《Path to Liberation [Gamelit Fantasy]》


 Death

    Questions, questions. That''s how it started, though there was never an answer.


    When I was young, I asked too many questions. The kind that made adults pause, made them squirm, and made them wonder if I had seen too much for my age. Maybe I had.


    It was a bitter cold Biseria Winter morning when my mother grabbed my hand and hurried me out of our small, crumbling apartment. She wrapped me in layers of mismatched clothing, their faded colors a testament to the years they''d seen. Her breath hung in the cold air, each exhale trembling with urgency.


    We weren''t like the "clean" people who lived in the gated communities with their polished lives and pristine laws. No, we lived where the city cracked and bled¡ªwhere drunken brawls on New Year''s Eve were the norm, where even toddlers like me bore witness to fights, wounds, and scars. But my parents, bless them, were trying. They were reforming, as the government liked to call it. Redemption for the poor, they promised. A lie.


    I tugged on her hand, my small voice breaking the silence. "Mama, where are we going?"


    "Not now, Wyren," she replied, her voice tight. She didn''t even look down at me. I wanted to ask more. Why were we rushing? Why was she so scared? But something in her tone silenced me.


    We hailed a taxi, its interior reeking of stale smoke and cheap alcohol. The driver didn''t bother with pleasantries, just nodded and sped off. We barely got five blocks before the car screeched to a halt.


    A group of men in black uniforms surrounded the vehicle. Their boots crunched on the frost-covered asphalt, and their faces were stone. "Identification," one of them barked, his voice cold as the winter air.


    Mother fumbled in her pocket, her hands trembling. But it didn''t matter. The cuffs came out before she could produce anything. They didn''t even ask twice. Within minutes, both of us were being herded into the back of a van.


    "Why?" I whispered, tears streaming down my cheeks. "Mama, why are they taking us?"


    "Quiet, Wyren," she hissed, pulling me close. Her hands covered my ears, as if that would shield me from what was happening.


    That was my first time in prison. They didn''t care that I was just a toddler, that I didn''t understand what was happening. They threw us into a cell like we were nothing. That day, I learned my first lesson: knowledge is the enemy of a tyrant. Questions? Questions could get you killed.


    So, I stopped asking¡ªfor a while.


    Years passed. The scars from that day never faded, but they shaped me. The government didn''t just rule; it suffocated. Laws weren''t designed for justice but for obedience. Yet even as I grew, I couldn''t stay silent forever. The questions returned, sharper and more dangerous.


    Why did the government fear us? Why did they silence voices like mine and my parents''? Why did they crush every glimmer of hope?Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit.


    Eventually, I found my answers¡ªnot in books or classrooms, but in whispers in the shadows. The Liberationaries, they called themselves. Rebels. Traitors. Heroes. They taught me what the government feared: magic. Real magic, not the sanitized, state-approved parlor tricks. Magic that could bend reality, tear down walls, and ignite revolutions.


    And now, here I was. Planting a bomb in the heart of the state that had stolen so much from me. The bomb wasn''t just mine, though. It was ours¡ªmine and Emma''s. My sweet Emma, the only person who had stood by me through everything. She was brilliant, her mind a whirlwind of calculations and creativity. She had designed this bomb, every wire and mechanism a testament to her genius.


    "This is it," she said, her voice steady. She was crouched beside me, her brown hair falling in loose waves around her face. Despite the tension, she looked calm. Serene, even.


    "You''re not scared?" I asked, my hands trembling as I secured the final piece.


    She smiled, a soft, wistful thing. "Of course I am. But fear doesn''t matter, does it? What matters is what we leave behind."


    I swallowed hard, nodding. "We''ll be remembered, right?"


    "More than that," she said, placing a hand over mine. "We''ll be the spark."


    We finished setting the bomb in silence. The government office was almost empty, the dim lights casting long shadows across the room. It was closing hours, the perfect time. No innocent lives, just the cold machinery of oppression.


    "Ready?" she asked, standing.


    I took a deep breath. "Ready."


    Together, we stepped back, our hands clasped. As we activated the timer, we shouted in unison, our voices echoing through the empty halls: "Death to the state! Death to the tyrant!"


    The explosion was instantaneous. A brilliant flash of light, a deafening roar, and then¡ªnothing.


    [System initializing¡­]


    [Strong inclinations toward freedom detected¡­]


    [Manifesting exclusive system¡­]


    [Freedom System created. Welcome, Wyren.]


    I awoke to darkness. Not the cold, suffocating kind of the prison cells I had known, but a vast, infinite void. My body felt weightless, and yet¡­ I was here. I was alive.


    "Wyren," a voice whispered. It was soft, almost melodic.


    "Emma?" I called out, panic rising in my chest.


    "No. I am the Freedom System," the voice replied. "Your actions have been recognized. Your desire for liberation has been acknowledged."


    I blinked, trying to make sense of the words. "What¡­ what are you talking about?"


    "You have been chosen," the voice continued. "Your spirit, unyielding and relentless, has earned you a second chance. You will be reincarnated in a new world. Your memories, your will, and the Freedom System will accompany you."


    "Reincarnated?" I echoed. "In a random universe?"


    "Yes."


    For a moment, I said nothing. My mind raced. I thought of Emma, of the bomb, of the lives we had tried to save. "And Emma?" I asked finally.


    The voice hesitated. "Her journey is her own. You must focus on yours."


    I clenched my fists, anger and sorrow swirling within me. But then I thought of what Emma would say. She would want me to go on, to fight, to be that spark she believed in.


    "What do I need to do?" I asked.


    "Liberate," the system replied. "Wherever you go, whatever form you take, you will find yourself under powers you may not yet understand, you are to live as free as you can, and this System will help you tremendously."


    A faint light began to glow in the distance, growing brighter with each passing second.


    "Your new life begins now, Wyren," the voice said. "Carry the flame of freedom with you."


    The light engulfed me, and the void disappeared.


    When I opened my eyes again, I was no longer in Biseria, no longer in the shadow of the tyrant''s regime. The world around me was vibrant, alive with magic. But even here, I could feel it¡ªthe chains, the oppression.


    The Freedom System''s voice echoed in my mind: "Welcome to your new world. Let the revolution begin."


    And so, it did.

