《Reintarnation: A Weegie's guide to Wizardry, Wuxing, and the Wild West.》 1 - This is not Australia. It had been an hour or two since Dean woke up. This was not Dalmarnock. And he was pretty sure this wasn''t Glasgow. For one thing, it was hot. Taps are hot... at least it was. Now Dean felt weirdly acclimated to the heat. It was supposed to be December, a week or so before the new year, the last time he checked. Snow was predicted over the next few days. He enjoyed the snow, especially when it coincided with the winter festivities. Not Scotland, then. Probably not anywhere nearby either. His first guess was Australia. The last thing he remembered was that he was a rite mess. He¡¯d just been laid off and arrived home to find his girlfriend- His ex-girlfriend- in bed with his ex-best friend/flatmate. Naturally, he dropped everything to drink away what little he had in his savings. He vaguely remembered flashes of being booted from the last bar somewhere and stumbling his way to the bank of the Clyde near Kingston Bridge. He sobbed. The real ugly stuff. Snot and saliva everywhere. Usually, in stories like this, there would be a suspicious truck hurtling down a nearby street, only to veer wildly, or a mysterious figure falling into the river, just begging to be saved. Maybe there was. Maybe. But how did he end up here? He knew no self-respecting polis would let him near the airport, let alone board a plane in that state. Perhaps he was kidnapped and had his not-so-vital organs and belongings taken. At least that would explain why he was missing his phone and his clothes and why he woke up with a crackin'' headache, but it wouldn''t explain why he was clothed in someone else''s clothes nor why he otherwise felt fine. Nae, he felt good. ¡°Wait. didn''t I just have a crackin'' headache?¡± Dean pondered. Coming to his senses, he looked around, then down at himself, and then back around. He realized he was dressed a bit weirdly, but that was not a concern to him right now. He was in a rocky alcove, almost a cave, but not quite. The morning sun stretched down, casting him in the shade. He could hear running water but saw no signs of a creak or brook from where he sat. Dean knew that if he were dumped in the middle of nowhere in an unknown land (possibly Australia), he would need Shelter, clean water, and food. He could do without a fire for the time being. The alcove would provide immediate shelter, but water and food would become problematic. He sat still, trying his hardest to listen for the direction of the water source, but he knew his hearing wasn''t great, nor was his eyesight. Panic suddenly shot through him, and he jumped to his feet. ¡°My glasses! Where are my glasses?!¡± he screamed silently. He patted himself down, finding a pair of circular-rimmed glasses in his shirt pocket. These were not his glasses, but he tried them anyway. They seemed to be in a similar prescription. He also found a belt sheath with a big ¡®fuck-off¡¯ ''-looking blade. ¡°Call that a knife?¡± He mused to himself as he unsheathed it for the first time. He was 100% certain he was in Australia. Now equipped with decent specs and protection, he took a proper gander around. There was still no sign of the water source, but in the center of the clearing was a strange plant, and Dean found himself strangely drawn to it. He crouched down and examined it. It was an effervescent teal color, at least, the leaves were. He couldn¡¯t see any flower buds. The strange sensation drew him to unearth the exotic plant. With his knife in hand (which he was tempted to name Sheila), he gently dug out the roots of the unique fern thing. He was incredibly disappointed. It looked a bit like ginger but much smaller and a lot more shriveled up. It''s naff looking. He was contemplating re-planting the thing when his stomach began to rumble. In his youth, Dean had been an avid Boy Scout. Even much later, in his late teens and early adulthood, Dean enjoyed going out into the wilds to set up camp, picking seasonal plants, and fishing. So, it was out of character when he popped the whole thing in his mouth with a shrug and ate it. Dean was familiar with the ¡°toxin testing¡± methodology, where you start by rubbing the food into your skin and wait an absolute age. Then, should there be no adverse effects, you should gradually take more steps to test its safety. It was compulsive and impatient, and he was being a rite dolly, but he had a gut feeling it would be fine. His stomach immediately cramped, and his head swam. ¡°You absolute bampot,¡± he cursed himself under his breath as he fell to his knees, convulsing in pain. He could hardly breathe. He was drowning in his sweat. He thought his sweat was black and viscous. Was this thing psychoactive? He could feel his heart speed up, faster than he was sure it had ever beat. He swore he could hear his hair growing. Dean woke up from his turbulent state after an indeterminate amount of time. His lips felt parched; he was hungry. Wait. Was he hungry? Not really. He was pretty thirsty, though. Without any pain or effort, Dean rose from the ground. The stream was above him. He knew that now, in the rainy season, it would be overspill, and some would enter the cave from a small crevice in the roof. That¡¯s how the 8-point Heavenly root was watered. He could see the slight change in the color of the dirt on the roof, which held the slightest moisture from the last rainfall. A sharp pain shot through Dean¡¯s head, followed by an equally bright flash of light. Shaking his head, Dean recovered. There was no bright light, no pain¡ªjust the dim light from outside the cave. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. *Crack* He froze. That was the sound of a nearby branch being snapped approximately 50 yards away. That was something he could tell. There was something odd about the fact he was so certain, but he didn¡¯t bother to explore that train of thought. He wanted to investigate. Dean didn¡¯t know if Australia had bears or wolves, but he was sure he could not take them in a fight. Doubly sure he could not talk his way out of a hungry beast¡¯s mouth. He pulled his knife and crept towards the open side of the cave with his back pressed against the wall. As he peaked around the corner of the cave wall, his heart pumping, Dean stared and retracted his previous belief. He was not in Australia. Before Dean stood a child, at least that is what his initial, surprisingly logical, thought told him. No, Dean, that is not a child. He thought to himself, uncertainty and wonder rising. That is a goblin. A goblin with a fucking gun. It was about 5 feet tall, grey in complexion, with wispy hair tied in a kind of top knot; it was covered in tattoos and wore shabby leather pants and shoulder straps. And it held a gun. It faced away, crouched over a bush, and used its gun to dig. The entire sight was baffling. Maybe there was a logical explanation for this? Maybe Dean had been drugged, and this was some side effect? Dean made to step back into the alcove but lost his balance on a very inconveniently placed pebble and stumbled forward, alerting the goblin to his presence. The goblin span towards him with a yelp, gesturing his gun wildly with little care for proper trigger discipline. It shouted at him incomprehensibly. Dean winced at a sudden bright flash and pain behind his eyes. ¡°What was that?¡± he thought. ¡°Oi! Oi! I got a big boy! You! Don¡¯t you move!¡± the creature yelled over its shoulder, suddenly speaking English.¡± Gimmie the short and pointy! Any munching you got! But don¡¯t you move a bit, or I¡¯ll get you nasty!¡± ¡°Um, what?¡± Dean enquired very eloquently. The goblin looked confused for a second, halting his erratic firearm toting. ¡°You. Give. The. Shorty. Pointy. And. Munchings.¡± The goblin barked, exasperated. It was gaining confidence, and its evident excitement grew as it realized it had the upper hand. It started jostling the revolver in Dean¡¯s general direction, coming closer. Dean¡¯s mind was blank. There was so much to digest, but he found it impossible, no matter how hard he tried to collect his thoughts. He had to do something, but nothing was coming to his mind. Maybe he could surprise the goblin once it got close. Or throw the knife, hoping it would, at the very least, startle the creature. For the briefest moment, he saw it, the way he could throw the knife and how he could disarm the goblin. It would be effortless to do so. ¡°And give the big coat, too! Gets cold tits!¡± The goblin said again, gesturing emphatically, drawing Dean from his thoughts. ¡°Gallus wee shite, you,¡± Dean mumbled while carefully, begrudgingly removing his overcoat after dropping the knife. It was a nice duster; he had always wanted one. But I thought he might look a bit daft; now that he was wearing one, he felt chuffed. He saw it again right now. Like time had slowed, and the future overlayed. An instinct he didn¡¯t know he had had taken over. He threw the opened duster at the goblin, blinding his view. It fired, but the trajectory was wide. He kicked down at Sheila the knife from where he had dropped it and plunged the blade deep into the creature¡¯s vital point; darting forward, he snatched the gun and reclaimed his blade before the goblin even realized it was dead. Immediately realizing something, he turned and fired a single round into the wood; there was a quick yelp and then silence. As quickly as it came to him, the strange feeling left. Dean had just killed someone. Sure, it was probably going to kill him, but could he not have tried to talk his way out of the situation, maybe learned more about where he was? Perhaps the goblins had a family? He was starting to shake. The way he moved was like some real-life John Wick shite. He could have died! But no. He was still alive. He was alive and in another world. Dean threw up. 2 - Our World. Lightning crackled across the darkened horizon as Malicius leaned down upon the highest balcony of the tallest tower of his incredibly ominous castle fortress, peering down at his equally ominous domain. He was the ¡®The Phosphagus Dark Magus,¡¯ the demon lord of this land¡ªthe uncontested ruler of the heavenly demonic sect. Many years ago, in his youth, he had accidentally stumbled across an ancient tome written by some unhinged madman who coincidentally had a theory on cultivation that resonated with Malicius. The theory went, ¡®Why do all the hard work yourself when you can just absorb the life forces of others? With this one trick, you too can become the greatest, most feared, most powerful, and undoubtedly the most handsome being to ever ascend from the mortal planes. Terms and conditions of the following prophecy apply¡­¡± He did not read any further. ¡°Excuse me, most dreaded one¡­¡± a voice filled with absolute reverence and fear called out behind him. He knew they were there, of course; no one could sneak up on him, and he was certainly not one of his measly acolytes. Instead of verbally acknowledging his attendant, he sent out a weak burst of chi, not enough to harm the decrepit creature but enough to remind him of his immense power. ¡°Ah yes, my lord, your sickening aura is most¡­ um... sickening! Vile even!¡± His mook kowtowed before him. Malicius allowed a slight smirk to spread across his emaciated face. Of course, he was vile; he was The Phosphagus, the devourer of light, the Antithesis of Hope. ¡°Most despicable one, I bring news from your disciple, Vroma. She wishes to let you know she has arrived at her destination and will begin preparations for the next stage of your most nefarious plan¡­¡± his minion relayed. This really was good news. His disciples were sent out across the Hinterlands with the explicit goal of inciting fear and chaos among the plebian masses, where the artifacts he so benevolently bequeathed to his minions would harvest the dark energies said fear and chaos would generate. After a short while, the attendant left his presence without further instruction. A most excellent servant, he would allow that one to live a little longer. Malicius, content with the progress of his masterful plans, sighed with relief. He loved doing absolutely nothing and getting everything exactly as he wanted.
After attempting to mentally collect himself from waking up in a new world, possibly gaining some kind of magical power, and then immediately being thrown into a fight with goblins, he gathered their corpses and began to go through their belongings, where he found a small sack of miscellaneous detritus and various wee trinkets, 11 bullets, nine bronze coins, and two iron coins. He also found a partially full metal flask, a small tobacco pouch, something he assumed was a fire steel, a wide-brimmed hat, and another gun: a single-action revolver like the one he disarmed from the first goblin. Upon picking it up, his sight was drawn to the weapon, where something strange happened.
Item: Goblin Revolver Quality: POOR UNCOMMON
This rather awful revolver is originally of a reliable gnomish design, but after being tinkered with by goblin gearheads, it can fire a wide variety of ammunition. It is much more likely backfire, misfire, or otherwise cause you an unfortunate time.
