43 - Meet the new boss
Of war, of victory, of those who prevail over hardship. It comes as no surprise, that given the Empire''s history, many of the stories they hold dear, focus upon the lives of past Heroes. Legends, such as The Wrath of the Stone Sword, or The Bow of the Black Knight... any child past their ninth summer can likely recite those word for word.
The tale of the first [Engineer] is one of those, as well. Though, less popular among the masses when compared to those already mentioned, I still find it to be a personal favorite.
In a time when the wars were raging across the land, before the borders had solidified, and battles raged just a stone''s throw from the capital: the [Engineer] was summoned. Unlike the others who came with him, though, he was initially considered weak. Yet, by using his ingenuity, he went on to build machines of great power. Through careful instruction, he guided thousands of [Worker] Class citizens to erect crucial defenses during a siege that almost brought the Empire to its knees, driving back the enemy without ever touching a sword.
Perhaps, what I love so much about this story is how it compares to the rest. Instead of glorious bloodshed, the [Engineer] doesn''t achieve their greatness through violence at all. In fact, there''s no direct fight against an enemy [King] or [Warlord] as the [Engineer] never once sets foot on the field of battle. Instead, it is a story of people working together to save themselves. One, which holds knowledge above power.
There''s a lesson in that, I feel. For the people not to waiting for someone else to come and save them. For the power they too, hold, should they only push themselves to use it. Perhaps, that is why, no matter where I''ve heard the tale during my many travels across the Empire, the end of the story is always left out. That very important part, after the battle ended with the Empire''s victory, the city was saved: and the [King] commanded our great Empire''s beloved [Engineer] to be executed.
........
I didn''t like the situation.
Having gone from being what amounted to a slave for the Empire, to a brief and chaotic period of relative freedom, and then back- to what would likely amount to a slave, again. Only this time, for the Baron, and with slightly better pay and benefits.
I didn''t like it.
But, pride has no place when it comes to survival. And as far as life lessons went, I had learned that rather quickly during my stint with the Golden Wing.
It was better to live another day, than die pointlessly and avoidably because you couldn''t keep a lid on it.
Not to romanticize what the mercenary company was, of course. Or even attempt to redeem the atrocities they casually accepted as a daily practice. But, for all I hated that place, it had taught me what I needed to know if I was going to survive. A person like me, with no useful talents on the battlefield, could find their surest method of living another day, simply by keeping their mouth shut.
It meant doing what I was told, when I was told.
It meant not inviting any additional punishment unless I found it was absolutely necessary.
If they told me to train, I complied. If they told me to work back-breaking labor, I complied. If they told me to shut the hell up... well, you get the idea. Fairness never entered into the equation, because it wasn''t fair, or right, or just. There was no morality in this, or a sense of satisfaction. And it certainly wasn''t something I enjoyed. Being looked at as a disposable weapon, was simply that. I would likely be used until I broke. I didn''t have to like any of it, I just had to put up with it while trying to get strong enough to beat the odds, and not break.
Suffice to say, it''s not a huge leap to understand that emotion was hardly my friend in this. Emotion, while mixed with the contrast of this world compared to modern-day Earth. Knowledge of how things "should" be.
It made resistance tempting.
Just like anyone else, I wanted to argue against what was happening to me, and to the others.
But I didn''t.
Because doing so would be stupid, and because no one I had witnessed attempting it was ever rewarded for their troubles.
This wasn''t like the movies. The smooth talking and clever fellow did not win prizes for resisting authority. They didn''t get the girl, or earn everyone''s respect: they got the shit kicked out of them and then died foolishly because they hadn''t properly recovered from the beating in time for whatever bad thing was about to happen.
I''ve wondered, if maybe, my Attributes helped me to adjust in adopting to this reality. I imagined it had to be possible, that the more Attribute points one receives in Intelligence, or Wisdom, the farther away a person could distance themselves. That is to say, the better they can dissociate, from emotions, and insulate from mental harm.
I say this, because I want to clarify: it''s not as if I didn''t feel resentment. I felt anger, and frustration, just like anyone might have if they were put in my shoes. I did feel those things. The trick was that none of the feelings churning about beneath the surface were emotions I was going to let free.
If I let my pride got the better of me, what would come of it?
Would I be rewarded?
No.
Was there any benefit at all?
No.
[Identify]
From a free man, to a lackey.
I didn''t like it.
But I wasn''t dead.
So, at least I had that going for me. Which was nice.
Also nice, was that The Baron hadn''t spared expense. The armor, combined with the weight of coins in the purse on my belt, balanced with my dagger, made that rather clear.
I had value to him, and he wanted me to recognize it.
As we walked through the fort, though, I soon found that he didn''t spare words on that front, either.
"You''re worth quite a bit to me alive. What that is, exactly, I haven''t quite decided. Just know that if you''re dead, the price is exactly ten gold coins. Empire mint, stamped, and sealed." He said, leading me along the parapet. "For someone down on their luck in these parts, that''s a new set of cows, a second wife, and more kegs of ale than they''ll manage to drink before someone else kills them and takes the rest of the money."
To one side of us, I could look down into the fort itself. Castle-like, but not quite so grand, it rose up atop the slightly raised hill in the town''s center. The buildings around us, rose out in a sprawl of wooden and stone. Church towers seemed the only commonality to break the clusters of two or three story structures, among mud and gravel streets.
"This close to port, it''s all but given that some fool is going to try and end you. Common folk might not know what you''re worth, but the [Trader] and [Merchant] groups will. Especially if they run routes up north." He didn''t bother to look at me, as he pointed down towards the port.
That was where the town met the ocean, and I could see several boat masts teetering, beside the familiar cliffs. The ground seemed to have been strategically carved away for greater access, almost terraced in a crude way, but I could still imagine the drop was significant. The system of ropes and pullies mounted on platforms, seemed to provide proof of my assumption.
"I say all that as if you''re going to run. But you''re not, because running would be unbelievably stupid." The Baron spit over the edge of the wall, watching it land somewhere far below. "And you''re not stupid, are you, John?"
"No, Baron." I answered.
No, I thought of myself being more of the "dangerously ignorant" variety of know-nothing. The kind of person who knew he was in over his head, but wasn''t quite sure how deep.
The Baron continued leading farther along the wall with an approving grumble. Perhaps, a little disappointed I hadn''t tried to say more.
... Which, made me offer up a silent thanks to Squad Leader Kepler, where ever that man happened to be.
The Baron wasn''t much for other people speaking, when he was still speaking. It was entirely one sided, unless the Baron wanted it otherwise. Everyone who came in contact with the man, either answered with a "yes" or "no" or they saluted and didn''t talk at all. In fact, from the day''s observations, I suspected there was probably only one person in the fort that logic didn''t apply to.
And thankfully, she wasn''t present.
"Fort''s a few centuries old, but the hill is built on an old foundation from ages ago. Sunken into the dirt, it''s so fucking ancient" The Baron lectured, as he lead me along. "Probably some forgotten relic, or some temple dedicated to dead Gods..."
At that, the skin on my neck crawled a bit, but the Baron continued without bothering to look in my direction.
"Ports are the only efficient way to trade. Terrain is too difficult for carts..." I listened, splitting my attention as best I could manage, as he continued.
Walking by several men with the [Guard] Class, I noted their reactions: swift salutes for the Baron, and then stern stares in my direction.
Those made the count''s tally something close to forty. I had to guess, with additional forces on the road, the number could easily be three or four times that, and they were all at what I perceived to be "Kepler" level in Attributes. Many, not only boasting [Guard] as their Class, but several [Swordsman] as well.
Yet, whatever relative power the Baron''s men had: compared to him, they fell horribly short.
Which meant, of course, that I was even worse off.
[Identify]
I knew using [Identify] on the ground was somewhat silly. In fact, it felt foolish to even bother, but I was quickly falling back into a survival mindset.
[Identify] was silent. It cost me nothing, so far as I could tell, and was quick to fire off as many times as needed: limited only by the speed I could read what it provided. More than that, I knew that eventually, through constant use, it would probably rank up again.
If something might rank up my skills, without drawing attention, I was going to try and put it to use.
"As you might have guessed by now, this town is one of the original settlements." The Baron said, stopping before we reached a small tower built into the corner of the wall. "The Kingdom expanded into this region after a failure to hold their lines to the south. There was a breach, some hundred thousand folk wound up dead before they got to the end of it. Since then, the population has been spread thinner. There are another ten or so like this, under my watch. Another few dozen or so, if you count the rest that aren''t."
He pointed inland, away from the ocean.
"There abouts, are the other appointed Wards, who control and govern territories. Even if you made it to them, I suspect they''d just kill you." From the rather jolly tone in his voice, I felt that he seemed highly amused by the idea. "Maybe, they would torture you first. String you up, and the like."
Normally, I would have considered these statements to be threats: One more layer of fear, woven in the keep me from trying anything. But... well, it was the way they were said, which made me think the Baron was just speaking thoughts as they came to him. As if he really wasn''t concerned with whether I lived or died, saying I was actually bold enough to try and make a break for it.
Somehow, that only made it feel worse.
Heading into the tower, hunching below the archway to the stairs, the Baron stopped again. This time, taking an unlit torch off a metal rack that was bolted into the stone.
"Light this." The Baron commanded.
It was a good thing I''d stopped rattling off [Identify] because that made me stop short.
Waiting patiently, he pointed to the torch.
"Light it, or I''ll kill you." He adjusted his previous statement, free hand landing on my shoulder like a vice. "Now, Hero."
Fear is a powerful motivator.
Desperately, clumsily, I reached down into the pattern. Burning in my ribs, I felt the drain of mana ticking down, rapidly, as I focused on the wrapped cloth at the end of the wood.
17/100
16/100
15/100
After what felt an eternity, the torch began to smolder.
Then, the flames rose up, in true.
[Lesser Flame]
I did it.
Fire, right there, brought into existence because I''d wanted it to appear.
I would have said that I felt amazed, or a profound sense of accomplishment, with my first intentional use of Magic, but I didn''t. Instead, I was much more concerned by the pressure that was creaking the bones and tendons of my shoulder out of place.
Slowly, the pressure eased up.
"Well done." The Baron stated, releasing me.
I could have sworn I heard my collar bones "pop" back into alignment, as I swallowed back the nervousness I''d been feeling, in the off-chance the magic had decided not to work.
He would have killed me.
Right there, right then: I had little doubt.
"Damnedest thing." The Baron, muttered to himself as he watched the flames. Glacing up, he eyed the space above my head, barest trace of a frown forming. "Damnedest thing I''ve ever seen."
What he saw, or perhaps more accurately: what he didn''t see, clearly bothered him.
I kept my mouth shut.
What the Baron knew, what I knew, what the Baron thought I knew... My ignorance was, admittedly, still quite vast. While I could work to remedy that by being active to familiarize myself with whatever I could, I was conscious of the disadvantage.
"Lad, I don''t know what Attributes you''re hiding, but I know you''re not an idiot." He stated. "You''ve got no Class, but you''ve got Magic. That''s the makings of a [Mage] if I ever saw one."
He waited, still eying the space above my head. Slowly, I saw his frown twist up, into another terrible grin. Wider and wider, until it was the smile of a man who wasn''t quite sane.
"Oh... You''re exactly the kind of thing that fucking [King] of theirs has nightmares about." Teeth, several of them gold, caught the torchlight as its fire began to burn brighter Shadows on his face, shifting with the flame. "And I think you know why. Don''t you, Hero?"
I met his mad stare with as much confidence as I could, keeping my expression calm as I waited.
Chuckling, the Baron turned away and began his way down the steps.
"There''s a lot of good fucking reasons the Empire doesn''t teach your kind Magic." He laughed wildly, his voice an echo against the stone. "But, lucky for you: I don''t give a fuck about any of them."
44 - Playing With Fire
The Citadel is a place of wonder, I tell you. Sprawling streets of gold, set between massive towers of ivory. It''s said that their University has taught the greatest [Mages] known to history. That their libraries are filled with books, reaching back into the ages. Centuries of knowledge, some- from civilizations that no longer exist. From languages already forgotten: all perfectly preserved by magic. Up there, are spells, technology, and inventions, far as the eye can see. Enough to make the world below look as though we''re all primitive savages: nothing more than goblins, tying rocks to sticks, and playing games of war.
I suspect half of the reasons the Empire wants to bring the Citadel down, can be traced back to simple jealousy.
The other half, though, probably have a lot to do with the fact that the city keeps flying away from their tax collectors.
.........
That night, tour of the fort completed, the Baron left me at a small room.
Tucked in beside the northern hall of the fort, it was half the size of servant quarters I''d seen, and oddly placed, to boot.
At first, I thought that, perhaps, it had once been a closet. Either that, or some sort of storage room, repurposed, multiple times over, for whatever need happened to call upon it. With a wooden door set about an awkward frame, it was walled in to make use of the pocket of empty space where two walls didn''t quite meet. Set at the base of a set of stairs, with no other rooms near it, the room certainly seemed an oddity.
The northern hall stretching a good ways in one direction, and stairs rising up in the other, it was isolated from almost anything of value.
"First light, every morning: I expect you in the yard like the rest of them." The Baron instructed. "After, I want you in the hall. I expect you to stay there, until I dismiss you."
"Understood, Baron." I answered.
"Understood... Look at you: the perfect image of a dutiful servant. As if you wouldn''t try to knife me, the second you thought it might actually work." He snorted at the thought. "I''ll bet some might actually fall for it."
One foot on the stairs, he seemed almost ready to leave, before he turned back. I waited, as he let the torch in his hand pass by my face.
"From the story they told me, to the way they dragged you in... At first I believed it was the [Sailor] who did-in that fucking wolf. But, I''ve been thinking." He let the fire sit right beside my face, uncomfortably close. "Horrible fucking beasts, those are. If you''re too strong and go hunting for them alone, they won''t come out at all. Instead, they''ll hide." He stared at me, moving the torch closer, until I thought my skin might burn. "The only good way to kill those beasts, is to trick them. To play the part of what they''re hunting for, instead."The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
I didn''t move, as his expression turned deadly.
"I expect you to do what I tell you, when I tell you." The Baron stated, as the fire licked the air painfully beside my cheek. "I expect you to earn your keep."
"Yes, Baron."
"Yes, Baron... I know what you are, John." His eyes narrowed as he pulled the torch away at last, to set it down on an iron bracket on the wall. "So, you''d best make yourself useful."
With that, he left.
I watched him go, step by step, up the stairs. Waiting, I willed myself to be the perfect image of patience, but as the sound of boots on stone grew farther and farther away, I found it was that much more difficult to hold back the panic.
When I was certain he wasn''t coming back, with a shaking hand I pulled the door of new residence closed behind me.
"God damn." I whispered, as the fear slowly settled. Slumping down onto the floor, I relied on the backdrop of an enclosed space and the backing of a wooden door, useless as these probably were, to calm my nerves.
I''d made it through the day without getting my head mounted on a pike.
There was always tomorrow, though
I''d never been a smoker, but I felt the strangest urge to start- saying the option was available. Head leaning back to touch the door, I tried my best to slow the heavy drumbeat in my chest to a more managable level.
One day at a time.
Tomorrow morning, I''d go to the yard. Presumably, for training, as I''d seen several people practicing there. So, that meant swinging a sword, or practicing with a spear. I was reasonably confident I could handle that. The concept wasn''t new to me.
After that, though... I was less sure about the hall.
It was likely the time that the Baron used for issuing orders. Governing an area of any decent size, and it fit that there would be a long list of tasks to assign. Just a guess, but I suspected he wasn''t going to trust me with any of those. If that was the case, then I was reasonably confident I could handle that, too.
But, after?
I didn''t have a clue.
Earn my keep, and make myself useful.
Eyes settling into the dark, I could see out the window of the room. Past a small bunk, built across from a tightly fit desk and a set of shelves, the view overlooked the town. The sight of speckled lights. Fires and candles burning, down and away from the fort. People going about their lives...
Slumping with my back to the door, I let out a long held in breath of air. Running a hand through my hair, I shook my head.
An entire day, following the man around, and I still wasn''t sure what the Baron actually wanted. He might be willing to keep me alive, for the time being, and he seemed to consider me valuable: but he''d never once stated what his goals were.
"Earn your keep." I repeated the vague instruction, upon which my survival was likely tied.
Frustratingly non-specific.
I tapped the pommel of my dagger, before lifting out a hand in the dark. The weight of it on my hip, even seated on the floor, was reassuring.
A weapon, a tool...
25/100
Focusing, I let that familiar pattern rise, with the beating of fire in my chest.
Above my palm, a small flame came to life. Weaker than a candle, it shifted as the window''s breeze rolled in, forcing me to cup my hands and hold it close. Protected from the outside world, the fire rippled like a tiny comet in freefall, inches from my face.
A tiny impossibility, defying all logic.
Focusing, I held it there. I fed it, until I could take my hands away, and let it resist on its own. No longer sheltered, no longer contained by my palm: floating in the air before my eyes.
24/100
Slowly, so as not to smother it, I exhaled again. Letting the air in my lungs, feed into the flicker of heat, and make it stronger.
Stronger still.
23/100
It danced and spun as the air passed it by. Sputtering, as it struggled.
Weak, but brave. Unable to survive as it was, but unwilling to die quite yet: my magic fought.
[Skill - Rank up] - [Lesser Flame - Lvl 2]
"Make myself useful, huh?" I whispered. "Alright."
I could work with that.
45 - New Guy
"I come from a world, where men have reached the sky and stars. Where whatever Gods might watch, do so in silence, and wars are waged by such horrific tools that you might never imagine the terror. So, curse me all you like. Break my foolish weapon, throw me in chains, and spit upon me as I breathe my last: but know! Know that for all the hate you hold, what I gave you was mercy."
- Final verse, as sung by the Bards of Illase, Ballad of The Stone Sword''s Wrath
........
The next morning, I got up early.
Voices outside woke me, echoing beneath the door, but it was the bird song from the window that brought me back to reality. Groaning with exhaustion, I forced myself out of the narrow bunk, rolling my shoulders to stretch away the stiffness that came from sleeping on cloth-covered boards.
I had stayed up late.
Using mana seemed to leave a sense of... something odd.
Not quite a rush, or a high. Not quite so strong, but certainly a feeling similar to caffeine. More so, it was a feeling which seemed to scale with the amount of mana used. Quickening of thoughts, is the best I can describe it. Everything combines a bit, and becomes all melded together with layers of concepts that are not quite real. All while reality is sharpened.
Colors look deeper, the edges of surfaces seem crisp. Like they end with more defined features.
Using magic made my mind feel light and my sense of body feel distant, and that made it surprisingly easy to lose track of time. Combine this with the fact that, after the increase in my [Lesser Flame] skill, I''d found the spell had only become easier to manipulate... well, sleep had been put on hold.
There was a reasonable chance that dawn had come only a short hour or so after closing my eyes, and waking early afterwards had left me feeling quite tired.
I didn''t regret anything, though.
Magic was at my fingertips. I could summon fire, even if there was only a little bit at a time. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt I was really taking some power for myself. So much so, that there was still a strong motivation to keep practicing, the moment I got up. Even after an entire night of doing exactly that. Sleep was just something in my way.
As was the expectation I obeyed orders.
As I exhaustedly pulling on my boots, straightening my belt, checking for my dagger, I stretched again. Working out the stiffness from my muscles, I slowed by the room''s entrance, considering how much time I had before I could be late.
I still felt an urge to continue drawing on the magic. Almost as if I were thirsty, and wished to drink, I still felt a need, mixed with a practical wanting. I wanted to call up the spell, to feel the pulse of mana running through my veins, just as much as I wanted to gather a solid foundation and understanding of how it all worked.
Curiously, I wondered if there was such a thing as "Spell addiction."
Maybe.
There was one more question, to drop onto the pile.
Mana was, logically, a resource. Either generated by one''s own body, or absorbed and refined from the environment as a whole. I felt would get to the bottom of that puzzle sooner or later. But at the moment, I was more curious exactly how much mana could I safely spend? Were there consequences to using it? How quickly would it recover? Did it follow similar rules to Health, or Stamina?
21/100
From my status, it seemed that my mana had recovered a little more than I''d guessed it would. Was that a result of my skill''s level up, or was that some form of outside influence?
The temptation of these questions, turned out to be a bit too much.
I lifted a small fire form over my palm. In the morning light, it hardly seemed impressive, but I let it burn for a moment.
20/100
An initial cost, followed by a dramatically lower upkeep. Same as before, nothing had changed, but I was content to know that the spell seemed stable. Perfect heat, rising up much like a small gas burner, with a slight shade of blue.
It wasn''t much, but my control over the small fire had improved outside of the magic''s own leveling. And, ignoring the sensation which came with the expenditure of mana in the first place, I felt fine. In fact, my thoughts felt as clear as polished glass.
21/100
Interesting.
All this from a single night of effort.
The recovery of mana to be more variable than I''d expected. Was I really regaining mana faster, or was I just spending less of it? The smallest fraction wasted, and recovered...
I didn''t have any immediate answers.
I also realized that I didn''t have much more time to waste pondering them, either.
Letting out one last yawn, I decided it was lucky that sleep was something I already happened to be very used to giving up, long before coming into this world. While it was true, that modern day life might buffer a person from some harsh realities, it was also true that showing up to work on time was rarely optional.
So it was, dressed with the clothing I''d been provided, my armor fixed and tied down as best I could manage, my belt set with dagger and coin purse: I opened the door and made my way to my destination. One route of many that I''d already, somehow, hammered into memory.
Down the Northern hall, to the left. Then, a right turn, to take a small set of rounded-stairs, which led onto the ground level. From there, the fort opened up with a row of stone arches, merging the outside courtyard I''d been told to go, with something that resembled a lobby.
Much to my dismay, I found that I was late. I''d gotten up early, but without any real time-keeping signal, it was clear I would need to adjust in the future. There was a crowd of people, and loud noises, shouting, and conversation filled the air. There was activity everywhere I looked, as the morning seemed well underway.
Deeper into the fort, where the walls closed around a counter, several cooks handed out meals by the slop. Their ladles reached across to deliver gruel at a leisurely pace, dropping heavy lumps of some sort of oatmeal-like substance into the waiting wooden bowls. All the while, at the few tables present, men and women with [Guard] and [Swordsman] Classes ate in huddles. Some, even standing, as they dug into their meals like hungry dogs: rushing to finish whatever slop was before them, before heading to the field outside. Where, I recognized, the yard was filling up.
My first awkward moment of hesitation of the day, had arrived.
I was hungry. Though I had managed to get some bread and cheese during the Baron''s tour around the fort, real meals hadn''t been coming to me very often, and I was still feeling some of the effects of prolonged hunger. Even if the oatmeal mixture didn''t seem particularly appealing, it was food, and probably more calorically dense than most anything I''d eaten in the past month.
Yet...
Glancing at the few people still eating, each wolfing down whatever they could before turning in their bowls, I decided that skipping breakfast was probably the safest way to avoid whatever trouble might come of being any later than I already was. My goal was to avoid attracting unwanted attention, and ease into whatever role the Baron had planned for me, and taking my sweet time on my first day... well, that seemed like a poor life choice. Besides, missing one meal wasn''t going to kill me.
Probably.
So, with a pang of regret, and a rumble in my stomach, I went outside. Passing over breakfast, and heading beneath the nearest archway into open air.
It truly was reminiscent of the Golden Wing camp.
Weapons hummed through the air, skills glowing, and men in armor running through exercises. As morning light began creeping up over the fort walls. I could even see some people sparring towards the far end. There, heavy clashes rang out in regular patterns. With dulled metal and wood connecting to release sparks and pressure.
All that was missing, at this point, was Squad Leader Kepler barking out orders.
Nearby, a sparring match went wide. I watched as someone dashed back to intercept a heavy swing, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as the impact shook the air. Even standing off to the side, the force brought on by the hits were palpable. As were the rest from the mock battle, which followed after. Watching the collisions, I felt safe in my assumption that any of those strikes could probably break my arms, even without real weapons being involved.
It was a humbling start to the day.
Apart from my dagger, though, I was still unarmed. Swinging the small blade around, would probably look rather silly, so I opted for something else. Looking about the surroundings, I soon found a weapon rack. Plucking a well-used cloth tipped spear that hadn''t been claimed, I took my first step onto the field.
And reach my second moment of hesistation.
How was I really going to approach this?
There didn''t seem to be any strict routines. No one was directly supervising or barking orders.
Standing there, awkwardly, I felt very out of place. Clearly, it was expected that I go and join them. That would be the next part of this. But confidence, I''ve found, has roots in self-delusion. And I was having a great deal of trouble fooling myself into thinking it would work itself out without any trouble, for some reason.
Maybe, if this were something similar to the first day of school, or the first day working for a new company, I could cover doubt with a blanket statement of "there''s nothing to worry about." And in doing so, I could just trick myself into thinking that all I really needed to do was walk out there and join them. Knowing, supposedly, that if a person presented a guise of confidence fitting for the situation, it was highly likely that no real harm could come from it.
The "fake it until I made it" approach, was a road well-traveled... But here, I felt that the stakes were a bit too much. To just waltz into things, seemed impossible.A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Yet, inaction was action in its own sense, and I knew it was only a matter of time until someone wondered why there was a Summoned Hero lazing around by the weapon rack. I was honestly feeling rather surprised that no one had noticed me already, until, of course, I realized that was probably because [Hide Presence] had been activated.
I suppose, the sight of people who could potentially murder me, waving weapons around, was enough to trigger it. As if some sort of natural defense mechanism.
Or, maybe, I thought, there was a chance that I''d simply had it active all night. The ability it didn''t seem to cost anything outside of a little bit of mental energy, and my last conversation with the Baron had been remarkably terrifying.
That too, was possible.
Unless I was specifically trying to keep it in mind, I had found that the skill (much like the ability it granted) had a subtle way of sneaking out of my attention.
But, none of this changed what I needed to do. In fact, just thinking about it was just one more form of procrastination, so I took another deep breath, and made my move. Keeping my head down, mindful to keep my distance from the majority, I stepped onto the field. With [Hide Presence] running, quite conciously, at full burn: I took my place along the far edge, opposite of the weapon rack.
Surprisingly, there was still no reaction.
Maybe it was parly due to the skill, but perhaps, I thought, it was a good thing I''d been a little late. Though it was unintended, everyone was already quite focused on their own tasks. If I''d been too early, there''s no way I could have flew under the radar this long.
In truth, as much as I hadn''t been expecting things to go my way in this, it seemed to work.
I''d stick to the back of the group, I decided. It wouldn''t be too hard to follow the flock''s morning routine. Keep the edges, and I might make it through the next few hours. Against my better judgement, I felt optimistic.
And no one noticed.
Not even after I forced [Hide Presence] back down to as low a simmer as I was willing to go, testing my control over it. No one seemed to notice me. While the skill let me avoid attention, I wasn''t sure if using a skill aggressively might backfire once I actually was noticed. Surely, there was some sort of taboo for such things. Yet, the practice around the yard continued, undisturbed. Everyone present was working towards whatever small attribute gains might be earned from daily exercise. Focused, and rightfully so, on their own improvement.
Very focused, in fact. I recognized that most were working themselves to their absolute limit.
After a moment of thought, running through my own motions and forms, I felt a strange epiphany dawn on me. Something I''d realized, but never quite put into words until just then.
Whatever these people gained, they kept.
Though they were living without a "cheat" title to help them along, their life would still hinge upon every tiny advantage they could gather. Any slacking, would cut away their potential, and to become truly powerful, and they would need years upon years of hard work to earn their Attributes, so it wouldn''t take much to fall behind. If ordinary people were going to get anywhere, they needed to be as dedicated as possible. "Normal" people in this world needed to live every single day to the best of their abilitiy, all for the sake of prying free every tiny increase to their attributes. The system encouraged a strong work-ethic by default.
People would live or die, all by the habits they kept.
I found the concept fascinating.
It was so similar, but so very different, from Earth.
Work ethic on Earth may have been prized, but it wasn''t always necessary. Life had more to do with money, than talent. Yet here, a person''s true fortune had little to do with money at all. Certainly, I doubted it would hurt to be rich, but so far as I knew: money couldn''t buy attributes. Or... well, I hoped it couldn''t.
That was a terrifying concept to think about some other time, though.
Working through the spear forms, I considered it though. Even if someone was born into total poverty in this world, if they committed to improving themselves and obtained the right Class: chances were good in this world that they could carve their body into something amazing. If Gregory had been anything of an example: Even in old age, they could keep these talents. They could take them to the grave.
Back on earth, that wasn''t even close to reality.
Work hard, every single day of your life, and it might not make a single bit of difference. The older you got, the weaker you became. Keeping a good routine and avoiding injuries could help, but it wasn''t like Gregory would have been able to carry that boat up and down the cliffs if he had been on earth. Not to say he wouldn''t have been strong in old-age, but his Strength had been bordering on supernatural, and far past what someone his age could have maintained on Earth.
Lost in my thoughts as I was, I failed to recognize that the later-arrivals had begun to trickle in. Those few remaining, who had been taking their time with the wooden bowls of gruel began to pile onto the field. Filling the space around me. Before I knew it, I''d been surrounded, and it wasn''t long before the mood on the field began to shift with the pressure of a crowd, recognizing something isn''t quite right. One by one, I felt the uncomfortable pressure of watching eyes. [Hide Presence] faltering beneath the combined lines of sight, settling on my shoulders.
All around me, I could feel them watching.
The sun continued its lazy rise into the sky, above the walls, and I willed it to hurry up. To end whatever hell I''d stumbled into, as I repeated the same motions, again and again. Desperate not to let weakness show, I continued to run through the forms that Kepler had drilled into me. Trying to focus on simple, but effective techniques.
Forward thrust, to diagonal lift.
Downward parry, then shift left into upward retreat.
Redirect from the right, to counter from the center.
Twist, to avoid death. Hit, to retaliate.
It was hardly the work of a master, but I''d been taught well enough to go into battle. Standing in a line, with spears covering from the second row: I could emulate my tiny portion of the deadly wall I was meant to fill. One tiny splinter, meant to join a thousand others. Pretending I was still beside mud-tent. That it wasn''t strangers watching, just Kepler- and that he was just waiting for an excuse to shout.
No matter how hard I tried, though, I couldn''t maintain the illusion.
I felt like a fool.
Rigid... stiff... defending my ground was how I''d been taught, but that was a far cry from the rest of the people in the yard. Their footwork was constantly shifting, weapons moving with flourish and spin. They were running through forms almost as though they were battling many, invisible, opponents. Turning and reacting, with styles or martial arts that, I assumed, had been created for individuals who were against many. Reactive, flowing from one attack, right into the next, not trapped in a line, waiting to be killed and replaced.
Compared to them, I felt very static, very dull, and very weak.
And vulnerable.
As the sun rose higher, a bell rang, and many began to turn in their weapons. I followed suit accordingly, waiting back to let the rest go ahead. Even so, I managed to receive a sudden hard shoulder.
"Move it." A familiar voice grunted, as Bruiser passed my by.
Catching my balance with a slight stumble, I held my temper as my mind corrected itself. No longer "Bruiser" but instead, "Roggar."
I was fairly certain I''d heard it said, yesterday. My memory was sharp enough these days to have held onto that. Although, I still felt that "Bruiser" fit him far better.
He waited a second, perhaps expecting a reaction, but when he didn''t get one, he joined with several others. A group which consisted mostly of faces that I didn''t recognize, one of which I did. "Karen" stood among them, wearing an expression which was exactly as I last remembered.
It wasn''t a pleasant stare, to be sure.
None of them were, in fact, but I waited them out. Patient, as several eyes passed over the Baron''s crest, blatantly displayed on my armor. The crest was plainly visible, and it seemed the recognizing it was enough for the group to start walking. Obviously people in the fort knew I existed, my presence was no surprise, and the Baron''s "protection" was enough to keep people in line.
I resisted the urge to let out a small sigh of relief, at that. While I wasn''t much appreciated, the people in the fort tolerating me wasn''t a question for the time being. Although, I wasn''t quite certain I wanted to test how far "tolerating" was going to get me. Not when I was worth a pretty bag of coins, if they could find a reasonable way to kill me and get away without the Baron realizing it.
As they walked on, I noticed that Roggar hadn''t quite followed suit. Glaring at me for a few seconds long, he spit on the dirt, before finally stepping away.
The animosity as a whole, wasn''t unexpected. Him, specifically, though... well, it sort of was.
It wasn''t like I''d done anything to him.
I''d been the ideal captive, all things considered. Honestly, I hadn''t tried to escape, or kill anyone- and it wasn''t as though I''d done anything directly to him other than the several times I got in the way of his boot when he kicked me. While, it was possible that the man''s attitude towards me was based on the grounds that I was from the "Empire" or something else of that nature, I was starting to wonder if it was really actually because he''d received some form of punishment for bringing me back in poor condition.
Which was unfortunate.
The last thing I wanted was more enemies.
I watched him go and rejoin the others, while I waited until they were far enough ahead there was no chance of another direct encounter. When they were completely out of the yard, I set my spear down on the rack, letting [Hide Presence] slip back up a notch.
I wondered, idly, if Roggar thought I was some sort of a pushover. No Class, no real fighting skills to speak of, just some basics meant for nameless peons to use in long lines on the battlefield...
From the looks they''d been giving me, maybe they all thought that.
That was fine, though.
I let my hand run against the phantom feeling of pain along my ribs, as the sensation of heat smoldered in my chest. Stronger than it had been yesterday, weaker than it would be tomorrow.
Rage smoldered, ever so quietly.
I hadn''t forgotten my treatment under Roggar''s care, but patience was a virtue.
And if I choose to act on that, it was going to be on my own terms.
.....
Following in the far back of the crowd, I observed.
As a whole, the guards and I were moving towards the center of the fort. That, in turn, meant the hall. Still, I noticed a select few who took other routes. Stepping off to stairwells, or into other rooms. Attending to other assignments, I had to imagine. Taking the places of whoever was watching in the towers, or standing at the gates, seemed most likely.
The fort wasn''t all that large, though. Soon, the passage ended and the approaching the large wooden doors opened to whichever [Guard] had reached them first, propping them open.
I couldn''t help but imagine those doors as ominous.
Beyond that threshold, I knew the Baron waited, and I was yet to decide if I had that man puzzled out. What, with his mood being as unpredictable as the weather, and his statements varying from an amused barbarian to a disturbingly keen intelligence.
Indeed, as I entered last, I found he was already acting outside of my expectations.
For a ruler, or a [Lord] as his Class indicated, the man was not seated.
No, far from it. Instead of looming from a throne on high, to issue orders at those who waited below: he was standing in the center of the great room. Around him, I followed the [Guard] members as they fell into position. Standing at attention, in neat rows of five. All facing ahead, as they waited for him toe pass judgement.
One by one, the Baron looked them over. His watchful eye, checking their armor, their weapons, as they stood at attention. Uncertain where I, specifically, should be standing, I settled in the far back. Ahead of me, there were already five in a line. So, I decided to fill in as "first" for for a final row of one, and hoped that wasn''t a mistake.
There, I waited.
Or, I suppose, we waited.
Everyone was standing at attention as his gaze swept us over. The silence was such that I could have heard a pin drop.
The Baron started abruptly.
"Crows have arrived." He spoke, voice loud enough to fill the entire room with ease. "There are talks of another monster sighting. Inland, by the town of Fola. Details, as always, are lacking." He pointed. "You two, are going. I''ll be meeting with the Guild after this. We''ll discuss hiring a few of their [Hunter] Class to go and meet when you arrive."
"Sir."
