《Magic is Magic》


 Prologue: Hazel Brute

    Hazel¡¯s greatsword ricocheted off the plaguefiend¡¯s hide, finding little purchase. His thick arm muscles strained against the rebounding force before coming to bear again in another strike. The creature cared little for the Brute¡¯s peppering blows; its gaze fixed on the village in the distance. Towering over Hazel, who himself stood at an impressive seven feet tall clad in utilitarian plated leather, the fiend¡¯s dark green color seemed to draw in light and hope itself. It contrasted strongly with the vibrant meadow the two combatants found themselves in; a void of exuberance otherwise present. A plaguefiend, Hazel knew, is an amalgamation of noxious fumes and negative energy coalesced to possess an unsuspecting being, consuming them. An abomination of life.


    This is a dozen of level over my paygrade, Hazel thought, as he activated his Bloodthirsty Blade skill. His greatsword glowed a subtle scarlet that left afterimages in its wake, thirsting for blood to replenish the user¡¯s vitality. Still, the edge found no purchase and the beast marched on.


    Hazel was a veteran of the Keratan kingdom¡¯s royal army and arrived three weeks ago at this deployment site, a small village nestled on one of the many small islands forming the kingdom¡¯s Eastern border. He¡¯s had no shortage of fodder to wreck since arriving. The plaguefiends came like mindless dregs out of murky shores, consuming anything with an ounce of lifeforce to reinforce themselves and bud. A fiend such as this with nigh impenetrable defenses indicated something else entirely: an animal that reached quite a high level investing mostly in STA before being consumed by corruption. Hazel guessed a mammalian species judging by the look of its corrupted fur and the beast¡¯s warped quadrupedal turned bipedal bone structure. Maybe a doe that stood at the rear of its herd to protect the young, Hazel mused, probably around level 70, maybe less if it went full STA. I hope it¡¯s less. He digressed;it mattered not. Hazel was no stranger to cutting down meatshields.


    Hazel was a Lumdin build level 58(15) Helion-to-be-Brute, or maybe a Berserker if the little monster inside had its way with him. Lumdin¡¯s build was a 4:1 split STR:STA with a few essential skills, named after the famous independent adventurer that slayed the last cataclysmic level plagueturtle that marched on the capital. What it boiled down to was that Hazel was very good at cutting things that weren¡¯t very good at getting cut.


    Enhanced Strength active at all times to increase the amount his STR contributed to muscular contraction force by 20%. Surefooted to ensure his weight remains optimally distributed as he stepped forward with Rush in preparation for his coup de grace. Deft touch as his hands gripped pommel with enough force to crush a chicken¡¯s neck but with the careful dexterity of a master craftsman cutting a priceless jewel. This was his craft.


    Sweeping Strikes to spray his attacks in blades of force around him asFurious Roar left his Deep Lungs echoing out the clearing and frightening birds away in the distance while further increasing his and his allies¡¯ STR by a static 43 (=STR*0.15).


    The echoing roar finally attract the beast¡¯s attention, along with the rest of the small, quiet island''s. It turned and tilted its head quizzically to look at Hazel while reaching out as a child might to grasp a flitting firefly. Hazel knew that if it should make that grasp not much would be left of his planic form. He brought his sword down in a Heartrending Strike that would instantly reap the life of any being whose heart it struck. It was never intended to strike true. His blade cleaved the beast¡¯s arm into ruin and readied Hazel for his follow-up Absolute Reversal.


    From directly under the beast¡¯s bulk, with no proper step in or wind-up, with poor grip and footing, Hazel¡¯s blade struck too close to the hilt to deliver a proper strike, but struck with a cutting force equal to his previous attack. That is to say, a force with his highest momentum, perfect footing and hand positioning, the ideal distance on the blade combined with the multiple threads of Sweeping Strikes. Lumdin would be proud.


    The blade sunk halfway through the fiend¡¯s torso before hitting bone with a resounding thung that had Hazel¡¯s hands fly off his pommel. He felt the calluses on his hand tear and his bones jar and knew he¡¯d be feeling this tomorrow - and probably for the next few weeks.


    In for a copper in for a gold, as the saying goes, he thought as he bared his teeth in a savage grin and threw caution to the wind, activating More Than Not. ¡®More than not what?¡¯ you may ask, as have thousands of others who have had the option to pick up this skill. The answer, youngling, is that it depends. A great smith who wields his hammer with ferocious concentration may become more metal than man and know exactly how hard, how often, and where to strike, or may become bent by the ferocity of the beating heat. A hunter may become one with their arrow, loosed over a kilometre away to find its target, or find himself hunted, becoming the prey itself. A thief could find wealth or find their guilt overwhelm them; a general could see into his enemy¡¯s strategy only to find he sympathizes with her cause; a courtier could find the words to profess their love only to be swept away by love¡¯s frivolity, losing themselves.


    Inside Hazel was a beast - a monster - and sometimes, he became more so than not.


    The plaguebeast stumbled back with a blade wedged halfway through its body as Hazel stepped forward and tore into its side with his hands. Bloodthirsty Blade was still active and the red radiating aura shone around his bloody fingers as he tore chunks of flesh out of the beast. STA increased the strength of connective and epithelial tissue, as Hazel was well aware. That included, for all his intents and purposes, skin, fascia, and bone. It was like peeling an orange or pulling weeds from an intact field, and Hazel had spent half his childhood on a farm. The other half was spent killing.


    The next thing Hazel knew he was deactivating his skill and gulping down desperate lungfuls of air as his vision swam. He was kneeling in a puddle of blood and entrails and the pathetic mewling half-skeletonized plaguebeast sounded out beside him. A couple of villagers, including the village chief Bayot who Hazel was staying with, were hesitantly making their way over.


    This is what I live for, Hazel thought, as he vomited and passed out.


    ------------------------------------------


    ¡°Da! He¡¯s up!¡±


    It took Hazel a good few seconds to process the words that were being spoken and another few to realize they were pertaining to him. His head was muddled, his body leaden. He was scared to assess the damage.


    ¡°I¡¯m up!¡± Hazel croaked as he gingerly sat up, wincing as his body screamed in protest, and began taking stock of his surroundings. He was in chief Bayot¡¯s homely cabin living room sitting on a comically small but divinely comfortable feather-stuffed futon-turned-cot that creaked as he moved. It was warm and well furnished with a solid oaken table, a few simple chairs, bear fur rugs, and counters that acted as both a craft station and kitchen, with necessary tools strewn about. The room even had a few glass windows inserted into the walls - the height of luxury this far from any major city. It was cramped but not unpleasantly so; cluttered but not untidy. Everything had its place and function. It was well lived in.


    A stone hearth blazed and what smelled like chicken and vegetable soup boiled over the fireplace. Hazel¡¯s addled mind registered how hungry he was and was able to grunt, ¡°Food? Water¡±.


    ¡°You¡¯re very grandiloquent in the morning, Hazel¡± Bayot¡¯s daughter Bea quipped as she made her way to the hearth with a bowl and ladle, ¡°Don''t give yourself a brain cramp weaving those lofty words¡±.


    Hazel¡¯s temples pulsed, more at risk at getting a ¡®brain cramp¡¯ from Bea¡¯s blabbering than anything. Bea smiled as she handed him a bowl but Hazel was too preoccupied to appreciate her beauty. She was young at 17 years, full of vitality and potential. She was studying to become a government clerk like her father. She was too much for Hazel at the moment. He ignored the offered spoon and hungrily slurped the life-giving broth.


    Bayot walked in from an adjacent room, a small office workspace, with ink on his hands. He was well dressed with a black tunic-jacket and matching pants, if a bit disheveled with hair curling haphazardly around his face. He had an air of drive and competency to befit his station.


    ¡°Your durability never ceases to amaze me, mister Brute,¡± he says as he adjusts the spectacles on his nose, leaving ink marks. ¡°I would tell you not to strain yourself but it would fall on deaf ears and I¡¯m not one to commit to futile endeavours¡±


    ¡°Thanks for putting up with me, boss. What¡¯s the damage?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been asleep for two days¡± Hazel winced at that, ¡°The village healer took a look at you after the encounter. I¡¯ve been told it¡¯s quite severe. Bruises down your arms, shoulders, and chest indicate severe muscle damage. Both your lower arm bones have small cracks in them. The bite mark on your back isn¡¯t deep but needs regular cleaning and poultice application. A few broken ribs where the beast landed a swipe. And of course, your hands.¡± He listed off how broken Hazel was like the professional pencil-pusher that he is.


    Hazel stared at his bandaged hands which were swollen up to twice their normal size as let the words sink in. Altogether, it wasn¡¯t that bad. As high level and durable as the plaguefiend was, it was poorly matched against Hazel; his specialty was cutting down the uncuttable, after all. Hazel was long-used to the broken bones and swelling that came with his fighting style. The irony was overshadowed by the bitterness that most of the damage he sustained was inflicted by himself.


    ¡°I didn¡¯t eat any of it, did I?¡± Haze asked before chugging down a tankard of water Bea passed him.


    Bayot adjusted his spectacles again, adding another spot to the first and making them oddly aesthetically symmetrical, ¡°No, no. Well maybe, but you vommitted after the battle. You should be at no risk of corruption. The poultices should take of any contamination through blood on your hands as well¡±.


