside the point.


    "Do you think he''s okay in there?" he asked, breaking the comfortable silence of the camp. They''d known each other since childhood and felt no need to fill every second with idle chatter. By now, their bonds forged by battle were so strong that they didn''t need to use words to communicate during the well-trod process of setting up and maintaining a camp. That was something he admired about the healer; most foreigners loved to fill the air with their strange noise, but this one didn''t. In fact, he seemed to be lost in his own mind half the time. Atabek understood.


    "The fog seems the biggest threat, but it did not harm him," Aslan said. "I doubt any monsters would make it through the wall."


    "More dangerous out than in. Still hear nothing?" Atabek guessed, once more looking around him.


    "There was something, but I''m not sure what," Safiya answered with her velvety smooth voice. "Like a rock falling from the top of the plateau, only heard from a great distance."


    "Hmm, I hope it was nothing bad," he rumbled. "He''s so... squishy. Like a little berry. I do not wish for him to be squished into a smoothie."


    "Brother, I think you might be hungry," Aslan laughed. While they were related, it was much more distant than siblings. Something to do with a direct ancestor''s cousin, he thought.


    "We bought some fresh ingredients, right? Maybe it''s time we stop for brunch..." Safiya suggested.


    Atabek smiled. He had just the right thing.


    <hr>


    Symon wiped the sweat from his brow, finding it to be uncomfortably gritty. It also left a dark streak across his hand, and probably his forehead, but he couldn''t check. The dust ¡ª finding out what it actually was before he spent much longer in it was his next priority ¡ª turned his sweat into a gross, paste-like consistency.


    "Well, that wasn''t so bad," he said, looking down at the body of the former groundskeeper. "I don''t really notice myself growing stronger day by day, but I would''ve been ripped in half by the gharzoth if I''d come here a week ago. Even just the Swords passive makes me feel way more confident about taking care of myself."


    Symon took the time to wipe some of the collected dust off himself, but he mostly just smeared it around. Keelgrave didn''t reply.


    "Yes, yes, I know it''s only low level yadda yadda I''m still a bug to be crushed blah blah. It''s still good progress, though, and even you have to admit it," he proclaimed, proudly planting his hands on his hips.


    Keelgrave was silent.


    Symon frowned, looking down at his chest even though he didn''t need his eyes to sense his vessel and vitality. The dirty ¡ª for lack of a better term ¡ª vitality still sat solidly inside his vessel, making him feel bloated in a way that a full vessel normally didn''t. He wasn''t worried, though. Even now, he could sense the substance slowly being broken down and purified into normal vitality.


    What he couldn''t sense, though, was Keelgrave. Normally, he was a little ball of vitality, noticeably distinct from Symon''s but still stuck in his vessel all the same. The spirit tended to sit at the bottom of the vessel, like water in a cup, but he wasn''t there. The foreign vitality had instead sunk to the bottom, slowly bubbling like tar as small amounts were purified and rose up to join the swirling mass of normal vitality above it. Keelgrave must have been up there, and yet Symon couldn''t see him.


    "Hello?" he tried, projecting his thoughts down the bond as he usually did. It didn''t feel any different from usual, but Essence Bond didn''t provide much indication that it was working in general. There was no reply.


    "Shit, that''s not good... where the hell are you?" he spoke aloud. He tried to talk himself through what had happened and see if he had missed anything. "I''m pretty sure I would have noticed him leaving my vessel, even with the revenant distracting me. Plus, if he figured out a way to escape the vessel, he would have already done so." Pacing back and forth, he did his best to ignore the body of the manor''s groundskeeper. "If he didn''t leave, that must mean he''s still in there, I just can''t see him. So...." he trailed off.


    He remembered Keelgrave complaining about the foreign vitality, but he would have guessed it was the culprit anyway due to the timing.


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    "Hmm, are you buried under all the revenant''s vitality? Shout if you can hear me," Symon said. Nothing happened, but he wasn''t expecting it to.


    With a shrug, he realised he didn''t have to do anything to solve the issue. He was pretty sure Keelgrave was just trapped under the tar, which was a problem that was already solving itself as his vessel slowly cleansed it, converting the impure vitality into a normal version. It wasn''t like the spirit would suffocate down there.


    Although... was Keelgrave being trapped really a problem? The spirit had been quite helpful with training, and might have been slightly less insulting than when they''d first met, but Symon hadn''t forgotten that he''d tried to kill him in that meeting. He still hadn''t received a proper apology for that, not that a few words would be enough to make up for attempted murder.


    The problem there was that Keelgrave didn''t even seem remorseful in the first place. Symon knew enough about him from the memory dreams as well as more mundane conversation that he wouldn''t call him needlessly evil, but he was certainly self-prioritising to the extreme. He valued his life so much more than the life of a stranger. The opposite of Symon, who would risk his to save another.


    It all boiled down to one question: did Symon trust him?


    Simply put, the answer was no. More precisely, he could trust Keelgrave to look out for Keelgrave, which, considering their bond, meant he had a vested interest in helping Symon. But if a genie showed up and offered to swap Symon and Keelgrave''s position... he was pretty sure the spirit would accept. Sure, he might even feel a little bad about it after having gotten to know Symon, but he still only cared about himself, his ship, and his crew. In that order.


    So no, he wasn''t in any rush to clear up the strange vitality and free Keelgrave. It was nice to know that there was a way to suppress the spirit if he ever decided he''d had enough of him.


    Sparing a final glance at the body, he moved on. Part of him roiled at the idea of killing a thinking being that had even been able to talk, but that part was quickly squashed. The lizardman was undead, for one, and clearly not in its right mind. It had been taking care of the roses alone for decades, preventing it from being able to pass on peacefully. Symon had ensured it could, and didn''t feel bad about that. He even felt good knowing that he''d helped someone, even if the process had been messy.


    Next, his plan was to scope out the manor itself and hopefully find a way to turn off the surrounding tornado of black dust. It was clearly related to the black roses, but he wasn''t sure of much beyond that.


    Actually, let''s try and figure that out first. Just in case it''s secretly killing me.


    His thread had long since detached from the truly dead gharzoth and continued its flower killing spree, so he walked over to the nearest cluster of roses. Really, the manor grounds were so thick with them that there weren''t noticeable clusters, so he simply stepped off the clear path that led between the sheds and onto the dirt.


    He knelt and plucked one from the ground, roots and all. It took a bit of tugging; the roots were so closely entwined with those of its neighbours that it was like they were trying to hold onto their friend, but he wasn''t going to be defeated by a plant. He kept the thread firmly planted into one of the nearby roses, ensuring his uprooted specimen would remain alive while he studied it.


    Interestingly, he felt a now familiar sensation as his awareness focused on the flower. It was his Anatomy passive. It made sense that it would work on plants, too; he just hadn''t focused on one hard enough for the effect to work until now.


    The entire plant was the same shade of black ¡ª petals, stem, roots, and thorns. The passive even supplied the name for other parts of the flower, like the sepal, that he wouldn''t have known without the ledger.


    Hmm, is it helping me remember something I once knew but just forgot, or did the Ledger download new knowledge into my brain? I''m not sure how I feel about that...


    Sliding the stem across his sword, he revealed that even the internals of the stem were the same black colour. Looks cool, but not sure that helps. Checking the depression in the dirt he''d just pulled the plant out from, he found... dirt.


    It was completely normal brown dirt without any of the black dust mixed through it. There was a layer of it on top of the dirt, but they hadn''t been combined.


    "Okay, so it doesn''t come from the ground," he said to himself. Next, he peeled back the delicate petals. He couldn''t see much, considering it was still the same solid black colour, but he thought he might be seeing something...


    As a child, before he''d gotten sick, he''d always stop and pick dandelions when the seeds were ready to fly away. He''d help them along, blowing them off the plant and sending the little white tufts of fluff floating through the air. His mother always told him they were a weed and he shouldn''t help them spread, but he hadn''t cared.


    With a smile on his face, he held the rose up to his lips before blowing air out as hard as he could. Immediately, a fine cloud of the black dust flew out of the flower, lazily floating through the air on a gentle, unseen breeze.


    "I''m a genius," he chuckled, taking advantage of the lack of Keelgrave to try and humble him. They weren''t seeds, though. His thread refused to attach, even for just the briefest moment, so it wasn''t alive. That was good, because even through the cloth face mask, he''d probably breathed in quite a bit. Even the ''clear'' area within the walls of the mist was still hazy with the substance.


    The sudden tickling in the back of his throat made it clear what the black dust truly was.


    "Oh God, magical hayfever," Symon complained, the pollen of the black rose building up to a crescendo as he sneezed it all out, just managing to move his facecloth away in time.


    Nasty, he thought as he kicked a bit of dirt over the black substance on the ground. The pollen was certainly annoying, but he still hadn''t noticed any serious negative effects. If they existed, they would have already happened.


    He supposed it was possible there were more groundskeepers that would attack him, but it was a similar situation to the pollen. None had shown up during his fight, including when one of the sheds had collapsed. It had been quite loud, but he''d only barely registered it, focused as he was on the fight.


    Regardless, he kept his sword drawn as he approached one of the sheds, sticking to the cleared paths. It wasn''t nearly wide enough to keep the roses out of his range, but he wanted to keep the rest of the field healthy for a proper harvesting later.


    A lot could be done with what had to be be hundreds of units of vitality.

 Chapter 65 - Haunted Mansion

    The manor grounds contained four sheds in total, including the recently demolished one. The subject of his attention was the one the Gharzoth had come out of. Like all the others, it was a small, single room structure. It had a window, but the glass in it was shattered and that which remained was so pollen coated it would have been impossible to see through.


    The interior was dark, the situation not helped by the perpetual gloom ¡ª the dense pollen walls surrounding the manor connected at the top, too, forming a roof that blotted out most of the suns'' rays. It gave the manor and its grounds an eerie look, like it was perpetually dusk.


    Even in his past life, he''d always had good vision. Still, he was sure that Acuity was making things just a little smoother for him. It wasn''t like he could see in the dark ¡ª even Safiya couldn''t, not fully ¡ª but his eyes still adapted to the low light of the shed''s interior unnaturally fast.


    What he saw inside matched his expectations. The interior was as decrepit as the rest of the grounds, and similarly dust coated. There was a small cooking area, really just a little firepit with a metal sheet over it, a few rotting wooden boxes with various farming implements and materials, and a bed. To call it a bed wasn''t entirely accurate, as it was more of a ratty mattress on the ground than something proper, but it was at least the only thing inside that didn''t have a thick layer of black pollen over it.


    The bed must have been the only thing it still used... I wonder what it ate?


    The interior was strikingly mundane, even through the years of disuse. He was confident that nothing else lived here, so it would be safe to check his Ledger to see what rewards he''d gained defeating the Gharzoth. It had been both dangerous and easy ¡ª he hadn''t been hit once, but he''d have been in a lot of trouble if he was ¡ª so he was expecting some good rewards.


    Without needing to say or even consciously think anything, the thick layer of pollen against the wall was already shaping itself into letters.