The description flared in his mind, startling him. For some reason, it spoke in a rather opulent English accent. He wasn¡¯t sure why, but he felt strangely antagonistic against the thing. ¡°Uh, Hullo?¡± Dean started, hoping this would generate some response. There was no reply. Dean had played his share of games and read his share of comics and novels. I wanted to try it out¡ªthe thing. ¡°Status!¡± Nothing happened. ¡°Inventory!¡± Nope. ¡°Menu! Open sesame!¡± Nae is a bloody thing. ¡°For fucks sake, man!¡± he cried in frustration. Realizing this was a waste of time, Dean straightened and took a deep breath. The sun was beginning its descent, and he had no idea where to go or what to do. No, he did know. First and foremost, survival. He had a decent chance here; there was shelter and running water. But he wasn¡¯t sure about food. He had caught the goblin digging in the dirt, and it asked him for munching, which he strongly guessed was food. He supposed he could eat the goblins but didn¡¯t know if it was edible and, after the 8-point heavenly herb incident, he didn¡¯t want to risk it lest it ¡®sow the seeds of corruption across his dantian¡¯ He had no idea what any of that meant, but it sounded cool. He made his choice. He would go out in search of people who could help. He emptied the flask of its contents, clambered up the rock side in search of the stream, found it after a short while, refilled the flask, and stowed it in a jacket pocket. Clambering down, he decided North was a good direction and plodded off.
Over the next few incredibly uneventful hours, Dean¡¯s mind wandered back to the past few days. He knew he was not happy. He worked a very mundane IT desk job at an unremarkable company that paid exactly the average salary for his position but demanded unpaid overtime to reach his targets. They didn¡¯t even let him have a day off for his birthday (That was something of a sore spot for Dean). The cold-hearted corporate machine had decided to cut down on his department after they all worked their asses off to create and deploy an automated pipelining service that would do their job without asking HR about the lack of birthday-related days off. Usually, Dean would finish work around 7 pm, cycle home at 7:30 pm, play a round or two of whatever game Rob, his best friend and flatmate, was playing, pop by his girlfriend Sophie¡¯s house for tea (read: dinner) Who had most likely eaten already, and head home to tidy up, and head to bed. After being given that fated notice of dismissal, Dean decided to head home early only to encounter Sophie and Rob playing Naked Twister in the combined living room/ kitchen. Dean¡¯s initial reaction was confusion, then denial; Sophie was supposed to be doing her Master¡¯s, but she was always busy with her Master¡¯s. That¡¯s why he hardly met up with her anymore. His next emotion was anger, a seething white-hot anger. The fury of ten thousand suns surged through Dean¡¯s body before dissolving away in the thick, viscous weight of depression. The whole moment was over in about 4 seconds. He entered the door, looked up at the scene before him, coughed, turned right back around left, closing the door softly behind him. He mindlessly waited in front of the lift for a short while, got inside the somewhat claustrophobic metal box, and bent over with his hand on his knees, retching. But nothing would come. His body refused to throw up anything, but the taste of bile reached his throat, causing him to hack and splutter. He quickly headed outside from the lift and walked to the nearby station; realizing that he could not be arsed to wait for the next train, he continued his march all the way down to Kelvinhall.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it. He had a soft spot for the bars here. Rob, Soph and he would always end up in one of them after classes when they studied at the nearby University of Glasgow. He thought those were good times; he and Rob had plans to open a company that did Security consultation or Web development, but they could never decide. None of that happened. However, Soph knew what she wanted to do; she always had it planned out. Bachelor¡¯s degree in computer science, 2 years in Development until she had the experience to be a full stack developer, back to Uni for her Master¡¯s studying neural networks in artificial intelligence, then a PhD in the same. Dean had always admired her drive and discipline. He wanted to marry her one day, maybe start a family. He wasn¡¯t sure if he¡¯d ever want kids; he knew she didn¡¯t, and that was okay. She wanted to prioritize herself, and he tried to be there to support that, but he did want to have something. Something he could call a family. As a teen, Dean had lost his mum after complications with her lifelong illness, and his ol¡¯ da did not take that well. He decided that Dean was old enough to be the man of the house, and he would take the incredible burden of being a deadbeat alcoholic very seriously. He once looked up to the man; he taught Dean how to fish and start a fire, how to create his shelter from whatever he had on him and could find in his surroundings, all sorts of survival stuff. He was like some S.E.R.E trained soldier despite never being in the forces himself. He was stern and a bit distant but ultimately loved Dean and his mother. But after her passing, he changed completely. There was no stern but caring gaze, no unsolicited advice, just a cold void. A shell of the man who he once was. He, too, died a few years later, but Dean had always thought he really died that day with his ma. It was a lonely time after that. The drinks came quickly: Beer, beer, whisky, beer, several shots of something that tasted like poison, but he didn¡¯t care. It didn¡¯t feel long, but a very encouraging, substantial bald man with a beard and missing teeth eventually asked him to leave the premises. Dean explained that he was fine and not, in fact, bladdered or ¡®causing a scene.¡¯ Then things got hazy. But he knew he ended up on the old ¡®Our World¡¯ Mural. The perspective made him dizzy, and he stumbled back on his ass, right in a puddle, where he sat and cried for a long time. After he calmed down, he realized he was shivering. He looked up into the sky and was not surprised to feel the drizzling rain. He also realized that there were very few people here. Scratch that; no one was around. In his state of great inebriation, it was only a bit strange to him that it was all so still in the center of a major city. The usual gusty winds were calm; there were no taxis blaring horns and no shouts from the fellow Weegies off on the pish. The only sounds are the soft drizzle and the gentle slosh of the Clyde nearby. In that moment, he was at peace. He had found catharsis. The next thing he knew, he woke up in that cave.
It was the last light before Dean decided to stop and make camp for the night. He had found a reasonable clearing; he gathered some twigs and smaller branches from the brush around him to use for firewood. The land here was less arid but still not as lush as he was used to. He was cautious of starting a fire he could lose control of in this drier climate. Surprisingly, he wasn¡¯t hungry yet, perhaps a wee bit peckish, but he would survive the night without food; come morning, he was not sure he would have the strength to trek very far, let alone all day as he had planned. He would need to eat. Thinking quickly, he tossed his coat and the little burlap sack that held much of his things, taking only his knife. He crept away from his camp for quite some ways until he spotted what he was looking for¡ªa hole. Dean had never hunted, and while he had the opportunity to, he never felt it was appropriate as a sport, and not needing food so desperately, he did not need to hunt for his meals until now. He carefully unlaced his boots and began to prepare. He knew a few knots off by heart but was out of practice. He found a nearby sapling and began to set up his snare. He repeated the process with his other lace and made his way back in the direction he came. With no small amount of luck, he would have breakfast. ¡°Cheers,¡± Dean muttered as he bit into the slightly charred rabbit. He was elated; for the first time in so long, he felt proud of himself. He had never caught anything to eat before, and despite his uncertainty, he was successful. He wasn¡¯t typically the type of person to be grateful for things like this; he came from a place where food was easy to come by, so long as you had a few quid, you could buy yourself a burger or a sandwich. Obviously, there were those who struggled, even in a big city like Glasgow. Poverty was everywhere, but so was abundance. In Dean¡¯s eyes, it was a matter of greed. Dean wasn¡¯t sure how to dress a kill, so it came as no surprise that he mostly butchered the poor thing. He also didn¡¯t have time to bleed it, so it wasn¡¯t the most pleasant eating he had ever had, but despite that, it felt good to be eating a campfire meal again. He would kill for a packet of crisps and an IrnBru but knew he would never taste them again. As soon as he finished his meal, it happened again. His head shot with a blinding pain, but this time, when he opened his eyes, he was met with a screen:
--Log--
Experience gained: Analytics. Analytics has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. Experience gained: Botany. Botany has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Fortitude. Fortitude has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Poison resistance¡¯ has been created from Fortitude). Experience gained: Poison resistance. Poison resistance has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. Experience gained: Stealth. Stealth has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. A new language has been added to your compendium: Goblinoid. Experience gained: Combat Prowess. Combat Prowess has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Flow¡¯ has been created from Combat prowess). Experience gained: Flow. Flow has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. You have defeated a Goblin Scout (level 1) Experience gained! Experience gained: Firearms. Firearms has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Firearms: Pistol has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Quick-fire¡¯ has been created from Firearms). Experience gained: Quick-fire. Quick-fire has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. You have defeated a Goblin Scout (level 1). Experience gained! Experience gained: Analytics. Analytics has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Hunting. Hunting has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Traps¡¯ has been created from Hunting). Experience gained: Traps. Traps has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Cooking. Cooking has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1.
¡°Woah¡± Dean spoke out loud. ¡°I know Kung-Fu¡±. 3 - A Fear of Failure. Dean could hardly contain his excitement. He had made it. It was shortly after dawn on the third day of hiking from the rocky shrubland into rolling grassy hills that he had found civilization. A wee while back, he noticed something in the distance. At first, he thought it was the morning fog rolling out, but as he continued, he soon realized it was smoke. He had found someone, or perhaps it was an entire settlement. ¡®Probably not,¡¯ he conceded. He crested the hill and overlooked a wide valley with a creek winding through the middle. Near the bank of the creek was a campsite. It consisted of one of those old-timey ¡®Oregon Trail¡¯ types of wagons with a canvas awning and an A-frame tent set up in the shade of the wagon. A tripod stove was perched over a small campfire, and two oxen were hitched up nearby. No, not oxen, but giant goatlike creatures; they were taller and broader than any goat he had seen. It reminded Dean of a Takin but about twice the size. Aside from the birds that would soar by far above, small rodent things that would shoot away from sight as soon as they suspected they weren¡¯t alone, the rabbit he ate for breakfast a few days ago, and a snake or two that he had no interest in getting acquainted with, Dean had not seen any of the native animals. He managed to forage a few berries (this time on which he performed a toxicity test), which is what he had so far subsisted. The smell of bacon wafted past as he continued to spy on the camp. His stomach rumbled. As Dean made to get closer to the campsite and investigate further, he caught sight of a tumbleweed rolling by. ¡°Well, isn¡¯t that a clich¨¦,¡± he thought before the tumbleweed abruptly stopped before him. It was oddly¡­. Threatening. The bush loomed, seeming to grow before his eyes. Similarly to when he had found the eight-point Heavenly herb, and with the Goblin Revolver, his mind was drawn to the shrub, though there was little to no pain this time.
Name: Rumbleweed. | [Your Analytics skill is too low!] | Level: 2.
This is a sentient plant-type creature. This monster, like a scavenger bird, feasts upon the remains it finds in its path. Unlike scavenger birds, it will latch its bristles into the carcass and use it as a root system, moving on once nothing remains. Also, unlike scavenger birds, it will target living creatures as prey.
[Your Analytics skill is too low!].
Dean took a testing step forward and slowly removed his hat. He could just tell it was waiting for its chance to pounce. If he ran as fast as he could and did not stop to look back, he might make it to the campsite where he hoped to find help. Aside from the hostile presence emanating from the thing, it looked like a normal, if very large, bush. But it slowly began to roll forward, and Dean took another step back. If it had not been for Dean¡¯s newly heightened senses, he would not have noticed the second bush stalking up behind him ¨C if a bush was capable of stalking. But a bean? A bean could most definitely stalk. Dean dove forward at the same moment as the two Rumbleweeds made their move. He kicked up dirt as he rolled, barely skimming beneath the monster as it leaped toward him from the front and collided with its brethren, which had attempted the same maneuver from behind. Launching to his feet, he bolted down the hillside to the camp, the bushes seeming to have entangled themselves in their initial attack. As a result, Dean had made some decent headway. But a distant memory of watching a video on the web about tumbleweeds reminded him that they can really belt it when they catch the wind. He had no idea how fast a sentient, potentially magical one could go, but he would not risk it all by looking back to see. He really regretted looking back. It was right there, right on his heels. It had combined into a bigger, somehow angrier-looking tumbleweed. Once again, he felt a mild twinge behind the eyes as he faced forward again.