"South road." He continued, immediately. "Another fucking murder happened. [Bandit] Class was spotted, and a Trader was robbed two nights ago. You, and you-" He pointed out another pair. "Get to it. Meet with Doland and the others. They should already be there. Kill the bastard, and post whatever pieces are left of him by the road as a warning."
"Sir." They shouted.
46 - Settle In
I find it fascinating how different circles perceive the [Mage] Class.
[Healer] and [Priest] Class often look at them with pity. As do any, who have placed their faith upon a Pantheon. Peasants, of course, treat them much as oil does water. Avoiding them at all costs. And yet, those of noble birth flock to them with great interest.
How many well-educated sons and daughters have the mystic arts ensnared, I wonder? Young minds, curious to learn some small inkling to the secrets of spellcraft. Many of them, I suspect, start out by believing that true magic is an exact science. Surely, there is nothing to fear, as any [Mage] of true caliber will only use techniques that are practiced beyond any margin of error. That those who practice spellcraft, follow a system of control with the utmost respect.
Certainly, it is safe to assume that almost any [Mage] one might happen to meet will strive their best to act the part. The Citadel teaches by the strictest of standards and prides itself on producing only the finest. Yet, I would advise anyone who keeps the company of those practicing the mystic and magical arts to remember:
There will always be exceptions.
........
Roggar, seemed to be rethinking his actions, with a deep frown on his face. Expression aside, though: whatever the man had against me, he was the one of the only people to pass me by normally.
......
"Who are you, and what in all the hells do you want?" Was the very polite greeting I received, upon finding my way back to the kitchen.
"Uh... John, breakfast, and maybe some travel rations if you''ve got any." I tried my best to answer in order.
"For Light''s sake: you''re a Hero? A ''Summoned Hero and you''ve got no Class? Did the Baron take you in? Lad, why in all the Gods don''t you have a Class-"
It devolved from there, as I failed to get much of a word in edge-wise.
In the end though, I got breakfast, an earful, and no travel rations- just a stale loaf of bread with a bit of mold on it. But, that was a lot more appealing than nothign at all, and I wasn''t one to complain. Especially when there was such a useful stream of information coming my way.
I learned that there''s something called a [Chef] class. Which, brought up some interesting considerations. Just as the [Farmer] Class had, the [Chef] Class had me curious. Although I didn''t get any answers to immediate questions on account of how angry Gertrude was.
Gertrude.
I know.
Lord''s Cook
Chef
?????
The head cook, or I suppose I should say: the head [Chef] instead, was a woman centered around forty. With a fierce expression, a rounded face, and a wooden spoon that, quite literally, glowed sometimes: Gertrude was a force to be reckoned with.
And I was the fool who happened to walk in late.
That was, apparently, frowned upon by those in the kitchen. As I soon learned in great detail, mealtime in the Baron''s fort was twice a day. Breakfast was started at sunrise, and dinner was at sundown. There would be a cook pot left out around midday, for those who wished to partake, but lunch was typically expected to be dealt with on one''s own.
For a verbal lashing, I found it was quite informative.
And in the end, despite the harsh words in my direction, I didn''t go hungry. I did manage to get my breakfast, as well. Or, perhaps it was more of a brunch? I got a meal, at the very least, along with an earful and a half. The stale and moldy loaf of bread Gertrude had "planned on tossing, but it should keep another few days." That, I saved for later.If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it.
I didn''t complain.
In fact, opposite of that: I was very polite. I''d learned back at the Mercenary camp that being nice to the people giving me food was a viable and legitimate survival strategy. It was important to always be nice to the cooks, and as far as life lessons went, that one was quite high up on the list.
"You''re a sorry sight, for a Hero." Gertrude had muttered, as she finished her lecture and finally handed me a bowl of lukewarm oat-paste. Of which I gratefully accepted. "From the stories people tell, I''d have expected something else."
"How so?"
"Why, it''s just... what''s that you got there? A dagger? No glowing sword, no bow that shoots lightning?"
"Just a dagger." I admitted. "I lost my spear, and my sword... neither of them glowed, though." I clarified.
"That''s quite disappointing."
"Isn''t it?"
I was left to eat in silence after that, as the [Chef] returned to her work in the kitchen. With the background of noises of pots and pans, I set into my bland meal and considered my next course of action.
It was strange to admit, but with my immediate needs met; I couldn''t deny I was in a place of relative safety.
There would be no need to waste my time and energy lugging a heavy boat down a cliff, or crawling through the fields on my hands and knees, searching for food. While those habits had been somewhat good for my attributes, they hadn''t been great for my mental clarity. A mindset that was locked onto survival missed things, and often found itself too distracted by basic needs to think ahead more than a few days at a time. But, sitting at the table, belly full and calories flowing in my veins: I finally felt that could stop, plan, and really think through what I was going to do.
In my mind, I felt there were three main problems I needed to address.
Most pressing: The Baron had declared I was the Fort''s new [Mage], so it was clear that I was being kept around for my magic potential. Though I still wasn''t sure what was planned for me, I felt that it was a safe bet if I worked [Lesser Flame] into something more impressive, that would probably be a good place to start. It was only a matter of time until the Baron tested me again.
But that did lead me to the second problem.
I still didn''t have a Class.
The Baron had publicly declared that I was a [Mage] but that wasn''t really true. I just happened to know a spell. One tiny bit of magic that literally had "lesser" in the name, which meant that it probably wasn''t all that impressive in the grand scheme of things. While, maybe, that spell was enough for the time-being, I clearly needed to get the [Mage] Class, and soon.
Yet, that whole situation was its own beast.
I''d been without a Class for a long time, and it wasn''t as though I hadn''t thought about what would be needed to achieve one. From everything I knew, obtaining a Class was a combination of the right circumstances, mixed with the right attributes, mixed with no small amount of luck. The [Brawler] Class that Mars had gotten, had been obtained in a fight. She''d had the right criteria, and then triggered the event. The [Spearman] Class was the same, in concept. As was the [Soldier] Class. Both had been earned by similar methods, during training.
So, by that logic, the [Mage] Class was, quite likely, within my grasp.
Just like I could practice with a spear, I could practice with [Lesser Flame] until I made a breakthrough. The only thing that I could think might stop me, would be if I lacked the needed attributes, and those were better than they had even been. In fact, all across the board, I was meeting the benchmark of 20, which I had to assume would be enough.
There was just one glaring exception.
My vitality.
Vitality: 18
Since arriving, I''d gotten sick more than any of the other Heroes I''d been with. While it had increased during those times, it seemed as though I was starting from a disadvantage. Because of this, I felt it was a reasonable guess that this particular Attribute might be the gatekeeper.
But, if so, it was a troublesome one.
Admittedly, I''d never intentionally set out raise this Attribute. But neither did I feel comfortable with the thought of repeating the events which had managed to increase it. Getting extremely sick due to a controlled dose of poison and recovering, was theoretically an option, but I considered it a risky one. By the same measure: getting injured and recovering- was again, risky. Although, I felt that injury and recovery seemed a lot safer than poison.
The solution to all of this, at least, seemed within reach. The Singing Fern was local to the area, so there was a good chance I could find more if I looked hard enough. If I did, I had to imagine it couldn''t be all that difficult to improve. If I pushed myself, I was certain I could get the Attribute to increase, given time.
All that said, what remained was the elephant in the room.
My "Hero" Title.
It was the only advantage I''d been given, in this ruthless world. The gift of rapidly improving attributes and gaining skills with a fraction of the ordinary effort. It had undoubtably saved my life several times, already. Yet, the Title had been the exact reason my life had needed saving in the first place.
While the advantages it had given me couldn''t be understated, I knew it was only a matter of time until it would get me killed. The Empire, the Baron: As long as I had the title marking me, I''d never be safe. Someone would always be after me.
It would be an undeniable waste, but I had already decided: One way or another, I was going to have to get rid of it.
I knew this was possible.
Kepler had indirectly suggested it might happen to me. And, having had time to consider things in context, I remember that Jones might have been experiencing the early signs of this. His Summoned Hero* title had been fading after the battle. What specifically had caused that, I wasn''t entirely certain, but it seemed within the realm of possibility.
Whatever conditions were needed weren''t clear to me, though. So, I knew that I would have to keep my options open.
Which meant collecting a lot more information, and possibly doing some research.
When I''d first been brought into the fort, I''d more or less heard it said that the [Assassin] Class could apparently change what other people could [Identify] about someone. The concern that I wasn''t truly Classless and was actually an [Assassin] the whole time had been pitched.
That was a remarkable ability, but I had to wonder: If a Class could do something like this, I could only imagine there might be other methods. Maybe a specific item, or a spell?
There was something.
If I couldn''t lose the title, maybe I could just hide it? As a [Mage]I had to imagine there would likely be all sorts of skills and abilities to learn. Would it be possible for someone like me to reap the benefits of the Hero title, while avoiding the negative side-effects? Could I have my cake and eat it too?
My thoughts spinning about this subject with intense focus, I had already turned in my wooden bowl of oat-gruel and was halfway back to my room before I had the profound realization that Gertrude was probably the first person I''d met at the fort I didn''t want to set on fire.
Which, was nice.
47 - Eidolon
There is a statue in the center of the Empire. Set of stone, glazed in gold, it reads: "I am the first, the King of Kings, The ruler of all, from sea, to sea. From shore, to shore. Look on these works, ye mighty, and despair."
If you peer closer, you can see the slight difference in texture. By the left eye: The gold is just a little bit off, with a slight change in color and polish.
Rumor has it, that''s where the Black Roses somehow managed to lob the damn thing with a meteor.
....
That afternoon, and that night, I spent my entire focus on magic.
[Lesser Flame] was everything, as the hours stretched on. To the point where I almost felt my body had drifted away. Lost to the smoke and rising heat of my small fire. After several hours, I had to force my eyes closed, less the zippo-lighter''s worth of fire burn a hole into my retina.
But I was getting the hang of things.
Breathing in would feed the flame. Breathing out, in a similar sense, would do the same- but more violently. Less sustainably. In combination with that, focusing and pushing mana through my body and mind in a flood (a flood being relative to my limited abilities) could surge the spell, though I kept my experiments to a minimum for the sake of keeping my practice session going.
There was no sense running myself out in five minutes, when I could potentially stretch out the same mana for twenty times that amount of time.
All in all, I was quite happy with the way things had gone.
For a single piece of magic, I could see [Lesser Flame] having numerous applications. More so, even if the ability was presently quite weak, I could still imagine it being lethal, if need be. As long as I used it with the proper method of breathing, and I timed the correct expenditure of mana on an exhale, I felt certain I could do quite a bit of damage. Timing it with a chopping or an punching motion as I exhaled, for example. I could see as the spell improved, being able to couple the fire with an attack.
Of course, for any real damage I''d probably only be able to use it once.
And, of course, I''d have to be close to my target. As I couldn''t find a decent way to summon the flame farther than a few inches from my palms.
Which was rather bothersome.
I''d been trying everything to work around that, but the limitation seemed quite stubborn. The greatest distance I''d managed to manifest the spell was about a hand''s length away from my pointer finger, and it had quickly collapsed.
Far cry from the noble art of throwing fire at my enemies, it seemed very likely I''d have to slap them to death. Which, wasn''t very mage-like, in my opinion, but would still probably work if I set my mind to it. In full summary: there was much more work to be done. I settled on the silver lining that, at the very least I would never struggle to light a cooking fire again. Quite a small victory, but not an unappreciated one.
As my mana finally ran low though, I found my options for progress dwindling.
Breathing, sitting in a meditative posture: I tried everything I could to regain the mana I lost, but there were no true shortcuts to regaining the resource. Even with my full attention set on the task, it recovered at an unsteady pace, and very slowly.
It was enough to drive me mad.
Refilling at what felt much like a snail''s pace, when I wanted nothing more to summon the magic again, and continue my practice. The urge to bring the spell back was similar to the current I remembered beneath Gregory''s fishing boat: The moment I stopped working against it, I was drifting in the direction it wanted me to go.
It really was addictive, in that sense.
At least, until the final feeling of mana expended itself. Slowly but surely, the mana I''d been using to summon the flame, faded away. The residual warmth within my blood, cooled. The odd resource slipping back into the unknown until I was empty of it.
Only then, could I fully relax.
Deceptively dangerous, I felt. The addictive quality that magic was already having on me was something to keep a close eye on. Not to mention the real, physical, effects that might come of giving into it. Even after all the work I''d put into it: I didn''t dare let my mana drop closer to zero. Just approaching the lower limits, and I felt a terrible, alarming, sense of emptiness in my chest and skull.
Like staring into a black hole that threatened to swallow up my heartbeat, it waited just far enough away for me to breathe. And while I felt confident I could survive going lower in mana, I didn''t feel confident I''d be able to do much of anything useful in such a state. It might as well leave me unconscious, for all the good sitting in a mentally-exhausted stupor might do me.
So, practice came to an end as evening approached.
My efforts were rewarded, at least.
[Skill - Rank up] - [Lesser Flame - Lvl 3]
A quick check out the window told me that I''d some time remaining before I needed to leave my room again. From what Gertrude had told me, I knew that I could expect a meal to be served at some point close to sundown. But, my rough estimation from the window told me there were still several hours until then. Which meant I had more time to waste before I could justify taking a real break.
But, I didn''t have much else I could practice.
Focusing specifically on Attributes was an option. I knew that working out through traditional physical exercises, like pushups, would always be an option, but I was expected to start my day with doing exactly that. Though I didn''t have a Squad Leader shouting over me, the effort spent on the training yard would still be a burden, and I wasn''t interested in overdoing things. Wearing my body by doing too much one day would lead to nothing but trouble during the next.
So the option of dropping, and doing endless repetitions of pushups and situps, was something I''d have to save for rainy days.
My dagger, though, I decided might be the loophole.
At the castle, I''d been taught some basic sword forms before the [Knight] in charge of my instruction gave up on me. I remembered enough to practice something, and while swinging the dagger wasn''t quite the same, it didn''t make my muscles ache in a manner that felt like I was over doing things. While I could work up a bit of a sweat swinging the weapon around, I felt it was a compromise. More of a cardio workout, than anything.
It felt silly to do, though.
Swinging a dagger about, alone in a tiny room.
I tried not to feel self-conscious of the actions, while I went about my practicing. Running through methods of drawing it, of quickly sheathing it. Of hiding it beneath my shirt, to free it and attack.
Mostly, I went through scenarios. Imagined constructs of how, in context, I might need to use the weapon.
There would be no method I could believe I''d fend off a sword, for more than one- perhaps two, deflections. Yet, I could absolutely use the dagger for a quick act of surprise. Of an immediate reaction, which might save me the need to fight someone in the first place.A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
Once all those imagined scenarios were said and done, though, I settled back on the one which troubled me the most.
Of hearing something in the tall grass, and having to rely entirely on muscle-memory.
To turn, to draw, to strike.
To turn, to draw, to strike...
Though I''d never wish to go into battle with the dagger as my only weapon, I found it was a nimble thing. Quick as the hand that held it, with hardly any weight to slow it down. The sword forms were suited to it, but only partly, and I soon found small adjustments that lent themselves well to the weapon.
Surprisingly, by sundown my efforts were rewarded.
[Dexterity +1]
That, marked a decent stopping point.
One awkward day of practice, for an Attribute that might take another person months.
Which really only left me with [Identify] and [Hide Presence] as active skills I could put to work.
[Identify] was always an option, though it was often a bit silly and tedious to keep using it. [Hide presence] was fine too, as long as I didn''t push my luck with it, but [Lesser Flame] was no option at all. Unlike [Hide Presence] or [Identify] I didn''t feel I could safely use magic at all in another''s company. Most of the people in the Fort seemed to be interested in heading in the opposite direction if they saw me. I had to assume that actively practicing magic in front of them might exacerbate this.
I took a break, around the time the kitchen opened for dinner, getting in early to eat and leave as quickly as possible. Aside from Gertrude''s attention, I managed to head back up the staircase before I saw much of anyone else, and had the door of my room closed snuggly behind me before I risked the chance of that changing.
Was I being a recluse? Probably, but until I was strong enough to back up the impression of a terrifying [Mage] I figured that might not be a terrible strategy.
Of course, tomorrow, I had already decided that I would seek some further instruction from the Baron. If only to try and receive some information on what my role as the fort''s [Mage] might entail (outside of potentially setting things on fire) but that was really the extent of my desire for interaction.
Besides, I was improving at a blistering pace.
Continuing where I had left off earlier in the day, I fell into a routine. Several more hours of looking like a fool swinging a dagger around, and I had regained enough mana to get a short second wind of [Lesser Flame] practice in. If I could have been called anything, it was studious. Or perhaps, efficient.
[Skill - Rank up] - [Lesser Flame - Lvl 4]
Twice in one day.
I could hardly believe it.
Name: John
Title: Summoned Hero*
Class: None
General Skills:
Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive
Identify Lvl 5 - Active
Special Skills:
Lesser Flame Lvl 4 - Active
Hide Presence Lvl 2 - Active
Void Walker Lvl 1 - Passive
Blessing of Forgotten Gods Lvl 5 - Passive
Status:
Vitality: 18
Endurance: 25
Strength: 22
Dexterity: 22
Intelligence: 45
Wisdom: 52
Health: 50/50
Stamina: 19/20
Mana: 8/100
My reward was immensely satisfying. Though it might have only been a short time since achieving the ability, I''d made the absolute best of it. Not even [Identify] had improved this quickly, and my progress bode well for pushing this farther in the days ahead. My Attributes, combined with diligent practice, were chipping away at my weakness with steady hands.
Still, there comes a time in which a man''s mana runs a little too low. When, no matter how they wish for it to increase, no matter how well controlled their breathing is, or how steady their heart continues to thump along beneath their ribs, the magic has to end.
For me, this was late in the night.
Looking out the window, watching the town lights in the distance, I was tempted to go to wander. I''d run my mana down to a dangerous low amount, and I was hardly going to push it further. Just the thought made me feel woozy on a spiritual level, and the idea of swinging my dagger around felt equally exhausting, if for a slightly different reason. But the effects of burning mana at a controlled pace for hours, lingered.
The odd rush, remained. For as long as residual mana was pumping through my veins, sleep seemed distant, perhaps even unobtainable.
I could leave the room, walk the walls, and breathe in the night air. Perhaps, I could search the grounds within the fort for plants to [Identify]...
No.
I soon crushed those stray thoughts. Wandering around in the dark sounded like it was a good way to get into trouble. And while I needed to be as productive as possible, I wasn''t sure I needed to be in such a rush that I hurt myself. Every day I was left alone, was another day I could build myself up as I saw fit. After such success with the [Lesser Flame] skill and my Attributes, I had little intention of ruining everything last minute bydoing too much in one day.
I could take my time.
While I wanted to tackle the other problems I''d soon be facing. I wanted to earn a Class, to increase my vitality- to improve, in general. I knew I had to rest. Without rest, I wasn''t going to get anywhere.
So, I lay there.
I forced myself, much against my own interests, or so it seemed. Laying there with my eyes clenched shut, with my breathing as controlled as I could keep it: I waited in a trance. I listened to my body, and I visualized the fading and fleeting feeling of mana, residually drifting through my veins. Slowly, surely, drifting off towards a state that was not quite sleep, but not quite awake.
My heart beat settled... then settled further... then further...
Until it almost seemed to stop entirely. Which, I''d like to add, is a troublesome thing to realize. Especially when you''ve no reasonable explanation as to why.
Time seemed to slow, as I lay there. Trapped in this strange state.
Perhaps, mana is a catalyst.
For how difficult it is to grasp, to use, most people will go their entire lives without even brushing its surface. Even for all my practice, spending the resource at a constant, almost blistering, rate: I could hardly claim to know my way about the mana I had put into use. The resource I''d flooded through my flesh, with hardly a concern for the consequences.
Surely, I could channel it. So long as my mind was focused, I had found a method. Just as I could create a flame. Just as I could manipulate my single, lesser, skill. But I was untrained, and completely without any guidance. I knew little of what I dabbled in, truly.
Magic? Yes, I dabbled in "magic."
I had dipped my toes into the notoriously fickle and dangerous subject, reserved in the fairy tales I knew of, for wizened masters. Many of those who lived for centuries, seeking answers to questions they''d long forgotten. Many of which, who had learned from the masters before them- building upon monuments of knowledge that might pierce the sky itself.
All, while I reached blindly, summoning a fire from the empty vastness of my soul. While I played with concepts and power beyond my understanding.
I knew little what other aspects I might find myself drawing upon. I knew little of what risks come with casting spells, or letting a substance such as mana run through my veins; through my mind. Yet, like a desperate fool, I did it anyways. Lost and clinging to the one thing which might save me. Which might earn me a place in this world, where another''s boot was not placed upon my neck.
So, it was: I found myself standing in the dark.
Stone.
Beneath my feet, bare and cold. The chill reached through my skin, never warming to my presence.
There I stood, in the dream.
I knew that was what it was. I knew with certainty I was still on the bed, my eyes closed, my heart slow. I understood that sleep had not yet taken me within its grasp, and I was still present in that small room within the fort.
But, I was also there.
Standing in that cold, horrible, place.
For I could see it now: what it was, where I''d wandered.
As if I had never left. As if I had never risen from my kneeling posture, never risen from the terror I''d felt when a man''s voice forced me to my knees.
I found myself before the throne.
Empty and desolate, that great golden form loomed above me. A tower of wealth, scrubbed clean with a wash of blood. The farther I leaned back to stare, the farther it seemed to rise, and yet, I soon found myself climbing.
Step by step, I took myself up those terrible plateaus. I forced myself onward, until my body was weak and tired, and I stared from atop the summit.
The darkness spread for miles. Farther than my eyes could see, all I truly found was ruin. Distance beyond measure, on the edges I could witness the wash of distant wars. Those terrible storms, raging and smoldering on horizon. They fires there brought illumination of jagged borders, lit by so many lives soon lost. By countless souls, wasted by utter destruction.
In my chest, weak as it was, I felt my own fire burn stronger as my anger grew.
How many of those lives had been like mine?
People who were stolen away from their world and sent to die?
How many more would follow after?
I turned back to the throne with fists clenched. Against my better judgement, the rage in my chest was turning violent as I felt the urge to tear this all down.
How many more would have to die for this golden altar- for what purpose were these lives extinguished?
How many more people would be spent and stolen, tossed about like coins to purchase victory?
My magic was alive: as it fed, as it grew. Beckoning me to follow its guidance: sated only by the knowledge that together, we would throw the throne down those wicked steps. That we would melt this unholy relic into slag!
Yet, for all the heat in my chest, and for all the fire in my lungs: as I turned, I felt a chill that gripped me like talons of the coldest winter or the howling wind of the darkest night.
Something familiar waited.
Upon that throne, two eyes watched me.
Regal and terrible: Pitch black as the specter which housed them, those eyes stared at me. Frozen in an expression of cold fury, set above a twisted smile.
"I see you."
48 - Stupid Games
You would be amazed how many people wind up dead to an arrow, after I make them armor that can stop any sword.
-Elric The Wonder, [Smithmaster] of the Kingdom.
....
Magic is dangerous.
The Empire is terrifying.
Sleep is optional.
These were the three important lessons I learned that night, as I was once again leaning with my back to the door. Only this time, I was fitfully trying not to nod off and stumble back into what might be the last dream I''d ever have.
Because the King had seen me.
I didn''t understand much of what had transpired, but I knew that much for certain. My dream had been far too real for comfort, and I was convinced that it wasn''t my imagination or fantasy, or any half-baked paranoid delusion, either.
The King had seen me.
He''d stared right at me, and known exactly who I was.
My fluke of an escape could have gone unnoticed by the Empire. Heck, considering how it happened, they might have honestly believed I was dead: but now that was over. My grace period for going under the radar was up, all because I''d foolishly played around with something I hadn''t fully understood.
The Empire would know I was still alive. And from the way the King had stared at me, I felt like they might even know where to come looking.
None of these were pleasant thoughts.
Even worse, though, was the image that had adhered itself to my brain. Tied nicely with the feeling of dread creeping up my spine. Of the figure resting on that golden throne, of those eyes...
Of the terror who had brought me here, and had seen me off on this terrible journey.
It was too much.
I didn''t sleep another wink.
Honestly, how could I rest after that? Just the fear of what might happen if I returned to that dream, that I might end up back in that terrible place, was enough to keep me from closing my eyes for more than an instant at a time.
I simply couldn''t risk it. At least, not while I could still feel the touch of mana pulsing through my body. If magic was capable of an event such as traveling within a dream, surely magic might also be capable of far more sinister things. What I didn''t understand was vast, and my ignorance had never seemed more dangerous.
So, I stayed awake.
Hour, after hour.
Too tired to will myself to do anything, but too frightened to relax and let my eyes closed. There, I sat in the dark. Filled with anger, frustration, and feelings of inadequacy. If only I was stronger, if only I could gather together some tiny, fragments of control, and use them to take my life back. Or, at least steer it away from approaching disasters...
It was a long, miserable, night.
Beautiful weather, though.
So far as silver-linings went, I staring outside for a long time. There, I could see the stars in the sky. I could see the clouds, peaceful and drifting, beyond a black and purpled hue. It was enough to make me stand, and watch from the window. And though it wasn''t enough to take my thoughts entirely away from less pleasant things, it did calm me down.
Everything was alright.
The Empire was far, far, far, away. The only ways to get to me would be through an uncrossable forest, or a dangerous ocean, and I had my doubts I was worth the effort.
They summoned Heroes all the time. Why would they worry about me when they could just bring in replacements?
It felt like I was lying to myself, but it worked. By the time morning came around, sun cresting along the horizon, I had found my resolve once more. At the first echoing sound of others moving about the fort, I left my room to take to the yard. Gulping down breakfast and a half from a bowl fed by a glowing wooden spoon, before swinging a wooden practice spear about.
This would simply be another day to survive, I decided. I would continue to cope as I''d been doing: Working at things one day at a time, and growing stronger with each.
So it was, that I lost myself in the forms.
Spear humming about the air, even as the yard filled in around me, I didn''t have to try and ignore the stares I was getting. Frankly speaking, I was too tired to care. As more people showed up, I barely noticed, content to continue through the motions I''d been taught, again and again. Beside me, I visualized Kepler as if he were present and providing instructions. I watched my spear as it failed and Kepler demanded I fix my mistakes.
Too slow, too inaccurate, always lacking...
Fighting the phantom of a memory, I pushed myself harder. To emulate what I''d been taught, all while trying to keep up.
Perhaps, it was a worthwhile endeavor.
Endurance +1
They could stare all they liked, I decided. I''d already earned more in one morning, than they might hope to earn in weeks. And as long as I kept at it, that was going to continue. Still, I was quickly growing tired. So, after finally earning the Attribute, I settled at slowing down and I let myself relax. Still practicing, of course, but not nearly as aggressively. I mostly waited for whatever signal decided the training in the yard was over.
While I did this, I noticed that the others around me stayed at a polite distance. It seemed there was still a remarkably healthy buffer between the next closest [Guard] and myself. The Baron''s previous announcement still seemed to be holding a significant effect on many of the other residents.
As such, there were no real problems that morning, but as the practice finally ended and people went to hang up their weapons, I found some interactions to be had.
"Tsh." Lip curled, Roggar made sure to spit in my direction.
It was borderline childish, a grown man spitting on the ground. Not entirely without purpose, I had to reason. It wasn''t a very well put together plot, but perhaps the man was trying to bait me into something, or maybe he just wanted to be certain I knew his opinion hadn''t change. Whatever his reasons were, Roggar glowered for a bit afterwards.
I didn''t pay him much mind.
As I was tired to the point of being deliriously tired, I simply stood in the yard and waited him out. Which, clearly, wasn''t what he''d been hoping for. This only made him glower a bit more as whatever half-formed crowd of interest dispersed without much to see or say. Most, in fact, walked rather quickly away from what I choose to interpret as the potential "line of fire."
Not that there was any fire.
I still couldn''t quite figure it out. Best I could reason, Roggar had felt some sort of personal investment in disliking me, but I didn''t feel too strongly one way or the other about him. A part of me wanted to set him on fire for beating and starving me, and another part felt it wouldn''t be worth the effort or drama that might result in murder via magic. Surprising as it might sound, the whole display of his displeasure that I existed in relative proximity to him didn''t bother me much. If anything, I actually felt a bit at ease by Roggar''s behavior.
It was stupid, but it was consistent, and I could appreciate that at least the man had the common-decency to be straightforward about the nature of our relationship.
He didn''t like me.
Simple.
I didn''t like him much either. I was just less inclined to broadcast that fact that I had some loose plans to set him on fire, sooner or later.
When I felt the time was right, of course.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
Fair is fair.
But, as often seemed to be the case: Roggar wasn''t alone that morning. Unfortunately, beside him was another familiar face. And if there was anything at all which managed to get under my skin that morning, it was related to her.
Karen.
That woman was of a different sort.
Karen, Solas... whatever her name was. That I still thought of her as Karen seemed a testament to how little I appreciated her to begin with, but I''ve heard it said that learning to hate one''s enemies is a process that takes time. Like a fine wine, the art of truly loathing someone needs to mature. And my feelings related to that woman were well along with this process.
I did not like her.
Not one bit.
It was the way she looked at me. Like I was beneath her presence. Like I wasn''t even human. The kind of expression that could lock eyes with me, only to be looking at the wall in the yard fifty paces back, or at a worm squirming in the mud. She didn''t make a public show of it like Roggar did, which I figured made her the more dangerous of the two.
That morning was no different.
As the crowd dispersed and Roggar realized I wasn''t interested in dealing with him, Karen caught my eye.
It wasn''t particularly difficult for her to do.
She wasn''t exactly ugly, though I should clarify that between Gertrude and a few [Worker] Class women I''d spotted: her competition wasn''t very steep. She also had the posture and confidence of someone who knew they held that exact sort of advantage. Compared to Mars, or any of the other women who had been my fellow residents in mud-tent, she wasn''t beautiful by Earth standards, but she just seemed... strong.
There''s a little bit of an appeal to that sort of look. Whether I liked to admit it or not, I could recognize when someone carried themselves in a certain way. Be it in their posture, or jus the way they walk. Their aura, maybe? Whatever it is I''m poorly defining, I know that it''s almost impossible to fake.
Simply put, Karen had the appearance of someone who couldn''t possibly be broken. It wasn''t quite arrogance, or confidence, or sheer beauty, but it was something close to all three. Something that gave the impression that no matter what happened, she would always be able to turn heads.
The [Guard] I stubbornly thought of as Karen, had this appearance. Although, that morning, she had something else too. Something, that prompted her to tap something on her belt.
It was a simple motion.
She looked at me, and her hand drifted to her side.
It was the kind of thing I would have normally been happy to ignore and disregard as completely unimportant. But she stared at me just a little too long. Again, with that blank expression. As if she was waiting for something to crawl out of the mud.
So, I looked back.
I looked to the belt.
Then back at her.
I''ll say this: Roggar was toward the top of a long list of people I''d met, that I didn''t much like. I''d been wronged by a lot of people, but very few of them had starved and beaten me. Yet, I felt that Roggar did things the proper way.
Hatred is best kept out in the open. If you don''t like someone, let them know. If it comes to blows- both parties willing, let it come to blows. But, like I said before: Karen was a different sort.
Something in me, snapped.
It came on much too quick. In that exact moment, my quiet simmer of control I''d begun to take for granted, was lost. In its place, came a festering, rage. One, which quickly started to boil over and move towards the point of no return.
The magic in my chest burned, and it was all I could do not to let it run free as I went from calm, to a mere second away from taking all of my anger, my mana, my magic, and channeling everything I had in her direction. Until she burned to ashes. Until those ashes were dust, Until that dust was nothing more than ions that had been lost in the wind, and every trace of her existence was stripped from reality as if it had never been.
But I didn''t.
By some miracle, I held it in. Held back the stupid, violent, reckless force of magic that was boiling in my chest, as I waited. Waited until she had left my sight. Until everyone else had as well, and I was alone in the yard beside the weapon rack.
Then, I set down my practice spear''s smoldering form, letting the weapon settle back among its kin- uniquely marked by a deep and blackened handprint.
And I let out a long, painful, breath.
Then another, for good measure.
She had been told to give back my dagger, but she still had Gregory''s knife.
And she''d wanted me to know.
....
I''d like to believe that I had my rage well-enough contained by the time I arrived.
Of course, I still smelled charcoal on every inhale, and cinder on every exhale- but nothing was actually on fire, and that was a small blessing in itself.
My arrival was dead-last, of course. I''d wasted far too much time in the yard, and I settled in to join the very back of the lines, to stand and await the coming orders.
In this, I found that the assembly in the hall was much the same as the first day. Everyone standing, waiting, doing nothing in particular. Almost in a meditative, or prayer-like state. An odd gathering of individuals, all standing in total silence.
This morning, though, there were no orders to be recieved.
The Baron wasn''t there.
Which, I found was something of a relief, but also a little worrisome. Looking around though, no one else seemed to be visibly concerned, so I decided it was probably fine and waited silently for something to chance.
Only to find that nothing did until a long-bearded man came out from the back hall. Old, withered, and in poor health, the man walked the rows of us for a brief moment before he croaked out some feeble excuse for a dismissal.
Lord''s Writ
Scribe
?????
I waited as the rest filtered out to their duties, but the Baron never showed himself. Perhaps, I reasoned, he was still returning from his venture to speak with the "Guild" as it happened to be called. That independent organization, which was apparently intended to hunt monsters.
I was a little curious in the academic sort of way. Questions like "What Classes would relate to such activites" and "What logisitics would be required to keep an organization like that running" and others of that sort were bubbling up in my mind. Yet, after my wonderful encounter with a hungry Fernwolf, I also had to assume the Guild consisted entirely of lunatics. Which, in turn, meant that I wanted nothing to do with them.
And also meant that the Baron probably got on great with them.
These were the kinds of thoughts I used to distract myself as the rest of the crowd left the hall, and I intentionally avoided looking in their direction. I had a strong suspicion that if I saw Karen a second time, smoke might start leaking out my nostrils.
Which wasn''t ideal.
"Do not let it consume you."
The strange warning that had come with [Lesser Flame] hadn''t been for nothing, it seemed, and I felt I understood myself well enough to objectively consider why I was being so heavily swayed by emotion. Obviously, I knew was going to have to find a way to keep a lid on it, but magic and anger being tied together seemed a particularly dangerous brew.
With that in mind, maybe I was smoking a bit afterall, because the [Scribe] had also been waiting in the hall- but he made a sudden change in this behavior after glancing in my direction. It was then, I suppose, that he must have realized he wasn''t alone, and had less than favorable company, because he was soon hobbling away as quickly as he could. The sound of silver chains clinking over robes signaled a swift exit. Not interested in affliating with the newly acquired "Mage" that his Baron had found.
Which was something of a shame, because even tired as I happened to be, I did have some questions for him. As a [Scribe] was liable to know all sorts of things, and far less likely to be able to lop of my head or break me in two than most other people I might speak with.
Unfortunately, it appeared that the man''s hobbling could greatly increase in speed once they were out of sight. Following them out the rear entrance of the hall after the dismissal, I found that they had managed to disappear entirely. Shut away, no doubt, behind one of the many doors in the hallway. None of which, I was keen on opening without a justifiable reason.
Randomly going into rooms I had no business in, was a great way to stir up trouble I didn''t want or need. So, instead of lingering, I returned to the kitchen to politely beg Gertrude for a second breakfast, before heading back to my room to practice.
Magic.
I suppose the phrase which comes to mind would be "Risk versus reward."
