《Guildmaster》 Prologue — The Incorrect End of Sumiroma Kamei The brat was one of the slow ones, in multiple regards. With two months wasted, Kamei¡¯s latest apprentice had earned neither a class nor natural talent. The former was an inconvenience. The latter was an omen. His master might¡¯ve tolerated ATK. Up and Relentless, the sentimental fool, but Kamei had no interest in sullying his style¡¯s legacy with mediocrity. The acceptable talents were clear, the path to awaken them well mapped. Only one remained untested. Sadly, Bladework (N) would not reveal itself so readily. Level five was a prerequisite and Kamei would be damned if he let the boy have a single level before he learned proper respect. And the brat was also a slow learner. Moreover, he was also a coward. When Kamei had been so young, he had shouted his defiance to the world. He had challenged his master again and again, matching blade against blade, until he knew just how greatly he was eclipsed. He had allowed it to be beaten out of him. It was the same with many of his former apprentices. Others held their rebellious spirit so loosely that it broke in the very act of training. His apprentice was of a different ilk. He fiercely guarded his contempt, as though that would spare him the rod. It escaped only in the smallest gestures. A hint of disdain in an otherwise respectful answer. A stiffness to his bow and smile that spoke of anger concealed. Unacceptable. Before anything else, the brat needed to learn just how little he was worth. Over the second month, Kamei decided attacking the problem directly was ineffective. Confrontation and straightforward discipline seemed to only push his apprentice to hide it further. He was the son of a Chemist and had clearly inherited his father¡¯s Knave-like mindset. Likely, the boy thought he could find some honourless way to defeat him. A trap, or a potion of some kind. A preposterous thought, but one that needed to be crushed properly. It wasn¡¯t enough to show the boy that he was outclassed, but that victory was impossible. He told his apprentice as much. Let the boy see his master¡¯s stat page. Given space, the boy¡¯s first resort was, of course, poison. A laughable idea, made more so by the boy¡¯s choice in arms. What would a sleeping draught have accomplished, even if it worked? It didn¡¯t, of course. Kamei easily shrugged it off with little more than a single Status Vuln Up debuff. He was merciful in his punishment; a single, clean strike that immediately sent the boy to the chapel. The second attempt was made only hours later, with an embarrassingly weak DoT poison and a minor Strength drain. Both were similarly resisted. This time, he brought an old training sword to bear on his apprentice. Able to batter the boy without the possible relief of death, Kamei left him At Death¡¯s Door. He let the boy lie there in pain for a time, before finishing him with a boot to the gut. And yet, the brat still prepared to make a third attempt at the same plan. Now, he would disabuse the boy of the thought that these acts of rebellion were at anything other than his master¡¯s discretion. He could¡¯ve concealed his footsteps as he approached the kitchen. Even upon the Guildhouse¡¯s old wooden floors, he could¡¯ve been little more than a ghost. Instead, he let them resound in the silence. Let the boy know. Let him hope his master was simply walking by. He stopped at the door. The boy was hunched over the stove, back turned, carefully still like a mouse before a snake. ¡°Tell me, b-¡± At the sound of his voice, his apprentice whipped around, desperately hurling some small object at his master. With a single, lazy motion, Kamei drew his katana and neatly cut the projectile in half. Pottery shattered. Pale, gold powder drifted in the air. Your status resistance has been reduced greatly! (168s) You have been Paralysed! (22m) Kamei dropped to one knee, held up only by his passive skill, Fighting Fit. Caught in his own attack, the boy had no such luxury and fell flat on his face, yet sprung back up almost immediately. Clearly shaken, yet with a tiny, victorious smile, he scampered off as fast as he could manage. Shock quickly gave way to rage. The boy had...No, not tricked, deceived him. His arrival had been expected. No, more than that; the plan hinged on the three stacks of Status Vuln Up already primed. Not honest attempts at defeating him, but steps in a plan. He¡¯d allowed the boy to exploit his leniency, to plan around the exact nature of his training. And at the plan¡¯s centrepiece... The plan¡¯s centrepiece was a Stun Bomb. A Stun Bomb. The brat believed he¡¯d be laid low by a child¡¯s prank. Barred from all actions, even from interacting , Kamei could do little but seethe silently and plot what retribution he would visit upon the brat, as the icon at the edge of his vision slowly ticked down. Twenty one minutes... ... Twenty minutes... ... Nineteen minutes... The brat hadn¡¯t returned yet. The armory was only rooms away. If the boy intended to kill him, he would¡¯ve returned by now. That was what he¡¯d have done, at that age. It wouldn¡¯t have worked, of course. The boy wouldn¡¯t be able to even scratch him, so great was the difference in their levels...But then, what was the point of this?Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Eighteen minutes... A thought struck him. Did the boy think he could just run away? As though he could run far enough with even a day¡¯s head start, let alone a scant twenty two minutes? As though such disrespectful act would not see Kamei hunt the boy down like a dog, regardless of how long it took? Seventeen minutes... No, this disrespect would be avenged, one way or another. Death would not suffice as an answer. His former apprentices earned that particular reward only through failure. No, the brat¡¯s actions required consequences. There were few things Ahthar, the god of Heroes, loathed more than a coward whose actions doomed the innocent. Those who suffered in his place would weigh on the boy¡¯s soul. Likely enough to scuttle any hope of another attempt at life. The father would go first. A torturous death, for his hand in raising the brat. Then, he would raze the town and salt the earth. That too would be a just end for a land that refused him a worthy student. Sixteen minutes... Twenty years since he¡¯d moved the guild here, nearly a hundred students, and only one that¡¯d shown an appropriate talent. He vaguely remembered the boy. Brown hair with the build of a budding farmer. He¡¯d succumbed to his final rest before even reaching his first level cap. Perhaps he should¡¯ve cut his losses earlier, when it became clear the people of this land were so lacking merit. Fifteen minutes... As a rank 9, to even need the Acclaim associated with teaching was degrading, but there¡¯d been no other choice. In overtaking his former master¡¯s level, it was his duty to the guild to challenge for and take the position of Guildmaster. He had not accounted for the cost of accepting the title. In the aftermath, the guild splintered into twelve pieces. More willing to wheel and deal, the other Guildmasters quickly snapped up the worthwhile members. Much as he desired to reunite the guild under a single banner, Kamei hadn¡¯t the Acclaim to pay for a complete reincarnation, let alone a duel against a peer. Fourteen minutes... Correcting that should¡¯ve been simple, even as the only member of the Slicing Wind Guild. With his master¡¯s passing, he¡¯d also inherited the title of Master of the Slicing Wind Style. The last of the great Katana styles. It would¡¯ve been so easy, if not for a series of students who were in turn incompetent, ungrateful and outright traitorous. Rumour spread throughout the city, stoked by those in the pockets of his enemies, until he could no longer remain. In the end, Kamei had no choice but to leave the city the Slicing Wind Guild had been founded in. Thirteen minutes... And so it went. Everywhere Kamei went, he was dogged by foes in the shadows, stymied at every turn, until he was finally chased out into the Shores, forced to sift through the dregs of humanity for any student with a scrap of skill. He¡¯d grown far more effective at the process over time, but all the while he knew he was running out of time. Curse the boy for wasting even more of it. Much as Kamei hated the town, he knew it¡¯d take months to find and move the guild to another. Twelve minutes¡­ ... Eleven minutes... A warning went off in Kamei¡¯s head, with an accompanying sense of foreboding. He couldn¡¯t remember the last time he¡¯d received anything like...No, he could. Just the once. When he was little more than a child, when he¡¯d held his father¡¯s cursed Heart-Taker Blade. The weapon¡¯s health cost was so high, it would¡¯ve exceeded his maximum health at the time. If he¡¯d equipped it, it would¡¯ve sent him to his final rest. Such a warning was usually only issued in exceedingly dire situations. He held his breath. Ten minutes¡­ ... Nine minutes¡­ ....Nothing. The warning amounted to nothing. Truly, he was jumping at shadows. It was the paralysis talking. As an agility reliant fighter, the forced stillness was unnatural, not helped by the roiling anger still present. It had unnerved him, nothing more. Eight minutes¡­ ... Seven minutes... Nearly there. Six minutes¡­ ... Five minutes¡­ Graceless footsteps echoed in the hallway. Hurrying, but not running. Four minutes... The brat returned. Unable to look at him directly, it was the smell that struck Kamei first. Half ash, half brimstone, like the imp infested dungeons he¡¯d once cleared in his youth. No words, not even a look. He carried himself with an uncharacteristically purposeful stride, going in and out of Kamei¡¯s field of vision. The boy seemed ruffled; cheeks red with exertion and hair a mess. Streaks and smudges of some disgusting, black liquid stained his sleeves. Three minutes... Finally, it seemed the boy had completed whatever task he¡¯d set for himself. ¡°Time¡¯s still good, mm-? Yeah, still two and a bit,¡± the boy muttered to himself, ¡°Cutting it a bit close.¡± Again, Kamei felt irrationally uneasy. The brat knew he¡¯d be free in less than three minutes. He should¡¯ve been begging for mercy, not that he would¡¯ve received any. Though he could only steal glimpses as the boy paced around him, there wasn¡¯t a hint of panic in his expression nor movements. ¡°I should¡¯ve prepared a pithy one liner of some kind¡­¡± Finally, the boy crouched down before his master, a single, plain scroll in hand. With practiced ease, he snapped the string binding the scroll with his fingers and unfurled it on the ground. If he were able, Kamei would have laughed in the boy¡¯s face. A Home Portal scroll. Of all the things the brat thought might stop him, he decided upon a Home Portal scroll. What did he believe it would do? Did the boy somehow believe it would send Kamei so far away that he would be unable to exact retribution? Did he not think that Kamei was bound to some far off church, rather than the guild¡¯s very own¡­ Two Minutes No. No, of course the boy knew he was bound to chapel inside the guild. That smell, the stains on his clothes. Could it...Was it Infernal Oil? Mirthful disbelief gave way to horror as Kamei realised what that unread warning was trying to tell him. The wretch... The wretch had despoiled the guild¡¯s chapel. With the whir of activated aether, the scroll¡¯s markings came to life, extending past the paper and onto the floor. Sixty seconds. He had sixty seconds. The paralysis wore off in a hundred and five. Fruitlessly, Kamei''s inner voice screamed at his unresponsive limbs, at the system that refused to answer him. Beneath him, the aether lattice continued to spread, quickly approaching completion. If he could only stand. If he could only choose a new home point. There had to be something. Something he could do. Something that could save him. He could not die so ignobly. His style would not be extinguished like this. He refused to let his end be at the hands of this despicable, worthless gnat. He refused to let it end this way. One Minute... Sumiroma Kamei, level 860 Knight, Chosen of the Katana, Samurai, Rank 9 Adventurer and Guildmaster of the Slicing Wind Guild, found his final rest, unable to even look his killer in the eye. Chapter 1 — Happily Ever After The guildhouse was a wooden monstrosity. A maze of corridors and old, dusty specialist rooms that¡¯d likely never been used. All varnished timber and painted-on smiles. Warmly lit and well built, but that was all it was. A guildhouse only in name, created for the pride of a guildmaster only in name. It might¡¯ve been built to hold an army, but it¡¯d never housed more than two people at any point in time, or so the stories went. It¡¯d burn well. Be practical. That¡¯d be a waste. It¡¯d be far better to pull the place down. Maybe Mrs Zinthana can make something of all that wood. As always, my voice of reason was a horrible spoilsport, even if it was right. Actually, especially when it was right. I wasn¡¯t thinking of actually doing it. It was just a nice thing to think about. The guildhouse was a pox. A source of boundless sorrow for all and sundry. Twenty years ago, it¡¯d latched onto the northern edge of the town like a tick and had done its best to drain its host dry, one child at a time. But of course, my reasonable side couldn¡¯t let me have that. No, it was far too responsible. Usually, I liked to think my ¡®reasonable side¡¯ was every side of me, but if there was ever a time or place to be unreasonable, it was now. Yes, ¡®practical¡¯. That was a word I¡¯d always liked. Because burning the one lasting reminder of the last two