Name: Rough-and-Tumbleweed | [Your Analytics skill is too low!] | Level: 5.
This is a sentient plant-type creature. Once a humble Rumbleweed, it has combined its strength with another of its kind, permanently morphing into a whole new monster. This creature will now seek out larger prey to sustain itself.
[Your Analytics skill is too low!].
It had transformed and leveled up. Dean still had no idea how to check his status window or anything like that, so he couldn¡¯t be sure, but he did not feel like he was strong enough to take that thing alone. Despite trying on several occasions, he hasn¡¯t been able to activate [Flow] again and didn¡¯t want to waste his precious bullets trying to harm what was, for all intents and purposes, a tangle of thistles. There was no ¡®core¡¯ or any weak point to target either. He proposed to use Shiela but didn¡¯t want to risk getting so close if he could avoid it. Instead, in a moment of subjective brilliance, he thought to lead the creature to the campfire. If he could set it on fire, it might just burst into flames. With no opportunity for a peer review nor any better ideas, Dean took an abrupt turn, zigzagging toward the camp. He leaped across the creek before darting to the fire, narrowly avoiding a lunge from the Rough-and-Tumbleweed. The monster jolted and squirmed as it passed into the creek, giving Dean time to catch a breath and collect his thoughts. It was then he noticed that the sentient shrub was pulsating, its gangly twigs and boughs growing visibly thicker. Its thistles were now sharper and barbed. It was using the creak to strengthen itself. With a flash of realization, Dean understood. Water nourishes Wood.Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. It shouldn¡¯t have come as a surprise when Dean heard the scream behind him, but he jumped in shock anyway. Stepping cautiously around the firepit, attempting to keep it between himself and the Rough-and-Tumbleweed as it continued to feed off the energies provided by the brook, he managed to catch a glimpse of the one who screamed. It was a young girl, maybe eight or nine, and a young boy beside her, roughly the same age. They had poked their heads out from the partition of the caravan¡¯s canvas covering to see what was going on, and having caught Dean¡¯s gaze, they had sunk back inside with a little yelp. Now Dean had to fight to protect himself and the children. The prompt flashed again, bringing his full attention back to the humongous bush.
Name: Thistle-Sage. [Your Analytics skill is too low!]. Level: ??.
This is a sentient plant-type creature. In the rare occasion that a sentient plant-type creature can gather enough life-force to gain sapience, it is no longer driven by an instinctual drive to use the flesh and bones of unwitting creatures as its root system. It will now do so for entertainment.
[Your Analytics skill is too low!].
The Thistle-Sage lashed out at him, its new vine-like appendages undulating with anticipation. Its main body was now about 15 feet tall and the same around; the previously spindly twigs had adjoined into branches that were as thick as Dean¡¯s arms, causing them to look like a living baseball bat with that barbed-wire-wrap-around. He dodged back, easily avoiding the cumbersome strike as it fell short, crashing into the fire. It reeled back from the smoldering coalbed, knocking the tripod and sending the pan resting there along with its contents to the ground. Dean would have to mourn the loss of his potential breakfast later. He burst forwards, drawing the revolver he kept tucked in his belt, cocking and firing off a shot all just over a second. He had never fired a gun before a few days ago but had spent some of his downtime practicing his quick draw, and he thought he was getting quite good. He had only practiced dry firing, as he did not want to waste what little ammunition he had. However, he had heard that dry firing was bad for guns, so he did it sparingly in case he damaged the apparently tumultuous firearm. The projectile had been some kind of birdshot, causing a cloud of splinters to erupt as a few branches were hit at once. Dean suspected so, but it didn¡¯t cause any real harm. He lurched sideways to avoid another swipe from the monster¡¯s tendril, missing his face, but managed to snag on his revolver, flinging it from his grasp. Rolling back to evade a follow-up from the same extremity, Dean deftly snatched a hatchet that laid by the pile of firewood across from the tent and rose back to his feet. Fear began to rise as he realized he would need to get close and rose further, knowing he had no idea how to fight without the assistance of [Flow], but knowing he had to protect those kids steeled his resolve. The monster, deciding it would no longer hunker down in the creak, began to heave itself onto the bankside and into the campsite proper, swatting at Dean as it did so and causing a glancing blow. While Dean¡¯s senses had quite significantly heightened after consuming the 8-point Heavenly herb, his reflexes seem to have only marginally improved. The Thistle-Sage writhed in ecstasy as it finally drew blood. With assurance, it attempted a new tactic, launching its elongated barbed mass directly at Dean like a spear. The first stabbed out and quickly withdrew as it missed by a hair¡¯s breadth. Wary of the new maneuver, Dean moved more cautiously after receiving the first hit. As the next attack rocketed out, Dean slipped into the now muddy earth. Quickly rolling over, he felt the rush of wind and thud as he escaped the impending impalement. Rising to his feet once more, he saw his opportunity as it presented itself to him. He lifted the hatchet overhead with a double-handed swing, feeling every muscle in his body, from his firmly planted legs up into his tensed core, shoulders, arms, and then hands, as he brought the axe down on the grounded limb with a mighty roar. The creature recoiled, letting out a pained sound, like the cracking of a falling tree but filled with emotion. Enraged, its remaining arms whipping around chaotically, it moved in on Dean, attempting to overwhelm him. Without the reflexes to match his senses, Dean took a strike to the shoulder, knocking him down and dislocating his right arm. He screamed as pain coursed through his body. The sleeve of his jacket was now tattered, and blood ran freely, dripping from his fingers. Another blow struck as he attempted to clamber to his feet, sending him face-first into the bloodied mud. A brambled vine wrapped tightly around his ankle as he began to whimper. He felt lightheaded. The last attack struck him across the head and back. His right hand was numb, and his fingers tingled. He thrashed as the Thistle-Sage dragged him into its body, enveloping him in its wicked embrace. It hurt so much, but he was so tired that it felt distant. He felt guilty; he couldn¡¯t help those kids; he tried so hard. This always seemed to happen; every time he really applied himself to something, really tried, he¡¯d fail. Time and time again. That¡¯s why he was in that shitty job and didn¡¯t start his own business. He was afraid he¡¯d fail. That¡¯s why he always said he didn¡¯t want kids. He was afraid he¡¯d fail. He was so scared to fail that he never truly tried anymore. There was another scream and crying. He wasn¡¯t sure if it was coming from him or not. No, he couldn¡¯t fail those kids; no matter what, he would not let them face this fate. With every ounce of willpower and strength he could muster, he pushed forward. He could feel the skin on his left arm flay as he pulled Sheila from its sheath. He pushed forward. He forced his eyes open, the barbs terrifyingly close to his eyes, and he saw it. It was a roiling miasma of coalesced putrid energy. It was a monster core. His knife was pressed firmly against it, but Thistle-Sage tightened its embrace, and Dean nearly passed out. It was unbearable, yet he pushed forward. The knife was so heavy in his hands, but he gripped it tight. With a final burst of strength, he pushed forward. The blade glowed and punctured the core. With a wail so loud it reverberated through Dean¡¯s skull, the monster fell apart, leaving Dean on the muddy bank of the creak. With a smile on his face, Dean fell into unconsciousness. 4 - The Man With The Glowin Sword. Vroma sighed, the ice essence of her demonic-tainted chi causing her breath to fog as she exhaled. She had been tasked with conceiving a plan that would provoke mass panic and disorder, or was it fear and chaos? She confused the two sometimes. She found herself confused often lately, ever since her wicked and terrifying master had bestowed upon her a mere morsel of his vast power. ¡°Misstressss¡­. How goesss the plotting?¡± Her serpentine servant spoke surreptitiously. ¡°It goes well. I have planted several of the divine beasts and magically imbued creatures with our detestable master¡¯s chi. They will no doubt run wild in the surrounding lands causing much panic and disorder!¡± She replied, excitement creeping into her voice as visions of pandemonium formed in her mind. ¡°I¡¯m afraid it¡¯sss actually fear and chaossss, Misstressss¡­¡± the reptilian retainer revised. Vroma¡¯s jaw clenched as she realised her mistake. Icy anger surged through her veins as she lunged at her subordinate, grabbing the humanoid snake-kin by the scruff of its robes, causing it to recoil as the cloth began to freeze on contact. ¡°Do not forget your place, DuanShe. An insult to me is an insult to the great master.¡± She hissed, releasing her loyal attendant. Where did that come from? She was not normally this violent. Ever since receiving her new powers she found herself overcome by bursts of violent hate for anything and everything in her vicinity. There had to be a cause, but no matter how hard she mused on it, she just could not come to any real conclusion. ¡°I apologise, DuanShe,¡± she admonished. ¡°I do not know what overcame me. I appreciate your advice. You have served me well these last few months. Why don¡¯t you join me as I examine the gathered specimen?¡± ¡°Misstresssss! This impuissssant DuanSshe is unworthy of your kindnesss! Allow me to kowtow before you in recompenssse¡­¡±
--Log--
Experience gained: Survival. Survival has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Foraging¡¯ has been created from Survival) Experience gained: Foraging. Foraging has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. Experience gained: Botany. Botany has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Foraging. Foraging has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Botany. Botany has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Analytics has gone from level 1 ¨C level 2. Experience gained: Combat Prowess. Combat Prowess has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Firearms: Pistol has gone from level 1 ¨C level 1. (The subskill ¡®Uncanny Dodge¡¯ has been created from Combat Prowess) Experience gained: Uncanny Dodge. Uncanny Dodge has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Combat Prowess. Combat Prowess has gone from level 1 ¨C level 2. (The subskill ¡®Mighty Strike has been created from Combat Prowess) Experience gained: Mighty Strike. Mighty Strike has gone from level 0 ¨C level 1. Experience gained: Fortitude. Fortitude has gone from level 1 ¨C level 2. (The subskill ¡®Indomitable Will¡¯ has been created from Fortitude) Experience gained: Indomitable Will. Indomitable Will has gone from level 0 ¨C level 3. Experience gained: Analytics has gone from level 1 ¨C level 2. (Your unique weapon [Sheila] has awoken in response to your will!) (Your unique weapon [Sheila] has gained the attribute [Metal strikes Wood].) You have defeated a Thistle-Sage (level 10). Experience gained! You have levelled up! Stat allocation will commence upon entering meditation.