 Chapter 2 Family

    Blinding light greeted me as I opened my eyes, forcing me to squint until the brightness softened. My surroundings slowly came into focus. I was in a crib, the wooden rails smooth and intricately carved with swirling patterns that glowed faintly. Above me, three faces leaned in with curiosity.


    The first belonged to a young woman, her face radiant with excitement. She was dressed in a practical outfit that spoke of a love for adventure¡ªleather boots, a sturdy jacket, and a satchel slung over one shoulder. Her vibrant green eyes twinkled as she examined me.


    The other two were older, a man and a woman who carried an air of refinement. Both had striking blue eyes and pale, smooth skin that shimmered faintly in the light. Their hair fell in long, silky waves¡ªhers a cascade of platinum, and his a graying gold. The man''s posture was rigid, disciplined, and his clothes bore subtle military insignias even within the comforts of their home.


    The woman''s expression, on the other hand, was soft and brimming with affection. Her hands reached into the crib, and before I could react, I was lifted into her arms. She cradled me close, her warmth enveloping me.


    "Lynt," she murmured, her voice tender as she nuzzled me. "You''re behaving rather oddly, little one. Not a single tear."


    Lynt. That must be my name.


    The man''s stern expression softened as he looked at me, his lips curving into a satisfied smile. Meanwhile, the younger woman leaned in, pressing gentle kisses to my forehead.


    "Father," she said, her voice filled with excitement, "when will Lynt be old enough for me to tutor?"


    The man chuckled, a low and steady sound. "Soon enough, Qwuine. Your sister may very well have as much potential as you. Be ready to answer her questions and inspire her curiosity. This task may prove to be the most important one you''ve ever undertaken."


    Wait. Sister? Did he just say sister?


    I looked down at my small hands¡ªtiny, delicate, and undeniably feminine. I blinked, processing the revelation. I was a girl in this life. Well, that was unexpected. But it didn''t really matter.


    As the days turned into weeks, I began piecing together my new identity. I was Lynt, second-born daughter of the Archduke of Nymedia. My parents¡ªkind, disciplined, and oddly doting¡ªensured that my life was filled with every luxury and opportunity imaginable.


    My room, or rather my "toddler sanctuary," was more advanced than any nursery I''d seen in my previous life. Soft cushions lined the floor, glowing runes shimmered on the walls, and shelves were stocked with books, puzzles, and games designed to stimulate my young mind.This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Even at this tender age, it was clear my parents believed in fostering my potential. The books weren''t just picture books; some contained basic concepts about the world, others hinted at more advanced topics. It was as if they hoped I''d absorb knowledge simply by osmosis.


    To their astonishment, I didn''t gravitate toward the soft toys or puzzles. Instead, I found myself drawn to the magazines stacked neatly on a low shelf. They were richly illustrated, filled with images of magical constructs, mana circuits, and complex diagrams. My tiny fingers traced the shapes, and, despite my clumsy coordination, I tried to mimic the letters I saw with a stubby piece of chalk.


    The first time I successfully scrawled a semblance of a word, my parents practically burst into tears. The household erupted into celebration. My mother clutched me tightly, whispering praises, while Qwuine clapped her hands in delight.


    "She''s brilliant!" Qwuine declared, beaming with pride. "She''s already trying to write!"


    My father, ever composed, nodded approvingly. "Our Lynt is destined for great things."


    As I grew, I began observing the world around me with fascination. Magic wasn''t just a tool here; it was woven into the very fabric of life. The air thrummed with energy, denser and richer than anything I''d experienced before. It seemed to seep into my skin, filling me with a quiet, steady hum.


    Magic was everywhere, used for both the mundane and the extraordinary. A flick of a hand could light a fire, mend a torn garment, or even summon a gentle breeze to cool a room. My sister, Qwuine, often demonstrated her own budding skills, crafting trinkets and charms with meticulous care.


    One day, as she sat cross-legged on the floor of my room, she held up a small, glowing charm she had just finished. "One day, Lynt, you''ll understand mana," she said, her voice both hopeful and instructional. "You''ll feel it coursing through you, and then you''ll wield it. You''ll form spells, create circuits, and construct instructions. And that," she added with a flourish, "will just be the first step."


    She leaned closer, her green eyes sparkling. "Mana isn''t just about power. It''s about liberation. When you understand it, truly understand it, it sets you free."


    Her words struck a chord deep within me. Liberation. The concept carried weight, even in my young mind. I looked up at her, my lips struggling to form the word. Finally, I managed to stammer, "Lib¡­ liberate?"


    Qwuine froze, her eyes wide with shock and delight. She scooped me up, spinning us around in a giddy circle. "She said her first proper word!" she cried, her voice echoing through the house. "And it''s liberate!"


    The entire household erupted into a frenzy. Servants rushed to share the news, my parents came running, and Qwuine couldn''t stop beaming.


    To them, it was a simple, adorable milestone. To me, it was a declaration.


    The days that followed were filled with quiet determination. I began experimenting in secret, trying to sense and manipulate the mana around me. The Freedom System, though largely silent, offered subtle guidance. It nudged me toward understanding, its presence a constant reminder of my purpose.


    In this world, magic wasn''t just a tool. It was a language, a living force that responded to intent and understanding. And I was determined to master it¡ªnot just for myself, but for the potential to change lives.


    My sister''s words stayed with me. "Mana will liberate you."


    She didn''t know how true those words were for me. In my previous life, I had fought against tyranny with crude tools and fragile hope. Here, I had the chance to wield something far greater.


    As I sat in my room one evening, a soft glow began to emanate from my tiny hands. It was faint, barely more than a shimmer, but it was there. A thrill of excitement coursed through me.

 Chapter 3 The Natural History of Aeveris

    I spent much of my early years indoors and was thus not especially proficient at walking, which was rather more of a wobbly challenge than a sure thing. Those few days were to prove to be some of the most fruitful of my life so far. The world outside of my nursery was restricted, but within the confines was treasures beyond my greater imagination. First and foremost, Father''s study. Having permission to step into that pantheon of knowledge was, in itself, a shortcut to my own freedom.