torturous months, and the symbol of twenty years of terror wasn¡¯t an efficient allocation of resources, yet ENDING A RANK NINE ADVENTURER WITH NOTHING BUT TWENTY CIRCLETS WORTH OF ARCANE SUPPLIES WAS A PERFECTLY FUCKING REASONABLE IDEA FOR AN UNLEVELLED CIVILIAN?! If it wasn¡¯t clear, I was in what you might call ¡®a state¡¯. Earlier that same afternoon, I¡¯d lain on the ground, beaten and bloody and sure that, if I lost consciousness, I¡¯d never wake up. Then, I¡¯d eaten a kick to the ribs that only didn¡¯t paint the walls with my internal organs because it had instantly reduced me to my component aether. I¡¯d dusted myself off and considered that step of the plan a smashing success. And now, only hours later, I was free. At whatever cost, I was free. I wanted to curl up on the ground and wait for the world to start making sense again. I wanted to scream at the top of my lungs. Instead, I paced. Alone with my thoughts, down the empty corridors. It gave my feet something to do, as the manic, terrified energy slowly petered out. My hands weren¡¯t so easily occupied. Twice already, I¡¯d run them through my hair without thinking, heedless of the oil that still stained them. It¡¯d probably be weeks until I stopped smelling like an imp¡¯s armpit. The once pristine, white uniform the bastard had insisted I wear was ruined. I could burn that, at the very least. Even my past self had no objections to that. Again, my thoughts returned to the dragon in the room. I¡¯d just killed someone. I¡¯d just killed another person. That was already pretty fucking bad. Worse, I¡¯d just killed someone important. Was he really any more important than anyone else¡ªENOUGH OF YOUR WEIRD FUCKING PHILOSOPHISING, BRAIN, I DON¡¯T NEED THIS RIGHT NOW. My pace quickened. I refocused on what was immediately in front of me. Deep breaths. Echoing footsteps. Through an open door, I glimpsed a window. In the distance, the sun beat a slow retreat towards the horizon. I¡¯d gone to the kitchen to ostensibly make dinner in the middle of the afternoon, no more than an hour since I¡¯d scraped myself off the chapel floor. It was still nearly impossible to see how he¡¯d walked into that. Into any of it, really. The plan wasn¡¯t meant to work. It was too stupid. Too obvious, at least the first part. I¡¯d expected little more than a moral victory at best and a nasty discovery at worst. There¡¯d been so many places he could¡¯ve seen what was going on and said ¡®No, I think that¡¯s enough¡¯. It was hard to think of an explanation for why he just sat back and let me kill him. Aside from his utter casual contempt for me, at least. The night before last would forever be burnt into my memory. The bastard had taken me aside with a sort of patronising, faux-fatherly tone, and revealed his full stat page to me. His fifteen digit health bar. His list of traits and talents that¡¯d could have probably taken up a short novel. ¡°Difficult as it might be, try thinking, boy. Think of all that you could accomplish, given the chance and how you¡¯d die of old age before even landing a scratch on me. Even if I were to stand perfectly still, you¡¯d break your knuckles before making me shift. It is something you somehow do not understand, but one day, if you reveal yourself to have some talent, you will look back and remember this as the moment your life truly began.¡± Pitch black hatred continued to fume impotently in the back of my mind. The condescension. The reflexive dismissal of any threat. The complete disregard for the worth of anything not pertaining to his own desires. I¡¯d learned to suppress them. I¡¯d grown up in the shadow of the guildhouse, knowing there was nothing I could do. Watched in silence as each year saw my group of peers shrink ever smaller, until only four remained and it was my turn to face the gibbet. Even if I knew he¡¯d be the death of me, I couldn¡¯t help but keep my head down and hope for a miracle. And yet. His words weren¡¯t meant to be kind nor convincing. Not a threat, nor some twisted encouragement. They were meant to haunt me. Words I would come back to whenever my attempts at defiance fell short. It was in his tone. The offhand certainty. He spoke as though the facts were as plain as the colour of the sky. No caveats, no qualifications. I could believe he truly thought I posed no threat, even with his guard aggressively down. He doesn¡¯t know. Something at the edge of memory stirred. It was a stubborn anger that was only half familiar. Steelier and icier than what I¡¯d felt before, it cut through the hesitance. The doubt that masked itself as caution, that ¡®there has to be something I¡¯m missing, was pierced. You¡¯re wrong, it said. I know the facts, and you¡¯re one hundred percent wrong. If you¡¯re just going to stand by and let me, I¡¯m going to kill you. By the next morning, the anger had started to diffuse, but I pressed on. Though I had the broad strokes instantly, the details of the plan came together throughout the day, first as I picked up the scroll, Imp¡¯s Spades and brimstone from the Arcana, then as I gathered the necessary weeds. He wouldn¡¯t just stand still for that, but that much solved itself...In theory. The interaction between the Cumulative Susceptibility of different status effects would be key. Resist a status, suffer more severe status effects in the future, with an increased chance, stacking additively. When administered via ingested poison, the effects were magnified.Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. It wouldn¡¯t do much for a damaging poison, or even something as similar as Sleep, but Paralysis was a different story. Status resistance double dipped against paralysis, with both a chance to ignore and a shortened duration, but conversely, negative resistance extended its duration as did Severity. He¡¯d shown me exactly what numbers I was working with. With no Vitality beyond his natural growth, the bastard topped out at 168% status resistance. A dire sounding number on the surface, but also one that¡¯d work in my favour. It¡¯d ensure he¡¯d resist the weaker poisons, even when already debuffed. With three stacks, I¡¯d have just a shade over twenty two minutes. It was perfect, besides all the places I knew it was definitely going to fall apart in. By the morning of, I¡¯d resigned myself to a moral victory at best and a complete failure at worst. Either he¡¯d stop me, or I¡¯d run into a hitherto unknown mechanic that¡¯d completely unravel my plotting. The fears continued, even as each step passed by. Even as I watched the spell circle creep across the ground, I dreaded I had made a horrible error. Something. Anything. It had no business working. Once more, I could only ask myself what the hell I¡¯d been thinking. You¡¯re being stupid. You knew that this is what you should¡¯ve done, given the chance. Horrible as it was, it was necessary and it is done. I knew that. Fucking hell, I knew that. I can accept that. There was a certain something to the sigh I let out; a finality to it. Like the terror and dread that¡¯d built over the past two months, that¡¯d been driving me until that point were finally rolling to a stop. I was calm. I was calm enough, at least. I needed to go home. I needed to go see my dad. * * * * * * * * It wasn¡¯t quite evening by the time I left, but the town was already dead. The street vendors and grocers all closed up by late afternoon. That was just how things worked out in The Shores, or so I¡¯d been told. Close up shop and be home before dark, lest you attract monsters. From what I¡¯d read, that sounded like a myth, but it wasn¡¯t easy to disprove. Monsters had little interest in approaching the guild house. Each evening, the sun set on a silent main street, lined with haphazardly spaced, haphazardly built wooden houses, all alike. The scene always struck an odd chord with me. Like something wasn¡¯t right with it. Our workshop didn¡¯t look too different on the outside. Two unsightly boxes joined together, with old weatherboard walls that hadn¡¯t seen maintenance since before my father had taken it. It''s only distinguishing feature was the sign; pig-iron painted black, in the shape of stylized Alchemist¡¯s Flask. A relic of my father¡¯s past. The door pushed open and I stumbled into the front room. That was the official name for it. It was the closest thing we had to a ¡®shop¡¯. It was a wide open room that¡¯d been added, bare except for three piteous chairs in one corner, for the rare occasion when a customer needed to wait. It looked in need of a clean. ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m here...I¡¯m still here,¡° echoed a voice from inside the workshop itself. Absent of the ill-tempered grumble that usually preceded him, my father emerged from the back. Haggard. That was the word that came to mind. It was clear to see, but another might not have understood the extent. My father was by no means a vain man¡ªas fond of rich food and as often loathe to shave as he was¡ªbut there was a certain level of care he took of himself out of habit. The scraggliness of his beard was the most obvious sign, but the most damning was the slight hunch, the way he carried himself. It screamed of a weariness I¡¯d never seen in him before. We both froze. ¡°Dad¡­¡± No more words were spoken. No sobbing, despite the tears. Just the silence of the empty workshop. The hug was fierce and desperate, like he was afraid I¡¯d disappear if he didn¡¯t hold as tightly as he could. We remained as we were for some time. Eventually, my father found it in him to loosen his grip, convinced well enough for the time being that I was real. ¡°Mind if I go get something to dry my eyes? I¡ª¡± I raised my oil stained hands and sleeves, ¡°Well, I¡¯d rather not, y¡¯know¡­¡± In my head, I could hear him snap at me for being so cavalier with the chemicals. That he responded only with a mute nod...It felt wrong. I took the opportunity to scrub my hands of the gunk as well. As soon as my mind was no longer preoccupied with more pressing matters, it¡¯d become apparent just how gross the oil felt to the touch. Sticky yet faintly slimey, and always warmer than was natural. I¡¯d scraped most of it off, but the residue nagged me all the way home. Running water...it was one of those things easy to take for granted. As was proper soap. The Drench and Scald crystals were both fully charged with ambient magic and I took full advantage of them. In the mirror, I caught a glimpse of a gaunt mess, though I didn¡¯t dwell on it. I did remind myself to get a haircut. When I returned sans oil, my father had sat himself down, expression grim. ¡°You¡ª¡± he started again, ¡°You can¡¯t stay here. This¡¯ll be the first place¡ªThere¡¯s no way to outrun him, you¡¯ll have t¡ª¡± ¡°Dad¡ª¡± ¡°¡ªo find somewhere to hide. I¡¯ll stay behind and¡ª¡± ¡°Dad, stop.¡± I punctuated it by taking him by the arm. ¡°It¡¯s over, dad. The beast is dead.¡±¡¯ He stared at me, as though I¡¯d suddenly swapped to speaking Low Elvish. Perhaps that¡¯d been a touch overdramatic. ¡°Son, Leo, he¡¯s¡ª¡± my father stuttered, suddenly choked with fear, ¡°I don¡¯t know what you did, but it won¡¯t be enough. You have to know the man¡¯s an adventurer. He¡¯ll be¡ª¡± ¡°Dad, no. He¡¯s dead. Proper dead. He¡ª¡± I paused. Only now, on the cusp of vocalisation, could I hear my own words for what they would sound like. The death of Sumiroma Kamei was easy enough to recount, but to explain it was another matter. It was hard enough to even think of him as that; a man with a name. When I was young, we¡¯d always called him the monster or the demon. Those older...well, they usually called him ¡®the Guildmaster¡¯. Flaws seemed to slide off the image he¡¯d accrued in the town. He was this untouchable, effortlessly lethal being. To even call him arrogant invited the rebuttal of ¡®is it arrogance if it¡¯s deserved?¡¯. To call him foolish seemed ridiculous; he was a centuries old adventurer of the highest caliber. And yet... Sumiroma Kamei was not the monster, nor the demon. He was not ¡®the Guildmaster¡¯. He was arrogant, cruel, foolish and flawed in likely a hundred other ways that hadn''t revealed themselves as part of his downfall. Yet even now, I would¡¯ve still been looking over my shoulder, sure he¡¯d survived, if not for two pieces of undeniable proof. ¡°¡ªHe¡¯s definitely gone. The guild disbanded,¡± I smiled wanly, ¡°The rumours were all wrong; it really was just him.¡± Emotions warred across my father¡¯s face as he processed the news. Eventually, he settled on something between relief, joy and bewilderment. He shook his head, as if still unable to believe it. We remained in awkward silence for a time. ¡°...Well, I hadn¡¯t intended on making dinner today, but¡ª¡± ¡°It¡¯s fine,dad, I think¡ªI think I¡¯d just like to go to bed and leave...everything to the morning,¡± I said, ¡°My bedroom isn¡¯t a store room now, is it?¡± He smiled at my barely-a-joke. After another hug, this time one of sincere joy, I trudged the well-worn path to my room. Then, moments before disaster, I remembered my hair was still in desperate need of a wash. Half an hour later, fully dry and certain I was completely clean of the oil, I lay in bed for the first time in what felt like forever. For a moment, I could almost pretend the past two months had happened. Tomorrow, I¡¯d re-bind myself to the shrine in the centre of town and that¡¯d almost be it. Once again, I would plain old Leo Proust, apprentice chemist and level 1 nobody... ...Well, almost. I had still yet to dismiss the other piece of incontrovertible evidence of the bastard¡¯s demise and maybe the only tangible souvenir of the nightmare I cared to keep. It reappeared as soon as I addressed the system.