Dean woke, blinking his eyes several times before the screen was dismissed, not truly seeing the words. ¡°Pa! Pa! He¡¯s awake!¡± a voice shouted, childlike and full of awe. Dean tried to sit up, but pain racked his body, causing a gasp to escape his lips. Peering down, he saw his upper body was bare except for a swathe of bandages covering almost every inch of bare skin. His right arm, which had been dislocated, was wrapped tight in a sling. ¡°Yer best stayin¡¯ laid down, mister¡­,¡± another childish voice advised, this one less flowery than the last. Blinking several more times to focus his vision, Dean rolled his head in the direction of the speaker. It was a young boy of ten or eleven years of age. He wore brown corduroy trousers and a tightly buttoned homespun shirt with rolled sleeves. His skin was pale and marginally tan from time spent under an open sky. His hair was dusty brown, sun-bleached, and wavy but cut reasonably short. His face had a light dusting of freckles and was just a bit gaunt. His amber eyes were caught in the sun. ¡°Here, drink this. Pa says it¡¯s important that I help you take water once you wake,¡± the boy explained, tilting down with a wooden bowl half-filled with sloshing water. Dean looked around the best he could as he leaned over from his cot. He realized he was in a moving wagon. The owner of the other voice hopped down from behind the boy. A girl, a few years younger but closely resembling the boy. Her face was rounder, and her hair was longer than the lad¡¯s. It was also tied up in two neat pink bows. Unlike her brother, her eyes were an earthy green. She wore a pale yellow blouse, a matching skirt, and a white pinafore over the top. She looked at Dean with wide eyes and a wider smile. She was missing a tooth. Comprehension hit Dean like a truck aspiring to create the next hit isekai novel. These were the kids from the wagon at the campsite. He had fought a giant sentient bush monster called a ¡°Thistle-Sage¡± to protect them. He just barely managed to strike the creature a killing blow, destroying its Monster Core before losing consciousness. He was certain he would die then, bleeding out from the numerous wounds he sustained during the confrontation. ¡°Wha¡­ Wha¡¯s happened¡­.? Yaknow, after I¡­¡± Dean led, trying to remember the events after he was pulled into the beasts bristling maw. The young girl¡¯s eyes widened with glee as she began to relate the story ¡°Me and Bobby saw you gets eated! And then we heard you scream like a gi¨C¡° The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.¡°Don¡¯t say that, Mary! That¡¯s rude!¡± the boy cut in. Mary, the young girl, stared pointedly at her brother for interrupting her before continuing. ¡°It was real scary cuz we thought you was dead. But that¡¯s when the monster ¡®sploded and you were right there with yer magic glowin¡¯ sword! Then we saw Pa running down the hill real fast like. Y¡¯know he was gunna shoot you before we told him you killed the monster. Ain¡¯t that right, Bobby!?¡± ¡°Um¡­ yeah¡­. Sorry., bout that, mister¡± The boy said sheepishly. The wagon jolted to a stop before they could continue. Dean made another attempt to sit up to see what was going on when a shock jolted through his shoulder. He managed to stay upright, leaning his left side against the wall of the wagon with a wince. The silhouette of a man came into view from the rear of the vehicle. He was of an average height but stocky with muscle. ¡°Bobby, Mary, come here, now,¡± the man spoke, with a ¡°please¡± that he added in an afterthought. Dean caught sight of the man¡¯s hand resting on his waistband adjacent to his pistol-laden holster. He could feel the other man¡¯s stare bearing down on him, just daring him to try anything. The two children, shied by their father¡¯s words, made their way over with a mutual, ¡°Yes, Pa¡­¡±. Still keeping his eyes on Dean, the man spoke to his children. ¡°We¡¯re gonna set up camp for the night. I know it¡¯s a little earlier than we planned, but there¡¯s a creek down by the treeline that looks right for fishin¡¯. Bobby, why don¡¯t you grab the rods from my things under the driver¡¯s box and take yer sister down so you can catch us all some dinner.¡± With an opportunity to help, the children happily clambered from the wagon and out of sight. Dean could hear them squabble over who would catch the biggest fish as they walked away toward the front of the coach and then off toward the stream. After a short while, the man clambered into the carriage; the whole thing creaked and leaned under the man¡¯s lean mass. He sat opposite Dean with a large, callused hand resting atop his still-holstered weapon. Dean could now see the man clearly. Like his children, he had pale skin that was sun-kissed, but where his children had light brown hair, his was a much darker shade and sparsely flecked with grey. His deep green eyes judged Dean while they sat. He, too, wore a shirt and trousers that were disheveled from use. Dean noted a small scar that cut across the man¡¯s stubbled jaw. There was a pregnant pause as the man contemplated his words. ¡°I appreciate what you did for my young¡¯ns,¡± the man began. ¡°You coulda just ran off and left ¡®em to that thing. But you didn¡¯t. For that you have my undy¡¯n respect,¡± his hands clenching and unclenching as he spoke. ¡°But I need you to be honest wi¡¯ me.¡± The intimidating man¡¯s presence seemed to loom over Dean as he let the weight of the request grow, ¡°yous a Cultivator?¡± ¡°Ah, a wot now?¡± Dean asked confusion on his face. ¡°A Cultivator,¡± the man repeated. ¡°Like a farmer?¡± Dean asked again. ¡°Am not really from arounds hear, but I wouldnaw mind if I could work the lan-¡° ¡°No. No. A Cultivator!¡± the man says exasperated, ¡°like one a¡¯ them ascend¡¯nts from the Storm shrouded mount¡¯n that been runnin¡¯ round these parts. Are you with them people¡­?¡± ¡°Am rite sorry pal, but I have naw a fuckin¡¯ clue what you¡¯re on about,¡± Dean replied, frustration rising in his voice. ¡°I have naw a clue where I am, I have naw a clue what t¡¯fuck is goin¡¯ on and I really don¡¯t have time t¡¯ be peltered by some bloke I dunny know. No offense.¡± ¡°My apologies,¡± the man began again, taking a big sigh. ¡°Think we started on the wrong foot. I¡¯m Jeb. The boy¡¯s Bobby and my little girl¡¯s Mary. I¡¯m a hunter by trade ¨C that¡¯s why we was all the ways out here. Normally, I can make do in the woods near town, but somethin¡¯ has been driving the game away, see? Meaning I gots to go farther out. And after my sweet Beth passed, it¡¯s just me and the kids, so I just take em with me if I leave town. Ain¡¯t no one wantin¡¯ to take someone else¡¯s sprats in when they can hardly afford to feed em selves, even if only fer a few days. ¡®n I love ¡®em madly, even if they do drive me mad half the time,¡± the man opened to Dean, overwhelming him with the complete change in character. ¡°Steady on, pal. That¡¯s a lot to take in at once,¡± Dean spoke as the man seemed to finish. ¡°Yous can call me Dean, and I¡­ woke up a few days ago in the middle of bloody nowhere, and like I said, I have naw a clue about where I am or what¡¯s goin¡¯ on. I appreciate yer help keepin¡¯ me alive. So, I say we¡¯re even. He finished, sticking out his good arm, hand extended. Jeb shook it with a smile. ¡°Nice t¡¯ meechya Dean. I really am sorry for earlier, and about the cultivator thang,¡± Jeb said, scratching the back of his head in an awkward plea. ¡°It¡¯s best for us regular folks to not get involved with them of we can help it. It can get awful dangerous if you do. It¡¯s like a whole other world.¡± 5 - The Town of Lonely Hill. Dean sat cross-legged on the wagon bed, facing the receding countryside, his eyes closed. ¡°Ohmm¡­¡± He hummed. ¡°Ohmmm¡­¡± The two children, Bobby and Mary, hummed along, one to each side of him. He peered at one, then the other from the corner of his eyes, his lips curling into a smirk before throwing his arm up in the air and laying back in feigned indignation. Bobby and Mary looked at each other before mimicking Dean with a giggle. ¡°You sure you ain¡¯t a cultivator?¡± Jeb shouted over his shoulder from the front of the driving box. He had tied back the curtain that separated his position from the covered wagon, allowing him easy access and communication with Dean and his kids. ¡°Naw Jeb, I promise am naw a cultivator,¡± Dean replied. ¡°I just feel like I should try meditatin¡¯ but I d¡¯ken what am doin.¡± ¡°You speak funny, mister Dean,¡± Mary chuckled, looking up at him, who now sat leaning on his left arm. His right arm, while healing well from its dislocation, was yet unable to support much weight. It had been a few days since Dean¡¯s initial encounter with Jeb and his family where, despite a rocky start, they had accepted his company happily. Jeb had spent much of the time hunting, armed with his trusty bow. Dean had marvelled at his companion¡¯s skill with the primitive weapon when Jeb had offered to show Dean the ropes. ¡°I¡¯ve been learnin¡¯ to track and hunt since I was a boy, around Bobby¡¯s age. It¡¯s a shame he has no int¡¯rest in it, unlike Mary, but that ain¡¯t something a girl should be doin¡¯.¡± ¡°Oh, aye? Why¡¯s that, big man? Afraid she¡¯ll run yoos outta the job, eh?¡± Dean jokingly rebuked, having seen the young girl¡¯s preternatural talent with the bow. ¡°Perhaps!¡± Jeb had chuckled. ¡°But it¡¯s not right for a girl to take on that line of work. It¡¯s fine as a dalliance, but once she¡¯s grown, she¡¯ll be expected to marry, becoming a wife and mother. She might be allowed to work her husband¡¯s business if he so permits, but that ain¡¯t always the case around here, Dean.¡± Dean had scoffed at that. ¡°An¡¯ wot if she became a cultivator? What kinda life would she lead then?¡± ¡°Thas different. Normal folks who stumble ont¡¯ the path of ¡®csend¡¯ncy ain¡¯t normal no more. They can do what they want then, ain¡¯t no one but a stronger cult¡¯vator gonna be able t¡¯ stop ¡®em,¡± Jeb explained, his attention only half paid to the conversation. ¡°But a cultivator¡¯s life ain¡¯t easy, y¡¯know? Every wakin¡¯ moment¡¯s got t¡¯ be spent growin¡¯ in strength and skill or ¡®ttainin¡¯ enlight¡¯nment while always lookin¡¯ ov¡¯r yer shoulder. It¡¯s too dangerous for m¡¯ little Mary. I say the life of a mother will do ¡®er best.¡± The rest of the hunt had been spent in still silence, except for the occasional heads up that Dean would give Jeb once he had sensed movement. It was late in the afternoon, just as the sun started to bleed across the horizon when the environment began showing evidence of civilization. It started with the odd farmland, soon followed by a ranch or farmhouse, and then it was not long before the wagon came to a halt. Clambering through the canvas covering, Dean sat down at the driver¡¯s box alongside Jeb. They had arrived at a large wooden gate surrounded by equally large palisades stretching far around the settlement within. A bald, dark-skinned man with a large waxed mustache and rounded gut approached Jeb¡¯s side of the wagon, his chest puffed out and eyes locked onto Dean as he spoke, ¡°¡¯Lo there, Jeb. Fine, evenin¡¯, hmm? Looks like y¡¯ picked up a trav¡¯ler. S¡¯pose you are doing just fine, and I¡¯ll find the kids safe in th¡¯ back?¡± His voice was hoarse and full of suspicion for Dean. ¡°I¡¯m fine, Rod. So are the kids. This is Dean; he helped us out with some trouble on th¡¯ road. He''s no trouble ¨C Are you, Dean?¡± ¡°Aye, I am on my best behaviour!¡± Dean promised with his best shit-eating grin. With a quick glance at Jeb, who nodded, Rod let out a sigh, his large pot belly releasing with it. ¡°Welp, no harm bein¡¯ cautious! I¡¯m Rod, and that¡¯s Tim,¡± he motioned, pointing back at a lanky teen who suddenly stood to attention by the gate, nervously looking between Dean and his guards-mate. Both men wore a uniform of sturdy denim jeans, a woollen shirt under a blackened leather vest, and a heavy duster patched with metal plates that covered their joints and vital parts. Dean immediately wanted one. Additionally, they were equipped with a long, revolver-looking shotgun slung over their backs and a short spear, which was more often used as something to lean on during the uneventful stretches of watch duty than in actual defense of the town. ¡°Welcome to the town of Twi- sorry, Lonely Hill!¡± Rod declared, sweeping his hands back across the walls. ¡°Anyways, I don¡¯t reckon you got papers of ident¡¯fication do ya? On the off chance y¡¯do, you¡¯re free to come and go as you please. But if y¡¯don¡¯t then I¡¯m ¡®fraid Tim¡¯s got to escort ya t¡¯the magistrate¡¯s office where you can get all that stuff sorted.¡± He looked at Dean expectantly, who just smiled apologetically back. ¡°Ver¡¯ well then. Timothy, be a gen¡¯leman an¡¯ escort mister Dean over here to the magistrate¡¯s office.¡± ¡°Oh, but Sarge! It¡¯s almost time to swap out wit¡¯ the late crew. Can¡¯t they just do it?