    Hazel grunted an affirmative. As he lay back down and passed out.


    ¡°Exemplary specimen of a Brute, isn¡¯t he Da?¡±


    ¡°Quite. Leave him to rest Bea. Go finish your homework¡±


    ¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª¡ª


    Hazel was not a young man, relatively speaking. He was forty three years of age, which was impressive enough but for a Fighter like him it was practically unheard of. With all the unpredictable and various dangers pressing in on the kingdom, Hazel already exceeded the average population¡¯s life expectancy.The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there.


    Back in the capital, the greys in his hair commanded both respect and skepticism. Those who fought with him respected his prowess, both for his skill and his skills. With age comes experience and levels and Hazel had a decent amount of both. Those that didn¡¯t know of him doubted him and rejected him for his oddity. A wily old-timer like him must have employed more than a few under-handed tricks to keep out of danger, throwing his comrades under the wagon. They assumed Hazel¡¯s relative ¡®success¡¯ based on underhanded trickery or nefarious ploys. Hazel¡¯s friends, dead they all are, would have known the truth; Hazel was just fucking lucky. He was a product of probability, the result of making the right decisions at the right moment and being the one in a hundred or thousand that didn¡¯t get screwed over despite everything. Hazel¡¯s fortune was not lost on him, but instead of gratefulness, his luck was just another source of guilt and frustration that lingered in the back of his mind, feeding his monster.


    At forty three years of age and 58(15) levels, Hazel had seen some shit. At the ripe old age of twelve years he was assaulted by and had to put down the corrupted remnants of his mother, father, and sister after a pack of crazed and ravenous coyotes ran through their farm. Hazel still experienced nightmares. This defining moment in his life was the start of a long and illustrious career in murder. Twelve year old him elected to join the kingdom¡¯s army because what could a twelve year old realistically accomplish alone without guidance or resources? Not much. The army provided both of those things and some resemblance of stability, or as much as could be had in this world.


    Hazel has seen some shit and he knew the drill; a basic routine hammered into his subconscious from weeks, months, to maybe even years marching towards outposts or targets while training. He knew to wake with the sun, to progressively increase the volume and intensity of work his body did, to stretch and mobilize every joint and muscle in his body, to eat and drink like a fastidious pig, and to rest like a corpse. He knew his body like a seamstress knew her weaves; he knew when to push and when to back off; he knew his limits. That was why he was surprised the day after his initial post-battle awakening when he awoke once more feeling a hell of a lot worse.


    This is what getting old must be like, was Hazel¡¯s initial reaction, as he panted for breath, drenched in cold sweat, trying to grip his poor cot to make the room stop spinning. Bea the angel sat by his side mopping his face and sponging drinking water into his mouth. He was full of shame for having a woman half his age care for him, full of frustration at not being able to move about and get on with recovery, and utterly powerless to change any of it. So he lay there trying not to let tears leak from his eyes, clenching his broken hands so they wouldn¡¯t shake, and drifted out of consciousness.


    The next tine he gained a shred of lucidity, he knew there was something wrong. He felt awful, his thoughts forthcoming like sap dripping down a tree - slowly, like molasses. His lips were cracked and parched and his throat sore as he fought for each breath, his eyes felt sunken in as he looked around the room without seeing. He tried to move but his arm flopped listlessly before falling back onto his deathbed. One thought pervaded his being: it¡¯s finally my time to go.


    ¡°Soon Hazel, my beautiful boy. We¡¯ll all be together again soon¡± a warm female voice whispered in his ear.


    ¡°Fuck off, mom¡± Hazel tried to speak but what came out was garbled nonsense.


    ¡°Don¡¯t speak to your mother like that!¡± A deep raspish male voice snapped, ¡°we raised you better than that¡± .


    ¡°You¡¯re dead, Dad. I killed you¡±.


    ¡°I¡¯m scared, Haze. It hurts, it¡¯s cold. Where were you? They came and came and bit and we couldn¡¯t do anything¡±.


    ¡°¡®M sorry Kayte...¡± Tears leaked out of his eyes.


    ¡°Why is he like this Da¡¯? Why isn¡¯t he getting any better? I¡¯ve applied the poultice like the healer said, cleaned the cuts and changed the bandaids. At this rate...¡± Hazel heard Bea¡¯s tearful concerns and focused his thoughts like a venerable monk examining reality¡¯s nature.


    Applied the poultices... Hazel lifted his trembling hands seeing fresh bandages. Cleaned the wounds... he fumbled with pulling the cloth off, revealing his ruined hands. His palms were skinned but instead of fresh scabs and healing skin what he saw was enough to make even his addled mind pause. And gag.


    His hands were a tapestry of wheeping, pussy, green, scaly flesh.


    His body reacted faster than his mind did, as per usual. His heart beat out the last vestiges of strength his corrupted body had left as he sprang up and began ripping the bandages off his frame.


    The other occupants of the room jumped and exclaimed in surprise and Hazel leveled his gaze at them, his pupils contracting like a predator finding prey. One sharp kick sent the cot flying forwards. It was soon followed by Hazel¡¯s fumbling Rush. His hands closed around a throat as Bloodthirsty Blade activated and his nails pierced skin. Five heartbeats passed as his victim¡¯s lifeblood leaked out from ruptured arteries and was absorbed before the other occupants in the room reacted.


    Bea, having fallen, uttered a high pitched shreak and began crying, ¡°Oh my Gods, oh my Gods, oh my Gods¡±. Bayot was a bit more composed.


    Bayot stepped forward and said, ¡°Let the man go Hazel. He¡¯s been trying desperately to save you¡±, as he tried to remove Hazel¡¯s grip around what was apparently the healer¡¯s throat.


    ¡°He poisoned me. He poisoned me¡±, Hazel screamed, rage filling his veins as the seconds of absorbing vitality ticked by, clearing his head. He tightened his grip as he yelled, eliciting a gurgle from the dying man¡¯s mouth.


    ¡°It wasn¡¯t him¡±, Bayot yelled, his glasses askew and sweat dripping his brow, as he desperately pulled at Hazel¡¯s arm. ¡°It was me. The order came from my supervisor¡¯s supervisor. They wanted you gone. I don¡¯t know why¡±.


    Hazel dropped the healer, not really knowing or caring if he lived or died, and punched Bayot in the face, sending him flying.


    Fuck, fuck, fuck, Hazel cursed as he stumbled towards the cabin¡¯s exit, grabbing hold of the thick leather belt that acted as his greatsword¡¯s scabbard. He didn¡¯t know where they put his sword.


    He kicked the door open and was met with an arrow in his left shoulder. Not even registering the pain, he fixed his gaze on Randol, the other posted army Fighter in this remote village, young buck that he is. Hazel casually took hold of one of the throwing knives in his belt and lobbed it straight into his assailant¡¯s eye, eliciting a grunt of pain.


    Before Randol decided to stand in his way and get slaughtered, Hazel limped off, away from this thrice-corrupted village and the cataclysmic level bull shit going on.


    -------------------------------------


    Bloodthirsty Blade was an intricate skill.


    Indeed, most skills had an inordinate amount of research hours invested into understanding their nuances and hidden functions throughout the various laboratories across the Kingdom. Not only did it give academic insight into the nature of skills but applicable knowledge that could aid the skills¡¯ users. A basic example of this is knowing that the enhanced stat skills were multiplicative rather than additive. The benefits of 20% added contribution of a stat is negligeable at low investiture but worth many levels at high investiture into a said stat. A level 50(10) who has fully invested into WIS and picks up Enhanced Wisdomwill find their 300 stat points bolstered by 60 functional WIS points. It¡¯s functional because those 60 stat points are not actually there: the individual¡¯s base points are just contributing more. These 60 functional points of WIS are significant, reducing the individual¡¯s necessary sleep time by 15-60 minutes depending on individual characteristics, or increasing the amount of spellstrain they may bear by a similar margin.


    For Hazel, the functional STR given by Enhanced Strength scaled well with the actual STR given by Raging Roar (a flat 15% of current str added to the value), further increasing the skill¡¯s allure, especially in Hazel¡¯s desperado build.


    Compared to the relatively straightforward enhanced stat skills, orders of magnitude more research time and funding have been invested in Bloodthirsty Blade. This is because this skill was special.


    Bloodthirsty Blade made you functionally immortal.


    Hazel knew how the skill worked in the abstract and gave no shits about the complex equations meant to describe its absorption of vitality. He knew that the maximum surface of blade he could coat with the skill and allow absorption was equal to his body surface area, that the rate of absorption was directly related to the blade¡¯s surface area in contact with blood, and that the absorption factored in the viscosity of the blood - if new blood didn¡¯t flow to replace the absorbed blood, absorption was negatively impacted. The healing value for blood absorbed was about 122 lauryls per litre, one lauryl being defined as the amount of healing energy needed to replace 0.1 m^2 of human skin. How that unit of measurement came to be used is often not discussed in most respectable social groups.


    In any case, to replace an average human¡¯s entire integumentary system one must only absorb about 140mL of blood, or about half a cup, which, if you think about it, is completely broken.


