《God of Trash [Cultivation LitRPG] From Trash-Tier to the Ultimate Trash!》


 1. Trash God

    Hunched over his deck, in the dark of his room, a pale man who hadn¡¯t seen the sun in too many days typed furiously. No one understood the beauty of Kasser, the beautiful cat-girl in the latest installation of Absolute Apex. Sure, she was trash, a character thrown out solely to attract the attention of horny men who had no other reason to exist in the series, and the series had become trash, but that was exactly what no one understood: the beauty of trash. The exquisite perfection in a series so trashy it had completely fallen apart at the seams. It wasn¡¯t good. He wouldn¡¯t dare accuse it of such a thing. But it was bad, tasteless and trashy in a way that tugged at the heartstrings and made him laugh at the same time. In other words, peak entertainment.


    He hit enter and sat back, crossing his arms, his glasses reflecting the screen¡¯s light. With a final stroke, he finished his manifesto on Kasser¡¯s beauty, then added one more message:


    god_of_trash: if you don¡¯t think Kasser is perfect, you can leave right now.


    anyone321: he¡¯s gone. there¡¯s no saving him.


    peaker-93: conversation¡¯s over, dude. no one likes kasser. she¡¯s trash.


    god_of_trash: that¡¯s the whole point. trash is the best.


    2face2u: hey, anyone remember when AA was good?


    The conversation moved on. He sighed, shaking his head. The unenlightened would never understand. Absolute Apex had never been good. At best, it had peaked at average. It was only now that it truly transcended, as the author lost all the fucks they¡¯d had to give and plunged into insanity. How else would they have gotten that scene where the Demon King forced a waiter to tap dance for fifteen hours? How else would they have received the gift of the main character, never a powerhouse but rather the weak, wishy-washy sort, literally turning into a fly on the wall for fifteen chapters so the characters everyone cared about could have a turn in the spotlight? If the series hadn¡¯t become trash, it would have been nothing.


    A private message appeared in the corner of his vision. With no hesitation, he clicked it. Did someone still want to argue? Please! He welcomed the challenge.


    absolutexistance: you love trash?


    He snorted. Obviously this absolutexistance fellow hadn¡¯t been on the forum for long if he had to ask that.


    god_of_trash: duh


    absolutexistance: I have a problem with trash. can you help me?


    Confused, he tilted his head. A problem with trash? What, like in his house? That was his business. He wasn¡¯t talking about cleaning some guy¡¯s room, he was talking about literary trash.


    A second later, he chuckled under his breath. Why was he thinking of physical trash? Obviously, given the context, absolutexistance was talking about trash like Absolute Apex. So without hesitation, he replied:


    god_of_trash: you¡¯ve come to the right man. lay it on me. what can i do to help you appreciate trash?


    The typing-message animation played, and played, and played. He sat back, knitting his fingers together to wait. At last, the response came back:


    absolutexistance: it¡¯s best if I just show you


    He lifted his hands to type, show me? how? but his fingers never found the keyboard. Bright light poured down on him, blindingly bright. He lifted his hands to block the light¡ªand stared. Squinted. Turned them over, then back again. They were small. Too small. And the skin was tan, and soft, and supple, not pale and cracked from the dry cold. He peered against the bright light, only to find it emanated from one overwhelming round source in a pale blue canvas, instead of a big flat rectangle like he was used to. His arms were short, but something soft brushed against his cheek, and he touched it to find a long, well-kept, not at all greasy ponytail dangling behind his head.


    His eyes widened. He sat up, only to find himself in ragged clothes, sitting on the edge of a massive field of rubbish. But not plastic rubbish. No broken cellphones and food wrappers filled his vision. Instead, he faced a mass of rotting foodstuffs, broken pottery, tattered clothes and shattered wood furniture. Beyond it, a medieval village clung to the side of a mountain, where a delicate, white city glistened at its top, impossibly constructed. In fact, he could almost swear some of the buildings were floating.


    He took a deep breath. Clean, fresh air flowed into his lungs, cleaner than he¡¯d ever known. He had a child¡¯s body, about ten, eleven years old, if he had to guess, and faced a vista totally unknown to him. That could only mean one thing. ¡°Holy shit. I¡¯m in another world, aren¡¯t I?¡±


    But why? He delved his memories, but there was only one thing he could come up with. That strange conversation with absolutexistance in the chat room, immediately before he¡¯d arrived. Pinching his chin, he frowned. It made no sense, but was absolutexistance maybe a god of this world? One who had somehow metaphysically connected to the internet, chosen the random forum he frequented, then somehow misunderstood him as an actual god god due to his username ¡®god_of_trash?¡¯


    It was so impossible that it boggled the mind, but he couldn¡¯t come up with anything else. He was undeniably in another world, in a brand-new body. No matter how he wracked his brain, he couldn¡¯t come up with another reason for him to have jumped worlds. He hadn¡¯t been hit by a truck, and if he¡¯d had a heart attack or aneurism, it had come and gone so fast he hadn¡¯t felt a thing. It was possible he was in a coma, and this was all some extended dream, but well, in that case, he might as well enjoy it.


    It was too late now. However he¡¯d been transported to another world, it had happened. Here he was, in a place that was very much not in front of his computer, in his sad little apartment, up too late chatting on the internet about anime he didn¡¯t even like very much, even if Kasser was the absolute pinnacle of catgirl design.


    He stood, dusting off his ragged clothes. He wore patched, threadbare brown trousers and a simple sort of robe-slash-tunic, tied at the side. The robe might have been white, once, but sweat and dirt had turned it the same shade of brown as the trousers. His head ached, and when he lifted a hand to it, it came away sticky with dark-red blood. He looked back. A short cliff loomed over him, and under his back had been an expanse of hard, gray stone. A blood splatter marked where his head had been, moments ago.


    He pursed his lips, understanding. This kid had been dead. The god, or whatever had brought him here, had seen fit to toss him into this kid¡¯s dead body, and he¡¯d brought the kid back somehow. He didn¡¯t understand it, but he didn¡¯t understand anything about what was just happening. God shit, probably.


    As it was, the fierce ache in his head assured him this was no dream. Casting left and right, he looked around for a way back up the cliff. The medieval town was before him, but it was up a somewhat-considerable lip. In fact, all the trash around him had been thrown into the depression that he also found himself in. If he had to guess, he¡¯d spawned in the town¡¯s trash pit.


    Looking around, he chuckled under his breath. He really was the god of trash, wasn¡¯t he? Born in the trash, stuck in the pit¡­


    ¡°Learned your lesson now, Rhys?¡± a child¡¯s voice asked petulantly from atop the cliff.


    He looked around. Seeing no one else in the trash pit, he pointed at himself. ¡°Me?¡±


    Two boys, about the same age as his body, peered over the edge of the cliff. One was fat, and the other was thin. A third boy¡¯s face joined them a few moments later, burly in comparison to the first two.


    The fat one scoffed, and the same voice sounded again. ¡°Hit your head so hard you forgot your name? Yes, you. No one else here named Rhys, is there?¡±


    He considered for a second. Amusingly, although he could remember his username clearly, and most of his past life, his name slipped his mind. It felt like that should bother him, but for some reason, it didn¡¯t. Maybe it was because he¡¯d been reborn. His name was attached to his old self, so shedding it felt appropriate in a new world and a new body. He nodded. Rhys was a good enough name. ¡°I suppose not.¡±


    The skinny one cleared his throat. ¡°So? Learned your lesson?¡±


    ¡°No,¡± Rhys replied earnestly. How could he, when he didn¡¯t know what lesson he was supposed to be learning?


    The fat one scoffed. ¡°As if he could. Duller than a brick and smellier than a pig, that¡¯s Rhys.¡±


    The burly one looked on, a disapproving frown on his face. He crossed his arms and said nothing.


    Rhys turned away from the boys, taking in the pit once more as he tuned out their voices. It wasn¡¯t as if he cared what they said about him. He wasn¡¯t actually an eleven-year-old, and their weak attempts at bullying didn¡¯t so much as annoy him, let alone actually sting. Better to focus his energy on escaping the pit.


    These boys had probably killed his body. Not intentionally, he didn¡¯t think, but neither had they acted in a way that preserved human life and dignity. Putting someone in a position where their actions could accidentally kill them was still manslaughter. He would have to punish them somehow, but he didn¡¯t know how yet. Still, he put it on the backburner for later, looking up for just a moment to commit their faces to memory before taking on the pit once more.


    There was no real break in the pit¡¯s walls. They were almost unnaturally smooth, as if they¡¯d been dug by human hands, but not even modern tools could have left such a perfectly round, smooth-walled bore. It was as if a hammer and struck down once from heaven and left the impression of its strike in the soft earth. Either that, or it was a sinkhole, but he preferred the fantasy answer. He was in a new world, after all. He was allowed to dream.


    He twisted his lips. The walls were six feet tall. If he were an adult, he could probably reach up and scramble over the lip. As it was, he barely cleared five feet, and although he could barely reach the edge, he didn¡¯t fancy his chances clambering over it. His arms and legs were stick-thin, with barely any fat or muscle on them. If he had to guess, his body came from a poor family, if he still had a family at all. Pulling himself up over the edge of the pit was a pipe dream.


    He turned, taking in all the trash. He was god of the trash, wasn¡¯t he? Might as well get started. Plenty of raw materials, right here. And he¡¯d watched enough DIY videos to get the gist of basic construction.


    Leaving the boys behind, he set off into the pit, picking over the trash. There was a chair with two legs, and a shattered table with a single intact leg. A few rusty nails stuck through a scrap of wood nearby, and those joined the pile. He dragged all of it through the trash, away from the kids and toward the town.


    ¡°Hey! Get back here!¡± the fat kid shouted.


    ¡°Yeah! Get back!¡± the skinny one repeated.


    The burly one jumped up and ran along the outside, chasing after Rhys.


    Out in the middle of the pit, Rhys stopped. It was a large pit, larger than he¡¯d expect for a town of the size he¡¯d seen on its edge, probably about twenty feet in diameter. Some of the materials in it were far finer than he¡¯d expect, too, richly carved furniture broken into tiny pieces and sumptuous robes stained with red-brown fluids and torn asunder. A small, glittering vial caught his eye. He paused, kneeling to pick it up, and gave it a sniff.


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    A strong, astringent scent wafted up, strictly medicinal. Blue liquid clung to the walls of the vial, just a few small drops. It looked like a potion. Smelled like one. Could it be? This really was a fantasy world, with gods and the like, and this really was a healing potion?


    Only one way to find out. Rhys swirled the vial, collecting the drips into one larger drop, then fished it out with a fingertip and licked it.


    The pain in the back of his head instantly abated. Warmth flowed over the back of his head, and when he tried touching it again, his hand found crusted blood, sticky hair, and smooth, unblemished skin.


    His eyes widened. He looked at the vial in his hand, then turned back to the trash. His construction project sat to the side, forgotten, as he dug desperately through the layers of refuse. This, what he held in his hand, was gold. Pure gold! Potions were always worth exorbitant sums in fantasy worlds¡ªat least compared to the money the average mortal could make. If he found enough bottles, who knew? He could even combine all the drips of potion into one whole potion and sell it. Given his destitute state, he¡¯d need that kind of desperate action to make it as an adventurer¡ªobviously his goal. He didn¡¯t even need to say it. He¡¯d been reincarnated in another world, so naturally, he had to become an adventurer. But adventuring took money, money he didn¡¯t have. Money that was sitting right here, in the trash heap, for anyone to come along and grab. Even the vials had to be worth something, crafted as they were out of fine crystal-cut glass.


    Wonder why the original Rhys didn¡¯t do this? Then again, Rhys was a kid, scared of silly things. And people tended to look down on picking through the trash. What a waste, honestly, when there was so much good stuff in the trash.


    Maybe he was wrong, and no one wanted the vials. Maybe they really were nothing but trash. But in that case, all he¡¯d done was waste some time. He lost nothing, and he potentially gained much. That was the kind of gamble he was willing to take.


    ¡°Tam, I think Rhys has finally lost it. He¡¯s digging through the trash like a rabid dog,¡± the skinny one commented.


    The burly one returned to the other two¡¯s side, jogging back without ever breaking a sweat.


    The fat boy¡ªTam¡ªlooked up. He chuckled. ¡°We already knew he was a dog. He¡¯s only showing his true nature. Bast, watch over him while Den and I check in with the matron. If we don¡¯t show our faces soon, she¡¯ll catch on that something¡¯s off.¡±


    ¡°Since when have I been your servant? It was your idea to push him in, anyways. I told you not to. I¡¯m not sticking around to take the fall while you go make an alibi,¡± the burly one, Bast, returned. With that, he walked away.


    Rhys raised his brows. Interesting. Bast was smarter than he looked. And not the ringleader. That¡¯d be Tam, the fat one, which made skinny Den¡­ his toady? He watched the two remaining boys over his shoulder. The skinny one, Den, followed at Tam¡¯s heel, quietly nodding along with the other boy¡¯s suggestions. Now he fretted, looking between the retreating Bast and Tam, who scowled at the burly boy¡¯s back.


    ¡°What do we do?¡± Den asked nervously.


    Tam scoffed. ¡°We aren¡¯t going to stick around to get caught, either. Let¡¯s go check in. If Rhys doesn¡¯t show up, no one will bat an eye. That empty-headed day dreamer never shows up for lunch, anyways.¡±


    Upon learning that he would be left alone, Rhys turned all his attention back to the trash. The spot he dug in was a hotspot of the little vials. It seemed that someone had chugged a bunch of them all at once, then dumped them away all at once. Many of the vials had droplets in them, which he collected into one of the fuller bottles, one that had a whole dreg in it. He gathered the fully emptied vials into a pouch he¡¯d made out of the ragged fabric strewn around the trash heap. Bit by bit, the vial slowly filled. One drop at a time, so little it was impossible to see it grow, and yet, it still filled. He ran out of vials in his original potion well and moved on, searching out more vials. They were easy to find, glittering in the sunlight.


    Abruptly, he stopped, holding up a vial to the light. Orange liquid sloshed in the half-full vial. His brows furrowed. That wasn¡¯t a healing potion. Healing potions were blue. His eyes narrowed. If it wasn¡¯t a healing potion, what was it? Mana? Some kind of strength or speed boost, maybe?


    Only one way to find out.


    Very carefully, he tipped out a tiny droplet onto his skin. When his skin didn¡¯t react, he sniffed it, then delicately licked it and held it in his mouth, on his tongue. The orange liquid had a strange scent¡ªmedicinal, but also spicy and mysterious, somewhere between cough medicine and a spice cake. Its flavor was somewhat similar to licking a dry spice mix, as if he¡¯d snuck a taste of dry gingerbread cookie mix before adding the liquid. Very strange, to say the least. It had a powerful clearing effect, too, as if he¡¯d bitten into a pepper, and his nose began to run. He swallowed. The droplet rolled into his stomach, tracing warmth all the way down, and then a message appeared before his eyes.


    Mana awakened!


    Less is More 0 > 1


    Rhys¡¯ eyes widened. It was a mana potion! And not only that, but he seemed to have unlocked something by using it. He poked the floating blue message bubble, and it went away, replaced with a larger one.


    Rhys Foundling | 12 | Mana Gathering (Tier 0)


    Title: Trash-born


    Skills:


    Hunger Resist 5


    Survivalist 1


    Pain Resist 1


    Scavenging 2


    Less is More 1


    He pinched his chin. After a bit of investigating, most of the skills did about what he¡¯d expect. Hunger and Pain Resist let him overcome those two common troubles, while Survivalist helped him survive the elements and Scavenging made it easier to find valuable items in trash¡ªit was a passive skill that functioned by giving a boost to the same kind of instincts an experienced thrifter might have, when paging through junk in a thrift shop. Less is More was the most mysterious skill, but also the most obvious: when he used items, they became more effective at smaller quantities. In other words, he could gain more mana from a drop of the mana potion than most people would, and more healing from a drop of a health potion.


    His eyes drifted to the top, to his name and title. Foundling wasn¡¯t a family name. He¡¯d spent long enough delving free encyclopedias to know that in medieval eras, a name like that would be given to orphans. He¡¯d been found somewhere, not born into a loving family. It tracked with his experiences so far, so he didn¡¯t dwell long on it. He was twelve, too, and not eleven; never would have guessed, from how small he was, without even a hint of growth. Mana Gathering, Tier 0¡­ was that his strength level right now?


    Rhys smirked to himself. In other words, trash-tier. He was in his element. Literally and figuratively.


    Finally, he glanced at his title. Trash-born. It was rather mysterious, and one he didn¡¯t understand, unless it literally meant he¡¯d been born in the trash. Given that he¡¯d been reborn in the trash, he didn¡¯t discount it as a possibility. It suited him, however, so he didn¡¯t complain.


    I really am the god of trash, huh. Rhys looked around him. Although he¡¯d been talking about literary trash when he¡¯d spoken to that mysterious absolutexistance, he didn¡¯t really mind real trash, either. When he¡¯d been a child, he¡¯d enjoyed building things out of discarded cardboard and cans. Even as an adult, he would repurpose materials others would throw out for crafts. Never mind that he used them building cheap armor for his cosplay, the point was¡ªhe was a resourceful kind of guy, who had always seen value in every kind of trash, material or literary.


    Although others might use the word trash to dismiss a work, to him, it was only the beginning of the discussion. Yes, it was trash, but what kind of trash? And just because it was trash, didn¡¯t mean it lacked value, or beautiful moments, or great characters. Just because the overwhelming sentiment of public opinion stood against something, didn¡¯t mean Rhys would dismiss it too. No¡ªhe refused to. If someone called something trash, to him, that was an invitation to find the diamond in the rough. Sure, sometimes there was a lot of rough. Sometimes there was even nothing but rough. But if no one was willing to polish up the rough and go hunting for the diamonds, they¡¯d never have any diamonds in the whole world.


    That metaphor kind of got away from me, but anyways. The point is, I¡¯m not going to overlook the trash just because the townsfolk think it¡¯s beneath them. He¡¯d already advanced by leaps and bounds just by crawling in the trash. He¡¯d unlocked a system, and even gained a skill! And in his hands were two half-empty, no, half-full potions, one of health, the other of mana, that could either help him advance further or that he could sell for money that he could then use to grow stronger.


    There was no doubt in his mind that he needed to get strong. This wasn¡¯t the kind of society where one could live a good life as a weakling. Right from the moment he¡¯d entered it, spawned into the poor dead body of weak Rhys who had been killed for no other reason than because the other boys could overpower him, he¡¯d been face to face with this truth. No, the other boys hadn¡¯t meant to kill him, but that only made it more frightening. He was in a world where the weak would be accidentally killed by the strong, trampled on with all the more care as though they were insects underfoot. He might love trash, but he didn¡¯t want to be a bug, stuck beneath everyone forever. Trash was going to propel him upward, to the top of society, and who knew? Maybe even all the way to becoming a true god of trash, in more than username only.


    Rhys kept going, all thoughts of escaping the pile totally forgotten. His potions slowly filled, though the health potion made far more progress than the mana potion. Apparently mana potions were more valuable, which only made him treasure the vial of orange liquid more. Between selling it for coin and using it to advance, his heart slowly drifted toward using it to advance. The health potion he could hold in reserve to sell or use, depending on the situation, but if the mana potion was so valuable that there were only a few in the trash? He couldn¡¯t overlook this kind of heavenly luck and toss all his advantages away.