¡± Tim protested, but already knowing the answer, he approached Dean¡¯s side of the carriage. To Dean, this was all a bit exciting. It was the first time he¡¯d been into a settlement since arriving in this world. He was eager to meet this magistrate and learn what was to be expected of him. He jumped down from the carriage as Mary and Bobby stuck their heads out of the caravan, curious about the goings-on. Their father explained where Dean was going, and they waved him off with a ¡°Come see us soon, mister Dean!¡± he waved back, promising to see them all again. Despite partly being under construction, the town was surprisingly clean and well-organized. Tim explained that the magistrate had gone to great lengths to ensure that the plans for rebuilding what was destroyed in the cultivator brawl were as neat and efficient as possible. While much of the aristocracy of Lonely Hill may look down on the magistrate due to his mundane upbringing, the remaining citizens seemed to appreciate his dedication to their town greatly. As they walked, Tim was greeted by passers-by, who would gossip and ogle at Dean, he would smile or ignore them in turn. He noted the buildings were an eclectic mix of wooden false-fronted abodes and businesses, the occasional pavilion or garden, and stone Siheyuan that resided closer to the lone hill that gave the town its name. Atop the steep hillside was a squat pagoda; it became apparent that the pagoda was their destination. ¡°Tim?¡± Dean asked, looking toward the rather impressive architecture. ¡°Yes, mister Dean?¡± ¡°What¡¯s with the pagoda? Is it the magistrate¡¯s house or something?¡± ¡°The mag¡¯strate and his clerks work in the pagoda, but they don¡¯t live there. It¡¯s also where the Captain has his office and the Daozhang, too. It¡¯s like a council buildin¡¯, I guess,¡± the escort explained as they began climbing the stairs leading up the hillside ¡°Right. Good to know, I suppose. Cheers.¡± Dean stated in thanks. They continued on until they had reached just past halfway up, pausing to catch their breath. ¡°Why. Is. It. So. Steep?!¡± Dean complained, panting with each syllable. ¡°Don¡¯t. Know? Culti-vators. Prob-ly,¡± Tim heaved, hands on his knees as he fought to breathe through his words. Clearing the last of the steps, Tim continued, ¡°Cap¡¯n says the pagoda was a temple used back in the old days before the rise of the cultivators.¡± ¡°So, is cultivation a new thing? Like, people just appeared outta nowhere with whacky powers?¡± ¡°C¡¯mon, Dean! Didn¡¯t you pay attention in your classes? Go ask the priest - er, Daoshi; he can remind you,¡± Tim admonished as he pushed open the large double doors to their destination, leading into the bustling reception area. Now, walking with a swagger, he went to a tall desk where a young woman was busy marking and organizing papers and leaned against it, ¡°A mighty fine evenin¡¯, Li-Li. Might I say you are undoubtedly the fairy of the municipal office-¡± he began. ¡°What is it, Tim? I am busy,¡± Li-Li snapped without looking up from her paperwork. ¡°Oh, um. Ahem! This is Dean. He needs to meet with Mr. Zhang for his introductions and papers,¡± Tim replied, attempting to recover from the blatant dismissal. In response, the young woman finally glanced up before returning to her work. She was slight, wearing a neat, black ruqun, with her raven hair pinned up high. It drew attention to her contrasting pale skin and dark brown eyes. ¡°Tim, you know I am not his secretary. Speak to senior Josephine for appointments.¡± This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Tim''s bravado immediately deflated at the mention of the magistrate¡¯s rightful secretary, a bead of sweat forming on his brow. ¡°Y-you know she doesn¡¯t like me here, Li-Li¡­,¡± ¡°I wonder why¡­? I¡¯m sure it has nothing to do with the fact that her son insists on bothering every ¡®fairy of the municipal offices¡¯ while they are hard at work,¡± she mocked, causing Dean to cover a snicker. ¡°It¡¯s awrite, lad. I¡¯ll find my way from here,¡± Dean volunteered, with a smile at Tim. ¡°Thanks, Dean,¡± Tim thanked, already leaving. ¡°Come by the ol¡¯ Jade Barmaid once you find yourself done here; I¡¯ll buy you a round!¡± With a smile and wave at the departing man, Dean turned to the woman who was squaring away her papers. ¡°Am sorry I know I said I¡¯d find my way there, but I don¡¯t ken where to start...¡± ¡°Allow me to guide you to Senior Josephine; she is the chief clerk and the Lord magistrate¡¯s secretary,¡± Li-Li offered with more than a hint of insistence. After navigating the veritable maze of corridors and stairways, Li-Li guided Dean to a large desk ornately carved with a mural depicting a great battle between twirling dragons. Behind the desk was a beautiful woman in her fourties with curly auburn hair and bright blue eyes. Dean expected Josephine to be some wicked crone or a strict headmistress, but to his incredulity, she was the farthest thing from it. Unlike the other women that Dean had seen in the building, Josephine wore a western-style blouse that clung tightly to her ample body and a long flowing skirt. ¡°Ah, my sweet Li-Li!¡± the older woman beamed as they arrived, giving Dean a long up-and-down, ¡°it seems you¡¯ve brought me a handsome young man to whisk me away from all my troubles,¡± she cooed. ¡°Madame Josephine!¡± Li-Li blushed, ¡°I have brought Mister Dean for his introductions to the Lord magistrate and to get his papers.¡± ¡°Oh, of course, sweetheart! I won¡¯t steal your man from you¡­¡± She bantered, giving Dean a wink as if he were in on the joke. ¡°You leave him with me, and I¡¯ll make sure he gets back to you safe and sound. Don¡¯t suppose Tim¡¯s been botherin¡¯ you? That boy can be a real pain in the backside; just give me the word, and I¡¯ll hand him a whoopin¡¯.¡± Li-Li simply chuckled as she bowed and then left Dean in the secretary¡¯s care. Josephine directed Dean to the nearby bench that was positioned opposite the large desk and the comparatively plain door to the magistrate¡¯s office. As he sat, Dean noticed the woman glancing at him. After the third or fourth time, Dean spoke up, ¡°Everything awrite?¡± ¡°I¡¯m sorry, darlin¡¯¡­ It¡¯s just¡­ You remind me of my late husband when he was young¡­ He had the same hair as you,¡± she divulged, embarrassment and mourning shading her face. ¡°He passed a few years ago in the cultivator battle that destroyed the town. He was on patrol when it happened, running all over, rescuin¡¯ those who were injured or trapped. I don¡¯t think anyone knows exactly what happened, but the last anyone saw, he was running to the crater of the old hill.¡± ¡°I¡­ am sorry for your loss, Ms Josaphine, I really am,¡± Dean consoled, giving her a sympathetic smile. ¡°Hush now, it''s all in the past! And besides, you can call me Josie,¡± the kindly woman allowed, wiping a tear from her cheek and returning the smile. It was a while later when Dean¡¯s keen hearing could pick out a heated conversation behind the office door before it swung open. An older, muscular man with salt and pepper hair, wearing a pang suit, charged out, followed by a shorter young man in a fine silk changfu. ¡°I don¡¯t care if it¡¯s dangerous, Minhui. If we organize now, we can find out what¡¯s causing it and cut it off at the source,¡± the older man shouted, turning to face the other before realizing they weren¡¯t alone. In an effort to keep face, the domineering man straightened his shirt before bowing cupped-handed and walking off with a final, ¡°A fine evening to you, Lord magistrate. May we continue this topic another time.¡± The magistrate sighed while removing his glasses to wipe them and saw Dean sitting, watching the whole event. ¡°My apologies for that. What brings you to my office so late, mister?¡± ¡°Dean. I¡¯ve just sort of arrived and ¡®ave been told to come here for papers or some such?¡± ¡°Ah, I see. Very well, this matter can be addressed now. Ms Josephi¡ª¡± He cut off abruptly at a look from his secretary, ¡°Josie, I can take it from here. You can take your leave for the day. Have a good evening.¡± With a nod, a smile, and a wave to Dean, she collected her things and quietly left. ¡°Please, follow me into my office, Dean,¡± the magistrate implored, holding the door wide for Dean. ¡°May I offer you a cup of tea?¡± the stately man enquired once they had both entered the room. "Though my attendants have left, so I¡¯m afraid the tea may not be as fine as it normally is,¡± he chuckled. ¡°Please, take a seat.¡± As Dean took the chair offered, he looked around the room. It was not what he expected from the man who ruled this town and surrounding lands. Compared to the rest of the building he had seen, this room was unassuming and reserved. The walls were bare but for a painting of an old man dressed in great regalia¡ªthe Emperor, Dean presumed. On the two adjacent walls were shelves of books, scrolls, and other such things. In front of one of those walls was a chaise longue stacked high with pillows and a small side table where the magistrate made tea. The desk that stood in the center of the room was unadorned like Josie¡¯s but piled high with papers and open scrolls. But most of all, it was the magistrate that surprised Dean. He was far younger than he had anticipated, in his early thirties at most, not much older than himself. He had short brown hair that was greased back, not a single hair out of place. Clean-shaven and pale-skinned, he wore rounded spectacles over his intelligent, amber eyes, and the black changfu he wore was embroidered with a black crane in flight that Dean hadn¡¯t noticed in the dim light of the waiting room. ¡°Thank you,¡± Dean said as he accepted his tea. ¡°I¡¯m afraid I don¡¯t know your customs, so I apologize if I¡¯m doing things wrong.¡± ¡°Ah, it¡¯s perfectly fine. Do you mind if I open the doors? I like to gaze out at the scenery below while I process the day.¡± Dean shook his head in response, and the magistrate pulled back the sliding doors that lined the wall behind the desk to reveal a breathtaking vista. Standing from the chair for a better view and walking over to the balcony, Dean could see far out over the land. Amber lights stippled the town below, and a vast lake lay stretched out just beyond that, reflecting the crescent moon as it passed from a solitary cloud. After a long moment of placid silence, the magistrate spoke, focusing on the sight before him. ¡°Great changes often bring disaster. But once the dust of change settles, new beauty can be discovered.¡± After another period of stillness, he continued, turning to Dean, ¡°the lake below was once the twin to this lonely hill we stand upon, but following a minor misunderstanding between two drunken cultivators, it became naught but a memory. Hundreds upon hundreds of lives were lost that night, and we are still repairing the damage 7 years later. Despite all this, we have had to move on. The hill that housed many of my people is now home to an abundance of new life. I am willing to welcome you into my town, Dean, regardless of your past. I do not care if you are running from debt or a sect out for blood; whatever it may be, I permit you to live and work within the town so long as you are willing to help your neighbours when they need it and protect those who need protecting, should the need ever arise.¡± ¡°Thank you, mister magistrate. I, uh, appreciate the generosity,¡± Dean replied with an awkward bow, attempting to mimic the large man who had spoken with the magistrate prior. ¡°Very well!¡± the lord said with an abrupt clap. ¡°Please, join me while I go over the paperwork.¡± It was nearly an hour before Dean completed the necessary paperwork and received the all-clear, though his Identification Token would take a few days to make. He was shown out of the building by the magistrate, whose name was Zhang Minhui, Dean had learned, and was now making his way to the Jade Barmaid, having gotten direction from a passerby. He had been to some seedy pubs back in Glasgow, but this one was the worst by far. Long before he even entered, he could tell which building it was. The whole place smelt like a noxious mix of beer, piss, and vomit. It was also loud, far louder than he was expecting. It was also packed full. Heavin¡¯. He found Tim and Rod at a large round table with a few other men and women in uniform. Rod was hooting and hollering while Josephine, of all people, accosted Tim. She was rosy-faced with drink and had her son in a weak headlock while rubbing her knuckles into his hair. Tim managed to pull away, ripe with embarrassment, followed by cheers as he and Rod caught sight of the newcomer. Drink soon flowed through Dean, providing plenty of liquid courage to befriend all the remaining tavern-goers. Later, after returning to the table with an armful of pewter mugs overflowing with ale, he struck up a conversation with Tim. ¡°Ish bin sooo long since I had a good pint Tim my lad. Lasht time I drank like thish was when i found, uh, Soph! and Rob! Fffuckin¡¯! That really fffuckin¡¯ hurt me, man. D¡¯youu have a girlfriend, Tim? I bet you doo~! Heheh. Don¡¯t! Don¡¯t let ¡®em fuck yer bes¡¯ friend, okay? You, you, you¡¯re my best friend, Tim. Y¡¯know that?