SYSTEM MESSAGE!
Leonard Proust, for your impeccable skill in slaying Sumiroma Kamei [Samurai lvl.860] in cold blood, the gods have awarded you the class of Knave and the title of Novice Adventurer. May your deeds be worthy of an enduring legacy.
Finally, I closed the message, still unsure of how I felt about it. Though the phrase ¡®What now?¡¯ didn¡¯t specifically cross my mind, I can¡¯t deny the sentiment crossed my mind. I lay there in the gloom and silence, until I eventually dozed off. Chapter 2 — It Goes On I woke after something like twelve hours of sleep, and was greeted by the first day of the rest of my life. Ostensibly, at least. The looming threat had come and passed. The fable had ended, the evil and powerful Samurai vanquished, technically at the hands a foe beneath contempt, but in truth slain by his own hubris. There should¡¯ve been some sort of fanfare, or great big ¡®THE END¡¯ banner from the system that let me know it was all over. Maybe it wouldn¡¯t have changed anything, but it would¡¯ve made me feel better. I woke after something like twelve hours of sleep, and was greeted by a morning like any other and a complete lack of resolution. I¡¯d hoped that maybe, like a bad status effect, that listless, sickly feeling would vanish with a full night¡¯s rest, but alas. Breakfast was an austere affair. Perhaps I shouldn¡¯t have been surprised to find the cupboards bare, but I was. I almost suspected I''d been the last to restock them. Toast with a scraping of jam was the best I could scrounge up. As usual, my father wanted nothing to do with the morning until the early risers had thoroughly broken it in, so I ate alone. I preferred it like that anyway. And yet, I couldn¡¯t help but feel a distinct sense of disquiet. It wasn¡¯t often that I found myself without anything to think about in the immediate sense. Normally, it wasn¡¯t about much more than ¡®are we short on anything? What do I need to prep? When should I go shopping?¡¯, at least, it was before¡ª I stopped myself, breath suddenly deafening in the silence. Yet again, my thoughts went straight back to the guildhouse, the guildmaster or what had happened. It continued to resurface and I hated it. Every time I let it affect me, it was like letting him win in some small way. It¡¯s only been a day, reassured my more rational side, a bloody lot of help when I already knew I wasn¡¯t being rational. It wasn¡¯t even as if it was like that. The bastard hadn¡¯t been trying to score points. His insults were cold, deliberate and ultimately ineffective. He hadn¡¯t cared a single whit of what I thought on a personal level. In my head, the two most hated people in my life bled into each other. It¡¯d been two years since Rufus had vanished, but the memory was still frustratingly vivid. Blonde with a snaggle toothed grin and a laugh that could crack stone. A shrill cackle that¡¯d lodged itself in my mind after years of being shoved over, stolen from and otherwise tormented whenever I was unsuspecting. A little less than two years my senior, yet it was hard to think of him as anything but a brat. He¡¯d been loud and obnoxious, even before he¡¯d decided to bedevil me in particular, with his penchant for so called ¡®pranks¡¯. ¡°Just let it roll off you,¡± my father had advised. I¡¯m not sure it helped, nor if my efforts upheld the spirit of his words, but I¡¯d grown to enjoy watching him fume out of the corner of my eye, when his efforts were completely thwarted and I failed to even acknowledge the attempt. Maybe it was wrong to tar an ignorant child with the same brush as an actual monster...but there had always been a distance to the Guildmaster. Even when face to face. There just wasn''t the same deliberate antagonism to him. It wasn''t personal. And yet...No, even then, it wasn¡¯t justified, even as the feelings remained. However long I spent, slumped over the table, feeling bad about myself, I wasn¡¯t sure. Thankfully, when my father finally graced the room with his presence, he assumed I was just tired. ¡°So, what¡¯re the orders for today?¡± I asked, grasping for something busy myself with. My father gave me a half-incredulous look before answering. ¡°Nah, not opening today. With the Guildmaster dead,¡± he said, voice tinged with glee, ¡°I¡¯m going to break the news, get a town meeting of some kind organised. I know a couple of people who¡¯d always wanted to make changes...And I guess, while I¡¯m out, I¡¯ll take care of the shopping today.¡± I waved goodbye to him without lifting my head. He was practically skipping as he went. Don¡¯t look so happy about it, came a sneering, traitorous little thought that I quashed with extreme prejudice. Once my father was gone, I didn¡¯t remain there for much longer. Five minutes at most, before I decided on what my primary task for the day would be. There were three people I knew wouldn¡¯t be pleased to hear the news of my escape secondhand. I sighed, and set the quest.
*NEW* Quest: Use Your Words
Objective Updated: Go to The Spot
The Spot didn¡¯t really deserve capitalisation. It wasn¡¯t a place of any note. It was barely a ¡®place¡¯ at all. Just an otherwise forgotten alley between two old, abandoned houses. There was little, if anything, special about it and whatever had made it the congregation point for the town''s youth was buried with most of a generation. It was still used, because we¡¯d always used it. As I stepped outside, I couldn¡¯t help but flex my newly acquired Technique.
Sneak
[Technique] [Class] [Stealth] [Non-Combat] Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
Cost: 10 Stamina / 5 Stamina per Hour
Effect: You enterBasic Stealth. Effect broken by Action or Disruption.
No running, no talking, nothing that required any sort of quick or exaggerated movement. By the standards of those I¡¯d read about, it could barely be counted as one, but it was a Technique. I was no longer an unlevelled Civilian; Civilians only got passive Skills. I was a Knave. Level one. The first of many, perhaps? Maybe. Maybe not. I still...Logically speaking, I still expected to follow my father¡¯s footsteps as a chemist, but there was the potential for something else. I wasn¡¯t just boring old Leo Proust anymore. Knowing that, truly internalising, it felt...for lack of a more precise way to describe it, ''good''. It made me feel a hell of a lot better than the rest of my ¡®kit¡¯. I had three different Katana techniques at Grade F, each a ¡®reward¡¯ for two days of torture at minimum. I hated them. I swear it was only half by association. The Katana was a wretched weapon. When I held the Draw Stance, I could feel the mana churning, like insects beneath my skin. If I never touched the bloody weapon again, it¡¯d be too soon. Without alerting a single soul, I followed the dirt road through the town¡¯s centre towards The Spot. There really wasn¡¯t a good reason for us to still use it. It wasn¡¯t like back when we were really young, and there was that novelty of going to a place where our parents weren¡¯t readily on hand. It was strange, to go without being seen. To walk past the Arcana without a cheerful greeting from Mr Adamite, or to go past Mrs Eleanor¡¯s fruit stand without a suspicious glare from the notorious child hater. As I approached it, the sounds of an argument could be heard coming from the alley. It hadn¡¯t been my intention to surprise everyone with my presence, but curiosity piqued, I decided to eavesdrop. The scene before me raised many, many questions. Though he¡¯d always had the quickest temper of maybe anyone I¡¯d known, Jack never had the bulk or height to be intimidating, hypocritical as that might¡¯ve been with my proto-crafter¡¯s physique. Watching him get up in Mona¡¯s face would¡¯ve looked wrong on a good day, in her usual jeans and t-shirt. Though she was the youngest, she was by far the tallest of us and was built like the future smithy she was. Today, she¡¯d found herself a set of cheap leather armour to wear. Strapped across her back sat a lump of metal roughly hammered into the shape of a sword. It was bizarre to see her just stand by and allow him to berate her with only a close-mouthed scowl. ¡°¡ªwhy now, huh? Why¡¯s it you think we¡¯ll start finding monsters out there now? You don¡¯t, do you? You¡¯re just looking for a fucking excuse to show off your Knight shit¡ª¡± ¡°Jack, come on, dude¡ª¡± Charlie, ever the peacemaker, of course tried to calm him down, but Jack seemed unusually belligerent today. ¡°Come on, what, Charlie, what, you going to tell me it¡¯ll be fine?¡± ¡°...We¡¯ll think of something, okay?¡± Jack rolled eyes, positively overflowing with antipathy. ¡®You¡¯ll think of something¡¯. What? You¡¯re going to sneak in at the dead of night and we¡¯ll all go on the run? And get hunted down in a week?¡± Jack asked with a sneer, "You aren¡¯t rescuing him. Even with an army you wouldn¡¯t be rescuing him. You won¡¯t be rescuing me in a month. You won¡¯t be rescuing yourself. I¡¯ve god damn had it with pretending like this is all gonna turn out fine. The bastard¡¯s too fucking strong. We''re¡ª¡± He wasn¡¯t meant to say that. Even if it was something ¡®everyone knew¡¯, you weren¡¯t supposed to say it. That had always been the unspoken agreement. You weren¡¯t meant to put it in those kinds of terms. You weren¡¯t meant to call it what it was. You weren¡¯t meant to give up. Of course, I couldn¡¯t let this go on. Even allowing as much as I had was a mistake. I should¡¯ve already stepped in. Damn my hesitance. With a single, steadying breath, I dissembled. Emotionally drained, lucky to be alive Leo Proust was ushered away behind the curtain. In his place was dry-witted, ever-composed Leo Proust, who folded his arms, slouched against the wall and allowed his stealth to drop with a single, well-timed question. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, who won¡¯t you be rescuing, exactly?¡± As one, my three friends turned to look at the figure that¡¯d suddenly appeared in their midst. Silence reigned for maybe twenty seconds, as they each tried in their own way to figure out what trickery this was. ¡°Well, don¡¯t all welcome me back at once.¡± ¡°L-Leo?!¡± Jack stammered, ¡°The hell are you doing here? The monster will have your h-shit, he¡¯ll have our heads¡ª¡± ¡°Shut your pie hole, will¡ª? Thank you. Kamei is no longer of concern,¡± I said, false bravado cut with a hint of genuine, petty spite as I used the man¡¯s first name, ¡°He¡¯s no longer of concern...to anyone.¡± I waited expectantly. The blank stares continued. ¡°...He¡¯s dead,¡± I stated, ¡°Properly dead. ¡®Not coming back¡¯ dead. The sort of dead you get where your body is unanchored from the physical plane and tossed into the Aether Ocean. Because that is, very specifically, what happened to him.¡± Charlie and Mona balked in shock. Jack, on the other hand, was burning too hot to be stopped by such a ridiculous claim. ¡°...The fuck? Are you fucking mad? Y¡ª¡± ¡°Jack..." Mona interrupted him, "He¡¯s¡ªI don¡¯t think he¡¯s lying.¡± The look Jack gave Mona was worth a thousand words and each of them a synonym for disbelief. ¡°...Jack, didn¡¯t you just see him step out of fucking thin air?¡± Mona clarified for the boys, voice still just as baffled as they were, ¡°Leo¡¯s a Knave now.