    Hazel recalled that regenerating muscle tissue cost about 20% more than skin, bone 50% more, peripheral nervous tissue 100% more, and central nervous tissue 300% more. He didn¡¯t remember all the numbers for different organs, but recalled an Esoteric Principle that limited the conversion of others¡¯ blood to replace one¡¯s own blood. The conversion was always 1:1 though the numbers clearly did not agree.


    The fact that absorbing blood allowed for such potent healing carried an irony because blood was highly non-nutritive to humans and ingesting it could actually cause sickness. This discrepancy between the measurable and immeasurable was universally described as the Esoteric Pronciple, in which scholars threw up their hands, shrugged, and said, ¡°fuck it, it works¡±. This is how Hazel understood it at least, from the hours spent being quizzed by Bayot-like pencil pushers while in the army¡¯s academy.


    The cost required to keep such a potent skill active is mostly negigeable at 100 calories/minute. There is a mental burden associated with such a fast energy conversion, qualitatively described as the same one would experience if physically straining to consume 100 calories. Mentally running a couple of kilometres in a minute is tiring, and the longest documented activation of bloodlusting blade before passing out is five minutes thirteen seconds.


    Hazel reviewed all this knowledge and relished in the potency of his skill as he enacted one of his most valuable trade secrets: collapsing for a nap.


    He dozed under the sun in a glade far away enough from the village that he wasn¡¯t too worried about being found and let his thoughts roam.


    Bayot, that bastard. I¡¯ve been living with him for weeks. I¡¯ve fought to keep his village safe... and also because I like fighting. We ate together. You really can¡¯t trust anyone. I would¡¯ve thought I¡¯d known that already. Hazel seethed in anger and betrayal. He was no stranger to being backstabbed but it didn¡¯t matter how many times one was cut, it still hurt the same as the first slash.


    He said he was ordered to get rid of me. I wonder whose shit-list I¡¯m on. I really can¡¯t think of anyone in particular. I mean, I¡¯ve stepped on a few toes during my years. And heads. But that¡¯s just life. Hazel recalled that new recruit that literally stepped into his sword swing¡¯s path during a battle and was cleaved in half. He was some noble¡¯s third son or some such but you can¡¯t outteach or outfund stupid, in his humble opinion.


    He thought on the handful of catastrophic failures he¡¯s seen and the horrors that have resulted. He didn¡¯t really blame himself for not arriving in time to cull a high-level bear before it¡¯s appetite overshadowed nature¡¯s allowance and it roamed into human villages with intent to widen its palate. Not his fault that a regiment of greenskins got the jump on his patrol at the Northwestern border - hell, Kingdom intelligence supposedly didn¡¯t know there was a green outpost on the continent before that encounter. Not his fault he was the last man alive of that patrol either - goblin traps were just that deadly. He had nothing to do with the new recruits thatresigned immediately after the last elfish uprising and subsequent culling. Messy affair it was, and not everyone has the guts to do what needs doing.


    Sure, Hazel did shrug off most of the standard military issued respect for leadership but they kept putting kids half his age and level in charge who were greener than an orc. It was no wonder the age expectancy in the kingdom was so low, it was like someone wanted people to die young.


    Hazel¡¯s thoughts ground to a halt. It is like someone wants people to die young. He repeated the thought in his head as it occurred and weighed its verity. But who? Why? Hazel didn¡¯t know and had no idea where to begin answering such monumental questions. All he knew was that he couldn¡¯t go back to his old way of life in the army, coasting from battle to battle and living easy. He had to find his own way, a new way.


    A cawing interrupted his thoughts and Hazel looked around. He was surrounded by hungry crows waiting for his death to fill their bellies.


    About time, Hazel thought, as he lobbed knives through the air. The crows attempted flight but Hazel was well practiced in the art of knife tossing, having had plenty of practe with fellow soldiers after battle he''s long forgotten, to pass the time and make levity of atrocious reality. Hazel began bleeding the crows, recovering from the damage Bayot¡¯s poison wreaked on his body as well as most of the lighter damage from the plaguedoe.


    Hazel was at another impasse in his life but if there was one thing he was good at, it was cutting through anything that barred his way. And he would do just that.

 MiM Ch. 1

    Somewhere in the vast expanse of space an Entity sprawled through nothingness. Form intangible, It contained power unimaginable, but not wielded for eons past. A Consciousness deep and vast that could grasp universes whole lay blank, numb to thought or feeling. It was comfortable and warm; content and satiated. But Its state was a beautiful lie.


    In ages past, worlds were created. Beautiful and magnificent ideas were realized. Life was made. Laws were set. Change occured. Experiences were had. Love, fear, pain, happiness, and more were all learnt. Eventually it came to an end, and the cycle began anew, repeating over and over.


    The Being watched at first, captivated by its creations, each new spark a wonder. Soon, It sought variations, poked at the strings of fate, cut out the likely and pasted new possibilities.


    Miracles happened, some good, some bad, all novel and interesting. Worlds warped and melded together. For some, it was pandemonium, for others, true bliss. The Being sought all and it obtained all. It smiled, It cried, It raged, It trembled. It learnt of life and death, perpetually discovering the self propagated secrets It set in motion in ages past. Possibilities of possibilities of possibilities were read like an open book.


    All of creation was realized and the Entity was fulfilled and so it stopped and just existed. But It was bored. For all the power It contained, It felt like It could do nothing. And so It floated, thoughtless and formless. Ideas, feelings, events flighted by but were discarded as old, mundane, uninteresting. The Entity withered, power accessible but useless, and thus imperfect. It was broken, empty. It sought and desired but nothing came, because nothing could come.


    And so the Creator uncreated itself.


    _______


    As I opened my eyes and sat up, I was assaulted by a profound and pervasive feeling of wrongness. It was the kind of feeling you get when you wake up in a new and unfamiliar place, multiplied by a thousand, with a cockroach sharing your pillow and a lawnmower going off right outside the window. A nagging, annoying wrongness so absolute that the only reasonable course of action was to exclaim, ¡°What the flip!¡±.


    Looking around, I had no clue where I was. I was sitting on a dirty cobblestone walkway of an alley, squeezed between two stone buildings, surrounded by crates, broken wood, and garbage bins. Am I dreaming? I pinched myself and winced. Was I kidnapped? Two nearby ruckus men were facing each other aggressively and caught my eye.


    One guy was shockingly tall and muscled with latissimus and trapezius noticeable through the failed attempt at discretion he wore in the form of a dark cloak. If The Rock and Arnold Schwarzenegger had a lovechild who got into too many knife fights and had his face repeatedly smashed in, this would be the resulting monster. Am I on a movie filming stage or something?


    The other guy was not a small man by any means but was dwarfed by The Rockzeneggerzilla. He was thicker and had a paunch and reminded me of gym bros that work in construction, a weathered sun-beaten look to him. He was scowling up a storm as he yelled out in gruff tone, ¡°That rat tried to steal my hard earned coin! Who in the Sundered World do you think you are to get in the way of my sending him back to his maker?


    The responding voice wasn¡¯t the deep masculin bass I half expected from the mysterious giant and came from somewhere lower than his face. A smaller, more normal sized man paced out from the giant¡¯s shadow and spoke in a smooth self-assured tone, ¡°So the kid tried to steal from you. So he got caught. Such is the way of the world, isn¡¯t it, friend? The Workers work, the Fighters fight, the Vagrants steal. Isn¡¯t that how the saying goes?¡± The diplomatic smooth-talker twiddled with a coin in one hand, having it dance over his fingers before sending it in the reverse direction and repeating the cycle. He continued, ¡°He tried, he failed, and he¡¯s got a nasty bump on the noggin¡¯ to show for it. Let¡¯s leave it there and call it a lesson learned for the betterment of All and the One. ¡°Experience won is experienced for the One¡±, am I right?¡±. He quoted a saying I¡¯ve never heard before, or at least I thought I had never heard before. I¡¯m not really sure of anything at this point. Last I remember I was lying on my couch passing out after another grueling day of working at the hospital, taking care of the whiniest, most self-absorbed, impatient patients. The back of my head hurts and I¡¯m starting to feel nauseous. I lie back down, heart pounding, a cold sweat pouring off me, trying to nope out of this situation.


    The paunchy man spluttered indignantly, an impressive red hue filling his visage, ¡°Don¡¯t you- That¡¯s not what- How dare you use Our One¡¯s True Words to defend this rat! I¡¯ll call the guards and have you all face proper judgement!¡± The smooth-talker¡¯s pitch apparently had a hint of condescension that triggered the holy indignation of a fanatic. The paunchy man began making for the alley exit but even I, in my disorientation and nausea, could tell that was not going to fly.


    ¡°Guards? Guards! GU-¡° the indignant man¡¯s shout was staunched by a huge hand enclosing his throat with practiced ease.


    ¡°If you don¡¯t want a face full of fist you¡¯re going to walk away quietly and forget this ever happened¡± Batman? Is that you? Rockzeneggerzilla pressed the paunchy man against the alley¡¯s wall eliciting a louder than expected thump. ¡°Do you understand?¡± The poor paunch¡¯s eyes popped out of his face like one of those squeezy key chains as he tried to nod his acquiescence and gasp for breath.


    ¡°Good. Leave,¡± and the paunch scampered away.