    [ Status:


    Name: Symon


    Class: Cursed Healer


    Strength: 0.98 {+0.03}


    Constitution: 1.33 {+0.02}


    Acuity: 1.03 {+0.04}


    Intelligence: 1.04 {+0.02}


    Will: 1.38 {+0.07}


    Vessel (Vitality): 22/22 {+2}


    Abilities:


    Idealise (19)


    Seize (19) {+3}


    Essence Bond (14) {+1}


    Passives:


    Anatomy (5) {+1}


    Bleeding Resistance (3)


    Languages (10)


    Pain Resistance (14)


    Poison Resistance (4) {+1}


    Running (9) {+1}


    Swords (6) {+2}


    Titles:


    Blessed by Order


    Blessed by Chaos


    World Traveller ]


    He wanted to get a full overview, so the Ledger responded to his subconscious. He wasn''t worried about someone spying on his Titles in here.


    Both his main abilities were just below the required level to evolve. Idealise not levelling was a good thing, he supposed, because it meant he hadn''t been hurt. Seize was the opposite; getting it evolved was his best shot of being able to control it, but it was also a risk. If it didn''t work out, it meant he''d given it a longer range and faster draining for nothing. Already, he knew he''d have to think long and hard about if it was even feasible to go back to Brackstead. It had been a miracle that no one had been hurt already, but a now five-metre range in all directions would be huge in a civilised place. It felt annoyingly short out in the forest or during a fight, but dangerously unwieldy around people.


    There was some more helpful information in his Ledger. His Essence Bond going up confirmed for him that Keelgrave was just trapped and not gone forever. He still wasn''t sure how he felt about that. Similarly, the extra level in Poison Resistance confirmed to him that it was the reason why the pollen didn''t hurt him, or at least one of the reasons. He found it noteworthy that the resistance still improved even though the pollen was weak enough to not actually damage him. It was likely then that he could only get a couple levels from it, but free resistance without any pain or vitality cost still sounded great to him.


    Finally, his Will had the best improvement of his main stats. Probably from how hard it was to drain the gharzoth, and maybe the purifying of it too, he thought.


    Speaking of, the purification process was still slowly ticking away in the background. It was certainly a glacial pace, but that was fine with him. It felt strange and heavy in his vessel, but that was it. He could try to speed it up, but felt no desire to hasten his reunion with Keelgrave ¡ª it was nice to be alone in his own head for a change.


    The words written on the wall flattened themself out automatically as Symon left the cramped interior, his gaze directed toward the manor itself. He followed one of the paths to it, getting a good look as he did so.


    The neat bricks it was constructed of were surprisingly free from any invasive roses growing through them, although they still pressed right up to the walls. One end of the manor was collapsed, while the opposite end had a raised level, giving it a sloped and lopsided appearance. It had a few proper windows, but much like the sheds, the glass was shattered, littering the dirt with shards. The inside was probably filled with them too, so he''d have to step carefully. Training Bleeding Resistance using all the flowers as fuel could be a good idea, but he''d rather do it intentionally after he''d cleared the manor, not by stepping on a random shard of glass.


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    He wasn''t about to torture himself just to train the resistance, but presuming it worked like Poison Resistance did with the pollen, he''d be able to slowly train it with such tiny injuries that he couldn''t even feel them. Although, he did find it strange that it had levelled without consuming any vitality. He must be missing something, but he felt like his current theory was almost there.


    Either way, any potential extreme training would only be done after he was confident there weren''t a bunch of monsters hiding in the manor. The path lead to the main entrance of the manor, itself on a stone deck raised a half step above the ground. His boots ground the gritty pollen into the neat stones with a crunch as he walked up the short stairs to it.


    As always, the pollen was ever-present, making the grey stones appear much darker. The film was thick enough that even a tracker as unskilled as Symon could notice the oddity leading up to and presumably through the open door. There was a clear trail through the pollen ¡ª not individual footsteps, but a single solid line. It was partially filled in, but the rut was still easily visible. After a quick glance through the door to make sure nothing would be rushing out at him, he got down on one knee and inspected the depression as closely as he could.


    The track''s depth was about halfway into the pollen, so they weren''t particularly fresh. He didn''t have a very accurate estimate for how old they were, as he didn''t know how much pollen fell on this area per day. They were definitely a few days old, but he wasn''t confident about anything further. They could have been left three days or three months ago.


    That seemed odd to Symon. It looked like something had been dragged in or out, yet there wasn''t a single footprint. The groundskeeper''s feet had been large and clawed, so he would have noticed their tracks already.


    "Hmm, maybe a snake slithered in. Any guesses, Ke¡ª" Symon mumbled, catching himself at the last second. With a sigh, he pushed himself back to his feet and approached the doorway.


    "Right, right, just me investigating a haunted mansion all on my lonesome." Although, maybe he didn''t have to stay solo for this. His friends were all stuck outside the dome, but that was a solvable problem. There were so many vitality-rich roses in here that he''d be able to help them all get Poison Resistance, and still have plenty left over for his own purposes. Then, they''d all be able to reunite inside, making the exploration much safer.


    They had at least a month to get their rewards from the dungeon before the next trade ship arrived, but Aslan had already floated the idea that he''d be willing to stay longer. He''d known even less details about dungeons than Keelgrave, but he''d still acted like they''d be fools to pass over it.


    With that in mind, he decided to do the smart thing and return for backup. If the manor had lasted this long without anyone else but Symon making it in, then they''d be fine to take another day or so to train up his friends'' resistances.


    He paused halfway through his turn away, something just inside the open doorway catching his attention. It was a small clump of the pollen, all bunched up around something. It was tiny, around the size of a fingernail.


    Shit, that reminds me of the mana cores. The gardener probably had one...


    Symon shook his head clear of the dark thought, refocusing on the item in front of him. Stepping into the manor and picking it up, he saw that it had only a cursory resemblance to a core. He took it back outside, where the lighting ¡ª while still dim ¡ª was much brighter than inside. It was the right size for one, but it fell apart in his fingers as he held it. The outside was coated in the black pollen, but the inside was a dark, rusty brown.


    Blood, Anatomy whispered into his mind. Not literally, but the sudden thought felt intrusive. The substance was clearly old, but he didn''t know much more beyond that. He''d had plenty of experience with blood, but he wasn''t a forensic investigator. Usually, any blood he saw was fresh.


    His experience was enough to know that this wasn''t fresh. It had to be at least a few days old, but he couldn''t estimate anything more precise than that. Still, that told him a lot. The Gharzoth didn''t bleed, not properly, and also hadn''t left any tracks in the area.


    Whatever the source, something else had been alive, at least recently, in the manor. Something that was wounded.


    Immediately, his instincts kicked in, urging him to charge in and save whoever was wounded, but logic quickly chimed in. There was no guarantee that just because something could bleed meant it was a friendly person or, for that matter, even a person. It was very possible that there was some other type of undead, a type that could still bleed and had left a trail behind it.


    Even if it was a living being, they could still be dangerous. Getting past the outer barrier of pollen in the first place was no easy feat, so they must have been strong, or have some unique advantage like Symon did.


    No, the smart thing to do would be to return to his friends, help them train up their resistance using trips back to the roses as fuel, then come in and investigate the source of the blood together. He''d gained his Poison Resistance fast, but he''d been hovering on the edge of death, his heart and lungs paralysed by the centipede''s venom as his magic struggled to keep him alive for an unknown period of time. The training for the others wouldn''t be anywhere near as extreme, so it would take a longer time. He''d also only be able to help one of them at a time safely.


    He was sure that''s what Keelgrave would have advised, or told him to keep all the vitality for himself, but Symon couldn''t waste time when someone could be in need. His brief time on Cathar had done much to strip away his naivety and idealism, so he would expect the worst and remain on guard, but he wasn''t sure what he would do if he delayed only to find someone''s still warm body. He didn''t see himself as some noble hero, but if someone had been in need of his help and he''d abandoned them...


    Something had left drag marks in the pollen, bleeding all the while, and Symon was going to get to the bottom of it before it was too late.


    It might have already been, he thought as he stepped past the threshold.

 Chapter 66 - Emergency Measures

    The manor must have been quite nice, once, especially considering it was in the middle of nowhere. Like everything else, the interior had a coating of black pollen, but it wasn''t enough to hide the beautiful artistry.


    A large split staircase took up most of the far wall, the wooden bannisters carved into various reliefs. He saw various monsters carved into the fine wood, some of which he recognised and some of which he did not. There were griffons, unicorns, and multi-headed hydras. One section even had a winged elephant surrounded by fish, also with feathered wings.


    Several doors led off to the different rooms of the house, including those at the top of the stairwell, which had wrapped halfway around the room on their ponderous ascent to the second floor. It looked impressively made, but Symon had a bigger priority ¡ª the trail on the floor continued on through one of the slightly ajar ground-level doors.


    He allowed the path to guide him, following it with his sword in hand and thread at the ready. To his surprise, none of the everpresent roses had infested the manor, so his threads had nothing to latch onto. Luckily for him, the usually inconvenient range and ability to go through physical objects worked in his favour, allowing him to scout things out with the hungry magic before entering the next room.


    The thread snaked through the door, searching for anything to consume, but found nothing. The groundskeeper must have been meticulous in ensuring the roses didn''t infest the mansion. Even the everpresent pollen was rapidly thinning into nothing.


    This close to the heavy, ornately engraved ¡ª with roses, because of course ¡ª wooden door, Symon picked out more details in the tracks. The same line through the dust as before, leading under the door. It was still slightly ajar, but whoever or whatever came through here had made an effort to close the door behind them.


    Hmm, that''s a good sign. A monster wouldn''t do that. Well, maybe a revenant butler would, but one would have shown up by now. After all, the groundskeeper burst out of his room as soon as I entered the garden.


    There was something new, as well, the imprint of a hand so cleanly pressed against the door that it was impossible to miss, even in the low light. A splotch of dried, darkened blood was smeared in the centre, where the palm had been.


    He held his own hand up to compare, finding it to be similarly sized. However, the proportions were subtly yet noticeably off; the fingers were narrow and just a little too long, while the palm was smaller than it should have been. It wasn''t to a ridiculous extent. If he''d seen someone with hands like that back on Earth, he would think ''Wow, those are some long fingers'' and then move on without a second thought.


    But all alone in a dark, possibly zombie-infested manor, Symon tried to extract as much information from this single clue as possible. Judging by the size, the person the hand belonged to must have been an adult. It could have been a baby giant, he supposed, but he hadn''t heard of them yet so he doubted they were common, or if they even existed at all. All the other people he''d met had similar proportions to him, including the Dumosans, the Imperials, and the natives of Brackstead. They were from the Empire, too, although one of the subjugated vassals that Lady Renske had ruled over before she came here.


    That was to say that the owner of the hand was unlikely to be someone from the village who had gotten lost and somehow made their way through or otherwise circumvented the barrier surrounding the manor''s grounds. That had already been low on his list of possible theories, but this shoved it down even further. The old mayor and his son would have mentioned if someone had recently gone missing.


    No, this can''t be someone from the village. One of the Baron''s men, maybe? The timing lines up, but I doubt just one person would be sent, and I''m only seeing signs of a single injured person.