    On top of potions, he also came across strange wrinkled papers with powders clinging to their creases. He tasted a few of them, only to be beset by a dozen strange effects, everything from strength increases to a sudden bout of drowsiness. The papers, therefore, he collected separately, carefully tucking each one away on its own for later observation. Whatever pills or powders they had contained, there was clearly a far greater variety of those than the potions, so he couldn¡¯t carelessly combine them based on color alone.


    As the sun set, he gazed upon his gatherings with the warm joy he usually reserved for his figure collection. Dozens of bottles glittered back at him from the pouch, alongside a stack of wrinkled paper. And his pride and joy, front and center: one full health potion, a second quarter-full one, and a three-quarters full mana potion.


    Since his first awakening, he¡¯d not dared to try the mana potion further. There was still a sensation of great heat in his stomach, as though he were on the verge of being overwhelmed by the little mana he had. Besides, the potion was such a valuable and rare resource that he didn¡¯t want to carelessly drink too much in one day and overlap the effects. Better to take a drop a day, and experience the full effect of one drop before he went on to try a second drop. Plus, he got the feeling that he could level up Less is More by, well, experiencing that less was more, rather than taking on the whole potion at once.


    He tucked the vials with potion in them deep in his robes, hiding each individually. As someone who¡¯d formerly been bullied, he knew the kind of depths kids would go to in order to harm one another. If the three bullies knew he had something valuable, they¡¯d take it from him even if they didn¡¯t understand its value themselves. And when it came to potions, he was pretty sure they¡¯d recognize the value immediately.


    It almost made him want to drink the whole mana potion, but he held back. Leveling his skill was more important¡ªand that heat in his stomach. It really was on the verge of overwhelming. He¡¯d only taken a drop of the potion, but between the skill and being totally untrained, it was too much for him. He didn¡¯t want to die in the trash from mana overdose, or whatever other hazards mana held in this world. Until he knew more about how mana worked, he intended to listen closely to his body and stop when it experienced the least discomfort. Once he knew more, he could start pressing the boundaries of how much mana he could absorb. Start expanding his horizons, as it were.


    He was a bit concerned that he ended up full of mana from such a tiny drop, but that was a concern for later. Then again, if he thought about it, he wouldn¡¯t be the god of trash if he didn¡¯t start with trash-tier stats. The thrill was in overcoming the trash to shine himself into a diamond anyways, not in starting with overwhelming power.


    ¡­And maybe that was him coping just a little bit, but who was to say? Who was to say.


    In any case, he wasn¡¯t afraid of hard work. As long as it meant he¡¯d end up with powerful magic this time around, he was happy to work hard. Back when hard work just meant he weighed a little less, it wasn¡¯t particularly appealing. But now¡­ hell, now hard work meant he could fly and shoot fireballs from his hands, or something. That was what he was talking about.


    As he contemplated his magical future, he pried the nails out of the piece of wood, then used a nice thick piece of wood to hammer them through the chair¡¯s seat and into the table leg. The resulting three-legged chair wasn¡¯t the sturdiest, or steadiest, thing ever built, but it held, and when he tested it, it held his twelve-year-old weight. Being twelve was less of an asset when it came to hauling the awkwardly-shaped construct back across the pit toward the town-side to climb out, but he managed it. One step at a time, he dragged it toward the edge. The pouch clanked on his hip, and that heat glowed in his stomach.


    Abruptly, he paused. Why was he doing this the hard, non-magical way, when he had magic literally burning a hole in him? He reached out to the mana and called it forth.


    The mana leaped out and raced through him, pouring through his body. His strength instantly surged, but so did the heat. A fever blush spread over his cheeks. Rhys huffed and breathed slowly, pushing through it. His body rebelled against mana, and he rebelled against his body.


    He was sure of it now: he was trash. Inexcusably, unrelentingly, trash. But the thing about trash, the thing that he really loved about it, was that there was always something that shone in the very bottom of the trash. One joke he could enjoy, even if the rest of the entire series was nothing but a convoluted excuse to display fanservice. There had to be something about this new body of his that shone. Some aspect that it succeeded at. He just had to find it, somewhere under all the trash.


    Fever raged, beating against his forehead, but he pressed on. For all that it hurt, the fever didn¡¯t constrain his newfound, mana-powered strength. The chair¡¯s shape was still awkward enough that his short arms couldn¡¯t heft it, but he dragged it with ease and had no trouble lifting it for short times when it snagged on something else in the trash. The encroaching night made it hard to see too much of the details of the trash around him, but he mentally tagged any promising regions as places to come back to later.


    And then he froze. Slowly, he turned.


    Metal glittered in the darkness. Sharp, pointy metal.


    Rhys¡¯ eyes shone. A dark chuckle sounded from his throat as his revenge against the bullies took shape. He knelt and snatched it up, sliding it into his robes with the potions. It would be a good time tonight. A good time for everyone, but mostly Rhys.

 2. Good Time Had By All

    Rhys propped the chair up on the garbage at the edge of the pit and clambered up it. It was a short walk from the pit to the town, and dark when he got there. The town had a wall, and the gates were halfway closed, but a woman was arguing with the gate guards.


    She gestured at the darkness. ¡°¡ªstill out there! He¡¯s just a child. We can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°Ma¡¯am, we have to close the gates. We can¡¯t leave ¡®em open because one of your orphans vanished. He probably just ran off to play camp, or something. There¡¯s monsters out there, we can¡¯t leave the gates open for one kid.¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s monsters outside¡ªdo you hear yourself? You¡¯re just going to lock him¡ª¡±


    Rhys cleared his throat.


    The woman turned. She was middle-aged, with silver threading her dark brown hair, and dressed in old, modest clothes. At the sight of Rhys, her eyes lit up. ¡°Oh, thank goodness. There you are! Rhys, come here, come on in.¡±


    He jogged over, cancelling the mana circulating through his body as he did so. He¡¯d left it active all the way from the trash pit, pushing his limits, but he didn¡¯t want anyone to notice anything suspicious yet. He needed to understand more about this world before he let anyone know he¡¯d done something like activate his system or acquire mana. It could be no big deal, or it could be the kind of world-shattering talent indication that would lead to him getting kidnapped by some mad cult of mages. He just didn¡¯t know. He suspected it was ¡®no big deal¡¯ rather than a world-shattering talent, given how little mana potion it took to top him up, but better safe than sorry.


    The second he was within grabbing range, the woman¡¯s arm snaked out and caught his upper arm in a painful grasp. She yanked his closer and hissed in his ear, ¡°You stay out after dark again and I¡¯ll see to it you get a whooping like you¡¯ve never felt before, do you hear me, child?¡±


    Rhys raised his brows. What an about-face. So she wasn¡¯t as kind as she looked, just a woman getting her job done, who was angry to be inconvenienced by a trouble-maker like him. He got it¡ªhe also didn¡¯t like kids¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t real happy about being treated like shit, either.


    Seeing his unperturbed expression, the woman scowled deeper. She shook him, hard. ¡°You hear me, boy?¡±


    ¡°Yes, ma¡¯am,¡± Rhys said. She kept scowling at him disbelievingly. After a moment, he put in the effort to give her a terrified expression.


    ¡°Good. And wipe that stupid look off your face,¡± she snarled, dragging him away.


    Rhys stared at her back. Did she want him to look scared, or not? He rolled his eyes at the back of her head. No wonder he¡¯d woken up dead in the pit. With someone like this looking after him, of course the other kids had been able to bully him to death. She probably spent as little time around the children as possible.


    Over her shoulder, she smiled sweetly at the guards and called, louder, ¡°Thank you so much! I appreciate your help!¡±


    ¡°Yeah, whatever.¡± The gate rattled as it shut.


    Rhys shrugged. At least he hadn¡¯t been locked out with the monsters. And he had all his loot still, even the decoys.


    As if she¡¯d sensed his thoughts, the woman turned back. ¡°What is in that horrid sack of yours? I don¡¯t remember giving you that.¡±


    ¡°Mhm. I made it. It¡¯s full of trash,¡± Rhys replied proudly.


    Her nose wrinkled. ¡°Trash? Throw it away!¡±


    Rhys hugged the sack to his chest, as if he¡¯d protect it to the death. In truth, the empty jars were a decoy. Compared to the value of the things hidden in his robes, they were nothing. Of course, he¡¯d be happy to get away with all of it, but well, better to lose a little than everything. If she tried to take them, he¡¯d kick up a fuss until she wore out, but he wouldn¡¯t mind if he lost them. A worthy price to pay, to keep what he truly had looted.


    To his surprise, she snorted and turned away.


    He relaxed a hair, but internally, grew more tense. She hadn¡¯t even tried to enforce her will. A woman like her, no way would she give up so easily¡­ unless she knew something was for-certain going to take everything from him, without her having to make an effort. He double-checked all his valuable loot and prepared himself to run. The spark of mana in his stomach was almost gone, but he could probably get one last spurt of speed out of it if he really needed it.


    For now, he still needed to go to the orphanage to rest his head and receive food. But if he was treated the way he was beginning to suspect he was treated, then he wouldn¡¯t be there for long. His body was young, but his mind was old. He was used to ten-hour shifts and working until he passed out. He could go find a job, if he needed to. Pay his own rent.


    Of course, he¡¯d rather not. Not paying rent and taxes was the biggest advantage to being a child. But if he had no choice, he¡¯d do it.


    The matron led the way through the cobbled streets and past Victorian-like houses, overhanging their understories and crowding over the street like trees searching for the sun, all the way to the back of the village, where a boxy stone building stood. A large fenced yard encased this boxy construction. At this late hour, no one stood in the yard, but the worn turf and a toy or two hidden away in the longer grass spoke to the building being occupied by many children.


    Rhys looked around, taking a moment to get the lay of the land. The fence was stone and metal rods, pointed at the tips. It would be hard to climb, but not impossible. There was enough space between the wall and the house to play tag or evade a pursuer, but not forever, and little to hide behind. He twisted his lips. It would be tough, but he could make it work.


    A loud clang startled him, and he whirled, but it was only the matron shutting the gate. Chains rattled as she pulled them through the gate¡¯s bars and locked them shut. ¡°Hopefully no more of you brats sneak out tonight. I¡¯ve had enough goose chases for the week.¡±


    ¡°I didn¡¯t sneak out. I was almost killed by¡ª¡±


    ¡°Hurry inside, or you won¡¯t get dinner,¡± she interrupted him.


    Rhys shut his mouth. It was worth a try, but as expected, he couldn¡¯t get through to her. Rather than risk his loot by pushing things, he scurried into the boxy building.


    Its construction was as simple within as it was without. A central hallway, with rooms to the left and right. A staircase dead ahead of the front door led to the second floor, which was laid out much the same. Candle light and conversation came from the rear of the house. Even from here, he could see a large room laid out with long tables, each one occupied by children. Rhys approached it, adjusting his grip on his empty potion vial sack. If there was a real challenge to his ownership of the satchel, it¡¯d come when he stepped inside.


    So, with a deep breath, and clutching tightly to the spark of mana in his core, he did just that.


    He almost expected the room to fall silent, but naturally, nothing so dramatic came to pass. Instead, the kids went right on eating. Most of the tables were occupied, and none of the kids called out to him. For a moment, he was back in high school, terrified he might sit with the wrong clique and commit social suicide.


    In the next, he scoffed. Who cared what a bunch of brats thought?


    Rhys retrieved a bowl of thin soup and a piece of rough bread from the matron at the far end of the tables, then sat down at the nearest empty seat. The children near him scowled and withdrew, but he ignored them. With the practiced hand of a born loser, he gulped down soup and bread in a few short moments.


    He¡¯d barely finished when a shadow fell over him. A meaty hand landed on his shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re not hungry, are you, Rhys?¡±


    Rhys turned, exposing an empty bowl. He looked up at Tam and shook his head. ¡°Not anymore.¡±


    Tam scowled. ¡°You ate your bread?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s my bread,¡± Rhys returned.


    ¡°Didn¡¯t we agree that you aren¡¯t that hungry, so you should give me your bread?¡± Tam asked threateningly.


    ¡°Did we? I don¡¯t recall,¡± Rhys said lightly. The bullying extended even to this extreme? He supposed he wasn¡¯t surprised, but nonetheless, it was shocking just how petty children were. It reminded him why he usually avoided them like the plague.


    Tam gripped his ponytail and pulled his head back. His eyes narrowed. ¡°Did you not learn your lesson today?¡±


    Rhys glanced at the matrons, but as expected, they pretended to see nothing. He scoffed quietly and turned his eyes back to Tam. ¡°Oh, I learned my lesson. Did you?¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Tam asked.


    Rhys tapped Tam¡¯s hand. ¡°That blood on your hand¡­ did it ever occur to you that you might kill me?¡±


    Tam recoiled, jerking his hand free. He looked at it. There was nothing smeared on his palm¡ªRhys¡¯ blood had long since dried. Turning back to Rhys, he laughed. ¡°Trying to scare me with ghost stories? Do you think I¡¯m five?¡±


    ¡°But I am dead. You killed me,¡± Rhys said, his face dead serious. He stared Tam dead in the eye, unflinching, unmoving.


    Tam backed away. He frowned. ¡°What the heck? You just ate soup. You can¡¯t be dead.¡±


    ¡°Have you never heard of hungry ghosts?¡± Rhys whispered, and licked his lips, still staring down Tam.


    Tam backed away. He scoffed again, but he sounded less certain about it. ¡°You¡¯re insane.¡±


    Rhys just smiled, slowly.


    Rolling his eyes, Tam walked away, making sure to knock Rhys¡¯ shoulder on the way past. ¡°Better leave your bread in the morning, or else.¡±


    Rhys watched him go and said nothing. Only when Tam had retreated back to his seat did he finally stand and walk away. He¡¯d done what he needed to do. It was time to get the rest of the plan moving.


    The trio had killed him. There was no mistaking that. Whatever retribution he visited upon them, they¡¯d brought it upon themselves. But first, he had to familiarize himself with the building. The real Rhys would have known it like the back of his hand, but to him, it was a brand new location.


    None of the other kids left the room, even if they were done eating, and the matrons shot him a nasty look on his way out, but no one stopped him. Rhys took that as permission to keep going. The rest of the building he investigated in short time, mostly because there was precious little to see. Upstairs were the dormitories, two long rooms occupying either side of the hall. One was reserved for girls, with beds decorated with flower crowns and the scent of perfume lingering on the air, while the other was reserved for boys, and stank like it, too. He went from bed to bed, trying to identify Rhys¡¯. In the end, he¡¯d eliminated all the beds except one, a dirty, stained mattress with a single tattered sheet. A pair of shoes, tucked underneath, contained his name in small, crammed font, which confirmed it. He snorted. That wouldn¡¯t be his for long.


    The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.


    He might be a loser back in his home world, but he wasn¡¯t so pathetic as to get bullied by a bunch of children. Nor did he intend to let their crimes go. If it was his world, they¡¯d get sent to juvie for manslaughter. In this world, they¡¯d probably get hung directly. He didn¡¯t intend to kill them, but nor was he going to let them get away with it. They¡¯d only escalate things if he turned the other cheek. Being a loser had taught him that much, and he had no intention of getting trampled in his second life, too.


    There was little else in the building, save a few lesson rooms and a play room for the smallest children. He couldn¡¯t access the kitchen with the matrons there, so he left it. He didn¡¯t need the kitchen, anyways.


    That night went quietly, and so did the next day. When he had time away from the other kids, he¡¯d take a drop of the mana potion and circulate it until he grew feverish. Slowly, he adapted to the mana. As for the bullies, he avoided them like the plague. With the help of mana, it was laughably easy. At mealtimes, he¡¯d eat fast and run off. During free time, he hid in the trash pit and dug for treasure. When they had lessons, he was the last to enter and the first to leave.


    His precious potions stayed on him always, while the empty vials he sold to a local apothecary. The shop¡¯s owner asked him few questions, and he provided few answers. Each empty vial was only worth a quarter-penny, but it counted up over time, and by the end of the week, he had almost twenty cents. It didn¡¯t sound impressive to his modern ears, used to sums in the thousands of dollars, but twenty cents was a good wage for a day¡¯s work, here, so given that he could make that from doing nothing but rifling through the trash, he was satisfied.


    The potions he hadn¡¯t asked about, but from glancing at the alchemist¡¯s board, they wouldn¡¯t be less than a full gold coin. For a village like this, that was incredibly rich. There wasn¡¯t a single person here who could afford that kind of remedy, and even if they could, they wouldn¡¯t waste their money on it unless they were backed into a corner. In other words, he had a fortune on his hands; he just didn¡¯t have a place to sell it off.


    But that was fine. It just meant he had a guaranteed survival plan, and in an unpredictable fantasy world he barely understood, that was worth more than one gold.


    As for his skills, Scavenging grew to level 5, while Less is More hit 6. He hadn¡¯t yet developed a skill for handling mana, but he felt as though he were on the verge of a breakthrough there. A few more days of sipping the mana potion, and he¡¯d have a real chance at gaining that kind of skill.


    The whole time, he kept his eyes on the bullies, biding his time. A few times, Tam tried to corner him, only to be called away by a matron¡ªnot to save Rhys, but because lessons had started or the meal had begun. The more frustrated the boy became, the happier Rhys was. All according to plan.


    Unfortunately, he hadn¡¯t learned much about the world in general. He¡¯d tried asking the matron some simple questions, only to get knocked back with a generic ¡°Don¡¯t you know already?¡± Not wanting to give away that he knew nothing, he¡¯d simply walked away. The textbooks in the orphanage were dry and smacked of propaganda where they spoke of the world around him at all. Mostly, they covered the basic subjects like math and literacy without branching into anything as complex as history or geography. Peasants like him weren¡¯t meant to care about such things¡ªor at least, that was the vibe he got.


    Still, he hadn¡¯t learned nothing. The people on top of the mountain were mages, and they were incredibly powerful, but bound by a code of honor that included noninterference with mortals, or rather, non-mages. There were also martial artists and adventurers, who lived by their own rules and roamed the land freely. In other words, all his dreams of climbing to the apex could come true, but it was a long way off. And the orphanage wasn¡¯t the place to achieve those dreams. The matrons were quite firm about that. He was meant to find a trade and live quietly as someone¡¯s apprentice in three years, when he aged out of the orphanage.


    Of course, the only part of that he heard was ¡®three years of free room and board.¡¯ He had no intention of playing by their rules, and absolutely no desire to live a quiet life this time around.


    On the third day, he set out toward the trash pit only to hear footsteps behind him. He turned. Tam and Den followed him, pretending not to follow him, while Bast stared directly at him, grinning like a hyena. He turned back around and walked on, a small smile touching his lips. Good.


    Rhys kept his pace all the way to the trash pit. The second he climbed in, and the wall obscured the boys¡¯ view of him, he sprinted around a nearby nook in the wall and vanished out of their sight. The boys reached the edge of the pit and paused.


    ¡°Where¡¯d he go?¡± Den asked.


    ¡°Where else? The trash. Get going,¡± Tam replied. There was the sound of a blow, and a quiet oof from Den.


    ¡°I don¡¯t wanna go in the trash,¡± Den complained.


    ¡°Oh, come on, Den. We¡¯ve been in the trash a billion times before. What, are you afraid? Do you think he¡¯s actually a ghost? Gonna let him keep making fools of us? He didn¡¯t learn his lesson. We gotta make sure he learns. We agreed on this, Den. Now get moving.¡±


    There was a grunt. ¡°You go first,¡± Den insisted.