It had shown itself to be a dangerous thing to pursue, but that didn''t mean I would give up entirely. I''d already made it my mission to claim this power for my own. If there was risk involved, that was nothing new. There was already risk in every other facet of my life.
My compromise, was that I would try to abstain from practicing after sundown. Perhaps, I reasoned, there was always going to be some form of danger which came from using mana. Certainly, sleeping might be troublesome, but I didn''t have to use magic while sleep was approaching. I could still make progress during the waking hours of the day, and with the Baron not yet returned, I felt could afford press myself.
And I did.
For the entire afternoon, I spent magic with the utmost frugality. Keeping a single flame alight as I manuvered it about my palm.
Shifting it from finger to finger. Then, from hand to hand...
Just as before, though: my mana and my determination remained unbound to one another.
8/100
As if trapped in a trance, I looked up to find the entire day had passed me by. The sun was setting, both lunch and dinner were long gone- Yet, just as [Identify] had been, the fifth level of [Lesser Flame] seemed far more difficult to break through. Even after all the progress the day before, I''d hit something similar to a wall. Or, maybe a very steep hill, if such a metaphor holds meaning.
I felt a vague sense that it might be slow going, unless I did something exceptional. But, that was alright. If the Baron tested me with another torch, at least I knew I would pass with flying colors.
As my stomach grumbled, and I tore into the stale bread Gertrude had given me the day before, I considered my next best method of improvement. What I might be able to gain in skill or Attribute, before sleep.
Truth be told, things were starting to get more difficult across the board. Skill, Attributes: these were much the same in the sense that those in the early stages came with a relatively swift ease, compared to those which came after. As many of my attributes had passed the threshold of twenty, I knew further advancements were becoming more difficult to pry free.
Not anywhere near impossible, but still. I knew I couldn''t count on multiple improvements a day like I had early on unless I developed a decent system. Perhaps, focusing on methods to hit several Attributes in such a way, that while I might not rank one multiple times, I could rank several at a steady pace.
Not that night, though.
In an effort to run myself empty, I practiced with my dagger for a time. Quick cuts, swift stabs- draws from the belt, from behind the back... It had me fascinated, just how quickly I was able to move. Compared to what I''d been- not even a year ago, I almost felt super-human.
But, try as I might: the mana in my veins wouldn''t settle.
It was still there, humming in the back of my skull, thumping in my chest. With it, I felt the urge to move. Heady, almost giddy, it pushed me: to go somewhere, anywhere.
The dagger in my hands, spun. Quick as silver as the weight of it balanced on my palm, then my finger. The steel almost seemed to glow as it lifted to the air, and I let it spin down to the stone- catching it just before the tip might impact stone. Plucking it from the fall, to return the blade to my belt.
My thoughts drifted.
Back to the knife. Gregory''s knife, resting there on Karen''s belt.
The look she''d given me when she saw recognition dawning on my face. That expression of smug satisfaction, content in knowing there was no way in hell I''d be able to take it back from her.
It was then, I think. Right then.
That was the exact instant, in which I decided to go and do something very, very, stupid.
49 - Stupid Prizes
There''s a power that comes from slaying monsters. Those in the business call this the "reward." And that''s the main reason why some farmer''s son might be willing to pick up a sword and try to kill a monster five times his size, covered in bloodshot, blinking, eyes.
Life-expectancy aside, the point is that working for the Guilds has its benefits. Sure, some of the members there might be utterly insane, but the trade comes with Skills, Attributes, and several unique Classes. The chance to get abilities that are normally impossible. And as a plus, signing up to hunt monsters is one of the few careers in which a person of lower birth can really make a name for themselves. Saying they don''t die immediately, of course.
If you see an Adventurer with gray hair, my strong recommendation is that you be on your best behavior.
....
Possessions are aptly named.
The more a person owns, the more it controls them. So I''ve heard, and so I''ve often found true in my life. While I didn''t have a lot to my name at the time, I can say that the few things I owned mattered a surprising amount to me. And this was especially true for those I''d managed not to lose along the way.
My dagger was, perhaps, the most obvious. In a lot of ways, the weapon felt like one of the few constants I had in my life. While it wasn''t a magical sword, and it didn''t glow, the steel on my hip was one of the few things I felt that I could actually rely on. Yet, as a result, the thought of someone else walking away with it really pissed me off.
And Gregory''s knife was much the same way.
Like a lot of death I''d seen, there hadn''t been time for any sort of goodbye when Gregory passed away. There hadn''t been a moment, where I could let the man know how grateful I''d been, to have him fish me out of the ocean, to get me back on my feet- to show me a way of life that might not have been for me, but was invaluable to helping me move forward. Aside from the memories, all I had left of Gregory was his knife.
And seeing someone else with it really, really, pissed me off.
Honestly, I knew this was stupid.
It wasn''t anything special.
A knife is a knife. That''s all it is. Gregory hadn''t been hanging onto some ancient and powerful artifact- the man had fished for a living. It was a beat up, wooden handled, somewhat-dulled, bit of metal. Meant for cutting rope, or cord, or stubborn tubbers. I''d have to define it as a tool, and probably a cheap one.
My dagger, Gregory''s knife- neither of these were special. They were bits of metal, cut or hammered into shape, and sharpened. These things were objects with a purpose and could easily be replaced. Which meant that applying emotion to these was pointless.
There was no benefit.
None.
And yet- the thought had wormed itself into my brain. That I should feel something: that I shouldn''t keep a level head and take a few deep breaths- but actually go an take this matter into my own two hands. That I should go out into the night, and take it back.
This was, above all, a foolish decision, and I recognized it as such. The type of action that I would, normally, have be ruthlessly crushed and disregarded for all the risks it might present. Yet, the sense of danger was muted.
While I could easily recognize it, see it, whisper it aloud to myself- that clear as day, my actions were being influenced, I didn''t feel concerned. As sure as I knew my own name, it was perfectly obvious- yet, there I was going along with it all anyways. As if a scuba-diver at depth, it seemed that the lingering effects of magic in my system dulled my sense of caution.
Walking down the hall, as the door to my room closed quietly behind me. With [Hide Presence] at full burn, my bare feet touched stone cold enough to send an electric chill up my spine, but my steps were completely silent as I slipped down the passageway.
In the dark of night, I felt the skill working in a manner I''d never really considered. While it was an ability I could use to hide, now that I was out in the night air I noticed that [Hide Presence] seemed much stronger. Almost as if I could feel the ability leaning into its own strength, after longing to finally be in its own element. As if I''d finally let it free, to show me what it could really do.
Obvious in retrospect, but for all the time I''d had it, I''d never once utilized it for what it had been meant for.
... Then again: I''d never before aspired to prowling the night like a thief.
But, I had to accept that was exactly what I had chosen to do on this night. I was very much a thief, a burglar, a silent figure looking for trouble: slinking in the darkness with the goal of stealing back what I felt was rightfully mine. I took the hall straight, past the stairs that lead to the kitchens and the yard, down to the open section of the northern wall where a tower posted a single [Guard] watching over the night. Passing them by, they never noticed as I slipped past the torch light.
By the time the second [Guard] I spotted completely overlooked me, the realization was forming up with an almost giddy feeling of excitement.
They truly didn''t know.
Twice, I circled back- each time within ten paces of them. Testing my limits, as my heart slammed in my chest, and they had no idea. With their attention focused outside, shadows and darkness as my blanket of cover: they didn''t have a clue I was waltzing right by.
I might as well have been a ghost, free to haunt the fort as I pleased.
[Skill - Rank up] - [Hide Presence- Lvl 3]
It''s possible, the skill was simply waiting for that final push. Patiently sitting right at the edge to get stronger, for me to finally use it enough for that last, little, bit.
It''s also possible, though, that there was something else at work. Something strange.
For the hum of mana in my veins and mind, was louder than it had ever been. To the point in which it seemed almost deafening, compared to the silence of my steps. So much so, that the hope that this all might abate was lost in a haze of adrenaline.
Taking the corners blind, [Hide Presence] almost seemed to egg me on. As if it were whispering in my ear. Demanding that I take more risks. That I dare to step past that next torch, around that next corner: that I go out and seek my adventure- however small. From the walls, down the steps, into the far yard, on the opposing side of where my mornings were now being spent. From there, I found my way into the fort for truth, exploring with little concern of who else might be awake. Any echoes of sound or voices, were muffled and far off things. Distractions, quickly set aside- unrelated to my goal.
At least three times, I froze as a stray [Guard] passed me by. Torch in hand, they would always carry on walking the halls, while all I needed to do was set my back to stone. Tucking into the shadows and holding my breath, and I was invisible- while they were not.
With the sound of boots, the light of their torches: it took surprisingly little effort to spot them before they arrived. All I need was to find a doorway, an archway, a rusted suit of armor on display... The last example I found almost comedic, if [Identify] hadn''t told me it had once belonged to a [Warlord] known for brutal torture.
Still, I was a man with a mission.
As much as the thrill of passing danger by seemed to push [Hide Presence] along, I had left my room emboldened seeking one thing in particular. The thought of Gregory''s knife was still in the forefront of my mind, and I soon found myself along the southern wall of the fort. Free from the bowels that circled the Baron''s hall, or the [Scribe] rooms- that were, I might like to mention, all kept under lock and key.Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
Much to my dismay.
Regardless, I carried on and made my way closer to my intended destination. Set into the recess of the southern wall, which itself was built into the steeper of the hillside upon which the fort itself was founded, the barracks waited. In the form of dozens of rooms, a majority of the fort''s fighting force resided in the most defendable section. Each room was set with thick doors of wood and heavy iron locks, spaced between the occasionally lit torch.
There, I heard voices
"-you, the beast had a bone blade seven paces long. Gored half a dozen [Soldier] in twain, with each any every swing. Half the company was dead before the [Captain] finally managed to get at her." From one of the rooms, and older man''s voice filtered beneath the crack of a door. "And get her, he did! Kingdom''s mercy, his ax tore through that bone, shattered it with a mighty shout. For anyone else, you''d have thought it would be the end of it- right there. Yet, this monster... The Kingdom doesn''t fight just any creature down along the borders. No, this was a [Hellspawn] of the highest rank."
War stories, it seemed. It mixed well with the sound of men murmuring and dice rolling. Of glasses clinking, and muffled laughter: all of these softly echoing into the hallway I navigated. For a time, I was tempted to listen. Even as the tale became more and more outlandish, and the monster seemed less and less plausible.
Or, at least I hoped they were less plausible. Though, I''ll admit, my perspective on these things was growing more flexible with time.
"Those [Demon] are wicked with their intellect. Keen as any man, they say! Even disarming her was not enough. With a single claw, she ripped off a man''s torso- just to take his shield! The beast stabbed another through, with the broken pieces! Using them like spears!"
As the story carried on, I moved out of earshot. As interested as I was, drunken tall-tales weren''t what I was looking for. At least, they weren''t what had dragged me out of my room this night, specifically. Though I made a note to learn more about [Hellspawn] or [Demon] given the chance. Specifically: the knowledge on how to avoid ever running into one.
If those were real, and not just the exaggerated tales of a drunk, neither sounded like my cup of tea.
Continuing, I stopped at the next door. Then, the next. The sounds of conversation, or snores. I listened, then continued- [Hide Presence] resonating in my bones as I waited for the moment all the pieces clicked together.
And I stopped.
"-Baron''s lost his damn mind." I heard Roggar''s voice mutter. "Empire-scum like that ought to be mounted on pikes. If I''d known he was going to take the fucker in after questioning, I''d have made it look like an accident."
"Oh shush. Baron knows what he''s about." Another replied. "A [Mage] is a [Mage]. We haven''t had one since the last Fyrd, and it''s not as though the Kingdom would ever let them come back."
"That''s what I''m saying, Posh! We don''t got a [Mage] here. We''ve got a Hero from the Empire, with no Class."
"Nah, Magic is magic. Fire, too, from what I hear. Plenty of uses for that."
"No, I''m telling you: the Baron should nip this in the bud while we still can." I heard Roggar grumble. "If he wants magic he can just hire it from the Guild. They''ve got a few [Sorcerer] from what I hear. The Guildmaster there has connections."
"Aye? And raise taxes again to pay for it?"
"Bag of gold for that fucker''s head, and he wouldn''t need to raise much of anything."
"Empire Gold."
"Just melt them down if it bothers you so bloody badly."
"Figured it would bother you more, is all. Being the Empire''s coin, and all."
"If you''re telling me I can kill one of their lot and have them pay me for the trouble? I''ll not complain. Gold is gold. "
"Fair enough, but then you''ll be working for them."
"I ain''t never going to work for the Empire."
I ignored the double negative as I waited, listening carefully as they continued their drunken conversation.
Finding Roggar was a start, but whoever he was speaking with wasn''t Karen, and I wasn''t certain if she was just being quiet, or if she wasn''t there at all. As it was late, and probably was the type to frown at the slurred tones in the room, I felt it was likely she might just be somewhere else.
I''d never really come through this area of the fort beyond the Baron''s tour, and he hadn''t exactly lingered in the region. Idly, I wondered if the [Guard] rooms were separated by gender. As Karen wasn''t the only woman I''d seen working for the Baron, I had to imagine there might be some sort of policy in place.
"Solas agrees with me."
My ears perked up at something useful, as Roggar continued. I heard the sloshing of what I guessed to be a jug of ale, thumping onto a table.
"She don''t know what the Baron is thinking, either. It''s clear as day there''s something off with that bastard. Whatever use he thinks that Hero''s going to be, I say it''s not worth it."
"Well, the Hero knows magic."
"Your point?"
"Well, of course there''s something wrong with him. [Mage] types are a strange lot."
"No, it''s more than that. The way that fucker is always staring at things, like he''s taking them apart in his head." Roggar''s voice grew quieter. "Brought him all the way here, so I''d know: he ain''t right."
"Is it true that he set the [Lord]''s beard on fire, during questioning?"
"Wasn''t there for that, but Solas said he cast something. Blew the Baron''s hammer halfway across the hall. Said that she''d never seen the man look so surprised."
"No wonder the Baron wants to keep him."
"Wants to keep him? He attacked our [Lord] and got away with it!"
"Come on now-"
"If anyone else had done the same, they''d already be dead! If you ask me, that was an assassination attempt!"
"Nah, you''re just making it out to be worse than it was-"
"No! That''s exactly how it is. You can''t trust anyone from the Empire, Posh. They''re all snakes. Deserter or not, they''ll cut a throat as soon as blink if they stand to benefit from it."
"Well, their [Merchant] folk, maybe-"
"How many towns, how many cities, do you think they''ve burned to the ground simply because it suited them? Just because they haven''t bothered with us in these parts doesn''t change what they''ve done farther down the coast. The Kingdom has fought their lot off, plenty of times."
"We''re not in the Kingdom, Roggar. Up here, there''s nothing the Empire wants except a bit of trade."
It didn''t sound as though Karen was present. As I pulled my ear from the wooden door, though, a noise in the hall echoed. The sound of something creaking open, followed by the tone of laughter setting itself loose- no longer muffled.
Down the hall, someone stumbled out of a room, turning about in my direction.
Stepping back, my senses still felt crisp. Almost like another layer of touch, I could feel [Hide Presence] blanketed over top of me, sheltering me from casual observation, but I didn''t like the chances of remaining undetected in the hall. There were too many torches, and the space wasn''t all that wide. Staying out of sight would be tricky.
Looking about, I tried to plot my way down the hall safely, looking for a decent crevice to get myself out of the way. There were squared thresholds over the doors about half a pace deep, but none of them had enough room between the wood and the hall to completely hide me, and I quickly realized that my only reasonable option would be with quickly continue down the hall.
Irritated, I accepted this and started making my way- which was just as well, because the door beside me bust open with a sudden crash.
It seemed the conversation had escalated.
"Those fuckers burned half a province to the bloody ground!" Roggar shouted, as someone landed hard on the stone floor. "Women and children! Killed them all- and you think we should just let that pass?"
I held my breath as, Illuminated by torchlight- and not three steps away, Roggar emerged from the room I''d been listening in on. His back to me, I was just close enough to detect the strong scent of spilled ale and sweat.
It wasn''t pleasant.
"Aye, Roggar, you fucking drunk!" The man on the floor stumbled to their feet, spitting to the side as they rubbed their jaw. "We ain''t in the land of plenty in these parts. The hells do you think half the grain goes? If we lopped of the head of every Empire-blooded fool to stumble in, we''d lose half the boats docked at port."
"And we''d make do just fine without them!"
The shouting escalated from there and punches began to fly, which was the exact opposite of what I wanted, as that meant that more doors started to open. On both directions of the hall, my planned exit was ruined. I cursed my luck as I pulled the iron loop that hung from the door''s handle as it finished swinging towards me.
The stone threshold kept the door from falling in snug with the wall, but it was enough to keep me out of immediate sight, which I felt was important. But, it left me sandwiched between the wall and the door, so of course, as the trade off: I had nowhere to go.
Which was rather unfortunate.
In that moment, reality (as I''ve found it often tends to do in times like these) was crashing down around me.
That''s all it takes, really. Just one unexpected event, and a person can wake up and realize they''re in a little too deep. There I was, with the odd trance of mana-induced adventure rapidly being replaced with a sudden sense of horror. Almost as if a dream I''d been walking through- a fantasy brought on by a haze of magic and thrill of a small adventure, was lifted.
And I had to ask myself: What did I honestly expect to happen?
Did I truly expect that I''d find Karen''s humble abode, casually pluck Gregory''s knife from her belt, and wander back to my room with none the wiser? Did I believe that I was, if only for a short while, some sort of master thief- just because I had a skill that made it a little easier?
No.
The sudden clarity of my situation was astounding. It was much like someone had dumped a bucket of ice-cold water on my head. One that washed away the influence I''d been under.
I was no ghost in the night.
I was no cat-burglar in training.
I was just a colossal idiot who got drunk on mana, and wound up trapped behind a door while more and more people came to watch two drunken idiots punch one another.
[Skill - Rank up] - [Hide Presence- Lvl 4]
If a Skill can laugh with glee, then I have to assume that''s exactly what [Hide Presence] was doing.
But I sure as hell wasn''t.
50 - Scribe
A [Priest] might smite you and a [Paladin] might crush you, but at least they''ll be quick about it. A nice swift death, most of the time. See, people tend to get right to the point when they''ve got Gods looking over their shoulder. Keeps them honest.
With a [Sorcerer], or a [Warlock], though... those are an entirely different story. As for what''s looking over their shoulders? I don''t even want to know.
....
The night was ruined, and it was mostly my own damn fault.
Standing there, holding my breath, I had one small hope. One which might redeem everything that had just happened, and make the whole night worth it. Trapped there, behind that door, I prayed that I would at least get the small satisfaction of listening to Roggar get a few of his teeth knocked out.
I was met with disappointment.
Instead, based entirely on what I could hear, I have to assume that Roggar beat the piss out of someone. By my best guess, I think it might have been the man I''d overheard before, named "Posh." Which is a terrible name, but this was turning out to be something of a terrible world, filled with terrible things, and I''d more or less accepted it as a matter of course.
Quite a few people tried to stop him- again, from the sound of it. Which then led to him throwing one of them into the door I was hiding behind. The impact, even blocked, knocked the wind out of me, and almost keeled me over. After that, there were more shouts. Someone used a skill that made it sound like a sledgehammer hit the wall. Sharp bits of stone flying everywhere, and someone actually skidded down the hall a good ways...
And these events pretty much solidified my decision to wait behind that door until I died of old age.
While I felt confident that I could probably set someone on fire, I wasn''t nearly as confident that it would kill them before they punched my head clean off my shoulders. And if Roggar was doing this kind of thing to people he liked, I sure as hell didn''t want him to notice me.
So, I waited.
Still, silent... I was one with the door. No longer was I just some silly Hero with a skill that made me harder to notice, I was a part of the timber. I was strands of fiber, long-dead, but put to a purpose...
Needless to say: my wonderful night of adventure had quite the damper put on it.
I spent an undefined amount of time waiting there, and then another twenty minutes or so stuck beside another door coincidentally opened in a similar manner by several people trying to see if "Posh" was actually going to die, or just sort of going to die. Because, apparently, there was a difference, and that difference was held on a scale against angering the fort''s [Healer] by waking them up in the middle of the night.
The things you can only learn by experience, I suppose.
After some time, though, they did leave. With the sounds of dragging a cloth covered sack of flesh down the hall. I crept out form behind my hiding place and began to walk along with a surpising pace, to wind my way back through the fort, all the way back to my room.
There, I sat down, lay back, and found within the span of what felt to only be a single blink, it was morning.
Just like that.
It was morning.
The thought of going out onto the field and swinging a spear around made me want to die. Yet, rise to my feet I did, and without the need to dress myself, at that. Putting on a pair of wool socks and fitting into my boots, I opened the door-
To find someone waiting for me.
The [Scribe] stood, face wrinkled, expression like that of a sour grape, left in the sun. Thick robes, scent of dust and candle smoke, he eyed me as if I was a stray dog he''d happened upon and found pissing on his garden.
"The Baron has returned." He announced, dryly. "Follow me."
....
The [Scribe] named Neriah was not happy, and he hadn''t been all morning, since arriving at my door and leading me to the Baron''s chambers.
He wasn''t happy at all.
Not with what the Baron was asking.
Not with my presence.
Not with life itself.
He didn''t have a choice but to accept all of the above, of course, but the old man''s expression as he glanced me over made me wonder if the man had sat upon a sharp bit of wood. Or, maybe, several sharp bits of wood.
"I predicted as much, and I understand your intentions, Baron." Neriah said, as we waited, just outside the undefined region in which the healer of the fort seemed to have laid claim: Bloodied bandages strewn about the floor, stripped and jagged pieces of armor tossed at random, and stained with deep specks of corruption upon the polished metal surfaces. "As you command, I will see what I can make of him."
"Make of him? Lad''s no use as a [Mage] if he can''t fucking read: I expect results, Neriah." The Baron answered, lip curling as another layer of bandages wound about his shoulder. "Just put him to better use than if he were down in the yard, swinging a stick about. I''ve heard he''s terrible at it."
"As have I." Neriah replied, smugly.
Under more normal circumstances, I feel that I probably would have taken a little bit of offense. Both to the blatant disrespect to my abilities, and in the manner of conversation that seemed to disregard that I was standing right next to them, in the very same room. But "Normal" was long gone at this point.
And, quite frankly: I was terrible.
Not by my own standards, true. I honestly had a inkling I''d be relatively impressive if I randomly landed back on Earth with all my abilities. Yet, by this world''s standards I was scraping the bottom of the barrel. Especially when compared to the man in front of me.
Even if the [Lord] was sitting, half-naked, as a [Healer] fussed about him. Dressing what seemed to be a massive set of bite marks, encompassing his entire torso, along with a deep gash on his shoulder.
Like I said, it was best to forget normal.
"Watch the bloodly salve, woman." The Baron muttered, as the woman diligently applied some greenish paste to the shoulder wound, working her way down to the cresent of gouges below. Though these weren''t deep, the cresent shape dotted along with regular intervals seemed far more terrifying to me: both in the fact that the man seemed to have been entirely clasped in the jaws of some horrifying beast, and that the beast had actually managed to wound the man in the first place.
The Baron''s strength and presence might have been intimidating, but the idea of being forced to acknowledge there were even more dangerous things lurking out in the world was a concept I found myself actively trying to avoid.
Perhaps catching the surprise on my face, the Baron huffed out a short laugh as he raised a open hand of meaty fingers.
"The easiest way to kill a monster is where the skull meets the spine. One good hit, lad! That''s all you need." He chuckled, closing his fingers into a fist, in a manner that was somehow quite audible. The noise was similar to metal cords, stretching under pressure. "Found I had to approach the method from a different angle, is all."Reading on Amazon or a pirate site? This novel is from Royal Road. Support the author by reading it there.
"Risks you do not need to take, my [Lord]. The Guild is more than suitable for such tasks." The Scribe, Neriah, grumbled. "To the pressing matter at hand, though: as the expression goes, I cannot make gold from lead." With a scowl on his face, the [Scribe] seemed keen to avoid looking in my direction. "While I assure you, I will find some responsibilities for him, if he is entirely unable to read..." Neriah trailed off on that statement, as the [Healer] circled past.
"Out with it." The Baron prompted, impatiently.
"It''s just, my [Lord], such teachings takes time. There are many other responsibilities I must attend to. With the Kingdom''s Fyrd approaching, this is hardly a recommended time to invest in someone-"
"I would appreciate it greatly, if you hurried to the bloody point." The Baron stopped him short. "Speak."
"It is a simple request, Sir. If you would allow permission to aquire a Scroll that will grant him the basics, then, perhaps..." The [Scribe] trailed off, as the Baron''s expression shifted. No longer impatient, but flat. Blank and clean, like the ocean waters had been near Gregory''s shack, before a storm.
"A Scroll." His voice growled, as I watched two massive hands curl into massive fists. "By all the Gods. Next you''ll tell me that coin grows on trees." The Baron growled, volume increasing by the second. "You realize, I just killed a fucking Hellspawn and half a dozen fucking beasts in the past two days, just to make even with the Guild."
"[Lord], Baron, Sir, if I may-"
"Just to make EVEN, Neriah." The Baron continued. "To clear the books, so we can hire them again this coming season."
"I understand, Sir." Neriah''s clear admission of defeat might as well have fallen on deaf ears.
"I''ve brought you a bloody HERO! Not some bumpkin raised in the woods, or some illiterate goat farmer! A fucking HERO!"
"I understand, I only asked-"
"Nay, you do not ask, you lazy, wrinkled, fool!" Reaching to his beside table, the Baron lifted a heavy book, to throw down at the [Scribe]''s feet with a heavy crack. "Take this, take any other number of binded texts, and bury him in scripts until the sky opens up, or lightning strikes, or the Gods themselves come down and shove the Skill up his ass. Until whatever the fuck else it is that grants his type their miraculous fucking abilities, happens!" The Baron shouted, voice almost deafening as he rounded on us. "Do I make myself clear?"
"Perfectly, sir." The [Scribe] croaked, eyes wide in terror.
Looking about the room with a similar expression, I found that the [Healer] had already escaped. An excellent decision, on their part, as I wished I could, and continued to wish, repeatedly, as the Baron stared us down for a long moment. Not just a man, but a giant. Even seated on the bed, covered in bloody bandages, his presence instilled fear.
"I expect results." He repeated. "So, get me results. Both of you."
There was a small moment of shared terror there, I think.
Brief as it was, Neriah and I left the room as equals.
Then, as they always do, the moment passed. I soon turned to my newly appointed educator, and found that the scowl he''d had before had returned. This time, though, it seemed much worse.
So began my education.
....
I''ve always been the kind of person who felt more at home behind a desk, than most anywhere else in the world.
Logical thinking, as I liked to generalize it.
Give me problems, give me paper, give me a pen, and let me see what I can do. Let me, perhaps- pun somewhat intended, work my magic. With numbers, with puzzles, with questions needing answers... There are aspects of life someone might feel an affinity for, as this was mine. All that said, it''s not difficult to imagine that, in some ways, I was thrilled with this assignment.
I hadn''t been ordered out on the battlefield.
I hadn''t been told to go and kill a monster, or set a bunch of people on fire- or whatever it was a [Mage] serving a feudal [Lord] might be expected to do in their normal job description.
I was told to read books.
This was, in theory, an oasis.
My oasis.
The chance for respite, answers, and mental recovery, before setting back out into the world of shit that awaited me.
Here it was. Finally, the chance to throw myself into something I was actually suited for. No more forced confrontations with the Guards, no more wasting my time with weapons, when I could be practicing with my wits. I was being given the chance to learn real, valuable, information. Knowledge that might be almost endless, considering the massive library of dusty tomes and books shelved all around the large room that Neriah the [Scribe] brought us to...
And yet, the irony of my unfortunate combination of talents, was palpable.
I might comprehend and speak whatever language this world relied upon. I might do so flawlessly, mindlessly translating idioms to their equivalents and all other sorts of madness the normal human mind might stumble with, by the power bestowed upon me by the Passive Skill of [Language of men].
But, despite this: I was completely, and utterly, illiterate.
A puzzle, to be sure.
Surrounded by books. Dozens of shelves, each filled to the brim with knowledge, capable of answering questions I hadn''t even thought to ask- and they might as well have been solid walls of stone.
I couldn''t read any of them.
I couldn''t even scratch the surface.
Perhaps there was information on Magic, on history, on all manner of things I wished so badly to learn! Yet, they were unreachable.
Whatever I''d felt when trying to light a fire, whatever I''d felt when starving at the hands of my captors, or being forced out on the battlefield to die a miserable death: this was somehow worse. And it wasn''t long before I found a a deep rooted irritation had begun to build itself. Rising up with each and every failure.
"Again." Neriah demanded, slapping his palm on the table. "Again!"
My quill worked, metal tip furiously stabbing into the parchment, as my so-called instruction loomed behind me.
"Wrong!" The page I was working with, now utterly covered in black ink, was snatched away, replaced with a blank page. "Repeat!"
The urge to set things on fire was becoming increasingly difficult to resist. Grinding my molars together didn''t seem to be the best coping method, either. Willpower held the line for a good while, though. By my best best estimation, it was eight hours in total: a full morning and afternoon combined, before I found myself silently wishing for the training field.
While physical exhaustion might put a damper on one''s spirit, it can be mindlessly pushed through, even when mentally exhausted from a lack of sleep. Staring at foreign scribbles in the hopes they open up a world of knowledge, on the other hand, is not nearly so simple a task. The previous nights escapades haunted me, like a curse.
"Wrong, again." Neriah hissed, looking up from his own work to stab a bony finger at the symbol on the parchment I''d handed him. "Another." He turned the page over to me, shoving the sheet to me. "Now."
My quill moved in repetition of the previous attempt-
"Wrong." The [Scribe] hissed again. "You illiterate fool."
The sun was waning, in the skylight above the dusty room. The scent of wasted ink, paper, and glue settled heavily, as I valiantly resisted setting the old man to "deep-fry."
It was becoming more and more difficult to do, as the hours stretched on, and I suspected it was well within my ability, considering the man was a [Scribe] and not some sort of warrior Class.
... But I was trying to focus on the positives. Which, there actually were.
For once.
This was what I wanted, I told myself. Almost like a mantra: "This was what I wanted."
The Baron had ordered me to go exactly where I would have wanted, saying that I''d have had any real control over the situation. Well away from weapons and danger, surrounded by familiar concepts, and things I might actually have a knack for. I''d spent a large majority of my life on Earth, wrapped up in exactly this: sitting in a classroom, or a lecture hall, or an office.
And yet, I''d never considered the problems that come from complete ignorance.
Speaking and reading, it seemed, were two entirely different things, and I quickly learned Neriah had little interest in my knowledge of English. My efforts to show him such, only seemed to anger the man further- and his attempts to remedy that "problem" were down right brutal.
As it turns out, being able to learn how to read and write an entirely different language isn''t nearly as simple as snapping fingers. And, it certainly didn''t help that there was almost no effort to teach me much of anything, either.
"Repeat the page again." The elderly [Scribe] grimbled, pushing a brand new page in my direction.
Of course, I did as instructed.
Apparently, this was how I was supposed to learn.
Neriah the [Scribe] had selected several different pages of, what I assumed, were basic scripts. Then, he had me attempt to replicate them. No further instruction, mind you, just a quill and some rough looking paper that seemed a step removed from tree bark, and probably wasn''t deemed for any purpose other than kindling.
Just rewriting the same dense page of foreign letters, over and over.
And over.
And over.
A slog? Yes, that''s what it was.
Meaningful progress, I found, was not something I came across during this process. Positive reinforcement for the work applied, was mostly nonexistent. Still, my quill worked tirelessly. Much like a very inefficient and somewhat inaccurate copy-machine, or some long-forgotten monk in the mountains of old-age Europe, trying to scribble a copy of some religious text. There I sat, grinding away as I waited for revelation...
"You lack the most basic of education. That you can speak properly is nothing but a miracle." The man muttered, rising from his seat. "Repeat the page ten more times before I return."
He rose and stepped away, letting the door close behind him. The sound of footsteps traveling off until I was left with silence.
What a relief it was.
I had little doubt that the man might know his craft, but his craft certainly wasn''t in education. It might be complaining, or looking like a moldy grape, but it certainly wasn''t teaching.
Thankfully, with him no longer grumbling over my shoulder, I found some of the puzzle began to sort itself out. The scripts, initially impossible to discern, did seem to fit a logical set of patterns, that were becoming increasingly recognizable as my quill continued its journey across the parchment. While I had doubts I would make sense of specific meanings without any context, I had a loosely formed concept of simply asking what a word was, and memorizing through brute force.
In theory, considering I could speak due to a Skill, I assumed that I could probably learn enough to get myself a foothold to work with. If I applied myself for a few days, chances were I''d be able to start putting the pieces together. Even if they were Tarzan-like sentences...
I carried on, determined.
A few hours later, a glowstone I hadn''t noticed in the ceiling turned on.
A few hours after that, I found that the door had locked behind him.
Books, as I soon found out, make for terrible pillows.
51 - Practice Makes Perfect
Many wars have been won before the first battle is taken to field.
Won by the knife in the dark. By the poisoned glass, beside the ballroom floor. By the far-flung arrow, along the roadside.
Beware of those who march upon the endless trail of red stone. The men and women of forgotten faces and tarnished souls.
....
To be honest, I''d met people like Neriah before.
Many times, in fact.
They''re out there, wandering the world. Selfish, arrogant, and often quite talented (which is perhaps the worst part about them) they are mixed in with all the rest. Tucked into cubicles, workshops, or just standing in the front of lecture halls. In school, in the workforce- any job you could ever hope to stumble into, really. Modern society is full of "Neriah-like" individuals.
Simply put, the old [Scribe] was the kind of person who had no patience for others. The type who felt they did things correctly on their own, and shunned the work of their peers, only holding respect for whatever authority they were beholden to.
I say all that up front, because I wasn''t very surprised by Neriah''s actions. In fact, if anything, I was surprised by his restraint.
Passive-aggressive work assignments?
Demanding I write something over and over?
That was it?
Compared to threats to my life and the possibility of physical violence... it was almost laughable. Annoying, beyond any doubt, but these were tasks I could easily tolerate. Especially when set beside all the hardships I''d already seen.
The [Scribe] was simply being a bit of a bastard, and in my opinion, this was a far a lesser-evil compared to most. So far as I could tell, Neriah was just hoping that I would give up, complain, or provide him any number of other excuses to go back to the Baron with and throw me under the hammer instead of himself. Certainly, that first day, Neriah had watched and looked for a chance to write my lack of progress as a failure on my own part, and wash his hands of the responsibility.
At the same time, I made sure not to give him one by earnestly attempting to learn everything he showed me to the best of my ability.
I wasn''t thrilled, true, but I wasn''t overly worried. For once, I felt that I had the advantage. In fact, adjusting the perspective ever-so-slightly, I was in a situation I could call myself familiar with. All it took was to imagine Neriah as an impatient boss, or an arrogant teacher. They could yell, they could make life difficult, but when set beside hungry monsters and battlefields, I would gladly take dealing with an angry [Scribe] every single time.
So it was, locked in a room of books and papers, I carefully planned my potential strategies.
I settled on three.
First: Simplest and most straightforward, was to give Neriah what he wanted. Which was to say, if things didn''t improve, I would provide him an excuse to be rid of me. Sometimes, it''s not worth the battle. It''s best to go ahead, and take the loss. Perhaps, also making a note to avoid them in the future.