    Of all the books on the towering shelves lining the library, one became my constant companion: "The Natural History of Aevaris" by Magus Mayjory. It was no dry collection of facts but a tapestry of the world alive. Mayjory''s prose was like a poem, bringing together careful description and tales of wonder. In talking about bioluminescent flora in the Verdant Fade, he refers to it familiarly while explaining, as if making a point: in stories which have brought him as much respect as Arcwhales have welcomed him within the Azure Expanse. He was near-bursting from off the page, and I traced along with my little fingers pictures which he drew, that I could name the beasts scurrying round and scuttering over upon the ground; how mana ebbed and flowed and the strings well strung to the fine limit of tautness which might keep all that weltering whole. And it hungered within me to understand how things were done and to know how to fashion the world according to my heart''s desire.


    The afternoons were filled by the regular, rhythmic sound of a knock on my door. I knew who it was without fail. Even though I was entrenched in my studies, I would dash to the door as fast as my little legs could carry me. Respect for my elder sister, Qwuine was one thing, but her visits were one highlight of my day.


    "What have you been keeping yourself so busy with, you little scholar?" she teased one day as I ushered her in, her satchel slung over her shoulder and her green eyes gleaming with amusement.


    "Mayjory," I replied simply, holding up the well-worn book.


    She laughed, ruffling my hair before settling onto a cushion beside me. "Then let me add to his wisdom," she said, pulling out a scroll. It unfurled to reveal diagrams of mana circuits and spell formations. "Today, we''ll talk about the magical systems of the world."


    The lessons Qwuine taught me were as informative as they were humbling. She spoke of the old orders of magic and how our family, the House of Menin, rose from among common knights to become nobility, merely through unyielding tenacity. Our magic was pragmatic¡ªit sprang from the earth but was tempered to equal any noble house''s finery.


    She said, tapping on a diagram, the key is balance. The mana we channel is like a thread. Too tight, it snaps. Too loose, it unravels.If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    She spoke, and all made sense: mana dance, circuits, natural relations, and powers to exalt or annihilate. This was, however, not a theory of particular interest to me. It is the context: Qwuine went on to elucidate a world where magic doesn''t just create a means toward an end in life but serves as life; this frames one''s identity and, therefore, fate.


    One day, in the middle of one of our briefings, she unrolled a map of our fiefdom, Nymedia. My eyes expanded as I took in the expanse-2,500 square miles of seacoast, pines, and open evergreens. "Home," she said, tracing her finger over the topography of the map. "Our charge."


    "What are the people like?" I asked, full of curiosity.


    "Oh, varied," she said. "Beastkin in the woods, Plantkin in the fields, and the rest¡ªeight different kinds. And they all live in peace."


    Not good enough for me. "How do they live? Are they happy? Do their needs get met?"


    She looked taken aback. "They have food and shelter," she said, choosing her words carefully. "They live their lives well enough."


    That made me want her more. After dinner, I decided I needed to find my answers myself that night. I knew who to ask first exactly: the head butler. He seemed to be a stoic, massive figure knowing every little detail of the house.


    "How are the people here working?" I asked him flat-out.


    He raised an eyebrow and replied me accurately as usual. "Faithful and diligent. Everything is available for them."


    This was a diplomatic reply, and I knew he would say nothing more. So I turned to the junior butlers, Carl and Jung, who were far more approachable. They spoke of their families, their struggles, and the 25 silver pieces they earned each month to support their loved ones.


    "It''s enough," Carl said, though his voice betrayed the contradiction.


    Jung nodded, an almost wistful note at play with him.


    Their words now started planting thought inside my brain. How so many within those walls - our private little nobles-cope beneath the ceiling''s burden; yet how much still surrounds the fortress? So at least for as long as it existed, there went with the burden of my hopes that rather vast baggage. To be a good son, a decent student, and then an heir as a noble prince was one thing; to lead sincerely meant to lead them to proper knowledge and upward rise was yet another.


    Days went by with me throwing myself back into my studies. Every lesson by Qwuine, every page of Mayjory''s book, was a piece of the puzzle. I sketched preliminary designs of irrigation systems when I learned how mana could purify water. Ideas like capturing the glow of the Starroot Trees to light villages at night probably showed a naivety in me, but at least I had an actual handle on one basic truth: knowledge is power, and power is responsibility.


    That evening, sitting in my room, a faint glow of mana began to shimmer around my fingertips. It was so weak it was barely perceptible, but there it was. A shiver ran through me. I was learning about the world, and I was just beginning to touch it, to mold it.


    "By Qwuine she was pointing to the faint light coming from the practice the day following as she peeked at it the next day


    The world is really, really big." I said in a serious consideration of Mayjory''s book lying on the desk. "I want to explore it all. But before anything else, first in line is I want to improve this tiny space of it a little bit," I said determined.


    "You will do great things, Lynt," she said softly. "Just remember: magic can free, but it can also enslave. Choose wisely."


    I disagreed but did not show it, she may be smart but she was not educated towards political problems, which I will help her with.


    Her words lingered in my mind as I continued walking, doing my silent experiments and conversations. For the first time in my life, I felt that stirring of a higher purpose. My travels were just but a start; I already knew which path to take: of understanding, empathy, and transformation.

 Chapter 3 : Natural History of Aeveris 2

    Proceeding with my travel in the book "Natural History of Aeveris" by Magus Mayjory, I found that I had a chance to probe deeper into the lands we knew as home. Nymebia is our fiefdom; indeed, it finds itself under a rather expansive kingdom of Varealis, whose old Rayan family was said to be ruling over all these lands, they say. It was a techno-feudal dominion where magic mixed with technology, and in it, built a world in the lives of nobility promising and seldom delivering trickling benefits to commoners. A captivating yet unequal world this, enchantment and invention make.


    Among the multitude pages which I surfed, there was one that showed rare herbs, odd minerals, and magical metals-all descriptions of Varealis wealth and industry. The other three struck through special qualifications and highly subtile applications : first, example-Aezveria''s Whisper, a leafy plant, the tincture of one leaves an enchantment, lovely beyond measure by which its silver grey light like so mooned be-often enough quelling storms where once turbulence feels most deeply-this medicine was for sale but when its infussment is added into some teas-these was prized with such common consent both with all physi cian-in court in cities alike. Another was Onyxglow Ore, the deep black mineral veined by streaks of shining red. It would only appear in the deeper dark recesses of Nymebia''s older caverns; that is where the arms which resisted magic working were produced, material invaluable to be used in times of war. The last of Velithium, this stuff pulsed within it and perfectly conducted mana as well as electricity. This precious material was used by the greatest artificers to make elaborate spell-machines and power conduits, but mining it carried dangerous side effects: exposure to raw Velithium often produced visions of fragmented futures.