    Tam sighed loudly. ¡°Alright, fine. Bast, you go first.¡±


    Bast laughed aloud. ¡°This is your fight. I¡¯m just here cuz I¡¯m bored. If you wanna catch Rhys, you catch Rhys. It¡¯s none of my business.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t you like beating people up?¡± Tam whined, annoyed.


    ¡°I like fighting. I don¡¯t like beating on the weak. That¡¯s your thing,¡± Bast replied flatly.


    ¡°Oh, come on.¡± With one last complaint, the three-legged chair creaked, and Tam climbed down. There was a short pause, and then Den scrambled down after him. Bast hopped from the ledge, forsaking the chair entirely.


    ¡°So¡­ where¡¯d he go?¡± Den asked.


    Rhys grinned. Just like he¡¯d wanted. Hidden in his nook, he pulled a thread. The cans he¡¯d found in the trash yesterday toppled, making a loud sound.


    ¡°Ha! You thought you could hide? Filthy little rat,¡± Tam shouted. He ran toward the cans, with Den at his heel. Bast trailed slightly behind them, head high and hands in his pockets.


    In the nook, Rhys tensed. He leaned into a sprinter¡¯s stance and activated the mana inside him. He could handle two drops of the potion now; not a huge improvement, but better than nothing. Watching the three boys, he counted slowly in his head.


    Three. Two.


    Tam yelped as the ground gave out beneath him. Den jumped back, and for a split second, Rhys thought he might have to deal with him, but then Tam latched onto Den. His weight was more than Den could handle, and so he pulled Den down into the pit Rhys had dug for them, rather than saving himself. Bast jumped back, suddenly on edge.


    Now. Rhys shot forth, running as fast as his tiny amount of mana would allow. Bast started to turn, but too slow. Rhys latched onto his shoulder and drew that final prize from his robes, holding it to Bast¡¯s throat.


    Three inches of blade glittered in the sun. The sword had snapped not far after the hilt, making it useless to any swordsman, but more than enough to threaten a kid like Bast. Bast struggled, and Rhys tightened his grip, pushing the cold blade into Bast¡¯s neck¡ªnot yet hard enough to cut, but close. ¡°Hold still, or else.¡±


    Bast froze. He put his hands up. ¡°Huh.¡±


    Down in the pit, Tam and Den screeched. Small, dark forms crawled over them. Rats, mice, ants, cockroaches spiders, and all kinds of other horrific creatures roamed in the pit. Whenever he¡¯d encountered one, Rhys had caught it and tossed it in his pitfall trap, then seeded the trap with bits of his breakfast and dinner bread so the pests would stay. The trap wasn¡¯t exactly crowded, but he¡¯d at least made sure the two bullies wouldn¡¯t have a good time.


    ¡°Wondering why you aren¡¯t in the pit?¡± Rhys asked Bast.


    ¡°Little bit, yeah,¡± Bast said, far calmer than Rhys had expected.


    ¡°I could have pushed you in, but I didn¡¯t, because I have a proposal for you. When Tam killed me three days ago, pushed me off that cliff and let me knock my head on the stone, you watched, is that correct?¡±


    Bast nodded. He frowned. ¡°What do you mean, you died?¡±


    ¡°So you¡¯re only accessory to murder,¡± Rhys continued, ignoring Bast¡¯s protest. ¡°Which means I have a lighter sentence for you. What do you say you leave those idiots behind, and take my side?¡±


    Bast considered. For a child with a knife to his throat, he was startlingly calm. It was honestly starting to worry Rhys a little bit. Did Bast have the skills to back up his calm demeanor? Or was he naturally relaxed under pressure?


    His skin brushed Bast¡¯s, and a shock of mana leaped between them, almost like a static shock. Rhys¡¯ eyes widened as he suddenly understood. Bast, too, had some small amount of mana. Not only that, he seemed to be better at controlling it than Rhys. He might truly feel no pressure from someone like Rhys threatening him.


    ¡°I like fighting,¡± Bast said at last. ¡°I don¡¯t really care about those two. I could get into lots of fights by following them around, but I don¡¯t enjoy bullying the weak the way Tam does. It¡¯s just kind of boring to me. I¡¯d rather take on a more powerful opponent and challenge myself than hammer someone I already know can¡¯t win. If you can offer me the opportunity to fight, then sure, I¡¯ll swap sides.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re awfully calm for someone with a knife at his throat,¡± Rhys commented.


    ¡°Well, it isn¡¯t the first time. And you¡¯re weak, and you don¡¯t have any killing aura. If it makes you more comfortable, you can go on pretending to threaten me, but I won¡¯t be scared,¡± Bast replied.


    Rhys snorted. Bast had basically confirmed everything he¡¯d wondered. He lowered the sword and stepped back, keeping it between him and Bast. Bast turned and looked at him, without a single ounce of fear in his gaze. Slowly, Rhys put the sword away.


    ¡°I can¡¯t guarantee fights, but I can guarantee you I intend to climb to the very top of this damn world and stand at its apex.¡± Rhys¡¯ eyes shone. Utter conviction sounded in his voice, and he rested his hands on his hips, gazing to the horizon.


    Bast raised his brows. In Tam, he¡¯d only seen a bully and a pig, a close-minded person grunting his way to his next meal. Rhys, though, Rhys had vision. Vision he¡¯d never known the small boy to have before. He nodded. ¡°That sounds more interesting than bullying kids. Take me with you.¡±


    Rhys offered his hand. ¡°I hope this is the start of a wonderful partnership.¡±


    Bast took his hand, and they shook. ¡°I hope I get to fight a lot.¡±


    ¡°Bast! Help!¡± Tam shouted.


    Rhys motioned for Bast to stay back and walked up to the edge of the pit. He crouched there, looking down. ¡°Bast is on my side. How do you feel now, murderer?¡±


    ¡°What? Let me out of here! You little bitch. Let me out right now, or I¡¯ll beat you so hard you¡¯ll feel it next week!¡± Tam snarled.


    Den clawed at the walls, his eyes big with panic, shivering with his whole body. At the sight of Rhys, though, his eyes narrowed. ¡°Fucking rat! Let us out, shitstain!¡±


    ¡°No, I don¡¯t think so. I don¡¯t think you¡¯ve learned your lesson at all. You know, pushing people into pits is very bad, don¡¯t you agree? In fact, it can even kill them. You¡¯ve experienced the pit, but you haven¡¯t experienced near death. So why don¡¯t we make that second one happen? Bast, can you grab that piece of wood, there?¡±


    Tam tensed. ¡°What are you doing?¡±


    ¡°Sending you to hell,¡± Rhys said evenly. He took the wood from Bast and laid it over the mouth of the pit, eclipsing the sun.


    ¡°No, no, no, Bast, don¡¯t you dare! Don¡¯t you dare! I¡¯ll¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bye,¡± Rhys said, and with one final wave, he shut Tam and Den in the pit.


    Bast dusted off his hands. He nodded at Rhys. ¡°Sorry about earlier, by the way. I told Tam not to push you, but you know Tam.¡±


    ¡°If you really feel sorry, then follow my orders from now on,¡± Rhys replied.


    Bast nodded. After a beat, he cleared his throat. ¡°Are you actually possessed by a ghost?¡±


    Rhys paused. He looked back. ¡°Why would you say that?¡±


    ¡°Because you aren¡¯t Rhys. I know Rhys. He¡¯s a scaredy-cat that quavers and wavers over every little thing. Rhys wouldn¡¯t have the guts to lock Tam and Den in a pit, or to threaten me with a sword. In fact, even avoiding us is more than I¡¯d ever expect Rhys to be able to do. So who are you? And what happened to Rhys?¡±


    Rhys stared at him. He said nothing, but internally, his mind raced. He¡¯d been found out, this quickly? What was he supposed to do now, run? Did this world have exorcists and the like? No, for that matter, what did he even qualify as? A possession? A reincarnation? He himself didn¡¯t know, but he didn¡¯t want to find out. Especially not at the receiving end of someone vastly more powerful¡¯s spells.


    Bast met his gaze. For a few moments, they stared at each other in silence, both of them wearing their best poker faces. Bast broke first. He laughed and waved his hand, shaking his heat at Rhys. ¡°Your face! Ha. No, don¡¯t worry. I won¡¯t report you. Whatever you are, you¡¯re far more interesting than Rhys was. I¡¯ll follow you to the ends of the earth.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m Rhys. I just matured a little,¡± Rhys defended himself, a few beats too slow.


    ¡°Sure, sure.¡± Bast grinned, not even a drop of belief on his face.


    Rhys sighed. Ah, well. It seemed Bast didn¡¯t want to report him. Though even if the boy did, it would be one boy¡¯s word against another¡¯s. And who took twelve-year-old kids seriously? No, Bast was no threat to him.


    ¡°What have you been doing in the trash, anyways?¡± Bast asked.


    ¡°Preparing the trap.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve been doing more than just that,¡± Bast muttered.


    Rhys cut him a look. Or maybe not. Bast was a little too perceptive. ¡°None of your business.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡±


    They reached the town again. Rhys beelined for the orphanage without a second¡¯s hesitation. He needed an alibi, in case Tam decided to rat him out, and there was no better alibi than the matrons themselves seeing him quietly study for almost the entirety of free time. If things worked in his favor, they¡¯d forget that he vanished at the very start of free time, or simply assume he¡¯d been studying the whole time.


    Abruptly, he paused. Bast almost bumped into him, dodging to the side at the last second. ¡°What is it?¡±


    Rhys pointed. A poster on the wall advertised a tournament for martial artists, adventurers, and mages of all stripes, winner-takes-all. His heart raced, and adrenaline instantly surged. The opportunity was too good to pass up!


    Bast gave him a look. ¡°I¡¯m not that strong.¡±


    ¡°No, that¡¯s not it. Listen¡­¡±

 3. Tournament Time

    Tam and Den crawled back to the orphanage by nightfall, covered in filth and bites, and none the happier for their stint in the depths of the pit. They glared death at Rhys, and Rhys ignored them. Tam tried reporting what had happened to the matron, but she gave him as much time as she¡¯d given Rhys, and simply clapped him on the ear for not listening to her when he wouldn¡¯t stop whining. Injured and filthy, Tam tried to get back at Rhys in the usual petty ways. Rhys came back to a filthy bed one night, full of food scraps, and all the kids in the orphanage laughing and pointing as if he¡¯d soiled the bed. Instead of reacting, he¡¯d simply nodded at Bast. Bast carried Tam into the filthy bed, while Rhys claimed Tam¡¯s clean sheets.


    After that, no one laughed and pointed any more. The message was clear: the balance of power had shifted. No longer was Rhys everyone¡¯s butt monkey, and Tam the feared school bully. Now it was Rhys who was feared, while Tam was derided as little more than a paper tiger.


    But children¡¯s politics were the least of Rhys¡¯ concern. Instead, all his energy was focused on the tournament, coming up at the end of the week. He scrubbed his clothes, and Bast¡¯s too, making sure they were as clean as possible, replaced all the miscolored patches with matching-color ones, and even shone their shoes. With the sword, he managed to give Bast¡¯s unruly mop a bit of shape, though he refused to let Bast try cutting his hair.


    In between his efforts, he chatted with Bast about mana. Bast had a slightly better grasp on the stuff than him, though his grasp seemed to be entirely instinctual. Most of their conversations ended with Rhys mulling in frustrated silence, while Bast displayed the results of his instinctive mana gathering through punching the bark off trees or blasting a brick into dust with a kick. Still, their conversations weren¡¯t fruitless for Rhys. Slowly, he was starting to understand how to manage his mana, and circulate it without breaking a fever. He could handle three drops at once, now, and his face barely flushed when he used it to strengthen his body. He couldn¡¯t punch the bark off trees or obliterate bricks, but if Tam tried to get physical revenge on him now, he could simply laugh it off. Under the influence of mana and not having to sacrifice parts of his meal to the older boy, he began to build muscle on his malnourished body, as well.


    And of course, he didn¡¯t stop visiting the trash heap, either. His twenty pennies grew into thirty-five. Bast followed him around everywhere, and thus figured out what Rhys was up to in the trash heap. Rather than trying to take his money or strongarm his way into controlling the operation, though, Bast simply fell in and helped him gather bottles.


    ¡°Why didn¡¯t you take control? You¡¯re stronger than me,¡± Rhys pointed out one day.


    Bast simply shrugged. ¡°You¡¯re the brains of the operation. I never would have thought of this if you didn¡¯t do it first. I could steal this from you, but what would that get me? I¡¯d end up in hell, like Tam. Instead, aren¡¯t I better off sticking at your side and continuing to benefit from your future plans?¡±


    Rhys could find no fault in that logic, so he nodded and went back to gathering potions.


    Between the two of them, only Rhys had the fine motor skills required to tease drops of potions from the bottom of vials, so it fell to him to continue filling his health and mana potions. He offered Bast a drop of the mana potion one day, half out of curiosity, to see what someone who instinctively gathered mana would think of its quality. Bast had licked his lips, then frowned.


    ¡°That¡¯s¡­ hmm. Like an hour¡¯s worth of gathered mana? Are you really practicing on that little? You should try absorbing mana from the air instead.¡±


    An hour¡¯s worth of gathered mana was enough to fill his core? Three hours, now, but still! Rhys managed a fake smile, a little embarrassed. He really was reincarnated with trash stats, wasn¡¯t he? Though, to be fair, he didn¡¯t know the full effect of Less is More. Maybe it doubled the effect of the potion, though even with a doubled potion, that still meant two hours of mana gathering was more than enough for him to start out with. He shook his head at himself. No, he couldn¡¯t let Bast know. He wasn¡¯t bothered to learn his stats were as trashy as he¡¯d thought, but he didn¡¯t want the other boy knowing. Bast might not be as appreciative of trash as Rhys was.


    He did follow Bast¡¯s advice and attempt to gather mana from the air. Doing it like Bast, by simply walking and breathing, was outright impossible for him, but when he laid in bed at night and focused on nothing else, he could guide a tiny scrap of mana into his core. It wasn¡¯t much, not even comparable to one drop of the potion, but it was better than nothing. Any extra mana counted in his book.


    His mana manipulation skill hadn¡¯t taken shape yet, nor had a mana gathering skill, but he leveled up Scavenging and Less is More to 10 each. Survivalist hit level 3, and Pain Resist hit 2, just from spending so long outdoors, scrambling over the trash heap. Hunger Resist didn¡¯t level at all, but he didn¡¯t mind that so much. Right now, he needed to focus on eating and growing. He could worry about leveling such a low-tier skill later.


    At last, the day of the tournament arrived. He scrubbed his and Bast¡¯s clothes one last time, and forced the other boy to bathe in the river, even if he had to do it at swordpoint. Once cleaned, Bast¡¯s hair turned out to be a middling chestnut, while his skin turned out to be fairer than Rhys¡¯¡ªit was only the dirt that had darkened it. Only his dark, near-black eyes remained the same shade.


    A bit curious, Rhys glanced in the river he¡¯d forced Bast into, only to discover his eyes were a green-brown hazel. Taken together, they reminded him of the color of garbage, with dirt and plant matter mixed in alike. He snorted. Mousy-colored hair, green-brown hazel eyes. He really was perfectly colored to blend into the trash. Indeed, this body couldn¡¯t have been picked better for a god of trash.


    With both of them squeaky clean, their clothes as nice as they¡¯d ever looked and their hair neatly brushed, he led the way to the arena.


    The other children had started chattering about it as well, and a few of them crowded around the outside, climbing trees and perched on balconies to peer over the walls. He led the way past them, moving with the assured confidence of someone who belonged. A few of the kids cast him funny looks, but with Bast at his heel, no one dared say a thing.


    The arena was small, compared to the arenas Rhys was used to in his homeworld, but compared to this village, absolutely enormous. It was a large, empty field surrounded by a tall wall, with stables on either end and a small hut in the center. Stadium benches lined the outside. Most of them were rough and wooden, and occupied by travelers or townsfolk, here to see the spectacle. However, at one end of the arena, a stone platform stood, tall and noble. It hadn¡¯t appeared until a few days ago, when a team of four men had carried it in and installed it in their arena. This stone platform held fine seats, with three chairs in its center almost ornate enough to be considered thrones. This seating was empty for now, but based on the men who¡¯d carried it in, with their supernatural strength and fine robes, it was reserved for mages. True mages, the kind who lived on the mountain and refused to interfere with mortal lives.


    Rhys eyed it now. For people who didn¡¯t interfere with mortals, they sure were interested in the tournament. Then again, even mages had to recruit, surely, and where better to recruit than a battle tournament? He turned away, uninterested. As much as he wanted to become a mage eventually, his stats were still too trash to catch a mage¡¯s eye. His purpose here was entirely different.


    ¡°This way,¡± he muttered to Bast, and led the way around to the back of the arena. The contestants gathered here, a ragtag group. From leather-bound, sweaty martial artists, to adventurers dressed in armor forged from the rare monsters they¡¯d killed, to mages, in their ornate and soft robes, all types of powerful sorts grouped at the arena¡¯s rear entrance, waiting to be organized in the tournament. Rhys and Bast breezed past all of them, entering the tournament¡¯s stables directly. One of the organizers glanced at them, but when Rhys showed no hesitation and didn¡¯t even glance the woman¡¯s direction, she simply turned her eyes away.


    ¡°Wow, you were right. All we had to do is pretend like we belonged,¡± Bast murmured.


    ¡°We do belong,¡± Rhys replied, absolutely sure of himself.


    Bast chuckled. ¡°That¡¯s right.¡±


    ¡°Remember the plan. Even if we only get one before we¡¯re thrown out, it¡¯s still worth it.¡±


    ¡°Understood.¡± Bast glanced around, then picked a clean spot to sit and wait.


    Rhys stood at the edge of the stables, watching the combatants gather. Even from here, he could feel the pulse of their mana beat against his skin. Different combatants had different types of mana, from the raging, brutal power of the martial artists to the gentle, yet powerful flow of the mages. Bast¡¯s mana most reminded him of the martial artists, strong and straightforward, while his was more akin to a mage¡¯s or adventurers¡¯ mana, without the aggressive edge, but with a softness that allowed for subtlety and strategy alike.


    His eyes sparkled. This was what his future looked like. These powerful beings, strong enough to slaughter this village without breaking a sweat¡ªthat was what he longed for. Magic. Strength. Power.


    ¡°Admiring the crowd?¡±


    Rhys startled and spun. Behind him, Bast jumped to his feet. Both of them stared at the man who seemed to have materialized in the stables.


    There was nothing remarkable about the man. His messy, straw-colored hair was covered by an equally messy straw hat. He wore a tattered outfit, and rather than a sword, a birch stick hung through his belt. Bright blue eyes, as clear as the midday sky, smiled at them. Both his body and clothes were covered in dirt, making both Bast and Rhys look like refined noble children in comparison. Looking at him, Rhys couldn¡¯t help but feel that rather than a human, he looked more like a scarecrow.


    Rhys nodded. Instantly on guard, he eyed the man warily, but put on a smile as if he had no cares in the world. ¡°We¡¯ve never seen such powerful people before.¡±


    The man chuckled. ¡°Powerful, huh? And yet they¡¯d be considered weaklings, even by the standards of that tiny school up the mountain.¡±


    ¡°School?¡± Rhys asked, legitimately curious.