But, I felt I couldn''t in this case.
Not just because of the potential repercussions, but because I did in fact want to learn. In fact, I was desperate to learn. Giving up on the chance I''d been given was unacceptable.
Second: I could use my strange and somewhat unstable magics to set the old man on fire. Giving into the urges of the odd secondary pulse within my chest. The one, which seemed to happily thump along at the thought of burning the [Scribe] to ashes.
... and likely getting executed shortly after.
On top of not learning anything from this, I had no interest in being brutally murdered. So, I ruled that out, as well.
Third: I could meet the unreasonable demands that Neriah was making to the letter.
Pun intended.
While I was confident that there''s a certain satisfaction someone could get when taking option Two, I felt my safest bet was to stick with the third option. In fact, it had a satisfying reward of its own: the oddly righteous mix of proving someone wrong, and proving yourself right, all wrapped up in a nice little "What else do you have for me?"
Bonus points, if asking that question with a perfectly straight-face.
Not that I was really going to try and tack that on.
I needed that crochety, dust-covered, raisin, of a human-being. This wasn''t a summer-internship, or some part-time job I could waltz out of. The old [Scribe] already didn''t like me, and the point of doing all the work he asked of me wasn''t to antagonize him further. While I might not ever get him to like me, avoiding outright hatred would be a happy middle-ground. At least, until I learned how to read, until I plucked all the knowledge I could out of the man''s head. Then, I supposed he could hate me all he liked.
Difficult as I predicted Neriah might be to deal with, I was more than willing to put up with his prickly persona if it meant I got what I wanted. And if that meant I could ruffle his feathers a little by outdoing his irrational expectations, all the better.
And, I believe I did.
That first morning, as he looked my work over,I''d be lying if I said I didn''t find the result satisfying.
Watching from across the table, I waited patiently as he muttered under his breath. Eyes skimming along, Neriah shuffled through the nice and organized stack of parchment I''d placed for him. Ten pages, plus an additional two on the extra sheets he''d left, which I''d decided to do for good measure.
All as perfect as I could manage, of course.
Disgruntled, he huffed once, then he shuffled through the pages again.
I felt that he seemed torn between wanting to be angry, and not being able to find a reason.
"Acceptable." He murmured at last. Not quite choking on the word, but also clearly not happy to have spoken it. "Perhaps you''re not entirely beyond help." He frowned. "I will prepare another example to practice. In the meantime, tell me: what familiarity do you possess with numbers?"
"I would say that I''m capable."
"Capable... show me"
Neriah''s frown grew a few extra wrinkles as I attempted to put my knowledge onto a loose piece of scrap paper.
"Capable, but only with your tragically barbaric foreign scribbles." Quill flying across another page, Neriah pushed it across the table. "Take this. Even a child should be able to decipher it. Go to the kitchen and get something to eat. I expect you to have it memorized before you return."
With that, he waved me towards to unlocked door.This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.
Ah, the privilege to not starve to death. I felt that this combined nicely with a derogatory statement about my other-worldly heritage. While I suspect breakfast was Neriah''s form of providing a "reward," I had already decided if he tried to lock me in there much longer, I was going to see if I could burn the door down. Which might have been a bit rash, but wasn''t something I was going to compromise on.
I''d spent enough time in this world hungry, and I wasn''t keen on slipping back into that routine.
With that mentality in mind, I took the most direct path I had available to arrive at the kitchen. Stomach turning itself over at the first scent of something edible, I soon found that Gertrude waiting beside the counter. And, for all her appearances might have led the uneducated to believe otherwise, I felt that looked very much like an angel.
I told her so, too.
"It''s lukewarm, because you''re late." The woman grumbled back to me, dropping a large slop of mashed grain and discolored gruel into a wooden bowl. "There''s extra if you want seconds, though."
I thanked her, and assured that I would, indeed, want seconds. Possibly thirds, considering I had once again gone for an unusual stretch of time without being allowed to eat, and how wonderfully delicious the meal looked. To which she wrinkled her nose and muttered something about not being late next time. She didn''t shake a spoon at me, though, so I felt I''d adequately begun to win her over.
I''ll say it once, I''ll say it twice: Always be nice to cooks.
Still, I knew I couldn''t take too long in the kitchen. Even though I''d much prefer to stay there and eat until I passed out from exhaustion, I had been given an assignment. So, standing beside a wobbly table, I set my eyes on the new paper that Neriah had given me to look over.
And found, very much to my surprise, that I could understand something.
Quite easily, I knew what it meant.
Not because a Skill came flying out of nowhere- unfortunately. No, I suspected it was going to take a little more time before something like that happened. Yet, I found I could piece together the information on the paper without a tremendous amount of difficulty: It seemed that the bitter old man had actually decided to be helpful, and included some form of logic to tie things together. Which, truthfully, was very much needed, considering that using [Identify] on hand-written pages seemed to only provide very general details I already knew, or just describe the paper quality itself.
In a simple table-structure, Neriah had written symbols that seemed like odd wavy and curvy gibberish. Those were, of course, useless to me. Yet, aligned beside them was something that made far more sense.
Tallies.
Quick dashes, set in a row without any crosses on the "fifth" or additional logic, ran in a neat and orderly pattern beside the nonsensical text. At the tip of each, seem a quick flourish of what I presumed to be an arrowhead. Which was either Neriah''s own artistic choice, or possibly the way the symbol was intended to be recognized as a tally count.
As I scanned over the page, I set myself to memorizing.
Going over it half a dozen times, I decided I had it correct. Though there was always the small chance I was completely mistaken about the [Scribe]''s intentions, I felt that had the entire thing memorized before the second bowl of foodstuff. By the third, I was already writing out basic addition and subtraction to test myself, and had come up with a decent list of questions pertaining to the symbol that might have represented zero, as it looked much like a broken arrow, and that piqued my curiosity.
By the time I was walking back though, I felt almost light-headed from the awareness of what had just transpired.
It was so easy.
Perhaps it was being well-fed and no longer starving, but on my way back, strolling through the new information in my mind''s eye: I recognized how simple it was to recall. While I''d never felt my ability to remember things was lacking in any way, this seemed a very obvious example of exceeding my own expectations.
Memorization of this nature usually took a little more time than a few minutes. On top of it, I''d been distracted by brunch, and yet...
Double-checking the page one more time, I found I wasn''t misguided in my belief that I''d managed to run through all the numeric symbols present.
I knew them, inside and out.
My lopsided Attributes had been the bane of my existence since the start, but it seemed they were finally pulling their own weight. At long last, I''d found myself placed in a situation I was a proper fit for.
I returned to the study with renewed confidence.
Which was a good thing, because it turned out that Neriah wasn''t nearly done with being a bit of a bastard.
....
[Criteria Met]
[General Skill - Obtained] - [Inscription]
[Inscription] Level 1
As has been deemed necessary for mankind by the benevolent God of Knowledge, words and wisdom are to be preserved. Even ignorant to the knowledge on the page, you have shown talent in this purpose. Added speed and accuracy when replicating text or images.
It was a "General Skill" like [Identify] or my [Language of Men] Skill. And, a passive one, at that, which was interesting.
Of course, the Skill wasn''t what I was hoping for. I wasn''t going to say no to it, but... well, actually, I was pretty sure I couldn''t say no. I''d never seen a message that would have allowed me to reject a Skill, and considering the invasive power that the abilities seemed to have, I doubted it was an option.
But that was its own uncomfortable subject, and besides the point.
Although it wasn''t [Reading] or something of that nature, I accepted [Inscription] as a nice perk that made my life a bit easier. Suddenly, I was able to move through the pages far more quickly, and with much less in the way of worrying about mistakes.
Neriah, to his credit though, noticed almost right away.
"You''ve improved."
My progress backfired, as his recognition came with twice as many pages to work with. Which, in turn, lead the the Skill improving again- which lead to three times as many pages... While Neriah was an unpleasant man, he was very observant. With a keen eye, he monitored my progress. Adjusting, the moment I showed the slightest bit of progress, and increasing the work I''d been given to match.
It was somewhat frustrating. I couldn''t help but acknowledge it was exactly what I needed to push my limits and improve, but I knew this was a marathon, not a sprint. As such, I simply resolved to try and "limit" my progress, should the skill rank up again.
Work was well and good, but the day had plenty of hours left to it, and I had little doubt where I''d be spending them. And that was regardless of how many times my [Inscription] Skill increased.
Still, stuck in the quiet room, mindlessly scribbling what amounted to gibberish, I had many questions I would have very much liked to ask. With a proper teacher, I like to think I would have, too. Yet, the old [Scribe] had a stern guard up. Not quite a scowl, but certainly not friendly, the expression seemed to hinder any reasonable approach I could come up with to break the ice. So it was that I set myself to finding answers on my own- even if my answers were incomplete.
Though it wasn''t entirely clear to me what I was copying, I could see the patterns. After my review of numbers, I was especially on the lookout for more symbolism. The combination of multiple pieces, to form the story of a specific word or action, were present. Enough that I could speculate to some degree. But, from a more logical perspective, I could see the end results of my work as well. Splitting his attention between what I was doing, and his own work: Neriah was going back through my pages and adding information between certain gaps of text, then stamping them with a wax seal. As the pages piled up, he seemed to follow a strict routine in this, and it soon became obvious that instead of teaching me anything that afternoon, he was putting me to use for his own benefit.
Again and again, that stamp came down. Then, with quick, practiced signatures, the pages filtered over to the far side of the table, where the wax cooled, and then found themselves organized into a wooden box. The impression this gave me, was that the pages I was copying were a form of legal document, or another concept of similar purpose, which needed his approval. I was filling out the mindless details of the text, and Neriah was finalizing them.
Outside of that, all I could reasonably assume was, whatever they were for, there were a lot of them.
My arm felt like lead, by the time I ran out of paper, and my stomach churned. All this effort, and it had come at the cost of lunch. The expected meal had long since come and gone, as had dinner- I suspected, though it was difficult to tell from within the dusty room. With stone walls covered in shelved books, it was surprisingly sound-proof.
Setting down my quill, I silently nursed my wrist as I waited for the inevitable. Surely, the man would have more work for me, any moment.
Much to my surprise, though, Neriah set his quill down as well.
"These are for the approaching Fyrd." Neriah stated, as he stamped the final stack of papers. "The applicants chosen from this pile will be considered for the honor of serving the Kingdom." He set a glass cap atop the candle he''d been using as a heat source for his wax-stamp. "Your work today was adequate. Tomorrow, at first light, we will review the basics."
With that, I was dismissed.
A quick stop by the kitchen earned me an oddly covered piece of cheese and a stale loaf of bread, but no threatening spoon. I gave my thanks and retreated back to my small, humble, abode, pushing myself for another hour to go through some basic form of exercise.
No attributes increased, but I wasn''t really expecting them to. After all, a short workout after sitting at a desk an entire day is hardly going to push one''s limits.
Still, there was one other ability I could practice.
Magic.
It was always there with me, now. The temptation to let mana flow through my veins crept up. As I let my head settle into the fabric of my bunk, hand raised towards the ceiling, I pushed it away.
Of course, I wanted to dive back in, but caution had the greater hold on me. Thoughts of the dream, of the throne, still sent a chill down my spine. I had no intentions of wandering back into that terrible place.
Instead, I turned my thoughts in review of the day. To try and piece together the patterns on the pages. To trace along the motions of the quill. Scattered images of script and pages. Scents of ink and books, paper and wax, of knowledge that was just out of my reach...
Though I was far too tired to realize it: that night, for the first time in a very long time, I went to sleep looking forward to the morning.
52 - It reminds me of the...
This world is but a shadow! What it once was, can never repeat! For as long as time might stretch on, we will never again see such glorious heights! We will never again see the divine as they march among us!
Hear me, and know: This land is built upon the flesh of Giants! Those legends, slain to the very last in the war that ended the past Age! These mountains were raised by their fall, those islands scattered as continents were broken! As the past was swept away like dust in the storm! Wide as they are terrible, these great oceans we seek shelter from, are nothing but their tears!
And so we suffer! Waiting, like the loyal cur we are! Chains about our necks, longing for the memory of our lost masters! Chewing on the gifts they have left us like dry bones, as we toil in the ruins of our Ancestors! Do you not see the truth? Our Masters are dead! The flesh of Gods still soaks beneath our feet! Rivers of fire and divine, their curse is bleeding out of the soil! To see that wretched beasts crawl from the depths, should come as no surprise: For they are like maggots! Festering from these ancient corpses, bringing death to the world, and feasting for the end! The Age of Ruin is here! The Age of Men is here!
Of the Archives of the Kingdom
Inscribed as spoken. The final speech of a mad [Prophet]
....
Name:John
Title:Summoned Hero*
Class:None
General Skills:
Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive
Identify - Lvl 5 - Active
Inscription - Lvl 5 - Passive
Special Skills:
Lesser Flame Lvl 4 - Active
Hide Presence Lvl 4 - Active
Void Walker Lvl 1 - Passive
Blessing of Forgotten Gods Lvl 5 - Passive
Status:
Vitality: 18
Endurance: 26
Strength: 22
Dexterity: 22
Intelligence: 45
Wisdom: 52
Health: 50/50
Stamina: 14/20
Mana: 100/100
Over a week passed in the blink of an eye. Which was unsettling in a way. After clinging to moment after chaotic moment, I''d been tossed into the flow of a routine. Heck, I had a job to do, and it wasn''t all that different from what office-life had been like.
Perhaps what was even stranger still, though: that entire week passed and nothing terrible happened.
Nothing at all.
I know.
The feeling of "What''s the catch" didn''t let up, but neither did the workload I was being pushed for, so I just accepted my new reality as best I could. Neriah, much to my surprise, had been good to his word. The result being that we had indeed covered the basics of the written language.
It was done with a limited approach, of course. Spoon-fed, as opposed to actually diving headfirst into the true meat of the subject. Comprised mainly of short lectures that made it very clear he was holding back. Which I felt was counter-productive for both of us, but the [Scribe] seemed very keen on having me make copies of paperwork for him, so I felt it was likely he had decided our relationship was mutually beneficial, and would be stretching out how long I needed to rely on him.
And I was alright with that, if only because he was actually teaching me.
The [Scribe] broke the script down into its basic components (which turned out to be far more variable than I''d initially believed) and followed the pattern of setting me to memorizing. Repeating whatever I could for an hour each morning until I could repeat them free-hand back. Then, after breakfast, he would put me back to work making copies of whatever documents he needed.
Typically, this meant eight to nine hours of sitting in one place, scribbling.
Mind-numbingly frustrating, especially after several days of this, but I couldn''t deny it was working. The results were startling.
Inscription - Lvl 5 - Passive
I was naturally suited for this work, it seemed. And, although the week had almost come to a close without breaking through on the "reading front" I found that I was quickly working out a very rough idea of what the text he put in front of me meant.
In a very "Tarzan meet Jane" way, I suppose might be the best way of thinking about it.
I could piece together a few words or phrases. Then, I could do the same to another few words, somewhere further down the page. This was starting to fill in more and more, as Neriah had begun to selectively provide me with specific terms and combinations to memorize. I found that I was rapidly filling in the blanks as the days passed. Enough to then go about taking educated guesses at whatever was inbetween the words I didn''t know.
Though, it was still rough going.
Even if there were many scripts and tomes I now recognized to some degree, I could truly only make out one word in ten. Not enough to read in any true sense, but reassuring in that I could indeed understand "something." This was more than rewarding enough to provide me with a sense of encouragement for my continued compliance with Neriah''s increasingly difficult work assignments, most of the time.
More than that though, was my newly discovered [Inscription] Skill.
To the fifth level, already. Possibly, approaching a sixth, if I were to believe the itching sensation in the back of my skull. Which would be something I''d never managed to achieve on my own before.
I''d come to suspect that this Skill was Neriah''s entire goal. [Inscription] had ticked upward at an abnormally rapid pace, to the point in which it was almost frightening. Just like [Lesser Flame] had been, improvement seemed too easy when compared to how much trouble I''d been having obtaining skills elsewhere. Spurred on, I suspected, by my affinity for the Intelligence attribute. While the assigned pages had began as tedious labors, these quickly had begun to blur. Turning into trivial moments of my attention as they passed me by. This was, of course, balanced by the increased work-load of Neriah''s assignments.
A mixed blessing to be sure.
The scales seemed to be balanced between a sense of accomplishment: being thankful for the ability to curry some amount of favor with the man, and an unpleasant awareness of just how lop-sided the "give and take" agreement we''d unofficially reached seemed to be.
Each morning, after his short lecture, Neriah took to the habit of leaving me to "my" work. Always with a single drafted copy of whatever it was he needed, and enough paper to create the specific number of copies was required. And while, again, I still couldn''t truly read anything, I strongly suspected he was using me to cut away at his backlog. By my best estimation, just based off what I''d seen him do, I was likely saving him weeks of trouble.
Which, made sense.
My "Summoned Hero*" title was supposedly used by the Empire to create impossibly powerful warriors. Neriah was just using me to become a suitable equivilant for paperwork. A warrior, not of the sword, but of the pen and ink.
While I had no intentions of becoming some strange form of "Heroic Scribe" I couldn''t deny I was getting rather good at it. Comparatively, I might still have been chopped liver on the battlefield, but the [Inscription] Skill was opening a different set of opportunities. I clearly remembered the Empire playing favorites to any of my fellow "Heroes" who''d shown potential in aquiring a skill. The few who had manifested abilities early were immediately fast-tracked and prioritized, which I interpreted to mean that Skills of almost any sort were highly prized. This was an assumption that had only been reinforced, as I saw very few examples of any such abilities in use.Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation.
In conclusion: If it took ordinary people years to perfect and improve these, the sensible method would to just focus on the few gathered naturally, and grind at them. But, due to my Title, chances were good that I could raise whatever I was lucky enough to aquire to competent levels in a fairly short period of time. Perhaps, not the skill of a master, but certainly enough to be a "Jack of All Trades" in some relative sense.
And I''d decided there was no better time to start.
Even if [Inscription] turned out to be a waste of time, so be it. I reasoned that at the very least, if I could ever find a way to hide my "Hero" status and escape from the Baron''s service, I could use the Skill to find work.
Plus, I''d heard that the pen can be mightier than the sword, so I felt that I had that going for me.
In specific circumstances.
Probably.
I hoped.
Still: There''s only so much a man can take.
My Endurance might honestly have been the only thing keeping me going, as those days slogged on. Sitting there, concentrating on the work at hand: beyond the study room, I saw little else of the fort. My life was spent at that table, in that study. My stamina slowly declined. Even after sleeping, not raising back to optimal levels.
Day after day.
From morning, until dusk.
Outside of visiting the kitchen for meals, I spoke with no one. As I was no longer expected to train in the field, or show up in the hall every morning, I had little excuse to, either.
All I did was study, eat, write, eat, write, and sleep. In that order.
I could see why the monks during medieval times were all known for drinking heavily. It was probably all that kept them sane. Squinting at pages in dim light, day after day, year after year... As much as I was encouraged by my growing knowledge and my recognition of the text taking form and providing a much clearly recognition of the information I was copying: I could feel the sense of stir-crazy approaching. Fatigue settling in and refusing to lift.
There, settling into my skull, I could feel the madness which comes with sitting at a table and writing for ten or more hours a day.
Slowly, it wore me down. Further and further- until those fateful words finally arrived.
"Today, is the day of rest."
Dumbfounded, I had to resist going slack-jawed at Neriah''s announcement. Doubly so, after he handed me a small purse with some heft to it.
"That concludes the lecture this morning. Within that cloth is your monthly pay, adjusted for your time here, as deemed fit by the [Lord]. Tomorrow, I must remind you that we will begin anew in our studies, but today I have nothing further for you."
Just like that, I found myself left with a jarring sense of freedom.
And silver.
God damn, that was quite a bit of silver.
....
Money, in an economic sense, is always going to vary in its uses depending on who recieves it.
From the perspective of a person in poverty, who has an outlook lacking in hope of ever improving their circumstances: it is reasonable to assume they might spend it all on one evening of entertainment. Spurred on by the simplist mindset to just enjoy it while it lasts, because there''s no telling when- if ever, they will get another chance.
A rich individual might simply invest it, unconcerned as there''s nothing they need immediately and even if they did, they have other money set aside for such trivial things. Saving is the sensible choice, of course, saying they have the stability to do so safely.
Then, there is the person caught between.
Not stricken by poverty, exactly. Not flush with wealth. They have immediate needs. They have longterm goals. Yet, neither are quite to the point of being within reach, and so the hard decisions need to be made.
This was where I felt that I stood.
I wasn''t quite sure what to do.
Quite a bit of silver, to me, meant thirty silver coins. That was the full sum, when combined with what I''d already been given when entering the Baron''s service. Ten silver from Neriah that morning, and twenty before. The sight of all that coin had my mind spinning in circles, caught flat-footed by the awareness that I would eventually be making money here, and not having considered what I''d actually be doing with it.
And then, logisitics.
Buying power.
How many pieces of bread was this? How many staple goods could I be expected to leverage this purse for? Was this truly a lot, or was it just a meager sum that seemed a fortune due to ignorance?
Assumptions being what they are, some guesswork was involved. Yet, I felt it safe to believe the coin purse was worth a decent amount. Certainly, more than what most people might make working in a field, at any rate.
When covering numbers, earlier in the week, Neriah had provided the basics. When using Kingdom currency, Ten Copper would match one Silver coin, and a hundred Silver would match a Gold coin. This seemed to be a relatively simple system, without much headache involved, but the numbers alone didn''t mean much. Neriah had neglected to provide me with a going-rate of basic commodities, so I found the knowledge wasn''t yet attached to much of use.
My memory of time spent in the Empire wasn''t of much help, either.
The Golden Wing camp''s prices were a poor reference, and the coins themselves had looked entirely different. I suspected they didn''t follow a simple base ten variation, either. Plus, when trying to buy food with the others, at best we''d only ever managed a handful of silver between everyone in the tent. And most of those coins had the edges shaved off.
Which, I only knew about because I''d made it a habit of checking in an effort to improve [Identify].
Thankfully, none of the silver I had recently recieved had that problem, though.
[Identify]
Kingdom Minted Silver Coin
A silver coin minted by a press of the Kingdom, imprinted with sigil of the Royal house and the Lesser rune of [Resistance]. It has a slight scratch on the crest-side, but is in otherwise proper condition.
Very different, from the Empire.
I had many questions.
The Kingdom seemed to print their coin with runes, which I found both practical, and fascinating. Enough so, that I took a good ten minutes at breakfast to set the rune into memory.
Was it resource intensive to do this? Had they simply made some sort of process that was efficient enough so that the reources didn''t matter?
Before I''d gotten the [Inscription] skill, I could appreciate the details of the original coins I''d been given, but it was very difficult to mentally hold onto them. Now though, I could visualize it easily in my mind. If I found a piece of paper, I knew it would be simple to replicate with ink. Which got me wondering if it could be applied to other things. Bricks, metal, clothing, for example... The possibilities seemed endless.
Why not stamp just this on everything?
"I don''t suppose that''s a tip for our wonderful service." Gretchen said dryly, plucking my empty bowl of oat-paste out from in front of me, adding it to a stack of others. "Eh, Hero?"
"Of course." I answered on a whim, setting the coin on the table as I took my leave. "In fact, I think that''s exactly what it is."
The fine line between tipping, and bribery.
I took my leave before there was time for any clever retort, certain that I heard laughter from behind the counters by the time I reached the stairs. It seemed a coin well spent, in any case. Lightly leaping the steps up to the hall above, I felt the weight of endless hours at a table, slipping off my shoulders, and commited to the decision that decided that I would likely be happy to repeat the generous donation every so often, so long as it meant I''d never have to go hungry again.
But, now was time to make more important decisions: An entire day ahead of me, and what I was going to do with it.
Heading back to my room, I organized my thoughts as I ran over my limited inventory. Between the small desk and the bunk, there wasn''t much. My few spare changes of clothing were neatly folded. My bed, as simple as it was, had already been made and tucked free of wrinkles. My dagger, my coin pouch, my small bag meant for herbs... this was almost everything I owned, for the exception of the armor I''d been given, the clothes on my back, and a few choice sheets of paper I''d saved from Neriah''s teachings to review.
But, I didn''t feel as though I was lacking.
Food, shelter, income: I had the basics. Any further investment towards those beyond the bare minimum would likely turn out to be a waste. Especially considering my long-term goal was to try and leave. Saying, of course, I could find a safe method to do so. Gaining too many possessions was just going to slow me down when the time came.
I was remarkably disappointed by this conclusion. More so, as I tried to find my way around it, only to arrive at the same mental stopping point?
What was the point of having money, if there''s was nothing useful you can do with it?
I could get something special to eat, maybe. Some sort of treat, perhaps?
But, I would have to risk going into town for that. The kitchens didn''t do much in that respect. Maybe if I offered a few more silver?
I knew could go and visit the Fort''s [Smith] and see about purchasing another weapon. I''d seen they had some odds and ends there... But did I really need one? I wasn''t fit to fight anyone with a life-time of experience. Any of the [Guard] Class I''d seen could easily do me in, and a sword to go with my dagger wasn''t going to change that any time soon.
The best I could come up with, was I could buy something I could use to improve my attributes. Perhaps, I could purchase a cheap bow and a quiver of arrows to practice with. Something that might earn me a new skill, if I kept at it for long enough. Maybe intead I could just look into buying a few herbs... or maybe some specialized tools...
My mind stalled out.
I''d been running full-speed ahead with my work for the [Scribe], to the point where I could recognize that I''d neglected thinking about anything else. As important as learning what Neriah could teach me, I knew this was causing me to deviate from my original goals. Above all, I needed to improve my Attributes, and I needed to learn how to properly use my Magic. I needed to get that [Mage] Class and take back some semblance of control over my life.
Everything else needed to wait.
That included money.
Oh, the disappointment this conclusion brought me.
The thought of taking a break was so tempting, but I couldn''t justify wasting my day looking for something I might not even need to buy, much less have time to use. That was a dead-end. I knew this opportunity wasn''t the time for fun, or wandering about: this was the time to get ahead. With the hours of daylight ahead of me, I had a solid chance to break through with [Lesser Flame] before nightfall. More specifically: time away from an environment that was filled with expensive, dusty, highly-flammable, books.
Perhaps, today would be the day...
With a sigh of regret and my mind made up, I set the purse down. Carefully, I tucked it away behind a loose board I''d found near the small desk for safe keeping, and steeled my mind: determined to make the best of it.
Steadying my breathing, I sat down on the floor and willed the magic into existence. The heightened feeling of Mana flooding through my mind, I let the pattern I''d memorized repeat. Quicker and quicker, until it was just a buzzing pulse that drew the power. One constant sensation in my skull.
This wasn''t exciting.
I still felt a sense of fear, ever since that horrible dream. One that kept me on edge, even as the familiar fire lit above my palm: but I knew that if I wanted to get anywhere, I needed to stay dedicated. Above all, I knew that I needed to master how to properly use the magic I had, inside and out. To earn the [Mage] Class and gain enough power to break free of anyone trying to use me.
Of course, the knocking on my door was almost immediate.
"It''s a fine day, isn''t it? A fine day for a hunt!" The Baron''s deep voice sounded loudly, hardly muffled at all by the several inches of thick wooden boards. "And what sort of [Lord] would I be, if I didn''t bring my [Mage] along?"
Ah.
To best-laid plans.
53 - Hunt
A Nation''s true nobility is a terrifying thing. [King] or [Queen], [Prince] or whatever else might follow after. The fact that those bloodlines grant a Class and Title at birth is scary enough, and that''s not even to count the Skills associated. How powerful must someone''s Wisdom Attribute be, to resist the powerful commands of [Order] or [Loyalty]?
While the answer isn''t clear, I can tell you from first hand experience: The number of servants in those palaces who have willingly throw themselves out of windows on the whims of angry nobles, seem to suggest there aren''t many within the normal populace.
....
From the walls, no matter what compass direction a person might hope to look, the town outside the Baron''s residence was always in sight to some degree. On the Eastern side, the ocean cliffs and port piled up with homes and buildings. To the North and south, these stretched along, perhaps surrounding some smaller docks possibly cut away, into the stone. Yet, to the Western edge, the population began to dwindle.
There, was the forest. Deep forest- fields too, of course. Cut in here and there, crops and rows of farmland speckled the flatlands between the rolling hills: but it was the trees which held dominance. The invasiveness of them, sinking like roots inbetween lots and structures. Winding along and forming up to find their way in numbers, all the way to the Fort itself. Intrusive, as if trying to find their way to the Eastern cliffs, regardless of the human effort that blocked their path.
Should someone step down past the main gates, farther along to reach the path cut along the fort''s slope, they would find the beginning of the trails. Continuing from there, slow and sinking, their feet set upon this path would find the trek into a direction towards the true wilds. Where the foliage would soon have any man forget what direction civilization might stand. Where buildings and the noise of civilization would fall away, replaced by simpler tones. Of leaves, of wind, and of creaking timber.
This was, perhaps for most people, an intimidating concept. Myself, of course, included in the generalization. The wilds were a place I''d barely managed to return from, and not one I was keen on going back into.
I had learned of Adventurers, of course. Those strange people who worked for what all in the area simply called the "Guild." Oddities, no doubt, as they willingly took upon the profession of hunting monsters.I''d assumed, just as Gregory had fished the dangerous waters along the coast, there were a brave few who might do something similar to harvest wild-game.
But, I suspected the career choice wasn''t exactly common.
Farther inland, as the forest surrounded and ancient trees completely blocked my sense of direction, it was easy to see how someone might become lost. Without the trail beaten down beneath our feet, without the occasional marker that had been nailed to bark or sapling, one could quickly find their bearing confused. The sun was visible, in part, but not in a sense by which one could easily track it through the thick leaves. The muffled gusts of shifting branches, the occasional crack of twigs... just knowing what might be out there would surely keep all but the bravest from taking the risk.
And I did know, to some degree. Just one encounter with a real monster had been more than enough for me. Enough to turn every rustle of leaves, every whisper of wind catching the odd branch, into another beast. Thoughts racing, believing that danger was stalking me just a surely as any hunter followed prey.
No, the woods were not the place for normal folk. A rabbit for dinner couldn''t possibly be worth the chance of becoming dinner for something else.
Of course, the Baron was hardly someone I could use to judge normal social-norms.
"Not a hare in sight!" He bellowed, drinking heavily from one of the many water skins he''d tied loose to his armor. Dropping it back without care, as the last drops of its contents hit the dirt with a strong scent of spirits. "Not a boar, not bird. John, has anyone ever told you that you''ve got terrible luck?"
"No, Sir." I answered. "But I suppose that would explain a few things."
"Ha! True, true." The Baron chuckled, leading on as the trail took a lazy turn, winding around a massive tree of thick bark. Among the crevices, I saw an insect the size of my arm skitter out of sight. "You got on just fine in my absence, it seems."This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
"I did my best, Sir."
"I will admit, I feel badly for leaving as I did. I''ve a suspicion some of my men made trouble for you."
"Nothing I couldn''t handle, Sir."
"Sir this, Sir that... enough with the formalities, John. If I wanted people doting on me, I''d have stayed in." A mighty hand waved. "I''ve brought you here, so that we might speak on simpler terms."
"Understood."
"Gods, you''re a tough nut." He grumbled. "That really all I''m going to get from you?"
"I do have questions, pertaining to my role, as a [Mage]." I answered. "If it would be alright to ask them."
"In good time." The Baron answered. "But this is a hunt, John. This is far from the time to speak of work."
I was silent as we continued down the trail. Considering how to best handle this open invitation. The closest I might ever get to ask a question. Any question at all.
It wasn''t that I couldn''t think of one, as I had dozens, my real problem was breaking the tie between all of them.
"If the cat has your tongue, I''ll start then." The Baron announced suddenly, taking another swig. "I''ve heard it said that the plane you lot hail from, even the peasants have magic boxes in their homes that keep their ale perfectly cold. Is that true?"
"Uh... yes." I almost tripped on a root, as my brain caught up with the fact that the Baron knew about refrigerators. "That''s partly true. There''s no magic, though."
"How do they work?"
"Do you know of electricity?"
"No, is it important?"
"Ah..." My brain skipped another second, as I went desperately searching for whatever remnants of wikipedia articles might be lingering in my long-term memory. "I suppose the simplest way to think of those boxes, is that that they have lots of metal tubes which take the heat from one place and go about moving somewhere else." I was grasping for straw and I knew it. "If something expands, it gets colder. So there''s a specific chemical in the tubes they trick into doing that, show that to the inside of the box, and shuffle the heat outside."
"Sounds an awful lot like Magic."
"I... suppose it does, but it isn''t." I found it very difficult to argue with that statement. Especially considering the only reason I felt I could even remember as much as I already had, was because of my Attributes reinforcing half-remembered knowledge.
"What of the strange boxes that heat food up?"
"Those are similar."
"And the metal chariots on roads of black stone? Those which drink oil."
"Complicated, but not magic."
The Baron snorted in amusement. "For fuck''s sake. No magic at all, just metal tubes and alchemy nonsense."
"You believe me, then?"
"I believe you''re not lying." He shook his head, as he plucked an arrow free. "I''ve found that you''re a surprisingly honest man, John."
"I try my best." I answered. "Seems the safest practice."
"Mm..." The Baron sighed. "Tell me, did you know for sure, or did you just suspect?"
"Suspect."
"You''ve good instincts, then." The Baron nodded, effortlessly drawing back his bow. "Of course, you wouldn''t be alive if those were missing." With a cord that might have been as thick as my finger, and wood as wide as my arm, it creaked in resistance as he turned. Almost leisurely, he let it come to bare in my direction. Arrow pointed with the sharp glow of steel. "Best never to lie to me."
"Understood." I replied, warily.
"This is a relationship of necessity for now, John. Don''t think for a moment I am not aware of that. I have been in need of a [Mage], and you were in need of avoiding death." He stated, arrow waiting patiently. Ignorant of the force waiting on the string behind it. "But in time, I would like to see this turn towards trust."
"Trust."
"Aye, it''s my belief that a true [Lord] should be able to trust his men. A true [Lord] doesn''t need to force those who serve him into compliance." He answered with his bow held perfectly still, as if tied in place by taut cables. A sharp contrast to his words. Then, he continued. "Did you know, in the Kingdom, they only issue bounties on certain monsters as pairs?"
"I did not." I doubted the calm on my face could cover the rapid thunder in my chest.
"It''s true." His bow didn''t so much as sway, still drawn to full without the slightest sign of effort. "The Guild organizations have strict rules. For these types of monsters, they will only prove payment if you''ve slain two. In fact, some will even go so far as to fine a man they try to insist otherwise."
"I didn''t realize, Baron." I tried not to look at the arrow, brain desperately attempting to think a way out the situation. "I presume there''s a reason?"
"Aye, John." He stated, patiently watching me.
"And what might that be?" I pressed, as the hair on my neck started to rise.
"Certain monsters have a troublesome habit of hunting in pairs. If you kill one, their mate becomes twice as dangerous. Twice as reckless." He answered calmly. "Often, the smarter of that number will even seek revenge. Sometimes, they''ll cross entire continents, just to get it."
Without warning, the arrow loosed. Singing on the wind past my cheek, close enough for the tip to draw blood on my cheek, then passing on by.
The silent forest exploded into motion, and noise.
I dived to the side, reaction far too late, but still very much in effect.
Behind me, tree and underbrush crashed.
There was a howl.
Not ten paces away, with a familiar roar sounded in horrible pain. Then, with a heavy impact which shook the earth beneath my feet, something fell to the ground.