    Smooth talker heaved a dramatic sigh, ¡°Civility hasn¡¯t been working out well for us lately, has it, Brute?¡±


    Brutezilla rolled his eyes. ¡°Don¡¯t act like you didn¡¯t want that to happen, Dagger. You were poking the plaguebeast and you know it¡±. He turned towards me and seemed even bigger than I had first thought, his calf seemed to be literally as wide as my torso. ¡°You alright kid? Didn¡¯t get pushed too bad? Can you stand?¡± Without waiting for me to respond he lifted me onto my feet from my underarms. Kid?! I¡¯m a 28 year old man! Dignity aside, that¡¯s not how you approach a medical emergency situation! Both my inner healthcare professional and my manliness were cringing but I had other, more pressing concerns;


    ¡°I don¡¯t think s-,¡± A wave of nausea overwhelmed me and I hurled an empty stomach all over the mysterious giant¡¯s cloak. I performed an impressive bourgeois lady¡¯s syncope onto the ground as Brute deadpanned me. Dagger cackled.


    ¡°Halt, guardsmen here. Put your hands where I can see them¡±


    ¡°Time to make our dashing escape after our heroic rescue. Isn¡¯t that right, Brute?¡±


    ¡°Shuddup and run, Dagger¡± Brute paused to consider me as I lay still mildly hyperventilating and half-conscious on the ground. ¡°Come on kid. We¡¯re not leaving you behind,¡± Brute said as he walked towards me and effortlessly hauled me up over his shoulder as we exited stage right.


    Oh flip no.


    The world spun as I was tousled around on my brutish rescuer¡¯s shoulder. I was vaguely aware of the throngs of people walking by, going about their day, and the stone and wooden buildings we passed by. I got the impression of an old European town, but the people threw me for a loop. I couldn¡¯t see any denim or flashy colours, most dressed in simple drab linens. Brow furrowed, I brought a hand in front of my face for examination and felt my stomach drop in horror.


    These are not my hands.


    They¡¯re the hands of a child, filthy and thin with broken fingernails and bloody cuts that looked mildly infected. These aren¡¯t my hands!!! The feeling of wrongness makes sense now, as my mind caught up with my subconscious. These hands weren¡¯t the same shade, the same shape as mine. There was no hair on the knuckles or scar near the wrist from who knows what. These¡­ are NOT MY HANDS! If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    ¡°Heeeeiinnnn,¡± I let out a painful moaning sound halfway between weep and whale, drawing Brute¡¯s attention.


    ¡°You okay there, kid? Sorry for the bumpy ride. We¡¯re heading to a safehouse. We¡¯ll be there in a moment¡±. Quiet sobs were his only reply as tears streamed down my face and my whole body trembled.


    ¡°Kid must¡¯ve gotten knocked a bit harder than it looked. I¡¯m pretty sure that guy was a Strongman or working towards it. I saw how much you worked to move him against the wall. Sure you haven¡¯t been neglecting the training Brute?¡±


    ¡°The only neglecting I¡¯ve been doing is not kicking your ass enough. The guy had Increased Mass. Good skill. Might actually hurt if he knew how to fight. We¡¯re almost there. We¡¯ll get him checked out soon¡±.


    I took some deep breaths to try and get more settled. The scenery changed from solid stone houses to more rundown shacks and tents. I didn¡¯t need the pungent smell of urine to know we were making our way through a slum. A few more minutes brought us into a small shack the size of a garden shed where I was rather gently deposited onto a cot. Wiry strong fingers felt up the back of my head and I felt a stab of pain.


    ¡°Just a tiny cut, nothing doing. Rest up and you¡¯ll be fine.¡± Dagger explained but I had had enough.


    ¡°That is not how you perform a neurological examination!¡± I exclaim in frustration in a squeaky prepubescent alto that only made my frustration and fear grow worse.


    ¡°Neura-what? Listen kid, we¡¯re not the Clerics of that One True asshole. We bailed you out of your screw up of a pickpocketing because of Brute¡¯s hero fetish but don¡¯t expect the royal treatment. Healing arts are expensive¡±


    Well flip. I¡¯ve gone and pissed off the only people I can count on for support in this strange situation. I would feel remorse and apologize but the spinning room and fulminant nausea were more pressing concerns. I groan out, ¡°Uuuurgh. I think I have a concussion¡±.


    Brute shoved Dagger out of the way. ¡°Don¡¯t mind Dagger, kid, he just hates everything because they¡¯re not how they should be,¡± he said as he placed a bucket of water and a rag next to the cot. ¡°What¡¯s your name kid? And what¡¯s this about a con cushion and new logical exam?¡±.


    Being horizontal and breathing deep and slow was doing wonders for my vertigo so I felt more comfortable spewing words, ¡°Concussion; trauma to the head or brain causing bruising and swelling. Neuro exams check for that. Can you call an ambulance? ... is healthcare publicly funded here? Where is here anyways?


    Brute¡¯s eyes went a bit wide and he met Dagger¡¯s whose mirrored his expression. My anxiety spurred me to continue on, ¡°I¡¯m Henry by the way. From Toronto. I¡¯m a nurse. I work at Toronto General in long-term-care¡±.


    ¡°Kid, look at me,¡± Brute said and I did. I noticed he was a lot older than I originally placed him. He had tired eyes - not the kind that a good twelve hour beauty sleep would cure, but the kind where they¡¯re just tired of seeing things. He had a severely lined faced and heavy brow with a few haphazard scars on his cheeks and forehead. His short cropped hair was completely grey. He asked me, ¡°How old are you?¡±


    ¡°Twenty-eight, why?¡±


    Brute got up and went over to huddle with Dagger. In hushed tones that I could still hear, he began, ¡°This kid needs healing. He¡¯s talking like he¡¯s got the plague. He just got a little bump on the head so the cost shouldn¡¯t be too much¡±


    Dagger¡¯s voice was laced with venom and spite as he replied, ¡°Cut it down, Brute. You can¡¯t keep doing this. Some random Vagrant doesn¡¯t deserve your money, your time, or your consideration. He¡¯ll probably go spend it on whores or grass. We owe him nothing.¡± Whores or grass? Please, I¡¯ll have you know I¡¯m willingly celibate due to the fact that I can¡¯t intelligibly talk to attractive women. And why would I spend money on grass? I¡¯m not a cow.


    Brute went stiff and silent. I felt like I wanted to say something to justify my worth but words didn¡¯t come. I noticed that Dagger was twiddling a knife instead of his usual coin, and that Brute had a leather bandolier underneath his cloak fully laced with knives. I was not comfortable with these people!


    Silence pressed on for a while before Dagger continued, ¡°You know the clergy will charge you an arm and a leg. This kid isn¡¯t related to you at all. He has a different story, he¡¯s broken in a different way. A way you can¡¯t fix¡±. Hey, I¡¯m not that broken, and I¡¯m right here listening! Their bedside manners suck. He has a point though, I am kinda broken, in more ways than one. But still, where¡¯s the humanity?


    Something in Brute snapped. ¡°Shut up, Dagger,¡± he said as he clenched his fists, ¡°I know that. I know all that. I still give no fucks. I¡¯ll take him over to Mercier. He should be fair. And sort of tolerable. '''' He turned to me and asked me if I could walk. I wanted to say no but was not willing to be carried again so I shakily got to my feet, swaying slightly. The nausea and vertigo were mostly settled but I was beginning to feel very lightheaded, as though I had risen from the couch too fast and my blood pressure dropped. Or that time I discontinued one of my antidepressants because it wasn¡¯t working and I got withdrawals for a few days. I felt like thoughts came difficultly and I was living through a dream drunk. It wasn¡¯t a horrible sensation.


    ¡°Do you have any pharmacies around here? I want to make sure I can get my medication while living in another world¡±


    ¡°Sure kid. We¡¯ll take you there after our visit to the healer. You said your name was Henry, right? Do you live close by? Do you have¡­ anyone who looks out for you?¡±


    I took some time to consider these questions. They seemed confusing to me. I felt like I was back at university trying to guess a fill-in-the-blank question on a test. ¡°I am Henry. I live pretty far from here, I think. North York in Toronto. Canada. Walking distance from work. Is that far from here? Where is here?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re in Keratan, capital of the human kingdom Keranan. We¡¯re in the south-eastern edge of the residential district, called Edgewood - named that because most of the buildings are made of wood and we¡¯re on the edge of the city¡±. Words flowed into one of my ears and out the other as I followed the differing duo through this slum until we reached a surprisingly well-built wooden chapel about ten minutes from the safehouse.


    ¡°This. This is a nice house. I want to live in a house like this,¡± I said. I noticed that instead of the customary cross on the roof there was a pyramidal metal fixture. It was a branching diagram or pedigree, but had the same general structure repeated four times rotated on their axis slightly so they didn¡¯t overlap. This symbol worried me for some reason.


    ¡°Listen guys. I really need some medical attention. Praying the hurt away won¡¯t work in this case. Is there no hospital or clinic around?¡± I was largely ignored but Brute mentioned that the healer was inside as I followed him in.


    Inside the spacious chapel hall were the standard wooden rows of benches and a couple of people sitting in silence. At the front alter was a preaching podium set up in front of a larger metal pedigree symbol.


    Brute went down a side hall to fetch this Mercier while I sat with Dagger on one of the benches to wait.