¡± ¡°Noo~ You¡¯re MY beshtest friend! But I don¡¯t got no girl, Dean. Ish just me and ma mom now. Heheheh. She getsh all defenshive now thatsh I work like dad did. She finks im gonna go an'' die! Ders been noo baddiess for, like, forever!¡± ¡°You¡¯re no gonnaw die! You¡¯re my besht friend! Ah will protect you,¡± Dean commanded, full of sincerity. ¡°Dean?¡± Tim questioned. ¡°Yesh, Tim?¡± Dean replied. ¡°Pleash don¡¯t fuck my mom.¡± 6 - Elder Doug. Dean woke to the touch of rich silk sheets, the sound of nearby birdsong, and the scent of bacon wafting through the air. To his surprise, he did not feel nauseated or experience the debilitating headache he associated with a night of heavy drinking. He felt well-rested as he had the past few nights in this new world. Pulling on his clothes, which he found neatly folded on a chair in the corner of the room, he noted that his shirt was absent. Quietly leaving the room and following the smell of breakfast, he found himself in a large open-plan living room and kitchen. Standing at the stove, wearing his missing shirt, was Josie, her hair pinned up in a messy bun, humming as she bent to pull fresh bread from the oven. It was a glorious sight to behold. He let out a slight cough, letting her know she wasn¡¯t alone and that he was admiring the view. ¡°Mornin¡¯ sweet, come sit and have breakfast,¡± she appealed with a warm smile. Dean heard a door close elsewhere as he sat, followed by stumbling footsteps and groaning. Tim''s dishevelled form dragged itself into the dining room. He looked up, mouth agape at Dean, who was suddenly taking a keen interest in his food, and then at his mother, who laid another plate of meat and eggs on the table, her cheeks heating, also avoiding eye contact. Tim sighed in resignation. ¡°Gods dammit, Dean,¡± he muttered before bolting upright, clutching his mouth and darting back the way he came. ¡°Don¡¯t mind him. I¡¯m a grown woman, and he knows it.¡± Josie advised, sitting opposite Dean with a coffee clutched in her hands. Once he finished eating, Dean spoke, ¡°He¡¯s a good lad; I¡¯m sure he¡¯ll get over it. But, uh, listen, Josie¡­ I don¡¯t know how things work here- don¡¯t get me wrong. I like you; you¡¯re an amazing, beautiful woman, but I¡¯m not looking for anything right now. See back where I came from, I had-¡± ¡°I¡¯ll stop you there, handsome. I already know your story of heartbreak. Hells, I think the whole town knows. Someone had to take your mind off it and just shut you up,¡± she chuckled, giving him a wink. ¡°Urghh¡­ I¡¯m sorry, Josie. I had no idea I was in such a rite state,¡± Dean apologized. "I appreciate you making me breakfast, which is delicious, by the way, but I need to get going¡ªthere¡¯s lots to be done today.¡± ¡°Oh my! Well, don¡¯t let me stop you. The tub is the last door on the right upstairs, and the tap runs hot, so you don¡¯t need to wait for water to boil.¡± Josie instructed, rising and clearing away his plate before returning to him. Dean then rose too, so she leaned in, kissing his cheek softly before asking, ¡°So if y¡¯ don¡¯t mind me askin¡¯, what is it you plan on doin¡¯?¡± ¡°Me, my dear Josephine? I¡¯m gonna deliver mail.¡±
The previous night, Dean and Magistrate Zhang had discussed roles for which he would be a good fit. Zhang had offered him a role as a clerk thanks to his advanced numbers and letters, but Dean really didn¡¯t want to be stuck behind a desk anymore. After several other suggestions, the role of ¡®messenger¡¯ came up. Zhang had tried to dissuade him by explaining that the role wasn¡¯t really that of a courier, that it was more of a Jack-of-all-trades that involved traveling weeks between settlements, spreading decrees, bodyguarding, delivering packages, and providing any assistance that had been requested through the guild that organized the messengers. In other words, it screamed of adventure. He would become an adventurer. Adamant in his decision, Dean was reluctantly advised to meet with the guild representative in the town, an old man named Doug. Doug had a bit of a reputation as a ¡®real piece of work¡¯ and ¡®just a huge asshole¡¯ (sourced from an inebriated Rod and Tim the night before.) It was explained that anyone with business for the messengers would speak directly to one of the infrequent travelling couriers with their requests rather than deal directly with Doug, who was responsible for assigning their work. But Dean had had his share of asshole bosses, so he was confident he could make it work. Making his way through town to the Messenger guild, or ¡®Depot¡¯ as it was colloquially known, Dean arrived at the destination to find a run-down, false-fronted shack. It was paint-striped, and its sign was missing. The upper floor shutters were closed, the lower ones boarded over, and the glass within their frames smashed. A large storage shed was attached to the side of the building. It ran the entire length of the Depot and then some. Despite his lack of confidence, Dean pushed cautiously through the main door to the Depot, coming inside to see an empty reception. When Dean pressed the bell, which sat dusty atop the desk in the middle of the room, it did not ring. Examining it closer, he saw that the clacker inside had been intentionally removed. Deciding it would show initiative, he went to have a look-see around the building with the ¡®honest¡¯ intention of finding Doug and not at all snooping around. Dean eventually found the intended target sprawled across a sofa in a recreational or common room. Scattered around the slumbering man were numerous empty liquor bottles, one of which he clutched tightly. The old man was of average height and surprisingly scrawny build. His tanned skin was speckled with liver spots and sagged from his arms and face with age. He was primarily bald but retained wispy, long, grey hair around the nape of his head. Naturally, he kept a shabby beard. He wore a home-spun and threadbare Zhongyi and wide-legged trousers. Something about the snoring, tawdry elder filled Dean with irrational annoyance. This man was supposed to represent him in the future, represent all messengers, really. So, Dean kicked the unconscious man, not hard, but enough to raise the man from his stupor. A few things happened then, in quick succession. Firstly, Dean let out a slight jab with his foot. Next, the apparently sleeping man reached out and caught Dean¡¯s foot with both arms, pulling it to his chest while rolling backward from where he lay off the couch, twisting Dean¡¯s foot, causing him to spin while falling. At that exact moment, [Flow] activated, and Dean began acting on instinct. Using his own rotational momentum to his advantage, he continued spinning and lashed a kick out at Doug. Now on his back and having released Dean¡¯s foot, Doug pushed off the wall with his hands and bounded at his opponent. Meanwhile, Dean, on his chest and facing away, pushed off the floor, gaining air as Doug slid underneath. Doug then threw several strikes at Dean, who could not escape while briefly suspended. He made his best attempt at deflecting and defending the blows, but caught a clipping fist to the chin, instantly rebooting his brain. Now, with the [Flow] knocked out of him, he was at the mercy of his senior. He fell atop his elder, who was momentarily surprised his opponent had suddenly given up but quickly recovered. He then seized the opportunity by toppling Dean and reversing the mount. Now atop the would-be messenger, Doug snaked one leg under Dean¡¯s, placing his foot firmly in the other¡¯s groin. He then sat, applying pressure to the other man¡¯s knee. Writhing in discomfort, Dean did not see Doug pull a wooden practice sword until it was pressed against his neck. ¡°Who in the hells sent you? Was it that bastard Dongfang? Tell him you¡¯re one hundred years too early to make moves on me, boy.¡± ¡°I don¡¯t ken who that is! I¡¯m here for w- ¡± Dean sputtered, attempting to defuse the situation. ¡°Yes, for my head. I know this, you fool! I asked you who sent you, not why! Now give me an answer, or I¡¯ll send you to meet your ancestors,¡± Doug berated, prodding his quarry in the cheek. When the door swung open, Dean was saved from further misunderstanding. A petite young woman holding a steaming box wrapped in cloth entered. She paused at the sight of the two men before shouting, ¡°Mr. Whitehill! Release that man this instant! What have I told you about attacking guests!¡± ¡°But he attacked me first!¡± Doug defended, releasing the knee-lock, but remained sitting atop Dean. ¡°I did n- Okay, maybe I did, but it wasn¡¯t an attack! I was just waking him up! I was told to visit by the magistrate, and then I found this guy asleep, cuddling booze like a teddy bear! Listen, I¡¯m applying to be a messenger- Ow! Stop it!¡± Dean tried to clarify but was interrupted by a bonk to the head from the swordsman. Doug chuckled, but after receiving a glare from the woman in the doorway, he went silent and mimed, zipping his mouth closed. She maintained her stare a while longer before turning to Dean, ¡°Yes, of course. You must be Dean? I was fortunate enough to bump into Ms. Josaphine, who told me that you would be visiting Mr. Whitehill today. I am Gang Zanling,¡± she bowed deeply, ¡°I make sure elder Doug takes his medicine and doesn¡¯t cause too much trouble, which it seems he has¡­ Douglas! Apologise!¡± Despite her stature, her glare was formidable, and Dean was glad it was not bearing down on him. He took a proper look at her now. She was short, hardly five feet tall, and had thick, dark brown, almost black hair that she kept back in an intricate plait. Her intense stare was amplified by her amethyst eyes.Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Having been cowed, the elder climbed to his feet and held a hand out to Dean, who reluctantly took it and was pulled to his feet. Squeezing the hand a bit too tightly, Doug apologized, ¡°No hard feelings, eh, boy?¡± ¡°None at all, elder,¡± Dean retorted with a smirk, returning the favour. The two men stood like that for a long moment before Doug''s stomach rumbling at the smell of hot food brought him back to his senses. ¡°Little Zanling! Did you bring this old man breakfast? You truly are the fairest of them all, my dear girl,¡± he said with honest-to-gods tears in his eyes. Taking the box from her, he sat down at a table nearby, tapping the seat next to his with a smile for the girl. ¡°Elder Doug, perhaps Mister Dean would care to join us?¡± Zanling proposed, taking a seat herself. Already opening the box laden with various buns, he stuck one in his mouth and replied through his food, ¡°Yah, ¡®ure, wha¡¯e¡¯er.¡± He swallowed, giving his chest a few thumps to clear his throat, and spoke again, ¡°But those buns are mine, y¡¯hear?¡± ¡°Elder Doug¡­,¡± Zanling warned. ¡°It¡¯s fine, Miss Gang. I¡¯ve already eaten. Cheers for the offer, though,¡± Dean acknowledged, sitting opposite Doug. There was silence while Zanling and Doug ate. Once they had finished, Doug looked to fully address Dean, ¡°You wanna be a messenger, eh? What¡¯s the matter, yer girlfriend dumped you, so now you¡¯re trying to rediscover yourself?¡± ¡°Well, aye, actually,¡± Dean admitted. ¡°Like I give two shits. Now, I reckon I got a good judge¡¯a who y¡¯are from our little spar there, I might¡¯ve thought you had something worth my time fer a second. But only a second. But I s¡¯pose it¡¯ll have to do; we can¡¯t afford t¡¯be fussy out here in the sticks. Remember, It¡¯s hard work bein¡¯ a messenger, and I won¡¯t accept no weak little boys who¡¯ll run home to mommy the first time they get held up by bandits. To ensure you¡¯re man enough not to cry like a girl at night, you¡¯ll need trainin¡¯, but in the meantime, I might be able to give you the jobs a baby could do blindfolded¡­¡± He was momentarily lost in thought before moving on, ¡°that reminds me. We got three rules: Messengers commit, once we take a job we see it through. Also, We don¡¯t go lookin¡¯ fer trouble. Don¡¯t run around swingin¡¯ ya giant danglers, comparin¡¯ ¡®em to the next fella, provoking fights for your own ego. Messengers are a well-respected bunch, mostly. It¡¯s our reputation that keeps us in business, and many folks rely on our business. And above all, Don¡¯t be stupid. If you find yourself in a sit¡¯ation or get tossed a job that¡¯ll kill ya, walk away! Leave that job to someone with a death wish. Think before you take on any job. Is it within your capabilities, and can you plan for unpredictable outcomes? You¡¯re no good to anyone dead.¡±