    The book also wrote about the wonders of biodiversity of Aeveris. Every region was a nursery of unique life, but Varealis was more of a hotspot for mundane as well as spiritual creatures. The northern mountains were patrolled by the Giant Sylvan Hawks, and the Nightshade Beetle roamed the dark southern forests, said to veil itself in shadows. Lakes shimmered with spectral fish whose scales reflected the stars, and tales of flame-breathing river otters enchanted the imaginations of even the most skeptical scholars.


    A knock at the door jarred me from my reverie. I shut the tome with a soft thud and said, "Come in."


    Qwuine, ever effervescent, popped inside. "Sister, it''s already lunch. They''ve made your favorite¡ªiced koka and raw silverfish." Her eyes sparkled mirthfully as she added, "Don''t keep me waiting!"


    She vanished before I could reply, and I hurried to follow her, my curiosity now shifting from knowledge to hunger.This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.


    The dining hall was a warm, cozy place, thronged with the ambience of dishes prepared with delicate care. My parents were already seated. Father occupied the seat of honour at the head of the table, his stature and figure a sign of unshakeable authority. Qwuine sat to his right, radiating energy, while Mother''s slight form occupied the seat to his left. My own chair awaited beside hers.


    And across the lunch, a deluge of banter, jest, and inquiring talks. Between forkfuls of delicate silverfish and draughts of sweet koka, half the room convulsed laughing at my father teasing Qwuine on the latest magical mishap: her half of the garden blooming flowers that went off-key for humming.


    "You could market them as a novelty," he cracked up.


    "They sing abominably," she snapped back, pouting.


    "Even bad music needs an audience," I said, and they laughed.


    But when the mood lightened again, my thoughts reverted to the people of the streets. I waited until it had grown quiet once more before speaking my question:


    "Father, Mother," I ventured carefully, "what about the people out there? The farmers, the artisans: outside our walls, how do they fare?"


    A subtle tension entered the air. Mother looked over at Father, and his brow furrowed a little before he spoke.


    "Our people are well, Father," he said, his voice calm but measured. "We ensure that Nymebia remain a haven for all. Commons remain open, and we resist those who wish to privatized the lands for their own gain, and we funded schools, catered to those infirm amongst us, while festivals keep hope alive."


    Mother nodded. "We believe in stewardship, not dominion. That is why our fiefdom prospers and others do not."


    Their words painted a picture of wealth, but I could hear the brushstrokes of omission. "And the local lords and landlords?" I asked, probing gently. "Do they take our lead?"


    Silence stretched just long enough to be noticed. My father''s hand around his glass grew tight. "Many do," he said slowly. "But not all."


    This answer stirred indignation in my breast. "Then why let them be? If they rob the people, shall not we¡ª"


    Father checked me with one upraised hand. His firm kindly smile stilled his words. "Change does not come with snap of fingers, Lynt. Power is a tangled web; to pull out one strand might unravel the very weave."


    Mother reached out, her hand warm over mine. "You care deeply, and that is a rare gift. Hold onto it. But remember, even noble intentions must be tempered with wisdom."


    "You will change things," Father added, his eyes a mix of pride and hope. "When your time comes, we believe you will find the way."


    Their confidence in me balm weighed as much against the weight it came with: coming out of that dining hall, thoughts were swelling within my mind for a future and countless questions I will answer. A revolution is a journey, I knew deep within my heart: mine had hardly just begun.

 Chapter 4 System

    I woke up the next morning, rubbing the sleep from my eyes as I stretched. Before me sat a glowing, shimmering interface. It was so quiet it hardly hummed but had come this time with an incredible amount more detail than I had previously encountered.


    Liberation System


    Lynt


    Strength: 3


    Dexterity: 4


    Agility: 4


    Constitution: 2


    Wisdom: 8


    Charisma: 7


    Achievements may give debuffs.


    I looked at it, feeling my curiosity spark. As I gazed at the glowing display, another menu opened beneath it, listing all these skills and actions. Each one of them was cataloged meticulously.


    Cooking: 0


    Leatherworking: 0


    Leadership: 0


    Foraging: 0


    Reading: 5


    Magic: 1


    Mathematics: 2


    Walking: 2


    Running: 2


    Jumping: 1


    .


    Everything, even the most mundane acts. Jumping? Walking? Ridiculous, but I got the gist as I went through it, started to like the design of the System. Not measuring capability only but revealing potential.


    I spent hours studying the interface before experimenting. I tapped my finger on the floating screen hoping that would bring out something. Focusing on "Reading," a short description came:


    Reading: ability to understand and interpret written text. Improves with practice, study, and understanding. Higher levels allow for greater speed and better retention.


    My head spun at all the possibilities. If the System tracked and improved even mundane skills, how far could it take me? I closed the interface with a gesture, determined to find out.


    For the next week, I devoted myself to learning the System. Every day was a test. The improvements were measured through practice, study, and meditation. Each minor gain felt as large as the huge successes. I sat cross-legged on the floor of my bedroom, concentrating my mind on mana, feeling the gentle throb of the power in the room. These endeavours paid off with slight but constant improvements in my "Magic" skill by the Freedom System.


    At meal times, I could see how raising utensils or walking to the dining hall added, dimly, to physical stats like "Strength" and "Walking." It was humbling and exhilarating to see progress in the minutiae of daily life.


    "Qwuine, look at this!" I cried one morning, pointing at an empty space where she, of course, could not see the System.


    She was combing my hair as she patted me indulgently. "What bilge are you spouting now, little brainiac?"If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.


    I quickly said, "I don''t know," and jerked myself free from the wide smile which felt too big to hold inside anymore. It was far too soon to share it all. Her teachings were indispensable to me; she taught books, prompted me with very sharp questions, and sketched out spell circuits. Each lesson with her was like putting the missing piece of the puzzle.


    That night, over supper, I went to my father.