    ¡°So I get you¡¯re Dagger ¡®cause of that Dagger you twiddle. Why not coin though? You twiddle a coin too. And why is Brute Brute? He¡¯s so nice. He should be called Huggable or mister Rogers or something. Do you two have real names? Or is it a ¡®I¡¯d tell you but then I¡¯d have to kill you¡¯ kind of thing. I don¡¯t think I¡¯d want to know then, but I am very curious. Can I get a nickname too? Besides just ¡®kid¡¯. You can call me ¡®Blue Thunder¡¯ and my secret attack will be making a face like this¡± I squint my eyes and open my mouth just slightly, imagining a passing breeze flowing through my hair.


    Dagger¡¯s coin magically turned into a dagger again as he looked at me, eye twitching and said, ¡°I swear if you don¡¯t shut up the only nickname you¡¯ll have is ¡®dead¡¯. They¡¯ll put ¡®died of stupidity¡¯ on your eulogy. People are staring and we don¡¯t want attention¡±. I noticed a few other visitors were throwing weird looks our way and I indentured to silence.


    After a few moments Dagger whispered, ¡°I¡¯m Dagger because daggers are useful. Preparing food, tailoring clothes, carving material¡­ or just cutting things. Daggers are essential, they get things done. And I can¡¯t solve problems with a coin¡±.


    ¡°Not with that attitude,¡± I whispered back, ¡°have you never heard of throwing money at a problem and it goes away? Besides, do you really have just the one coin? That would be kinda sad. You sure you¡¯re not a ¡®vagrant¡¯ too?¡±.


    I saw a vein begin to pulse in Dagger¡¯s hand as he clenched it around his coin. ¡°You may be right, kid. Maybe I can solve problems with coins. Maybe I¡¯ll start with you, for practice¡±. I resubmitted my indentiture to silence with a slight bitterness in my heart: he started it!


    Time passed and I was beginning to feel tired. We must have been waiting for half an hour by now.


    Eventually we were led by a shaven-headed robed young man into a side room of the chapel, down some stone stairs, into a cozy basement room well-lit by candles. I saw Brute waiting inside beside another middle-aged shaven-headed robed man as I was directed to sit on a comfortable bed. My eyes drooped with fatigue as the older clergyman placed a hand on my forehead and I felt warmth spread from his touch. After a few seconds he said, ¡°Six seconds of Healing Touch at 5 lauryls per second. Your total will be three-hundred and fifty royal marks¡±


    I saw Brute wince, ¡°Not able to give a discount for us Mercier? I¡¯d owe you one¡±.


    The man I now placed as the healer Mercier frowned, ¡°You still owe me for the last time, Brute. I can¡¯t keep skimping on fees; the kingdom¡¯s Clerks audit me to the Abyss for every lauryl I use and the discrepancy comes out of the chapel¡¯s upkeep budget. The most I can do is remove the caregiving fee which brings the price to three-hundred marks¡±. I noticed Mercier was holding a shiny purple rock.


    Brute sighed and passed over a handful of coins. With a hasty thanks to the priest we were dismissed with a ¡°May the One be with You and You be with the One¡±. I was led out of the chapel but before we got far Brute took a knee, bringing him to my eye level once more and asked, ¡°How are you feeling now, kid?¡±


    It was a good question. I felt kind of numb with all that has transpired within the last few hours. Truth be told, all I wanted to do was to take a good nap and deal with whatever the heck was going on tomorrow. My head felt a bit clearer though, and I somehow knew these two strangers went out of their way to ensure I was alright. I felt deeply touched and appreciative, more than I could say.


    ¡°I¡¯m okay. But I need to thank you, really. I didn¡¯t know what to do at all in that situation. I still don¡¯t really. But thank you so much for helping me when you really didn¡¯t ha- ¡°


    ¡°Kid,¡± Dagger interrupted my thankful gush with an evil smile as he caressed his trusty dagger, ¡°You owe us now. And the Expedient Gents are widely known in the darker crowds to always ensure their dues are paid in full¡±


    Brute grunted, ¡°Glad you¡¯re feeling better kid. WhatDagger means to say is¡­ welcome to one of the most infamous group of thugs in Keranan¡± They both grin as I have a clenching feeling in my gut. What have I gotten myself in to? I start sweating again when suddenly a clear thought arose from the depths of my mind:


    Class changed: Vagrant ¡ú Peon


    What the flip!

 MiM Ch. 2

    All is One and One is all. Advance Oneself and by doing so Advance the One. The highest degree of worship is not through material sacrifice or fatuous rituals. Cast aside distraction and diversion and devote to progression and the gain of experience. Only by reaching the pinnacle are you worthy of being of the One.


    Opening Passage of The First Tenet from the Book of the One.


    ___________________________________


    In Kar¡¯Anan, the One¡¯s True People¡¯s city, the city of heroes and home of Our One True God, people went about their functions. Citizens laboured for their nation, Practitioners studied the plane¡¯s most veiled secrets, and Leaders directed the masses to greater heights. Soldiers drilled their formations, guardsmen patrolled the city¡¯s streets, merchants pedalled their wears, and craftsmen invented and innovated. The cogs of the kingdom twirled and articulated, well oiled by the sacrosanct teachings of Our One True God and the knowledge that by progressing themselves they grow closer to the One.


    Within the flawless machine that was the True Kingdom, a small boy, a child really, was trying and failing to remain nondescript amongst the bustling crowds of Edgewood¡¯s Main Street bazaar. The boy walked alongside the shoppers as they strolled and browsed the stalls, drawing the nearby guards¡¯ eyes.


    The boy was largely unremarkable in appearance. He was short of his age. Where other boys may be going through growth spurts, drawing close to their adult height, he was barely five feet of skin and bone. Black hair and black eyes haunted features drawn sharp with malnutrition. Dirty linen clothes that would pass more as rags hung off his frame completing the ¡®dirty street urchin¡¯ image. He was not trying to make a fashion statement.


    Though the boy was largely unremarkable and demanded no second glances (indeed most shoppers went out of their way to not look at him), the guards¡¯ attention did not waver. They had seen such children before - children with no home, no money, and no one who cared. Vagrants whose desperation inevitably gave way to depravity. Those filthy few who have turned their back on the One True God and in turn, had the One turn on them. There was no place for such dissident deviance in their glorious kingdom. And so, the guards watched the urchin, and waited to enact the will of the One.


    ___________________________________


    After having been unwillingly indoctrinated into the Expedient Gents and having my class changed to Peon, I had unwillingly let out a shocked exclamation. Thankfully, Brute then clarified that I was not to be a slave or minion but something of an apprentice. I then obtained another notification from the voice in my head that I had become a Vagrant again:


    Class changed: Peon ¡ú Vagrant


    What the heck does that even mean? I had asked myself, only to be answered by that same voice.


    Colroy Vagr-


    ¡­


    Henry Stone


    Vagrant 0 (33%); Vagrant* 11 (9%)


    STA: 40


    WIS: 15


    Robust DIgestion


    Enhanced Immunity


    Tired, overwhelmed, and confused, I had let myself be led back to the safehouse for a good night¡¯s rest. The next morning, after a brief breakfast of unidentified dried meat, oats, and lukewarm water, I set about my day. The Gents¡¯ last instruction before they had disappeared into the night to go about their ¡®work¡¯ was to ¡®get experience and stay out of trouble¡¯. And so I left the safehouse and let my dirty bare feet carry me any which way through the slum, being careful not to step on anything hazardous.


    I tried to wrap my head around my current situation and found it mostly incomprehensible. I was reincarnated? Resurrected? Probably not resurrected, last I checked I was still alive. Definitely transmigrated to a different world. There¡¯s been too many inexplicable things for any other explanation. I¡¯ve been ¡®Oz¡¯ed¡¯ or maybe it should be ¡®Dorothy and Toto¡¯ed. I didn¡¯t even get hit by a tornado or a runaway truck-kun, how did I get Isekai¡¯ed? At least there¡¯s no wicked witch wailing at me for revenge. I miss my cat¡­ this would be so much better if I had a Toto of my own.


    I had wandered into a busy market road. I noticed the stalls¡¯ goods were quite foreign, corroborating my transmigration theory. Shiny rocks of various shapes, sizes, and colours were piled in neat rows; metal trinkets in the form of the same pedigree symbol on the chapel and other more practical forms like knives or spoons; hanging unidentified meats and piles of bloody chunks waiting to be sliced; produce I¡¯ve never seen before were by far the most widespread. I¡¯m definitely not in Kansas anymore.


    As I struggled to see around other shoppers¡¯ waists I was reminded of the cruel fact that I was not in my body anymore, but that of a child¡¯s. This raised a few concerns in my mind, namely whose body was this? There was the beginning of a name whispered by the creepy voice in my ear, Colroy Vagrant was it? Did I somehow commit murder as I repossessed this person? Did this person have a family, a place to belong to, people who cared? I was starting to feel really guilty, and that initial feeling of wrongness stirred in my chest. Moving around in this body felt unnatural, like driving a new vehicle, learning how sensitive the gas and breaks were. I suppose it will take some time getting used to but I wasn¡¯t sure I wanted to get used to it. Inhabiting someone else¡¯s body was uncomfortably intimate, and not knowing the person¡¯s situation and having the person be a kid was not helping. This is so awkward. How am I supposed to go to the washroom?