    ¡°Mages organize themselves into schools, much as fish do. There¡¯s no deeper meaning to it, although a young mage could receive a decent education at a school, as he or she could at any gathering of mages. Ah, some prefer the term sect or clan, or even house or tower. It simply depends how they¡¯re organized.¡±


    Bast frowned. His brows furrowed. ¡°Mages are like fish?¡±


    Rhys, on the other hand, nodded. He understood what the man was saying. ¡°Then, are you here to take part in the tournament?¡±


    The scarecrow-like man let out a cawing laugh, as if he had swallowed the very crows he was meant to scare. ¡°No, no. It wouldn¡¯t do to let one such as me take part in such a tournament. Could you image? Filthy old me, fighting against these bright young upstarts?¡±


    ¡°You look young. And not only that, you called them weak moments ago,¡± Rhys pointed out.


    The man chuckled. ¡°Aren¡¯t you a sharp one. I might look young, but look closer. This old man has wrinkles on his face.¡± He pointed to the corners of his eyes, which crinkled with crow¡¯s feet, just as he¡¯d said. Nonetheless, there wasn¡¯t a single line on the rest of his face.


    Unconvinced, Rhys nodded slowly. There was more to this man than he was letting on, but as long as he wasn¡¯t here to kick them out, he didn¡¯t mind sharing the stable with a mysterious stranger. He stepped forward and offered his hand. ¡°I¡¯m Rhys, and this is Bast.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s rude to offer to shake with a weapon concealed in your shirt,¡± the man countered, pointing directly at where Rhys had stashed his sword.


    Rhys drew the sword and showed its broken blade to the man before stowing it once more. ¡°I¡¯m no threat to you, sir.¡±


    The man chuckled. ¡°What a polite young man. Indeed, indeed. And Bast, was it?¡±


    ¡°Short for Bastard,¡± Bast replied, lowering his head just an inch. Unlike Rhys, a glow of challenge glimmered in his eyes, daring the man to take offense.


    For his part, Rhys stared. He¡¯d always thought Bast was a strange name, but he¡¯d never been interested enough to ask. Short for Bastard? Even if Bast¡¯s parents didn¡¯t want him, what kind of monster would name their own child a slur?


    Laughing again, the old man nodded. ¡°I like you. There¡¯s some fire in your eyes. Good. Keep it that way.¡± He looked the boys over and offered one last nod. ¡°I¡¯m known as The Strawman, or sometimes the Birch Boy, or when they¡¯re feeling less generous, the Birch Bitch. I wouldn¡¯t mind if you called me Straw or Birch, but forgive me if I¡¯m a little too weak willed to own my derogative the way your friend does his.¡±


    This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.


    A glow of approval appeared in Bast¡¯s eyes. ¡°Birch it is.¡±


    ¡°Mr. Straw, are you here to watch the tournament?¡± Rhys asked. Quietly, he probed the man¡¯s aura. Unlike the contestants, it didn¡¯t roil off of him, but was instead so weak he could barely feel it. Still, when he pressed his mana to its absolute limits, he could sense the man¡¯s aura anyways. It had a strange feeling to it, unlike any of the contestants¡¯ auras, as slippery and hard to grasp as an eel. From the look on Straw¡¯s face, he was very aware that Rhys was probing him, but the man made no protest whatsoever, nor did he retract his aura.


    ¡°Mr. Straw? How polite indeed! Yes, yes. I¡¯m here to watch. And much like you boys, I also prefer not to pay entry.¡± Straw¡¯s eyes glimmered, and a small grin appeared on his face as his eyes flicked from one boy to the other.


    Rhys held his head up high, showing not the least bit of shame. ¡°We¡¯re the tournament¡¯s official cleanup boys.¡±


    ¡°Oh? The tournament has cleanup boys? I didn¡¯t know,¡± Straw said playfully.


    ¡°Neither does the tournament, yet,¡± Bast replied.


    Straw chuckled. ¡°Well, I¡¯ve never been the kind of guest to be invited either, so why don¡¯t we share this stable together until the tournament starts?¡±


    ¡°I was just thinking the same,¡± Rhys replied.


    The three of them sat quietly for a time, waiting for the tournament to begin. Rhys glanced at Straw. He had no idea what the man¡¯s intentions were, but they didn¡¯t seem negative. In fact, he¡¯d approved of the boy¡¯s plan, if only tacitly. Still, he hadn¡¯t given his name, just appellations, and his strange scarecrow-like appearance and odd mana signature spiked Rhys¡¯ suspicions. This man was powerful, maybe even dangerous, but he seemed positive toward them at the moment.


    He shrugged to himself. That would have to be enough.


    Contestants and viewers alike filed in. The contestants took a series of benches in front of the first row of seats, while the watchers, mostly mortal, filled the stadium seating. The stone seats remained empty, except for one slightly ragged-looking mage, who sat at the very edge. Of course, compared to Rhys, Bast, or Straw, that man seemed the epitome of fine dressing. It was only when Rhys compared him to the mages he¡¯d glimpsed up on the mountain, or even in the contest that he looked shabby. Still, the aura that rolled off of him was far stronger than anyone Rhys had met yet¡­ maybe with the exception of Straw. He eyed the man beside him yet again. The aura he could sense was only at the level of the contestants, but the way the man dismissed them and the mage school up the mountain alike suggested he wasn¡¯t revealing his whole strength.


    Straw caught his gaze and waved. ¡°Hello.¡±


    Rhys quickly looked away. He didn¡¯t need to annoy someone who might be very powerful. Better to leave him alone, as he preferred.


    An announcer strode forward and cleared his throat, and his voice boomed forth, as if he spoke through a loudspeaker. He wore the clothes of an adventurer, although the brightly-colored leather of his armor was slightly faded, and the bear claw on his hip was colored with dust. Lifting his arms, he turned slowly, addressing the whole crowd. ¡°Welcome, ladies and gentlemen! Welcome to the tenth Varian Regional Mixed Tournament! No holds barred, no attacks outlawed. Magic, sword energy,  See the might of the sword up against the mystery of a mage and the tricks and traps of an adventurer! Remember, the winners of this tournament can move on to the country-wide tournament. We thank our generous hosts, the Snowdrop Mage School. Thank you!¡± He gestured up at the almost empty stone seating.


    A smattering of thin applause sounded. For his part, the only mage who occupied the seating had the good graces to look embarrassed.


    The announcer lowered his arms, turning back to the crowd. ¡°So, without further ado, your first match!¡±


    Two figures stepped forward. A muscular woman in simple robes cut for easy movement and lightweight leather armor stood on the far side, one hand on her sword, her eyes gazing straight at her opponent, while on their side, a slender man in purple robes stroked a thin beard and smirked back.


    ¡°In the left corner, the swordsmistress rumored to be next in line to inherit the Abyssal Depths Sword School, Analiis Rovaire!¡±


    Some applause, mostly from the other martial artists in the crowd.


    ¡°To the right, the potion master of the Purple Mysteries Sect, Primm Horage!¡±


    A few scattered claps, even less than there¡¯d been for the empty stone seating.


    Rhys looked at Straw. ¡°Are potion masters not respected?¡±


    Straw chuckled. ¡°No, no. To the contrary, potion masters are some of the most respected mages.¡±


    ¡°Then¡­ is this Primm fellow disliked?¡± Rhys guessed.


    ¡°He certainly isn¡¯t well liked.¡±


    Rhys glanced at him. ¡°Why would that be?¡±


    Bast inched forward as well, curious.


    ¡°One can do a great many things with potions. Heal wounds and replenish mana, yes, but paralyze, poison, and injure as well. Primm has¡­ shall we say, a reputation for toying with his opponents? He prefers to steal opponents¡¯ free will, then torture them to death at his leisure. Crippling someone or savaging their mana passages with a potion is all fair game to him. And you can only imagine the kind of damage a man with that kind of mindset could do, selling his potions to those who would do harm.¡± Straw spread his hands. ¡°But then, what would a nobody like me know about that?¡±


    ¡°A nobody,¡± Rhys scoffed. He eyed Primm in a new light. No wonder no one had wanted to applaud for him. Even if there was someone in the crowd who approved of his actions, who would announce their approval for a sadist in broad daylight?


    At the same time, excitement stirred in his chest. He glanced at Bast, who nodded back. A potion master. This was the kind of guy they needed!


    The announcer blew a horn, and the battle commenced. Rhys watched, enraptured. The two combatants traded blows at a blistering pace. Even though Primm was a potion master, he could still match the swordsmaster¡¯s attacks blow for blow. Or he could¡­ at first. The swordsmaster laughed, and her blade moved faster than before. Blood flew, and Primm staggered back, a gash rending his body from shoulder to hip.


    ¡°Damn,¡± Rhys muttered.


    Almost before the wound could bleed, Primm tossed back a blue potion. The wound began to heal, and he tossed the vial away carelessly.


    ¡°Bast!¡± Rhys snapped. He was too far away. He¡¯d never make it in time.


    Without hesitation, Bast darted out. He flashed up to the stage and lunged, snatching the vial in both hands. Prize secured, he retreated to the edge of the stage.


    Rhys nodded to Straw. ¡°We¡¯ll be back.¡± He jogged up to the edge of the stage and crouched beside Bast, elbowing the other boy until he took the same stance.


    It was a very specific crouch, one leg up, the other back, both hands curled in fists on the ground. He¡¯d borrowed it from tennis tournaments¡¯ ball boys, though Bast wouldn¡¯t know that. It was, however, a very official-looking crouch, and one that was less likely to get them questioned by the authorities.


    The announcer frowned at them, but said nothing. Rhys gazed ahead with clear eyes full of conviction.


    Beside him, Bast leaned in. ¡°There¡¯s some good dregs in this.¡±


    ¡°Good,¡± Rhys replied. And it was made by a potion master. Doubtlessly it¡¯d be more effective than an ordinary health potion.


    In quick succession, Primm downed another three bottles. Both Rhys and Bast darted forth, snatching the vials before they hit the ground. Primm glanced at them, frowning slightly, but said nothing.


    Primm¡¯s body swelled. Muscle covered his frame, and he hunched forward as his robes tore from his might. Mana roiled around him, suddenly empowered. Letting out a fearsome roar, he charged the swordsmaster. She darted back, shocked, and defended desperately against his blows.


    Rhys nudged Bast. ¡°Keep those three separate.¡± They didn¡¯t know which one of the three caused such overwhelming muscle growth and the burst of mana. Maybe they even needed all three together. Either way, he¡¯d be investigating these later.


    Bast nodded.


    The battle raged on. Primm pressured the swordsmaster until her eyes abruptly began to glow red. Her sword glowed red in concert with her eyes, and she stepped forth, forcing Primm back. He screamed, taking her blows with his overgrown body and struggling to land a hit, but there was no blasting through her bladework with brute force alone. She forced him back, then raised her sword, poised to land a killing blow.


    Primm¡¯s body shriveled back to its usual size. He raised his hands. ¡°I surrender!¡±


    The red light dimmed in the swordswoman¡¯s eyes. Her sword returned to its usual luster. She stepped back and sheathed her sword.


    The announcer lifted his arm. ¡°And there we have it! Analiis takes the victory. Primm has been disqualified!¡±


    Primm stepped back. Instead of looking concerned, though, there was an easy smile on his face. He turned to the crowd and bowed. Again, almost no one clapped, but a few of the crowd¡¯s nobles pinched their chins, thoughtful looks on their faces. Rhys could all but read their thoughts. If a weak potion master could be boosted to stand on even footing with a swordsmaster like Analiis just by drinking a few potions, what could that same boost do for them? Or perhaps, their loyal knights? Primm hadn¡¯t participated in the tournament to win; he¡¯d participated to advertise his wares.


    On the far side of the arena, Analiis¡¯ nose wrinkled in distaste as she realized the same. She harrumphed and turned away, marching back to her seat.


    ¡°She entered the tournament. She can¡¯t be mad that she was pressured by a filthy potion master. It¡¯s not her fault that this is all the Abyssal Depths Sword can amount to, but she shouldn¡¯t be angered either that the path she chose to walk is so shallow. It¡¯s ours to accept the end of the path we choose. To rage impotently against it is to choose the route of deviation and death.¡±


    Rhys whirled, clapping his ear. Straw had all but whispered in it. ¡°Could you warn a man before you sneak up behind us?¡±


    ¡°But where¡¯s the fun in that?¡± Straw returned with an easy grin. He sat back, watching the tournament and the boys alike. ¡°I like this plan of yours. Do you need my help?¡±


    Rhys eyed him. ¡°I can¡¯t spare a cut for you.¡± As strong as Straw was, he could demand to take all the spoils. Allowing him any reward would mean giving it all up, if he meant to recompense Straw based on his relative strength to Bast and he.


    Straw chuckled. ¡°I have no interest in such things. I only offer to help out of boredom.¡±


    Rhys considered for a moment, then shrugged to himself. At the end of the day, if Straw wanted his potions, he could easily take them. And as the man himself had said, why should he want them at all? They were incredibly valuable to Rhys, but to even the competitors in the arena, they were trash they had discarded, not valuable items. If Straw was more powerful than them¡­


    He shrugged to himself. ¡°Sure, why not? Bast and I have this end covered. You can go catch items on the other side of the field.¡±


    ¡°Empty potion bottles?¡± Straw asked.


    ¡°Potion bottles, pill wrappers, anything they discard is valuable to me.¡±


    Straw touched the brim of his hat. ¡°Consider it done.¡± With that, he vanished.


    Bast shivered. ¡°That guy gives me the creeps.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s got to be crazy powerful, right?¡± Rhys asked.


    Bast nodded. ¡°That¡¯s the impression I get. Stronger than the contestants, for certain.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s he doing here?¡± Rhys asked, half to himself.


    ¡°Passing the time?¡± Bast suggested.


    Rhys snorted. ¡°Who knows. I don¡¯t even understand normal mages, let alone mysterious experts like him.¡±


    He peered over to the other side of the arena. He saw no sign of Straw, not his figure nor his shadow. Rhys shrugged to himself. He and Bast had their hands full catching potions on this side. He¡¯d originally planned just to grab the potions from one side, then collect the rest after each match, and of course, if the matches were too dangerous, he¡¯d simply wait for the end. If Straw did nothing, then he¡¯d revert to his original plan.


    He could have gone to the other side, and left Bast alone on this side, but he figured the two of them together looked more official and imposing than two of them apart. They weren¡¯t actually part of the tournament, after all. Better to risk losing a few potions than to risk getting kicked out entirely. The more official they looked, the longer they¡¯d be able to stay in the tournament.


    The next contestants took the stage. These two were both adventurers. One wielded a weapon that looked more like a grappling hook than a blade, and the other carried a dagger formed from the enormous tooth of some monster. More evenly matched than the swordsmaster and the potions master, they sparred for some time, both of them sucking down mana and health potions. Rhys and Bast caught the ones on their side, while the ones on Straw¡¯s side mysteriously vanished, with only the flicker of a pale form appearing from time to time. The grappling-hook equipped man moved on, and the next pair took the stage. This adventurer barely faced their mage opponent for a single moment before the mage drew a sword and, with some mysterious attack too quick for Rhys¡¯ eyes to follow, took the adventurer to his knees, sword pressed against his jugular. The adventurer surrendered without using a single potion.


    Rhys sighed. ¡°How unfortunate.¡±


    ¡°Drawn-out fights are far better,¡± Bast agreed.


    ¡°We get more potions,¡± Rhys said.


    ¡°And they¡¯re fun to watch.¡±


    Rhys nodded at the field. ¡°I didn¡¯t expect mages to be swordsmen as well.¡±


    Bast stared at him, confused. ¡°How are they meant to best martial artists and adventurers if they don¡¯t know how to handle a weapon? Of course they use the sword. Mages pursue perfection. To lack in martial skill would be to expose a glaring weakness to everyone they fought.¡±


    Rhys opened his mouth, then shut it. Now that Bast had pointed it out, it was glaringly obvious. If mages really were squishy, unable to defend themselves against melee attacks, then how would they survive in a world where people could equally empower their bodies and weapon attacks as put mana into fireballs? ¡°But then, what¡¯s the difference between mages and martial artists?¡±


    ¡°Mages pursue magic primarily and martial skill secondarily. Martial artists invert that. They pursue strong bodies and powerful weapon skills, while putting ranged magics secondary. Of course, a sufficiently skilled mage can defeat a martial artist with the sword, and a sufficiently skilled martial artist could defeat a mage with magic, although¡­ I don¡¯t think any martial artist would be happy with that kind of exchange,¡± Bast explained.


    ¡°And adventurers?¡± Rhys asked. ¡°All-rounders?¡±


    ¡°Basically. Though they often pursue monsters for the inherent advantages monster materials have over basic, or even enchanted materials. Really, what sets adventurers apart is that they walk alone. A mage belongs to a school, a martial artist to a sword school. Adventurers belong to no one and nowhere. There are guilds, but the guilds are more¡­ er, friendly gatherings rather than hierarchical organizations. Guilds cannot control their members and have little political might, and little ability to recall members to defend the guild, for example¡­ they¡¯re more tavern halls than schools. And many adventurers don¡¯t belong to guilds at all.¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°Makes sense.¡± Those who favored physical attacks, those who favored magic, and those who favored freedom, at the cost of the strong support a mage or sword school might offer. He glanced at Bast. ¡°How do you know all this?¡±


    After all, Bast hadn¡¯t questioned his asking questions, which suggested it was something reasonable for someone of this world to ask about.


    Bast shrugged. ¡°My father was a high-ranking member of a sword school. Unfortunately, my mother was his favorite whore, and I, therefore¡­ well, you know my name. I grew up hearing about their world, until she beat me too hard and I ran away for good.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m sorry,¡± Rhys said earnestly.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be. I¡¯m sure not,¡± Bast replied with a laugh. There was only a hint of bitterness to it, buried so deep as to be almost entirely hidden.


    Rhys glanced at him, but said nothing. Even if he pretended like it didn¡¯t matter, getting rejected by his parents still had to hurt. Bast was surprisingly mature for a twelve-or-so year-old kid, which spoke to what he must have had to have gone through. He wasn¡¯t going to ask. Now wasn¡¯t the time, and they didn¡¯t yet know each other well enough for him to pry so deeply. But he made a mental note to be careful around any parenthood topics.


    Another battle began. Rhys and Bast turned back to the field, leaning forward in their crouches, ready to burst forth. What everyone else threw away, Rhys would pick up. Whether it was items¡­ or even people, he was determined to find the value in what everyone else called trash. That Bast¡¯s mother had tossed him aside only made Rhys more determined to polish the kid into a valuable ally.


    That¡¯s it. I¡¯ve decided. I¡¯ll become a mage¡ªno, the most powerful mage. But I¡¯ll make sure Bast becomes the most powerful martial artist.

 4. Cashing In

    As the first day of the tournament wound to an end, Rhys and Bast retreated, quickly making themselves scarce before any of the tournament¡¯s organizers could corner them and ask a few pesky questions. Their gatherings were immense. In the heat of battle, no one had the time to pause and tip every last drop out of a potion bottle, and so every bottle had at least drops of potions clinging to its sides. Some bottles even had significant dregs in their bottoms, where surface tension had let a good portion of the potion cling to its vial. Secreted away in an empty lot near the arena, they organized the potions by scent and color. Some, like the three they¡¯d taken from Primm, they¡¯d already separated as special, and those were left on their own, for separate investigation later.