    There was no other civilisation on this continent other than Brackstead of a similar size, at least as far as he knew. It was entirely possible that foreign adventurers had shown up, though, much like the Dumosans had, or that someone had set up a small camp nearby for illegal logging or some equally mundane reason.


    Well, time to stop delaying. You''re the one who wanted to try and rescue whoever it is.


    Tentatively, he pressed onwards, slowly pushing the door open. He expected it to creak on rusted hinges, but it slid open smoothly and silently. A long, nearly pitch-black hallway stretched on ahead of him. It had rooms on either side for as far as he could see ¡ª which admittedly wasn''t far ¡ª as none of the exterior windows reached this hallway.


    The already scant light from the large foyer room did little to allow him to see down the hallway, but it was enough to make out a carpeted rug in surprisingly decent condition. It didn''t have any pollen on it or even any regular dust for that matter, showing off a beautiful ruby red colour with gold trim.


    His thread reached further than he could see, which wouldn''t do. He gently nudged the door back, then took his small pack off before gently placing it to the side of the door, still in the main room. It had a small torch strapped to the side, which he took off and lit using a firestarter. It was a classic flint and steel style ''bang two pieces together and sparks come out'' type of deal, which let out a sharp sound as his torch lit up with a gentle thwump. The torch itself was surprisingly high quality, being purchased by Aslan in a big city off in the Eastern continent. Apparently, the tip was soaked in some kind of alchemical oil designed to burn slowly and steadily.


    The noise of the striker made him wince, but the fight outside hadn''t exactly been stealthy. One of the sheds had collapsed, after all. Now able to see, Symon pushed open the doorway again and stepped into the hallway.


    The rug looked even nicer now that he could properly see it, but the torchlight also made it clear that the trail in the now-thin dusting of pollen did not continue onto the suspiciously clean rug. He reached out hesitantly to poke it with the toe of his boot, but changed his mind and used his sword instead. The rug didn''t react.


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    Okay, not a mimic. Better safe than sorry.


    More confidently, Symon stepped onto it. The dirty footprints he left quickly vanished, explaining why it was in such pristine quality. It must have been an enchanted rug, of all things. It also explained why the trail of blood splatters had stopped, so he instead followed along the magical carpet.


    It was impossible to tell how far the hallway stretched, but presuming it went the length of the manor, he wasn''t even halfway. Really, he didn''t know why a manor would need so many rooms, having passed at least a dozen. Looking behind him, he could see the dim silhouette of the doorway, while ahead of him was nothing but darkness, the flames of his little torch feebly pressing it back.


    Despite the general eerieness, nothing happened as he continued down the hall, his muted steps echoing around him. Eventually, he found the end of the rug. The trail in the dust alongside the dried blood continued, but the source was already in view.


    "Christ..." he whispered to himself as he looked at the figure slumped against the wall, their features difficult to make out in the darkness. What was clear, however, was the massive pool of dark, caked-in blood in a circle on the floor around them.


    As he''d guessed by the age of the blood, the body must have been fairly recently deceased. Their top half was obscured, collapsed behind a small plinth with a simple carving atop it, but the reason for all the blood was clear. It looked like an arrow, or even a crossbow bolt, but much thicker and without any fletching. It was also embedded deep into their lower back, the bolt caked in dried blood. To top it all off, the figure had heavy manacles around their ankles, with only the barest slack in the chain between them. They were extremely skinny, and a pale grey colour that he associated with extreme blood loss.


    Whoever this unfortunate figure was, they''d been chained and grievously injured, but had somehow made it all the way to the mansion before finally giving in to their injuries. He had to respect the tenacity needed for that; it wasn''t like they would have had Pain Resistance to make it easier for them, just sheer grit.


    He was glad he hadn''t found some dangerous monster, but he still needed to figure out who they were. If they ended up being from the village, he wanted to return them for a proper burial.


    I''ve gotta be careful; whatever killed them could still be around, he thought to himself as he stepped closer for a better look. As he approached, some of the details clarified. The legs sticking out from behind the plinth weren''t just skinny; they were the skeletal thinness of someone who had been severely starved. The grey flesh was barely clothed in ragged, bloodstained rags.


    Out of nowhere, his thread lashed out and attached to the body. A trickle of vitality began flowing down the thread towards his vessel.


    Symon yelped and launched himself backward like a shocked cat, the connection cutting off almost as soon as it started. His reaction might have been funny in different circumstances. "Holy shit, hello? Can you hear me?" Symon asked in Common.


    Even though it had only been a fraction of a second, he could tell that the vitality he''d accidentally stolen was weak but pure. He felt no trace of the undead taint as the essence merged with the useable stuff that floated freely around in his vessel, avoiding the taint at the bottom that was still slowly dissolving.


    The figure didn''t respond or even stir, but he hadn''t been anticipating anything. It was already a miracle that they were somehow still alive.


    Shit, shit, think! What the hell can I do?


    Somehow, this person was still alive, but they were hanging on by the barest of slivers. He''d felt how weak their vitality was, and feared that even just a few seconds of draining would be enough to push them over the edge and into death''s embrace. In most situations, he would have risked it. He was amazed they''d lived so long that their blood had dried so completely ¡ª surely the influence of an improved Constitution and possibly some other skills ¡ª but had no idea how much longer they had. A normal person from Earth would have been dead already, and there was nothing nearby that he could drain, even just for the few seconds he''d need to get close.


    He could run up, force all his vitality in as fast as he could, and then get out of range equally quickly. It had worked well with the old mayor Temuri, the given vitality outweighing that which had been stolen, but he doubted that would work here. Their situation was so precarious that there was no way he could move fast enough, not when he''d need to rip out whatever was embedded in their back first.


    He felt the beginning of panic creeping in, but clamped down on it with all his Willpower. He couldn''t afford to get sloppy. Ideas began flashing through his mind, being discarded almost as quickly as they appeared.


    Could he pull in a whole bunch of still living roses from outside and use them to allow him to get close? No, there''s no way I could collect an amount large enough to survive the trip any time soon.


    Perhaps he could guide one of his friends through the tornado of black mist, using his healing to keep them alive and then use them as a safety net to get close? Maybe, but that pollen is really damn dangerous to those without a resistance. It''s poor odds I can heal them fast enough to make it all the way through, and training the resistance for them would take too long.


    None of these possible solutions were the correct combination of fast enough and safe enough. He couldn''t simply use his Willpower to silence the thread''s hunger, either. Direct and guide it, sure, but not control it completely.


    He couldn''t rely on others, and he couldn''t rely on himself, either. Keelgrave was still suppressed, not that he''d be able to do anything.


    There was one gamble he could try. His only chance ¡ª the dying person''s only chance ¡ª for survival. Both of his Class skills were at level 19, the cusp of evolution to the First Step. If he could manage it...


    Before Symon could second guess himself, he turned around and began sprinting back outside. If he could get some type of control over Seize with its evolution, or even something like more range on Idealise, allowing him to heal from outside the range of draining, it just might work.


    His boots slammed into the ground, kicking up a cloud of dust and pollen behind him as he left the hallway and charged right through the front door, sending it slamming open and taking him outside. Without needing to be told, the thread licked out and attached to a rose the moment he got in range.


    All at once, he empowered the draining, sheathed his sword, and summoned his Ledger. His thoughts were so focused he didn''t even have to specify as his abilities wrote themselves into the dust and sweat-streaked mess on his palm.


    [ Idealise (19)


    Seize (19) ]


    Fuck, which one is closest to 20? He bit his lip, trying to determine which one he should focus on. No, no, I can''t risk the evolution not having a good option. I need to do both.


    Seize was of course already working, but the pace wasn''t as fast as it could be. His vessel was full, so it was sluggish as it attempted to cram more vitality into it. Idealise wasn''t doing anything at all, as it had no injuries to fix.


    There was a convenient way to fix both problems.


    His already white-knuckled grip on his torch tightened even further as he gritted his teeth. Without any further hesitation, he held the torch to his chest and pressed the burning flame to his bare flesh.

 Chapter 67 - The First Step

    Symon grunted as he splashed the burning oil across his skin, the already burned-to-tatters shirt providing no protection. It wasn''t pleasant, but compared to the fire attack of an emberwolf... he hardly felt it.


    It was easy for him to gloss over its effects, but Pain Resistance had really been a silent powerhouse. He tended to suffer so many extreme injuries that the resistance struggled to keep up, but against such a puny little fire, it was just a slight stinging, on par with the sunburn he had when he first woke up in the desert and ran out of vitality.


    His abilities worked in tandem, the vitality rushing out of his vessel to heal his burned flesh, the missing essence quickly replaced by that which was stolen from the roses. Generally, his healing consumed essence slower than he gained it, but that was only true when draining more powerful beings, like monsters or even people. For a plant, the roses had a lot of strong vitality inside them, but that qualifier was important. As it was, his vessel would be ever so slowly ticking down, although he could still sustain this rate for a dozen minutes before he ran out of his reserves.


    He didn''t have dozens of minutes, though. He might not even have one. He stuck the handle of the torch into the dirt, using his now free hand to reach into the flames, scoop up some of its oil coating, and rub it on his body. The other hand remained free, so that he could keep track of his abilities'' levels roughly written on the pollen caked to his palm. The moment one of them evolved, he''d need to pick the right option and try to save the barely living person in the manor.


    By now, half of his torso was alight. He wasn''t worried about the flames spreading ¡ª whatever the alchemists had put on the end of the torch to make it so flammable, it was very sticky and didn''t drip, even when heated.


    Surprisingly, he felt the panic from his scramble to try and save a life through his self-torturing to subside. Focusing on the sensations of the flame, the vitality repairing the damage, and the threads draining the roses was oddly meditative.


    It''s all just one big circle...


    He caught his eyes beginning to close but quickly shook himself out of it. He couldn''t afford to miss the evolution and waste time.


    Symon had stopped at the bottom of the manor''s steps, on the cleared path that led to the sheds and main gate. He knew it would be a huge waste if he accidentally set the field of roses aflame, so he stuck to the cleared stone path and let his magic''s range make up the difference. As soon as the last rose in his range began to wilt, he took a single step forward.


    Once the new roses now in his range died, he did the same, stepping forward over and over again. It was similar to how he''d cleared a path through the grass sea, only he was targetting what were essentially the walls of an already-cleared path. Of course, the biggest difference was how much more vitality he gained, the essence filling up his vessel before it thundered back out into his burning flesh. All the while, he kept a close eye on the words on his palm.


    [ Idealise (19)


    Seize (19) ]


    "Come on, work!" he shouted, although he wasn''t sure who he was directing the words to. He lost himself in the trance of slowly moving forward one step at a time, the sensation of his burning flesh more of a tickle in the back of his mind than any real pain. Anatomy seemed almost confused, his injuries healing themselves almost before the passive could point out the effect the fire was having on his body.


    After having to move eight times, the text finally changed.


    [ Idealise (19)


    Seize (20) {+1} ]


    "Fuck yes!" he cried, throwing himself down onto the path. "Ledger, on the ground!" It wasn''t easy to fit a lot of words onto just his palm, but the Ledger was happy to accommodate his wishes. He ignored the flames still licking at his chest and stomach and instead focused entirely on the ground in front of him. A drop of sweat beaded down onto his nose before dropping onto the flagstones as the words wrote themself out, the perspiration only partially caused by the heat from the fire.