¡± Charlie¡¯s expression might''ve remained a static picture of shock and confusion, but Jack¡¯s face proudly shouted his thoughts to the world. What¡¯s that got to do w¡ª Wait, to get the Knave class you have to¡ª He killed an adventurer. And the only adventurer in the town was... As was his nature, Jack then gave voice to the question I knew was on all their minds. ¡°How the fuck¡ª¡± Again, I cut him off with a single placating hand. He flinched in a manner I''d never seen from him before. ¡°Well, I can surmise we were all deciding on whether to head over to the old killing fields, so how about I cast the deciding vote and I can tell you about it on the way.¡± Interlude 2.5 — Echo ¡°Yanagi-san, explain to the class how the Katana¡¯s Draw Stance differs from the Dagger¡¯s Ambush.¡± The boy¡¯s train of thought faltered, as his daydream shattered to reveal his teacher looming over him. The class watched in mocking silence. ¡°Ambush and Draw, Sensei? Uh¡ªRight, Draw Stance is an Active Skill and Ambush Stance is passive...¡± The teacher¡¯s gaze silently bore down on him, like the merciless summer sun, the hint of a gratified smirk on a face otherwise carved from stone. ¡°...And, uh, Draw Stance increases damage by 20% at rank one, while Ambush Stance gives, uh, 50%?¡± he hazarded. It was obvious the teacher was looking for some other answer, but he had no idea what it could possibly be. He weathered the strike from the teacher¡¯s pointing rod across the face without response, thankful that she¡¯d done so with her Spur skill, rather than a full attack. He really didn¡¯t want to have to walk back from the Chapel today. ¡°Truly, an answer worthy of your birthright,¡± scoffed the teacher, before returning to the front of the room. Yanagi did his best to suppress the shame. Did everyone have to always bring up his status as an orphan who hadn''t yet awakened his personal skill? Surely, the lineage of every soul had to start somewhere. It wasn¡¯t like the nine-rebirth heroes all started out perfect badasses, right? The teacher¡¯s voice shattered his musings once more. ¡°Within the Iconic Skill of all sixteen weapon types, the character of that weapon is revealed,¡± declared the teacher, finally back to addressing the class as a whole, ¡°To only look at the Skill¡¯s literal effects is to reveal oneself as an utter fool.¡±You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. A series of chalk runes took shape upon the blackboard behind her, before reforming into the recreation of two text boxes, completely illegible from Yanagi¡¯s seat at the back. ¡°Ambush triggers upon the first Action taken in combat, allowing for a burst of damage on first skill usage if the wielder takes their target by surprise. It can be leveraged once and only once. For those who choose it as a weapon, the dagger forces its wielder to be the aggressor by any means necessary. It is an ability that is only of use to blackhearts and scoundrels who strike from the shadows. To take up a dagger is to embrace treachery.¡± She rapped her pointer next to the scribble that must¡¯ve been the description of Draw Stance. ¡°The Katana¡¯s Draw Stance can be performed at any time, as long as it is sheathed. It must be held as an action, presenting the stance to the enemy, before a Skill can be performed out of it. After the first target is slain, the wielder must sheathe their blade and allow their next foe the same first strike advantage. The critical skills that evolve from it rely on parrying, counter-attacking and interception. It is a weapon most powerful when it is the foe who is aggressing. It is a weapon of honour. It is the weapon of honour.¡± Petulantly, Yanagi wondered if that meant the ¡®Ronin¡¯ he''d heard whispers of from the senior students were an honourable Advanced Class. If Knaves were despicable, honourless fiends and the Katana was the Weapon of honour, what of the former who wielded the latter? ¡°This is why it is the chosen weapon of both the noble houses and the Guard. It¡ª¡± The teacher froze. ¡°Sensei?¡± Brow furrowed, the class¡¯s teacher looked out the window, stepping gingerly towards it. Moments passed, before she stepped back towards the blackboard, expression still a mix of shock, horror and utter, utter confusion. ¡°It¡¯s¡ªIt¡¯s nothing, students. Something very...Just very strange has happened, is all.¡± Chapter 3 — Zones Edge Confidence became easier to fake as the conversation moved away from what happened and towards how it happened. Exasperated frustration lent itself better to my actual feelings. ¡°Look, every stack subtracts a flat hundred percent from status resistance and amplifies both duration and severity by fifty percent, stacking multiplicatively with itself,¡± I explained, ¡°One sixty eight status res goes down to negative one thirty two. Finally, the Stun Bomb itself applies a twenty five percent duration amp on top of everything. Base duration of forty seconds, times one point five, six times...oneninetyseventwoninetysixfourfiftysix, say five seventy after the amp, times two point three eight, thirteen hundred and fifty five seconds. Which is twenty two and a half minutes. And a smidge. It¡¯s not that complicated.¡± Mona levelled an inexplicably suspicious side-eye at me. ¡°Does learning chemistry have ¡®Massive Nerd¡¯ as part of the reqs, or does that come with the crafter ranks?¡± She grinned impishly as I answered with a light-hearted shove. To my surprise, it was like trying to move a hill. ¡°Bloody hell,¡± I heard myself mutter. ¡°Yeah, being a Knight¡¯s pretty great,¡± she gloated, ¡°Iron Bulwark especially. ¡± I took a quick look at my own set of thoroughly unimpressive passive skills. ¡°Well, I¡¯m immune to natural fall damage when lightly armoured,¡± I said with a self-deprecating chuckle, which only sharpened her grin. Suddenly, her attention shifted to Charlie and Jack. ¡°You guys alright?¡± she asked, with an edge to it I couldn¡¯t place. The two had been very quiet, come to think of it. ¡°Yeah, yeah, we¡¯re perfectly fine,¡± Jack answered, just as snide as ever, glancing back at the last member of the group, who remained silent, ¡°Some of us aren¡¯t interested in bragging about ¡®our¡¯ skills.¡± Right...As unimpressive as my own abilities were, at least I had them. Jack didn¡¯t even have a craft, nor anyone to mentor him in one. Mona was as unimpressed as ever, but didn¡¯t follow up on it. Even if there wasn¡¯t any legitimate pain behind it, for Jack frequently revelled in his own lack of responsibility, putting it out there still killed the flow of the conversation. We finished the trip to the old Hunting Ground in silence. What we encountered there was...I would not say ¡®shocking¡¯. Maybe it would qualify as ¡®surprising¡¯, but if it did, it was only barely so. Though it¡¯d been a lifeless waste for longer than I¡¯d been alive, it only seemed right to see monsters in the Hunting Ground. ¡°Hey, hey! Who called it? Didn¡¯t I say I had a feeling?¡± Mona crowed. Clear as day, lazily sat upon a rock, was a lonely Red Gel. A viscous solution of water and F-grade mana crystals, animated as a head-sized, barely ambulatory blob. Among the lowliest of monsters, it was the weakest variant of the weakest branch of a monster family oft considered weak. Even if it were naturally aggressive, which it wasn¡¯t, an untrained civilian could end one with a particularly forceful stomp. ¡°Come off it. Your training plan is still full of crap,¡± Jack sniped back, ¡°It¡¯s a Red Gel. It¡¯s so weak, it won¡¯t even be worth a single point of experience.¡± Mona grumbled something that sounded like a reluctant concession, though I wasn¡¯t paying enough attention to recall her exact words. The Gel wasn¡¯t quite the clear, homogenous mass I offhandedly knew one should be. Rather than idly musing on the matter, I put my education to work. Bestiary Expertise: Chemistry [Grade 4]
Analysis ¡ª Gel
The cloudiness within the solution is a sign of a newly born Gel, a couple of hours old at most.
As I was mulling it over, there was a...well, the sound was a little difficult to describe. ¡®Muted thunderclap,¡¯ perhaps? Like the incredibly muffled sound of a firework going off. ¡°Did you guys hear¡ª?¡± ¡°No shit, I heard¡ª¡± ¡°¡ªThe hell are you talking about?¡± ¡°Hear what?¡± I was the first to spot the culprit. The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Another one?¡± I asked rhetorically, carefully watching the second Red Gel that¡¯d appeared only a short ways away, ¡°Any idea what¡¯s going on, Charlie?¡± Charlie paused and the rest of us waited. His father had once been the village¡¯s Scout, back when that¡¯d been a necessary job. His craft might¡¯ve been carpentry, we all knew he was the one who knew the most about monsters and adventuring as a whole, having grown up on his father¡¯s stories. He¡¯d been more into the idea of us all eventually becoming adventurers than even Mona. ¡°I guess, with the guildmaster dead, the village isn¡¯t a safe zone any more¡­¡± Well, that¡¯s obvious. ¡°...Before the guild came here,¡± he continued uncertainly, ¡°My dad told me this place used to be a full, one to fifteen spawning ground. It wasn¡¯t just basic monsters here. If monster power tied to the area, it makes sense that it¡¯d bounce back quickly, even after two decades...But...¡± He frowned pensively. ¡°When did you¡ªWhen did the guildmaster die?¡± ¡°Just before dinner yesterday,¡± Jack shot me a dirty look, ¡°What?¡± ¡°And you didn¡¯t show your ugly mug until this morning?!¡± ¡°I thought I¡¯d reward myself with an early night, y¡¯know? It was tiring work¡ª¡± ¡°Guys,¡± Charlie said, in a tone that would brook no argument. We both stopped and Charlie went to speak again, before yet another muffled burst tore both Mona¡¯s and my own attention away from him to find yet another slime behind us. ¡°...Monsters aren¡¯t meant to spawn like that,¡± Charlie finished lamely, whatever he was about to say having been undercut by reality, ¡°I don¡¯t think they should¡¯ve spawned earlier, but they definitely shouldn¡¯t be spawning like this.¡± Though I considered myself pretty well-read, Metaphysics weren¡¯t my area of expertise. I had a full Rank 4 in Alchemy, and I considered myself to have a decent understanding of certain other subjects like combat from a theoretical standpoint, but I honestly found the more esoteric details of spiritualism and venatry to be incredibly dull. The little I read was thoroughly wrapped up in details that were frequently more about moralising than anything practical. Still, I couldn¡¯t help but speculate. Was the Guild¡¯s safe zone like a dam, allowing aether to build up without dissipating? Was it like a vacuum that was suddenly able to be filled? Whatever was happening...well, it could be good, could be bad. ¡°So, how long till we find monsters worth smashing then?¡± Mona probably knew this too, even if she didn¡¯t care. I might¡¯ve missed a lot in the past two months, but it wasn¡¯t hard to tell that having achieved the first step of her dream in becoming an adventurer had only pushed her aspirations towards the next step; gaining levels and moving forward. It was actually something I¡¯d considered asking her about, before I remembered ¡®right, Jack¡¯s still here.¡¯ ¡°I...don¡¯t know,¡± Charlie answered reluctantly, ¡°Maybe the hunting ground repopulates with slimes, then more powerful monsters? Maybe they grow¡ª Look, I don¡¯t have a bloody clue.