Over the next hour, Doug and Zanling gave Dean a tour of the facilities. There was a training space in the rear of the building, a tiny barrack was located upstairs, as well as a washroom that only consisted of a single large washtub and a bar of unused soap; water would need to be pulled from the well that was located out back and heated in the kitchen. The ¡®kitchen¡¯ was a fireplace in the corner of the common room meant to warm it in the colder months. Much like the reception hall, the rest of the Depot was worse for wear. He was even warned not to enter the closets on the upper floor, as its floorboards were rotted. Zanling informed him that she had almost fallen through once while trying to collect a change of sheets. Zanling left after giving Doug his medicine and checking his mouth to ensure he had ingested them. She advised that she would be by every morning to do the same. Doug immediately put Dean to work repairing and maintaining the building, all under the guise of ¡®training,¡¯ ¡°It¡¯ll put some muscles on ya!¡± he had said. Over the next few days and true to his word, Dean put up with the old man¡¯s attitude, only getting into a fight once more, but without [Flow], he was quickly and soundly defeated. One evening, after Zanling came by with dinner, she pulled Dean aside, having seen that Doug had fallen asleep at the table. ¡°How has he been?¡± ¡°Uh, honestly? A rite arsehole,¡± he answered. ¡°No, I mean, I know he can be¡­ difficult, but has he been acting strange? Confused, or maybe distracted?¡± she clarified, her demeanour becoming intense. ¡°Oh,¡± Dean simply replied, understanding what she was getting at. Growing up, Dean had a grandfather on his mother¡¯s side who had suffered from dementia; he would have days where he would not recognize his daughter or mistake her for someone else, and sometimes, he could become violent for no apparent reason, succumbing to his confusion. He eventually passed away, having forgotten how to eat, lost and afraid. ¡°No, he¡¯s been well. I had no idea¡­,¡± he paused, unsure of what to say. ¡°It¡¯s okay, Dean,¡± she said softly. ¡°He has no family that we are aware of, so the lord magistrate has asked me to see him from time to time. Did you know it was Elder Doug who quelled the cultivators that destroyed the hill? I¡¯m sure if it were not for his attitude, many would treat him like a hero if they do not already do so in secret.¡±
Dean was wiping sweat from his brow as he finished painting the external walls when old Doug approached. "It¡¯s ¡®bout time ya finished up!¡± he nagged. ¡°Aye, what is it, old man?¡± Dean sassed back, climbing down from the ladder he stood atop. ¡°Respec¡¯ yer elders, boy! Ya missed a spot, too! But I ¡®spose that can be excused as ya got no talent¡­,¡± Doug goaded in return. ¡°Ahem! Anyways, if yer done with yer work, I think its ¡®bout time you learned a thing ¡®r too about messengering.¡± ¡°Wait, wasn¡¯t this supposed to be part of my training?¡± ¡°¡¯ Course not, idyit! It¡¯s hard to find free labour, that¡¯s all,¡± he chuckled at the look of exasperation on the other man¡¯s face. ¡°Get yer butt inside ¡®fore you scare passersby wit¡¯ yer ugly face!¡± Dean followed his new teacher to the training hall and sat as instructed. ¡°So, Dean, tell me how is it you can stand toe-to-toe with th¡¯ mighty Doug Whitehill in our first meetin¡¯, but suddenly become like a wet noodle? You haven¡¯t shown that level of skill to me again, but my gut tells me it weren¡¯t no fluke either¡­¡± Dean spent a while trying to find the right words before he decided to just say the truth, most of it anyway. ¡°It¡¯s a skill I have. I don¡¯t really ken how it works or how to turn it on though? It sort of just happens.¡± The old man simply looked puzzled before asking, ¡°What d¡¯ya mean by skill? Skills somethin¡¯ ya work on so you can use ¡®em, ain¡¯t they?¡± ¡°Aye, but, well?... Let¡¯s say I woke up with a scroll, and when I read it, the skill was in my head, already learned. Yeah, and the scroll is in my head too, it has all these skills and stuff on it, even details aboot me I don¡¯t ken myself. But now, cuz the scroll is in my noggin,¡¯ I cannaw read it; it just happens all random like,¡± Dean explained. Doug nodded in understanding. ¡°Magic scrolls, now I getcha. Sounds like a soul bound item t¡¯me. Ya tried meditatin¡¯? Some cult¡¯vators struggle to interact wit¡¯ their bound items unless they vis¡¯lize it, and meditation can help wit¡¯ dat.¡± ¡°I did try meditating, but I¡¯m not sure exactly what I¡¯m doin¡¯? Just sit there with my eyes closed and try not to think, right? And speaking of ¡®soul bound¡¯ items, I think I remember reading something about my knife ¡®awakening¡¯ and ¡®responding to my will¡¯, does that mean anything to you?¡± Dean enquired. The elder¡¯s eyes widened in shock and recognition at Dean¡¯s words, ¡°Hot damn, boy! You¡¯re either the luckiest sum¡¯bitch I ever met, have a shit load of untapped ¡®tential, or both! Firs¡¯ly, sounds like yer knife is soul bound too. Show me, would ya?¡± It was the first time Dean had unsheathed Sheila since the fight with the Thistle-Sage, if he was honest with himself, he was nervous about interacting with the thing after vaguely recalling the system notification telling him it was awakened. Did that mean it was alive? Did he have to feed it? Would it speak to him? What did a knife eat? Blood, other knives? Mary and Bobby, the kids he rescued from the Thistle-Sage said it glowed, was it now a lightsaber? Steeling himself for the results, Dean gingerly pull Sheila from its sheath and laid it down in front of him. It did not glow, nor was it talking in his mind. It did however appear different. Where previously, it was a simple and unadorned bowie knife, Sheila¡¯s blade was a dark, rippled metal, reminding Dean of Damascus steel. But what caught both their eyes more was the handle. It went from a lacquered wood, with a simple metal pommel, to a beautifully twisted ivory handle, with a large iridescent stone affixed to the butt.
Item: Sheila, bonded blade. Quality: Masterwork. UNIQUE, GROWTH ITEM: Lvl 2.
Sheila is awoken and soul-bound to you. This blade embodies the crescent moon. This blade imbues the metal essence. This blade is the child and is paired with another blade. This growth-type item is stunted! It is unable to grow without its paired parent blade.
¡°By the Buddha¡¯s blessed balls.¡± Doug marvelled. ¡°That¡¯s a real fucking knife.¡± 7 - The Price of Freedom ¡°Meditation ain¡¯t just sittin'' cross-legged wit¡¯ yer eyes closed tryin¡¯ to become one wit¡¯ the world,¡± Doug started, ¡°If y¡¯went to a sect, they¡¯d tell ya nonsense ¡®bout the nine stages, and ¡®meditati¡¯n bein¡¯ the first step to Qi refin¡¯ment¡¯, and a buncha other thing about ¡®Dao.¡¯ While I ain¡¯t gonna tell y¡¯ that¡¯s a loada shit, it just ain¡¯t relevant to ya if yer not cultivatin¡¯. Different strokes fer differ¡¯nt folks, I say. You just focus on yer meditation.¡± ¡°Right, so what do I do?¡± Dean asked. " Right now, I just want to be able to access the system¡ªer, read the scroll.¡± ¡°I ain¡¯t you, son, so I don¡¯t know fer certain. But to start, you can try getting comfy and in a state of und¡¯rected hyper-focus. Some cult¡¯vators call that ¡®awareness of th¡¯ inner realm¡¯, but you call it what ya want. Now bein able t¡¯ get t¡¯ that inner realm is easier said than done, I admit, but it¡¯ll sure come with practice. When y¡¯ got it, y¡¯ll be able t¡¯ follow where yer focus goes natu¡¯ally, this¡¯ll show you where yer spirit an¡¯ yer will align. Thas the key to visualisin¡¯ yer inner realm."
It had been a week since Dean had first learned about meditation and cultivation from Doug, and since then, the old man had seemed to find a new lease on life. He drank less (though still a fair amount) and wasn¡¯t as bitter to those around him. Dean had spent much of his time either sparring with Doug, running around the town doing errands, or meditating. He had yet to find the state of ¡®undirected hyper-focus,¡¯ and it was beginning to frustrate him. He had so much to learn and experience in this new world, but this one aspect held him back from much of that. He finally decided he needed a break after running errands for townsfolk all day, he returned to the Depot, and Doug told him to ¡®stop stressin'' ¡®bout it, boy,¡¯ and ¡®go bed yer milf!¡¯ (Dean had taught the old man that term after they spent the evening drinking and telling tales.) While Dean liked Josephine, he really didn¡¯t think it was appropriate and feared the woman might latch onto him in a way he didn¡¯t want (and definitely not the other way around.) So, instead of following the words of his lecherous teacher, he decided some time away from the bustle of town life would do him good. Before he could go anywhere, Dean needed to collect his identification token. It was explained that all residents from recognised settlements within the Empire would need to be provided with a specialised metal token. This token was crafted by a skilled blacksmith and infused with magic by an arcanist or Daoshi, whoever was available. This magic inscribed within the token could show anyone with a monitoring artifact the details of said token¡¯s owner. The token was also linked to a corresponding life tablet that was bestowed to the local magistrate or other governing figure within their registered settlement of residence. The blacksmith in Lonely Hill who was in charge of crafting the token was also an arcanist; this meant Dean would pick his token up directly from the source rather than the municipal office. He was a little disappointed that he didn¡¯t have an excuse to see Josie¡¯s smile, but meeting new people was something he had always enjoyed. Dean arrived at Dandee Gai''s workshop the following day. Even without heightened hearing, he could hear the sound of ringing metal from outside, but he knocked anyway, as it was always important to be polite. Entering the workspace, Dean saw the man hard at work. He was short and very muscular, his massive arms rippling with muscles as he rhythmically hammered away at his project. ¡°¡¯Scuse me!¡± Dean shouted to be heard above the Clang-ting-ting of metal on metal. It was incredibly hot within the room, and though he had only just entered, he had to wipe away sweat from his brow, even from the other side of the room. Stepping closer, he tried again, ¡¯SCUSE ME!¡± this time catching the man¡¯s attention. The smith turned around to reveal an incredibly luscious, golden-blonde beard tied in intricate patterns and woven with adornments. Dean realized he had been mistaken; this was no man. This was a dwarf. A lady dwarf. She was bronze-skinned, and her equally luscious hair was tied back in a simple plait that grew all the way down to her feet, so to avoid stepping on it, she wrapped the plait around her shoulders like a bandolier. Unlike dwarves that Dean recognised, Dandee Gai was not all square and hard angles; her face was heart-shaped, full of freckles, and pretty. While she was short, she was just below 5 feet tall, 4¡¯8¡± at least, and not waist height. She wore an apron over baggy denim overalls and goggles that she removed to address Dean, revealing her emerald-green eyes. ¡°How can I help you?¡± she asked. She sounded Scandinavian to his untrained ears, which somehow appealed more to Dean than the regular Scots accent every dwarf he¡¯d ever heard had. That was his thing, ya bawbag. ¡°Awrite? I¡¯m Dean, I¡¯m here to collect the ID token. Is it ready?¡± he asked, trying to remain cool and calm in front of his first, admittedly attractive dwarf. She nodded, ¡°Oh, Ya, I have it here somewhere. Come over here and hold this for me, would you?¡± Without so much as an inkling of hesitation, he walked briskly over and took hold of the hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. They weighed at least 4kg each, plus the metal held in the tongs added another couple of kilos. ¡°As soon as it stops glowing, just pop that in the bucket, would you? I¡¯ll be back in a moment with your token.¡± ¡°Aye, sure, heh. Bloody hot in here, aye?¡± Dean observed, wiping more sweat from his brow with his forearm. ¡°You get used to it,¡± she replied with a chuckle, leaving through a side door into the adjacent room. He waited patiently for the metallic shape to cool enough before dropping it cautiously into the quenching oil, stepping back in surprise when it caught fire. ¡°Here you go, Dean, your token. Everything should be in order as I have tested it on my apparatus.¡± ¡°Fantastic, cheers! Is it Miss Gai or Miss Dandee?¡± Dean wondered, trying to bide more time in her presence. ¡°Miss Dandee, but it''s fine if you call me Gai,¡± she chortled. "You are amusing, Dean, if na?ve. Cute too¡­¡± Dean flustered at her forwardness and quickly made his escape before he made a bigger fool of himself. ¡°Feel free to pop by again if you can take the heat!¡± She declared as he left her shop. Feeling the red fill his cheeks, he decided he would come back and brave that heat again, eventually. With his token acquired, a new knapsack packed with a bedroll, some rope and canvas, a box of ammo, his canteen, and a sandwich that Zanling insisted he take for lunch, as well as a rifle slung over his shoulder, Sheila on his hip, and a rod loaned from Jeb. Dean set out into the surrounding wilderness.