    [ Congratulations! You have reached the First Step. ]


    "Next!" Symon cried, and the words changed again.


    [ You have reached level 20 in Seize. As a reward for your efforts, choose any one tailored Evolution. Unpicked Evolutions will be available at next Evolution. You must make a selection before Seize can gain additional levels. ]


    "Yes, show me!"


    [ Seize Evolution: Thread Compression.


    Reduce the maximum range of Seize by 2% per level. Increase draining speed and power by 2% per level. This aspect may be toggled on or off at will. ]


    [ Seize Evolution: Thread Extension.


    Increase the maximum range of Seize by 2% per level. Reduce draining speed and power by 2% per level. This aspect may be toggled on or off at will. ]


    [ Seize Evolution: Thread Kinesis.


    This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Seize gains the ability to physically interact with the world. Threads are now visible. ]


    [ Seize Evolution: Phantom Thread.


    Vitality drain is now undetectable, even when empowered. Additionally, targets will be less likely to notice mild symptoms of vitality loss. ]


    [ Seize Evolution: IFF.


    Render a target immune to Seize. This aspect has a one-week cooldown. Maximum concurrent targets: 1. This aspect may be toggled off at will. ]


    [ Seize Evolution: Mind Over Matter.


    Vitality drain now additionally targets thoughts, beginning at surface level and delving deeper with prolonged exposure. ]


    Symon blinked as all the text appeared. "Who the hell would want to drain people''s memories?" he muttered to himself. He immediately ignored that one, trying to find the best solution for his current problem. Being able to pick things up or slap enemies with his thread at least sounded cool, but he couldn''t think of any way it could help him right now. Maybe I can use it to pull the bolt out of their stomach? But how would I control it when it would just want to drain them? It would show up again if he got Seize to level 40, at least, and was a strong contender for the future due to its combat potential.


    He let out a sigh of relief as he read over IFF''s description again. This was exactly what he needed, almost suspiciously so. The Ledger told him the offerings were tailored, but he hadn''t realised it would be to this extent. It wasn''t his only option, though. Thread Compression could accomplish something similar, potentially reducing the range all the way down to zero.


    He wasn''t sure if that meant it wouldn''t work at all, or if he needed direct physical contact. He was leaning towards the latter, though, as he remembered the very first centipede he''d fought shortly after waking up. His thread hadn''t manifested at all, although he''d absorbed its vitality automatically once it had latched onto his arm. Also, he got the feeling that there wouldn''t be enough of a difference between it and IFF if it just allowed him to disable the threads completely whenever he wanted. The Ledger wouldn''t give him an option that was just better than another in every way. He wasn''t sure why he was so confident about this, but he was.


    Most obviously, though, was the fact that Seize was only level 20. It wouldn''t even halve the range, meaning he still had his original problem. It was probably the best choice combat-wise, but he had a bigger priority.


    His eyes flickered between IFF and Thread Compression as he chewed on his lip. He did it so hard that a little trickle of vitality even made its way up to his face. It just wasn''t possible to put a number to how valuable IFF would be. Being able to touch someone was more valuable to him than a little boost to his draining power, both in his current situation and in general. He''d already been dragging his feet, staying in civilisation for longer than he knew was safe, all because he didn''t want to be alone. It took a toll on him, always needing to be mindful of his range around the others, and he knew it made it hard for his friends to relax too.


    The wording seemed to imply that the number of people he could make immune to his draining would eventually rise, too, hopefully meaning he''d be able to include all his friends. Why else would it list how many targets it could have at once like that? Either way, he was still going to take it even if it remained at a single person the whole time. The description didn''t mention how to improve this if it were even possible, but he presumed it just needed more levels.


    With a nod to himself, he made his selection.


    [ Idealise (19)


    Seize (20) : {New} IFF ]


    The lettering on his palm also updated, something he briefly noted before using that hand to bat out the flames that still lingered on his chest. The flames were stubborn, but he continued to slap at them as he quickly pushed himself to his feet and began running back to the manor. He hadn''t gone far at all, so he reached it long before he''d managed to defeat the flames. Not wanting to cause a fire in the manor or in the roses, he took off the tattered remains of his shirt and used it to scrape off all the oil, dumping it in the middle of the pathway once he was done.


    He was nervous, both because he''d just made a permanent decision that would shape his magic for the rest of his life, and because he was worried he''d spent too much time deliberating over the decisions as someone slowly died in the manor. He''d been both recklessly fast and foolishly slow. With renewed vigour, he continued his sprint, picking up the torch he''d planted in the dirt previously as he entered the foyer again.


    He skidded through the doorway, turned towards the hallway and ran straight down it, once more kicking dust up onto the nice rug in the process.


    His run was so fast that the torch was sputtering, having trouble keeping itself together and making it hard to see ahead of him. He knew he''d reached his destination once he felt the thread stirring.


    No!


    It paused in the air, completely frozen. It had even stopped its usual gentle swaying and undulation. He felt something intangible click into place. Then, like a chastised dog, it slowly, reluctantly returned inside.


    He breathed a sigh of relief as he knelt down next to the figure, gently gripping their leg and pushing ten units of vitality into them. He was too focused on his patient for the relief of finally managing a small amount of control over his abilities to do more than flicker in his mind. Their flesh ¡ª the little there was, considering they were mostly skin and bones ¡ª was cool, only slightly warmer than the ambient environment. Part of him wanted to use up all the vitality immediately, but he knew that wouldn''t be wise. There was something embedded in their back, for one, and they could have more serious injuries that he would be better off focusing on, although he had very limited control over directing his healing on others.


    They had wedged themselves between the plinth and the wall for some odd reason, although he couldn''t begrudge a dying person for behaving erratically. Instead of trying to move them, he grabbed onto the small pillar and began hauling on it. It wasn''t embedded in the ground and wasn''t particularly large, but it was still a heavy block of stone. To his surprise, it moved easily enough. He didn''t lift it off the ground, but he could drag it away quite easily, his Ledger-enhanced Strength ¡ª mediocre as it may be ¡ª more than up to the task.


    The second he moved the pillar far enough, the figure flopped out bonelessly onto the rug, a shock of snow-white hair ¡ª not factoring in all the dust ¡ª splaying out across the ground in the process once they were no longer pinned against the wall. He winced as they rolled, but he considered it less bad than physically dragging them out.


    He knelt down next to their head, the pool of dried blood so large that they were both still in it. He moved some of the long hair out of the way to help him check for a pulse, exposing long, grey ears that tapered to a sharp point.


    Whoever this person was, they were neither villager nor imperial. They weren''t even human.

 Chapter 68 - The Lady of the Manor

    Symon frowned, looking down at the pointed ears belonging to the maybe-not-dying-anymore figure lying unconscious on the floor. They were face down, exposing the bolt that protruded from their lower back.


    They weren''t human, but that wasn''t a problem for Symon. I''m not racist... or speciest, I don''t know which it is. Hell, even Keelgrave''s best friend was an orc.


    This wasn''t an orc, though. He''d seen enough movies to recognise an elf, although there were a lot of differences to what he''d been expecting. For that matter, he''d already seen one in his last memory dream, the one of Keelgrave enacting a prison break, although that one had seemed a bit insane.


    He was pretty sure the elf on the floor was a she, but they were so emaciated and covered in filth that they might have been a younger boy. She was about as tall as Symon was, though, so he didn''t think that was the case, but for all he knew, elves grew to be twenty feet tall here.


    Her skin was a pale grey, although it was difficult to see with how much dried blood and pollen coated her, while her stark white hair was similarly covered in grime. As far as he could tell, the bolt sticking out of her back was the only serious wound, although there were plenty of bruises and tiny, half-healed scratches scattered around her body.


    He felt for a pulse, sighing in relief when he detected it: weak but steady. It felt incredibly odd to touch someone without needing to worry about killing them, but he had bigger priorities. He gave her another once over, although it was difficult with her face-down posture, but was confident he should be focused on the bolt. He spotted her long, slender fingers, which perfectly matched the imprint he''d found on the door to the hallway. They were tipped with dark claws.


    That was curious, but he could just ask her about them once he''d healed her up. To do that, he needed to remove the bolt first. He didn''t want it to get healed into her, so it was necessary. He''d given her ten units of vitality, leaving him with twelve in his vessel, half of which was the Gharzoth''s impure stuff. Using that was out of the question, and he wanted to spend as much vitality as he could as soon as he removed the bolt, so he needed a refill.


    There were plenty of roses left outside, so he wasn''t worried about being a little wasteful with his vitality. Better to err on the side of giving her too much healing, considering he wasn''t sure how bad the internal damage was.


    He made a quick trip outside, then back in as soon as he''d harvested enough of the roses to get him to full. He hadn''t considered that having the impure vitality in his vessel was essentially lowering his maximum capacity until it was converted. It was something that he''d usually want to investigate and find a way to immediately fix, but he was a little preoccupied with his lifesaving measures.


    With his vessel now topped off once more, he made his way back to the elf. Predictably, she hadn''t moved at all. His healing didn''t look like it had done much externally, which he took to mean it had been focused on internal injuries.


    Okay, Symon, he thought to himself, just pull the bolt out nice and quick. He knelt down next to her, his hand hovering around it. It felt wrong to perform an impromptu surgery like this, both because it wasn''t the type of thing he''d been trained to do as well as being in such an unsanitary environment, but it wasn''t like there was a hospital he could take her to.


    One hand clenched around the protrusion, while the other rested on the base, his hand brushing against her too-cool skin. He pulled all his vitality out of his vessel and held it inside that hand, careful not to accidentally use any of the twisted essence. He needn''t have bothered, as it wasn''t responding to his commands, but he wasn''t in the mood to experiment. In one smooth motion, he yanked the bolt out, sending a weak spray of blood through the air while pushing all the prepared vitality into the wound.


    She let out a tiny, muffled grunt, but didn''t wake up. That was probably for the best, as he didn''t have any painkillers.


    So little blood came out... she must have lost a lot.


    A full fifteen units of vitality flooded into her system, rapidly closing the hole in the small of her back that was almost as wide as his wrist was. He''d been thinking of it as a bolt, but he wasn''t sure how accurate that was. It had a tapered end, but was way too large. If anything, it reminded him more of a javelin or broken off spearhead. He left it resting against her as he closely followed the wound''s progress.


    The vitality was enough to roughly seal the wound, but it would take a little more for it to heal completely and for any scars to fade. Most of the smaller injuries vanished as well, the healing spreading out through her body instead of focusing on the most important area like he''d prefer. Quantity had a quality all its own, though, so he was confident she''d survive. She was still asleep, so he left her like that. He wanted to collect more vitality and finish the healing.


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    He returned outside, his steps no longer as urgent as they had been. He wasn''t sure what he should do next. His evolution for Seize had a cooldown of an entire week before he could switch it to one of his Dumosan friends, which was pretty inconvenient. It was nowhere near as bad as always needing to keep track of his distance from other people, though. He may as well use the time he had properly to ensure she was fully taken care of. His healing wouldn''t take more than another trip or two outside to fully fix her injuries, but there were other problems with her two.