    There weren¡¯t many pill wrappers. It seemed liquid potions were favored in this kind of fast-paced exhibition battle. Rhys still hadn¡¯t figured out what he was going to do with the pill wrappers, but he was sure he wanted them anyways. Even if he couldn¡¯t combine them the way he could potions, he could still investigate them to figure out what the ingredients of the pills they¡¯d contained were. Not at his current level, no¡ªbut eventually.


    Rhys already had his salvaged brushes out, and was carefully brushing drops of potion into his half-full bottle, when Straw appeared, walking out of the shadowed corner of two buildings, though Rhys knew for a fact he hadn¡¯t been there seconds ago. With no comment, the man crouched and offered them the bottles he¡¯d collected. ¡°Here. Health potions, mana potions, and¡­¡± Straw snatched one of the potions they¡¯d had slotted to be added to Rhys¡¯ health potion bottle away, putting it aside instead. ¡°That¡¯s a speed booster. Though I suppose there are worse things to mix into a health potion.¡±


    ¡°Thank you,¡± Rhys said honestly. Straw hadn¡¯t needed to help them, and gained nothing from helping, but he¡¯d done it nonetheless. Even now, he continued to assist them.


    ¡°No, no. Thank you. I haven¡¯t seen such an interesting endeavor in years. I suppose you¡¯re going to sell the results?¡±


    Rhys¡¯ eyes flashed. He hesitated just a moment, then shrugged. As ever, if Straw wanted what they had, the man just had to reach out. There was nothing he or Bast could do to stop him. ¡°Yes. The townsfolk can¡¯t afford potions, so there¡¯s no market here. But the contestants can afford potions. I figure, if I offer these health potions at the gate¡ª¡±


    ¡°At a discount?¡± Straw guessed.


    Rhys looked down on him, then caught himself. Straw was from this world. He wasn¡¯t familiar with the practice of scalping the hell out of people at special events. ¡°No, no. At a significant markup. We¡¯re offering last minute potion purchases, after all. That¡¯s a service, and it deserves additional coin.¡±


    ¡°What a fool was I! Yes, yes. Tell me more,¡± Straw encouraged him.


    ¡°After all, the contestants don¡¯t know how these potions were made. There¡¯s no need to offer a markdown. If we did, it would only make them suspicious. Instead, if we charge them more, they¡¯ll convince themselves that these items are higher quality.¡± It was a strange-but-true facet of human psychology that if an item was exorbitantly expensive, the person buying it would assume it was worth more because it was expensive, even if it was visibly, blatantly, and objectively lower quality than the cheaper one. And he intended to shamelessly exploit it.


    Straw clapped. ¡°Bravo, bravo! More¡¯s a pity that you only have two potions.¡±


    Rhys sighed, nodding in agreement. ¡°But such is life. Though, I have to say, if we keep gaining potion at this rate, we¡¯ll have three or four by the end of the tournament.¡±


    ¡°Not a bad rate at all,¡± Straw agreed.


    Rhys finished gathering the potion droplets into one potion vial, then glanced at Straw. His mana potion was almost full, and of all his resources, that was the item he least wanted to show to any expert, even if Straw probably wouldn¡¯t care about it at all. Instead, he started transferring the mana potions into a second vial. ¡°We¡¯ll see what we can do with these other ones. The special ones we¡¯re probably keeping for ourselves,¡± he gestured at himself and Bast, ¡°but we might have enough create a mana potion by the end of the tournament.¡±


    ¡°A pity there¡¯s nothing you can do to increase the rate of potions,¡± Straw commented.


    At last, Bast sat forward. He licked his lips. ¡°Unless there¡¯s a way for us to draw out the fights.¡±


    Straw chuckled. He pointed at Bast. ¡°Smart lad.¡±


    ¡°Do you have an idea?¡± Rhys asked, sitting forward as well.


    Straw leaned in too. Rhys held his breath, expecting him to smell horrible, like the homeless people he passed on the street, but instead, he smelled of his namesake, of sun-warmed straw and soft wheatgrass in the field. ¡°You¡¯re the tournament¡¯s official cleaner boys, aren¡¯t you? What if you don¡¯t clean one side of the field? Leave some bottles scattered around? You can snatch up the full ones and leave these empty ones in their wake, then just pretend you failed to pick them up in time. Leave the foot hazards on the side of the stronger fighter, and the fight will naturally drag itself out more.¡±


    Rhys¡¯ eyes widened. He chuckled and clapped Straw on the shoulder. ¡°Good man. I like the way you think.¡±


    Bast pinched his chin, thinking for a moment, then nodded as well. ¡°The stronger warrior should be able to overcome the hazards. I wouldn¡¯t want to interfere and allow the weaker fighter to move on, but dragging it out a bit is better for us.¡±


    ¡°Right. Besides, we do need the skill of the opponents to scale up smoothly to the end of the tournament. Otherwise, if we help a weakling to the end, the final battle will be far too short. We want a fair fight. We¡¯ll just make the fights a little more fair,¡± Rhys agreed. They knew which fighters were stronger and which were weaker now. They could balance the fights just a bit. Not enough to tip the scales, but just enough to lengthen the battles and give both sides not only enough time to drink potions, but enough time that they wore themselves out and needed to drink potions. He looked at Straw with new eyes, as one old fox looks at another.


    Straw chuckled. He patted the boys on the shoulder. ¡°Hurry on home now. We need you rested up if this is going to work.¡±


    In other words, he isn¡¯t going to interfere. Rhys understood instantly, without having to be told. If he and Bast interfered with the fights, and got caught, it was just a couple of dumb kids playing a prank. On the other hand, if an old expert like Straw got caught meddling, it wouldn¡¯t stop at a few harsh words and a sound spanking. No, in fact, depending on the backing of the person involved and the backing Straw possessed, it could even end in all out war. It wouldn¡¯t matter that Straw had been helping him and Bast get extra potions; it would appear to them that he¡¯d been sabotaging their school¡¯s shot at winning the tournament. At that point, what would the plans of two mortal boys matter? He met Straw¡¯s eye and nodded.


    ¡°Come on, Bast. We don¡¯t want to be late for dinner.¡± Rhys stood, dusting off his pants. He collected the potion bottles, tucking the full ones close to his body and stuffing the empty ones into the cobbled-together bag he¡¯d made on his first day. Since that first day, he¡¯d significantly improved on the little bag. He¡¯d stitched the edges instead of leaving it tied together, and he¡¯d covered the small holes with patches. The bag itself looked rather fine, patches aside, since he¡¯d made it with scraps of mage robes in the first place. Gold threaded through red fabric on one side, and on the other, a strange purple light shimmered in the depths of green silk.


    ¡°What a nice bag,¡± Straw commented.


    Rhys glanced at him, then the bag. ¡°Do you like it? There¡¯s plenty more fabric in the trash pit. You can make your own, if you want one.¡±


    ¡°In the trash pit?¡± Straw asked, honestly shocked.


    ¡°Mhm. Lots of torn-up mages¡¯ robes in there. As long as you work around the bloody parts, there¡¯s good fabric to harvest,¡± Rhys told him.


    ¡°Really?¡± A thoughtful look came over Straw¡¯s face, and he nodded slowly.


    Rhys turned away, a thoughtful look on his own face. He hadn¡¯t considered the things in the trash as being valuable to anyone else. After all, he was usually the sole connoisseur of trash. Others usually saw little value in the things he appreciated. But looking at it again, the bag did look nice. And the fabric he used to make it was high quality. It was just that he¡¯d found it in the trash, so he¡¯d thought it wasn¡¯t¡ª


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    Rhys clapped his own cheeks. Bast jumped, startled by the sound. He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m a fool!¡± All this time, he¡¯d been supporting the trash on his own, appreciating and uplifting it. He alone saw value in it. But that was his own selfishness and ego speaking. Everyone could find value in trash. It was his job to make them realize that, rather than take all the trash for himself.


    When he thought about it, his potions would only last them for a few moments. With two potions, he could easily sell them to the first buyer and close up shop a few gold richer, but without making any further sales. If he really wanted to scalp the hell out of¡ªahem, take maximum advantage of the opportunity before him, he needed to have more products available.


    Of course, he¡¯d close up shop before the tournament started, so he could pick up the maximum potions available. Potions were still the most valuable source of income he had. But it didn¡¯t hurt to have a little something extra to attract a few more coins into his pockets.


    He turned to Bast. ¡°Can you get in and out of the orphanage with no one seeing you?¡±


    Bast snorted. ¡°Who do you think you¡¯re talking to?¡±


    ¡°Excellent. Forget about going home for dinner. Go grab me some needles, thread, and scissors from the craft room. I¡¯ll be in the trash heap.¡± He grinned, and his eyes glittered. ¡°We¡¯re making some bags.¡±


    Bast saluted and ran off. Rhys jogged in the opposite direction, toward the gates. His prowess with mana was still low enough he had to walk out the door. Bast, on the other hand, treated walls as suggestions, and rooftops the same as roads. Determined as he was to reach the same heights, Rhys was also determined to get rich, and right now, that came first.


    After all, he couldn¡¯t afford any sort of resources without money. Magecraft involved immense resources. Potions cost gold, and so did pills. Likewise, the ingredients to make either also cost money. As much as he had a convenient shortcut in the form of delving the trash for used potions, he¡¯d like to one day make his own potions. And all this was merely potions. He hadn¡¯t done much research on the topic yet, but he knew the bookshop in the center of town proudly displayed two spellbooks meant to guide a young mage onto the path of casting. Each cost no less than ten gold. The fact that no one from the tournament had displayed the least interest in them made Rhys a bit suspicious of them¡ªplus, what would a mortal town know of magecraft¡ªbut even if the books were fake, they were still an indication of the prices people expected magecraft to cost. Given that ten gold was only a dream, even with his plans to scalp at the tournament, he considered it a benchmark of the price of the most basic, weakest level of magecraft.


    He glanced up at the mage school atop the mountain. The white buildings glowed faintly in the setting sun, limned in gold light as though they themselves were gilded. If he joined that school, he¡¯d have access to better books than those ten gold books for absolutely free. Although he had no interest in tying himself to one organization forever, the idea was appealing. He didn¡¯t have to stand out. He just had to squeak in as the absolute lowest tier student, and he¡¯d already make immense strides in power without having to go broke to accomplish it.


    Future goals. He was still far too weak to dream of such a thing. For now, he needed to focus on gathering enough money to progress his low-level studies and continue growing stronger.


    The trash pile was a familiar sight, even after dark. He picked his way through the junk, now familiar with the layout of the garbage. The stuff closer to the town was mostly mortal trash, rotten food and filthy clothes, rough wood and cheap pottery. It was the center and far side of the pit that held the most valuable things. In other words, mage trash.


    He set about finding all the mages¡¯ robes he could. Many were in ruins, bloodstained and tattered. Some were so tattered and bloodied that he couldn¡¯t fathom how someone could survive the kind of attack it must have taken to ruin them. Others had one large hole or several small ones, where the integrity of the robe remained, but he could understand tossing the robe aside. A few he simply didn¡¯t understand. Like the one he held now. Red and white fabric shimmered, the whole thing perfectly intact. He peered closely, but he couldn¡¯t see even the smallest hole.


    Rhys shrugged. More fabric for him. He added it to the salvageable robes pile and kept going.


    ¡°Rhys.¡± Bast¡¯s voice sounded nearby.


    He looked up. The other boy held out a pair of scissors and a small bag to him. He accepted both, only for Bast to reach into his back pocket and hand over a hunk of bread, as well. ¡°Figured we didn¡¯t have to go hungry.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Rhys said earnestly, chomping into the rough bread. Delicious.


    A second later, he processed what Bast had said. ¡°We?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. You¡¯re making bags, right? For money? I want a cut, so I¡¯m here to help out,¡± Bast explained.


    Rhys laughed. ¡°Sure, why not? I could use the help. Here. Cut these into roughly equal-sized rectangles. Where you have long, slender pieces of leftover cloth, shape those into straps. Er¡ªthree times the width we actually want the strap to be, please. I¡¯m not going to bother stitching those. My hands would go sore. But if we fold the edges half-over, then fold the whole thing again and crease it, we can hide the raw edges for long enough to get them purchased.¡±


    Bast tilted his head. ¡°You sure know a lot about sewing.¡±


    ¡°Needlework is a noble pursuit that turns one¡¯s dreams into reality!¡± he boldly proclaimed, leaving off the fact that he only knew how to sew in order to make cosplay. Costumes for himself, but more importantly, for his female friend, who was happy to wear anything he made for her, no matter how trashy the waifu¡ªahem, the earnestly developed female character. Others, less devoted to the cause, might not appreciate the depths he delved to see the trashy characters he loved brought to life, but they were simply those who didn¡¯t fully understand his purpose. If he didn¡¯t personally make the costumes, who would? No one wanted to put time and effort into being one of his favorite trash-tier characters.


    His female friend¡­ Rhys paused for a moment, trying to bring her name to mind. Of all people, she deserved to be remembered, but just like his own name, her name slipped his mind. He scowled. Were all names from his world impossible to recall in this one? Was that some kind of law of the world?


    Ah, well. A pity about her, but that wasn¡¯t important right now. He needed to get these bags made posthaste.


    ¡°Brings one¡¯s dreams into reality,¡± Bast muttered, running his hands over the fabric. His brows knitted, and he tilted his head back the other way.


    Rhys nudged him. ¡°C¡¯mon, get those scissors moving. We need to get these done before the tournament kicks off at dawn.¡±


    ¡°We going to be out here all night?¡± Bast asked, lifting the scissors.


    ¡°Not if you move fast,¡± Rhys returned with a grin.


    ¡°Challenge accepted.¡±


    The two of them settled down in the trash heap and got to work. After a while, Bast took up a needle and thread too, once the rectangles had accumulated far beyond Rhys¡¯ ability to sew them together. Rhys gave him a few pointers, and Bast joined him in stitching. The bags took form. They were nothing fancy, just two rectangular squares sewn together, with a long shoulder strap attached at either end. If they were placed in a shop, next to properly made bags, they¡¯d fall flat, both literally and in terms of quality. But at the spur of a moment, in a strange place, to commemorate a rare event? They were pretty and flashy, with bright colors and fine fabric. Everything they needed to sell like hotcakes.


    Dawn rose, and Rhys rose with a yawn to stretch and greet the rising sun. He¡¯d used a drop of the mana potion to get through the night, and for all that, felt way better than any of his all-nighters he¡¯d pulled on energy drinks and sheer will. In fact, he had the sneaking suspicion that if he managed to absorb a little more mana and circulate it all the time, he might not need to sleep at all.


    He was up to four drops of mana now. Not a respectable amount, by any means, but the point was: his capacity was growing. The training regime was working. He barely felt feverish when he used mana anymore, even when he circulated the full capacity of four drops. Overnight, he¡¯d gained the Sewing skill and leveled it up to 5. The rest of his skills had somewhat stalled out. He suspected that he had hit a bottleneck of sorts, or an EXP slowdown. Basically, if this was a game, then he no longer could gain full EXP by farming in the starting area. He needed a more difficult region to level up at the same rate.


    ¡­Or something like that, anyways. In any case, his objective for now was to level up his gold, not his skills, so he didn¡¯t mind so much. Once he¡¯d tapped out all the resources here, then he¡¯d move on, but not a moment sooner. And he especially didn¡¯t want to move on while such a rare opportunity was presenting itself, in the form of the tournament.


    He looked over their stock. Two health potions and one mana potion to sell, plus twenty bags. Not too shabby. Rhys collected all the bags and slung them over his shoulder, then stopped. He looked at Bast.


    Mid-yawn, Bast could only raise his brows. ¡°What?¡± he asked at last, when he could finally speak normally again.


    ¡°Do you want this?¡± Rhys asked, offering him the mana potion.


    ¡°Huh? Why?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ I¡¯ve found mine to be an incredible training aid. I wouldn¡¯t want to withhold the same from you,¡± Rhys said.


    Bast looked at him, then laughed. He thumped Rhys on the back. ¡°Rhys!¡±


    ¡°Er, what?¡± Rhys asked, a bit at a loss about what was so funny.


    Bast shook his head. ¡°I don¡¯t think a mana potion works as a training aid for anyone but you. I¡¯ve seen you sneaking drops of your potion. If I were to do the same, I¡¯d gain nothing. Even if I drank that whole mana potion right now, I¡¯d only refill my mana. Sell it! If you¡¯re offering it to me for my sake, then know that it¡¯s worth more to me as gold than as a mana potion.¡±


    ¡°Oh,¡± Rhys muttered to himself. He¡¯d almost forgotten how trashy his stats were. Of course Bast would laugh at such a suggestion. Even untrained Bast could absorb mana smoothly and in great quantities. It was only Rhys who struggled to absorb mana, and had such low limits he had to rely on the mana potion to slowly expand his mana limits.


    And then his eyes shimmered. Resolve built in his chest. He was trash now, but he wouldn¡¯t be forever. It was only right for the god of trash to start trashy! If he feared such things as being weaker than others, he wouldn¡¯t be here at all. It was starting weak that gave him the strongest desire to grow strong. There was no fun at all in being powerful from the get-go. The thrill came in finding the skills everyone else overlooked, and combining them together to make a truly overwhelmingly powerful build! So what if he had trash stats? If he gave up, then he truly became trash. Trash stats were only trash for now. He¡¯d grow them. Grow more powerful. And then everyone else would have to appreciate the trash that he was, whether they wanted to or not.


    He thumped Bast on the shoulder, reinvigorated. ¡°What do you say? Let¡¯s go sell some bags.¡±


    Bast nodded, and the two of them set out for the arena in the center of town.

 5. Scalping

    The two of them arrived at the arena as the first spectators arrived. Rhys threw down the red-and-white robe he¡¯d found earlier, tucking the sleeves underneath so it appeared as nothing more than a backdrop. He and Bast quickly set up their wares atop the sheet, setting their bags to the front. Rhys reached for the potions, then hesitated. He and Bast were stronger and faster than a mortal child, but there wasn¡¯t much else that could be said about them. Bast could probably fight an adult on even footing, maybe even overwhelm an adult, while Rhys figured he could land one good punch and run for it, but if someone seriously snatched their potions, much less a contestant, they¡¯d be shit out of luck. He twisted his lips. Maybe it was best to keep his potions close and only offer them to honest-looking people, no matter how shady that made him look.


    ¡°Good morning, boys,¡± a familiar voice said. Straw wrapped an arm around each of them, grinning left and right. ¡°How goes it?¡±


    Rhys let out a silent sigh of relief and set out the potions close to himself. With Straw here, he didn¡¯t have to worry. Even if Straw wouldn¡¯t actually lift a finger to help them, just his presence would ward off those who might think to rob a couple of kids. And he wasn¡¯t sure that Straw wouldn¡¯t help them, if someone tried to steal from them. The man had his limits, and understood his place in the world, but something like blatant theft would give him an excuse to intervene regardless of any self-imposed limits.


    Bast shrugged away from Straw¡¯s arms, and Straw released Rhys a second later. He peered at their wares approvingly. ¡°You¡¯d never know those bags were made from garbage. They look fine, fine indeed!¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll have to thank the mages for throwing out so many perfectly functional robes,¡± Rhys replied. If he were a person from this world, from this timeline, he was sure he wouldn¡¯t understand it at all. But having a modern perspective, where he himself wasn¡¯t above tossing out an old, perfectly functional t-shirt for no other reason than he was bored of it and had too many t-shirts, or the t-shirt having a tiny, fixable hole¡­ he understood it completely. Once one became rich enough, fixing clothes wasn¡¯t worth the time and effort. Not to mention that other people of the same socioeconomic class would look down on you for having mended clothes. It was absolutely ridiculous and a waste of good fabric, but he understood the forces behind it, even if he didn¡¯t agree with them.