    I felt anxiety give way to hopelessness. Here I was, stuck in another world, in someone else¡¯s body, completely ignorant as to how this happened and what to do. I knew nothing of this strange world and had no one to ask for help. The life of one Henry Stone, twenty-eight year old extended care unit nurse at Toronto General Hospital, proud cat-daddy, perpetually single, avid antisocialite, and estranged from his family was not a penultimate example of self actualization or the epitome of a healthy lifestyle. I had struggled with depression for years, feeling woefully inadequate in most every aspect of my life. Things that most people found easy were a struggle for me; sometimes just waking up and getting out of bed was too much. Still, I was attached to my life and the comforts I had. The sense of loss was harsh. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.


    I found a quiet corner, a tiny alleyway between two shacks and huddled down and cried. I cried for all that I had lost and the powerlessness and fear I felt at that moment.


    Eventually, after I started feeling less horrible, I got up, dusted myself off (not that it helped to clean my rags at all), and continued on my walkabout.


    The archetypal tale of going back in time and reliving life with knowledge of future events and years of experience was appealing. But this was very different then that idealized fantasy; I was not in my own body or my own world! I was completely disoriented, and had only a couple of sketchy thugs to rely on. Instead of being given an opportunity to excel and surpass my previous self, avoiding pitfalls and unforeseen mistakes, I was thrust into a situation where my only choices were between different degrees of bad. And it was frustrating. I needed information of this world before I could do anything to move forward.


    My thoughts drifted back to yesterday¡¯s ordeal with Brute and Dagger and mister magic fingers Mercier. I was really out of it at the time but in hindsight I had seen something truly inexplicable. Real magic. The warmth that had radiated from his hand on my forehead had no discernable origin, and my head felt remarkably clear after, with no dull throbbing or lightheadedness or nausea. I even noticed the cuts and broken nails on my hands were gone. I was awestruck and I wanted it. I skipped about an empty Edgewood street as dreams of flying through the sky flinging lightning, parting the seas and clouds by my mere whims, summoning storms by my breath and curing cancer with a touch carried me away. I tried to imagine a fireball in my mind and pointed a palm forward as I said, ¡°Fire!¡±, but predictably nothing happened. Work in progress then.


    I decided to shift my focus back on the most immediately perceptible extraordinary phenomenon: this voice in my head. As a nurse, I have had a few patients with colorful psychiatric histories including schizoaffective disorders with auditory hallucinations but I could never truly relate to them having never experienced anything similar before. I was in a somewhat different situation (at least I hoped I wasn¡¯t having a psychotic episode; I wasn¡¯t going to rule it out considering the preposterous situation I was in) but I now understood how disconcerting it was. The voice sounded like a fearful, anguished woman and it sounded so real. It made my hackles rise. Who am I? I asked myself or the world or whatever and received the answer:


    Henry Stone


    Vagrant 0 (37%); Vagrant* 11 (9%)


    STA: 40


    WIS: 15


    Robust DIgestion


    Enhanced Immunity


    There was my name, which spoke for itself, and there was not one but two vagrant designations listed. Is that normal? Maybe one of them was from the original inhabitant of this body, which made my stomach turn once more.


    I wondered if I could get the creepy voice to tell me more by asking more questions so I started spamming her: What is a Vagrant? What is a Peon? What other classifications are there? What is a Warrior? What is a Wizard? What is a swordsman? What is a Brute? What is a Dagger? I snickered at the last two questions. The voice remained silent but I wasn¡¯t overly frustrated, moreso enjoying the process of discovery. I went back to investigating the report on myself.


    Henry Stone


    Vagrant 0 (38%); Vagrant* 11 (9%)


    STA: 40


    WIS: 15


    Robust Digestion


    Enhanced Immunity


    I stopped my merry jaunt in my tracks, focusing in on the change in percentage point after the first Vagrant 0. It went up by one! What does that even mean?


    Experience: 38/100; 3170/3572


    Woah woah woah woah woah. I gained experience! Just like Brute and Dagger told me to. And I haven¡¯t even gotten into any trouble.


    I was beginning to see the game-like elements integrated into this world. I realized that Brute and Dagger didn¡¯t mean for me to get the kind of experience that comes with travelling and getting my heart broken a few times. I have plenty of that kind of experience, I thought bitterly. Brute and Dagger wanted me to level up like a video game. I had been in eighth grade once, I played games with the best of them. A part of me wanted to get to lvl 99 with max skills and legendary gear and walk around like a boss pwning noobs. Another part of me told that part of me to shut up and freak out because this should not be happening. This should not be happening! Am I in a virtual reality game or something? It feels so real...


    Shelving the doubts I had related to my sanity and perception of reality in order to prevent another panic attack, I decided to focus on the feeling of accomplishment for gaining that 1% exp. It felt like progress, like I was moving forward to where I should be going. Sweet, sweet victory. But what did I do to gain that XP? I was just walking down what looked like a typical Edgewood path, surrounded by a few tattered tents on one side and some modest shacks on the other. A woman walked by in the opposite direction holding a bucket of water and a satchel of something. She didn¡¯t look at me. There was a man lying down in front of a shack a distance in front of me but he didn¡¯t seem conscious. I turned around, looking back at the immediate path I had walked, frowning, nothing catching my notice. Did I get a percentage from asking questions? Or was it my spectacularly unspectacular attempt at magic? Was it solely the act of walking?


    I decided to experiment. Standing still with my hands out in front of me, I brought the image of a campfire to the forefront of my mind, and whispered, ¡°Fire¡±. Nothing happened. Experience?


    Experience: 38/100; 3170/3572


    Didn''t change. Test number one - failed. Test number two: asking questions to the voice in my head (maybe I am having a psychotic break. I hope they put me somewhere nice). Who are you? Why am I here? Who is Colroy Vagrant? How do I gain experience? Why do I have two Vagrant designations? What is STA? What is WIS? What is Robust Digestion? What is Enhanced Immunity?


    STAmina: increases the relative density and/or efficiency of connective and epithelial tissue by 1%/point while maintaining function


    WISdom: increases the relative efficiency of neuroglia by 1%/point


    Robust Digestion: Increases capacity to digest material


    Enhanced Immunity: Enhances capacity of adaptive immunity


    Woah that¡¯s a lot. I was actually quite surprised to get so many answers from the voice it kind of all passed me by. I¡¯ll look over that later. Experience?


    Experience: 38/100; 3170/3572


    No change! Test number two - failed. Test number three: running around for experience gain. Here I go. I burst forward into a quick sprint, surprised at the suppleness of this youthful body. I marvelled at the lack of pain in my knees or back. Oh to be young again. I sped down the street I found myself on and turned around a house. I was getting myself right and proper lost but I had a general sense of which direction the hideout was and was confident if I just kept heading in that general vicinity I¡¯d find my way back. A few minutes of running later I was out of breath, but I still found myself impressed with the longevity of this debilitated corpse. Maybe it¡¯s that STA thing kicking in. Moment of truth; experience?!


    Experience: 42/100; 3170/3572


    Wabam! Look at me leveling like a boss. I really wanted to know what happens when I hit 100/100 but the voice was silent. I really wanted to find out though, so I prepared to go for another run but right went I set off I bumped into a guy that jumped in front of me.


    ¡°Excu-¡±


    ¡°Ha! I got you, you little rat! No more running!¡± My apology was cut short by a victorious cry by the guy I had ran in to. I took stock of him. He was in his mid twenties and had annoyingly curly hair and a spectacularly square jaw. He was in a leather armor with a breastplate marked by that pedigree symbol. He had a cudgel at his side and his hand on my shoulder. Oh flip. I was not comfortable with this situation!

 Chapter 3

    ¡°Uh, is there a problem, sir?¡± I breathed out while trying to edge away from the man. He held me steady.


    ¡°You tell me, boy. I¡¯ve had my eye on you for the past hour and you¡¯ve been nothing but suspicious. Creeping around the bazaar, weaseling your way around people¡¯s wastes, creeping through alleys, prancing around high as a cloud through these streets. I didn¡¯t see what you stole but I saw enough to know you got your mitts on something and pawned it off for some grum grass. What are you, ten years old? Not even? Shameful.¡±


    I was shocked by his malice, but also relieved that he wasn¡¯t trying to mug me. As my conscience was clean, I struggled to formulate a response, ¡°I, uh, I¡¯m new to the area and was just exploring a bit. I didn¡¯t steal anyth-¡°


    ¡°ALL RIGHT, that¡¯s enough out of you,¡± squarejaw curlyhair interrupted, ¡°If you¡¯re as innocent as you say I¡¯ll bring you in for an inquisition. You¡¯re under arrest. Move.¡± His hand on my shoulder shoved me forward as he began leading me through the streets of Edgewood.


    He perp-walked me along the dirty path between shacks along the way I had come. What is happening?! Why is this happening? I was working up a nervous sweat, my head was in a tizzy with anxiety, not knowing what to do. What is an inquisition? How deep in trouble am I? Holy flip. I began considering my options. I felt like I really needed some information and security; public guardians like the police would be where I¡¯d go - usually. I was already associated with one criminal organization, albeit somewhat unwillingly. I was also a Vagrant, whatever that entailed. I didn¡¯t think running from the police was a good idea, especially with my short stature, but I sure as heck didn¡¯t feel very safe with this curly-haired copper.