¡± Mona was, of course, not impressed and I tuned them both out as I considered the matter for myself. Practically speaking, this was a great boon. The village had relied almost entirely on basic crops, critters, and trawling the aether for discarded items to sustain itself since the Guild had attached itself to the town. We¡¯d all had it drilled into us that this was anything but normal and appropriate. Monster drops were the lifeblood of most towns, absorbed by adventurers as experience, and their drops turned into gear and consumables, even out here in The Shores, where monsters were infamously weak. Maybe even moreso. Weak drops worked well for weak civilians, and without the advantages of scale granted by large populations, it just wasn¡¯t efficient to fuel a town via gathering, even if that¡¯d been what we¡¯d been forced to do. ...But then, who was going to farm them? Charlie¡¯s father had been the last person with actual levels we had. Those who¡¯d been allowed to survive were lifetime crafters and merchants who probably didn¡¯t even have a single weapon skill¡ª I jumped a little, as Jack put his hand on my shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re thinking about stuff. Talk.¡± I sighed. It was so much easier to edge away from conversations and keep my thoughts to myself. Back when there were enough kids around for there to actually be an ¡®in¡¯ group and ¡®out¡¯ group, I hadn¡¯t even really bothered pretending to try. I wasn¡¯t sure if my act had ever completely fooled Charlie and Mona into forgetting the real Leo ever existed, but Jack still remembered. I should really have been trying to maintain my act, but¡­ I composed myself. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, I just had a great idea for¡ª¡± A-woooooooo... We all froze. ¡°That came from outside the zone, right?¡± Mona asked obtusely. No shit it came from outside the zone. It wasn¡¯t like it¡¯d been close. It was...well, I wasn¡¯t a tracker or a scout, I could only tell we weren¡¯t in immediate danger. The safe zone had discouraged monsters from even approaching the zone divider, but even I recognised that howl. ¡°Wolves are, what? Minimum of level five, right?¡± I asked, ¡°Or are they¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, wild ¡®Young Wolves¡¯ start at level five at the lowest,¡± Charlie interrupted, ¡°My dad said we used to get a lot of wolves on the outside of the zone. Most of them were level ten at least. Those were what he usually had to deal with. They¡¯re aggressive...and they can cross zone dividers once the pack gets big enough.¡± Knowing that was more than enough to set me on edge. Even Mona seemed like she had little desire to tangle with a full mob when she was still only level one. And yet... I kept an eye on Charlie¡¯s expression, as he looked out towards the wild zone with an expression half thoughtful, half longing. ¡°Charlie¡ª¡± ¡°Yeah, yeah, I¡¯m fine.¡± ¡°That¡¯s not what I¡ªFine, fine.¡± Chapter 4 — Consideration ¡°¡®Ave a good one!¡± ¡°Yeah, you too!¡± I yelled back at Charlie, as he likely wandered back home to start on dinner, as did I. Though all four of us spent the day quietly pensive, uncharacteristically so for Mona and Jack, there was still a sort of companionable atmosphere to being with friends I¡¯d sorely missed. Even so, I couldn¡¯t help but feel there was something off. Like there was some secret, unsaid conversation going on that I¡¯d missed. Not like I couldn¡¯t guess; the argument I¡¯d walked in on loomed large over everything else. Even if he still shouldn¡¯t have said it, Jack couldn¡¯t be blamed for cracking a little in the face of death. The sound of shattering glass welcomed me home. It took all my self-control to not jump out of my skin and it took the majority of my courage to not turn around and find something to busy myself with for an hour. It wasn¡¯t the first time my father had gotten this angry, but it had been years since the last time. In fact, I couldn¡¯t remember him getting this angry since he¡¯d been an unwitting accessory to...what happened with Charlie¡¯s father. A deep breath to steel myself, and I entered. Gingerly, I half-crept down the main hall towards the work room, careful to step around the pile of flask fragments. The creak of my own steps in the silence wasn¡¯t the most reassuring prelude, but I knew in my head that it was probably good that I couldn¡¯t hear my father yelling. ¡°Dad?¡± I asked, as I approached the door. Certain he wouldn¡¯t accidentally bean me with a flask, I poked my head into the room. He¡¯d sat himself at a workbench, face red, eyes staring furiously at a single point in front of him, hands restlessly clenching and unclenching. I hesitated, then berated myself for the instinct. I was being cowardly. Reminding myself that I probably wasn¡¯t the one who¡¯d drawn his ire, I stepped into the room fully. Walking over to lean on the workbench, I let the silence resound for a moment, while I gathered my nerve. ¡°What¡¯s¡ª¡± ¡°The hag has no fucking shame,¡± he growled through gritted teeth. There was only one person he ever referred to like that. ¡°What did Mrs El¡ª¡± ¡°She had the gall¡ªthe fucking gall to start whinging about it. ¡®Oooh, it wasn¡¯t his place¡¯,¡± he ranted, dipping into a mocking falsetto. It took a moment before the pieces started coming together. Honestly, I was surprised, but not exactly shocked. As a former inhabitant of the empire, the grocer, Mrs Eleanor, was infamously outspoken about upholding traditional values. Old and bitter about something nobody I knew really cared to ask her about (not that she would likely have told anyone). Naturally, she wasn¡¯t happy about the way the town had warped around the Guild, but she was maybe the only person in town who still held clearly mixed feelings about¡ª Then, I was struck by just exactly what she must have been objecting to. Frankly, I couldn¡¯t quite believe anyone could think like that, far less actually say it to my father¡¯s face. That...no, Mrs Eleanor was a woman of barbed remarks and disapproving glares. There was no way she¡¯d have come out and said it, even if she believed it. My father was clearly letting his anger get the better of him. ¡°Come on, I mean¡ªI know she¡¯s, well, y¡¯know, but there¡¯s no way she said I should¡¯ve let him kill¡ª¡± ¡°SHE WAS THINKING IT,¡± he roared suddenly, before steadying himself, ¡°Maybe, maybe she¡¯d have denied it, if I put it right to her face then and there, but only because she¡¯s a fucking coward.¡± He paused to catch his breath. ¡°I could see it in her eyes. She¡¯s a fucking coward. Soon as she realised what she¡¯d said, she tried to weasel out of it, tried to shift the subject, talk about ¡®oh, but who¡¯ll protect the town from¡ª¡¯ you stupid bitch, the monster we needed protecting from most is the ONE WHO YOU¡¯RE TRYING TO DEFEND.¡± If there were words I should¡¯ve said, they eluded me at the time. Instead, I just waited there, until his hands stopped shuddering and the scowl he held ceased to have that same sharpness. Eventually, his breathing steadied, which he punctuated with a sigh. ¡°How was it besides that? Anything to note?¡± He paused, as though only just remembering anything else had happened today. ¡°Yeah, there¡¯s going to be a town meeting tomorrow. All twenty of us with legitimate claims will be attending, to talk about what happens next,¡± he hesitated, ¡°Someone¡¯s going to propose an Area SOS quest. I don¡¯t intend to oppose it.¡± I balked slightly. At some point over the afternoon, the idea of becoming an adventurer had crossed from ¡®idle thought¡¯ to ¡®presumption¡¯ and I hadn¡¯t realised it until the thought had been threatened. ¡°Clearly, you¡¯ve earned yourself a class,¡± he smiled as I went to object, then stopped, then condensed the grand extent of my mental grumbling into a single annoyed look, ¡°Your old man ain¡¯t that blind¡­¡± He paused. ¡°Look, I know you¡¯re a proper man. You¡¯re more grown up than I was five years older than you...And I¡¯m not going to gainsay you, if you want to take up the gods¡¯ work, but¡­¡± he trailed off, mind¡¯s eye probably focused on something a decade and a half gone. ¡°Relying on two level one adventurers¡ª¡± ¡°Wait, you know about Mona?¡± He gave me an amused, knowing look. ¡°Leo, most people aren¡¯t that cagey,¡± I mentally appended that with ¡®like you are¡¯, ¡°Leyland and his daughter were crowing about it all over town, up until¡ªwell, that¡¯s not impo¡ªanyway, like I was going to say, two level one adventurers just isn¡¯t going to cut it. We don¡¯t know how long till we start getting wolves, let alone Goblins or other invaders. We need someone with experience, who can be relied on to be able defend the town tomorrow, if need be.¡± Though it pained me to acknowledge it (which, in and of itself, felt like I was acting incorrectly), it wasn¡¯t as though anything he said could be objected to. The town¡¯s hunter corp had been a family business, back when it had one. That¡¯s how I¡¯d read most towns worked out in The Shores. For any place more dangerous... Well, that¡¯s what guilds were meant to be for. ¡°You remembered to pick up something to make dinner with, right?¡± I asked into the lull, flatly as I could. My father cracked a grudging smile at the impressively transparent attempt at changing the subject, and I answered with a grin of my own. Per the otherwise unspoken agreement that went on there and then, we ate dinner at the main table, as if that outburst hadn¡¯t happened. In fact, until we said goodnight and I was sure my father was fast asleep, I tried to put the thoughts that had plagued me all afternoon completely out of my mind. In the dead silence of the dimly-lit workshop, I began to address them. I began to mull over the situation before me. There was a clear and immediate issue that pressed upon the back of my mind whenever I thought about becoming an adventurer. In the past, it¡¯d been enough to dissuade my more fanciful side, and remind myself that, if I made it through the fire, I¡¯d probably be an alchemist like my father.
Leonard ''Leo'' Proust
Level: 1 (0 / 50) Race: Human Class: Knave Fav. Weapons: Katana
Attributes
Phys. Attack: 3 Phys. Defence: 2 Health: 53 / 53 Fortitude 5%
Mag. Attack: 3 Mag. Defence: 4 Magic: 81 / 81 Status Resistance 60%
Accuracy: 2 Evasion: 2 Stamina: 18 / 18 Move Speed 1.0x
Passive Skills
The Defiant A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.
[Truth] [Class]
Effect: +10% Damage when outmatched. -10% Damage taken when outmatched. +25% Status Resistance
Alchemist''s Knack [Rank 1]
[Cross-Bonus] [Crafting]
Effect: +30% Status Resistance
Katana Mastery [Rank 1]
[Weapon] [Mastery]
Effect: +10% Scaling while equipped with a Katana (Main-Hand).
Active Skills
Draw Stance [Grade F ¡ª 10 / 50]
[Technique] [Weapon] [Katana] [Sheathed] [Iconic]
Cost: 5 Stamina
Effect: Enter a stance that increases the damage of your next basic attack or Katana Skill by (+20%). Effect broken by Unaligned Action.
Clean Cut [Grade F ¡ª 10 / 50]
[Technique] [Weapon] [Katana]
Cost: 15 Stamina
Effect: Deal (150%) damage to a single target. Deals (+20%) bonus damage against Adventurers if performed under [Draw Stance].
Savage Cut [Grade F ¡ª 10 / 50]
[Technique] [Weapon] [Katana]
Cost: 15 Stamina
Effect: Deal (150%) damage to a single target. Inflicts (10%) Bleed damage if performed under [Draw Stance].
Sneak
[Technique] [Class] [Stealth] [Non-Combat]
Cost: 10 Stamina / 5 Stamina per Hour
Effect: You enterBasic Stealth. Effect broken by Action or Disruption.