He walked until the sun reached its apex and found a clearing in the woods near a tributary stream that eventually fed into Lonely Hill Lake. The trees gave him well-needed shade as he strung up his tarp and laid out his bedroll. He spent some time gathering kindling and larger sticks that we would later use to form the start of a fire. Then, he navigated his way to the stream, set up, and cast his rod. He sat with his legs splayed out, leaning on his pack, arms above his head. Unlike before, in the first few days he had arrived in this world, this was not a matter of survival. This was different; this was where he felt most calm. He zoned out, basking in the serenity of just being, keeping the peripherals of his attention on the rod. Somewhere, deep within him, something fell into place. It wasn¡¯t the flick of a switch or a burst of sudden realization but the final piece of a large puzzle sliding into place. With the image complete, he felt satisfaction. He knew this puzzle was a small part of something much larger, but that did not worry him; he was just content with what he had. He resisted the urge to delve deeper or open his eyes, remaining with his hands gently holding the line. Sometime later, he felt the line bob and opened an eye to see if he had caught anything. The line bobbed a second time, and he reeled in. Whatever it was, it was small, no legendary carp, so he released it and recast his line. When he closed his eyes this time, he intentionally directed his attention inward, imparting his desire to know more about himself. Dean sunk deeper into himself, passing brilliant washes of colour, but shortly thereafter, he faced a dense haze of darkness, like roiling storm clouds. He pressed his will against them, but they would not disperse. Instead, he decided he would stay where he was. He could vaguely distinguish a vast network of faint lines interconnected in an alien array across all he could sense within; Dean guessed those were his meridians. Briefly distracted, he brought himself back to the present. He willed the system to show itself to him now. Nothing visibly happened, but he felt the change. There was a presence here now. It was separate from his own but deeply connected to him. It was also far more significant than he, far greater than anything he could comprehend. He willed to understand this presence, and in the next moment, a figure appeared before him. It looked like an off-brand John Cleese. ¡®You¡¯re fuckin¡¯ shittin¡¯ me?¡¯ Dean thought. ¡°No, Sir. This is the form you selected, after all,¡± the butler replied ¡®Like fuck I did!¡¯ ¡°I can change my visage if you will it, Sir.¡± ¡®Naw, it¡¯s awrite, mate,¡¯ Dean admitted. ¡®Wait, do you have a name or something?¡¯ ¡°No, Sir, you may name me as you wish!¡± The Butler answered. It seemed hopeful. ¡®That¡¯s a big responsibility, a name¡¯s an important thing, aye?¡¯ ¡°Yes, Sir!¡± ¡®Francis, or Frank for short.¡¯ Dean said with little to no thought. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. The Butler seemed slightly discouraged but stood tall regardless, ¡°Very well, Sir! I¡¯ll be Frank.¡± Dean let out a laugh as his master plan came to fruition, ¡®Ha! That¡¯s exactly the response I wanted, Frank!¡¯ ¡°Excellent, Sir! I am pleased to see that you have entered the realm of Foundation Establishment. How may I be of service?¡± Frank, still in the form of a butler, enquired. ¡®Wot? I¡¯m not a cultivator, Frank. I just wanted to view the system and speak of¡­ Where is it?¡¯ ¡°Of course, sir! Not a cultivator...¡± Frank replied with a wink. I am also delighted to inform you that I, Sir, am the embodiment of your system.¡± ¡®Right, right, guess that makes sense. Can you show me the screens that I¡¯ve seen before? I want to see my skills and stuff.¡¯ ¡°Very well, Sir,¡± Frank began before a familiar screen appeared before Dean. ¡°Now that you have entered your inner realm, you can access your interface anytime and without needing to enter a meditative state. No need for catchphrases, just will it, Sir!¡±
Stats* ©¦ [Skills] ©¦Inventory ©¦ Crafting ©¦Cultivation ©¦ Magic©¦ Transcendence ©¦Notes¡­
System interface ¨C Level (N/A)¡­ Cultivation ¨C Level (Foundation Establishment: Early stage)¡­ Analytics ¨C Level 4 (33%)... Insight ¨C Level 2 (91%)... Combat prowess ¨C Level 3 (39%)¡­ Flow ¨C Level 2 (67%)... Firearms ¨C Level 2 (28%)¡­ Pistols ¨C Level 1 (86%)¡­ Quick-fire ¨C Level 1 (50%)... Rifles ¨C Level 0 (98%)... Mighty Strike ¨C Level 1 (41%)... Survival ¨C Level 3 (33%)¡­ Botany ¨C Level 1 (46%)¡­ Foraging ¨C Level 1 (10%)¡­ Stealth ¨C Level 1 (20%)¡­ Hunting ¨C Level 2 (6%)... Traps ¨C Level 1 (14%)¡­ Fishing ¨C Level 0 (98%)¡­ Cooking ¨C Level 1 (86%)¡­ Fortitude ¨C Level 3 (10%)¡­ Poison resistance ¨C Level 1 (18%)¡­ Indomitable will ¨C Level 3 (33%)¡­ Charm ¨C Level 1 (18%)¡­ Camaraderie ¨C Level 1 (3%)¡­ Silver Tongue ¨C Level 0 (83%)¡­ Sheila [Bonded] ¨C Level 2 (STUNTED!)¡­ Metal strikes Wood ¨C Level (N/A)...
*SYSTEM NOTE: Apply will to a skill for further detail!
*SYSTEM NOTE: Skill Hybridization is currently locked!
*SYSTEM NOTE: Unique Skill Creation is available!
*SYSTEM NOTE: Additional skills are available!
*SYSTEM NOTE: The system will attempt to incorporate Additional skills according to the ruleset!
*SYSTEM NOTE: ERROR! Additional skills are unknown or incompatible! [ID: A3X7Z9. Administration oversight required]
Dean noticed his ¡®Stats¡¯ Tab was flashing, so he mentally willed to view it.
[Stats] ©¦ Skills ©¦Inventory ©¦ Crafting ©¦ Cultivation ©¦ Magic©¦ Transcendence ©¦Notes¡­
User: Dean Fairbairn Essence: UNKNOWN Level: 2*
Unallocated Stat Points (SP): 3*
BALANCE: 2/20* FACE: 4/20* INSIGHT: 3/20* MARTIAL: 2/20* RESILIENCE: 5/20*
*SYSTEM NOTE: each SP provides a 5% bonus to the affiliated attribute and skills!
He allocated 1 SP each to ¡®BALANCE¡¯, ¡®FACE¡¯, and ¡®INSIGHT¡¯ before examining the rest of the tabs.
Stats ©¦ Skills ©¦[Inventory] ©¦ Crafting ©¦ Cultivation ©¦ Magic©¦ Transcendence ©¦Notes¡­
LOCKED! THE SYSTEM CAN NOT DETERMINE A VALID STORAGE TREASURE! PLEASE BOND WITH A VALID STORAGE TREASURE TO ACCESS INVENTORY!
Stats ©¦ Skills ©¦Inventory ©¦ [Crafting] ©¦ Cultivation ©¦ Magic©¦ Transcendence ©¦Notes¡­
LOCKED! YOU DO NOT HAVE ACCESS TO A VALID CRAFTING STATION! YOU DO NOT HAVE ANY COMPATIBLE CRAFTING SKILLS!
Stats ©¦ Skills ©¦Inventory ©¦ Crafting ©¦ [Cultivation] ©¦ Magic©¦ Transcendence ©¦Notes¡­
STAGE: Foundation Establishment ¨C Early Stage: 0.8% Known breathing techniques: (N/A) Known spiritual techniques: [Flow] No deviation was detected! Minor impurities detected! (Do you wish to undergo a cleanse? Y/[N]) 1 of the 8 gates is open! Your essence is unknown! Your Dantian is bolstered by the eight-point heavenly herb! (+0.8 Cultivation speed)
Stats ©¦ Skills ©¦Inventory ©¦ Crafting ©¦ Cultivation ©¦ [Magic]©¦ Transcendence ©¦Notes¡­
LOCKED! YOU DO NOT KNOW ANY MAGIC! YOU DO NOT KNOW ANY RELEVANT SKILLS!
Stats ©¦ Skills ©¦Inventory ©¦ Crafting ©¦ Cultivation ©¦ Magic©¦ [Transcendence] ©¦Notes¡­
LOCKED! YOU HAVE NOT REACHED TRANSCENDENCE!
Stats ©¦ Skills ©¦Inventory ©¦ Crafting ©¦ Cultivation ©¦ Magic©¦ Transcendence ©¦[Notes¡­]
[Notes¡­] Log¡­ Affiliations¡­ ERROR! ERROR!
¡­
Stats ©¦ Skills ©¦Inventory ©¦ Crafting ©¦ Cultivation ©¦ Magic©¦ Transcendence ©¦[Notes¡­]
Notes¡­ [Log¡­] Affiliations¡­ ERROR! ERROR!
¡­. Experience gained: Combat Prowess. Combat Prowess has gone from level 3 ¨C level 3. (The subskill ¡®Fishing¡¯ has been created from Hunting). Experience gained: Fishing. Fishing has gone from level 0 ¨C level 0. ¡­ (See full log? Y/[N])
Stats ©¦ Skills ©¦Inventory ©¦ Crafting ©¦ Cultivation ©¦ Magic©¦ Transcendence ©¦[Notes¡­]
Notes¡­ Log¡­ [Affiliations¡­] ERROR! ERROR!
Lonely Hill Town: Resident ©¦ Fame: Stranger (56%)
The Messenger¡¯s Guild ©¦ Fame: Unknown (71%)
This was a whole lot of information to take in. Dean knew it would be like this, but seeing every aspect of himself quantified made his head spin. He was about to ask Frank for advice when he felt a great big tug on his line, sending him back to the outer world.