    "Father," I said, trying to sound as off-hand as possible. "Will you teach me the family''s art of war?" you asked.


    He raised an eyebrow. "The Transcendental Path is no casual discipline, Lynt. It is one of discipline and patience. Are you certain?"


    "Yes," I said firmly. "I want to learn."


    He looked at me for such a long time before nodding. "Very well. Come to the courtyard at dawn tomorrow".


    The next morning, the chill of the air hit my cheeks as I made my way into the courtyard. Father was standing there in simple training clothes, his backbone straight and unyielding.


    "The Transcendental Path," he began, "is an art born of necessity. Our ancestor, a peasant, built it from rags and fragments of techniques stolen and learned in the fires of survival. Generations of growth have nurtured it, swallowing the knowledge of countless disciplines; it is as much a dance as it is a battle.".


    I watched him in awe. His movements flowed like water; they were hypnotic, almost, yet the strikes were accurate, powerful, and unpredictable. It was like he wove chaos into rhythm, never repeating a single motion. Dummies shattered under his strikes; yet he did not falter for a split second, and each attack blended into the next.


    "You see the beauty," he said, his voice steady. "But to master it, you must first learn the basics. Come."


    He took me through the first stances: a low, grounded position meant to maintain balance; a sweeping motion that felt more like a dance than combat. The first steps were deceptively simple, but my legs burned with exertion after only a few repetitions.


    "Good," said Father after the first session, his face unreadable. "But don''t forget that the Path is more than just body strength. The mind must be sharp and determination unrelenting. Practice each morning."


    I devoted myself to training with the same passion I gave to my studies. Every day, I learned more. Father explained how the Path demanded flexibility, reading one''s opponents'' intentions, and using their weaknesses. He taught me feints and counters, how to move in unpredictable ways so that enemies lose their balance. By the end of the week, I barely scratched the surface, but I felt a spark of progress.


    I went back to bed, and I did it the next night and the next; every night since I first used the System I''d check those stats again:


    Strength: 4


    Dexterity: 5


    Agility: 5


    Constitution: 3


    Wisdom: 8


    Charisma: 7


    Cooking: 0


    Leatherworking: 0


    Leadership: 1


    Foraging: 0


    Reading: 7


    Magic: 3


    Mathematics: 3


    Walking: 4


    Running: 3


    Jumping: 2


    ....etc


    The numbers all changed, but by tiny margins. Those slight changes spread modest satisfaction across my chest, if only "Leadership" improved by a full point because sometimes I attempted to take charge in these small groups or argued with Qwuine.


    So sitting down and closing System and quiet determination sank in as a resolve set upon me and that world great, big all was outside with great potential all this injustice going without a spoken voice. Here started my long way, the each step told itself, but word by every learned lesson each changed that persona within me toward who I must grow to become.


    It was not just a tool, but a reflection of my growth and a guide toward the liberation I sought¡ªnot for myself, but for the world around me.

 Chapter 5 System 2

    My father, Archduke Kripky Venno, was a man of unwavering principles and traditions. His presence commanded respect, every move deliberate and calculated. My mother, Jespy Venno, was his counterbalance¡ªsoft-spoken but no less formidable. She was the most skilled mage I had ever known, though my encounters with mages were admittedly limited. Together, they represented two sides of Nymedia''s strength: resilience and grace.


    My parents, traditional to the very core, never refused my right to test out ways of living which ran contrary to being a woman with tradition. My father allowed me to train in martial arts. A girl from noble families never used to do it, but my father would address my wishes as thoughtful and thus at variance with his severe look. Mother went ecstatic when I requested her to teach me how to tailormake clothes and braid my hair.


    "My dear," she said, her eyes aglitter only on the very rarest of occasions, "you have made my day. Let''s get started right away, please."


    We left the next morning behind the castle walls. Four guards and two servants escorted us out into the grasslands. The air was fresh, and the sun warmed my face as it passed through the leaves of swaying trees. My mother looked visibly excited but was holding herself as usual.


    "We are looking for Rhute," she explained. "It is one of the best plants in Nymedia to make twine and thread."


    The Rhute is a plant easily recognizable by its long, green and brown striated stems crowned with clusters of bright blue flowers. Mother took the time to explain how to distinguish the healthy plants. She said to me that leaves should be drooping nicely around the flowers and the stem firm but flexible to the touch.


    It''s not about finding them, she said, as she pulled out a plant from the earth with practiced hands. It''s about picking the best.


    Finding our silk from the SilverOrb Weaver Spider proved much harder. These creatures, each as big as a hunting dog, made for an excellent balance between fascination and intimidation. Their webs reflected the dappled sunlight beautifully, beautiful testaments to their work. My mother tackled it with a surgeon''s professionalism.


    We have to coax it without scaring it, she said, getting down on one knee beside a web. A rough bluff will send it running. A gentle one will be dismissed. Observe closely.


    She demonstrated on me by pulling at the edge of the web with a twig in the motions that were those of the prey. Then, with a slow crawl, out it came. My heart went racing as it closed in and Jespy was serene, each move calculated. When close enough, she captured it in a specialized net to catch the occasion without harming the insect.The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    "Quickly, now," she said, and the guards assisted in holding down the spider.


    Milking the spider was a delicate affair. My mother used a small tool to extract the spider''s silk, her motions fluid and precise. The spider twitched at times but otherwise remained quiet.


    "We must never take more than is necessary," she said as she worked. "They need their silk to live."


    It took almost an hour. When we finished, we let the spider go back out into the wild. I stood there and watched it skitter away, a small sense of guilt for killing it welling up inside me. My mother put her hand on my shoulder, touching it reassuringly.


    "You did good, Lynt. Remember always, we take only what we need, and give back when we can."


    The following days passed in a blur of work and elbow grease. In the castle, my mother taught me how to weave the Rhute fibers into rope and twine. Her hands moved in a sophisticated pattern speaking of years of practice that made twisting and looping under her touch smooth. I mimicked the movement clumsily at first but was eventually rhythmical with their twists.


    Wait, she replied. The spool will steer you if you let it to.


    Once we had gathered some twine from the castle gardens, she then taught me sewing. We wandered into the castles'' shopping stores to fetch needles, scissors, and several other utensils. My mum was all so eager as each of the gadgets'' uses explained.