    ¡°Uuh. You''re like a police officer, right? A guardsman? Maybe you could help me out. I have a few questions about this voice I¡¯m hearing. What is a Vagrant? Also what exactly is an inquisition? I didn¡¯t steal anything, really. I was just browsing¡± I sounded suspicious even to myself.


    The guard laughed loudly and annoyingly, ¡°Ha! You say you¡¯re a Vagrant that hasn¡¯t stolen anything? Well I¡¯m a Champion of knitting pretty hats. The name¡¯s Gordon, proud member of Aegis of Kar¡¯Anan, or city guard to you lowlifes. The Inquisition will lay your sins bare for all to see. Now move those little legs, boy!¡± He said as he prodded me forward. I was not comforted by his reply.


    We skirted around the bazaar, avoiding the thinning crowd of shoppers. The guard didn¡¯t let me out of arm¡¯s reach as he led me towards Karanan proper, where the dirt-trailed road gave way to cracked and dusty cobblestones and the tents and shacks gave way to brick and wood houses. The smell of urine was beginning to fade but I was too nervous to be appreciative. There were less people about during late morning, most people had assumedly settled into their work. My eyes darted around for an out, for help, for answers. I was getting close to just submitting to my fate. If an inquisition ¡®laid my sins bare¡¯ all they¡¯d find was some questionable sites on my computer¡¯s browser''s history. I have nothing to be afraid of! I told myself, trying to force the belief.


    We outpaced a horse-drawn wagon full of bricks and building material that was being unloaded at an empty lot between buildings. A mother was herding her children in the opposite direction; I caught her giving me a look as they passed with a wide berth. I saw a ragtag trio hauling bulging packs and covered in dirty and dented armor walking wearily in the same direction as we were before turning down a side street. A runner seemed to teleport forward with every step. I gawked a bit.


    ¡°Double step. Standard skill requirement for Workers going for the Courier profession. But you wouldn¡¯t know anything about honest work would you, Vagrant.¡± It was not a question but a condemnation. This body is flipping twelve or something! Honest work your face!


    ¡°Is it that bad to be a Vagrant? I didn¡¯t choose to be one, you know, it just sort of happened after I came here¡±.


    ¡°No one chooses Vagrancy, boy. They¡¯re cursed into the class by the One True God for turning their back on His teachings, same as those grimy greenskin Peons. Vagrants level slower than other starting classes. They level by doing Vagrant things. Stealing, scavenging, begging, fighting, and just making trouble in general. Blasphemous things that insult the One,¡± he spat out venomously and I shrunk in on myself at the tone.


    Vagrants level slower and only gain experience by doing Vagrant things? How was I gaining experience before? I was just walking along innocently. Maybe the Gordon stalking me was enough to gain a few points; Vagrants level by evading the law, I¡¯m sure. I decided to see if I could get more info.


    ¡°Is there a way to¡­ repent to the One God and stop being a Vagrant?¡± Levels seemed pretty essential to my survival and I didn¡¯t want this negatively viewed class that inhibited growth. ¡°I don¡¯t really mean to¡­ disrespect the One True g- God¡±. I stumbled over the term, trying to make it not sound sarcastic or distasteful. This guy spoke it with zeal, with meaning. I spoke it like something I just learned about.


    Gordon paused in his prodding and surveyed me for a minute. He shrugged, reluctantly considering. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t know the details. Most people are born a Citizen, some lucky ones a Gentry. Those out in the boonies get Villager. My boss could point you in the right direction, if the Inquisition clears you. Come on, boy, let¡¯s keep go-¡±


    Someone threw a Dagger at him before he could continue leading me forward. I stared. Gordon stared. Dagger stumbled as he got up, a mug in his hand with liquid that was surprisingly unspilled  and a rose sheen in his face. He shouted at the establishment he was thrown from, ¡°DAMN RUDE PEOPLE IN THERE. Is that how you treat a customer? RIK¡¯S PUB IS THE PITS. THE PITS!¡± Dagger nonchalantly sidestepped a chair that flew out of the door of said pub from which nondescript cursing could be heard. As he turned to strut away, Dagger paused mid step as he spotted Gordon and I and did a double take.


    ¡°Daaa- d?¡± I stumbled over his name, not sure if calling him Dagger would have negative ramifications regarding the law-keeping compatriot that was standing adjacent to me.


    Now Dagger looked as surprised as we did as he registered what I had just called him, ¡°Wha?¡±


    Gordon recovered from his stupefaction and recalled that he was on duty as an honored guardsman of the One¡¯s True City. ¡°Hold! What kind of trouble are you on about here? Kid, this man is your father? Undoubtedly, the parfin doesn¡¯t fall far from the parfin bush. You both are under arrest! Put your hands behind your back.¡± He drew a pair of leather binders and made to arrest Dagger.


    Dagger¡¯s eyes went from the binds, the symbol on Gordon¡¯s chestplate, to me. He said, ¡°I¡¯m glad you¡¯re making friends, kid, but daddy doesn¡¯t have time to play. Work to be done, drinks to be drank, mayhem to be raised. Praise be to the One, for that is as high as He can count,¡± he tipped a non-existent hat and dashed away. Cursing, Gordon was about to chase him down before he looked back at me. I could see the gears turning in his well insulated brain. He looked after Dagger and could no longer spot him amongst the pedestrians. How¡¯d he do that?


    ¡°That was your father? What was he doing?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Uuuuh. Sure. Yep. Yes. That was my father. And I don¡¯t know what he was doing. ¡®Working¡¯ hard, I¡¯m sure. Doing something completely lawful and wholesome,¡± I responded, recovering from my stupefaction slowly. Great, one of the few people I¡¯ve met since coming to this world got me in worse trouble than I was already in. He just bailed on me!


    ¡°Yeah, well I¡¯ll be doing a full investigation into this matter, you mark me. Rik¡¯s pub is one of my favorites and I¡¯ll be damned if there¡¯s any harassing going on there. Lets keep going, we¡¯re almost at the department¡±


    Gordon continued to lead me down a couple of more streets before the world suddenly became a little darker. We looked around confusedly before looking up, coming face to face with a giant. It was Brute, who had just walked out of a side street while wiping his hands on a suspiciously red-brown stained kerchief and was inadvertently looming. Both Gordon and I took a step back.


    ¡°Hi Brrrr- other?¡± Cringing at my social awkwardness, I realized what I was saying halfway through saying it but I was too far gone to stop. It¡¯s happening again! Why?!


    Brute paused in his hand wiping to consider us both, taking in Gordon¡¯s symbolized chestpiece. Gordon¡¯s gaze alternated between me and the small giant that was almost twice my height and probably four times my weight, noticing his grey hair and still stained hands. ¡°This is your¡­ brother?¡± he asked.


    ¡°Y-Yes? Yes. I mean, I call him brother. Y¡¯know, cause he¡¯s my bro. Tight as thugs. I mean not that we¡¯re actually thugs or anything. It¡¯s like a subculture, completely harmless. Mostly. He¡¯s uuh, actually my uncle, or something. Right Bru- Brother?¡±


    I was impressed at Brute¡¯s impassivity as I rambled myself further into my grave. Stoic as a rock. ¡°Where are you taking my brother, officer?¡± Oh snap, am I about to be saved? You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    ¡°This rat was loitering, thieving, fencing, and stuffing himself full of grom-¡±


    ¡°Did you see him take anything?¡± Brute inquired calmly and softly, but his deep voice was piercing and overbearing and left no room for maneuvering. He took a step forward.


    Gordon was simply outclassed in intimidation factor but he didn¡¯t give way. With sweat on his brow and knuckles white from squeezing the baton at his side, he held his ground, ¡°I don¡¯t need to see him take anything. He¡¯s a rat, a Vagrant. That¡¯s what they do. And I¡¯m Aegis, the shield of the One¡¯s True People. I¡¯m taking him to the inquisitor, where he¡¯ll be processed as appropriate¡±


    Brute leveled his cold grey gaze at Gordon. I saw Brute¡¯s jaw clench and I swallowed hard. Now what?


    Brute switched his gaze to me, ¡°You do anything?¡±


    ¡°Nope¡±


    ¡°Then I¡¯ll see you home for supper¡±. He clapped a big hand on my shoulder as he walked by, making my knees almost buckle.


    Gordon and I just kind of stared as Brute left; his head was visible over other pedestrians for quite a while before he disappeared around a building, breaking our trance.


    ¡°Some interesting people you have in your life, kid¡±.


    ¡°It¡¯s Henry,¡± I said.


    ¡°What is?¡±


    ¡°My name. Stop calling me kid¡±


    ¡°But you are a kid¡±


    ¡°A kid with a name¡±


    ¡°A Vagrant is all you¡¯ll ever be. No need for a name,¡± and he shoved me onward.


    Wow, forget this guy. Brute should¡¯ve punched his lights out. I was normally very non-confrontational and tolerant but I was starting to absolutely dislike this guy. Brute abandoned me too, I thought, feeling a spike or hurt and sadness. Flip. I guess I can only count on my innocence and the intrinsic goodhearted nature of people to help me through this. Yeah right. I¡¯m boned. I¡¯m probably going to get thrown in some prison somewhere and waste away. Oh flip, do they have the death penalty here? Am I going to get hanged? I kind of trusted Brute; he went out of his way to ¡®fix¡¯ my head when I had just met him. He seemed like a good guy. Maybe things will turn out alright. He said he¡¯d see me for dinner, after all.