It was my stat page. It wasn''t that any one aspect of it was irredeemable. The stat block I¡¯d been born with was poor. A weak total, combined with a poor distribution. That could be overcome. A lack of Skills, both passive and active, symptomatic of neither training nor natural ability. That could be overcome. No natural talent yet discovered. That could be¡ªyou get the picture. The problem was that I was distinctly unremarkable, except in how mediocre my base was, and also in how such things extended beyond my stat page. There were a multitude of magical devices and objects that could make up for my multitude of shortcomings, but none that were readily available to a nobody out in The Shores, who had no prospects as an adventurer besides. And that was before addressing the issues outside the page. I wasn''t born into an adventuring family, nor did I have the privelege of living in a city with an adventurer''s college. There wasn''t anyone, who could really instruct me on all the pifalls of the life, or who could mentor me in a weapon. Was there anything to me that I could even leverage to help myself forward? Stupid question. Of course there was, there was my craft. There wasn¡¯t a plan, yet. I wasn¡¯t so presumptuous to think I could construct one, knowing as little as I did, but I did have a hunch. There were certain things I was sure would be useful, no matter how things went. Being practiced and improving more so than anything else. And thus I began to work. Kamei had once offhanded scoffed at Alchemy as little more than ¡®Cooking without the imagination.¡¯ Whether he was serious or trying to rile me up, it wasn¡¯t a rare perspective. It was, however, completely and utterly wrong. Chemistry and Preparation were similar mechanically. Alchemy and Cooking were lightyears apart. Cooking was an effort in judgment, in understanding the exact nature of one¡¯s ingredients and how each related to one another. Alchemy, by contrast, was about time management, calculation and discovery. The Chef had a thousand choices¡ªhow to treat an ingredient, side dishes, sauce¡ª but only a handful of desirable outcomes. It wasn¡¯t like that for an Alchemist ¡°Split ten stacks into six and four, three minutes and two minutes...that¡¯s...yeah, that¡¯s exact.¡± A Heat Resistance potion needed salamander flesh, ice crystals and water, and there was a precise, correct way to make it. Or it needed fire drake scales, water crystals, formic acid and wet clay and there was a precise, correct way to make that. The mark of a skillful Alchemist was his repertoire. There were not recipes to be embellished or modified. There were instructions and procedures to be followed. ¡°Add solution in thirty...¡±...twenty-nine...twenty-eight... There were certain rules, yes. In fact, there were many rules...But they were rules learned in hindsight, used to estimate what else might result in something useful. And then there was Astrology, the other side of Alchemy, which made the process even more finicky and restricted. And even after all that, Cooking was still the greater craft in many regards. Especially those valued by adventurers, like healing and persistent stat bonuses. But where it lost out in potency... The North Star will pass overhead in three...two¡­ Alchemy made up for in breadth.
EXP Booster Mix [D Grade] x10 Created!
Gained 8CP in Alchemy!
The next day, armed with a quest log [Quest: Shopping Trip!] of Reagents I had to replace, whose bottom trailed far below my field of vision, and whose contents I barely knew how I could afford without telling my father, I made the trip to Mr Adamite¡¯s Arcana. The whole morning was a barely remembered blur, as ideas and thoughts and worries and hopes bounced around my head. It almost felt like I''d fallen asleep while moving, only to wake up first at breakfast, then as I said goodbyet to my father, and finally as I stood in front of Mr Arcanite''s Arcana. And yet, somehow despite this, there was something that pricked my attention through that anxious, excited haze. The greengrocer stall was conspicuously unattended. Chapter 5 — Supply Run Technically, ¡®the Arcana¡¯ didn¡¯t have an actual Arcana, which would¡¯ve taken up the entire street, but rather a smaller, far weaker variant. The portable aether trawler was kept inside the navy blue, celestially-sequinned tent behind the stall. A holdover from the days when it served as part of a travelling circus just like it¡¯s name, so said its owner. That was also the reason Mr Adamite refused to let anyone see inside it, or explain how it worked. You asked him for basic, non-crafted items, and the magic ¡®thingy¡¯ took some aether and made it so. His love of mystique was a quirk I¡¯d had trouble humouring when I was young. I¡¯d gotten over the desire to see it for the most part, if only by figuring it out through my own research. My ten year old self had assumed it would involve spectacular, lightning-like arcs of aether, but it was almost a far more discreet affair. That was what led me to accept that it wasn¡¯t worth the effort. Unfortunately, without being present, it was hard to say how long it would take, or how much progress had been made. The uncertainty grated more than the delay. Eventually, preceded by a yell of ¡°Done!¡±, the squat proprietor emerged from the tent with an almost comically large heap of reagents piled haphazardly over his outstretched arms, so tall that it hid both his face and tophat. ¡°S¡¯all here, me boy!¡± he exclaimed, ambling towards the stall with a stuttering, stumbling gait. Without even thinking about it, I stood up and I went to help him with the load. The precariously balanced tower shuddered as he missed his footing. The pile began to topple forward. Time seemed to slow to a crawl. Even as I started running, I knew I wasn¡¯t fast enough. Not when I¡¯d been caught so flat-footed. It was all going to come crashing down while I was still out of reach. My hands reached out, hoping that even if I couldn¡¯t stop it, I could at least catch it. Comeoncomeoncomeon¡ª Then¡ª Then Mr Adamite steadied himself and the tower with an exaggerated show of relief and, barely missing a beat, deftly pulled the pile out of my reach. ¡°Uh-uh-uh,¡± he tutted, as he scooched past my grasping hands, ¡°Hands don¡¯t touch the merchandise until we work out the terms.¡± Though I grumbled, it was undercut by the grin I couldn¡¯t quite keep down. With the benefit of a couple seconds of hindsight, it was obvious that, if he wasn¡¯t putting on a bit, he¡¯d have just stuffed it all in his inventory. ¡°Alright, what¡¯s the damage?¡± I asked, still trying to force disapproval into my voice as he put a hand to his chin and pantomimed concentration. ¡°Mmm, let me think, fifty circlets each for the...yes, carry the two¡­All the usual stuff for your dad¡¯s shop can go on your tab and you can pay me for the rest by telling me what it¡¯s for,¡± he concluded with a satisfied nod. I levelled a suspicious look at him. ¡°You don¡¯t keep tabs, sir.¡± ¡°An astute observation, Leo!¡± I waited for him to address the contradiction, but Mr Adamite just continued to beam at me without a drop of shame. ¡°Mr Adamite, I can¡¯t just accept that sort of charity¡ª¡± ¡°Charity?! Preposterous! I should say I am still yet to pay back the debt I owe you for dethroning our esteemed former despot.¡± I hesitated, as I turned the thought around in my head. The idea that I was owed anything for saving my own hide, first and foremost...Accepting anything for that made me physically uncomfortable. ¡°Sir, that¡ªNobody owes me anything for doing my best to save myself¡­¡± ¡°Leo, once I figured out what those Imp¡¯s Spades were for, I was kicking myself for not giving them¡ªNay, for not paying you for what you were about to do. There must¡¯ve been a hundred different ways that you could have run away from the problem¡ª¡± I guess, if I didn¡¯t need to worry about him chasing me down for it, ¡°That you were chiefly concerned with saving your own life doesn¡¯t diminish the fact that what you did was brilliant and courageous and heroic, and a grand service to everyone who lived in the shadow of our pettiest of tyrants,¡± he declared, before lowering his voice and adopting an uncharacteristically serious tone, ¡°And don¡¯t let anyone tell you what you did was anything else.¡± For a moment, the pendulum swung the other way and I wondered how anyone could possibly begrudge me for saving myself, before I remembered what I heard from my father. ¡°Mmm, it¡¯s not like I¡¯ve ever taken anything Mrs Eleanor said seriously,¡± I said with a weak, forced smile. ¡°The shrew¡¯s the least of anyone¡¯s¡ªPretend I didn¡¯t saything, just me being set in my ways, ¡± he said, clearly not willing to explain himself further, ¡°Now, my price. What were you going to use all this for.¡± ¡°Potions.¡± ¡°Hardy har har, ask a stupid question, I guess,¡± he scoffed, ¡°For what ultimate end do you intend those potions for, mmm?¡± I could¡¯ve continued to be facetious. It was very tempting. ¡°We¡¯re...the four remaining kids, we¡¯re going to become adventurers,¡± I admitted, ¡°I think that¡¯s the conclusion we¡¯re all approaching, even if we haven¡¯t said it out loud, and I want to have as many things on hand as I can.¡±. He nodded with understanding, ¡°I guess you¡¯re a step ahead of the other then, given the training you must¡¯ve gotten with¡ª¡±This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. ¡°No.¡± The denial had come unbidden, with a vehemence that I myself was surprised by. It was enough to give even Mr Adamite pause. ¡°Mmm?¡± With a few moments to center myself, the kneejerk contempt I felt for that particular idea was pinned down in words. ¡°I have no intention of making use of any of the skills or the weapon I was forced to wield,¡± I ground out, my words laced with disdain. That earned me a concerned look. ¡°I know it must¡¯ve been awful, but you can¡¯t just tar an entire weapon class¡ª¡± ¡°I despise the weapon separately from the man who forced it upon me, thank you very much,¡± I declared, ¡°I find it actively repulsive to wield.¡± ¡°So what do you intend to fight with, mmm?¡± he asked ¡°Bombs?¡± Really, I hadn¡¯t thought about it. In an offhand, unthinking sort of way, I¡¯d thought of myself as something like a supporting element, giving out potions and maybe throwing the occasional status grenade. Futilely, I hoped the non-committal noise I made sounded adequately answer-like. ¡°Surely, you can¡¯t be happy with that alone. If you aren¡¯t going to use the fish knife, you¡¯ll need to find yourself¡ªah, hang on a minute!¡± Mr Adamite ducked down beneath his stall and pulled out an old chest. Within it, there were ¡°Look, it¡¯s fine, sir, I don¡¯t really think I¡¯d be of much use in a fight anyway. I don¡¯t really have anything that screams ¡®fighter¡¯.¡± ¡°Leo, my boy, don¡¯t sell yourself so short!¡± he called back without looking up, ¡°Every guard and travelling hunter I¡¯ve ever met have agreed; natural stats barely matter.¡± I didn¡¯t have an answer to that, so I stood their in awkward silence as he continued to rummage, until he finally found the object of his search. ¡°Ah, here it is,¡± he declared, as he tried to pry something free from the bottom of the chest, ¡°Y¡¯know, I¡ªngh¡ªused to be the ringmaster of¡ª¡± ¡°No you weren¡¯t,¡± I countered, ¡°You ran a side tent. As you¡¯ve recounted many, many times before.¡± ¡°Bah, whatever happened to the gullible little boy who couldn¡¯t remember the story I¡¯d told him a week ago. No, I wasn¡¯t the Ringmaster, but¡ªHa,¡± he shouted, as he jostled it free. ¡®It¡¯ was a long, thin rod covered in black lacquer, ending with a tiny cap of brass. My eyes widened as I beheld the Wand. ¡°¡ªThe rubes didn¡¯t know that. I had the ringmaster look,¡± he explained. With his curled moustache and garish clothes, he still looked the part, ¡°The only other thing they needed to see was the magic stick, and they¡¯d believe just about anything I said.¡± He twirled it in his fingers, before offering it to me. Out of habit, I reached out to take it, before realising and hesitating. ¡°I can¡¯t possibly accept¡ª¡± ¡°Of course you can, boy,¡± he declared, voice steady and unyielding, ¡°It might just be a pretty light-maker in my hands, but it¡¯s still a proper weapon. It¡¯s meant to be used. For me, it barely has sentimental value. If you¡¯ve a mind for it¡ªand I think you do¡ªit¡¯ll be a good stepping stone, at the least. Just try to remember old Mr Adamite when you end up getting a statue in the Raided City, mmm?¡± I chuckled, then nodded. Taking the wand in hand, I was accosted by a series of text boxes that completely blocked my vision. Though I knew the gist of what each said, I read through them anyway, just in case.
You obtained a Ringmaster¡¯s Baton
Wand [LvL 1]
Mag. Attack +4 Mag. Defence +1
Description: Roll up! Roll up!
Tutorial: Glyphwork
Glyphwork is a common form of combat magic, primarily used by those that wield Wands, Staves and Tomes, but also frequently dabbled in by non-specialists. By combining a series of arcane letters in sequence, the eponymous Glyphs, the caster can construct spell-words, which are then catalysed to create a spell. Unlike Runes, there is no innate meaning to a series of Glyphs. Two casters may recite identical spell-words and produce completely different spells. The spells assigned to each spell-word are dependent on the caster, with higher level spells requiring more Glyphs, and an adventurer may be required to re-define the meanings of different spell-words as their spellbooks grow, and the spells that are most important to them change. As a system, Glyphwork allows the user to easily breakdown and understand the elements of their own spellcasting, with cast time and cost dependent on the number of glyphs used, with the former increasing arithmetically and the latter increasing exponentially. As a spell can only be catalysed as part of adding a Glyph, circumventing these restrictions can also be cumbersome. While these aspects can often be used to theoretically ¡®cheat¡¯ on cost and cast time, the requirement of one Glyph per spell-level will often mean losing out on both for higher level spells, not to mention that the system requires serious adjustments to account for spells with variable effects. Glyphwork is considered an easy, low-ceiling style of casting that begins to struggle in the face of complicated spells and is usually discarded by higher level adventurers in favour of either Hardcasting, or its more sophisticated sibling, Runework.