    "The needle is your magic wand," my mother said warmly. "In every stitch there is a binding spell that creates fabric and your imagination.".


    I sewed for five straight days without a rest. She imparted control of tension, where the stitch should fall: simple patterns sewn into tiny pieces of fabric. So, therefore her work oscillated between elementary hemming to intricate embroidery. My fingers ached but the ache was well worth every stinging.


    Mother remained to learn along with me, so she could help me understand and encourage. Her words - corrections though firm remain gentle.


    "You are improving," she said on the fifth evening as I finished a small embroidered crest of the Venno family. "This is excellent work, Lynt. I''m proud of you."


    ---


    I learned much by the end of the week. In terms of my tailoring and leatherworking, if I open the Freedom System and monitor my progression, changes could easily be identified.


    Leatherworking: 4


    Tailoring: 4


    As I extended my list of skills, the interface of the System began to appear more cluttered. I found myself digging around a little bit more to access the specific skill, but that was the whole point. A new entry into my list for each day stood for my personal development and constituted a concrete history of my endeavor.


    I closed my discussion with my mother in the System reflecting on the last week. To me, it hadn''t been just the skills I gained but, rather, the lessons learned from my mother. Her elegance, her respect for this natural world and unimaginable support left a profound mark on my heart. It dawned on me that liberation was not based on strength or magic. It was about knowing, creating, and interconnectedness with the world around me.


    In those moments I sat beside my mother, using a needle at hand and piles of Rhute fibers at our feet, where I felt immense purpose. The act was too a form of liberation: finding ways to build the world in gentle, intended strokes rather than brutal force; for that I was grateful.

 New Item

    Early morning sun streaming in through my window cast an armada of highlights on the stacks of materials I had collected. Rhute fibers and Silverorb Silk, strong in texture and color opposing each other, demanding change. It was a very audacious project for today, a first practical try. I had sketched the design of the waterskin late last night and really made every line count. Materials needed were pretty simple in themselves: regular leather, Fineorb thread, and, of course, just a wee bit of mana-infused craftsmanship.


    Then I began work on the Fineorb. Mother''s words floated before my mind as I threaded it. A focused work - far from daintily nibbling at the tips of the Rhute fibre and Silverorb silk, twisting these together in experienced motions. After all, ''it was the mana that counted.'' A subtle infusion of energy flowed into the threads at intervals: this bound tight, gave it strength and elastic properties.


    It became almost a second nature as I braided. The very materials started coming to life under my touch with every braid. The strong earthy texture of the Rhute went wonders well along with the smooth strands of the luminous Silverorb Silk, and here was a thread that was at once both strong and elegant. When I was done, here was a spool of Fineorb thread, its green and silver hues intertwining in mesmerizing patterns.


    I would have started thread at a pretty good rate of speed by mid-morning. But I realized immediately that mastery of the process was miles and miles down the road; I wasn''t near that point. So I laid down the thread, caught my breath, and got ready for the next step.


    Dinner that night was in itself uneventful, but pleasant. Father came in from his morning sorties with the troops, still smelling of fresh fields and open country, while Mother radiated a warm aura of tranquil efficiency, already concentrated upon her night work.


    "How''s your project going, Lynt?" Father asked, carving into the roasted venison.


    I averted my gaze, still not so well-liked of the warmth he used in talking. "So far, I''d say so. Tomorrow, I''ll visit the shops and get what leather I''ll need."


    He nodded, expression unreadable yet assuring. "Good. All the littlest craft matters. Not forget this.


    The next day I went to the castle stores. Everywhere, noise came alive; soldiers patrolling their beats, vendors arranging stalls and artisans on a rush for the workshops. Nestled into this thriving life cycle was the general wares shop; a meager shop of the most attractive looks with spick and span shelving that appealed to look.


    Behind the counter was Jefro, the clerk, a tall woman with a sharp wit and an affinity for bold yet traditional fashion. Her outfit today was no exception¡ªa flowing tunic cinched at the waist with an intricately woven belt. She greeted me with her usual bright demeanor.


    "Good morning, young lady," she said, her voice warm and welcoming.If you encounter this tale on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    "Morning, Jefro," I replied, smiling and making a small wave.


    "What brings you here today? There''s always something new to see, you know. The castle''s market is a marvel, even for someone like me," she said with eyes sparkling in curiosity.


    "I''m looking for leather," I said, scanning the displays. "Tier 1 or 0, nothing more. Just something practical for a waterskin I''m working on."


    Jefro nodded thoughtfully and disappeared into the back. Moments later, she returned with a folded sheet of plain white leather. "Keeper goat," she explained. "Two months old. It''s not brand new, but it''s sturdy and reliable."


    I ran my fingers over the leather''s surface, appreciating its soft texture. Before I could decide, Jefro produced another option¡ªa darker, thicker sheet.


    "This is a Moon bear, youngling," she replied. "Much pricier but much in demand. They should be hibernating this time of year and the hides would be larger, harder."


    I hesitated between the two. The Moon bear leather was of course much more superior, but the Keeper goat leather seemed somehow more primal, and that is just what I wanted. I deliberated a few minutes in my head before deciding.


    "I''ll have the Keeper goat leather," I said decisively, nodding my head. "It''s just the material I need for this piece."


    Jefro raised an eyebrow, but she smiled. "Practical decision. Shall I charge it to your tab?"


    "Please," I said, standing ready to make my departure. "Thanks, Jefro. As always, you''re a lifesaver."


    "Don''t forget to pay it off soon," she cried after me, her voice gay. "These things don''t come cheap, you know. That''ll be 25 Bicredits."


    I turned my head over my shoulder, smiling as I went out of the store. Above the door, a weathered sign of worn wood, smooth from long use and through time, ran: "General Wares and Materials.".


    I went back to my workshop. Laid all of the materials out before me, including the Keeper goat leather, Fineorb thread, and a simple needle. It felt pliable yet firm. It cut according to the shape drawn earlier on the pattern. So each piece I was cutting looked like it perfectly fit together with giving the project a foundation.