    We arrived outside a fairly large building with offwhite stone and grecian pillars framing the alcove holding a large double doored entrance. We stepped up the few stairs leading to the entrance and I noted pedigree symbol emblazoned on a shield above the door frame. Underneath the shield were bronze stylized letters in English, ¡®One for all; All for One¡¯.


    Are you serious?! I shouted in my mind, flabbergasted. I didn¡¯t have the time to ruminate on the ramifications of the use of English letters or the familiar proverb before I was ushered into the building. We passed through stone halls with closed doors and the stupid curlyhaired goof led me to the stairs leading down that was hidden behind the grand ascending staircase in the center of the hall. They¡¯re leading me to the dungeon, aren¡¯t they? Yes they are. Bad things are going to happen down there, aren¡¯t they? Yes they are.


    We passed another guard sitting on a wooden chair, his head down in a book. He spared me a glance and all I saw were the huge bags under his eyes. Maybe if he falls asleep I can escape.


    ¡°General Vagrancy. Here to see the Inquisitor,¡± Gord¡¯ reported.


    ¡°Mm,¡± the reading guard grunted his assent absentmindedly, ¡°¡®Few waiting to see ¡®er. ¡®Put him in¡°.


    Passed the reading guard was indeed somewhat of a dungeon; a long hall lined with metal grate doors. I heard snoring from one cell and quiet giggling from another. Gord¡¯ unceremoniously opened the closest gated, shoved me in, closed and locked it, and left without even turning to look at me. I felt less than worthless.


    Looking around the cell, I noted the typical amenities: a bucket and a filthy blanket (is that supposed to be a bed?). It stunk. I looked into the bucket and indeed, it seemed that it was not properly emptied from its previous use. I was surprised to not find any visible bugs. This room reminded me of the seclusion rooms we had on the psych wards at the hospital I worked at, except less sterile and less graffiti.


    THIS SUCKS. This sucks so flipping much! Oh my gosh. I flopped onto the least grimy corner of the room and curled up my arms around my knees. What happened to flying in the clouds and cultivating to immortality? What happened to my buxom harem of various fantasy species (I¡¯d settle for just one quality lady, let¡¯s be honest here)? What happened to the idealistic slice-of-life story where I¡¯d build a farm or invent medicine or something? This sucks. I was shaking I was just so distressed. It¡¯d be pretty funny if I had a cellphone right now. Selfie #inadungeon. #gongetgone. What else? Oh I don¡¯t know. Cmon, status, where¡¯s my overpowered cheat?


    Henry Stone


    Vagrant 0 (38%); Vagrant* 11 (9%)


    STA: 40


    WIS: 15


    Robust Digestion


    Enhanced Immunity


    No change. Nothing. Being able to digest things better and not getting sick from all the weird microbes in the world wouldn¡¯t help me here. How hard is leveling again? I cringed at the thought of getting down on the floor to do pushups and decided to try some bodyweight squats while spamming experience in my head. One, two, three¡­ ten, eleven twelve¡­ twenty three. Ha! XP went up by one.


    Experience: 43/100; 3170/3572


    That¡¯s only¡­ like fifty seven times twenty three more squats to go! Like a thousand or something. I have 40 STA, I can do this! I started squatting like my life depended on it. ONE, TWO, THREE¡­ I kept my breathing smooth and regular and got up to a hundred before I had to take a break, breathing hard, my legs feeling a bit tired but not overly so.


    Experience: 47/100; 3170/3572


    Can I get a training montage now? Flip it, I have that enhanced immunity. I¡¯m gonna do some pushups. I want to figure out what happens if I level up. ONE, TWO, THREE¡­ I trembled out thirteen pushups, which I was quite impressed with considering my spaghetti noodle arms. XP ticked up by one again as I sat in my corner breathing. And I went again. Squats to 100, thirteen pushups.


    Experience: 54/100; 3170/3572


    I was breathing harder now, my chest and legs feeling wobbly. What am I doing? I shook my head, trying to clear my mind, and gently brought my head back to bump on the filthy wall of my cell. Distracting myself from this situation. I took a few deep breaths to settle myself. I knew that whatever was going to happen was out of my control, but I was so emotionally charged and jittery that I doubted I could make the best decision in the situation. I didn¡¯t know how much time I had before I was going to be brought for ¡®inquisition¡¯. I was beginning to get hungry.


    I decided to try meditating, like they had us do in my yoga classes. Sitting cross legged, back propped against the wall for support, hands on my knees. Exhale; relaxing every muscle in my body, inhale; feel sensations of the moment; exhale; the ground is pressing against my butt and legs, inhale; the wall is pressing against my back. Inhale; exhale. The smell makes my nose itch and eyes water. Inhale; exhale. The giggling laughter sounds a bit like sobbing. Inhale; exhale. Inhale; exhale. Inhale; exhale.


    ¡­


    I was startled when the metal cage door was loudly opened. I must have drifted off to sleep while meditating. I gingerly got out of my seated position, wincing at my stiff body, and turned to face my fate. The sleepy guard ushered me out of the cell where I encountered someone new waiting for me.


    A ghost of a woman was haunting the corridor. Tall, thin, pale, with a strict face that bordered on middle age, dark hair pulled back in a bun. She wore a grey robe crisscrossed with black strips forming a hint of that pedigree symbol down the front. She seemed like an interesting person, and despite my anxiety, I felt drawn to her.


    She met my eyes and smiled genuinely and I felt myself relax. She seemed like someone like I could trust, someone that could actually help me instead of inducting me into a criminal organization then abandoning me.


    ¡°Alexandra Ranvald. I will be your Inquisitor for today. Please follow me to my office.¡±


    She turned and led me away. I hurried after her, surprised at the lax security before noticing another slender woman in darker clothing trailing behind remaining nondescript despite the sword at her hip, far enough away as to avoid initial notice but close enough to still poke me with the pointy end of that thing.


    I turned my attention back to the more intriguing Inquisitor. Her robe covered any discernible curve and left everything to the imagination. She wasn¡¯t really my type anyway. She more so commanded a presence demanding respect. I felt the same way about some of the more distinguished college professors, but this Alexandra seemed more real and approachable and she-


    The door closed behind us as I found myself seated in a hard wooden chair in a bare stone room. The decor here really sucks. When did we even get here? Was not paying attention. I still think we¡¯re on the ground floor. Alexandra sat across a simple table from me, fixing her gaze at me with a smile still playing at her lips.


    ¡°I understand you¡¯re probably scared and confused about this whole thing,¡± she gestured vaguely with a hand. ¡°If it reassures you at all, this whole process is largely bureaucratic. As the will of the One demands. You¡¯re not in any trouble, unless you are trouble. And you¡¯re definitely not trouble, are you, dear?¡±


    ¡°N-no ma¡¯am¡±.


    ¡°Just Alexandra, please. I will have to ask you a few questions and that will be all. What is your name?¡±


    ¡°Henry Stone¡±


    She raised an eyebrow, ¡°Stone? Do you have a citizenship identification or an address of residence perchance?¡±


    ¡°N-no,¡± dammit why can¡¯t I talk straight. She¡¯s so nice, I just want to be helpful. ¡°I, uh, live in a shack in Edgewood?¡±


    Her eyes sharpened as she stared at me. ¡°Do you? You sound unsure.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m, uh, new to the area.¡±


    ¡°I see. Where did you reside before this shack?¡±


    ¡°Uh,¡± I paused and considered how to answer that question. I didn¡¯t want to lie, especially since Alexandra seemed so nice and willing to help. But I couldn¡¯t rightly say I just popped into this body from another world, could I? That would be ridiculous. ¡°I¡¯m from Toronto¡±.


    She furrowed her brow and tapped a finger on her chin. ¡°Toronto. Toronto. I¡¯m not familiar with it. It must be quite the small hamlet to not be in the kingdom¡¯s registry. And with a name like Stone I¡¯d assume relation to one of the larger mining outposts. Where is Toronto exactly? How many inhabitants does it have?¡±


    Her questions were getting complicated. ¡°I don¡¯t know where it is,¡± with respect to where I am now anyways. ¡°And there were quite a few people in it¡± like several million which probably dwarfs anything here based on the technological level I¡¯ve seen. I was beginning to get a clearer head and gain confidence with these questions. This was like a test. Short answer or multiple choice. And I always aced every test back in school.


    ¡°Hmm. Well Henry, can you tell me what brought you to Kar¡¯Anan? Are you here with your parents?¡±


    About time you asked about my parents. This is child abuse. I want to see my lawyer! ¡°I¡¯m here with my dad and brother. I just want to learn a lot and, uh, become strong. To serve the One. '''' There, that sounded sufficiently plausible and ass-kissy towards this popular deity.


    Alexandra¡¯s face remained impassive, the smile still pasted on her lips, ¡°Quite noble of you. Truly an exemplary citizen, a Kar¡¯oman after my own heart. It begs the question how such a prodigal child wound up as a Vagrant?¡±