Picking myself off of the ground, bow unstrung from the tumble and quiver of arrows scattered about the trail, I looked back up just in time to seen the Baron grin.
"It''s been a long time since I''ve had wolf."
54 - Ghost
I once had the pleasure of learning from a Royal Historian of the Empire. My close friend, a man known to be a [Scribe] of no small caliber, introduced us. Given that this was a rare opportunity and being of the Scholarly sort myself, I took full advantage to draw them in with all manner of conversation. Perhaps, my curiosity was infectious- or, perhaps they were just a kindred soul: for I soon found they were of the most verbose and exemplary in their explanations. Through great details, they provided me with far more information than I¡¯d ever hoped. Openly sharing not only facts and previously unknown connections, but their personal thoughts on past events. In which, I found there were many details to be inferred, and of the variety that were not recorded by most.
Somehow, our topic of discussion lead us to discussion of the lost island Nation of Logatha, and their conflict with the Empire. This was, I will admit, a subject, in which I was most interested. An entire people, almost completely erased with none the wiser. All records of them, vanishing over the course of a century. Yet, having learned what I could from both the Kingdom to the far south, and the Citadel itself (although I made sure to omit such from our talk) I knew more than most, and I inquired as to what had befallen that place. If there was any truth to the rumors of their rebellion, or if there was some deeper story to be had. I was deeply curious.
Alas, the question must have shaken my conversational companion free of the flow of conversation we¡¯d found. Where there was once a fellow explorer of the past, I found a statue. Where the spark and joy danced behind his eyes, there was but a dull gray. Two pieces of cold and dead glass, looking down upon the map with an emotion I cannot properly define. Our talk had ended, and there would be nothing further on the subject of Logatha, beyond one final statement:
¡°It¡¯s gone now.¡± He said.
....
Despite the Baron''s claim that wolf meat wasn''t all that terrible if it was properly seasoned, upon closer inspection he decided that we wouldn''t be eating it after all. Which, I will just outright state for the record: was something of a relief.
Monsters with saliva that could paralyze a person should not be treated as edible, ever. Add in a sickly scent of rot and blood, the idea hadn''t been very appealing, no matter how many times I was assured that the meal was, quote, "to die for."
Fortune smiled upon me as, nose wrinkled to the point of stretching his scars, the Baron gave the beast a kick and decided it to be lacking. Perhaps, it was because the creature looked somewhat sickly. Whatever his reason, he elected that we simply "burn the filthy thing" before stepping away.
I then realized that by "we" he meant me.
Another test, of course.
Thankfully, I found this one to be an examination of my ability with a slightly less threatening end, should I have failed to completely meet his expectations. If anything, the hunt had been a venture towards some basic level of trust-building, and our previous conversations had settled my thoughts on the matter.
With the added silver-lining that he''d saved my life only a few moments beforehand, of course.
Don''t think I didn''t connect some additional dots, though.
Trust or no, the Baron had almost certainly just used me to lure out a monster. More specifically, one that had probably been after me since I''d stabbed its partner to death near Gregory''s hut. One that absolutely would have killed me, had I been foolish enough to try and run away from the fort before this.
It was hard to think of "trust" while acknowledging that.
Regardless, chilling thoughts could wait for some other time. I made an effort to metaphorically tie those up and throw it somewhere in the back of my mental landscape to be unpacked all later. Perhaps, over a tall mug of ale or three. Maybe a cheap bottle of some sort of spirit, or whatever the cooks might have hidden away.
I had a job to do.
With no further explanation to be had and the Baron''s expectations clear, I went about proving my worth. Sucking in a deep breath of air, I let [Lesser Flame] come to life before my palm, setting my hand down on the corpse. Fire began to roar to life, as I set myself to testing my own abilities. In fact, I was very curious how this would work. With magic rushing through my system, and nothing but careful, quiet, tests, prior to this, I couldn''t help but recognize that this would be my opportunity to see if my hard work had paid off.
[Lesser Flame] began to form under my right hand, warm and steady, as I focused...
And I immediately discovered there was a problem.
Firstly, unlike a torch (which is specifically intended to be set on fire) or a small pocket of air floating above my hand: a dead monster is not nearly so flammable.
While, of course, a person could argue that almost anything is flammable as long as you try hard enough- I found that in this case, dead monster flesh was not very cooperative in that regard. If I had to compare it to something, the corpse was very much the type of kindling you would encounter after a rainstorm. Not to say it couldn''t be set ablaze, but it might need to have some serious help along in the process.
Fernwolves are just that: wolves. If you''ve ever seen a wolf, you will know that they are large, hairy, and have intimidating teeth, but they''re not exactly what someone might use for tinder. People do not start their campfires using wolves. For obvious reasons, they use small bits of wood, or paper, or spam mail, or dryer-lint.
This is a long winded way to say that I was struggling a bit. I wasn''t, though, going to give up.
No, I felt confident I could still salvage the situation. Motivated mostly by the urge to try and avoid wiping out whatever goodwill this hunting trip had earned me with the Baron, I decided I would need to fall back on the only real option immediately available to me. Which was, unfortunately, expending mana at a more rapid pace.
Mana: 91/100
So, it began.
The feeling of magic in my chest flared, and barely a second later, the spell began to rise up in an impressive fashion. As if I had a jet under my right palm, hot air and smoke blasted out in all directions, and for a few seconds, I''m sure I looked to be very much the proper [Mage]. I even heard the Baron let out a rumble of approval, although I was more focused on the fact that it was starting to feel as though I happened to be leaking my very mind and soul out of the palm of my hand.
But even with that, the job was not quite done.
Gaunt and sickly as it had been, I was fortunate that the coarse fur was matted with a sheen of oil and grime. This was helping the process along and making me look quite impressive. From the Baron''s perspective, I could only imagine I looked as though I had truly unleashed a far stronger spell. As wolf hair caught like wildfire, smoke billowing out in all directions...
But, the truth be told, it was simply the creature''s coat of fur was burning up and nothing under it was catching. Roasting away and smelling rather terrible, to be sure, but not catching beyond directly beneath where my hand was resting.
Mana: 71/100
My mana was also running itself empty. I was already down a dramatic amount, compared to what I''d started with just a few seconds ago.Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.
I considered the remaining option.
Magic may be an impressive or terrifying force in this world, but I couldn''t help but acknowledge that mine had the "Lesser" terminology stapled to the front of it. This was, quite clearly, hampering progress.
So, I took a final gamble.
I let it all out at once.
The resulting explosion of fire tossed me backwards. My right arm was thrown up and rotating like the reverse of a ball pitch, and the rest of my body was repelled by the sudden force exerted, as almost every last point of my mana expended itself in a sudden blast. Stumbling, my back foot caught the much-needed balance with a saving-grace I can only explain by the Attribute of Dexterity, and my right shoulder over-rotated more than just a bit with a serious twinge of pain: but the Fernwolf burned for true.
The bonfire rose up, perfectly.
"Gods, that was something." Breathing heavy, I barely felt the Baron set a hand on my shoulder, as he laughed."You''re going to be fucking deadly, lad."
"Thank you, Sir." I replied, as the fires I''d cast moved with unnatural speed. I watched as they devoured the corpse faster than should have been possible. Not simply orange and yellow in color, but greens and dark blues, dancing about as they burned the creature away to ashes.
Silently, the cinders rose up towards the canopy of branches, flickering out one by one, and barely a moment later, there was nothing left. Only a scorched mark on the forest floor, absent of leaves compared to the surroundings. There, the Baron murmured something as he crouched down to poke with a thick hunting knife, plucking free a small stone. Tossing it over, I distantly felt my hands catch the odd piece.
"Wolf had a mana stone." He stated, face contorting into a wide grin. "I take back what I said about your luck, John. Consider it a bonus."
I nodded my thanks, pocketing the item without trying to identify it. I didn''t even look at it.
I wanted to, of course. Both respond vocally, and use my oldest skill to take a look at what might well be the most interesting item to cross my path in recent memory. In fact, I would have done both, were it not for how I was looking out at the world as if I were in the very far back of a long, dark, tunnel.
Oh... I''d overdone things.
Mana: 1/100
One.
Singular.
Low.
I was low.
Stupidly, dangerously, low: I''d lacked proper control and I used far too much. All of the mana had rushed out and I''d just barely cut off the flow before my own spell killed me.
Wordless, I followed the Baron along the trail as our hunt continued. Time passed, and I felt my body work, muscle-memory knowing the steps and balance I needed to have to stay upright.
I could barely believe it was possible.
With every twist and turn of the path, I felt my consciousness trailing along behind my body, as if a balloon tied to a string. Limping along, just alive enough to exist, but nothing more. Thankfully, the Baron seemed content to leave our discussions as they were. Perhaps, he knew of my plight, although I had no way to know for certain.
Onward, we went.
In time, the trail narrowed, and the sounds of town returned. The fort and the hill it rested on, came into view, just as the sun was setting and as we entered, I bowed to acknowledge my dismissal.
Mana: 1/100
The resource wasn''t recovering.
Or, more accurately: if it was, I could see it wasn''t recovering quickly. Instead, it just lingered there at the very bottom, with no signs of movement.
I should have felt horror at that realization. Instead, I only felt exhaustion.
Somehow, I found the courtyard, then the kitchen, then the stairs. I passed as many eyes stared at me, lurking out in the evening crowd. It seemed that meals were still being served, and the kitchen was full of the Baron''s loyal Keepers. Those who had settled into their bowls with hunched shoulders and stern expressions, familiar faces in the mix. From the back, I remember Karen smiled at me, hand on Gregory''s knife at her belt.
She wanted me to see it.
Eyes meeting mine, she dared me once again.
But I didn''t care.
There was nothing to be felt, then.
My lack of reaction caused her smirk to fade into a dull frown, which I know should have brought me some form of satisfaction, but it didn''t.
No surge of anger, or emotion.
No sense of attachment, or thought.
The fire in my chest was almost non-existent. Its faded-ember was kept aglow only by the horrible after-shock of magic having flooded my body.
My body moved on, uncaring, unfeeling, and almost entirely on its own.
In a feeble way, I told myself that I needed to stay awake. That I''d used too much magic, and I should not sleep. That doing so would be dangerous, possibly in more ways than one.
Yet, when the door to my small room shut behind me, my head hit the cloth mattress.
I collapsed in my entirety, and in that state I left the waking world and stumbled into the dream.
...
The Dream waited, just as it had before.
Above me, the Throne sat above a tower of gold, and the crown of the [King] rested upon it. Empty, silent, and cold, it stood as if a monument to some strange God. The steps below, studded with the bones of the fallen, the bottom sunken into the blood sacrificed at its feet.
I found that I could not wake.
Not even as that crown began to shift.
I knew I should not, could not, be here.
Fear gripped me, as I turned and ran. Distance blurring, no longer bound to the laws of motion. The world shifted around me, as I passed through cities, mountains, plains. I sprinted in leaps and bounds for those distant fires I remembered, when standing beside that horrible throne of gold.
The battles raging, on the border of the Empire.
As fast as I could, until my lungs felt raw, I ran.
Yet, no matter how far I went, it was always there.
Always visible.
Always terrifying.
The throne was behind me.
Soon, any moment now, they would know.
I knew I had to escape.
Leaping through the air, the world blurred again. Shifting and shaping around me, until I was among the fires I''d seen. The roaring flames of a battle, echoing into the dream.
Shadows of men falling, as magic rippled beneath the surface. Steel flying through, blinking like lights and stars, into and out of reality. Swords and spears flashed to life as quickly as they faded. Sometimes held in hand, sometimes drifting, like they were phantoms.
All around me, I heard screams calling out like echoes. Rumbles descending through the soil, as the ground splintered into dust and smoke.
And I kept running, through it all.
Step after step, I continued. Past cities, past strange and unfamiliar lands, until I found nothing but waves.
Until there was nowhere left to go.
Yet that golden tower still watched, leaving me torn in my terror as the dark chill of oceans rushed up to meet me, crashing down upon the beach of black sand.
They would find me, soon.
So very soon.
Impassive as death itself, I felt that cold gaze approaching. I felt the whispers of recognition worming their way ever-closer.
They could not find me. I knew beyond any shade of doubt: It would mean my end.
Desperate, I found myself among the spray. Wading in, arms tearing through the surf, I stumbled forward as the bottom dropped away, and my feet could no longer find purchase among the depths.
Then, I swam.
Into the currents, into the waves. Past the shadows and phantoms of ships, I fled.
Anything, to escape.
The farther I went, the farther the throne seemed to get. Unable to follow, my arms fought the sea, as I swam for miles and miles, out into the black.
Out until there was nothing but darkness and waves.
An alien ocean, waiting in silence to take my lost soul.
Alone, under an empty sky.
There were no stars, I realized. There was no sun, no moon: nothing but the deepest dark, no matter how my eyes strained against it.
I felt a different kind of dread, then.
One brought by the churning of force, leaving the surface still, like glass. Fear, which came of old, ancient things, peering up from the ink of this black ocean, in which I tread. Things which bore teeth of gray, and scales of silver, winding upwards from the horrid depths, while I could barely keeping my chin above the surface.
Around me, I could see stillness of the waters, as the ripples of my actions cast out in all directions.
What had I done?
In desperation, I began to swim again. Even as exhaustion gripped me, and strange currents moving beneath my kicking feet, I made my way towards the only thing in sight: the faint shadow of a ship.
Small, wooden, yet tangible, I clawed at its side, pulling myself into the confines of its dark substance, gasping for air.
Was this shelter enough, in the dream?
Had I made it?
I wondered as I pulled myself to my knees, coughing out as much as I managed to inhale. Air in my lungs bringing the heat in my chest back to life. Bringing some small semblance of color, back to my surroundings.
Out on a boat, in the awesome emptiness of an ocean.
Staring back towards the shore, the fires of distant battles seemed to glimmer like candles, but the throne was no longer visible.
There were no eyes watching from that golden monument of death.
Did that mean I was safe?
Could I stay here?
"No." A hollow voice answered. Quiet from where it sat, beside two thick oars, familiar but empty. "This ain''t no place for the living."
There, just outside the light in my chest, he sat. Hunched in silence, just beyond my sight. The outline of a man.
A man I knew.
"Gregory?" I whispered, my voice hoarse. "Gregory, is that you?"
The figure sat in silence.
Around the small boat, I could see the glass of the ocean was changing. Cut apart by sharp fins, cresting up before rolling back down into the deep.
"You shouldn''t be here, John." The shadow replied, unmoving from its seat across the boat.
Even as the waves formed anew, and we began to sway, that shadow did not move.
I saw massive shapes, impossibly large coils, twisting and turning as they slunk beneath the depths. Surrounding, enveloping...
As I turned back, a skeletal hand waited me.
The figure had leaned forward, ever so slightly, into the light.
Bones.
I saw their arm: that of a skeleton, then rotted flesh, then shifting into gray skin that was speckled with mold and tears as they came closer. Tendons and blood dripped and dangling down, splashing about the boats bottom as they turned to dust and shadows. Only one finger, barely settling into shape as a solid mark of gray flesh placed itself against my chest, and pushed.
"Wake up."
I did.
55 - Well Read
The realm in which Heroes are summoned is a strange place indeed. Yet, it is always the Heroes themselves, which fascinate me. I''ve met many, you see. Thousands in total: almost all of who have been used and consumed by the need of our great Empire. Each having been put to the glorious task at hand, to bravely serve their duty. Yet, I can hardly ever remember the legends of that number. Those who still live, to stand beside the [King], or those who have been lost to all but the recollections of [Bard]s... these do not hold my attention. Instead, I find that the few I can never forget, no matter how hard I try, are those who never reach greatness.
For example, I once knew a Hero who became a [Healer]. Uncommon in itself, yet made rarer still, as this was not because they desired to save their comrades, but because they claimed to be striken by a peculiar and terrible ailment. A sickness that they assured us, could never be cured, only treated in an effort to stave off horrible consequences. Mainly due to my own curiousity, I will admit that this Hero was allowed the privilege of being kept within the castle for study. Even when it became clear their use would be limited, instead of being disposed of, they were provided with instruction and were taught the basic craft and bargains with the patron Gods seen to be suitable for the task.
I must acknowledge, to observe this subject was the most curious experience. Watching as they performed lesser miracles upon their own flesh, as if constantly attempting to fight against their own body, and doing so in such a manner and knowledge that left even the higher [Priest] I consulted with, perplexed. With ritual and care, I observed as the Hero summoned the magics with a regularity that seemed to border on the impossible. Their proficiency improved until it was all but unmatched, and their Class had been earned in all but record time. Yet, in the end, despite their efforts, the rapid improvement was not enough. Something was lacking, it seemed. No matter their attempts, they could only slow the inevitable. Slowly, the subjects flesh wasted away. Even after I saw fit to intervene, providing outside assistance in the form of potions and elixers, to both my horror and interest: I watched as their muscle and fat steadily disappeared. Day by day, their features grew to that of a living skeleton, pale, clammy and gaunt.
Oh, how the Hero hated us in those final weeks. Were they not so far gone, perhaps they would have been seen as a risk, for no Skill could bind them into complacency, no logic could deter them. Often, the Hero would demand to be sent back to their world. Arguing to be returned to where the medicine their body needed was surely waiting. Indeed, they continued with such demands, even after they were unable to rise from their bed. Trapped in a husk of body, as the magics flowed about their veins and flesh like a living [Aura] known only to the greatest of the clergy. With power that might have sewn limbs back onto bodies, or brought others back from mortal wounds. Yet, useless in their own case.
And then the subject died.
But, such is the way of Heroes, isn''t it?
....
The messages came hand in hand with nausea.
[Skill - Rank up] - [Void Walker - Lvl 2]
Pinging loudly, in the odd way the status menu can, I felt a pressure between my temples. The return to the waking world came with a throbbing in my chest, a pounding in my skull, and a sensation of "lacking."
None of which, I handled well.
I''ll admit: there''s something to be said for the process one goes through after taking in too much information at once. Living people are not machines, and need time to adjust. Myself being very much included.
For my own coping mechanisms, awareness coming back to me, I rolled to the side of my bunk and vomited over the edge.
I''d almost died.
Again.
The first of many conclusions, and not a pleasant one.
Lying back down, nose wrinkling at the stench I knew I would need to wash out sooner, rather than later, I let my thoughts settle.
Or, I tried to let them settle. I had seen better mornings, surely.
It was all there, cycling through my mind''s eye. The feeling of dead flesh against my chest. That cold chill of horror, floating among my mind. The draining sensation of lacking mana... it wasn''t fun. Laying back down on my bunk, I still felt as if I were rocking atop waves of black glass. As if there were still coils and scales rippling out into the depths of reality around me. All, while I felt the strange rush of the menu letting me know my abilies had improved. Whirling on past, my status floating into sight, clear as the morning sun outside my window.
Name:John
Title:Summoned Hero*
Class:None
General Skills:
Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive
Identify - Lvl 5 - Active
Inscription - Lvl 5 - Passive
Special Skills:
Lesser Flame Lvl 5 - Active
Hide Presence Lvl 4 - Active
Void Walker Lvl 2 - Passive
Blessing of Forgotten Gods Lvl 5 - Passive
Status:
Vitality: 18
Endurance: 26
Strength: 22
Dexterity: 22
Intelligence: 45
Wisdom: 52
Health: 50/50
Stamina: 20/20
Mana: 10/100
So, I was healthy, I concluded. Though my mana was still extremely low, which likely resulted in the drained sensation I was still feeling, I wasn''t in danger from it.
And I had some increases in my listed Skills.
All in all, not bad things, I decided.
The result of using my magic after the hunt was simple enough to understand. [Lesser Flame] was now sitting a bit higher, having finally ticked up to the fifth rank. Perhaps, I considered, it had been since yesterday. Burning the wolf had likely been the trigger for that.
While I was glad it had improved, I was also a little frustrated I hadn''t been aware enough to notice it before. Chances were good: the notification had come up right away and I''d been too low on mana to focus on it. I''d been too far gone to focus on such things.
By my interest that morning was centered on the second ability to have changed. The one, which I noticed was still humming with a notification.Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings.
[Skill - Rank up] - [Void Walker - Lvl 2]
Fascinating... and terrifying.
[Void Walker] quietly provided simplistic confirmation that everything I''d been through in the dream, was real.
Because, of couse it was.
I''d already assumed as much, but I''d been happy to deny it for the sake of my own well-being. Now, that was no longer an option.
Sitting up with an effort, I found the concept of that horrible dream was slipping away. The details were finally starting to escape, fading off into nothing, like dissipating smoke. Yet, I still remembered some of it. Not everything, true, but enough. Repeating and reinforcing the images, sensations, emotions: I knew I could get most of it to stick.
It wasn''t a very pleasant set of memories, but I did my best.
After a long moment, I was simply left with a summary of my observations, no longer able to recall the experience as a whole.
I''d been there, either in the flesh, or in some spiritual equivilant. The rules and physics seemed different from normal reality. Considering that I had all but sprinted across a continent, dashing miles for every leap, it was difficult to claim it was real in the same sense as the cloth beneath me, or the vomit on the floor- but it was still real. Dangerous and unforgiving, operating by its own set of laws: I had a keen understanding that the fear I''d felt was something I needed to treat seriously, and that pretending otherwise would be idiocy at its finest.
At the very least, I could understand that the threats to my life I''d encountered would almost certainly be waiting if I was ever stupid enough to wander back.
Not that I intended on going back, of course.
Because that seemed a rather stupid way to die.
No, I didn''t want to go back. If I ever did enough magic to place myself in that situation again, I was going to staple my eyes open. Hell: I was going to dunk myself into a barrel of freezing water, or chew on herbs that prevented sleep. If my luck ran out, I told myself that I''d stab myself with my own dagger and use pain to keep me awake: Anything to prevent falling asleep and getting murdered by ungodly terrors in that strange and twisted reality.
Or worse.
Rationally, there might be worse things possible. For all I knew, death might be a kindness, in such a place as that.
That was not a place I could simply explore. I''d been lucky to have survived twice, and I didn''t like the odds of surviving a third venture into the unknown.
But, just because I didn''t want to go back, didn''t mean it wouldn''t ever happen again.
Letting the advantage of my Attributes take over, I performed the due diligence such an experience demanded, and I tried to organize my thoughts. There were details I could infer from all of the sights I''d seen. There were any number of facts to be drawn up and simplified for my benefit. To take in everything and visualize it once more: the throne, the battles, the land, the ocean... Running back along the memories one more time...
In the end, I decided that escaping the golden throne hadn''t been a mistake, but the direction I''d taken was. If only I''d found my course and gone elsewhere, instead of sprinting towards the coast, towards the sea.
The depths of those black waves seemed tremendous, indeed. Certainly, I had almost died there, and I couldn''t help but shiver at the thought.
If not for that phantom...
Had that really been Gregory, waiting for me on the boat I''d found? Was it his spirit, or his memory, lingering there? Or, it had been something else? Some entity that was just as horrifying as the creatures lurking beneath the surface, and I''d simply been lucky enough to wake in time...
I wasn''t even sure I wanted to find the answer.
Shaking my head, I got up. Cleaning up the mess, scrubbing the stone floor as clean as I could with a rough set of rags and a half empty bucket of lukewarm water I had not taken to keeping in the corner of my room, I wasted the last moments before sunrise. Then, dressing myself with appropriate attire, I stood and took a moment to stare out the window of my small room. Light was growing stronger, heat returning to banish the cool air of dawn.
It was a new day, now. There were things I needed to do, and they weren''t going to get done sitting in this room.
With one final glance over of my status, I headed out the door.
So much for a "day of rest."
....
The weeks began to blur, just as they had before.
My mana, thankfully, recovered. Sluggishly, at first, then returning to normal behavior, in time. The mana stone I''d been given, remained a curious enigma, as [Identify] provided almost nothing beyond a description of its slightly green coloration and properties. Which were summarized in the simple fact that it contained mana and was highly valued.
I found that to be rather unhelpful.
Of course it contained mana- that was in the name. What could I do with it?
That dead-end lead to little, outside of a few fruitless experiments. I eventually settled to carrying it with me to inspect during my off time.
Though, there was very little of that to be had.
Each day, I rose and attended my duties with Neriah. Quill in hand, ink spinning out into intricate texts, my work was steady. Whatever Neriah did during his day of rest, it seemed to do very little for his personality, or his habit of handing me the tedious and difficult tasks. While I''d noticed the man seemed rather proud of my progress, he didn''t allow me time to slack, and seemingly endless pages were provided for my [Inscription] skill to grind out.
He was a busy man, I discovered. Though his ego was almost certainly inflated by this sense of purpose, I couldn''t help but notice how many came to him for instruction. As the Baron, clearly, was not one for paperwork, Neriah filled in all the gaps left by that mentality. Working at his side, I watched as piles and stacks of papers and scrolls we had prepared, were handed off to several [Scout] or [Messenger] Classed individuals.
Perhaps, this was due to the timing of my peculiar internship.
The Fyrd was approaching, and almost all idle conversation I caught in passing was centered on the subject. Constant chatter was found, in the kitchens, in the yard: many of the [Guard] seemed especially interested, but there were also some new faces, trickling in every so often. Those of whom I had less experience with. People with [Hunter] or [Slayer] Classes. It seemed they were lodging within the fort until the time came for the Baron to make the final decisions. Perhaps, they would be joining the selected Peace Keepers, though I wasn''t certain of it.
On that note: I was quick to recognize that their presence was avoided, and almost as much as my own was. The [Guard] in the fort stayed away from the [Hunter] class as if they were infected with some form of contagious disease, and in turn, I decided to follow their judgement. Which, was rather simple, as none of them seemed interested in getting close to a supposed [Mage].
Nothing against the newcomers, but I was content to err on the side of caution. There was no sense in getting wrapped up in unnecessary trouble, and I knew I could strategically poke and prod information out of Neriah or Gretchen, given enough time.
And I did, a little.
Simple things, really. Basic details, some interesting stories about monster slaying and general talk referencing different towns among the Baron''s territory.
As it turns out, tipping the kitchen staff every so often, more than pays for itself. My friendly relationship with the cooking staff of the fort had continued, my occasional bribe pushing things along at a nice pace.
Perhaps, it is just human nature.
Shameless a tactic as it might be, I''ve found that a person can politely smile at someone, shamelessly pay them for information (while admitting to doing so, no less), and often enough, they''re going to decide they like you. Maybe not quite as a friend, but at least as a fellow worthy of a little gossip, here and there.
Cost-wise, I decided that it wasn''t all that different from bringing donuts into the office.
Even the most stubborn coworker can be bought, eventually.
But really, I just worked.
Quill, ink, paper: I did not falter in my responsibilities. Even when I wanted nothing more than to go outside, to work my body instead of my mind, to use my time for the sake of improving in some other aspect. I held fast, and continued.
My work was for Neriah, of course. Occasionally, I was also called upon by the Baron, which meant walking with him as he inspected the fort, or simply standing next to him as he met with those visiting. I saw new faces, tied together connections of the world outside the defensive walls...
But mostly I worked for myself.
I was close, and I could tell. Every waking moment of every day, I could feel that there was something approaching, like a pressure or an itch in the far back of my mind. Something which told me, in no uncertain terms: "Soon."
Soon.
With every page, with every study session, with every dip of quill into ink, I was getting closer.
Then, at long last, I reached my goal.
[Intelligence +1]
The message struck like lightning. As if that final blockage preventing the information I needed, snapped under pressure.
It was quickly followed by a second:
[Criteria Met]
I blinked, as the flood rushed into my headspace. The menu flashing across my vision.
[General Skill - Obtained] - [Literacy]
[Literacy] Level 1
You have proven yourself dedicated. The Language of Man is but a spoken tongue, yet the art of written scripts is that of the Gods themselves: gifted to mortals long ago. The power to contain knowledge, even as ages pass. As it has been said: a man who reads can live a thousand lives before death, but a man who never reads lives only one.
Oh, I couldn''t help but laugh.
What a rush that was, held up by that sudden epiphany.
Finally!
Alone in that dusty room, I dropped my quill and raised a fist towards the ceiling. I stood on my chair and shouted for joy, before jumping down and plucking the first book I could find off of the shelves. It didn''t matter which, because I had to see. I had to witness what I''d worked for, all this time.
Knowledge.
Knowledge, just there for the taking.
Dropping back into my seat, I grinned from ear to ear. I smiled like the Baron did, madness in my eyes, as I skimmed from word to word, symbol to symbol. Progressing along the page, I found everything I''d been waiting for.
Understanding.
Comprehension.
It was slow, true, but I could work on that. I could grind this Skill, just like any other.
Leaning back in my chair, I sighed in relief.
At long last, I had what I needed.
"You''re going to be fucking deadly, lad." I chuckled quietly, repeating the Baron''s words as I looked up from the book to stare at the massive shelves of texts. Countless volumes, waiting patiently along the walls. "Oh, you have no idea."
56 - Guildmaster
Difficult as it may be for the peasant masses to grasp, an individual''s Class can change. On one''s own, this can be brought about by the natural course of progress, or in rarer cases, something more unpredictable. In such, I reference the so called "Fated Encounter." Or, as others might know it: "The Will of Gods."
For the simpler examples, I cannot help but include the evolution of a [Swordsman] into a [Swordmaster] or perhaps even a [Duelist] if the conditions are correct. For a more relatable tale, every year there is always a story of how a brave [Farmer] Class citizen survived to become a [Hunter]. Yet, the truth of the matter is far more widely spread than just those few examples. Even for a common man of the lowest birth, no matter how destitute. If someone possessing a powerful ruling Class decided to grant said unlucky soul such an honor, it would be within the power of that Ruling Class to raise them up. To gift, conditionally, both a new Class and Title, along with any number of related Skills.
I say all this, in an effort to explain that a person''s destiny is never completely fixed. Be the reason a matter of the Gods, or fate, or the actions of man: there is always hope.
-A Study of the Kingdom and its People
....
"As it stands, I suspect I will be sending at least twenty of my Peace Keepers for the coming Fyrd. That''s far more than I would like, and it is my expectation that each of your regions will, individually, add at least another half to that number." The Baron stated, leaning in to set his palms atop the massive round table. "Any less, and we will fall short of our obligation."
"The settlement of Resan can provide seven." A stern man replied, seated straight as he let out a long puff from a wooden pipe.
"What Class are they?" The Baron turned to him, looming presence causing the table to creak.
"Four [Archer] Class were trained with the longbow in preparation. The rest are [Hunter] Class, but failed in their attempt to meet the Guild''s standards."
"Mmm... and the rest of you?"
"Nine, all combat Classes. Our militia has done well, we are prepared."
"Eight, of the same."
"Six."
"Another eight."
"That''s not enough." Settling back, table groaning in agony, the Baron folded his arms. "Neriah."
"As previously discussed, we could spare an additional six Keepers at most, so long as they are willing." The [Scribe] began, careful in his wording. "Offsetting this, from the funds that would normally go to their salaries, we could divert... perhaps, rely further on the Guild to fill in the gaps left."
The conversation carried on from there.
I half listened for interesting tidbits of information, half watched for potential dangers. Which was my job, interestingly enough. As the [Lord]''s [Mage], it was expected I defend my "liege" from danger.
Not that I was taking this extremely seriously.
As if the Baron really needed to be protected from anything. That was a joke.
I would have liked a few more weeks of personal studying in the scribe rooms to expand my worldly knowledge a bit further, but Neriah caught onto my scheme a little too quickly for my liking. When he returned to check on me after-hours, he caught me red-handed with seven different books open on the table, so it was difficult to deny I''d stumbled onto the necessary Skill.
As he had a habit of doing, I soon found his expectations for what work I would be doing had been raised, yet again. The more advanced assignments came my way. Along with, thankfully, a general summary of my other expected duties in the fort, scribbled in Neriah''s elegant handwriting.
It seemed a [Mage] in the service of a [Lord] was expected to be both a loyal advisor and protector. To act as a strong deterrent for any nefarious activity, by their wit and presence.
Which, I supposed, made sense. If we weren''t in the presence of the Baron, and there was some little terd of a [Lord] at the table, instead, having a Mage present might be beneficial.
Though I would probably have to tactical about it, I felt reasonably sure I could set a decent majority of the room on fire (angry old men very much included) if I wanted to. And I wasn''t even a real [Mage] yet.
If that wasn''t a deterrent for causing trouble, I didn''t know what was.
Not that I really intended to do that.
I was just extremely bored and trying to come up with scenarios that could occupy my thoughts a bit. One of the downsides to Attribute increases, as far as I could tell. I wanted to set my mental teeth into something, instead of standing still and doing nothing.
If anything, I knew the silver lining was that I got to pick up some random politics. It was at least a little interesting to get dragged along to see how everything played out. Even if I was standing behind the Baron, quite a few feet back from the table, it was difficult not to objectively wonder how I''d managed to claw my way into the social privilege to be in this room.
Technically speaking, these were the people who ran everything. At least, locally.
"If you want me to send [Farmer] Class, I will, but we all know they''ll be seen as an insult. We don''t have anyone else."
"You all expect me to believe that you''ve reached the bottom of the barrel so easily?" The Baron growled, slamming his fist on the table hard enough to rattle loose some dust from the ceiling. "You know better than to lie to me."
After three days of mostly peaceful bickering, much to my surprise, things were actually getting somewhat heated.
The upcoming Fyrd had been the subject for some time. Ever since I''d first shown up at the fort, months before, and becoming more and more intrusive background noise, after. At this point, though, it was taking the center stage. Logistics were being hashed out, town leaders were showing up out of, seemingly, nowhere, and the Baron was holding daily meetings to record the details of how many able-bodied men and women were getting sent to serve the Kingdom.
Which, was a considerable number. More and more people were showing up at the fort these days.
My estimation was that it was going to total out somewhere in the ballpark of two-hundred. That was including the twenty or so Peace Keepers the Baron was sending. Which meant, by my best guess, the Baron''s territory was in control of sixteen to eighteen different settlements of varying sizes. Unless I was missing something and there was some sort of additional factor, like a rotation on who sent troops, or settlements that were exempt...
Ruling out the possibility of some settlements sending a single representative instead of several, was also difficult.
At any rate, I figured my numbers were something close to the truth. I knew that I could just ask, at some point, but I didn''t want to cheat to get my answer.
The arguing continued, going nowhere.
Another few hours of this, was my next guess.
I let out a quiet sigh, only to catch a hard stare from Neriah. Ever the professional, the [Scribe] seemed to find my apparently lack of attention grating. Perhaps, he felt responsible for me making him look bad, but I suspected he just had a stick up his ass. One that demanded I at least pretend to pay attention to every word being thrown about.
His slight shift in attention drew in another few glances, as several men at the table took a second''s worth to send an eye in my direction. Towards the quiet oddity of the room.
And there I was, hoping they had all forgotten about me...Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
"I''ve had reports of too many monster sightings. If I am to speak plainly: we cannot hope to mount a defense if we send any more [Archer] Class. Not all of us have town walls to take refuge behind. Our people will have no defense!" Escalated to shouting now. Hand gestures, too... somewhat Italian-vibes.
"You think I don''t know that?" The Baron was like a simmering bucket of oil. "I can spare another pair of [Guard] Class to station if it''s such an issue, but I can''t send those same men South."
"We all know your Keepers want little to do with those beasts. The Guild-"
"The Guild. Costs. Gold." The Baron spit the words back. His anger might as well have manifested into some sort of palpable aura. "Gold that we will not have in excess, should we choose not to send an adequate number. We rely on the Kingdom, as the Kingdom relies on us. I request this one final time: Do not force my hand."