    When he thought of elves, he thought of them as being lithe, but he doubted they were meant to look as skinny as she did. Relying on Earth movies to inform decisions in Cathar wasn''t a great idea, but luckily, Keelgrave''s jailbreak memory came in handy again. The elf he''d briefly seen there was actually pretty jacked.


    She was severely malnourished, but that was a simple problem to fix. More complex was the damage that had been inflicted. He doubted she just fell on a spear herself, so someone must have done this to her. The question was why.


    She still had massive manacles tightly binding her legs together, which gave him a clue.


    Hmm, probably a prisoner or slave. What could justify being treated like this, though? The numerous tiny wounds made it clear she hadn''t been well taken care of, while the recently dislodged spear showed that her life hadn''t been very highly valued.


    He wasn''t about to return an escaped slave to their master, but he couldn''t wave off the possibility that she was a dangerous criminal. For all he knew, she was a mass murderer. And how the hell did she make it through the mist wall?


    She looked more like a starving orphan than something dangerous, more pitiable than threatening, but it was hard to tell what the Ledger had changed. Being able to make it through the wall without the pollen harming her ¡ª even now, some of it still rested on smooth, unblistered skin ¡ª when his friends had been completely unable meant she must have some hidden capabilities.


    Maybe I keep those chains on her until she wakes up and I can get some details, he thought, feeling a little bad about how willing he was to keep her chained. Considering he had just saved her life, he felt like he was afforded a bit of extra moral leeway when it came to ensuring she wasn''t going to kill him the moment she woke up.


    He returned, gave her a little extra vitality, then once more got a refill from outside before being satisfied with her physical state and his vessel. Even with the magical healing, some rest would do her good.


    He checked one of the doors in the hallway she was in, finding a simple but decent bedroom. It didn''t have any of the ostentatiousness of the other rooms, so he assumed this was where a servant had slept. It was dusty, but that was the case everywhere, so he gently rolled her over.


    It was his first time seeing her face, and it looked... odd. He wasn''t sure how much of it was due to her malnourishment and how much was because she wasn''t human, but there were numerous little things that made her look uncanny.


    If she''d had a hood on and he''d passed her on the street, he probably wouldn''t have spared her a second glance, but the features were very distinct up close. Her face was incredibly angular, her jaw, chin, cheekbones, and nose all hollow and sharp. Her eyes were closed, but he could still tell they were larger than a human''s would be. The ears were exactly what he''d expected, although he''d already seen their sharp points before. Her eyebrows were also thin and overly long and were the same pure white colour of her hair.


    Individually, none of her features were that strange. But when taken as a whole, they all worked together to give her a distinctly inhuman appearance.


    He wiggled his arms under her, before picking her limp form up in a bridal carry. She felt unnervingly light, and Symon knew his Strength was only a minor reason for that. It was so disconcerting that he barely registered that he''d finally managed the first step in taming his wild magic. She didn''t stir, not even when he placed her on the bed. It didn''t have a pillow, but it was certainly better than being face down on some floorboards. From his pack, he produced one of the apples they''d bought from a farmer on the start of their journey out to the manor, and left it on the bedside table.


    Next, he wanted to scout out the rest of the manor on the off chance that more revenants were hanging around. Finding out what happened to Lady Renske and the manor''s connection to the dungeon was also on his list, but they weren''t time-sensitive. He''d have to get his friends through the barrier for that. There was the matter of all the twisted vitality in his vessel, too.


    Hmm, maybe I should work on freeing Keelgrave first. It was nice to have a break, but I could really use his expertise. It''s nice to have someone to bounce ideas off, at least.


    Before he could decide what his next steps would be, he heard a gentle thunking noise from the bedroom. He''d assumed her not waking up even after being fully healed meant her body just needed more time to rest, but it seemed she disagreed.


    He pushed the door open slowly, trying not to scare the probably very confused woman, but was unsuccessful. The moment he opened the door, he saw the apple, fallen onto the ground, and the woman, who had pushed herself upright in the bed. Her overly large eyes were wide open, revealing onyx-black orbs without any visible whites. He might have thought they had the black pollen in them, but was disabused of that notion as she continued to hold unblinking eye contact. Despite the lack of a visible pupil, he knew exactly where her eyes were looking.


    Both of them were frozen, staring at each other. After what felt like an eternity, Symon broke the silence.


    "Hello there," he said in Common, as calm as he possibly could. "Can you understand me?"


    "Sravna shkaal, rukth narlok!" she hissed weakly, her sharp teeth bared in worried anger. Her hands, slender and bony, flexed out, causing her long, clawed nails to glint slightly in the torchlight.


    "Godsdamnit," Symon complained, "I can''t believe I''m going to have to learn another language."

 Chapter 69 - Charades

    Symon stared at the elf, and the elf stared back at him. Her thin, dark lips were drawn back in a snarl, exposing her sharp teeth. Every single one of them were canines, even those in the back, which he had an uncomfortably detailed view of.


    "It''s alright," he said softly. "I''m not going to hurt you." She continued staring angrily at him, but he didn''t hold it against her. She didn''t seem to understand Common, for one, but he also would have been very concerned if he were in her shoes. Something horrible must have happened to her to cause her to end up in the state he''d found her in, and now she''d woken up to someone she''d never met speaking a foreign language.


    Oh, and he hadn''t removed the chains around her legs when he''d put her in the bed.


    Dammit, it''s a wonder she isn''t freaking out more.


    He wasn''t worried about her attacking him. It was certainly possible, but she was obviously still very weak, even though he''d healed her as far as his magic could. Something must be preventing her from getting back to her full strength.


    "I... don''t really know how to get you to trust me when we don''t share a language," he said, still trying to keep his tone gentle and reassuring.


    "Saerhssk vozzhaar!" she demanded, pointing an accusatory finger at him at the same time. The nail looked more like a claw.


    "See? That''s exactly what I mean," he sighed. "Um, how about this?" he said, bending slowly to pick up the apple that had fallen off the nightstand and rolled towards him. "You must be hungry, right?"


    Predictably, she just glared at him.


    Undeterred, he continued. "They''re tasty, you should have one." He was in the doorway, too far away to reach her, but he still held the apple out with a smile.


    The moment he moved his arm forward, she flinched back as if struck before scrambling backwards into the far corner of the bed. He straightened back up and moved his arm back to his side.


    Hmm, maybe charades will work better than just speaking at her.


    First, he pointed to the apple, then to his mouth. He mimed chomping on it a few times, exaggerating the movements to make it clear what he meant, then let out a happy sound and contentedly patted his belly. "Now you try, okay?"


    When he held the apple out again, her reaction was more positive. Instead of fear and anger, she had a confused expression on her face. Symon viewed it as an improvement, although he was a bit confused why she was confused. Maybe she''d never had an apple, but surely she understood the concept of food.


    Slowly, he went through the motion of throwing the apple onto the bed next to her. He wasn''t sure if it was more reassuring than just walking up slowly, but it was what he decided to try first. Her eyes tracked the apple as he mimed a gentle underarm toss, her face slowly growing more confused as she followed the motion.


    When he released the apple, sending it sailing through the air before landing softly on the bed next to her, she seemed to understand. She picked it up and eyed it suspiciously for a few moments before giving it a sniff. Her eyes darted back and forth between the apple and Symon.


    He gave her an encouraging nod, which finally tipped her over the edge. The apple rose towards her mouth at a glacial pace, her large eyes still locked onto Symon. She opened her mouth wide ¡ª far wider than a human could ¡ª exposing her sharp teeth, and took a single, massive bite out of it. All at once, she gagged, coughed the apple piece out, then threw the main piece at him.


    Her strength was lackluster, the apple barely even reaching him, but her words were vehement enough.


    "Saerhssk vaer ssaazh!" she complained, angrily pointing at the apple on the floor, then back at Symon.


    Okay, so she doesn''t like apples.


    <hr>


    Symon was back in the main foyer of the manor. He''d decided that trying to learn the elvish language from scratch wasn''t the most productive use of his time. The Languages passive would help, but it would still be the work of weeks just for a basic level of understanding. Without a convenient spirit mentor to teach it to him, he''d be stuck doing things the hard way. The issue was only made worse by how uncooperative the elf was, being equal parts angry and scared. They hadn''t made any progress after the apple incident. He didn''t blame her, but he still needed a break.


    Many people would have asked why he was still bothering with her, considering he''d done as much healing as was possible, but he still felt responsible. She wouldn''t be able to find food, and in her weakened state was just as likely to be killed by a monster as soon as she stepped out as she was by whoever had hurt her in the first place. For that matter, he wasn''t sure how she''d made it through the barrier in the first place, and wasn''t sure if she could do it again.


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    The manor was still largely unexplored, so he''d start there. He wanted to make sure something wasn''t going to show up and kill her while she recovered, then he''d make a trip out of the mist wall and try to find something she''d eat. Aslan had promised ¡ª unprompted ¡ª to wait a hundred years outside of the barrier for his return, so he should probably return and let them know he was okay. Once he''d confirmed there weren''t any more revenants hiding in the manor, he''d be able to either send the Dumosans back to the village or get their resistances up high enough to go through the barrier.


    Damnit, I really wish I could ask her how she made it through. Oh, shit, I should probably free Keelgrave at some point too. I almost forgot.


    He elected to clear the manor first, then try and speed up the vitality purification and awaken Keelgrave. It would probably take a bit of time, so he''d do that near the elf and hope it helped her get used to his presence. Eventually, she''d realise he wasn''t about to attack her out of nowhere. Hopefully.


    He''d already gone through all the rooms connected to the left hallway, the one that he''d found the elf in. It seemed to be the servant''s wing, as all the rooms were simple bedrooms, storage rooms, and a single large kitchen. He didn''t find anything particularly valuable, not unless he wanted to loot all the silverware. Granted, it was probably worth a decent sum, but he wasn''t about to lug it around until he found someone rich enough to afford buying it off him. There were several massive ovens in the kitchen, which he hoped Atabek would be able to put to good use. He was craving some of those flatbreads he''d made, and the elf might like them.


    The right hallway had collapsed completely, as well as all its adjoining rooms. He could only barely crack open it''s entrance from the foyer. Clearing all the rubble and exploring it would be a lot of work, but wasn''t impossible considering their improved Strength.


    That left only the upper level, of which only the left side was uncollapsed. That included the squat tower, although oddly, he hadn''t seen any entrances or even any windows from outside. The first floor hallway ended in a solid wall where the tower began, so the only entrance must have been on the second floor.


    He crept his way up the stairs, sword in one hand and torch in the other. It seemed unlikely there were more enemies hiding upstairs ¡ª they would have noticed him by now, and the elf hadn''t been attacked for however long she''d been here for either ¡ª but it didn''t cost him anything to be vigilant. The layout was identical to the bottom floor: the right side was collapsed, while the left side was a single hallway with many adjoining rooms.


    The search through all the rooms ended up being peaceful, and he managed to find a few interesting things. The bedrooms were a lot nicer looking, and a quick test confirmed the beds were as soft as they appeared. He''d been considering crashing at the manor instead of risking a return to town, so a nice bed like these would come in handy.