Known Glyphs: ? ?? ??
Chaincast
[Weapon] [Wand] [Iconic]
Effect: Alters effects of magical systems.
[Glyphwork] Glyphs are not consumed upon casting a spell. When casting a spell, any completed word in the current series of glyphs can be used, as long as it includes the last incanted Glyph.
I''d always known that, if were ever to learn magic, I''d start with Glyphwork. It was the only form I''d understood when reading. Hardcasting, geomancy, elementalism, none of them made any sense on a logical level. Maybe that''s why Glyphwork was so popular. ?? ?? ? A shower of particles and bodiless sparks erupted from the wand as I tested it out for the first time. Without a spell to go with it, the glyphs simply fizzled into the aether, but I still couldn''t help but grin. Just as its former owner had, I twirled the wand through my fingers. It was a movement that just felt natural in a way the Katana didn''t. Assembling glyphs felt almost like working out chemical equations in my head. Just having picked up the wand, I couldn''t help but flash a dumb, goofy grin. Before I had a chance to forget, I turned to thank Mr Adamite for charity I had no way to repay him for. ¡°Thanks again, Mr Adami¡ª¡± ¡°Bah, get going,¡± he harrumphed as he waved me off, though his grin made sure it was clear he wasn''t serious, ¡°You have a weapon to feel out, and I have a man to go see about a horse.¡± Chapter 6 — The Actual Beginning (By a Certain Definition) ¡®How hard is it to learn a technique?¡¯ It wasn¡¯t just a silly question, but also, as my father would call it, a Dumb Question. A question about as meaningful as ¡®how many lengths of string are in a stack?¡¯ Unlike levelling techniques, learning techniques was a mysterious, arcane process with rules like the wind; witnessed, but never seen. There was the student, the lesson and the medium of the lesson. Each played a factor, but what governed their efficacy was hidden. Level and class were factors. So was age. The exact relationship, however, was unknown. There were no tables of percentage chance, nor experience bar. Some believed there were hidden numbers that governed it. Others believed each person had a fated final build. Ultimately, without invoking mysticism, the answer boiled down to ¡®it depends¡¯. What I¡¯m trying to say is, what took me three full weeks, Charlie managed to learn in ten minutes. Maybe I should back up. As I arrived at The Spot, Mona and Charlie were chomping at the bit to get going. Mona, more obviously¡ªthe slouch she held as she waited, the way she mouthed ¡°Finally¡± when she spotted me, she wasn¡¯t exactly trying to hide it¡ªbut Charlie also looked more than a little fidget-y, though his worried frown told a different story. There was however, another matter that needed addressing. ¡°Shouldn¡¯t we wait for Jack?¡± ¡°Saw him on the way, he said not to wait for him,¡± Charlie explained. Curious. Jack didn¡¯t have the responsibilities that Mona or I did. But then, if he had things to do...I knew exactly how annoying it was to have people asking after you while there was work to be done. And also how annoying it was when you wanted to be left alone in general. ¡°Good riddance,¡± Mona declared with a disdainful toss of her ponytail, ¡°If he¡¯d come, all he¡¯d have done would¡¯ve been bitch the whole time.¡± She met my concerned look with a roll of her eyes. ¡°Back me up on this, Charlie,¡± she declared, which he reluctantly did. ¡°Yeah...You haven¡¯t had to put up with¡ª¡± he hesitated, as he remembered what he was referring to. ¡°Go on,¡± I prompted, lips tightly pursed. Honestly, I didn¡¯t care that much about it being brought up, but sentiment made me want to see him squirm. Both of them, really, but I didn¡¯t expect to get anything out of Mona. ¡°I mean¡ªy¡¯know, he¡¯s been¡ª¡± ¡°He¡¯s been an insufferable prat,¡± Mona finished for him, pointedly ignoring my umbrage, ¡°Regardless of circumstance, what he was doing, what he was saying, it was all unhelpful garbage and, now that we aren¡¯t bound to stick with him by any arbitrary code, I¡¯m happy to be rid of him until he calms the hell down.¡± I didn¡¯t sigh. Instead, I gave what I hoped was a nonchalant shrug. It was true, I hadn¡¯t been there and I didn¡¯t want to escalate this, even if it chafed. Mona, of course, had already shifted her attention. ¡°And now that we¡¯re all here, you need to figure out what you¡¯re going to do about a weapon,¡± she declared, punctuated by a hard poke to Charlie¡¯s arm. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it, I¡¯m fine with just staying on the sidelines and watching today, I can figure it out¡ª¡± He stopped. Before him, presented hilt first, was a weapon. A long, curved blade with a cheap, guardless hilt. Wide-eyed and slack-jawed, I¡¯d almost have said he stared at it in silent horror. I chuckled. ¡°I mean, if you don¡¯t want it, you don¡¯t have to¡ª¡± ¡°NO! No, it¡¯s not¡ªI mean, don¡¯t you need a weapon for yourself?¡± he said, even as he gingerly accepted the Training Katana, held only with his fingertips as though he expected it to suddenly turn into a sword-shaped mass of spiders at any second. ¡°I¡¯d sooner fight barefisted, even if I didn¡¯t already have an alternative,¡± I answered, voice calm and nonchalant. Accidentally triggering an ¡®I couldn¡¯t possibly accept this¡¯ would do no-one any good whatsoever. Good thing I had a trump card. ¡°Thankfully¡­¡± I pulled my wand from the Aether, twirling it around my fingers maybe a little giddily, ¡°Mr Adamite was kind enough to give me something far more to my taste. No reason to hoard it away in my inventory, y¡¯know?¡± Charlie just stared at me, with eyes wide, his mouth a thin, almost flat line. Maybe I was underestimating how shocking it might be to be given a weapon. Rather than address that, I hurried after Mona who¡¯d already vanished from the alley. We both caught up with her before long. Mona seemed oddly bent on heckling Charlie the whole time. It was a curious thing. That sort of pointed attitude continued once we were there. ¡°Now that we all have a weapon, we¡¯ll be all fighting our own battles today, yeah?¡± Mona asked, the vague antagonism in her voice promising that the question was strictly rhetorical. Charlie hesitated, before nodding vigorously. ¡°Yeah, we¡¯ll all go off and do our own thing, I think,¡± he supported, as I wondered who¡¯d died and made Mona leader. ¡°Unless you object, Leo?¡± I probably should have, but it was already two against one. Deciding to actually show off the techniques was a last minute thing I only barely remembered. ¡°Hang on, before we go, let me show you the basic techniques so you can muse on them,¡± I said, motioning for Charlie to watch. He threw me back the blade...which I hadn¡¯t even thought about when I said. Thankfully, he¡¯d realised before I embarrassed myself. ¡°Draw Stance.¡± It really was an awful feeling. The blade felt...jittery? I could feel it as an extension of myself and it almost felt like it was shuddering in my hands. Like the slightest of motions would see it erupt from its sheath. It was all I could stand, to hold the blade for just long enough for the glow to appear. Soon as I had the visual, I cancelled the ability. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Charlie nod thoughtfully.Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. ¡°Okay, now, Clean Cut.¡± Now drawn, I put the blade at my hip again, and pulled it across in a horizontal cut. ¡°And lastly, Savage Cut.¡± This time, the blade swept upward, as I did little more than straighten my arm. Both actions were meant to be performed out of Draw Stance, but even just that had left me a little short of breath. I looked to see how Charlie was reacting. He seemed to be looking right past me. ¡°Charlie?¡± I waved at him, which seemed to jolt him out of his thoughts. ¡°Oh, sorry, can you show me the last two again?¡± ¡°Yeah, gimme a sec.¡± After letting my stamina regenerate for a few minutes, I repeated both and that was all he needed, apparently. As I passed them back, he ran through all three. ¡°Draw Stance,¡±¡ªblade held sheathed on the hip¡ª¡°Clean Cut,¡±¡ªfast, horizontal slash¡ª¡°Draw Stance,¡±¡ªblade sheathed again¡ª¡°Savage Cut,¡±¡ªupward slash¡ª¡°Yeah, I think I got it.¡± I threw him a thumbs up and stomped down on the kernel of bitterness I felt. It was...wrong. That was the correct analysis of the scenario. It was wrong. Even if the gulf between how it¡¯d felt for me and how it¡¯d felt for him was as massive as it was, it was a matter of people having different strengths. I had my Alchemy and probably other stuff. I didn¡¯t exactly have a list of accomplishments to compare between us. ... Okay, it still stung a little. No amount of counting my own blessings would fix that. ¡°Anything else?¡± Mona asked testily. ¡°Yeah, I brought these,¡± I said, as I retrieved the EXP Boosters from my bag, offering them each a potion. Neither of them were as enthusiastic as I had hoped. ¡°Eeeh, really?¡± Mona folded her arms, as she watched the proffered vial of blue liquid with narrowed eyes, leaned back as if trying to stay away from it. ¡°They don¡¯t taste that bad, y¡¯know.¡± ¡°There¡¯s just not much point, Leo,¡± Charlie explained, ¡°How about you save them until we¡¯re a little higher level and fighting things that give more experience, if it¡¯ll make y¡ªy¡¯know, a difference once the experience we¡¯re getting is higher.¡± My gut-reaction was to say something along the lines of, ¡®I¡¯m not forcing you to drink them.¡¯ In fact, I almost went and said that out loud, until I realised how passive aggressive it¡¯d sound. I sculled as we all went our separate ways, grimacing as I did. The consistency of a syrup, but bitter and sour. Blegh.
You gained the buff ¡®EXP Gain +20%¡¯ (20 min)!
Today, the Hunting Ground was awash in monsters. It was mostly still slimes, but I could spot glimpses of coarse, brown fur scurrying around.The monster known as the ¡®Rat¡¯ was a far cry from its rodent counterpart, though no less of a pest. For one, they were larger. Far larger. The size of a small dog. The red pits in place of eyes were similarly unmistakeable. The bane of scullery maids and inn owners. Really, they looked more dangerous than they were. Drawing a bead on one, I activated Sneak and casually followed it, as it scurried here and there, aping the actions of its original. There was little consideration for actual stealth; my attention was primarily occupied by my inventory. Eventually, I pulled out the box. Time had bleached its labelling and filed down its corners to reveal the cheap hardboard beneath. That¡¯s what my father had told me it was made out of, at least. It was apparently more efficient than actual wood. My father¡¯s stories had always painted his homeland as a bizarre place. Within lay the real weapon I¡¯d be using. As someone still without any sort of Magic Mastery, one might think the wand I held was little more than a fancily decorated stick. It was true, I didn¡¯t have any spells that might be considered conventionally useful. Of the six entries in my spellbook, four of them, ¡®Aerate¡¯, ¡®Ignite¡¯, ¡®Quench¡¯ and ¡®Catalyse¡¯, were crafting actions that couldn¡¯t even function with Glyphwork as Rank 0 spells. ¡®Salve¡¯ was slightly more useful.
Salve
Rank 1 Spell ¡ª Civillian Grade
Restores 5 Health to a single target within [10 Sq.].
Emergency: Spend 20% of Mana to self-cast upon inflicting damage on self.