Silence greeted that, adam''s apples shifting in relative unity.
"Gold and kindness?"
I gasped as an arm slipped around my shoulder, and a woman''s voice spoke up just a few inches from my ear.
"Is this what all the men talk about, when they''re alone? I always assumed worse." The voice purred, as I realized that my dagger was missing. "Money and feelings?"
And by missing, I meant spinning about, disturbingly close to my cheek.
I had the passing realization that I might already be dead.
"I like this one, Baron." The woman leaned in a bit, the dagger in her hand settling beside my cheek. "You''ve been holding out on me."
"Hm..." Turning to cast a glance in my direction, the Baron let out a long huff. "You''re late, Guildmaster."
"Some greeting that is." I felt the woman shift, releasing me as she all but ghosted past to the table. One second she was standing beside me, then: she was there. With a loud "thunk" my dagger dropped point down into the table.
"You''re still late."
If the table had been quiet before her arrival, I noted that her presence had somehow made it worse. You could have heard a pin drop, were it not for the minor panic attack that was still thumping away loudly in my chest.
I stared at her. Or, I tried to stare at her.
The Guildmaster was a sleek woman. Dressed in black, hair pulled back, no visible weapons to speak of (ignoring my stolen dagger) yet she seemed to radiate danger. Cold, patient, as if she had a loaded crossbow pointed at everyone in the room, and she knew how to use it.
She was also difficult to look at.
Not because she was unattractive, but because my eyes were sliding off her. Like slipping on oil, it was as if I couldn''t quite fix on her person. As if I could look around the edges of her, at best.
I knew it had to be a Skill, but try as I might, I couldn''t rationalize how the hell it worked.
"Where were you? Your letter said you''d be arriving days ago." The Baron asked, not bothering to look at all. Instead, he eyed the dagger wedged in his table. The others did much the same, while looking like they had also forgotten how to breathe.
"Monsters to slay, people to manage... you know how it is, Baron."
"Aye..." He nodded slowly. "We were just discussing the Fyrd."
"How many more men do you need?" She smiled (or I thought I saw her smile) as she looked over the table. "The Guild is not so heartless. As an organization, we would never skirt such an important duty."
She hugged the line there, and I wasn''t sure if I detected sarcasm.
For all the times I''d heard the Guild brought up prior to this, though, the men seated there seemed to have had their tongues tied. The one with the pipe looked like he was about to choke on it.
None of them were even trying to look at her.
Actually, maybe they were, but it was clear to me that they were failing at it.
"Nine." The Baron answered, making quick eye contact with Neriah, who quickly nodded in response. "Nine will do."
"Mmm... Make it eleven." The Guildmaster replied, cooly. "Half are already here. The rest will arrive once their hunts complete."
"How generous." The Baron''s teeth sounded like metal grinding. Paired with an expression that seemed...
Well, it was much like someone who noticed a coin on the ground, but when they went to pick it up, they stepped in shit. Then, maybe found the coin was a nickel instead of a quarter. Or a seagull just swooped down and stole it, whatever it was.
Torn.
That''s it.
I''ll settle with torn between two emotions, but rapidly tipping the scale towards one of them.
"Most excellent, we are all in agreement." Neriah, thankfully, seemed to interpret the situation and took lead before the Baron went one way or the other. "I have the necessary scrolls completed, if you would all just come this way-"
An easy exit, my long-awaited cue.
I tried to join him. I really did.
Half a step was as far as I got.
"So, what do we have here?" Just like that, the Guildmaster was back. The face that was probably rather pretty, if I could just manage to keep my eyes on it, barely an inch from my own. "You''ve found something interesting."
"You can''t recruit my [Mage], if that''s what you''re wondering." The Baron growled. "John''s in my service."
"I would never." She scoffed.
"You know better than to lie."
"Do I?" I was fairly certain that the Guildmaster''s lip curled at that. "A [Mage] though? With no Class..."
"Don''t let that fool you, the lad burned my beard off when we met." The Baron rubbed at his chin. "Like wildfire, it was."
"Quite the gift, but you know, there aren''t many [Mage] these days carrying blades." Her brown eyes... no, green... no... black? Whatever they were, they had gotten dangerously close. It felt as though they were peering into my soul. "Or come from the Empire, for that matter."
I felt as if I were being stared down by a hungry tiger.
A hungry tiger with a dagger.
"John''s no secret." The Baron stated. "I''ve got plans for him."
"Is that so?" She asked. "What of the Empire''s plans for him?"
"From what I hear, they''ve got far more important things to concern themselves with these days."
"You do like to gamble..." With a flash of silver, I felt my dagger drop back into place, settled cleanly into the sheath on my hip. But she didn''t step away. "He''s a little young and well-groomed for a [Mage], don''t you think? No gray from his chin to his feet. No wrinkles, either." She leaned in, as I fought for my focus, finally locking it in place. "Well, I''ll be damned." Her eyebrows raised in surprise. "You can see me, can''t you, John?"
I could.
Somehow.
If I so much as blinked, I knew I''d lose track and have to start all over, though.
"Don''t tell me you''re interested?" The Baron snorted. "Stop teasing the lad."
"I can''t say I''m not." She answered. "In fact, I''m very interested."
"HA!" The Baron let out a loud bark of a laugh. "Oh, I''m sure the lad''s courted disaster enough to know he''d best avoid your lot."
"I have no doubt." Guildmaster retreated, and I caught a sly smile. "But, sometimes men like that get a taste for it."
Ah.
Well, the conversation had taken an unexpected direction. Obviously, I was being toyed with a bit, but I''ll admit: I was conflicted.
The Guildmaster was either surpressing her Skill, or I''d finally figured out how to focus through it. So, now that I could see her, I could say with confidence that she wasn''t bad on eyes. Well, until I blinked, and ruined everything.
But, conflicted and suicidal are two very different things.
No, I could have been on a dry spell equivilant to the Sahara desert, but I had the suspicion that I''d be safer to try my luck asking Karen to bed, or maybe going out in the woods looking for more wolves. From the impression the Guildmaster gave me, the woman was a different sort of dangerous. One that was just as lethal- if not more lethal, than the Baron.
This was the kind of person I classified as "avoid."
So, I took my out.
Bowing my respects, be it by the Baron''s intervention, or mercy, I finally found my exit. Leaving the room in a brisk walk (that wasn''t a run, but certainly wanted to be) I took to the hall, where I then located Neriah in short order to help him finalize the necessary paperwork in the normal, relative-safety, of the scribe rooms.
From there, I''ll admit: the day was relatively normal.
Surprisingly so, in fact. There wasn''t much actual work to be done in any urgent sense. With Neriah occupied by several people of importance within the fort, I had nothing that was directly keeping me from a quick meal and further review of the many, many, books I had access to. Besides, hiding away in a room that no one else would ever bother to go and look into was my safest course of action in a time when the fort was seemingly crawling with unknown variables. Laying low was the smartest choice.
Or, at least, that was the excuse I gave myself.
The false comfort of a lie. The kind we like to tell ourselves, if only to make us feel better about things we can''t change.
Even in the calm of the room, the scents of dust, and paper, and ink: the chill running down my spine still hadn''t gone away. There it remained, even hours after that encounter. Settled in, tied together with the subtle pressure of eyes watching.
I knew what it meant.
Ever since [Hide Presence] had increased a bit, I could feel those from time to time. Never in a very distracting way, but in a sense that tied with whether or not I was hidden. As I was rarely hidden, just going about the fort doing my normal routine, it wasn''t something I focused on.
But it was something I couldn''t help but notice, especially when I was alone.
By default, when you''re alone, you''re hidden. If no one is watching, no one can see you. In this, there''s a sense of familiarity, and I had grown to the expectation of feeling that confirmation. Knowing I was out of sight, out of mind...
Instead I was getting a prickling pressure of watching eyes.
Eyes, that never left.
As casually as I could, I tried to seek them out, of course.
I dropped a book when I was alone in the hall, just to pick it up and sneak a glance behind me.
When I was eating dinner, wedged in the corner, by the counter...
But I couldn''t see them.
Only sense them.
Returning after my meal, reading alone in the scribe room I''d come to think of as a place of refuge: it was back. I had that sensation: as if someone was standing right behind me. As if someone were reading over my shoulder.
They were there.
Beyond any doubt, they were right there-
But as I got up, putting a book back on the shelf to switch with another: I was alone.
Even though I knew, that was very, very, far from the truth.
Following.
Everywhere I went, they were following me.
The feeling only got worse when I flared [Hide Presence] to full burn as I rounded a corner, heading up the stairs from the kitchen in a sudden effort to break the line of sight.
Oh, that just made it worse.
In that instant, I knew I had fucked up. As badly as anyone can ever hope to fuck up. It only took a second, and the pressure of watching eyes was infinitely worse.
I felt as if someone were only a foot away from me. As if they were all but breathing down my neck. As if the action of using [Hide Presence] had only spurred on my pursuer.
I quickly squashed that skill and decided that had been a horrible, horrible mistake.
But there was nothing I could do about it.
No, the feeling didn''t fade unti I shut my door behind me, and lay down in my bunk. Then, and only then, did it fade.
I was so happy, I could have cried.
"The sooner this Fyrd business is done, the better." I muttered to myself, turning over to sleep.
There, I remained. Still, silent, breathing as regular as I could ever hope to convincingly fake.
Not sleeping, of course.
No, just pretending as best I could that I didn''t feel those same eyes return, watching me from my window.
The Guildmaster had not lied.
She was interested.
She was very interested.
And I was terrified.
57 - Cautious
Children rarely earn a Class, yet that does not mean this is impossible for a child to accomplish. Although rare, throughout history, there have been several notable cases. Almost all of which also happened to rapidly acquire Titles that lend themselves towards the process. Those renowned as "Genius" or "Adept."
Truly, it is no real surprise that this is the case. A person with such Titles will easily go about advancing Attributes and learning Skills, be they a child or an adult. Advancing Attributes at a far more rapid pace than normal will also lend itself well to obtaining a Class far earlier than most. The Empire''s "Heroes" alone, are more than enough proof of this.
Yet, on the subject of Titles known only to children, few detailed accounts exist. Historians of all nations, appear to care little for the collection of such information. Children are of little consequence to much of anything, after all. No wars have been won by gangs of street urchins, nor thrones toppled. What does it matter if they possess unique Titles, if the benefits these grant are lackluster at best?
To that, I cannot argue. I can only say that I find them fascinating, all the same.
For example, I once met a young boy who had earned himself the Title of "Trickster" on his seventh summer. From the story I was told by the Elders of his village, it seems the lad''s habit of pranking whomever he could, manifested. Perhaps, brought about by shared recognition in the town which he lived. Thus, the boy acquired the Title while still lacking a Class, and also obtained a few odd Skills he would never have been expected to possess otherwise. And this is but one account of many, having since seen others, or heard of others, with similar (although perhaps less memorable) situations during my travels.
And, it is in these observations of mine, that I believe a simple truth of the world can be gleaned. One that has been overlooked by many, who set their eyes towards only the greatest and profound examples. For a Title is not like a Class, yet it can still have an undeniably powerful impact upon a person''s progression in life. Though the benefits are often far more subtle than that of a corresponding Class, it is always better to have a Title, of any sort, rather than to lack one.
Yet, therein lies the careful difference. What sets these two, Title, and Class, apart.
A young "Trickster" will be expected to grow out of such a Title, given enough time. In fact, it is all but a given that they will not be branded as such for the rest of their life, lest they go out and seek out a rather peculiar Class such as [Jester] or another of similar temperament. Unlike a Class, a Title is far more versatile, far less fixed, and far more dependent on the whims of mortals. These odd marks of identity and status we wear, change with us. They do not truly define us, so much as we define them.
Though I am no true [Meister] of the subject, I believe my personal experience can allow me to safely generalize that a Title is but the living summary of a person. One that is carried with them, very much in the present sense. Not only through the eyes of those around them, but far more importantly: themselves.
....
As the week passed, and my second shadow continued to trail along, I soon recognized that there were many parts of my life I strongly preferred to keep private. Things, which I learned that I had been taking for granted. Completely oblivious to their importance in my everyday life.
Sleeping, for example. That was the first, and most noticeable.
Every night when I set myself down to sleep, I did so with a visitor. Silent, invisible, but very real, they would slink into my room. They would sit at my desk, or flick through the pages of whatever book I might have left out. Sort through whatever herbs I had used [Identify] to deem worthy of collection, or worse: eat the jerky I''d bought from one of the cooks.
Only, hours later, would they leave. Evidence of their visit almost impossible to prove.
And this was simply the first of my troubles.
There were more.
My work, for example, was the second. My concentration always being gnawed at from the outside, as the pressure of watching eyes settled on my shoulders. Or worse, over my shoulder, as if inspecting and judging the state of my penmanship.
Even if my newly acquired "friend" didn''t interfere, I knew they were present.
And that was enough.
Nowhere was safe.
Getting a full night''s sleep was difficult, but it was the unease of my more primitive instinct buzzing in my skull, warning me that an unknown threat was lurking, which made even the few hours I did achieve, less than suitable for my purposes.
Working for Neriah had begun to wear on me as a result of this. It was difficult enough to start with, but the added layers of tension and lack of sleep, it had begun to hold me back. What used to only take a few hours, took far longer.
Eating a peaceful and private meal, while reading a book?
Also troublesome.
My second shadow seemed to have little concern for social taboos, and it quickly became a problem. Not just because of how uncomfortable the situation was, but because it was keeping me from focusing on things I desperately needed to hold attention on.
That was my everyday existence, truly. Focusing intently on tedious tasks. Even more so, ever since I''d managed to earn the [Literate] Skill, as I''d made it a habit to spend almost all of my free time nose-deep in texts: careful to absorb all the information, odd or useless as most of it was, in the hopes of expanding my worldly understanding. And, while this was now (with the help of my new Skill) very possible for me to do, it was also very slow.
A snail''s pace, when I wished badly to sprint.
Similar to how [Inscription] had passively behaved when first earning the ability, I moved down the page at a snail''s pace. When reading, each word I translated into something comprehensible took a few seconds, and though I could eventually get through whatever texts I set myself upon, the act of doing so required a great deal of attention. From one word, to the next, to the next...
In essence: distractions were unwelcome.
And, I''m pretty sure they knew that, because this odd game we were playing had a very real sense of amusement layered into the very fabric of it.
Sometimes, I almost felt I could hear laughter.
I made the best of things, though. Truthfully, it wasn''t as though being near another person kept me from reading at all. This only slowed me down, but by doing so, it also slowed down my ability to increase the Skill''s level. In that, I recognized that my progress was being held back.
Plus, I couldn''t help but feel a nagging worry that everything I did was being summarized to tell a story about me. Like a thousand little hints, coming together, it wouldn''t take a genius to start to question what books I selected, or who I spoke with, or what I did in my free time. All it took was patience and time, and all of these could start to be condensed into something that might not be in my best interest for another person to puzzle out. The longer this went on, I knew there were greater and greater odds that the person watching me would naturally start the process of picking apart what I might know. Or much more likely, might not.
While I had already decided that I would continue to chip away at my ignorance as quickly as possible, I didn''t feel the need for others to recognize it.
But, there was one other major category of trouble. Outside of losing sleep, or struggling in my studies, or any of the other little things that I personally prefered to keep private. On a much more serious note, I found that practicing magic was almost impossible.
Of course, just like studying, there was a need for concentration. Added to this, was also the real chance of danger to my surroundings, should something go wrong. Those were well and good, and both valid reasons for concern. Yet, I''d done well up until this point in keeping my abilities nestled safely out of the public eye. For those in the fort, my strength with magic was still in the realm of speculation, and what I could really do was a secret I kept close.
The Baron did occasionally poke and prod, and there had been witnesses to prove I could summon fire in a general sense, but outside of this, my abilities were not something I shared. If someone ever thought to wonder "Could John burn me alive?" I wanted them to simply assume the answer was "Yes."
I did not want them to think further.
Simply put, I knew that the moment someone realized my limits was also the moment they could risk testing them. As I wasn''t keen on finding out what that might be like, I was strict with my efforts to only show what was necessary, and only when directly commanded by the Baron to do so.
So, having someone watching, brought my magic-related activities to a screeching halt.
I limited myself to simple meditation and breathing exercises, at best. Regular practices that fit into my daily routine, without any further exertion. The most boring methods for practice I could possibly imagine, without any true experimentation.
As the days passed, perhaps I shouldn''t have been surprised to find my temper was wearing thin.
At the slightest irritation, my magic was starting to flare. Beating with my heart, as if fanning its own flames: aggressive and angry.
Nothing I did seemed to be considered off limits to my new, seemingly invisible, friend. No matter where I went, or what I did. It seemed that my only choice was to be conservative with what I was willing to show them, and hope they got bored, eventually. In fact, I''d taken to trying to be as boring as possible (as much as it pained me) in an effort to make them suffer with me. Reading some of the worst ledgers that Neriah happened to have available. Sitting still for hours, breathing in front of a candle''s worth of flame...
But, it never seemed to make a difference.
And as much as I didn''t want to play, the game this situation had turned into, continued to be played.
Me, and my silent, invisible, companion: dueling in the most tedious ways imaginable.
They knew that I was aware I was being watched, and they knew I was patiently testing the waters on finding a reliable way to detect them. My new habits of positioning myself into the corner of any room I could. The random times I would stop short of a corner, and turn to take a different route to my destination. The newly acquired method of shutting doors I would have normally left open, just to see if they''d open "on their own."
Is it strange that I could almost detect amusement in the feeling of watching eyes? As if this was all a source of tremendous entertainment?
I''ve no doubt it was.
For them, though.
Not for me.
My privacy, despite my best efforts, was all but dead. Those watching eyes were a constant force, orbiting around me. The rare hours of time when the prickling sensation of being watched would fade, was almost worse than when I knew they were nearby, because I could never predict when they were going to return. Always at random, always with no pattern or discernible reason.
There was but a single exception.
The one taboo that could not be crossed.
How low must a man stoop, to fall back on this one, final, precious, realm of safety? To seek shelter in the most sacred of hallowed halls...
The toilet.
I''m talking about the toilet.
The loo.
The ol'' outhouse.
The shitter.
Yes.
It is a forgotten subject, perhaps. The variety of which, I like to think that I''ve made sure to cleverly omitted from most of my recollections. Make no mistake though: should I be demanded, I could go into tremendous detail. From covering the strange oddity of what restrooms in the Baron''s fort were like, relative to those within the Empire, or even the Mercenary camp. To discuss the nuanced differences in the concept, and execution, of such things.
But, instead, I will simply say that if you''ve ever gone into a campground outhouse, you can let the rest of your imagination do the work.
The latrines of the fort were a far cry from the modern world of technology. There were no flushing toilets, hand-dryers, or adorable little plates with see-through soap stuffed full of plastic sea creatures. The Baron''s fort had a far more spartan design: Framed with wood, fitted with a relatively flimsy door, the simplistic restrooms provided an impression that was not far from a coffin with a seat. Cramped, narrow, somewhat smelly unless you managed to get the one on the end of the row, where the more freshly dug pits were located, and thus not quite as terrible. Each one had an impressive variety of spiders that had an awful habit of crawling in all the worst places: but I''d begun to think of them as sanctuary.Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.
For, this was the one place no one would dare to bother me.
I mostly got over going to the bathroom when I was with the Mercenary company, as leaning off an open log over a pit is hardly the definition of privacy, but I quickly re-adapted to the luxury of solitude as it returned.
Especially, because visits to this location were only times my second shadow seemed to accept looking the other way.
On the first day, I thought it may have been a fluke.
On the second, I recognized there might be a pattern.
By the third day, I''ll admit I had begun to abuse the privilege, and I brought reading material.
The [Jousting] Skill is of great renown within the Kingdom. Granting an [Aura] upon the weapon used in conjunction with the ability, [Jousting] is prized for both its utility in combat and sport. Those of the [Knight] Class, especially, hold the Skill in especially high regard.
Recognizing the words was still rather slow for my tastes. Having only managed to boost [Literate] to level three, I was forced to take things line by line. Which, bothered me to some small degree, but was relatively balanced by the sense of real progress compared to how I''d started. My estimate, was I''d be to a comfortable speed in a few weeks.
Used for competitions of honor, it is also a favorite selection for settling disputes between angered factions, as well. As the ability can turn even padded-spears lethal, these trials by combat can, at times, be interpreted as proxy battles to more gruesome displays of combat.
I''d selected this text, simply because I''d found some references to Skills and Classes that seemed somewhat applicable, and because the [Knight] Class was a subject that held my attention. At this point, though, I was staying for the less important details.
Of the most famous in recent memory, Coachim Jator, [Honor Guard] of the Second Royal Prince, killed thirteen men in a row. Joining the competition due to an insult to his late wife''s memory-
I jumped, as I was interrupted from this interesting bit of drama by a loud knocking on the door.
Cramped in the tiny space, the sound was deafening.
"The rest are available." I answered loudly, shaking my head in irritation before flicking to the next page, careful to hold the fire in my hand a safe distance from the leather binding.
I needed practice, and the flame helped with the smell. So, it was something like two birds with one stone, in my opinion.
Coachim Jator was then challenged to another duel, in response. Kelth Soel, brother of one of the slain, second son of a rival family, summoned Coachim in a public manner. Known for ruthlessness in battle, Kelth was held in high regard-
I skimmed a bit.
There were a few further details marking the tournament-worthy [Knight] Skills, some notes on the victorious individuals. I found it was interesting that those who claimed the highest rank in their abilities were not always the winners of such events. In fact, the results seemed to vary quite a bit, often relying on secondary Skills to assist.
Who would have imagined a subject like this would have such valuable insight?
The knocking came again, even louder than before.
"You have my apologies. There are other stalls available." I answered a second time, squinting to get a closer look at the new text that awaited me. Personal details of random historic figures was well and good, but...
The door was abruptly pulled open.
"Hey!" I shouted, looking up in surprise. From my seat, book now closed on my lap, flame ready in hand, I frowned.
Looking out on the open courtyard, there was no one present.
The stone wall separating this from the training yard was empty, without any [Guard] visibly on watch. In the distance, I heard the muted sounds of practice weapons, mingling with the chirping of birds. The speckles of living grass among the muddied ground swayed in the wind, and my line of sight couldn''t help but drift off to the left.
Then, drift to the right...
Then the left again...
I heard a soft snort of laughter
"Ah." I muttered, letting out a slow hiss of irritation as I leaned forward to grab the rope handle. "So that''s how it is."
I closed the door again. Then, I gave the rope another pull, so it was snug with the frame.
"Go bother someone else." I muttered.
Lighting the flame back up above my palm, I looked down to realize that my choice of reading material was missing.
"And here I was, hoping to catch you reading more exciting books." A woman''s voice reach me, muffled, through the door. "This is a little dry, don''t you think?"
I let out a long sigh.
"Well, here I was, hoping that you''d finally lost interest in me." Grinding my teeth, I settled the irrational feelings of anger that were starting to smolder. "That, maybe, you''d gone off chasing someone else."
"If there was anyone else even half as interesting as you, perhaps." The woman replied. "Truly, I''ve only become more curious."
"Curious is one word for it." I muttered back, rubbing at my temples with my free hand, rolling the small fire above my palm in a slow circle. "Stalking, is another."
"I believe the socially accepted term would be ''courting,'' Hero."
"Somehow, I doubt that."
"Mmm... so, are you going to stay in there all day?" The question drifted through. "Seems a waste of a beautiful afternoon, if you ask me."
"That depends." I answered. "Are you going to stop following me around if I do?"
"Of course."
"... You know, it''s rude to lie so brazenly."
"I''m not lying."
"You''re definitely lying."
"How can you tell? Did the Baron teach you his Skill?"
"Very funny." I grumbled, catching another snort of laughter and the exaggerated sounds of pages being flipped.
"It''s rude to keep a woman waiting."
With another sigh, I stood up and pushed the door back open.
The Guildmaster stood before for me. In plain sight, this time, as if she hadn''t been almost completely invisible just a moment before.
Dressed all in black cloth, with nothing that even remotely resembled armor, she cut a sleek figure that seemed to radiate that same supernatural grace I remembered. Thin fabric, the likes of which I felt resembled dyed silk, set with her gear to give the impression of subtle but oppressive wealth. The type of clothing that could never be afforded by most, yet seemed intentionally crafted to avoid flaunting that fact.
All this, tied to a snug fit that carried to her shoulders, where it ended with a thin, matching, scarf.
Closing the book with a soft "clap," I could tell she had a wide smile on her face. As if she was rather pleased with herself. And, though it was still difficult to focus on, I recognized that same smile that only got wider when she saw my stony expression.
"So." I snuffed out the flame in my hand with a thin stream of smoke as I glared at her. "What do you want?"
"Cutting right to the chase." She grinned. "Look at you."
"It is my utmost regret that my service to the Baron is the only thing keeping my head from being removed from my neck, so I''ll have to decline any job offers."
"Who said anything about a job?" She tilted her head to the side.
Frowning, I didn''t answer. Instead I extended my hand, waiting silently until my book lightly dropped back into my palm.
"Now-"
I didn''t wait for her to continue, quickly turning to walk towards the stone stairs that lead up the walltop, ignoring the exaggerated gasp of surprise that followed after me. Then, matched my pace.
"Tell me, how does someone of your talents find their way to a place like this?" The Guildmaster asked, crossing the yard with perfectly silent steps. "The Baron wouldn''t say much more than his Keepers brought you in."
"Luck." I answered, determined to ignore her as best I could as I increased my pace.
"Mmm... a Hero escaping the Empire take a lot more than simple luck." She replied. "Especially, one like you."
"Just luck. Sorry to disappoint."
"Rumors say all sorts of things, of course. Talk that you survived a shipwreck and swam to shore, or that you smuggled yourself in. Perhaps, stowing away on a trading vessel. Some, even suggested Magic."
"Creative guesses." I replied, continuing on my path as she listed theories, while aware that her playful tone seemed to jump around me as if it weren''t fixed to her person at all. "And what do you think?"
"They''re all wrong, of course." She replied, confident.
"Why''s that?"
"Simple." The Guildmaster stopped at the top of the railing, turning about with an elegant spin. "Because you came through the forest."
I slowed down.
"That''s..." I held my tongue, looking up to find her sly smile waiting for me.
I hadn''t really told anyone about the specifics of how I''d ended up here. In fact, for the fear of truth being stranger than fiction, I''d avoided the subject altogether.
Sure, Gregory had known some of the details. Mostly on account of how he''d been there to fish me out of the ocean. The Baron knew some of the others, on account of questioning me. But in neither of these examples, had I gone out of my way to elaborate.
I''d escaped the Empire, and I''d wound up here.
The Baron seemed content to know that I hadn''t lied to him about the details he''d considered important, and the rest didn''t seem to matter.
"... That''s an interesting theory." I finished, resuming my original pace up the steps. "Someone like me, crossing a forest filled with poison. You''ve got quite the imagination."
"Imagination has very little to do with it." She skipped along as I reached the top of the stairs, continuing along the battlement. "Come now, so cautious... Your secrets are safe with me, John."
"I''m not so certain." My eyes narrowed as she dragged out my name just a little too long for comfort.
"Oh, share a little." She pressed. "Or is this a ''once burned, twice shy'' situation?"
"It''s something like that."
All it took was a blink, and her boots had soundlessly pranced atop the battlement of the wall. Light steps, and she was skipping about the defenses.
"Surely, there''s an interesting story you could share?" Light as a feather, the Guildmaster walked backwards along the edge, clearly holding no concern for the chances of falling. "There must be something."
"Nothing comes to mind."
"Here you are: a Hero from the Empire who knows magic, yet is clearly without a Class." The Guildmaster laughed. "And you haven''t had a single unusual experience worth sharing? Somehow, I doubt that."
"There''s nothing." I sensed my deflects were growing stale, as her smile lessened.
It was getting more difficult to keep eyes on her.
"Just the fact that you''re still without a Class is odd, all on its own. Suspicious, even, with the way you Heroes tend to go."
"And what way would that be? I''ll be a [Mage], soon enough." I answered. "At this point, it''s only a matter of time."
"Really, you believe yourself a [Mage]?" The Guildmaster hummed in a questioning tone, strolling along beside me- if raised up a few paces by the walltop.
"That is my profession, at this point."
"Down to your very soul? The fiber of your being?"
"I would hope so." I raised an eyebrow at the questions. "You really find that to be a strange concept?"
"It''s just..." She let the words hang, clicking her tongue. "You see..."
"It''s just what?" I took the bait with a grimace, stopping to fully face her.
"Well, it''s that you''ve got some rather particular Skills for someone looking to become something as boring as a [Mage], don''t you think?"
"I don''t see what''s so boring about a-"
"Old men, floating in their city. Tinkering with tools, fiddling with complicated things." She scoffed. "You could do better."
"I have Magic." I defended. "And maybe I like boring."
"Fair, Magic isn''t a common thing. Certainly, it helps your chances" She shrugged with the admission. "But, I don''t believe you to be a boring sort. Not for a second."
"Why''s that?" I stopped myself, realizing I''d been clenching my fist.
Anger had gotten the better of me, and the Guildmaster had somehow drawn me into the conversation. I hesitated, tempted to turn and continue along the wall, only to have her drop down in my path.
"Because we''re the sum of all of our pieces, in the end." She answered, leaning towards me. "That [Hide Presence] you''ve got, for example. And the other one..."
I suddenly found her very difficult to look at. As if she was dissolving into the wind.
"What other one?" I asked, careful in my tone.
"I think you might know." Her voice answered, seemingly sounding from no direction at all, as she slipped from sight. "That which was given, as much as earned."
Her words had been slipping, I realized. No longer quite as playful, no longer quite as subtle. Glancing to the railing, a small sense of worry trickled down my spine. She was still very close, but I had no way of telling exactly where.
Slowly, I turned about the walltop.
"I have a few tricks up my sleeve." I answered, warily. "Like anyone."
The smoldering fire I''d extinguished in my palm began to sputter to life, as I felt the wind shift. It seemed a small and pitiful weapon, compared to the chill which circled me.
"Like anyone." The Guildmaster''s voice echoed. "I''d expect nothing less."
There was pressure, now. A tremendous sense of mounting danger, quickly drawing closer.
Concentrating my breathing, I felt the magic grow and feed on the mana I could give it: readying to flare out in a violent burst at a second''s notice-
"None of that, John." My wrist was caught, locked in a quiet vice as I felt a finger trace along the nape of my neck. "You''re much too cautious."
"It''s a learned behavior." I answered, wary of the touch resting on my neck. The pressure there only lessened as the flame in my hand was choked out.
"Mmm." Her hum of acknowledgement came with an edge. "I do like that about you."
"Do you, now?"
"Oh, yes."
"I don''t suppose this is how you ask every man out for a drink?" I joked, weakly, trying not to think about how she had my life in her hands, fingers at my neck as certain a death as a Fernwolf''s jaws.
She laughed at that, but it was cold. Emotionless.
As if she were an entirely different person from the one who had been dancing about, just moments before.
"No, John." She answered, voice like ice. "You''re a particularly special case."
My breath caught, stopped by a sudden and visceral feeling of death. As if the sun had gone gray, as if I had dropped into freezing water, I was frozen as her hand wrapped softly around my neck to pull me forward. Towards those color-shifting eyes, and a face that was no longer smiling.
Eyes of gray turned to black.
"Look very closely." She commanded. "Do not look away."
I did.
Letting the image form, as if surfacing from beneath waves of mist.
At first, I saw almost nothing.
Just the barest outline, that slowly solidified into a single understandable line, while the rest remained obscured. Hidden entirely from my view.
Title: Guildmaster
???
???
Layered beneath Skills, it was pale and ghostly, but it wasn''t done.
I had used [Identify] this way, many times before. On inanimate objects, on people passing by, but this was different. As I pressed forward, pushing the skill to see deeper: it let me in.
As if sinking, down into the depths.
Farther and farther, I carried on. Deeper, until pressure was building in my skull and the unknown details blurred. Twisting about, as they came into focus. Instinctively, I felt the pattern of mana begin to strum behind my eyes. The magic in my veins was flowing, now. Bringing with it a familiar clarity of mind, as the visage formed. Assembling into legible text, one fragment at a time.
Title: Guildmaster
Class: Assassin
The Class read like a knife cuts: as if the word itself were honed with a scent of blood and death. Yet, there was just one more tiny fraction waiting. One that I found that I was being allowed to see. Though I could go no farther, there was a sense of motion. As if a final piece was being pushed towards me. Coming up from the bottomless depths of shifting smoke, cresting on its arc to become visible for only the faintest instant.
But that was enough.
With the whisper of a thousand voices, I could feel the recognition crawling beneath my skin. The scents of storm, of ancient stone, of darkness, and of what mortals cannot know.
Blessing of Forgotten Gods
I stumbled.
[Skill - Rank up] - [Identify - Lvl 6]
My mind spun about, reeling from the sudden shift. Hands against warm stone, I realized I was gasping for air, leaning against the stone of the battlement wall.
"We all have secrets to keep." The Guildmaster spoke quietly. "But this is one we share."
"What does it mean?" Steadying myself, I turned as her presence all but vanished from the world.
"Caution is well and good, if you have time. For those who can spend decades up in an ivory tower, in the sky." She answered. "But for the rest of us, a little push never hurt."
By the time I had found my feet again, she was gone.
Truly gone, in fact, for the sense of watching eyes did not return as the day passed. No longer was there a sense of my ever-present, wandering, shadow. It was as if I had been freed, abruptly allowed to have peace for the hours before dinner, and several after.
But my mind was not at rest.
What was that, and why had she shown me? Simply because we shared the same strange "Blessing?"
Was she friend, or foe, or something in between?
Yet, I found that reversing the game that the Guildmaster and I had shared over the past few days, was impossible. As if she''d disappeared from existence, I could find no trace of her within the fort. By the time night had fallen, I accepted that I would have to go without answers.
It was a strange feeling, wishing for the pressure of watching eyes, lurking in the dark.
But they didn''t return.
Even as I returned to my room, closing the door behind me: no eyes waited from the window ledge. In the dark, candle''s flame of fire lifted above my palm, I was completely alone.
Letting exhaustion take me, I lay down in my bunk, my thoughts settling. Slowly swirling down the drain, towards slumber, it was only just as I was closing my eyes, that I turned to seethe glint of metal.
Stabbed into the headboard, a blade waited. Pinned with it, was a folded piece of parchment.
Pulling the blade free, turning it over in my hands, I felt dread settle in the pit of my stomach. One that only worsened as I read the note. Scrawled in a careful, elegant, script.
"Wear it well."
Gregory''s knife had found its way back to my possession.
58 - Trouble
First they came for the Northlands, and I did not speak out¡ª
Because I was not a Northlander.
Then they came for the Nations of the West, and I did not speak out¡ª
Because I was not a Citizen of those strange lands.
Then they came for the East, and I did not speak out¡ª
Because I was not a member of their Republic.
Then they came for me.
Hear my plea.
The last of our [Folk Hero] have been lost, and The Black Roses are becoming exhausted. Our allies are falling, slivers at a time. As if the Empire has no concern for life, it is clear they will gleefully lose a thousand battles simply to win a single war.
We stand beside the edge of this cliff, inching closer by the day, with our swords drawn for the final, bitter, fight.
I only ask the Kingdom stand with us, before it is too late.
....
Even as I was left in peace, with the sensation of watching eyes no longer a concern, I slept poorly that night.
Atop the thin blanket, with Gregory''s knife tucked safely on my belt, I lay staring up at the ceiling. I would say I was lost in thought, but it was much the opposite. There was too much to think of, and I''d given up.