    The real challenge arose when I actually started stitching. Stitching leather proved to be way tougher than sewing fabric. My needle would simply not penetrate this thick material; my fingers pained from sustained pressure. Still, with each stitch, the confidence in movements began to emanate. This Fineorb thread glided wonderfully well through leather and showed great strength in tying up the parts firmly.


    Sometimes, I added brief sparks of mana to the thread, strengthening the seams so that the waterskin would contain even when under stress. It was painstaking work but fulfilling. Nightfall approached, and I finally completed the base framework; the waterskin was finally taking shape as a usable, beautiful piece.


    Next morning, I visited my creation before dawn. The waterskin shone dully, a Finerorb-thraed stitchwork really coming through there. Modest creation, and yet to me, a milestone in my journey.


    I opened up the freedom system, checking my progress.


    Tailoring: 5


    Leatherworking: 4


    Seeing the numbers add up was, in itself, satisfying. It didn''t mean learning for learning''s sake; it was little steps toward understanding what surrounded me and where my place fit. I clutched the whole of the waterskin inside my hands. A small kernel of pride broke forth-it was poor, but it was mine and built through work.


    So much lay beyond the walls of Nymedia waiting to be discovered, learned about, but now I was all there was to need. Each stitch, every thread, each minute perfected and moving one more step down the path to liberty for me as well as to that future for which I was already beginning to envision.

 New Item 2

    It felt silky soft in my hands as I finally examined it. The Keeper goat leather was soft yet strong. A perfect match, I thought, for the Fineorb thread that I had painstakingly made the day before. I laid them out on my worktable: the design of the waterskin still fresh in my mind, and my hands itched to get started.


    "Well," I thought to myself, something that had stood me well in days of working alone, "lets see if this will work".


    I started by cutting the leather in every shape and outline of a waterskin. The curves begin to form this waterskin when my blade slowly and steadily draws it out into the cut patterns, guided just as much through instinct as the focus in my eye. The space remained silent and only occasionally betrayed a soft cracking of leather that sometimes broke this silence and could be heard upon the occasional scratch of my armchair.


    I then brought the pieces of leather together and inserted my needle through the Fineorb thread. The silvery-green thread sparkled a little because it carried with it magic in its weave. I stitched the parts together and admired how well the thread passed through the leather, filled with intent in every stitch made to fortify the seams so that the waterskin was now functional and would be durable.


    The first waterskin took only about half an hour to complete. I inverted it to survey the work of art. It was simple and beautiful, yet I could not help but grin at it. Fineorb thread ornamented the soft white leather in neat patterns that shimmered as it ran along the edges. A leather plug sufficed to stopper this waterskin; for carrying it there was a rather stout sling.


    "Not bad at all," I thought, "it''s a start.


    I was happy with the first and proceeded. Still had plenty of material to make five more and, in each one using water skins improved technique, stitching tighter to nearly symmetrical, done without very artificiality surroundings-it had started to be almost instinctive.


    I suddenly laughed aloud as I placed the sixth waterskin on the table. The joy of making something for myself, by my own hands, something useful and beautiful was all too overwhelming. Pride welled within me, deep and profound-the kind that only comes from working hard and sticking to it.


    That night, I prepared the waterskins for the next day. Each one was examined and shined and packed into a satchel. Then I lay in bed; the satchel leaned against a chair beside me. Sleep came easily, and my dreams were light and full of possibilities for once.


    The morning sun cast a gold glow over cobblestone streets as I journeyed to General Wares and Materials. My satchel weighed against my back over my shoulder, a feeling of accomplishment I had gained an hour earlier. I had a stride confident and light-footed, by purpose.This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    As I entered the shop, Jefro was already at the counter, going through a heap of goods. She looked up as I approached and whistled briefly-a high note and then a low one.


    "Well, well," she said, leaning on the counter with a grin. "You''re faster than I thought. Didn''t think you knew how to sew, let alone make something this good. Guess I was wrong."


    I smiled, putting the satchel down. "Never said I didn''t know how. Just needed a little practice. Anyway, I brought these to sell. Keep one for yourself if you like. The rest¡­ I have no idea what they''re worth."


    Jefro searched the satchel and took out a waterskin. She held it up with her fingers tracing every seam and especially the Fineorb thread, turning it a few times with her hands over it.


    "Durable, functional, and thread. has the touch of fineness. All these will easily sell."


    As I handed her one of the waterskins, the Freedom System suddenly materialized before me, its translucent screen hovering in midair.


    Helping hand contribution added to the system. Add your deeds and attain achievements.


    First item given to someone: Slightly better precision when crafting. (Upgradable)


    Utility item contributed to society: Slightly better conception of ideas and curiosity.


    You created something from raw material to final product and have given it to someone: Gift Giver achievement earned. (Upgradable)


    I blinked in surprise before feeling a sense of satisfaction settle over me. The System was taking notice of my efforts and rewarded me, for writing but also for contributing something meaningful to the world around me.


    "What''s with that look?" Jefro asked, raising an eyebrow.


    "Nothing," I said quickly, shaking my head. "Just¡­ happy, I suppose."


    She laughed and set the waterskin on a shelf behind the counter. "Well, you should be. Not many can make something like this, much less sell it. You stick with this sort of thing, Lynt. You have a knack for this sort of thing."


    It became part of my morning thereafter, helping Jefro hang up the rest of the displayed waterskins while teaching me some lessons on pricing and bartering how to read whether a customer actually wants it to determine the increase in price needed. It fascinated me, really, and soon I was furiously taking down mental notes everywhere else.


    And by the time I left, two of the waterskins had sold; Jefro promised to keep me up to date about their progress; her enthusiasm had still been infective.


    Walking back toward the castle, the air caressed gently and rustled through roadside trees. Well satisfied with the feel that I could bring something useful, something material that people perceived value in: the waterskins meant more; the journey made up of small increments toward me completing bigger achievements meant more still.


    I thought of the rewards within the System gates of the castle, which appeared in the form of its better precision, heightened curiosity, and even that of Gift Giver. These weren''t abstract bonuses; they manifested themselves physically, telling me something about the turns my life could take with each action, no matter how insignificant.


    It was sunset when I sat in the bedroom before the window that evening and opened the Freedom System once more. Again, those small achievements glowed faintly at me as a testament to a day''s effort.


    "Just the beginning," I told myself as I closed the screen. "There''s still so much left to do."