    Straw chuckled. ¡°Mages will throw out the most ridiculous items.¡±


    There were more well-dressed spectators today than yesterday. Not only nobles, but also mages, adventurers, and martial artists milled among the crowd. Yesterday, he hadn¡¯t quite understood it, but today, he did. Many of the battlers in the tournament were unaffiliated with any school, mage, martial, or otherwise. Now that they¡¯d come to the second round of the tournament, all the battlers could be considered minor talents at the very least, with some rising to the level of true talent. The mages and their like were here to recruit those talents, or at least watch for rising power in unfriendly schools. Rhys didn¡¯t need a formal education in this world to understand that one school¡¯s rise meant another school¡¯s fall. If one school showed off a powerful new skill, or displayed the strength of an exceptional prodigy in the tournament, the rest of the regional schools would want to know.


    Rhys hadn¡¯t seen anyone that shocking in the tournament so far, but what did he know? He wasn¡¯t a mage. Maybe one of the fighters had fought with unusual skill, and he¡¯d simply been too blind to the ways of battle to understand that.


    Of course, none of that mattered to him. Putting on his public service smile, Rhys sat up, folding his legs under him. ¡°Come one, come all! Fine bags, sewn by skilled artisans from the rarest fabrics! Come, buy one of our town¡¯s specialty bags, and return with a souvenir to remember the tournament by!¡±


    ¡°These bags are the town¡¯s specialty?¡± Bast muttered, confused.


    Rhys leaned in. ¡°Of course not. And we aren¡¯t skilled artisans, either. But they don¡¯t know that.¡±


    Bast grinned. He nodded, slowly, as understanding dawned. ¡°I see now.¡±


    The two of them called out to the passerby, until at last a servant wandered over. He crouched and subtly dropped a few coins, swooping up a bag in the same moment. Rhys snatched up the coins and pocketed them, smiling the whole while. It was fine if the nobility didn¡¯t want to be seen purchasing his bags. Of course, he¡¯d rather they were, but any sales were fine. As soon as people saw other people making purchases, his stall would instantly grow in value.


    A slightly dingy-looking mage approached the stall. She crouched, going through the bags, and then her eyes widened. Her fingertips rested on one of the bags, this one crafted from fine white cloth that fluttered slightly on its own. ¡°Where did you get this?¡±


    ¡°Ah, I¡¯m sorry, ma¡¯am, but we can¡¯t reveal that. However, I must warn you¡ªthat bag is one of our most expensive,¡± Rhys replied with a quick smile. She thought it was valuable? Then it was valuable! The first rule of negotiating sales was to smile, and the first rule of negotiating purchases was to maintain a firm, disinterested poker face.


    ¡°How much?¡± she asked, a note of urgency in her voice.


    Rhys leaned in. Time to try my luck. ¡°Fifty gold.¡±


    She jerked back as if burned. ¡°I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°But for a pretty lady like you, I think I can wrangle that down to twenty-five,¡± Rhys tried, still watching her expression. Her reaction had been extreme, but she hadn¡¯t simply walked away, either.


    The woman smiled. She hesitated, then opened her purse and handed over the sum. ¡°Only because you were so sweet.¡±


    ¡°Thank you.¡± Rhys secreted the coins in his robes with a smile, barely able to hide his trembling hand. He¡¯d hoped to sell the potions for one gold a piece, five gold with the price increase at the mouth of the arena. But he¡¯d just sold a bag for five times that. Was he the fool? Was the true value of the trash pile hidden not in its potion bottles, but instead in the fragments of fabric lost in its depths? Even he hadn¡¯t had such high expectations of the fabric, even with his deep belief in  the power of trash.


    Bast stared as well, slack-jawed. When the woman walked away, he leaned in. ¡°How did you know it was worth that much?¡±


    ¡°I had no idea,¡± Rhys replied honestly.


    Bast¡¯s jaw dropped even further. Slowly, he shut it, shaking his head at Rhys in open amazement. ¡°I was right to stick by you.¡±


    Straw leaned forward. ¡°In truth, the fabric isn¡¯t worth that much. However, many mages are rich recluses, and have lost track of market value¡­ or need very specific, rare materials. The right buyer will pay thousands for what the market might consider a cheap scrap.¡±


    Rhys nodded. Straw meant to caution them not to expect every bag to sell for such an exorbitant sum. The right person had come by and seen the right item, but most of the passerby would value what they had on offer far less. ¡°If only we could find the right buyer every time.¡±


    Straw spread his hands. ¡°And thus, the eternal popularity of auctions. Though of course, the right buyer in an auction might still have the sense to bid low. It really is a precious combination of conditions that will net you a sale like that. Including, in this case, the fact that you two are youth, and poor, orphaned youth at that. She likely knew she was being oversold, but considered the sale a bit of charity and virtue-gathering on her part.¡±


    ¡°Of course,¡± Rhys replied, while Bast deflated a little beside him.


    ¡°Not to say you shouldn¡¯t take advantage of such qualities while you have them, of course. Far be it from me to stop two enterprising youths from capitalizing on every advantage they possess. It¡¯s merely that you can¡¯t expect it to go so well every time,¡± Straw clarified.


    Rhys elbowed Bast. ¡°You hear that? It¡¯s our job to look cute and pathetic so more people pay us more money.¡±


    ¡°Cute and pathetic¡­¡± Bast gave Rhys a look. Despite growing up in the orphanage, Bast was tall and strong, not to mention a little older than Rhys. If not for his patched clothing, he could¡¯ve fit in with the more athletically inclined noble children. In fact, thanks to his skill with mana and its naturally empowering effect on the body, he was bigger and more muscular than some of the athletic noble children.


    Rhys cleared his throat. ¡°Right. Not your strong suit. Okay. I¡¯ll look pathetic enough for both of us.¡± He¡¯d only just started to practice with mana, so his body was still on the small side and visibly malnourished. It was far better than it had been, but he had a long way to go before he looked healthy.


    ¡°Someone needs to look threatening, so no one takes our shit,¡± Bast excused himself.


    ¡°Play to our strengths,¡± Rhys agreed.


    Straw chuckled at the two of them and said nothing.


    A few more patrons visited their shop. Some left without buying anything, but by the time the tournament began its opening ceremonies, only a few bags remained. All the potions had sold. Rhys had set the price point at five gold, and slowly elevated it from there as the potions kept selling. Ten gold was too much to ask, but seven seemed acceptable to most mages. It was a crazy markup, if an ordinary potion truly sold for one gold, but what did he know? He was just a kid in a small village. Maybe seven gold was normal in a big city.


    Most of the bags went for copper or silver. Rhys managed to charm a young nobleman into buying one for a gold coin, on the promise that it would win his beloved¡¯s heart, but that was the extent of it. Mages, martial artists, and adventurers mostly ignored their bags. Either that fabric had been truly incredible, or that woman had really been the exact right buyer in the exact right place. Either way, Rhys wasn¡¯t able to replicate his early success¡­not that he¡¯d expected to. At least they¡¯d all sold for more than the mere pennies he¡¯d sold the empty bottles for.


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    A horn blared. The tournament was beginning once more. Rhys quickly wrapped up his wares in his robe-slash-sheet and tossed them over his shoulder. He and Bast quickly made it into the stables, where Rhys stashed the wares in a corner, then hurried out to the same spot they¡¯d crouched in yesterday. Since no one had stopped them yesterday, people were even less likely to consider questioning them today. After all, they¡¯d gone unchallenged all day yesterday. Why challenge them today?


    ¡°Are we splitting up today?¡± Bast suggested.


    Rhys considered. They could more easily interfere with matches on this side, including things like rolling out potion battles mid-fight, but the more he thought about it, the worse idea it was. If they ¡®forgot¡¯ to pick up a potion bottle or two between fights, that was nothing. But actively interfering, when there were mages with enhanced senses on the sidelines? That was foolish.


    He shook his head. ¡°We¡¯ll act in between fights only. Anything else is too risky. Speaking of, if a bottle looks empty today, let it fall. We can¡¯t ¡®leave¡¯ bottles if there are no bottles on the field. It¡¯s safer to interfere by negligence than to interfere outright.¡±


    Bast nodded. ¡°That¡¯s why you¡¯re the boss.¡±


    Rhys chuckled. ¡°Yeah, yeah.¡±


    The first fight began. They had no opportunity to interfere with it, but they didn¡¯t need to. The opponents, Analiis and another swordsman, were evenly matched. They battled back and forth for a long time, occasionally buying enough time to swig a potion. Today, Bast, Rhys, and Straw simply let the potions hit the ground¡ªthough to be quite honest with himself, Rhys couldn¡¯t have grabbed them mid-fight if he¡¯d wanted to. The battle was too fierce. There was no space for anyone to step in, not without risking a hit. When the battle finished, Analiis was barely the victor. She downed a potion as she raised her sword in her other hand, then tossed the bottle directly at Rhys.


    Rhys caught it, grinning back up at Analiis. She noticed, huh? It was fine, though. Her directly addressing them just made him and Bast appear even more legitimate.


    ¡°And next up, Reahan Gribles of the North Star Sect, and on the other side, Untor the Nameless!¡±


    Rhys quickly wracked his brains. Between the two, Reahan was a mage, while Untor was an adventurer. Untor fought with the kind of feral technique one picked up in the wilds, while Reahan rigidly followed the sword strikes of his clan. Between the two of them, Untor held the upper hand in strength and skill. This would be a quick fight.


    Glancing at Bast, he quickly signaled for Bast to leave the close side of the field alone. The two of them cleared the far side of potion bottles and dirt, then retreated to their side. One of the potions still had a good quantity in it, so Rhys swept that one up, subtly dropping an already-cleaned one in its place. They barely retreated to their posts before the contestants took their spots. Internally, Rhys cheered. Perfect timing. If there was too much time after they finished their ¡®thorough¡¯ cleaning, the spottiness would be suspicious. But barely finishing in time? That was the ideal.


    The next battle kicked off. Rhys watched from the sidelines, curious how much of a difference their interference would make. The first half of the fight proceeded as he expected, with Untor easily pressing Reahan back. Untor stepped forward, deliberately kicking a bottle away as he did so.


    In that moment, Reahan¡¯s eyes flashed. Untor was only distracted for a moment¡ªno, less than a moment¡ªbut it was enough. Reahan dashed in, cutting a slice through Untor¡¯s armored forearms. Untor grunted and kicked him back, but the flow of the battle had changed. The two fought more evenly for a bit, before Untor finally found a moment to swallow a potion, recover, and begin pressing Reahan once more.


    As the glass bottle tinked against the floor, Rhys and Bast exchanged an excited look. It was working! Untor shouldn¡¯t have had to drink a single potion to overcome Reahan, but now, they had a free potion bottle thanks to being a little less conscientious about picking up the bottles than usual. Rhys grinned and gave Bast a thumbs-up. Things were going great.


    Untor won, and the two of them dashed out to clean the field again. The next battle was evenly matched, by Rhys¡¯ guess, so they cleared out all the bottles. And so it went, with Rhys and Bast clearing the bottles or leaving them, based on the matchups. One at a time, they picked their battles, only to harvest more bottles afterwards. If the match was close, or if their interference risked favoring the losing opponent too much, Rhys held back. Not only did Bast dislike the idea of allowing the lesser warrior to win, but Rhys had absolutely no desire to end up on the bad side of any of these people. Even if they only insulted the weakest adventurer in the tournament, that person could still rip him apart with their bare hands. Their interference would only go to the extent of making the winning side fight harder, not throw the fight in the losing side¡¯s favor.


    As the sun set, the tournament wound down again. Only the semifinals and the finals remained. Rhys and Bast¡¯s pockets were stuffed full of potions, their harvest richer today for having meddled in the matches a bit. Straw reappeared, peering over their winnings. ¡°Not bad, not bad!¡±


    ¡°I think we¡¯ll have another two potions for tomorrow,¡± Rhys replied, pleased with the haul as well.


    ¡°Very possible,¡± Straw agreed.


    ¡°We going to build more bags?¡± Bast asked.


    Rhys twisted his lips. The one twenty-five gold bag was tempting, but most of them had barely been worth anything. He knew he didn¡¯t have any more of that fluttery white fabric in the dump, and even if he did, would another perfect buyer come by? And it meant pulling an all-nighter. Even if mana made that less painful, his bed was calling him.


    But on the other hand, the sweet, sweet call of a potential twenty-five gold¡­


    ¡°We¡¯re doing it,¡± he declared boldly.


    Bast chuckled. ¡°I knew it.¡±


    As the three of them left, a few kids stepped out from the alley and blocked their way. Rhys recognized most of them. Older children from the orphanage, or the perkier young ones. Straw faded away, and Rhys stepped forward, crossing his arms. ¡°What do you want?¡±


    The biggest of the older kids stepped forward. He was larger than Bast, though Rhys sensed no mana on him. If he was going to leave potions on half of the field of their battle, he¡¯d leave them on Bast¡¯s side. ¡°We want in.¡±


    Rhys glanced at Bast. The muscular boy stepped forward, crossing his arms. Letting that threat stand, Rhys turned back to the other kids. ¡°Do you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. We do.¡±


    ¡°How do you feel about hard work in the trash pit? I¡¯ll give everyone who joins in two pennies. Two pennies, for a night¡¯s work, how¡¯s that sound?¡±


    The boy narrowed his eyes at Rhys. ¡°We saw you. You got gold.¡±


    Rhys narrowed his eyes back. Lifting his chin, he looked down at the boy as best he could from his modest height. ¡°That¡¯s right. I have gold. And a plan. If you want, go ahead and take on the trash pit on your own. You don¡¯t know it like I do. You don¡¯t know the technique to make bags, either. Work for me. I have knowledge, and I have skill. I can guarantee you all income. Or you can take your chances, work on your own, and see how far your luck gets you.¡± Not as far as me, was the implied finishing line.


    It was the same psychological trick all businesses used. Stability, or risk? Join the business, or strike out on your own? In this case, of course, it wasn¡¯t as good a bet as it would usually be. Rhys had only been in business for two days, and couldn¡¯t promise a steady wage forever. In truth, if they decided to strike out on their own and provide competition, there was little he could do about it, and not only that, they¡¯d probably make more money, provided they found a source of cloth for their bags. It was a bluff. A bluff that he alone had the knowledge and skill necessary to succeed. And he wore that bald-faced lie without hesitation, as firm a set to his face now as there had ever been.


    It wasn¡¯t easy to defend trash. Often, he himself knew it was trash, down to his soul. And to defend it anyways, knowing it was low quality anime, with low quality characters, to look someone in the eye and insist that trash was incredible¡ªwell, that took face. Thick face. He had a lot of practice with gazing at someone and, with full faith, telling them they¡¯d love an absolutely horrible series that no one, neither him nor the creator, could love. In other words, he had a lot of experience with bluffing. And so, in this moment, not even a hint of a blush showed on his face, nor a single sign of flinching.


    The boy hesitated. He glanced back at the other kids. A few of them, especially the younger ones, seriously listened to Rhys. One or two edged toward him already, clearly tempted by his offer.


    ¡°Five pennies a day,¡± the boy insisted at last.


    ¡°Five? Do you think I¡¯m a moneybags? That big sale I made today was once-in-a-lifetime. I can¡¯t afford to pay everyone that much. Three.¡±


    ¡°Four.¡±


    ¡°Three and a quarter.¡±


    ¡°Three and a half.¡±


    Rhys stuck his hand out. ¡°Welcome on board.¡±


    At three-and-a-half pennies per person, he could pay for the kids¡¯ labor, collectively, with one potion. In fact, given the ratio of a hundred copper to one silver, ten silver to a gold, he could pay for the kids, all fifteen of them, with one-fifteenth of one properly-priced potion, never mind one of his marked up potions. It was still a great wage for the kids, especially at a daily rate. It was better than some adults¡¯ wages, in fact. It wasn¡¯t a fair cut of his profits, but if he gave them all a fair cut of his profits, he¡¯d be undercutting him and Bast far too much.


    Bast cut him a look. Rhys quietly shook his head. Your profits are safe, friend.


    They shook on it, and the other kids crowded round. ¡°What do we do?¡± ¡°Where are we going?¡± ¡°Is there really gold in the trash heap?¡± ¡°Where¡¯s my pennies?¡±


    Rhys stepped back, and Bast stood between him and the other kids. He held his hands up. ¡°Pennies will be distributed at the end of a day¡¯s work. Everyone, right now, I need all of you to head back and gather your crafting gear¡ªyour needle and thread. Eat dinner, then head to bed as normal. Bast and I will bring you raw materials, and I¡¯ll instruct you on how to construct bags. If you don¡¯t make at least one bag tonight, you won¡¯t receive any money. If you make more than ten bags, I¡¯ll give you another half-penny for each additional five bags.¡±


    In other words, they had to make fifteen bags to get the reward. It was almost impossible, but that was exactly the point. Bonuses weren¡¯t meant to be handed out. Bonuses were meant to inspire workers to impossible feats and push themselves beyond their healthy limits.


    The kids muttered amongst themselves. A few nodded, while others shook their heads.


    Rhys clapped. ¡°Bast and I will be skipping dinner again tonight, so if someone could save us some food, we¡¯d greatly appreciate it. We will see you tonight, and thank you for joining my bag-making enterprise!¡±


    He walked away, Bast at his heel. The other kids dispersed, as ordered. When they were far enough away that the children wouldn¡¯t hear them, Rhys reached into his pocket and counted out half of his profits for Bast. ¡°Here.¡±


    ¡°What about the kids¡¯ money?¡± Bast asked, shocked.


    ¡°I already took it out mentally before I split it in half. Bonuses will come out of my personal take¡­ not that I expect to hand many out.¡±


    Bast stared at the gold coins in his hand for one more second, then took a deep breath and tucked them away. ¡°I apologize for everything I¡¯ve done to you up until this day. I was a fool.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Hey, just remember that you¡¯re on the right side now,¡± Rhys reminded him with a grin. Without Bast around, that older kid would¡¯ve probably just beaten him up and taken his money. Bast was a threat and a bodyguard alike, someone he could wield both offensively and defensively.


    Bast chuckled. He cracked his knuckles. ¡°Ain¡¯t that the truth. I almost wish Aric had tried starting something. My fists are getting itchy.¡±


    ¡°Hair growing in your palms?¡± Rhys joked off-handedly.


    Bast stared at him.


    Rhys coughed. Not a thing here, huh. ¡°Anyways. Let¡¯s head out to the trash pit. We¡¯ve got a lot of fabric to cut and deliver. I¡¯ll cut, you deliver?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m faster than you, after all,¡± Bast agreed.