My thoughts towards the future, my goals in this strange world. If I would ever see home again- if I even wanted to. As I forced my eyes closed, I felt as if I did so in an effort to shut out the world. As if prying at some method of letting my mind spin itself out. Slowly, I let exhaustion take me, breathing settling into the careful pattern that I''d learned through my spell practice, as my pulse settled.
And I drifted.
As if rocking back and forth, or a leaf on a windless day. I began falling towards a place that was familiar.
Where a sky of colorless shades fit above an endless ocean of black glass.
There was no lingering mana to draw me within the fabric of that place: yet I could recognize the boat, rocking on the sea of night. Far from shore as we were, I could see the glint of gold, waiting should our vessel dare approach. Where the throne loomed like a mountain, watching over its ever-expanding territory.
Turning about, I could see the waves were already awakened, as if I were a stone thrown into an endless puddle. Ripples shook out, polished glow showing hints to the darkness below. Until, of course, these too did settle, leaving nothing but stillness behind.
There, the two of us waited in silence. Myself, and the man who held the oars. The skeleton wreathed in shadows.
As time passed, the oars began to move in a patient manner, guiding us along the unseen currents. Though the silence never broke, I found I did not mind. For there were no words to speak. Nothing like that was needed, I simply understood that I was being shown something.
The coast blurred, scenery shifting, cliff face rising up from the sandy beaches that had once held the coast. Where, atop them, dark forests of strangeness and death waited. With each passing of the oars, we leap ahead. Miles blurring together in an instant, until the motion finally drew still again.
The waves had returned. More numerous and violent than I had ever seen. Cresting shards of glass, cutting into themselves. Sharp and jagged edges, stirring up whirlpools that sank to disturbing levels below.
But I paid these no mind, as my attention was commanded by a skeletal hand, pointing towards what I was meant to see. There, my eyes followed to the sight of sails.
We were no longer alone.
Heavy and dark, they rose above the ocean. Masts like spears towards the sky, stained with red, and violence, as they cut a swath that parted the waters. Waves rose and fell with supernatural grace, sending jagged edges along the surface of glass.
But it was the emblem, emblazoned upon them, which stole my attention.
A horrible shape, I''d hoped so badly to put behind me and forget.
I watched them, until I awoke once more.
[Skill - Rank up] - [Void Walker - Lvl 4]
The message faded, even as a sense of relative urgency lingered.
The dreams had been creeping up in regularity, as had the Skill. This wasn''t the first time it had recently ticked up another level.
Which, was worrisome.
Dressing myself for the day ahead, I wasn''t sure if I should be concerned by that fact. There hadn''t been any information on the subject in the fort''s library of texts. Or at least I hadn''t discovered any yet, and I suspected asking about prophetic dreams might make me seem mentally unstable, so I''d resisted the urge to ask Neriah if he knew of anything.
Though, there was one person I might be able to ask.
Glancing down the knife now tucked beside my dagger, I considered leaving it in my room for a moment.
Then, I considered what the Guildmaster might do, if I tried.
Her note had indicated that wasn''t an option. Besides, if I played along, she might be willing to answer some questions. Saying, of course, I answered some of her own.
And that I could find her, in the first place...
I frowned at the thought.
There was no way I''d be able to find her unless she decided it, and I had the nagging suspicion that she wanted a lot more than conversation...
Stepping out into the halls, I mulled over my best course of action. Dealing with dangerous women wasn''t a subject I could say I had a tremendous amount of life-experience with, but it was clear that she wanted something specific from me. And something that, perhaps unfortunately, didn''t involve getting me between the sheets.
Though, maybe she wanted that too.
Hell, if that was all I needed to do to get answers, I''d probably commit to it as a best-case scenario, but I had my doubts. She was quite difficult to get a read on, but that seemed far too simplistic a solution.
Mind clouded by these thoughts, I fetched myself breakfast from the kitchens, making sure to pass a few compliments to the cooking staff, before heading towards the Scribe rooms.
I didn''t make it that far.
"Nice knife." Karen stopped me short with an arm outstretched in my path, as I made my way to the hall.
I hadn''t noticed her. Cloak on, hood up, I realized she''d probably been waiting in the kitchen since before I''d arrived.
"It is." I answered, unable to pass further. Carefully, I tried to step around her, but she moved with me: blocking the exit.
"Tell me, where''d you get it?"
"An old friend." I answered, glancing about the room. Quiet had fallen, conversations muffled.
There were a lot of people watching.
This all just screamed "trouble."
"Playing stupid, then?" Karen stepped in, delivering a hard shove that sent me back a pace. Her Attributes were nothing to scoff at, as I stumbled.
"I''m not playing anything." I shot back, barely catching my balance. "Let me through."
"Not until I get my knife back."
"What has you so certain this is your knife?" I asked. "I''m sure there are plenty of others that look similar."
Carefully, I looked about the room. Either those who were present were already in on this, or they just waiting to see what came of it: but no one was going to intervene.
Which was either very good, or very bad... I wasn''t decided.
"Because that knife look''s an awful lot like mine." Karen retaliated. "And it went missing last night, along with a large number of other things from my room."This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
I could connect the dots. The Guildmaster had said I needed a "Push" hadn''t she? This was a real frustrating method for going about that, though. Wrecking Karen''s room and framing me for it...
"Speak up, why don''t you?" She pressed, her voice raised. "Tell everyone how you stole from me."
The murmurs around us were immediate, and I resisted the urge to curse.
There''s a fine line between a push and a death sentence.
"It''s my knife." I answered, calmly and clearly as I could, making my announcement audible to anyone else in the room. There was no sense in making things worse than they already were. "And I didn''t steal it from you."
"Liar." She shot back.
"I''m not-"
"I don''t know what the Baron saw in you." She cut me off. "But Roggar''s right: once Empire scum, always Empire scum."
There were a few murmurs at that.
"Let me pass." I tried to settle the building pressure of anger in my chest.
The magic was well on its way to riling up. Even with both of my fists held tightly shut, I could feel the prickling sensation of pressure and heat in my palms.
As if the fire hated her as much as I did.
"Don''t think I will." Karen answered, hand falling towards the sword on her hip. "I''m not moving until you admit to your crimes."
"I didn''t steal anything from you." I stated, again. "Whoever wronged you, it wasn''t me."
All truth. Walking a rather fine-line, but still the truth.
"Liar." Her sword shifted, pushing down in preparation to draw. "I don''t like your tone."
It seemed that diplomacy had failed me. Settling things with words had reached a dead-end, and enough was enough.
Maybe my magic really did hate the woman, because the pounding in my ribs had breached whatever mental floodgate I''d erected to stop it, and had begun spilling out. As if eager to be free of its confinement, fire was leaking out between my fingers, spitting hot smoke and wisps of mana.
It was pissed.
I was pissed.
"Back the hell off." I warned, raising my palms up. Fire exploded to life with a loud crack of pressure. My own anger easily fed into the magic, two small orbs of intense heat erupted. "I see what you''re doing, and if you pull that sword I make no promises you''ll be alive when this is over."
It was a good line.
I meant every word of it, but I immediately recognized my mistake as Karen''s lip curled, and her hand didn''t hesitate.
She wasn''t scared.
Those eyes of hers were far from friendly, looking at me as if looking at something to be removed.
The hushed mutters around us had completely silenced at the sight of Magic, and people were carefully trying to extricate themselves from the developing situation. My open threat hadn''t helped much on that front. What, with people all but tripping over their own feet to get away. Several bowls hit the floor, spilling the morning slop of breakfast onto the stone.
I tensed, flaring my magic further. Giving her one more reason, on top of a list of other pretty good reasons, why she should just stop. Why this was really stupid, and was going to end very badly for both of us.
But it didn''t matter.
I could tell, she was really going to do it.
Even staring down Magic, two duplications of a spell that would probably set anyone to "deep-fry" directly in front of her, and she was going to do it.
I couldn''t decide if she was insane, or just confident. Was there something I didn''t know here? Some sort of special ability she had, that made her certain of victory?
Was she just that angry? Roggar had been the one with the temper, but Karen always seemed far more the calculating-type.
Unknown variables aside, I steeled myself, mana surging even further. The resource began to drain, but I deemed it necessary.
I''d seen what some of the Skill attacks the [Guard] Class possessed could do, and impressive as some of those were, I knew at the end of the day her weapon was still just a sword. The blade would either come in quick, right hand drawing it at an angle, or it would be flicked forward and put into position for a sudden thrust. Likely towards my heart, eye, or neck. If the blade took on an "aura" I might already be in range, but there was a limit to how far it would reach.
If I timed it right, I could backstep while I attacked. She might still hit me, but the result would be a serious problem for her, considering our choices of weaponry. It was a simple fact that neither of us were going to be able to block one another, so if I survived the first clash, the area-effect of intense heat in her direction had a good chance to blind, blister, and seriously wound.
If I managed to hit her dead on, she might be crippled.
If... if if if.
There were quite a few, major, "if" lined up in a row. I wasn''t happy about that, but mapping out possible outcomes was plausible. I''d have to plan on the fly. Either keep attacking while I held the advantage, or make a break for it when I spotted an opening.
But, I''d be in a far better position than she would.
"Last chance." I stalled just a bit longer. Planting one more doubt, that might just make her reconsider how much of a train-wreck this was about to be.
She wasn''t having second thoughts. No, from the looks of it, I knew we''d be settling this any second.
Well, at least she''d be seen as the aggressor. She''d draw first, and from that point on I''d have reasonable cause for self-defense. I wasn''t half-starved and dying of thirst any longer, and I''d been seeing a steady creep of improvements with my Attributes.
If I had to fight, I wouldn''t leave things half-finished.
No: I was going to burn her alive.
The fire in my palms grew. Primed and ready: the orange began to shift into a pale blue, as if taking on a life of their own. The embers they spat out seemed to buzz and spark with power, traveling upward on the drafts of air forming around them.
In response, Karen leaned in, leg stepping forward, arm shifting for the coming strike. I did much the opposite, fire ready to engulf and devour-
"Enough!" A sudden impact smashed through the air, delivering a thunder-crack blow of force that sent both of us stumbling backwards.
I found that Gertrude stood between us. With her sleeves rolled up past her elbow, glowing ladle in hand, her expression was dangerous.
"I won''t allow fighting, not in my kitchen" The [Chef] declared. "It stops here."
"Get out of my way, cook." Karen growled. "This has nothing to do with you."
"That''s [Chef] to you, girl." Gertrude spit back, eyes narrowing. "If you want to duel, the field is right outside, but you won''t be doing it in here."
"You think that you can stop-" As Karen shifted, the ladle leveled on her, taking a darker sheen as the Skill that wrapped around the wooden instrument magnified in force. She stopped at the sight, expression of irritation turning into concern.
She wasn''t scared of magical fire, but she was scared of a ladle.
Quickly, I made a mental correction to my original assessment of the [Chef]. Gertrude was clearly much more dangerous than I''d imagined.
"Don''t test me." The [Chef] warned. "You''re decades short of surviving it."
Karen, to her credit, seemed to take the warning to heart. Straightening out her posture, her sword hand fell away.
Seeing that, Gertrude turned on me, letting out a loud huff, satisfied to see I had let the flames I''d summoned die out. She nodded, accepting things as they were.
"Whatever conflict you''re settling; you need to do it somewhere else." She announced, shooting both of us a stern look. "But considering who''s involved, I''m sure the Baron is already on his way down here."
Thankfully, she was right. It seemed that some of those who fled the kitchen, had a destination in mind, as a few awkward seconds of silence were all we had before the storm of a man arrived.
The sound of heavy boots on fast approach was the only further warning before a heavy arm smashed a door aside, ducking under the frame to loom above us.
"What is the meaning of this?" The Baron''s rumbling voice seemed to shake the very stone beneath our feet, and I was certain I saw dust fall loose from the ceiling, as he stepped through. "Explain!"
Suffice to say, what followed was not a pleasant conversation.
I''m not certain if it was favoritism for Karen and myself which spared us, but I have to imagine it helped. As did confirmation that I''d repeatedly attempted to deescalate, which shifted the blame.
A little, not a lot.
But that was enough.
I was once again reminded (by no small amount of ear-drum rupturing shouts) that Karen had a real name, which wasn''t Karen, but "Solas." I was also shown the Baron''s lie-detection abilities, in no uncertain terms. He stared the both of us down, demanding we answer his questions. Then, he accepted our responses, before passing judgement. In a very [Lord]ly way, I might add.
"John''s not lying." He announced. "Whatever happened, he wasn''t involved. That''s the end of it."
"But he has my knife!" Karen- I mean, Solas, insisted.
"Is that her knife?" The Baron glanced at me, demanding I answer.
"No." I replied, warily hugging the line that separated truth from falsehood. "It is not her knife."
"Where did you get it?" The Baron pressed.
"It was left to me by a friend."
He squinted at me, scars creasing in concentration for a moment, before shrugging.
"That''s that, the matter is settled." He stated, accepting it. "Get him out of here while I deal with this one." As he brought his attention back to Solas, he motioned to a [Servant], who took me by the arm and lead me away from the kitchens.
"I can walk on my own." I prompted, as we turned the corner of the hall.
"Oh, but a strong [Mage] like yourself would surely hide any injuries to save face." The [Servant] replied, dramatically, pulling me farther along the hall. "We must get you to a [Healer] as soon as possible." She stressed, as she quickened her pace.
"I''m fine." I replied, trying to tug my arm free. "Besides, I''ve heard the [Healer] isn''t particularly pleasant when they see their patients for foolish reasons."
"I must insist." She pressured, pushing open a door, in an effort to lead me into what appeared to be an... empty storage room.
I slowed, turning to really look at her for the first time.
Had there really been a [Servant] like this in the fort? Someone with this figure? Her dress seemed to fit a little too tightly to her waist, and that hair...
I caught a familiar, sly, smile.
"You''ve got to be joking." I said, stopping where I was.
"Why would I ever joke about something so serious?" She asked, innocently. "If anything were to happen to you, why... I just don''t know what I''d do."
I waited, as her smile widened.
All at once, her Title and Class dropped away, as did her appearance. Features and clothing fading off, no longer quite so visible.
"A shame you''re so attentive. I could have tended to your wounds, you know. Just the two of us." The Guildmaster laughed. "It would have been fun."
"You realize I could have been killed by that stunt you pulled." I yanked my arm free, angrily. "The hell was that?"
"Oh, it wasn''t all that bad, was it?"
"She would have killed me." I answered. "Solas and her friend, Roggar. The both of them have had it out for me since I was brought in. In fact, if they''d had their way, I''d already be dead."
"I think you''d manage just fine." She replied, settling her laughter at the sight of my frown. Shamelessly, she pouted. "Come now, John. I was right there. Regardless of what happened, if anything did go wrong, I would have stopped it."
I rubbed at my eyes, letting out a breath I''d apparently been holding.
The Guildmaster was probably telling the truth.
Probably.
"That some sort of Skill?" I asked, settling my composure.
"What, this?" She asked innocently, shifting back into a [Servant], then a [Guard], then a [Trader], before slipping back into her normal, undefinable, self.
I blinked, and she was gone again. Reduced from my senses, back to the basic sensation of watching eyes and a general compass direction.
"I wanted to ask you about the Blessing." I pressed. "About what it means."
Silence answered, as her presence faded further.
"Seriously?" I muttered, catching the faintest echo of a woman''s laughter from somewhere down the hall. "After all of that?"
I waited for a moment, awkwardly standing in the hall, but no further responses could be heard. Shaking my head in frustration, I made way to the Scribe rooms, where my quill worked itself just a little deeper into the parchment than normal. Neriah raised an eyebrow once or twice at the creases in the papers, but perhaps the occasional puffs of smoke that lifted from my writing hand made him reconsider saying anything.
That night, I returned to my room without dinner. Instead I settled for chewing on a stale piece of bread I''d stashed away in my desk and a few pieces of dried meat, while I furiously read through a book I''d thought might be promising- but ultimately turned out to be useless. "Temples of the Kingdom" was utterly vacant of information that I could utilize, only referencing the more modern cathedrals dedicated to a "Church of Sun." There was nothing about old or forgotten Gods, or blessings of any sort.
As the hours stretched on, much to my dismay, the Guildmaster did not grace me with her presence.
Closing the book shut and lying down for the night, I tossed and turned until morning. No matter what I did, I awoke from fitful dreams of violent sails, and approaching danger.
Then, morning came:
Brought in by a pounding on my door, the scent of smoke, and the incessant ringing of bells.
59 - Combat
¡°Veni, vidi, vici.¡±
-Julius Caesar
....
"How many of them are there?" I winced as the Baron bellowed, fists cracking the table of the make-shift war room. Scattered papers and documents thrown to the floor, as a map of the town was stretched overtop. "Numbers! Now!"
"Five ships, Sir!" The Peace Keeper answered, replacing another, who was already rushing out of the room with the previous orders. He pointed on the map, breathing erratic. "Other than that, we don''t have a count yet. Several hundred [Soldier] Class, at best guess."
"How in all the fucking storms did five ships make it here without warning?"
"A [Scout] just came in from one of the outposts just a moment ago. They''ve reportedly burned two trader vessels on the way south, and they blasted several of the [Scout] towers before anyone could send warning."
"Fuck!" The table collapsed under another blow. "Send the fucking crows out. Warn everyone."
"Everyone-"
"Fucking everyone! The other territories, the Kingdom, your fucking ma''s farm! Neriah, go with him! See it done!"
"Sir!" The [Scribe] bowed, following after the [Guard] who sprinted off, eyes wide.
The Baron turned back to the remainder, town leaders wiping sweat of their brows with clear unease.
"The docks." He growled. "You passed them, do you think we stop them there?"
"We''ve the numbers. With the Fyrd hopefuls, it''s plausible we could hold them-"
"Hold them? We can''t hold them, I''m asking if we can fucking burn them." The Baron grunted as two attendants slung plate armor over his shoulders. "The cliffs are the only natural defense we can count on. How many of our men are down there?"
"Sir, we had a half score stationed, and another of that number went to reinforce when the bells began."
"Then they''re already dead. Hammer." He commanded, as two [Guard] rushed the massive weapon into his hands. He planted it onto the ground with an impact that crushed stone. "I want everyone in the fort. If they breach the town, they''ll have a foothold."
"Sir, if we burn the docks, the trade-" A nervous town leader''s voice died on their lips, as the Baron''s stare fixed itself upon him.
"Do you want gold, or do you want to fucking live?"
The man cowered under the pressure that filled the room.
"On me." The Baron didn''t wait for an answer, as the final strap for his plate fit into place. Shoulder pieces snuggly fit, as he began to march. "I want every person who can fight in the main courtyard. We stop them before they get into the town, or we''re finished."
I followed after, trailing at the half-jog of a pace that was set. The halls were already swarming with activity. [Guard] Class, [Hunter] Class, [Archer] Class, rushing out, weapons in hand as they struggled with leather and chainmail. Down the steps, more and more filtered through. All of them rushing into improvised ranks, looking ahead as the Baron leapt down from the wall, landing with two craters beneath his boots.
"Form up!" He commanded. "We''re rushing the docks!" He shouted. "Open the gates for the townfolk to take shelter, I want ten [Archer] Class on the walls! [Healer] and [Mage] of any kind are to remain in the fort!"
I stopped, still halfway down the steps, as his stare passed me by. Several others among the crowd stepped back, as a hush fell, waiting for further instruction.
The ringing of bells was mingling with distant screams, now. Shouts and explosions, off in the distance. Over the walls, I could see smoke.
Inside the fort, though, was almost total silence. Rattled and nervous faces, crooked helms, and ragged breathing.
"Thought I''d have a few more years until my chance to go back to war would arrive." The Baron announced. "But if the Empire''s so ready to die, we''ll give them what they want."
A muffled cheer rose at that, dwarfed by the groaning of the gates, as the thick wooden doors opened behind him. Even only partly pulled back, already there were people rushing in. [Worker] and [Trader] Class, with all manner of others mingled among them. Crying children, gaunt-faced women, men clinging to blood-stained wounds.
At the sight of them, the Baron''s grimace tightened. He gave me another look, before spitting on the ground, and grinding it beneath his boot.
The scars on his face stretched and grew taut, shades of blood rushing beneath his skin.
"You all came to fight for the Kingdom, so you can count yourselves lucky! Today''s the day!" He raised his hammer in one hand, as it glowed with power. All around the fort, a pale aura began to lift, blanketing out along the dirt and stone, rolling up boots and armor. "When you head down South, you''ll have some stories to tell, eh?"
A cry rose in response, weapons lifting to join his.
"We go!" The Baron shouted loud. "To battle!"
"To battle!" The cheer erupted, as the Baron turned and headed for the gate. Even as he moved, his aura magnified. Already, I felt stronger. As if exhaustion and fear were being lifted off my shoulders, and I could see the effects were still expanding. Coating the town, as it carried further. Those nervous stragglers in the back of the squad straightening out, paces falling into rhythm as they followed.
Then, they were out of reach.
The feeling of fearless power slipped away, and was replaced with terror and organized panic. The scene of men rushing barrels of arrows into place along the wall, and several [Healer] Class running down to meet the cries of pain, just now stumbling into the fort. Overhead, I heard the cawing of birds, wings taking flight at launching out towards destinations unknown, small scrolled messages tied tightly to their legs.
From below, many of the towns people looked about with fear, some of them stopped at the sight of me.
"Shit." I muttered, retreating up the steps, and to take a place along the wall, out of the public''s view. The side glances from the [Archer] Class were little better, but at least most of them knew who I was.
Down the slope below, the Baron''s force had already disappeared, hidden among the buildings that bordered the main road to the fort. Distantly, I could see more fires were rising, almost all of which seemed to be centered along the docks.
There, tall masts of red sails seemed to teeter, just barely in view beside the cliffs.
"Was this what you were trying to tell me, Gregory?" I gritted my teeth, as more and more people fled towards the relative safety of the fort. "That I was royally fucked?"
Picking up a spare bow, I gave it an experimental draw, confirming I was just barely strong enough to do so. I was a terrible shot, but I''d been trained on the basics, back when I was in the castle. Ironic as that was.
Nocking an arrow, as the others atop the wall had, I waited.
Waited and wondered how this would all work out.
....
"John! Gods mercy, there you are!" Neriah''s voice woke me from my daze atop the wall, rushing towards me with a swishing of his formal garb. "Come with me! Quickly!"
The [Scribe] all but latched onto my arm and began dragging me, as he quickly pivoted.
"The likes of us need no part in battle." He whispered as he pulled me back towards the inner buildings of the fort. "Come, help me gather what we can. If the fort is invaded, we must be certain we save what we can."
It was a flimsy excuse at best, and I knew that. Morally, I should have resisted. Yet, as much as it pained me to admit it, the thought of taking shelter instead of dying in combat was difficult to overcome. While the battle at the docks wasn''t visible from the wall, I had a growing sense that the Baron''s forces were not going to be the victors. Already, several [Guard] had stumbled back up towards the fort, helped by civilians. Each one had been more wounded than the previous.
Things were not looking good.
So, it was only a moment later that we were back within the familiar study rooms, doors shut tightly as Neriah began kicking the carpet away and wrenching at a particular piece of stone tile. There, a small crawl space was revealed, and he began un-ceremonially throwing books into it.
"If there''s a fire, we will lose everything! This is the best we can do!" Neriah explained, as he desperately leafed through the shelves, picking select clumps of texts by the arm-load, to drop below. "Quickly now, help me!"Taken from Royal Road, this narrative should be reported if found on Amazon.
I did, though I had no true guidance on what he was specifically hoping to save. Sweeping the shelves, I began throwing books below, trying not to cringe at the rough impacts many were receiving. Pages splayed out in the dirt, buried under heavy bindings. Beside me, the old man was all but gasping for air, as he worked feverishly.
We were interrupted by a heavy explosion, which rocked the fort outside.
Shouts were echoing through the halls beyond the door.
"Close the gates!" A cry rang out. "Close them!"
"Gods, they''re already here." Neriah coughed, dropping one more armful into the pile below, before dragging the stone back into place. "There is so much more I must do." He opened the door, looking both ways before rushing out into the fort.
I made to follow after him, before stopping.
What the hell was I supposed to do now?
Hide? Fight?
Neither of those sounded like good ideas.
Servants rushed the halls, ushering townsfolk into rooms as they shut the doors behind them. Chances were good the fort was about to directly come under attack.
The fighting that had been in the distance could now be easily heard. Even through the thick walls, rumbles of tremendous impacts were shaking through, throwing dust off the ceiling.
"We''ve got wounded! Wounded!" From the main hall, I could hear people were shouting out for help. "Fighting has passed the docks! They''re in the town!"
Perhaps it was guilt, but I soon found the bow and arrow I''d accidently stolen from the wall top in hand, rushing back towards the gate. As I took to the steps, heading up towards the [Archer] Class who were already loosing at targets below, I was just in time to see one of the few towers the fort possessed explode.
Almost like a gattling gun, heavy bolts ripped through the stone, cutting it to pieces that collapsed almost immediately.
A man screamed, as he plummeted down below, crushed as the rest of the material buried him.
Ducking down, several more sprayed through the wall, sending shrapnel about- before the attacks abruptly stopped. One of the [Archer] Class on the wall shouted something, repositioning to return fire.
Then, the attacks returned. He too, was hit. Arrow straight through his chest, the man tumbled down the steps towards me, already dead by the time he slid to a stop.
Rushing over him, I promptly changed my course, ducking below the outcropping embrasures of the wall as I made my way towards where the wall top met the second floor of the fort. There was no way I was going to get involved in this, I decided. Not if [Archery] Skills could rip through solid rock. I''d keep my head down and wait for the next lull.
As I made my way, the remaining [Archer] Class returned fire yet again, and I heard several screams of pain below as the wall top crew let out a ragged cheer.
They''d earned us a temporary reprieve, it seemed.
From cover, looking down below towards the front gate, I could see there were still people are trickling in. Dozens of wounded Peace Keepers were tripping over the rubble in their path as they made way into the bordering courtyards, or deeper into the fort, but the Baron wasn''t among them.
"They''re storming the town!" I heard a familiar voice shout, handing off a wounded companion as he turned to issue orders to several [Worker] Class by the gates. "They''re killing everyone, keep those open until there''s no choice!" He grabbed another wounded, dragging them inside just as an arrow took the unlucky soul in the back.
The wounded man let out a gasp of pain, before falling limp.
Pulling the man aside, I watched as Roggar set them down, rising with his fisted clenched. Rushing towards them, a [Healer] stopped short, shaking their head before hurrying to the next in need of help. I watched him, as he set his fist into the wall, teeth gnashing in anger as he looked about the fort.
It was a surprisingly human moment, from a man I despised. One that caught me by surprise.
Which was unfortunate, because almost supernaturally, he suddenly looked up and spotted me before I could think to duck away.
His expression was of pure, perfect, hatred.
Then, he started moving.
"Oh fuck." I cursed, ducking down to let [Hide Presence] take over. Quickly, I resumed my slinking along the wall at, glancing back behind me as I went.
Roggar was not someone I wanted to deal with. Perhaps I could get away from him in the confusion-
"You should watch the other side, John." The Guildmaster''s warning reached my ear as a melodic whisper.
I turned to look in front of me, just in time to see the sword as it came for my throat.
....
To be honest, I wasn''t the sort who was all that great in a fight.
I knew what I needed to do, of course, but the execution was always where I stumbled. Streamlining my thoughts to simply go ahead and complete the actions, without worrying about cluttering my mind up with the ever-expanding possibilities of what my opponent might react with.
There''s a certain perspective that a person needs to hone, in order to really thrive in combat. The people who do, I''ve found, tend to be the sort who are born into it. Those folks, who have years upon years of experience set into their very bones. Improving their abilities until even their worst performance would still rival my best.
What''s worse, is that almost every fight I''d ever been in up until this... well, each of them had been clumsy.
Battlefields, wolf attacks... there''s not a lot to learn about the finer details, and practicing on one''s own isn''t a real replacement for true experience. If the gloves come off, truth be told, there''s very little order to the chaos and there''s a definite limit to human reaction time. What a person can both see and avoid isn''t all that much. Be it a punch, or a kick, or a deadly instrument of gleaming steel: fighting is more about running on muscle memory than actually "seeing" anything and making a logical decision on what to do about it.
But, perhaps my perspective was still grounded in another world''s logic.
Still stuck, or trapped, considering the premise of a fight from the position of an Earthling: from basic human potential, without Attributes. Without an additional layer of enhancement, settled on top of the basic biology and physics already in play.
Because, I found then, in that instant: there was a huge difference.
I could see it.
The sword coming for me, as it left its sheath. As it swung in, up at a diagonal, from Roggar''s hip to his chest.
I watched in horror as I saw that certain kill coming for me. Blade of glowing metal, about to disembowel me-
And then I saw my own body react.
I''m not sure if it was Dexterity. I''m not sure if it was Intelligence and Wisdom, mixed up in the blender with all the rest: but when Roggar''s attack came for me, I moved.
My left hand swept out, dagger moving in unison with a back step. Not perfect, but enough not to die.
There was a flash of blades, and-
The second strike was already coming back around.
I could see.
See that I was losing.
Terror and speed, desperate backpedaling, gasps of pain, and anger.
Steel on steel, I watched as the edges of our weapons sunk into one another. As if they were biting one another, cutting in to dig grooves on the metal as the impacts make themselves known. My dagger was slapped aside, returning to block just in time to be swapped away again, as I wished so badly I had a sword. Or at least something with more weight and reach to it.
My arm felt shaken to the bone.
There was no skill or finesse in my defense, and there wasn''t any in Roggar''s attacks, either.
He was beating me into submission.
"You." Roggar growled, as he stepped into the next blow, pinning me against the battlement, pushing me back until I was barely holding his sword away from my neck. Muscles screaming, I saw my dagger begin to flex as he pressed harder. "It''s your fault!"
Both hands on my weapon, and it still wasn''t enough to resist the difference in Strength.
"Look at it!" He spit on me, shifting forms to lay a heavy hand into my face, sprawling me onto the edge of the battlement. Gripping my hair, he slammed me, chin down onto the stone, forcing me to see. "LOOK AT IT!"
The town was aflame.
I could see the remaining pieces of battle, playing out. The shouts and screams were unmistakable, as was the clashing of metal. Down there, violence was reaching a crescendo. I could see flags and banners, flying high and the huge swathes of cloth, visible by the docks. Even with the height of the cliffs and the rising flames in their way: teetering from the masts of those giant ships.
Golden and black fabric bearing that horrible crown.
The Empire.
"They''re here because of YOU!" Roggar shouted, as he pushed me, grinding my cheek into the stone. "All because we didn''t kill you when we had the chance."
With a cold chill, I felt his body shifting, metal raking up against the stone to press against the nape of my neck.
He was going to murder me.
Head in a sack.
Head on a pike.
Time slowed.
Nothing in my arsenal was going to be able to kill him outright. Even if I poured all of my mana out in a single spell, chances were good that he might still survive long enough to sever my head from my neck.
But panic was being held in check by a half-formed, desperate, plan.
I knew the dagger was on the ground at our feet. I could feel my boot stepping on it, the grip under my heel.
My hands were empty. Both of them.
I was only going to get one shot at this.
Whipping my arms up and back, I let fire roar. With almost no concern for my mana reserves at all, I aimed for where I assumed Roggar''s face to be, as I simultaneously wrenched myself hard to the side, smashing my chin into the divot of the parapet, then rolling backwards.
Roggar screamed, as his sword caught on the stone instead of my flesh and bone. The long blade was blocked, cutting slightly in against my skin and shirt, but no deeper, as I dove for my dagger, gripping it to stab hard into his leg- then his belly- then his neck.
I felt a cut against my side, his sword biting into my armor, as he threw me to the side, drawing his sword back like a saw.
But the damage was done.
[Dexterity + 1]
I was rewarded.
Scrambling, I pushed farther back, as he came for me again with a downward swing, then another, then another.
Half falling, half skidding along the stone, I pushed back, as blood gushed from his wounds, and his attacks slowed. I didn''t wait for him, though. As I finally found my balance enough to get on my feet properly, I dived for the nearest stairs, taking them three steps at a time towards the adjoining courtyard.
Ignoring his guttural croak of a shout, I kept moving, bloody dagger in hand as I rushed for the kitchen. The confusion all about the fort helped, somewhat, but people squawked in surprise as I ran past.
They didn''t matter, though.
Neither did Roggar.
Not anymore.
All that really mattered was, even with all that was happening, there was more than a decent chance other Peace Keepers had seen me on the wall, fighting Roggar. And there was a real possibility they''d be coming for me, any moment.
I needed to flee.
Everything was lost at this point. Without the Baron, it wasn''t just Roggar who was going to try and kill me. I needed to get to my room. My bag, everything I''d gathered up until this point: I''d go out the window from there, I''d take the hit and roll down the embankment. Then, make for the hunting trail-
"Got blood on your blade." Waiting in the window, the Guildmaster lounged with a happy smile. "I like that."
I froze, contents of my desk half swept into my bag, as I stared at her.
"That was a nice move, blinding him with fire. Got you out of a tricky spot." She clicked her tongue. "But it was nothing beside the knifework. Three good hits..." She moved, as if counted them down on her fingers. "You''re quite the natural."
"What do you want?" I whispered, eyeing her warily. "Just tell me."
"I want a lot of things." She answered, slinking down into the room with a supernatural grace. "But, what will you do now, John?"
"I''m leaving. I don''t have a choice." I felt my shoulders shaking, lungs filling and emptying at an unsteady pace. I wanted to check the wound on my side, but I also didn''t want to take my eyes off of her for an instant. She was already too close to me for comfort.
Then, she was gone.
"Are you now?" I heard her chuckle, voice behind me, as I felt fingers run gently along the cut on my neck. "No, I don''t think you''re leaving quite yet."
"Are you going to stop me?" I asked, hand adjusting on my dagger''s grip, turning to try and get her back in my sight. I knew I didn''t stand a chance, but I wasn''t going to die without trying.
"Me?" Much to my surprise, I locked eyes with her once again. Shifting colors and a wry grin, waiting patiently. "No." Slowly, she shook her head, before nodding towards the doorway. "It''s not me you need to worry about."
I turned towards the sound of footsteps.
Methodical, heavy, they made their way closer, until they stopped. Fixed in place, to stare me down. With anger, with hatred:
There, Solas stood in the doorway, her sword drawn.
We looked at one another.
I, standing very still, covered in blood that wasn''t my own.
Her, quite the opposite.
With dozens of cuts and still-forming bruises covered her face and arms, I could see that her armor was in tatters. The straps and bindings were barely holding together as her shoulders shifted with deep, horrible, breaths of rage. Working her lungs further, and further, as her eyes flared with wild anger.
"YOU KILLED HIM!" She screamed.
I screamed, too.
Although, that was mostly because she''d stabbed me on my way out the window.
60 - Revenge
They say that revenge is a dish best served cold, but I think they''re wrong. In my opinion, revenge is a dish best served broken.
That way you can pick up the shards and stab the bastard with ''em.
-Delmir the Bottomless
....
The sword''s tip took me in the back of the shoulder with a hard thrust. One, which had probably been meant for my heart. Luckily, I had already been twisting into a dive, and I left the attack behind, sword not quite finding a way to permanently wedge into me, as I tumbled down the hill.
Well, probably not all that lucky, on account of how awful it felt- but if the blade had stayed in, I would have surely lost my arm during the fall.
It was far from comfortable.