    With a smile, I turned back to my desk, already sketching out my next project. The world was vast, and I intended to make my mark on it¡ªone stitch, one thread, one achievement at a time. One more step towards liberating myself, and hopefully everyone around me.

 Wisne Elk

    The morning was fresh and cool, the first light of dawn stretching its golden fingers over the landscape. Carriage stood there at the castle gates, gleaming in dark, polished wooden body reinforced by decorative steel panels. It was Father himself who handed me short sword before leaving. His serious expression made a shiver run along my spine.


    "Keep it close, Lynt. Even a small blade can save a life if used wisely," he said.


    I nodded, a responsibility settling over my shoulders. Suspecting that the weapon wasn''t much for practical use, the gesture was well appreciated.


    Qwuine entered the courtyard, adjusting leather gloves and grinning at me with a mischievous flash of her cheek. Her clothes, a practical-yet-fashionable ranger''s tunic, suited her high-energy personality. She had brought her own blade, a little longer than mine, but she also came with a pack slung across her shoulder.


    "Ready, little sister?" she teased.


    "As ready as I''ll ever be," I said, trying to muster some of her enthusiasm.


    ---


    The ride to Lawzia, Nymedia''s bustling capital, was more comfortable than I had anticipated. The roads were paved well, testimony to the infrastructure Father often extolled when he spoke about the country''s progress. Hills rolled and dark forests framed the scenery, its colors vivid under the rising sun.


    Inside the carriage, Qwuine relaxed, her green eyes sparkling with amusement. "Polynus is going to amaze you, Lynt. Diversity, vibrancy-it''s unlike anything here in Nymedia. You''ll see nobles and commoners, traders and scholars, and adventurers from all over the Empire. It''s a place where ideas collide


    I couldn''t help myself. "And Juve Academy?" I asked. "What is it like?"


    She shrugged with a laugh. "I don¡¯t know yet, but if it¡¯s half as challenging as they claim, I¡¯ll be thrilled. Just think, Lynt: in a few years, it might be your turn."


    I wasn¡¯t sure about that. My ambitions were still undefined, but the thought of seeing the capital filled me with anticipation.


    But suddenly, the smooth ride had ended. The carriage jolted very slightly, and the horses neighed in protest. Our guards, who had been riding to either side, sped forward.


    "What is happening?" Qwuine asked, peering out of the window.


    I caught my breath as I looked at it. There was this enormous elk in the middle of the road, light brown with blue spots shimmering in its coat. The sprawling antlers seemed almost supernatural, faintly luminescent.


    "A Wisne Elk," Qwuine whispered, awe in her voice. "They''re a staple of our lands. Every part of them is useful¡ªhide, antlers, bones, and meat. But you rarely see one this size."Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.


    Before I could utter a word, a loud crack rang through the air. The elk crumpled to the ground, its majestic form lifeless. My heart sank at the sight.


    A group of hunters emerged from the nearby forest, their faces a mixture of relief and fatigue. They approached the fallen elk cautiously, knives and tools in hand, ready to begin their work.


    Qwuine pushed open the carriage door, stepping down with practiced ease. I followed, feeling the short sword at my side awkward and unneeded.


    "Excuse me," Qwuine said, approaching the hunters. "May we witness how you prepare the meat?"


    The hunters paused and glanced at the soldiers standing beside us on either side. The biggest of them, a woman with wide shoulders and an air of authority about her, stepped forward. Her hair was pulled back into a braided practical knot, and the leather armor had many hunt scars scrawled across it.


    "You¡¯re welcome to watch," she said, her voice firm but wary. "Just don¡¯t get in the way."


    They hunted in an efficient, practiced manner, and the hide was peeled back on the elk to reveal the meat underneath. The antlers were pulled off, leaving them intact for later use. I could tell that two of the hunters were human, but the rest were beastkin and plantkin, yet they moved in a cohesive, almost organic fashion, with the differences between them being of little consequence.


    "It''s amazing how much this one animal can give," I whispered to Qwuine.


    She nodded. "The Wisne Elk population is managed well. They breed fast, and there are many of them, so hunting them sustainably feeds many communities."


    The lead hunter overheard and chuckled. "True enough," she said. "This one took us two days to track. We thought we''d go home empty-handed. Blessed day, indeed."


    Qwuine fished into her pack and retrieved a bundle of herbs wrapped in cloth. "Do you want some Hymet herbs? Those are real useful for either cooking the meat or treating the leather."


    The stern expression softened to a smile of the lead hunter. "I would indeed like that, since Hymet is good at all things- be it in tanning animal hides or simply as a stew flavouring".


    "In return, could we take a few cuts of meat?" Qwuine asked. "Just ten small pieces. I want to show my sister how to make jerky."


    "That''s fair trade," the hunter agreed. "I''m Jessa, from Hunting Brigade Three. Nice to meet you both.".


    As they continue working, Jessa and Qwuine speak about the elk and their uses. I listen intently, intrigued at the process. The meat was split into sections, some were going to be dried and preserved, others packed into crates ready for immediate use. The hide was cleaned and rolled, the antlers tied together with rope.


    "You look curious," Jessa said, raising her gaze to meet mine. "Ever think about joining a hunt?"


    "Not really," I admitted. "But seeing this. it''s impressive. There''s so much skill involved."


    Jessa grinned. "Skill and patience. Maybe one day you''ll try it. It''s not just about the kill-it''s about respect for the land and what it gives us."


    Once the hunters finished, Qwuine handed me over the herbs and Jessa handed us parts of meat cut. We wanted some, they gave us what we asked and nicely wrapped the parts in clothes but the aroma was faint with promises. Our goodbyes came as I rode back on the carriage in this new appreciative view to the connections with our world.


    Qwuine leaned back in his seat, letting out a contented sigh. "That was worth the stop. What did you think?"


    "I learned a lot," I said. "It''s one thing to read about these things, but seeing it firsthand. it''s different. More real."


    She smiled, her eyes thoughtful. "That''s Nymebia for you. Every corner of it will show you something new, something unexpected. Keep your eyes open, Lynt. There''s so much to learn."


    The carriage rolled on towards Lawzia and I gazed out the window, watching the towering gates of the capital city come into view. My heart swelled in anticipation.