    He also found an office room on the second floor. It had a beautiful large desk made of dark wood. He knew Lady Renske had left the Empire under less than ideal circumstances, so he had to wonder if she''d brought it with her or if it had been made here. He wasn''t much of an artist, but the skilled craftmanship was clear in the fine silvery filigree, visible even through the thick coating of dust. The top of it was bare, save for a tiny ink pot and quill. The feather itself was a beautiful red colour that seemed to sparkle softly in the torchlight, while the ink was surprisingly still liquid, even after decades of abandonment.


    Huh, must be a magical ink pot. That, and the rug... rich people love to enchant their stuff, I guess.


    He added it to his mental list of possible valuables to take later, although he did have to question at which point reasonable treasure hunting transitioned into looting and graverobbing. It wasn''t like the Lady had any relatives who deserved all her stuff, and he doubted someone who fled from the Empire would want her estate being given to another noble, but he''d leave most of the stuff with the villagers. Naturally, he''d take the first pick, but all the fancy silverware would be better used by the poor villagers instead of being horded and sold by him just for a few extra coins.


    Even with the range of his draining quickly growing more and more cumbersome, he could juggle the IFF evolution to allow him to safely treat a single patient, as long as he was fine with having to wait a week between each person. That wasn''t a great solution, but the fact that he had something he could do to control it was indescribably better than his usual risky and barely functional method of distracting the threads. It meant making money from his healing was still on the table, so he saw no need to scrounge for every extra coin he could.


    The room also contained a single large bookshelf, the books it held in good condition. He picked one out at random and put it onto the desk, appreciating the smooth leather cover and thick pages. "Wouldn''t want to be hit in the head with this," he smiled to himself. He''d spent a lot of his time as a child stuck in the hospital reading, so it was comforting to feel its familiar heft in his hands. Only now, he didn''t have to struggle to lift it.


    The front cover was clear of both title and image, so he opened it to the first page. It was there that he made a shocking discovery.


    Oh, right, I can''t read Common. Goddamnit.


    Finding a convenient diary that answered all of his questions about the manor would have been perfect, but that wasn''t meant to be. Keelgrave had gone over the Common alphabet for him, so he could confirm it was the language the words on the page were for, but he hadn''t actually been taught how to spell. At least the passive was called ''Languages'' and not ''Speaking'', which implied there wasn''t a separate ''Reading'' skill. He wasn''t sure why the Ledger chose to draw lines the way it did, but he was glad that it worked in his favour now.


    He considered his metal pipe weapon, still strapped to his back. He''d been meaning to learn the passive for it, but what skill was it even going to be? Clubs? Was there a separate skill for Maces?


    Even swords could be wildly different. His was short, straight, and dual edged with a sharp tip. If he replaced the handle with something longer, would it suddenly become a spear or a glaive and cause his passive would stop working? He had so many little experiments to run, although this new question could be answered just by asking someone with more experience. He had only just recently started living a life where he wasn''t constantly focused on the struggle to survive and could afford to take his time to truly understand things.


    "So much to do, but I guess I do have all the time in the world."

 Chapter 70 - Treasure Hunt

    Symon closed the book with a heavy snap before returning it to its original position on the shelf. There were plenty of them up there, but after flipping through a few and finding nothing but the incomprehensible written words of Common, he gave up. He could come back once Keelgrave woke up, then use him to check through them for anything useful. Even if they didn''t turn out to contain anything directly relevant to his current investigation, they''d be the perfect distraction on his future ship journey to the mainland. He realised then that he hadn''t actually asked how long it would take to reach the Eastern continent, but he had an upper bound.


    It was only a single trade ship that made the journey every month, so for that to be possible, the journey couldn''t take more than two weeks. That was assuming it did nothing but sail nonstop, so it was likely faster. Even just one week of staring at the ocean ¡ª if he could even find a way to safely travel on one ¡ª would bore him half to death, so some reading material would be on his list of things to bring. That was presuming, of course, that he could fit on the ship. He knew that was more of an assumption, though.


    He hadn''t found anything else of value in the study, but there was a window currently covered by velvety drapes that he''d spread apart and looked through. The swirling barrier of mist was only a few meters from the back of the manor wall, which obscured what must have once been a beautiful view of where the forest met the ocean.


    On second thought, those trees are pretty tall, so you''d probably have needed to be at the top of the tower to see over them.


    Looking down, he saw the waist-high stone wall that encircled the manor grounds, which had a well with a pointy little stone roof over it butting up against it. He would appreciate being able to wash all the pollen off, but judging by his experience so far, it was just as likely to be filled with roses and dust.


    A sudden spark of remembrance sent his mind back to when he''d witnessed Keelgrave ¡ª in a memory, of course ¡ª channel mana into his self-cleaning clothes to dry himself off. He''d already found a few simple magical items, including that rug that must have had a similar enchantment, but not clothes. Well, he''d found mundane servant''s clothes in the lower floor bedrooms, but the nicer upper floor ones had been quite bare. He assumed the manor had been built to accommodate more nobles than just Lady Renske and had been sitting empty and disused, even when she was alive.


    Speaking of, he hadn''t found her bedroom. That meant it was either in the tower or in the collapsed wing of the manor. He''d find out which one it was once he managed to get into the tower, which would be a task in and of itself. He''d already checked over the only entrance to it he''d managed to find, which was located at the very end of this upper hallway. It was made of dark wood like all the other doors in the building, but was banded with a dozen strips of metal, presumably iron or steel. He even suspected that it was made of that mana iron that the mine was known for, as the material was completely unrusted and entirely unblemished. Not even the tiniest of scratches marred its surface.


    This was the last room I had to check, so that means there aren''t any monsters hiding out here. If there are any in the tower, there''s no way they''re getting through that door.


    He''d tried turning the polished door handle, just to make sure nothing was about to come out and attack him once he turned his back on it, but it had been locked. Curiously, he hadn''t been able to find any keyholes. With the area now secured, his next step was to return to his friends still waiting outside the mist and fill them in on what had happened. Then, he''d try and get them a resistance to take them through the barrier, and they could figure out how to get through the locked door together. Worst case scenario, Atabek could probably break through the wooden parts, given enough time. Aslan could also read Common, so Symon could get him to check over the books if he hadn''t been able to wake Keelgrave up in time.


    He turned away from the window he''d been absentmindedly gazing through, took a few steps forward, then stopped in his tracks. Something odd about the desk in the center of the room had just caught his attention, a new detail highlighted by the dim light streaming in from the now opened drapes.


    The desk was a single large, solid block of wood, or at least, that''s what he had initially believed. When the sole source of illumination wasn''t a tiny, flickering torch, he was able to see a clear seam in wood. It had no handle or other indication of its existence, but it was definitely a drawer.


    "Of course, there''d be a hidden compartment," he chuckled softly to himself. Feeling like a spy, he crouched down next to the drawer and inspected it more closely, attempting to figure out how to get it open. There weren''t any buttons or levers, not even on the underside of the desk, so he resorted to the old-fashioned way. Just in case it was trapped ¡ª he wouldn''t put it past an exiled noblewoman to want to keep her most important documents extra safe ¡ª he scooted a little to the side and slowly slid his sword into the seam.


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    His motions were hesitant at first, but he quickly grew more confident once nothing happened. Chances were he would have survived even if it were trapped, but that wasn''t the type of thing he wanted to test. Besides, it might ruin the contents. He didn''t have a real plan for how he was going to get it open, but shimmying the blade around inside ended up working well. It didn''t take him long before he felt his blade poke against something metallic, so he pressed against it a little harder.


    With a gentle click, the drawer popped open like a cash register, sending its contents rattling around. Wearing a self-satisfied smile at a successful first lockpicking attempt, he brushed the dust off from where he''d been kneeling and peeked into the drawer.


    Predictably, it was mostly paper documents that he couldn''t read, although he did recognise some architectural drawings of the manor. Even after paging through the whole stack, he saw no reference to the tower. Even the doorway to it was just a solid wall in the original plans. Next up, he pulled out a small but heavy pouch that clinked enticingly as he extricated it from its spot. Opening up the drawstring, he saw a good collection of coins, an equal mix of gold and silver. It wasn''t a life-changing amount of money, especially not for a Healer, but it would last him a while, especially in this poor village.


    He tightened the drawstring again and dropped the entire pouch wholesale into his pack before plucking out the remaining interesting item, which he found stuck in the back corner after a close inspection. It was a thin ring, a muddy turquoise in colour, and didn''t look like much to the untrained eye. Technically, Symon was included in this demographic, but he cheated. He recognised this from one of the earlier memory dreams.


    "A translation ring! Jackpot!" he exclaimed aloud in his excitement, bringing it up to his eye for a closer look. It seemed old and a little faded, but not nearly as decrepit and cobbled together as the one that malfunctioned when Keelgrave had tried to use it. He hadn''t even considered that someone with the will and gold to enchant a damn rug would probably have a translation ring in their study too, so he was glad he''d noticed the hidden drawer.


    He eyed all the books on the wall and spared a glance at the documents in the drawer. Even if the ring let him read as fast as a native ¡ª and he wasn''t sure if that would be the case ¡ª it would take quite some time to get through all of the books and documents. It wasn''t a time-sensitive matter either, so it would be best for him to find some food for the convalescing elf and return to his Dumosan friends before locking himself in the study.


    As he left the room and began heading downstairs, he checked over the state of his vessel. The ratio of impure to normal vitality had improved a lot, and by now it was down to less than half of what it had started as. Keelgrave would likely wake up even before it was entirely converted, so it wouldn''t be long before he was back ¡ª he was confident in saying it would be less than a half hour.


    His fingers left a trail in the thick dust along the top of the banister as he walked down the staircase, his thoughts on his spirit companion. He''d enjoyed having a break and a bit more privacy in his thoughts. Keelgrave couldn''t actually read his mind, but he could pick up his internal monologue if Symon got distracted and didn''t deliberately block him out. He had to admit that the old ghost could be very helpful, though. He would have known that a rich woman would have a translation ring in her office and saved him from playing charades with the elf, and he would probably have some useful advice regarding finding a way to turn off the mist wall, although Symon was happy to just help everyone train their Poison Resistance.


    Also, his ability to sense life would have been comforting to have while clearing the manor''s interior, although Symon''s thread could reach far enough now that it could serve a similar purpose, as long as there were no plants to distract it.


    He shrugged to himself as he reached the bottom floor. He''d tried to boil down how he felt about Keelgrave many times and been largely unsuccessful every time. They were allies of circumstance with a certain amount of begrudging respect, and that would just have to be good enough for now.


    He did his best to clean his hand of all the dust he had inadvertently picked up and then slipped on the translation ring. He felt nothing blatantly magical as it slid onto his finger, finding it fit snugly just below the second knuckle. It was slightly cool, but he assumed that it was just because of the material and not because of magic.


    He stopped outside the door to the bedroom the elf was in, intent on putting the new ring to good use so that he could sort out her problem and reunite with his friends. He felt a little bad about exploring the mansion while they all waited outside, but he couldn''t have a hidden monster pop out to eat the sickly woman the second he left her.