Very slightly. It didn¡¯t scale and its healing was miniscule. It was for patching minor burns and little more. I had assigned it to the spell-word ¡®?¡¯ anyway, mostly for the sake of it. The only really useful spell likely looked even more innocuous on the surface.
Evoke Crystal I
Rank 1 Spell ¡ª Civillian Grade
Activates a Rank 1 Spell Crystal.
That spell, I assigned to ??. Within, there was an assortment of ten crystals, held in worn, yellowing foam. Each contained a replicated spell that a novice alchemist might reasonably require in the execution of their craft. The important one today was a clear, colorless crystal which wasn¡¯t quite as scratched or foggy as the others. It was common enough that they¡¯d included it, but procedures that began by inflicting damage to a reagent were few and far between. It wasn¡¯t strong¡ª Impact had a set base damage of 10 with no way to improve it¡ªand it couldn¡¯t reach further than two and a half meters, but it was good enough for wiping out rats. I focused and pointed my wand. ??
Your Evoke Crystal ¡ª Impact did 6 Damage!
Assaulted from out of nowhere by what had been described to me as ¡®force without direction¡¯, the Rat seemed to fold in on itself briefly, before righting itself almost immediately and rounding on me with an angry squeak. In the space between instants, I erased the last glyph with a twirl of the wand, and levelled it at the rat again. ??
Your Evoke Crystal ¡ª Impact did 6 Damage!
There was a surprised squeak, a barely visible pulse of whiteness to the air as the monster turned back into aether, and it was already over. You gained 3 EXP! Chapter 7 — Number Go Up ¡°LEVEL TWO! LET¡¯S GO!¡± Mona threw a fist in the air as what must¡¯ve been the last rat in the whole field dissipated into aether. She turned to face me and I offered her a slowly, half-sarcastic clap. In turn, she mugged and preened as though the entire town had erupted in rapturous applause, also likely only half ironically. Sincerely, I was happy for her, even if she¡¯d have found the sentiment overly saccharine. It was another, admittedly small, step down a long, nebulous path that she¡¯d long talked about dreaming of. We¡¯d all dreamed about it, I think. Even though we all grew up in the shadow of the guild, all the children in the town dreamed of one day becoming an adventurer of some sort or another. I could remember watching the other kids run around with sticks as a proxy for swords and hammers and scythes and spears. It was a dream I thought I¡¯d mostly discarded. It was hard to hold onto hope, with the looming guillotine hanging over us. After Charlie¡¯s father passed away, Mona might¡¯ve been the only one who still held any hope for such a thing at all. In the face of that, a couple hours of drudgework likely seemed positively tame. Personally, I was fed up after less than an hour. The fifth rat had been a pain to find and it¡¯d only grown worse from there. There was no way to tell if we¡¯d exhausted the field, or if one had simply gone overlooked. More often than not, the telltale sound of monsters spawning led only to more slimes. By the time I¡¯d killed my ninth rat, I¡¯d gotten thoroughly sick of turning over every nook and cranny. Charlie had persisted for maybe a little longer than I had, but he too had given up after a little more than an hour and had gone home. Mona, however, had insisted on staying until either she was level 2 or someone came to drag her home for dinner. I could¡¯ve left too. It was very tempting. It wasn¡¯t as if I¡¯d be of much help, but...But it didn¡¯t feel right to leave Mona out here by herself. I played spotter where I could, but mostly just gave her someone to talk at. It quickly became clear, as I observed, that Mona had been practicing, but still wasn¡¯t used to the weapon. Or maybe that the weapon itself was flawed in some way. In fact, it almost seemed like she was fighting it more than the monsters. The way half her attacks ended with it planted in the ground, or with the blade held in an awkward angle that Mona had to pull back under her control. It looked ungainly, to say the least. Strength didn¡¯t seem the issue. She wasn¡¯t straining to swing it, nor could I call the strikes slow or sluggish. As we stood by, searching for any remaining rats, I mentioned my observations to her. ¡°Yeah¡­¡± she admitted, ¡°Dad says he always heard the Great Sword¡¯s all about going from stance to stance, and I don¡¯t have skills that work with every stance I have.¡± ¡°You going to ask someone for help with that?¡± I asked nonchalantly, keeping up the facade that my attention was on searching for targets. ¡°I mean, who? Am I going to dig up old Forgarty¡¯s grave and learn off his corpse?¡± she asked with a bitter snarl, ¡°I¡¯ll figure it out. Once I get some more levels. I already have an extra skill that¡¯ll slot right in. It¡¯ll fix itself. I just need to work on it.¡± I let the conversation stop for a little, as we continued searching. The real question I needed to ask...I¡¯d honestly started to dread it. I¡¯d let it stew too long and my imagination had taken over. She hadn¡¯t mentioned it, so it must be something she doesn¡¯t want to talk about, so the logic went. You¡¯re being stupid. Maybe the reason she hasn¡¯t mentioned it is because you haven¡¯t asked? Honestly, that was what ended up motivating me. As much as it baffled me¡ªKnighthood usually required swearing allegiance to an organisation, or some other form of act of devotion¡ªI could accept just an ¡®oh, you¡¯re mistaken, everything¡¯s fine¡¯. Thus, I pressed on. ¡°So, knighthood,¡± I began, suddenly hyper aware of just how smooth and organic that didn¡¯t sound, ¡°How¡¯d that happen?¡± She hesitated with almost a wince. ¡°...Eh, I¡¯d rather not¡­¡± That¡¯s...not what I wanted to hear. ¡°You were willing to tell everyone in town, so my father said,¡± I reminded her, as I carefully continued to look straight ahead. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glare. I studiously didn¡¯t acknowledge it. ¡°The hell he s¡ªI told plenty of people I had a class, not how I got it,¡± she corrected, levelling an annoyed look, ¡°I¡¯m¡ªNo. I said I wasn¡¯t going to tell anyone, and I¡¯m¡ªLook, just drop it, okay?¡± I didn¡¯t say anything as I looked back. It was meant to be a questioning look, but I couldn¡¯t help but think maybe a hint of worry had leaked through. ¡°No seriously, Leo, leave it,¡± she declared, more forcefully this time. ¡°Fine, fine.¡± As the sun began to set and we both returned to town, I tried to focus on other, more tangible matters. I focused on how fruitless my own attempts at levelling had been, and how great a pain hunting rats was. I set my mind on just how terrible my abilities were in combat and how, even after so little time, it felt like we were setting off without a proper direction. Thus, I found myself a question. And as it burned, distantly, I let everything else fade into the darkness.This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. * * * * * * * * As was often the case when I had a question, I turned to the old book room. They¡¯d once been part of a collection and, when ¡®everything came crashing down¡¯ (whatever that meant), they were one of the few things my father had been allowed to bring with him, but he¡¯d never had the heart to reorganise them. The ones he cared to regularly read, he kept far closer to hand. The door refused to open without a rough shove, and as I did, it exhaled a cloud of dust in my face. The piles had little if any rhyme or reason to them, but I could still remember vaguely what I¡¯d already read and where it went. There was a pile near the door with the old alchemy references, which got used the most, and the pile in that corner was all adventure novels. Here, in my own element, it was so much easier to find things. It didn¡¯t take long to find a pile that seemed to mostly be what I was looking for. Happy with three books with what seemed like the most appropriate titles from the middle of the stack, I returned to my own room and dropped my references on the old, wooden desk. Flexing my new power, I incanted an ?? and invoked the lamp without touching it. It was honestly more effort than reaching over and doing it the normal way, but the novelty still hadn''t worn off. And with that, four hours disappeared into the void as I lost myself in the rustle of pages and the haze of study. At some point, dinner appeared next to me and I must have consumed it at some point, as I remember finally looking up to see it long since eaten. As I crept into the kitchen to wash up, I mused on what I¡¯d learned There were a thousand thoughts I could have meditated on, but the greatest issue was how little I had at my disposal. My own knowledge of chemistry and some incredibly unimpressive combat stats? Growing strong enough to at least hold my own against potential invaders was something I knew to be a priority. Thus, I began with answering the question that I was sure would create further answers, rather than only asking further questions. ¡®How do you learn a spell?¡¯ Given that it was rhetorically asked in the first passage of the first book I picked up, it looked like something of a cliche, and the answer I stumbled upon was similarly well-worn: to answer that question, one first had to ask another question. ¡®What is a spell?¡¯ ¡®A Hobbyist¡¯s Guide to Magic¡¯ defined a spell as ¡®magic shaped into an irregular, replicable pattern by an arcane construct¡¯. Thus, there were three elements; magic, the ability to shape it, and the knowledge of the construct. That last part was what appeared in an Adventurer¡¯s Spellbook. Patience rapidly waning as the book began waffling about magic¡¯s history, I skimmed through the text until I reached the next island of practical information. There were three vague categories to how spells could be gained: Discoveries, Gifts and Signatures. Gifts and Signatures weren¡¯t immediately relevant for my current purposes; one was the spells earned by levelling up and the other was only available to spellcasters with far more experience. Which, of course, left Discoveries. Discoveries, sometimes called ¡®Natural¡¯ spells or ¡®Elemental¡¯ spells, were patterns that existed in the world at large. Sometimes they were actually magic, but they were just as frequently events that magic could directly replicate. Sadly, it barely touched on how to do such things, preferring to continuing talking about the fluff that surrounded magic, rather than its actual use. The second book, which was more focused on the specific system of Glyphwork shone more light on it. According to its author, Glyphwork¡¯s popularity wasn¡¯t so much a result of any advantage it had in a moment to moment sense, so much as the advantages brought to a culture that could be built upon it. A tribe, or brotherhood or college, all learning together, could form a single set of unified glyphs, with each symbol given a unique, specific meaning. In doing so, spells could be passed from teacher to student by simply imparting the Glyphs themselves. Though it buried the lead, I understood the meaning. Glyphs were meant to be a medium for a caster to impart meaning on magic and, in order to learn a new spell, it was best to have glyphs that had meaning in and of themselves, even if I later reassigned them later. A slight snag, perhaps, given that I doubted I¡¯d get much from ¡®Mind¡¯, ¡®Body¡¯ and ¡®Soul¡¯ by themselves. I needed something a little more...specific, perhaps. Without a mentor who ¡®spoke¡¯ the same Glyph language as I did, I¡¯d need to invent my own system of glyphs, each with my own meanings. Thankfully, as an Alchemist, I already had a pretty substantial pool of symbols I could pull from. From what I could decipher, all I needed to do was experience something, with the mind towards creating a new spell, and with Glyphs I could associate with it already in mind, even if they weren¡¯t currently Glpyhs. The more sharp and intense an experience, the better, and the more familiar with it, the better. So, pain. It meant pain. Thus, as I ran the water over my plates, I asked myself. What sort of pain was I most familiar with? Someone only familiar with a description of me might think acid or fire...Well, no. I was a responsible, careful alchemist who wore gloves and a smock when working. Those sorts of accidents were exceedingly rare and long in the past, and I felt repelled by the very idea of exposing myself to them. Physical injuries also didn''t seem like a good pick. They varied too much in experience, even between a pair of paper cuts. The basis of my first offensive spell needed to be something I was thoroughly familiar with, and thus something far more banal. There really was only ever one option it could be, I thought to myself, as I filled the kettle. Reluctantly, for I didn''t particularly want to burn myself, I waited for it to boil. I couldn''t exactly sense anything from it as it stat there...But I didn''t exactly know what I was trying to sense either. With a sigh, straining to reach out with a sense I couldn¡¯t tell was present, let alone knew how to operate, I put my hand over the kettle spout. ¡°Gah!¡±
You have learned the spell: Scald! ( ?? ?? )
Scald
Rank 2 Spell
Deal (120%) Water/Heat Damage to a single target within [2 Sq].
Currently Assigned Glyphs: ?? ??
Congratulations! You have gained the skill Arcane Sense!