    ¡°Rub it in, why don¡¯t you.¡±


    Bast chuckled. He followed after Rhys for a few seconds, then spoke again, his voice slow, almost cautious. ¡°If you were strong, would you still use me?¡±


    Rhys glanced back. ¡°Huh? What, you mean, stronger than you? Of course I would. There¡¯s only one me. I can¡¯t be in two places at once. And besides, I don¡¯t like manual labor. I¡¯ll always need someone to do the manual tasks.¡±


    Bast grinned. He strode faster, quickly passing Rhys. ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°Hey, get back here! Are you making fun of my slowness? I¡¯ll be fast, one day¡­¡±

 6. To Adjourn

    The next day, it wasn¡¯t Rhys and Bast who manned the stall. Instead, the smallest, most delicate of the orphans sat behind the cloth, peddling their bags to all passerby for one silver a bag. Two of the oldest orphans stood nearby, just close enough to ward off anyone who might think about snatching a bag, or worse, the orphans¡¯ takings. Rhys and Bast circled in the crowd, watching the orphans to make sure they didn¡¯t undersell the wares or pocket the take, but also, to advertise their wares.


    ¡°The finest cloth bags! Perfect for you or your ladyfriend!¡±


    ¡°Unique to this town! Bags crafted from the finest cloth. You won¡¯t find these anywhere else!¡±


    The bags sold one after another. The children they¡¯d put behind the cloth were the most effective salesmen, with sad, liquid eyes and malnourished limbs. The second they locked eyes on a weak-willed, sympathetic passerby, it was over. The sale was made, and silver exchanged hands.


    As for the potions, Rhys carried them himself. The children acting as salespeople had been told to redirect people asking after potions to him, so that he could broker the best deal possible. The bags were mostly cheap, and the children were instructed to flag him over if anyone showed untoward interest in one. But the potions were worth gold whether they found the perfect buyer or not, so he handled those deals himself.


    As the tournament kicked off, he swung by the kids and relieved them of their spoils. ¡°Keep up the good work!¡± he cheered, subtly slipping each one a penny.


    The kids¡¯ eyes got wide, and they nodded and hid the penny quickly. He walked away, almost laughing to himself. If they¡¯d just fought and kept that money, they would have had so much more than one penny. But then, that was how the world always worked, wasn¡¯t it? The weak were manipulated by the strong. Corporations trampled their workers, then stole the fruit of their hard work and gave them a fraction of the money they made. All he was doing, was introducing them to the way of the world.


    Bast nudged him. ¡°How much did we make?¡±


    ¡°More than enough,¡± Rhys replied, showing him the pot. Bast¡¯s eyes got big, and he stared. Rhys nudged him. He jerked back to reality and straightened up.


    ¡°It¡¯s not more than yesterday,¡± Rhys pointed out.


    Bast shook his head. ¡°I can¡¯t believe we made that much twice. It¡¯s insane.¡±


    ¡°Pity it¡¯s the last day of the tournament. Otherwise, we could keep this up for weeks,¡± Rhys muttered, half to himself. Like anything children did, it would fall apart eventually, even with Rhys in control. With the tournament ending, the out-of-towners would leave, and there was little chance the townsfolk would buy a bag. The townsfolk were too poor to afford that kind of luxury. Still, it would¡¯ve been nice to get a couple more days of sales out of it.


    ¡°Pity,¡± Bast agreed. He paused. ¡°Then¡­ is there a point to catching potions today?¡±


    Rhys gave him a look. ¡°Of course it is! We can still benefit from potions, ourselves. Not to mention, we can still sell them for one gold even after the tournament. We won¡¯t get to take advantage of tournament pricing, but we still benefit from this.¡±


    ¡°True,¡± Bast agreed.


    ¡°Hello, hello. Still at it?¡± Straw asked, appearing behind them with no warning as usual.


    This time, Rhys didn¡¯t even jump, too used to it to react. He glanced back. ¡°Yeah. No reason not to.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true, that¡¯s true.¡± The grungy-looking man bobbed back and forth, an unusual energy to him. A smile spread across his cheeks.


    ¡°Something good happen?¡± Rhys asked.


    ¡°Maybe.¡± Straw tilted his head. ¡°After the tournament, seek me out. I have an offer for you boys.¡±


    Rhys glanced at him. The man was obviously some kind of expert. Was this the offer he hoped it might be?


    Straw grinned back.


    Rhys smiled. Oh, I think it is. ¡°We¡¯ll do that, for certain.¡±


    They stepped out on the edge of the tournament field. Rhys dropped into the usual crouch, but Bast remained standing. Rhys glanced at him. ¡°Come on! What are you¡ª¡±


    ¡°What are you two doing?¡±


    Rhys tensed. At last, the feared challenge had come. He turned.


    One of the contestants loomed over them¡ªUntor, the adventurer. He glowered down at the two of them. ¡°You two. Why didn¡¯t you pick up the bottles on my side of the field? Who paid you to sabotage me?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Rhys looked around, then pointed at himself. ¡°Me?¡±


    ¡°You and your friend there. Out with it. I noticed your sabotage. Who paid you?¡±


    Rhys gave him baby eyes. ¡°I don¡¯t understand, sir. We¡¯re just two orphans, helping out with the tournament. We¡ª¡±


    Untor swiped for his collar.


    Rhys instinctively drew on his mana and jumped back, dodging Untor¡¯s grasp. In the next instant, his stomach clenched. Shit. I shouldn¡¯t have done that.


    Untor¡¯s eyes burned. ¡°You know how to use mana?¡±


    ¡°Sir, I, I don¡¯t know what you¡¯re talking about. I¡¯m just a kid, I don¡¯t¡ª¡±


    Bast grabbed his shoulder and jerked him back. A wind coursed by his stomach from a blow he couldn¡¯t even see.


    Untor¡¯s eyes burned. ¡°I don¡¯t care. I¡¯ll just beat you two until your momma wouldn¡¯t recognize you.¡±


    Rhys didn¡¯t hesitate. He reached into his pocket, threw a handful of bread crumbs at Untor, and ran for it. Bast followed him instantly, not needing a cue. Both of them sprinted for the arena wall.


    Untor roared. He wiped the breadcrumbs out of his eyes and chased after them.


    Their lead was nothing. Untor quickly gained on them. He reached for Rhys again, foot slamming down.


    A second before Untor¡¯s foot hit down, Rhys tossed a potion vial under his toe. Untor¡¯s foot slipped, and the huge man slammed to the ground.


    Bast hopped onto the wall. Rhys jumped after him, but couldn¡¯t mount the wall so easily with his weaker mana control. At the apex of his jump, he reached for Bast.


    Bast caught his hand and yanked, pulling him onto the wall. Both of them hopped down and fled, Bast leading the way into the labyrinthine streets ahead.


    Untor hopped onto the wall seconds later. His knuckles bulged, white bone showing in his rage. Nothing but empty streets awaited him, no sign of the children left at all.


    ¡°I won¡¯t forget this! I¡¯ll find you!¡± Untor roared at the empty street.


    A few intersections down, Bast and Rhys finally stopped running. Rhys backed up until his shoulders hit a wall, then drooped down it, panting so hard he didn¡¯t have time to swallow his spit. Bast recovered faster, leaning around the corner to make sure Untor hadn¡¯t followed them. He stepped away from it, nodding at Rhys. ¡°We¡¯re safe. He didn¡¯t follow us.¡±


    ¡°Thank goodness,¡± Rhys muttered. He wiped his chin and swallowed, with some difficulty. ¡°Damn. We didn¡¯t even make him lose the match! What was he so mad about?¡±


    ¡°We did make him waste a potion, and take a hit,¡± Bast pointed out.


    ¡°Then he should blame his inability to fight around potion bottles, not us! If we hadn¡¯t been there, none of those bottles would¡¯ve been picked up, and then what? Honestly¡­¡±


    For all that he was raging, Rhys knew he was angry without any justification. Untor did, in fact, have the right to be angry at them. Whether or not that gave him the right to beat up two unarmed kids was a different argument, though one Rhys feared he wouldn¡¯t like the answer to in this world. He huffed, shaking his head.


    ¡°I guess that¡¯s that, then,¡± Bast said.


    Rhys nodded. ¡°That¡¯s that.¡± He knew when to hold ¡®em and when to fold ¡®em, and this? This was definitely a cut-and-run kind of situation. The other kids could keep selling bags out front. Untor truly had no justification to attack them, and if he tried, well, they were in public. No way would people just let him attack a bunch of defenseless kids over something they had no relation to. In fact, a few of the experts in the audience had sat up when he¡¯d attacked Rhys and Bast, only hesitating because of Untor¡¯s objections, objections they, too, must have wondered about, somewhere deep in their hearts.


    He turned back, looking at the stadium. The stone seats hadn¡¯t been empty, today. Rather, they¡¯d been full of mages from the local school. He and Bast hadn¡¯t made the best impression, but any impression was better than no impression. Plus, they¡¯d both demonstrated the ability to use mana untrained. If his instincts were right, that ought to be impressive to the school.


    Rhys drew out the mana potion and quickly topped up, then paused and swallowed a fifth drop. The fifth drop truly pushed him to his limits, but he managed to absorb it without breaking a fever. He sighed and fell against the wall again, taking a moment to adjust to the new quantity of mana, before he slipped the potion away and straightened.


    ¡°I can¡¯t believe you¡¯re still sipping on that thing,¡± Bast commented.


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. My mana capacity is low, I get it.¡±


    If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.


    Bast gave him a look. ¡°It¡¯s not that low. It¡¯s lower than mine, but I¡¯ve been training since I was little. For someone who started last week, it¡¯s incredibly impressive.¡±


    Rhys went to argue, then shook his head and waved his hand instead. If Bast thought he was doing well, who was he to say otherwise? He¡¯d rather have Bast impressed by him than looking down on him. ¡°For now, let¡¯s make scarce. I don¡¯t want Untor to come find us during break.¡±


    Bast nodded. ¡°To the trash pit?¡±


    Rhys shook his head. ¡°Better. The orphanage.¡±


    --


    The matron gave them a look as they walked in. ¡°Well, well, well. Look who decided to show up again! I was starting to think I was rid of you troublemakers for good.¡±


    ¡°Not yet,¡± Rhys replied cheerfully.


    ¡°And what does that mean, young man?¡± she asked, eyes narrowing, but Rhys had already blown past her.


    He headed to the back of the orphanage, into one of the unused school rooms. There, he marched up to the front of the room and faced Bast, who gazed at him from the center aisle.


    ¡°I need you to teach me something.¡±


    ¡°What?¡± Bast asked.


    Rhys shook his head. ¡°Anything. Whatever you can teach me in the hour-or-so we have until the break in the tournament.¡±


    ¡°You think Untor will find us?¡±


    ¡°I think it¡¯s good to be prepared,¡± Rhys returned.


    But to be honest, the answer was yes. Yes, he did expect it. They¡¯d left too many of their prints behind. The other orphans, the bag shop. He could absolutely find them here. But that was fine. The point wasn¡¯t to hide. An adventurer like Untor doubtlessly had tracking and searching skills that would let him seek them out, wherever they went. The point was to go somewhere public enough, innocent enough, that someone would go for help when they were attacked, and help would come. Somewhere diverged from the tournament, where the ¡®heroes¡¯ might connect him and Bast and the bottles on the field. Somewhere that when those experts heard of it, they would immediately and unquestioningly classify Untor as the villain and act in their favor, before any higher-level thinking kicked in.


    In other words, the orphanage.


    The only problem remaining was, how did he survive until those heroes showed up? And this was his answer¡­ or, at least, the best thing to an answer he could come up with. He was kicking himself for not asking Bast for skills until now, but it was too late for regret. He¡¯d foolishly though he could get by until he found a real teacher, but what foolishness that was! He professed to find value in trash, and yet, he¡¯d overlooked a perfectly good teacher, a boy with skills unlike his who doubtlessly had plenty to teach him. All because of that wretched ego of his. He¡¯d taken the role of boss, and as such, had instinctively looked down on Bast. He knew he shouldn¡¯t. He knew the other boy was objectively stronger than him. But that one motion, that instinctive role-taking, and he¡¯d completely overlooked the option. Oh, he was kicking himself now¡ªbut better late than never, he reassured himself, waiting for Bast¡¯s answer.


    Bast thought for a while. Longer than Rhys would have liked. At last, he opened his mouth. ¡°I¡­ think I can teach you this in time. It doesn¡¯t use much mana, and it saved my life many times, back in the day.¡±


    ¡°That sounds perfect. What is it?¡± Rhys asked, excited.


    Bast gave him a look. He curled his hands into fists and approached Rhys slowly. A menacing aura came over him. ¡°How do you feel about taking hits?¡±


    ¡°Not great¡­¡± Rhys said slowly, eyeing Bast. He backed away.


    ¡°That¡¯s the spirit.¡± A fist flew toward Rhys.


    --


    Rhys wandered out in the yard in front of the orphanage, kicking a deflated ball around the grass. He¡¯d never been much for soccer, but in this world, with a mana-enhanced body, he was actually getting somewhere. He booted it toward the far end of the field, and it bounced off the lone tree. Rhys threw his hands up. ¡°Score! And the crowd goes wild!¡±


    In the distance, the audience cheered, as if on cue. Rhys looked up. The cheering continued for a while, then faded away, replaced by the low, distant roar of crowd noise. The first round of battles had ended.


    A gaggle of kids wandered nearer. Rhys looked over and made eye contact with Bast, who nodded back. A mage or two followed the kids back, discussing something, while the kids kept glancing at Bast and shrugging.


    Everything was set. All they needed now was the principal actor.


    Thunderous stomps echoed down the street. Rhys retrieved his ball and went back to kicking it around, pretending not to notice. The metal gates flew open, and Untor marched inside. He pointed at Rhys. ¡°You!¡±


    ¡°Me?¡± Rhys asked innocently, pointing at himself.


    ¡°Come here, you little rat.¡± Untor raised his arm and marched over.


    Rhys backed away. He circulated his mana, preparing the technique Bast had taught him. At the same time, he shrieked at the top of his lungs. ¡°Help! Help! There¡¯s a madman attacking the orphanage!¡±


    Untor¡¯s face twisted. ¡°I¡¯m not¡ª¡±


    Across the way, the mages who¡¯d been drawn by the children on the promise of more, different bags looked up sharply. All eyes landed on Rhys, the small, malnourished child, and the huge, muscular Untor, looming over him threateningly.


    ¡°Please! He¡¯s going to kill me!¡± Rhys screamed.


    Untor¡¯s eyes darkened. He closed in, instantly reaching Rhys. He could still get one good hit in before the others intervened. There was murder in his eyes, and for a second, Rhys¡¯ stomach went cold. He might actually kill me.


    And then the fist slammed into him, and he activated the technique.


    It was simple. A self-preservation technique. He jumped away from Untor with all his strength, while blasting his mana out of his body at the exact point Untor punched. The mana resisted Untor¡¯s punch and threw him back even faster at the same time. It mitigated the damage to the extent someone as weak as Rhys could.


    He had a few bruises from Bast¡¯s blows, but he had to admit, the boy was right. The fastest way to learn a skill was to experience it. Three punches in, he¡¯d already had a good understanding of the principles, despite being unable to conceive of it when Bast only described it. By the fifth, he¡¯d practiced it enough to gain a new skill entirely:


    Blow Mitigation 1


    Despite the skill, Rhys still went flying. Bones snapped, and he felt his organs crush. Blood seeped out of his side, instantly soaking his robes. He hit the ground and rolled, striking up against the far wall. He screamed bloody murder, as if he were actively being torn apart. At the same time, he popped open his reserve potion and sipped it. The potion swirled inside him. Less is More grasped it and amplified its power, and the small sip of potion he¡¯d taken quickly healed most of his wounds. Rhys put the potion back away and kept screaming, clutching his side in pain.


    Looking pathetic was his strength, after all.


    Untor, who¡¯d seen all of this, grimaced. He stomped over and raised his foot. ¡°Fucking filth! You little slime. You¡¯re better off as dirt on my shoe¡ª¡±


    A mage appeared behind him. She wound her arm across Untor¡¯s chest and yanked him backwards. His foot slammed down inches from Rhys¡¯ chest. It splashed mud on his chest, but didn¡¯t harm him. ¡°What are you doing? To a mortal child? Are you insane?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s no child! He¡¯s a scam artist, a grifter! He¡¯s an agent hired by some sect, intent on sabotaging all adventurers!¡± Untor raged, fighting against her grasp.


    The second mage appeared, a man in white robes. ¡°Hold him tight!¡±


    The female mage tightened her hold, while Untor¡¯s eyes widened. He fought even harder, but to no avail. In the next instant, the man¡¯s fingers flashed out, poking Untor¡¯s chest. Untor stiffened, suddenly no longer thrashing against the woman¡¯s hold. His neck tensed, and his face turned red, but he couldn¡¯t struggle any longer.


    The white-robed looked down on Untor, disgust written on his face. ¡°I don¡¯t care what you adventurers do in the wilds. It¡¯s your business whether you murder mortals out in the badlands or not. But in the territory of Snowdrop School, you absolutely will not touch our mortals. Did we not make ourselves clear?¡±


    ¡°He interfered! He interfered first!¡± Untor snarled.


    The mages looked at Rhys. Rhys sobbed on the floor, rolling around in pain as pathetically as possible. A young boy, small for his age, horrifically injured. They looked back at Untor, a grown man in great health, rippling with muscle.


    The male mage sighed. He shook his head. ¡°Even if this boy played some kind of joke on you, can¡¯t you overlook it? Or is this child so large of a threat that you felt the need to trample on my School¡¯s laws and murder him, against all conscience and reasoning? Could it be that the great Untor the adventurer is in fact a weak-willed and petty man who can¡¯t even overlook a child¡¯s pranks?¡±


    Untor¡¯s veins bulged. His eyes turned bloodshot. He strained against whatever invisible restraint the man had put on him. Abruptly, he turned his head away. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll leave this child. But he isn¡¯t to be allowed near the tournament.¡±


    The male mage sighed. He shook his head. ¡°I¡¯m sure we can all agree to that. Isn¡¯t that right, child?¡±


    Squinting against his supposed pain, his teeth gritted, Rhys managed a nod. In truth, he wasn¡¯t in any pain at all. The potion had healed him enough, and what little damage remained was being healed by the residual effect of the potion. Still, it wouldn¡¯t do for the mages to realize that he¡¯d had this whole situation in hand and was only acting, so he kept playing along.


    ¡°There we have it. If I release your restraints, will you walk away?¡± the mage asked Untor.


    ¡°He had a sidekick! Another kid. He isn¡¯t allowed near either,¡± Untor insisted.


    Rhys coughed. With effort, he bit his cheek so he could spit some blood. ¡°I¡ªI¡¯ll tell him.¡±


    ¡°Is there anything else you want to demand from this child, Untor?¡± the mage asked, with the exasperated tone of one mediating the argument of small children.


    ¡°That¡¯s all,¡± Untor grunted.


    The male mage stepped forward and tapped Untor¡¯s chest in the same places as he had the first time. Untor¡¯s body unstiffened, and he staggered back. He glared at Rhys. ¡°If I catch you alone in the badlands¡­¡±


    ¡°If you¡¯re done threatening children?¡± the male mage insisted. He stepped between Untor and Rhys and crossed his arms, giving Untor a firm look. A tiny bit of his aura brushed against Rhys, and Rhys stiffened. Between Untor and this male mage, he¡¯d rather face a dozen Untors. This man, whoever he was, could kill Rhys in a glance. Forget Blow Mitigation. He could level that up to 100, and it wouldn¡¯t make a difference. He¡¯d still be dead.