    He knocked a few times before slowly opening the door, attempting not to alarm her in case she''d gone to sleep. He needn''t have bothered, as she was in the exact same position he''d left her in, knees to her chest as she stared wide-eyed at the door. Really, her eyes were just naturally overly large and weren''t any wider than usual.


    "Hello, it''s me again," he started. He raised his hand and wiggled his fingers, showing off the ring he''d found. She flinched and hissed slightly at the movement, so he lowered his hand again, but her eyes were locked onto the ring. "Can you understand me alright? I''m not sure if this thing works both ways."


    She tilted her head, the same confused, scared, and angry expression on her face that she always had.


    "Hmm, I guess that''s a no. Maybe I have to turn it on¡ª oh goddamnit, I remember now. It doesn''t charge itself," he groaned. She looked at him like he was stupid, then pointed a clawed finger at the ring a few times, urging him to use it. "Yes, yes, I''m trying, but I don''t have any mana. Although I''ve still got those old fish cores in my pack..."

 Chapter 71 - Bloodfang Huntress

    Symon put his pack on the ground and began rummaging through it, searching through his pack under the cautious eye of the elf for a mana core that could be used to charge the translation ring. The emberwolves must have had some decently sized cores, but they hadn''t been harvested, their focus instead on the swirling orb of mist that the manor nestled inside. Of course, such a bounty wasn''t left out in the forest for a lucky scavenger to eat, but butchering so many creatures in a monster-infested forest was a surefire way to attract predators. Aslan had mentioned they were going to drag them closer to the mist, which the monsters seemed to be afraid of, and harvest them there, but Symon didn''t need to go all the way back out.


    Eventually, he managed to pluck out one of the tiny cores he''d harvested from those little fish with glowing horns. He supposed he could have taken the one from the gharzoth outside, but harvesting a sapient creature''s body for parts was a little much for him. With a shudder, he refocused on the translation ring and the mana core.


    "Damnit, times like this I wish Keelgrave was around," he muttered as he slowly pressed the two together. He had no idea how to do this ¡ª he couldn''t see or manipulate mana ¡ª and wasn''t sure if what he was attempting was even possible. The core had mana in it; he just had to get it into the ring, but that was easier said than done.


    The core rubbed against the ring, as he stared intently at it, trying to see if the dim turquoise ring brightened at all. It didn''t. He closed his eyes and concentrated, manifesting his thread at the same time in case it could somehow help him. He always had a sense of where it was, so maybe it could help him understand the ring and core if he overlaid it?


    It was a long shot, but he still tried holding the two items together as he wrapped the thread in and around them both. It permeated the material as intended, but he didn''t feel anything out of the ordinary from the thread. His eyes snapped open as he began drumming a finger against his chin in contemplation. It wasn''t the end of the world, he could always get someone else to charge it for him, and maybe Keelgrave would have some ideas or even be able to help directly, but it was annoying to be reminded of his lack of mana.


    To his surprise, the elf had scooted slightly closer while he was distracted. Her pale, bony fingers were curling back in a ''gimme'' motion, the first time she''d done anything other than hiss and back away. Symon was largely trained to treat physical trauma only, but it didn''t take a psychiatrist to tell something was wrong. He found it odd that she was in a state of both fight and flight, acting terrified of him one moment before turning suddenly to aggression and then back again. At least it hadn''t devolved into straight-up attacking him, but he doubted she''d even be able to manage more than a token effort in her still weakened state.


    He took off the ring and left it resting in the palm of his outstretched hand, alongside the tiny mana core, barely a quarter the size of his fingernail. Slowly, he edged his way closer to her, eyeing off her wicked claws at the same time.


    Don''t act scared. She''s like a cat: she''ll pick up on your fear, and that''ll just mean you get scratched. I''ve gotta be confident...


    He took a few more steps, but stopped once she hissed again. Huh, she really is a lot like a cat. She pointed at his hand and then to the bed, so he dumped the magical parts onto it and backed up to the doorway again.


    She picked them both up with the tips of her long fingers, one held in each hand. She slipped the ring on, and it fell all the way down to the first knuckle. Symon almost felt like he heard it rattle. Then, she curled her fingers into a fist, locking the ring in place and moving on to the core. To Symon''s eye, she didn''t do anything, but the core suddenly lost its luster and dissolved into dust, which fell onto the bed like loose sand. Immediately after, the dim turquoise ring pulsed slightly, a slight spark lighting it up.


    She hissed out more words, which came out as two distinct yet overlapping phrases. The first was whatever elvish language she''d been speaking earlier, while the second was in Common. "Kill me or release me, surface dweller, before I regain enough strength to tear out your throat," she demanded, although her airy and weak voice made it difficult to take the threat seriously.


    "Woah, woah, it''s not like that," Symon said, raising his hands placatingly and taking a step back at the same time. "Whoever hurt you, I can promise I''m not with them. I found you near death in the hallway out here and healed you, I don''t know how you got here or what''s going on."


    "A humanling would not waste the mana without an ulterior motive," she whisper-hissed. Symon wasn''t sure what else he could call it.


    "I don''t even have any mana. That''s why I couldn''t get that ring working," he explained.


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    "No mana?" she asked, her hissing taking on an incredulous tone. He figured it was the ring allowing him to hear the nuances of her hisses. "You cannot see the words of the ancestors?"


    "You mean the Ledger? I can see it fine, I just don''t have a core."


    "Do not lie to me!" she shouted weakly. "You speak untruths!"


    "I don''t know how it works either!" Symon said back more forcefully than he''d intended. Why could things never be easy for him? He saved her life! With a conscious force of will, he calmed himself down. "Listen, it''s clear you haven''t had the best day, and I''m not saying you need to trust me wholeheartedly right now, but let''s just think things through. You remember getting stabbed in the back, right?"


    She frowned ¡ª an oddly normal expression on her alien face ¡ª but nodded. For the first time, she seemed to notice that the wound was no longer there, her fingers poking at prodding at where it used to be. Her neck twisted unnaturally around, uncomfortably reminding Symon of an owl as she inspected her lower back. "What manner of foul illusion is this? Where is the scar?"


    Symon didn''t think the truth was very believable, but he didn''t want to immediately lie to her, either. "It''s not an illusion, my healing is just stronger than most. It''s powerful, but I have to take life from another living thing to power it. I store that vitality instead of mana, like everyone else does."


    The elf nodded sagely. "Why didn''t you say so, then? You claim the strength of others and make it your own."


    Symon blinked. "Uh, yes, actually, that''s exactly right. Have you met someone like me before?" he asked, suddenly excited. Even the well-travelled ¡ª if not the most learned ¡ª Keelgrave had never heard of someone with a vessel instead of a core, so it would be amazing news if he found someone he could get some proper answers from.


    Unfortunately for Symon, she shook her head no. "My people have a core like you and the other surface dwellers," she explained. "We simply understand the power that comes from the blood of others."


    "Right..." he said, more than a little disappointed by the first sentence and unnerved by the latter. "Oh, and what''s your name? I can''t keep thinking of you as ''the elf.''"


    Her eyes narrowed in suspicion before, to his surprise, she let out a short laugh. "You think me so foolish, humanling? I shall give you no power over me."


    Symon let out a deep sigh. He was beginning to question if this was even worth it. He''d saved her life, and if she refused to allow him to help her any further, why should he bend over backwards trying over and over again? "Listen, elf, my name is Symon. I saved you, whether you like it or not. I''m guessing it was humans who did this¡ª" he gestured broadly at her general state "¡ª to you, and I''m sorry that happened, but I''m not going to waste more of my time helping you if you''re going to fight me at every step."


    She glowered at him, but didn''t hiss. He assumed that was a good sign.


    "If you speak true, then why am I still bound?" she asked, her stick-thin legs rattling the manacles to accentuate her point. In this case, he felt that this was a reasonable question and not just her being needlessly hostile.


    "Well, I thought you might attack me when you woke up, but you''re too weak for that to matter," he said. She hissed softly in response, but he ignored her. "I wanted to make sure you''re not a criminal too, but now that I think about it the villagers would have mentioned an elf prisoner if that were the case. And finally... I don''t have the keys."


    She looked down at the large manacles around her ankles. "You have no way of unlocking this? They will prevent the ring from working before long."


    "Wait, what?"


    "They drain mana, or else I would not appear so weak before a prey beast."


    "Hmm, I see. We might be able to find a saw in town or maybe one of the sheds near here, but I doubt we''d be able to cut through magical chains anytime soon."


    "You speak truly? Swear it upon the blood of the ancestors," she demanded.


    "I swear upon the blood of the ancestors that I don''t have the keys to your chains?" he offered disbelievingly. Keelgrave would have mentioned by now if such oaths were magically binding, but even still, he wasn''t going to lie. Just in case.


    "Even a humanling would not be foolish enough to forswear themselves in front of the ancestors," she admitted, relaxing her posture slightly.


    "Uh, yeah, of course. I''d like for you to swear to not attack me, then," he said.


    "And you would help free me if I did?"


    "Yes, I''ll help you as long as you promise not to attack me. You know I''d win anyway, right?"


    She frowned at that, but didn''t deny it. He might have been imagining it, but he felt like those black eyes might contain a faint glimmer of respect. "Very well, humanling. By the blood of the ancestors, I swear to a pact of mutual protection in exchange for my freedom."


    That wasn''t exactly the terms Symon had been picturing, but it was good enough.


    "I swear the same, uh, by the blood of the ancestors. Is this your first time talking to a human?" he asked. This whole blood oath thing was just a mundane promise, something a human wouldn''t place much value on. And whose ancestors was he even swearing by? His certainly wouldn''t care what he said to an elf, of all things.


    "The first that did not attempt to kill or capture me. I did not deign to respond to them with words, so yes, you are my first," she answered. It was odd to hear such eloquent speech from someone who had been constantly hissing and snarling at him, but the translator ring must have been putting in good work.


    "I see, so you got that spike in your back when you escaped?" he asked.


    She nodded once. "The chains?" she offered.


    "Your name first," he demanded. "I already told you mine."


    "Fine," she hissed. "Listen well, humanling, for you are the first and last to be given the honour of my name. I am Vra''Entisse, the Bloodfang Huntress, the Flesh Tearer of the Wastes, the last daughter of the Wildborn Devourers. Know my name, and gaze upon me with terror!"


    Symon looked down at the filthy, emaciated elf as she devolved into a weak coughing fit. She looked more like a scared girl than anything terror-inducing. "Hmm, I think I''m just going to call you Entisse."

 Chapter 72 - When in Doubt, Use Sword

    "You most certainly can not call me Entisse," Entisse said. Now that they''d sworn not to harm each other with an oath to the blood of the ancestors ¡ª whatever the hell that meant ¡ª she seemed less on edge, although he''d hardly call her relaxed. Even now, she eyed him warily, her clawed fingers twitching every time he moved. Despite her slightly alien appearance, he could tell her brave front was exactly that: a front.


    "Too late," Symon responded. "I''m not calling you the Bloodfang Huntress every time I need to get your attention. I''ll call you Vra''Entisse if you prefer."