Rolling in a screaming, bloody, freefall: the terrain flashed past me. Wooden stakes planted in the ground whirled and blurred. There were roots, and stones, and broken things that had been lost to gravity along the slope. My arms wrapped around my head, bag absorbing some heavy hits on my back. On several occasions, I felt the wind beaten out of my chest, but I found my footing at last, and stuck the landing. Coming out and into a run, I pushed myself harder, sprinting towards the forest trail.
I had to get away.
Behind me, Solas howled in rage, but she was immediately drowned out by the booming of thunderous impacts: explosions that blasted the fort behind us.
No longer was it just arrows and abilities in play: there was Magic afoot. Powerful Magic, at that. The kind that toppled walls and sent bricks scattering about like deadly hail. From the flaming wreckage of the town, I could see soldiers pointing from the road. Their armor very different from the Baron''s Peace Keepers, but no less familiar.
Some of them looked and pointed in our direction.
Then, the underbrush closed in around me.
I dove through it, arms sweeping in front of me like I was swimming, legs moving as quickly as they could. Foliage whipped at my face, twigs and leaves cut my skin, but I pressed on, breaking through to hit the trail, and rushing at full tilt.
Another fight wasn''t an option. I''d barely survived the first one, and that was a close thing. Plus,I''d been here before, and I remembered it well enough. I was certain there would be a chance to duck off the path, ahead. From there, I could try to rely on hide presence to escape.
Or so I thought.
Cold and quiet, a sword flashed out ahead of me, as Solas carved her way onto the trail. With disturbing agility, her boots cut a soft skid into the dirt, as she stilled. Her eyes stared at me, lip curled in anger.
Then, she was charging.
Unlike Roggar, she didn''t flaunt her clear advantage, or take time to mock me. There would be no "playing with her food," or second thoughts in concern for what I might do. Those concepts weren''t even on her radar.
She simply moved.
Struck.
I tried to go for my dagger, but the pain in my shoulder slowed me down. In a clumsy draw, I managed to get it free- redirecting the first piercing strike for my belly, but the following swing came up and spun to a whip-like cut that caught the narrow guard it possessed, to send the weapon flying off into the brush.
"I saw what you did." Solas growled, upper hand now completely assured. "You filthy, back-stabbing, traitor."
"I defended myself." I yanked Gregory''s knife free, slinging my bag in front of my wounded arm as a makeshift shield. "Roggar attacked me, I didn''t have a choice."
I felt for my mana.
Mana: 22/100
It wouldn''t be nearly enough.
"You expect me to believe that, liar? With that knife in your hand?" She didn''t wait, rushing into another stab. One, which I barely blocked. My bag was almost ripped free as the sword sunk into it, slicing free as it whirled through another form.
Up, spin, down towards my shoulder.
I backstepped as quickly as I physically could, then found myself diving to the side as her blade glowed. Abandoning any dignity, I threw myself, painfully, off the trail.
A flash of wind let out a sudden, violent, force. Behind where I''d just been standing, a tree toppled, diagonal slice bringing it crashing into the path, as if cutting off my escape.You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Fuck.
There was no blocking something like that. Not with a shield, and certainly not with my bag, now hanging on just a single strap.
I considered my mana again, as Solas turned to me, not waiting even a second to ready another strike.
Mana: 23/100
No, I truly didn''t have enough for a real attack. If I tried, I''d be in even worse shape than I already was, but there was still enough to improvise.
"Back off." I shouted, dropping my bag to grab a handful of dry leaves and dirt raising my palm to let the Magic form in a hungry torrent of unorganized fire and smoke. The airborne debris erupted: kindling for the burst of magical flames that easily doubling the original effect.
Solas backstepped, buffering the impressive plume of heat and smoke enveloping her as she swung down- clearly expecting to intercept a second attack.
But there was no such thing.
I was already off the trail, ducking low as I brought [Hide Presence] up to full burn.
Crouching forward, I broke free of the bushes and rolled low to the side. Tucking over large roots, I set my back to a tree''s trunk, pulling my bloody shirt up above my mouth and nose in an effort to further muffle any noise from my ragged breathing.
Quickly, I felt myself slipping into cover.
"You fucking COWARD!" She howled, as my ploy was realized, and I heard another rushing cut of wind rip apart the underbrush I''d just been in. Dirt and leaves sprayed through the air, scattering to violent effect.
I knew that there was no way I was going to be able to escape.
If she could keep going like there, it was only a few moments at best until she narrowed in on me.
Besides that, even if I wasn''t wounded and exhausted: Solas was faster, stronger, and better equipped. I could face her a dozen times in a row and still never come away with a decisive victory.
I let myself sink deeper, [Hide Presence] growing stronger. Willing it to be as strong as it had ever been, I closed my eyes and steadied my breathing.
One chance, at best.
This was the only option I had left.
"Come out you coward!" Not five paces off, another scream of anger cut the air, as a sword swung through the underbrush. The tree next to mine was blasted apart at the seams, splinters spraying out as a glowing blade whipped through.
Carefully, she followed through after it. Stance flowing, sword ready. Her forms shifted, as her steps moved with martial efficiency. Yet another tree fell, as she settled into a methodical dance, carving up the forest.
I waited.
Slowly, she was calming. Stance shifting from aggression, towards defense. Her eyes were keen, sweeping out for any movement, while she listening for any sound. Not simply prepared for a coming attack: but primed to retaliate.
I let myself sink deeper.
The cloak of [Hide Presence] had wrapped me up tightly. As if I were submerged within it, I was apart from the world as I readied my knife.
Carefully, quietly, my free hand pried the contents of my pockets, searching blindly, one after the next. My bag was gone, but in my hurry to clean out my room, I knew I''d taken...
I stilled, as I felt my fingers settled on something smooth and polished. Warm to the touch.
The familiar pattern of a single, Silver, coin.
Would this work?
Was this too much of a gamble?
I let myself sink deeper still.
I didn''t have a choice. Thoughts like those weren''t needed. Neither was no emotion, or concern.
Life or death had no place in my mind.
I was hidden.
I was waiting.
I was ready.
She was only a few steps away.
Solas moved.
Somewhere, a twig snapped, and her sword flashed out, striking at the sound.
It was then, that I willed myself forward.
Not quickly, as she did.
Not graceful, as I''d seen the Guildmaster, or powerful as I''d seen the Baron.
I simply stepped forward.
One step, then two, then three. With my palm up, I lofted the coin up into the air, letting it soar gently overhead, reflecting the light leaking in from the open canopy, as it passed into her line of vision.
She reacted immediately, dropping from one form directly into the next. As if instinctively aware of anything within her range, her sword cut with perfect form, rising up in a blow that would have ripped me from my waist to my neck. With a precise angle, she cutting the coin in two perfect pieces-
But I wasn''t there.
No, I was on my fourth step.
The one which brought me close enough to reach outside the deep blanket of [Hide Presence] and plunge Gregory''s knife into the side of her neck.
To sink it deep, and true.
Just one, calculated, blow.
Solas spun, then.
I was too close for her sword, but her arm and grip of the weapon met my ribs. Those, together with her enhanced Strength sent me flying, to land in a crumpled heap against a tree. Gasping in pain, lungs emptied.
In horror, I watched as she readied another swing. Her blade taking on a raging, definitive, glow, as she raised it above her head, ready to bring it down in a killing strike.
But then, she slowed.
The brilliant light of the metal faded.
Her eyes, still on me, seemed to be looking far, far away.
The flood of ruby pulsed free, soaking her clothes and armor, and without a word, she collapsed. Falling to the side, as if her strings had been cut.
She was dead.
Barely on my knees, bloody knife in my hand, it was then that I felt it.
The whole world seemed to grow still.
Right in that second, settled in the shadows of the forest, settled into my soul: there was a primordial shifting of currents and power. Made of something greater than any man could ever hope to be. Of something ancient and horrible. I felt the decisions as they were weighed upon scales that rose above the heavens and below the hells, and I saw them align.
[Criteria Met]
"No." I tried to claw it back, sinking my hands into the dirt as the message erupted into my vision.
I knew what it meant.
[Class Granted]
"No!" Digging my knife into the soil, I shouted and begged in vain. As best I could, I tried to fight it. Even as it came crashing down.
I''d worked so hard! With my Magic, with my writing! I''d tried so hard! I had fought tooth and nail, and I''d survived so much! They couldn''t take this from me! Not this!
With all I had left, I willed against it. I couldn''t allow it, I wouldn''t!
But I knew it was too late.
As those forces beyond my understanding stilled, they locked into place. Falling, heavy as a mountain, to settle within me.
One word that formed from the depths. Text that read like a dagger''s edge in the dark, and cut with a stench of blood and death, sinking deep into my soul.
[ASSASSIN]
It was done.
I can''t remember how long I sat there for, waiting as the message faded, and the changes rippled through. As Skills began to sprout up, and my Attributes molded beneath the weight. Strange abilities, which suddenly became familiar... that is lost to me.
All I truly remember is the broken twig: as it was placed gently into my hands.
I remember that, and the arms. Those warm arms, which wrapped around me, blanketing me in silence and nothingness, as the Guildmaster whispered in my ear.
"I knew you had it in you."
61 - New Beginnings - End of Book 1
....
The wagon we rode on creaked and groaned, as the beasts of burden carried forward down a road that seemed all too filled with others. All around, were more people like us. Heading South, or West, were those who held on hope that they could escape from the dangers still raging to the North.
Yet, there were also examples of those who did the opposite.
I watched from my seat, nestled beside bags of grain and crates of herbs, as I saw another group of armored [Knight] Class gallop past. Gallant flags lofted with houses and ranks, for all to see. Dozens, on steeds with brilliant colors of purple and silver.
The Kingdom was responding in force, it seemed. Sending forces to bolster the defenses already in place. Blockades and checkpoints along the highways.
Only a few days since the Empire''s attack, and already I had witnessed dozens of squads like that, just on this one road. Each group was rippling with strength, often glowing with Skills that were visibly in effect. So much so, that they reminded me of the Baron.
It was hard to imagine anything could kill the man, but with the state of things when we left, I wondered if he''d survived.
"What''s on your mind?" In front, hands on the reins, my escort leaned back, smiling. Wrapped in silk robes, hair tucked in a tight bun, anyone looking would [Identify] her as a [Merchant]. And a beautiful one, at that.
"Hmm?" She leaned farther.
I didn''t answer.
Clicking her tongue in mock disappointment, she turned away. Directing her attentions elsewhere. As we passed a small group of [Trader] Class, she waved cheerfully, until we were finally on a stretch of road that was less occupied.
"It suits you." She announced, at last. "Whether you agree with it, or not."
I didn''t even want to look at her, choosing instead to rub at the bandage wrapped around my shoulder. Closing my eyes, I pressed around the wound lightly, gritting my teeth.
The ointment itched.
"You might as well speak." She prodded, again. "After all, who else are you going to be able to talk to? Honestly, that is."
The anger in my chest simmered.
"Out with it." She insisted.
"You knew, didn''t you?" I gave in, letting out a long breath. "As soon as you saw the blessing, you knew."
I still didn''t look at her. There was no point, anyways.
The oxen pulling the cart snorted, kicking loose stone as we began to climb upwards. The road''s long downhill slope was finally coming to an end. Our pace slowed.
"I suspected." She answered, finally. Shifting the reins, the wagon shook. "I wasn''t certain."
"Did I ever even have a chance?"
"I wouldn''t know. I''m not a God."
As we continued upwards, we passed a small group of [Worker] Class, camped out beside the road. Dozens of people and tents, many huddled with children along the hill. There, small fires burned, but there was nothing roasting over the flames. Watching us with tired eyes, their heads slowly turned as we passed them by.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.
They looked hungry.
I shifted, from atop my pile of bagged grain.
"Shouldn''t you be helping them?" I muttered.
"And give up my wagon''s precious cargo?"
"We both know you don''t need any of this cargo."
"Mmm... maybe some other time." She shrugged. "But only if you ask nicely."
I listened as she laughed, but I couldn''t tell if it was fake.
Turning over to my uninjured side, I closed my eyes. I tried not to focus on the bumps and shakes that each loose stone sent rattling up the wagon, or the throbbing pain in my shoulder.
Before I knew it, night had fallen.
We pulled off the road, settling down the oxen with bags of feed, before the [Merchant] slipped back inside the wagon with a smile. Letting her hair down with a simple pull, she settled in, across from me.
"Talk, John." She said. "Talk, so that I might listen."
I met her stare for a time, watching as her Class fell away. As her Title fell away, and her features changed. The illusion slipping: back to who I knew her to be, once more.
I could see her clearly, but I knew it was only because I was being allowed to. [Identify] could reach her, now. Not easily, but no longer was it impossible.
Guildmaster
Assassin
Blessing of Forgotten Gods, ????
"Talk." She repeated, impatient as her eyes shifting color. From gray, to purple, to gold. "Before I make you talk."
I sighed.
"Do you know about my world?" I asked. "Where I came from, before the Empire?"
"Of course, I''ve heard the stories. Everyone has."
"Which ones?"
"Metal boxes without magic, odd inventions that make no sense. Metal birds that fly people in the sky, without Magic." She listed. "Things of that nature."
"Fine." I shook my head. "Then, can you guess what I did, before I came here?"
"Slayed monsters, perhaps?" She motioned, as if she were swinging a sword. "Hunted wolves?"
"In a sense, maybe." I answered. "I solved problems."
"Oh?"
"Before I came here, my job was to solve problems for people. The kind that were difficult and tedious enough, so that no one else wanted to deal with them."
"I suppose I could see that." She lounged back, considering, and waiting for me to continue.
"I used my mind. I never fought anyone, or killed anyone. I never went out, looking for danger. I just used my mind to solve problems. That was all I did."
As I spoke, I felt the words slipping, as if I couldn''t keep them in any longer. I''d never talked about this with anyone. Not even the other Heroes, what felt like so long ago.
The Guildmaster listened.
"In other parts of the world, though, I would see and hear about things. The stories about how there was always a war going on, somewhere. How there was violence, somewhere. But that wasn''t my life. My life was spent learning, studying, practicing, and while I know most people might find that kind of existence to be boring: I loved it for what it was."
"Sounds peaceful." The Guildmaster slipped down, crossing her arms behind her head as she settled into her spot among the cargo.
"It was."
"Do you want it back?"
"I don''t know." I answered.
"Really?"
"I don''t know if someone like me even has that option."
"Why not?" She opened one eye, much like cat.
I looked back in surprise.
"Don''t you have plans for me?" I asked, gesturing to the wagon, to myself.
"Me?"
"Yes, you." I arched an eyebrow. "Wasn''t that what all this was for?"
She sat back up, tilting her head to the side.
"What is it?" I asked, cautiously.
"You haven''t met many people who aren''t trying to use you for something, have you?" She grinned.
"What''s that supposed to mean?"
"It means: No, I don''t have plans for you."
"But-"
"I''m sure whatever the Gods have in store for you exceeds anything I could possibly come up with. I just saw you and thought you were interesting." She leaned forward, crossing the narrow space between us. "And for someone like me, that doesn''t happen very often."
Pressing in beside me, she leaned her head against my shoulder.
"So, you tell me."
"Tell you what?"
"What happens now, John?" She asked. "What do you want? Who will you be? Where will you go?"
"Do you really want to know?" I asked.
"Of course."
I waited for a moment, looking at her in surprise. Finding that there was no sly smile, or tricks.
"I wanted to be a [Mage]." I admitted. "When I found Magic, I thought that maybe, just maybe, it could make up for all that''s happened. If only a little. That it might be something good, among all the bad."
"That''s all?"
I nodded, leaning back a bit to rest more comfortably.
"That''s all." I repeated, quietly.
"So... be one."
"What do you mean?" I asked, as a hand took my cheek, leading me to hers.
"You have Magic, don''t you?"
"Yes, but now it''s too late. I''m..." I stopped as her eyes shifted, colors ever-changing as she pulled me closer.
"You know, for someone so smart, you can be quite a fool."
Her Class changed one more time. No longer an [Assassin] or a [Merchant] or a [Servant], but something else, as she smiled for real.
"So be one." She whispered, pulling me just a little bit closer as her hair draped down around us, and shut the world away.
And in that moment, I couldn''t help but smile too.
Book II - Chapter 1
It was difficult to understand, in the early days. Indeed, difficult to even comprehend, that all at once, after hundreds of years of uneasy peace, the Empire had razed a territory of the Freelands to the ground. They attacked without warning, without announcement or threats, without the slightest of political posturing: their ships came abruptly, and the conflict began. No one south of the Forest of Madness had predicted it. There were no whispers or ignored warnings. It simply happened, seemingly at random, lacking a clear reason or motivation.
Why there? Why then?
True, war had always been on the distant horizon. The Kingdom and the Empire were hardly friendly to one another, but why begin where they did, on the edge of the Freelands? Why establish a logistically difficult port on the eastern coast, where leviathans were known to lurk in droves, and the cliffs had to be carved away simply to make landfall? Surely, the element of surprise had been won. There was no denying that, but was there not a tremendous cost that outweighed the benefit? One had to imagine that even something as great and powerful as the Empire must have suffered from such a rash investment, and then suffered more in the war that followed. They had a foothold, but a terrible one.
So why, of all ways to begin the inevitable, did they choose to do so in such a reckless manner?
This, truly, became the question unanswered. For in the years which came after, most individuals with the means to even begin to debate the plausible answers to that question were far too distracted by the current events of the time to focus on them. So, it is only in retrospect that we can even begin piece the story together. By fragments, by broken pieces and accounts, some trusted and some others most unreliable, all carefully placed together into one, coherent, whole.
In truth, even to this end, what I can say is only speculation. I can only give you my best guess, as it were, to why the Empire acted as it did:
I believe their reason was fear.
.......
The line was long, and the street was cold. Waiting in the designated city plaza for hours in the early morning of coming winter was bad enough. The wind, which swept through the Capital of the Kingdom, was sharp and chill. Harsh, even, as it was funneled to great speed by the dense shapes of tightly packed and uniform buildings, that made up the commerce district.
Truly though, what was worst about this was the shade.
It was almost noon, by my best guess. Yet, when I looked up, there was no sign of that being true. No sun could be seen cresting above me, or warmth reaching down between thin winter clouds. Instead, the pale blue sky of winter day was made out of stone.
Pure and unblemished, the polished granite stretched for miles. Wide and round, it sat oppressively as it too, waited. The Citadel, in all its glory: the lowest foundation of a mighty city in the sky.
"That is something. Can¡¯t get past it." One of the men ahead of me spoke up, as frost steamed from their breath. ¡°It¡¯s a place of wonder, to be sure.¡±
"Aye, it''s hard to believe without my own eyes staring at the bloody thing."
Standing quietly behind them, I listened in as several more voices began to murmur with the unmistakable sound of nervous conversation. The type that only ever truly sprouted when people were forced to wait for something important, but with nothing else to do. Made easier, of course, by the fact that everyone here was here for the same reason.
From personal experience, I¡¯d often found that common ground got people talking without them so much as realizing it.
¡°I heard their streets are made of silver.¡± One man said. A [Scholar] from what I could glance of him, without making myself too obvious.
¡°You believe that?¡± Another laughed, farther ahead. ¡°I¡¯ve heard the towers are silver, but never the streets¡¡±
I listened, as one might well do when there was nothing better to occupy the time. Yet, I did so with more purpose than boredom. Even if I didn¡¯t listen closely, I made certain I continued with the due diligence of at least keeping attentive enough to grab any useful details, should there be any. Though, I didn¡¯t get my hopes up. This was the third time waiting in such a line, and by now I strongly suspected the chance to learn anything truly valuable from the people idly chatting here would be rare, as I¡¯d already heard most everything. From rumor, to known and accepted facts, to random personal details of others who, like myself, hadn¡¯t yet managed to secure passage up to the flying city.
At some point, there was only so much one could really draw from the crowd. Diminishing returns, in some sense.
Still, I¡¯d grown quite accustomed to listening. Even if it was only to determine where the next Citadel boarding location was going to be, or where the closest trustworthy inn might be in relation to that location. Or, at the very least, who I needed to follow from a safe distance in order to determine those things for myself.
Just because I felt confident that today would be the day, didn¡¯t mean I wasn¡¯t going to continue to plan as though it might well not be.
I¡¯d been here for months, after all. And that meant I¡¯d been here for quite a few weeks longer than I would have liked.
¡°You here for the Academy, or are you looking for work?¡± Somewhere farther behind me, I could heard a woman had started conversation with someone down the line.
¡°Work, gods willing¡¡±
I didn¡¯t turn to look at them, but I judged by the distance that the gods would likely not be willing. Not unless ten or twenty people were rejected today. In fact, the line being what it was, I still wasn¡¯t entirely certain if I¡¯d arrived early enough.
At best, they would only ever take forty people. The platforms were only so large, after all¡
I continued to wait in silence, keeping out of conversation. If this were an inn, or a market, there might have been a chance I would risk conversation, but not here. There was only so much I was willing to do for information, and I already long-since learned that navigating unneeded conversation was a potential danger for someone in my position.
Which is to say, someone who shouldn¡¯t ever be in the Kingdom¡¯s capital in the first place.
Much less, standing in plain sight of [Knights] while waiting for passage to the Citadel. Which, I suppose would be another place someone like me should never be¡
If I thought about it, there really weren¡¯t many places someone with the title ¡°Summoned Hero*¡± would ever be allowed, considering the stigma associated. Much less, one who had my Class.
But so it goes.
None of that mattered, and my conviction remained. I¡¯d made my choice to come here, and there would be no turning back on it.
Stilling my nerves, I adjusted my cloak against another gust of wind that swept across the plaza and through the line. With a shiver, I suppressed the small inkling of annoyance that came with this, suppressing the rational thought that nagged me. If I¡¯d only been a little earlier on the last pass of the Citadel, three weeks ago, chances were good that I could have avoided the cold.
The weather had been so much warmer back then. And while I had mistakenly believed that this region, further south, would have helped with the temperature and climate, the Kingdom seemed just terrible as the Freelands had been.
"What''s truly hard to believe is how many people here believe they''ll be accepted to the Academy." A more arrogant voice joined the once quiet chatter. ¡°They won¡¯t take just anyone, you know? And I never once thought I''d see so many [Scholar] in one place. From what I can tell, there¡¯s barely a true [Mage] to be found. I imagine half can''t even cast the most basic of spells."
I closed my eyes, as the voice grated.
First the cold, and now¡ now I had to listen to another one of these speeches. As if there wasn¡¯t always someone in these lines, who simply had to go and remind the crowd¡
"No need for that. The Academy is a place of learning, not simply for magic.¡± Another voice, a far more reasonable sounding one, interjected. ¡°It¡¯s not all [Mages] there."
¡°You honestly believe that?¡± The sour laugh which followed almost drove me to sigh.
¡°Of course I do.¡±
"Then believe me: most of the people here are wasting their coin. Perhaps a few years ago they might have welcomed the lot of you, but these days the Citadel has no patience for those lacking in talent. The times are changing.¡±
¡°And you¡¯re the judge of what they have, or don¡¯t have? Is that what you¡¯re saying?¡±
¡°If I can tell, then it clearly doesn¡¯t take an [Archmage] to see it." I listened as the more arrogant tone scoffed, loudly. "But perhaps you''re right. Maybe they''ll earn their keep in the Citadel by sweeping the streets, or baking bread. It is a city, after all. I¡¯m certain it has gutters for them."
I sighed, as I again attempted to wrap my cloak more tightly, and tuned out the rest of the argument. The two voices were too far ahead in line for me to confirm who they were anyways, and nothing they were saying was anything I hadn¡¯t already heard before. While I could assume they were [Mage] Class (if only from their clear confidence they were headed for some greater purpose) it seemed likely they weren¡¯t anything too extraordinary.
If they were, they wouldn¡¯t be waiting in line with the rest of us.Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.
And much to my dismay, that wait continued.
Passing the time, I adjusting the straps on my bag once more, and I confirmed my letter of recommendation was still in the envelope and sleeve of the cloak where I had left it. It settled in nicely, pressing up lightly against the dagger still tucked in its sheath that strapped tightly beside my ribs, atop my shirt.
Then, I checked again.
I knew it was simply the low simmer of anxiety that was getting to me, but no matter how much I wished I could settle myself completely, it was difficult.
This was a risk.
An unnecessary risk.
I could still turn back. I could return to the Guildmaster, or just head out towards the wilderness as Gregory did. Find a place where I could try and live a simple life out of sight, out of mind. Even if war came, I could simply keep running¡
I shook my head, willing those thoughts away.
No, I had decided this was what I wanted.
This was worth the risk.
Silently, I continued to wait, even as more voices whispered around me. Spurred on, perhaps, by the louder conversation I had already overheard. Talk of opinions and idle chatter mingled as the time passed. Some others were arrogant in similar ways to what I¡¯d already heard, but most simply discussing local trends. Of the many rumors of the coming war and invasion. I could hear hushed tones discussing what they had learned of from up farther to the north, and of course the ever-ongoing battles with creatures to the south. Some even spoke of famous [Knights] I supposed I should have heard of, and their recent feats.
It was still strange to me, how casually war could be discussed. Not a distant war, but one that was within a few weeks travel, should they only decide to take a wagon north. One that could potentially be at their doorsteps, should something go wrong. I knew first hand of those crests bearing gold and black, all dripping red with blood.
Yet, it was almost as if the people were speaking of the weather, or perhaps a recent sporting event. A reasonable comparison, as I supposed that the [Knights] would be the players¡ Truthfully, I still couldn¡¯t wrap my head around it. How people talked about the southern border that was plagued with monsters of the worst sort, was under siege, yet again, with an astonishing lack of concern. And while the conversations related to the Empire and the northern borders were slightly more hushed and subdued, they still talked without much fear.
I had begun to chalk this up to just being a cultural quirk of the Kingdom. A social manifestation that was, potentially, bred into the very fabric of their society, considering they¡¯d apparently been at war with [Hellspawn] and [Demons] for¡ well, as long as anyone could remember, which was likely quite a long time.
It was still a little unsettling. Though, I supposed I felt that way more for personal reasons than anything.
The farther away I could get from war, or monsters, or any combination of things related to those two: the better.
¡°I tell you, the Citadel will be sending at least half this lot back down. Within the week, I imagine.¡± The arrogant voice returned, louder in the ongoing argument that was still raging ahead in the line. ¡°They need people with power, not more academics. They need to ready for battles, not lectures!¡±
¡°Who told you that, I wonder? You speak with such certainty!¡±
¡°No one needs to tell me- just look around! Everyone in their right mind knows there¡¯s another war coming. It¡¯s simply common sense. Besides, I¡¯ve heard the Black Roses will even be recruiting-.openly recruiting! When was the last time you ever heard of such a thing?¡±
Well, so much for nothing of true value.
I made a quick mental note of that little tidbit. While it could still just be a rumor, at least it was a rumor I¡¯d heard before.
The rest of what was said didn¡¯t seem nearly as interesting, though.
Something of trade, local politics, who they¡¯d needed to pay in order to get the correct letter of recommendation¡
I felt my hand drift back to my own.
¡°It¡¯s yours if you want it, but know: I¡¯ll be sure to collect on the favor in due time.¡± The Guildmaster¡¯s whisper drifted through my mind. ¡°In due time, John¡¡±
As if my nerves weren¡¯t already bad enough¡
I didn¡¯t doubt she would. She had every right to collect all that and more, considering the help she¡¯d provided me. But, what that would actually mean, was a thought for another day, and I knew it was still probably better than paying several hundred gold I didn¡¯t have for a piece of paper I still might not have gotten.
Navigating that mess without the proper connections would have been impossible.
And that was perhaps the most troublesome part of all of this.
I¡¯d been in the Kingdom for months, and while I felt that I had acclimated quite well for the circumstances, I still wasn''t quite certain that I¡¯d become used to some of the pompous attitudes the "higher" class citizens seemed to hold. Even when I¡¯d prepared to the best of my ability, communicating with them was something I had been highly cautious of. Some were genuinely nobles, and had power and backing to match it. Many with Skills that were nothing to laugh at. All, while the rest were just a mix between the wealthy son or daughter of a successful [Merchant] and a surprising amount of hot air.
The problem was that it was so damn difficult to tell the difference. All it took was a single misstep in that kind of company, and things could end very, very, badly¡
"The next platform will be arriving shortly!" From the front of the line, a [Knight] made an announcement with a Skill I vaguely recognized as either [Booming Voice] or [War Cry]. "You must have papers and payment for passage ready. You may also need to provide proof of your Class before you are allowed upon the platform."
Looking up, I could see above our heads, a disc of heavy stone was approaching. Dropping down towards the city below as if being lowered by invisible pulleys for a controlled freefall. Even from a distance, it glowed with runic carvings, each one layered in a perfect circle to meet at the center, where a thick placement of Mana Crystal glowed a bright pale blue. Just as it reached the plaza, that same crystal flared to life, stopping its rapid descent to gently lower the final few feet of distance, until it hovered only the barest of inches from the ground.
Craning my neck, I watched with interest as two men stepped off of it and quickly began to address the waiting queue as the [Knights] began to allow individuals to pass through the platform¡¯s checkpoint.
In mere moments, the line was moving, and myself along with it.
This was it.
While there were still many people ahead of me, I felt my certainty solidifying as the line shrank and more passed through to wait upon the floating platform.
The previous times I¡¯d attempted this, the platform had filled up before I could get a chance. The first time had been completely intended, so I could study and prepare for any surprises. The second time had been poor luck, not arriving at the correct location in time- but the third? I knew I would make it this time.
Every detail had been accounted for. I was sure of it.
Through patient steps, I mentally repeated everything I would need, letting my hand fall to my bag, then to my letter, then back to my bag. Closing my eyes, I felt at my Skills, confirming once more that everything was in place.
It had to be.
Everything was in place, and I was prepared.
I was prepared.
The mantra repeated, as I approached, bodies in line ahead of me making their way abord the floating platform one at a time. Then, the line stopped, as a commotion erupted.
¡°You misunderstand!¡± A man shouted, fighting against the steely grip of two [Knights] that had moved in to take his arms. ¡°This is a mistake! I am a [Scholar] and nothing more! I am a [Scholar!]¡±
¡°You truly expect us to believe that? With this feeble [Illusion?]¡± Stepping out into John¡¯s line of sight, one of the [Mage] Class beside the platform raised a hand, ripping free the man¡¯s necklace.
The protesting man¡¯s appearance dropped at once, revealing someone very different in size and shape.
Where there had once been a feeble [Scholar] protesting injustice, there was suddenly a [Spy] dressed all in black.
And unlike the [Scholar] they had seemed before: the [Spy] was armed.
Motion blurred in an instant. Immediately, the man went for his sword, which was a long and slender blade at his hip- but the [Knights] were faster. Shouts rose, as they yanked his arm back and down, quickly throwing the weapon aside.
Yet- as they did, the [Spy] turned about to throw a knife. Spinning free of one of his aggressors, the small weapon glowed with a sudden burst of power as he threw it with deadly precision towards the [Mage].
Then it crashed against nothing.
Or, seemingly nothing.
For a second, it seemed to have wedged itself into a flash of light. One, which scattered and rippled like that of a flat plane, or window made of air, before being deflected, and sent scattering harmlessly across the plaza¡¯s pavement.
The [Spy] seemed too astonished to act further, as the [Knights] who held him threw him bodily to the ground, and only seconds later, there were several [Soldier] Class dragging the disarmed man away.
¡°Aren¡¯t you all lucky to get a show?¡± The [Mage] said dryly, as he pocketed the necklace and dismissed whatever barrier still lingered in the air with another wave of his hand. ¡°I see the Kingdom has gotten a little livelier since I last visited.¡±
I swallowed a lump in my throat that I¡¯d not known was there. I could only hope I wasn¡¯t also breaking out into a cold sweat.
As if the clear ability to see through magical deception wasn¡¯t terrifying enough, an agent of the Empire had been right there, in line with me. Standing only a few paces away, and I¡¯d been none the wiser.
As if nothing had happened, the line was already moving again. Coins and papers were being collected, while specific individuals were halted for further review by the second [Mage] who waited beside the platform.
As I drew close enough to easily [Identify] those ahead of me, I quickly saw the trend.
For rare exception, they were only stopping other [Mages]. Occasionally, a [Scholar] would be stopped, or perhaps someone of a similar and non-magic related Class, but those pulled aside were almost entirely [Mages].
But I¡¯d known that would be the case.
My reassurances seemed quite frail, but my feet continued to carry me in the correct direction.
As the line halted again, this time for someone lacking a recommendation letter of reputable source (so far as I could tell) who was arguing quite fiercely. Thankfully, there was no violence, this time. As the hold-up continued, I quietly pulled up my Status.
It was fine.
Everything was going to work.
¡
Name: John
Title: [Apprentice]
Class: [Mage]
General Skills:
Hidden
Special Skills:
Hidden
Status:
Hidden
¡
This was going to work.
I was prepared.
I was-
¡°Papers and coin.¡± The Mage before me request, setting his eyes upon me with frightening intensity.
¡°Certainly.¡± I willed my heart to calm, as I passed the sealed envelope, along with a single gold coin. Then, I watched as the seal was inspected and deftly cracked open.
¡°Ah¡ I see. You keep interesting company¡ John.¡± The [Mage] frowned as he read the letter a second time. ¡°It¡¯s rare the Guild send us an applicant to the Academy. Very rare, in fact.¡±
¡°The Guildmaster believed I was worth the investment.¡± I answered, expression neutral.
¡°No doubt.¡± The man¡¯s frown didn¡¯t lessen as he stared at me.
I stared back, uncertain.
Could he tell? For all I¡¯d practiced, I felt confident he couldn¡¯t, but what if he had a Skill? The Guildmaster had warned me, there were rare cases where it might be possible-
¡°Your magic?¡± He interrupted my thoughts, as he gestured towards his companion. The second [Mage] who waited beside the platform, sheltered beneath a cloak and hood of deep velvet. ¡°I ask that you please show restraint. A small example will do.¡±
¡°As you wish.¡± I answered stiffly, lifting my palm as I felt the mana in my blood begin to swirl. ¡°[Flame]¡±
I spoke the Skill as I let the air flow from my lungs, and fire suddenly ripped through the air above my palm. There, it rose upwards in a sudden surge of heat, before settling into the calm I forced upon it. With ferocity, though, it licked the air in all directions it could, a burning orb of deep orange.
¡°Ah¡ wild fire. That is impressive.¡± The hooded man nodded approvingly. ¡°I¡¯ll admit, it has been some time since I¡¯ve seen such a thing. Quite the feat, finding and taming it as you have.¡±
¡°I¡ thank you.¡± I replied awkwardly, looking back to the [Mage] who still held my letter. There, I found his frown had been replaced by an odd look of¡ approval?
¡°Well then.¡± The [Mage] announced, tucking my letter away into a small bag that seemed to swallow the paper whole, before he dismissed me with a wave. ¡°The Citadel welcomes you, and I am certain the Academy will as well, John. Go on ahead.¡±
I nodded my thanks, dismissing my magic as I stepped up to the platform, joining the others already waiting. Several of them glanced my way, suddenly much more interested in my presence, but no one approached.
Taking a spot towards the center of the platform, I looked around and waited as more people soon filled in around me.
The hair on the back of my neck itched, and I continually checked my status, unwilling to accept that nothing had gone wrong- that something was about to go wrong.
I waited for the other shoe to drop. For the catch, or the last second change that sent me running for cover. For a [Mage] or a [Knight] to suddenly turn on me¡
But none of that happened.
No, just a few moments later, the plaza was miles below.
And I was on my way.