    "No, no, do not butcher more of my name with your foul tongue. Entisse, I shall be."


    "Right then, Entisse it is. Any ideas on how we''re going to get those chains off you? You wouldn''t happen to know who has the keys?" he asked, looking at a keyhole on the side of the manacles.


    "Yes, a grey-haired human," she replied, her creepy black eyes staring at him. "It wished to take me back to its soft people and put me on display."


    "And where might this human be?" he asked, frowning. As strange as the elf was, there was a certain naive innocence to her, although not in a traditional sense. He believed that her vicious-sounding titles were well-earned, but he also suspected she hadn''t had much interaction with other people that wasn''t grounded in violence. Something about her reminded him of a tiger or similar predator ¡ª dangerous, but not deceitful. He doubted she was lying about being taken.


    She shrugged. "On a ship somewhere in the ocean. I jumped overboard and swam to shore, and they did not turn back. Perhaps they thought me dead, but I am not one to fall to such a paltry attack."


    Symon doubted that. She''d been very close to death when he''d found her, although he did have to admit it was impressive that she''d been able to make it to shore, then the manor, then crawl all the way in with the weapon lodged in her back. "Wait, how did you make it through the black pollen barrier? Do you have Poison Resistance?" He knew that was supposed to be a rude question to ask someone, especially a stranger you''d just met, but she didn''t seem to mind. Perhaps elves were different in that regard.


    "What?" she frowned. "No, why would I? I simply walked through. Crawled through," she amended.


    "Hmm, odd. I have some friends outside that can''t get through without it burning them, and I was pretty sure the only reason I could get through was the Poison Resistance. You don''t have some secret technique?"


    "No. These allies of yours, you will command them to stay their weapons against me?" she asked, her claws twitching rhythmically.


    "I don''t command them, but yes, I will tell them you are friendly. Err, well, that you''re not going to attack them. You won''t attack them, right?"


    She sniffed. "Very well, I shall not harm your minions."


    Symon sighed. As long as she listened, that was all that mattered. He''d get the manacles off, give her some food, and send her on her way. "So, I''m presuming if breaking the chain was as easy as hitting it with my club here, you would have already gotten free?"


    "Correct," she said, the Common word and Elvish ¡ª or whatever the language was called ¡ª overlapping in a way that made it difficult to understand. The translation ring made it sound as if two voices were coming from her mouth at the same time.


    "I have a really strong friend with a big axe, will that work?"


    She gave him a long look, although he wasn''t sure what it was supposed to mean. "Is this axe enchanted?"


    "No, I don''t think so."


    "Then no, it would break before the chains did."


    He considered whether Safiya would be able to help. She was a rogueish type, but that was no guarantee she could pick locks. He hadn''t been given any indication she could, although they''d also never needed to break into a locked door in their travels together.


    "Hmm, I''m not sure how much help they would be. Still, more heads would be better."


    "Yes! That is the first reasonable thing you have said. More heads are always better," she said, nodding enthusiastically.


    "You don''t mean¡ª no, never mind, I don''t want to know. So you don''t have any ideas on how to get those things off?"


    She stared at him for a long moment, then at the irons around her legs. "Your healing, how powerful is it?" she asked, answering his question with another.


    Symon debated how much he should share. He doubted she would go around telling everyone how valuable his magic was, but he still didn''t have a very good read on her. Her dishevelled appearance made him pity her in the way he would a three-legged puppy, but he wasn''t going to go spilling all his secrets just because he felt bad for her. "It''s very good, as long as I have enough vitality. Why?" he answered vaguely.


    "Can it reattach missing parts?"


    Symon looked down at his left hand and flexed his fingers. "Even better," he said. Huh, I''ve never actually tried to reattach things. I guess it would work... wait, why is she asking that?


    "Very well, cut my feet off for me then."


    Symon coughed suddenly, his throat going dry at the same time. "Wha¡ª, I, uh are you sure that''s the best idea?"


    She shrugged. "I would do it myself, but this cursed weakness means it would take too long to slice all the way through, and it''s not going to go away until I get my mana back."


    He understood the plan, of course. It wasn''t even as bad as it sounded, not really. He could sever her leg at the calf, pull the foot out of the manacle, then reattach it. It would only take a few seconds, then she would be right as rain. Logically speaking, it was quite a convenient little solution.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    That didn''t mean he was comfortable mutilating someone as what was essentially a first resort, even if they were willing and even if he knew that he could fix it. In fact, the ease with which she''d suggested it made him want to reject it even more than if it had been suggested out of immediate necessity. It was one thing if they''d exhausted their other options, but to rush straight into it?


    "Quit staring at me like that with your weird little eyes. Surely even a humanling would know that sometimes the weak flesh must be removed to make room for the strong."


    "You''d seriously trust me to do that? Didn''t you think I was going to kill you just two minutes ago?" he asked, ignoring the fact that she was the one with the weird eyes.


    Entisse shrugged. "You swore an oath by the blood of the ancestors, remember? I did not realise you people had such a poor memory. What''s your Intelligence?"


    Symon ignored her question. "And that''s enough to make you put your life in my hands? I mean, I''m not going to hurt you, but still."


    "Better to have mana and no feet than feet and no mana," she said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.


    "Jesus, I can''t believe I''m actually considering this..." he muttered to himself. It would be a quick solution.


    "Hmm, who is this Jesus? Another minion of yours?"


    "Ugh, no, forget I said anything." Considering the possibility that the Gods of this world were active ¡ª at least enough to grant him blessings, apparently ¡ª he wasn''t interested in getting smote. Best to give that whole field a wide margin, he thought.


    "If you refuse to help me, I will just have to do it myself." She sat up a little straighter in the bed, her long neck bending sinuously as she stared unblinkingly at her manacled legs. "Hmm, I could gnaw one off myself, but I am not sure I would be able to regenerate enough mana in time to stop the bleeding. Only one way to find out," she hissed softly, almost folding herself in half in an impressive display of flexibility.


    "Fine, fine, I''ll do it!" Symon shouted. He wasn''t sure if she really was about to chew through her own leg, but part of him believed her. A fox caught in a trap would tear its own leg off to escape, or at least that''s what he''d heard, and her teeth certainly looked sharp enough to do so. Every one of them was fanged like a shark, and there were too many of them in her slightly too wide mouth. It wasn''t something a normal person would do as their Plan A, but she''d given him no indication she was anywhere close to normal. Then again, she wasn''t even a person, depending on your definition of the word.


    He hadn''t heard much about Elves, but he hoped they weren''t all like this. They were supposed to be beautiful and graceful, so in touch with nature that they lived in giant treehouses or something similar. He could admit that Entisse possessed a certain predatory grace, clear even in her muted state, but that was about the only comparison they had to the Tolkeinesque Elves he''d been imagining.


    Well, at least she has the pointy ears. Earth got something right after all.


    For a woman ¡ª or at least a human one ¡ª she was tall and slender, something he gained a more accurate assessment of as she stood up. By chance, she appeared almost exactly as tall as Symon was, once you factored in his shoes and her bare feet save for the manacles around her ankles. Her ragged and torn clothing provided an overly revealing view, but there was nothing erotic about her skeletal and battered form.


    "Hang on, there should be some proper clothes around here," Symon said as he turned to a large dresser set next to the bedroom''s door. Its surface had a coating of regular dust on it, the room being blessedly free of the pollen, but the insides of the shelves revealed undirtied clothes. They were simple but well-made servant''s clothes, the three-quarter pants dyed a dark grey while the shirt was a sky blue. Someone wearing it would stand out in the village of unassuming drab brown tunics. He took an extra shirt for himself as well, as his old one had been mostly destroyed by an emberwolf and then finished off by his torch''s flaming pitch when he''d tried to evolve his skills.


    When he turned back, her head was tilted, and her overly large eyes were staring at him in confusion. "Why must I garb myself so? Is it a necessity of the healing?" she asked. He was beginning to question how literal the translation ring was, and if it took any liberties to, say, try and make a noblewoman''s speech sound more refined. It reminded him a little of how Aslan tended to be overly formal with him, although he''d toned it down recently. It was odd to experience that same feeling from someone who looked like a dishevelled escaped genetic experiment.


    "Uh, no, but... don''t you want some proper clothes? I think these were for a man, but it''s got to be better than those rags," he offered, holding the clothing in question out against his body to check the size. It was fairly close.


    "Does a mighty harag need to plate itself in a fake shell?" she hissed condescendingly.


    I never knew you could pack so much tone into those...


    "No?" he guessed. He''d never heard of a harag, even in passing. He figured it was some type of monster, though.


    "Then you have your answer."


    "Not really, but you can do what you want. Still, don''t you think it would be smart to disguise yourself a little if you''re on the run?"


    "Greater beasts than you have failed to detect my prowl before it was too late," she huffed.


    "I''m sure you''re a great huntress, but you do kind of stand out," he said, once more considering her odd appearance. The pale grey skin, the overly large eyes and mouth, the slightly too long arms, fingers, and ears all gave her an unnerving, not quite human appearance. "You''d draw attention from the other humans, at least. Don''t you want to make it back to your people?"


    "They are no more," she said without much obvious emotion. It could have happened so long ago that it no longer hurt, but it was equally likely she just had a different view of death than Symon did, much like how the Dumosans had acted when Serik had died.


    Or maybe Cathar is such a horrible place that all your friends and family dying is a common occurrence.


    "I''m sorry to hear that. You''ve been on your own ever since?"


    "No, their strength is always within me," she said with a savage grin. Well, it was the normal level of animalistic savagery that she always expressed.


    "I see..." Symon responded, though he didn''t really. He could ask her about Elvish beliefs later. "Anyway, please put some clothes first, and then we can go outside and, well, cut you out," he said, the words more confident than he felt. The idea made sense, but it still felt wrong to him, even knowing there would be no lasting harm.


    Realising that proper clothing was non-optional, she eventually gave in and put on the servant''s clothes. Coming back into the room after giving her some privacy, Symon noted that they were sized for a human and not the much broader gharzoth. It must have been a multispecies serving staff, back when they were all alive. He wondered what happened to all the bodies, as the mayor had said there were no survivors.


    The oversized shirt dwarfed her thin frame, but it was certainly better than the dirty, blood-soaked rags she''d been wearing. "Now, are you finally ready to vashkaar drassh?" she asked.


    The two frowned in unison, their gazes going to the ring on her finger. It no longer shined slightly, having returned to its usual lusterless dirty turquoise. "I guess what we got out of that tiny fish core was pretty good, hey?" he said, to which she predictably said nothing comprehensible. "Yeah, yeah, I''ve got more." He reached back into his pack, but she once more hissed and shook her head.


    He was intially confused why she didn''t want a recharge, but her enthusiastic pointing at the manacles and equally emphatic hissing got the point across.


    "Ah, straight to the feet cutting off? Then you can use your own mana once the shackles are off," he said with a nod.


    Suddenly, he felt a shift in his vessel. A large chunk of the remaining impure vitality had evaporated all at once.


    <Symon...> Keelgrave''s faintly echoing voice intruded into his mind. <Mind telling me what the fuck is going on?>