    Untor grunted. He turned away, marching off. The male mage turned to Rhys and gave him a look as well. ¡°You can stop.¡±


    Rhys laid there for another beat, but when the man¡¯s gaze didn¡¯t move away, he dusted himself off and stood. ¡°He did punch me,¡± he offered, by way of defense.


    ¡°Hmm. And if you attempt this kind of thing again, don¡¯t expect you can rely on me again,¡± the man warned him.


    Rhys lowered his head, duly warned. He understood without being told. The man didn¡¯t care about him, nor did he care about Untor. He was more than happy to let Untor kill a random mortal. He¡¯d acted to enforce rule of law, because letting Untor run wild and ignore his laws meant the power of his school was insufficient to prevent one adventurer from doing what he liked, not because he wanted to save Rhys. With a tournament happening in his town, and all the local schools¡¯ eyes on his school, he needed to project power. If the tournament wasn¡¯t happening, he would have likely let it slide.


    But that was fine. Rhys had already exploited the tournament as much as he wanted to. Anything today was just bonus. And he had absolutely no intention of sticking around until next year¡¯s tournament. Time was a-wasting. Now that he¡¯d gathered some gold, it was time to progress toward actual magehood. Go buy a spellbook or something.


    The male mage looked Rhys up and down again. A wave of energy passed over Rhys, and he shivered. Something about it had felt¡­ invasive. As if the man had somehow seen into his very soul.


    The mage¡¯s gaze lingered for a moment, but after a second, he sighed. ¡°Taking a blow from Untor and surviving is impressive, at your age. If only your talent were better¡­¡±


    Rhys laughed. The mage frowned at him, and he put his hands up. ¡°No, no. I already know I¡¯m weak. It¡¯s fine if you think I¡¯m trash. I know I¡¯m trash, but I¡¯m not going to let that stop me.¡±


    The mage shook his head. A smile touched his face, and then he broke out into laughter. He patted Rhys¡¯ head. ¡°It¡¯s good to have conviction! Maybe we¡¯ll see you in the tournament one day.¡±


    Rhys smiled, but internally, he rejected it. In this po-dunk tournament, held in a mortal town in the middle of nowhere, where the local mage school didn¡¯t even attend it until its final day? If he ended up that weak, even he¡¯d be disappointed in himself. His ambitions weren¡¯t so low.


    The male mage nodded at the female mage, and both of them left. Bast turned the corner, giving Rhys a look-over. His eyes widened at the blood, but Rhys silently shook his head. He was fine.


    ¡°Should we go look for Straw?¡± he asked quietly.


    Bast frowned. ¡°After he refused to help us with Untor?¡±


    Rhys shook his head. ¡°He didn¡¯t refuse to help. I knew better than to ask.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Bast asked, lost. He looked at Rhys¡¯ side. ¡°You could have died, so why not?¡±


    Rhys smiled slowly. ¡°Because, if I¡¯m right, he¡¯s so incredibly powerful that him individually intervening might cause all-out war. And if that¡¯s the case, would you rather waste that kind of power on protecting us from a middling-strong adventurer?¡±


    He leaned in, looking Bast in the eye. ¡°Or do you want to learn from that sort of power?¡±


    Bast¡¯s eyes glittered with comprehension. He nodded slowly, then thumped Rhys on the shoulder. ¡°This is why you¡¯re boss.¡±


    ¡°Ow,¡± Rhys muttered, flinching. His side was mostly healed, but not totally healed.


    ¡°Sorry,¡± Bast replied, flinching back.


    Rhys waved it away. Who cared, when faced with the future that awaited them? ¡°Come on. Let¡¯s go meet our destiny.¡±

 7. Meeting Destiny

    Rhys led the way, not toward the tournament or the empty field nearby where they¡¯d encountered Straw before, but to the nearest stable. He crossed his arms and looked at the hay piled in the corner. ¡°You can hear me, can¡¯t you?¡±


    Bast raised his brows, but said nothing. By now, he knew better than to question Rhys.


    ¡°Ah? You figured it out!¡±


    Rhys whirled.


    Straw stood behind him, smiling slightly. He tapped his cheek and nodded. ¡°You figured it out. I do want to take you two as students, if you¡¯re willing to follow me.¡±


    Rhys snorted. I guess he wasn¡¯t admitting to me figuring out his mysterious appearance from nowhere technique. He glanced at the straw on the floor, but said nothing.


    ¡°We are,¡± Bast pledged.


    Straw tilted his head. ¡°I won¡¯t have good accommodations or food for you. I have little resources. We¡¯ll be forced to wander the land. All I can offer you, is a few small techniques and the ability to step onto the path of a mage. Do you accept, nonetheless?¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°I accept.¡±


    Bast opened his mouth, but before he could speak, Straw lifted a finger. He looked Bast in the eye and spoke to him directly. ¡°You aren¡¯t like Rhys. You have talent and potential. If you wanted, you could easily get yourself recruited by a top tier martial school. Despite that, do you still choose to follow me? A lone wanderer, with a birch stick for a sword?¡±


    Bast looked at Rhys.


    Rhys smiled back at him. ¡°It¡¯s your future. You are the only one who can choose.¡±


    ¡°You said this man is a monster? That he¡¯s strong enough that his individual action could cause a war?¡± Bast asked.


    ¡°Oh my, oh my. I wouldn¡¯t say so much, I wouldn¡¯t say so much at all,¡± Straw demurred. And yet, if one listened closely, he didn¡¯t deny it; he simply denied he would admit it.


    Rhys nodded. ¡°That¡¯s what my instincts are telling me.¡± His instincts, and what little he could sense of Straw¡¯s aura. That, and the fact that not a single expert had acknowledged his existence. Not when he was helping them pick bottles, nor when he was sneaking into the tournament through the stables. If that man in white, the person from the local Snowdrop Sect, insisted on protecting the rule of law but had left Straw alone, then that meant one of two things. One, that Straw was so powerful that the man sensed him, and chose not to bother him. And two, even more terrifying: that Straw was so strong he could hide his power from that man entirely, and that powerful mage, so strong he could stop Untor in his tracks with a few taps of his fingertips, was so weak before Straw that he couldn¡¯t even detect Straw¡¯s presence.


    Either way, Rhys knew which camp he wanted to learn in.


    Bast nodded. ¡°Then I¡¯ll follow your instincts. Things have only improved for me since I started following you. I won¡¯t stop now.¡±


    ¡°Gather everything you have. We leave tonight, and we won¡¯t return,¡± Straw said seriously.


    Rhys and Bast exchanged a look. Bast pulled open his shirt just enough to show Rhys the silver he¡¯d gathered from the kids. ¡°You handed out the pennies?¡± Rhys confirmed.


    Bast nodded.


    Then that¡¯s everything.


    They looked back at Straw. Rhys nodded. ¡°This is all we have.¡±


    Straw nodded approvingly. ¡°The lighter you travel, the less you have to carry. Well. For now.¡±


    There was something ominous in the way he said it, but Rhys pushed it away. They¡¯d have to work hard if they were going to be trained. He couldn¡¯t be afraid of hard work if he wanted to become a powerful mage.


    Hard work means fireballs, he reminded himself, and his resolve returned.


    They didn¡¯t bother saying goodbye to the matrons. The matrons wouldn¡¯t care. If anything, they¡¯d be glad to be rid of a couple of troublemakers. Rhys wasn¡¯t particularly close with any of the other kids, nor were they with him. Likewise, most of the other kids considered Bast dangerous, and the few who hadn¡¯t¡ªTam and Den¡ªhad recently changed their opinions. There was nothing holding them back.


    Straw led them out into the land beyond the town. They walked until nightfall. Straw wasn¡¯t joking about being able to offer them nothing, because when night came, he simply gathered some pine needles for bedding and settled down. Rhys and Bast followed his example. Their night was cold, hard, and generally uncomfortable, but sometime around midnight Rhys grew exhausted enough to simply pass out, and from there, it wasn¡¯t that bad at all.


    Outside of the town, the mana grew thicker. It was easier for Rhys to gather mana by breathing, the way Bast could. Every night, before he went to sleep, he meditated for a time, focusing on gathering mana.


    During the day, they trained. At first, Straw had them march with a heavy rock on their back. When they could circulate their mana smoothly enough to walk at normal speed with the rock, he added more weight, over and over until they couldn¡¯t carry more rocks. When they hit that point, he made them jog instead. Bast had a relatively easy time of it. All he had to do was scale up his mana circulation. Rhys, on the other hand, struggled. He had to push his limits just to carry one rock. Each additional rock pushed him further beyond his limit. His face flushed with heat, and his head pounded with fever. Still, he forced himself to keep going. To absorb more mana, and expand the amount of mana that he could push through his body. Bast carried twice the rocks that Rhys could, and still seemed barely pressured.


    That¡¯s what I get for starting with a trash build, Rhys acknowledged.


    As they walked, or jogged, Straw would lecture them. He taught them about the basics of magic. They absorbed mana and stored it in their cores, then used it for whatever purpose they needed, whether to enhance their body or cast a spell. Mana flowed through mana passages, and they could widen them, the same as they could expand their core. At their level, their job was to gather as much mana as they could and expand their core and passages as much as possible. It just so happened that pushing themselves physically to do something like carry rocks forced them to expand both. They had to both utilize more mana and move it smoothly around their body in order to physically exert themselves beyond human limits, after all.


    It took longer for Rhys to reach the same levels of Bast, but Rhys refused to give up. Slowly, he toiled up to Bast¡¯s levels, even if it meant struggling during breaks, during meals, no matter what. Bast and Straw took the opportunity to duel, Bast bare-handed, Straw wielding that slender stick of his. While he struggled under the stones, Rhys watched them. Straw clearly held himself back, and even so, he soundly lashed Bast. Every time, Bast came away covered in bright red welts where the slender, flexible stick had landed. At first, Rhys offered him the potion, but Bast refused, and eventually, his refusal paid off. His welts began healing on their own. Not quickly, but by the end of the day, the welts would fade to nothing.


    Rhys stared. ¡°How do I get in on that?¡± Self-regeneration? That was even cheaper than sipping bits of potion!


    ¡°Natural aptitude, and a lot of pain,¡± Straw replied. He flexed the birch branch. ¡°Should we find out if you have the same aptitude?¡±


    Bast met his eyes and shook his head.


    Rhys recoiled, then clenched his teeth. He couldn¡¯t give up for a little pain. He¡¯d never become the strongest that way. ¡°Then¡ªdo it!¡±


    And so, from that day on, Rhys was also smacked with the birch branch. He¡¯d known Straw was toying with Bast. The shocking part was that he was toying with Bast to the extent that he could add laps to the edge of the field to smack Rhys, and not break stride in the fight. The self-regeneration skill proved more elusive than Rhys hoped. Before long, he looked like a strange striped creature, covered all over in thin red lines.


    Days passed. Rhys caught up to Bast on the rock-carrying, and Straw immediately declared a new curriculum. He walked backward, facing his students, both of them laden with stone while he carried the stick and nothing. ¡°You¡¯re both close to graduating from Mana-Gathering to true mages, so how about I teach you something even real mages would die to learn?¡±


    Rhys set down his rocks. ¡°I¡¯m all ears.¡±


    The birch stick lashed out, fast as lightning. ¡°I never said you could put those down.¡±


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    Gritting his teeth, Rhys picked them up again. He hadn¡¯t yet learned the self-regeneration skill, and looked a sorry sight, covered in red welts. With the rocks on his back forcing him to hunch, he truly looked horrifically disfigured, as if beset by some disease.


    Bast glanced at Straw. ¡°May we put the rocks down?¡±


    ¡°Go on,¡± Straw allowed easily.


    Rhys stared at him, open mouthed, then shook his head and thumped the rocks down for the second time. He watched the twig, wary of it, but it didn¡¯t leap for him again.


    Straw paced before them, twiddling the stick. He held it out, contemplating it. ¡°Is there anything special about this stick?¡±


    Rhys and Bast exchanged a glance. Straw carried it, so there must be something. Rhys lifted his arm, extending his mana toward it. It encompassed the stick without trouble, but sensed nothing. He frowned, then guessed, ¡°Is it¡­ from a special tree?¡±


    Beside him, Bast squinted. He glanced at Rhys, then shook his head. ¡°It looks like an ordinary stick to me.¡±


    Straw pointed the stick at him. ¡°Precisely. It is nothing but an ordinary stick. Do you have a knife or a sword?¡±


    Rhys hesitated, then drew out the bit of sword he¡¯d found in the trash. He held it out toward Straw.


    Straw gestured him on. ¡°Come.¡±


    ¡°Er, shouldn¡¯t Bast¡ª¡±


    ¡°It doesn¡¯t matter. Come! As if you mean to kill!¡±


    Shrugging to himself, Rhys rushed in. Straw stood there, perfectly unmoving. With both hands on the sword, Rhys brought it down toward Straw¡¯s head.


    Straw lifted the branch to block.


    For a half-breath, Rhys hesitated, but then he steeled himself and slammed the sword down. Even if he hit, it probably wouldn¡¯t hurt Straw. In that instant, too, all the pain Straw had inflicted on him flashed through his head¡ªthe rocks, the birch branch (even though he asked for it), and he struck harder than before. Who cares if it hits? It¡¯s payback!


    Straw twisted the branch. It met the sword and turned Rhys¡¯ blow aside. Rhys found himself striking at the ground instead of at Straw. A punishing blow to the back of his shoulders slammed him into the earth. He bounced and rolled, crying out on instinct.


    ¡°An ordinary branch. But I can turn aside steel,¡± Straw stated.


    Rhys climbed to his feet. He stared. ¡°How?¡±


    Straw turned to Bast. He gestured the boy on. ¡°This time, I won¡¯t turn the blade aside. Come at me with all you have.¡±


    Rhys offered his sword to Bast, but it was unnecessary. Bast drew a short blade from his robes and charged Straw, plunging it toward the man¡¯s heart.


    Straw met the blow head-on. Instead of the knife piercing through the wood, as it should have, it stopped dead. It was as though he wielded a sword, not a thin, flexible branch that quavered when the wind blew.


    Before Bast could attack again, Straw flicked his wrist, sending Bast¡¯s knife flying. He whirled and lashed Bast hard on the shoulder. Bast jumped back, crying out in shock. He lifted a hand to his shoulder, and it came away bright red¡ªas if he¡¯d been cut with a blade.


    ¡°Straw!¡± Rhys shouted. He jumped to his feet and ran between Straw and Bast, holding his arms out. ¡°That¡¯s too far!¡±


    ¡°Do you not want this power?¡± Straw asked. For the first time, his eyes seemed too perfectly blue, too unstirred, too clear. Empty. As if there were nothing inside.


    Rhys drew the potion out of his robes. Bast shook his head, but Rhys caught his other arm and pinned him in place, then dripped a few drops inside the wound. The wound began to seal shut, faster than Bast¡¯s self-regeneration. ¡°You can¡¯t just cut us open like that.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s only training,¡± Bast murmured, pushing Rhys away.


    Rhys looked from him to Straw. Was this just his modern sensibilities speaking? Still, this seemed extreme. He opened his mouth, then shut it. If he wanted to be a mage, he had to put up with a little pain. Right? Was this any different? Straw hadn¡¯t seriously injured Bast, only cut him a little. It was a serious injury to Rhys, but was it to Straw? To Bast?


    Straw reached into his filthy coat and drew out a potion bottle. He set it to the side. ¡°You will get injured, but I can teach you this art. To make anything a weapon. Are you interested, even if it wounds you?¡±


    ¡°Yes,¡± Bast said immediately.


    Rhys hesitated for a moment, then nodded as well. ¡°Yes.¡±


    Straw pointed at Rhys. ¡°You apply the potion. That skill of yours multiplies its effect, as long as you¡¯re the one using it, isn¡¯t that so?¡±


    ¡°Er¡­¡± Rhys glanced at Bast. He hadn¡¯t been paying attention, but now that Straw said it, the few drops of potion had healed Bast just as much as they¡¯d heal Rhys. From what he¡¯d seen in the tournament, it would have taken at least a good sip of potion to heal a wound like that for an ordinary person. ¡°I guess so.¡±


    Straw nodded. Whatever it was that had flashed in his eyes, that deep emptiness, it was gone now. The human, ordinary Straw was back. ¡°Don¡¯t take the comments of other mages to heart. You might not have outright talent, but being able to easily pick up a strange skill like that suggests a deep affinity with a path or element that most people lack. Not just with whatever your path might be, but in general. It won¡¯t be caught by something that measures ¡®talent¡¯ like your latent ability to absorb mana or the size of your core, since it¡¯s immaterial. It¡¯s something you hold in your heart. But nonetheless, it¡¯s something deeply valuable.¡±


    Rhys straightened up. ¡°Oh?¡± Was that it? Was that where his hidden value laid? There was always value at the bottom of every piece of trash. If he was trash, then naturally, he had to have value hidden somewhere. A path. Something held in my heart. The skill Less is More. He frowned. What kind of ¡®path¡¯ was that, though?


    ¡°Don¡¯t think too hard on it. When you consider your obsessions, what¡¯s the first one that comes to mind?¡± Straw asked.


    ¡°Trash,¡± Rhys admitted sheepishly.


    Bast snorted. ¡°If you didn¡¯t say it, I was going to.¡±


    Straw nodded, totally unperturbed. ¡°One¡¯s path is unique to themselves, and precious to their heart. It doesn¡¯t matter what your obsession is; as long as it can take form and lead you further into magehood, it¡¯s as good as anyone else¡¯s path. Mine is straw, for example. Weak, ordinary, simple straw. And yet, I¡¯m able to beat you both soundly.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s true,¡± Rhys allowed.


    Bast frowned. ¡°Isn¡¯t there such a thing as the true path? The one path that leads you into godhood, or whatever?¡±


    ¡°Wait, huh? I can become a god?¡± Rhys asked, startled. He raised his brows. The ultimate mage in this world? I was setting my goals too low! Why stop there, when I can become the true god of trash?


    Straw¡¯s eyes crinkled, and he laughed. ¡°In all due time, perhaps, although no one has successfully ascended in so long that it has become a mere legend. Though I would point out to you, Bast¡­ not all gods are identical, are they? There are righteous gods and demonic gods, gods of hearth and gods of war. So how could they all walk one true path?¡±


    Bast raised his brows, then furrowed them. At last, he muttered, ¡°Huh.¡±


    ¡°What about you, Bast? What¡¯s your obsession?¡± Rhys asked.


    Bast shook his head. ¡°Not everyone has it as easy as you.¡±


    ¡°True, true. Now, do you want to learn this technique, or not?¡± Straw demanded.


    Rhys stepped forward. His shock at the sudden bloodshed aside, this skill was exactly the kind of thing he needed. Fighting with a sword wasn¡¯t for him. But fighting with any piece of garbage he found on the ground? Now that appealed to him innately. ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°Even if there¡¯s some blood?¡± Straw asked teasingly.


    ¡°If it¡¯s necessary, and our lives aren¡¯t on the line, then I won¡¯t waver again,¡± Rhys replied. This world had its own morals. He¡¯d only hold himself back if he constantly held it to his standards. There were some places he refused to waver, but in the face of such great benefits? Once the initial shock wore off, he was more than willing to waver a little bit.


    Straw looked at Bast. ¡°And you?¡±


    ¡°I never turn down the chance to obtain a new weapon,¡± Bast replied.


    ¡°Good. Then watch me closely.¡± Straw put his birch stick down and picked up a blade of grass from the ground. He held it out to the boys, letting them examine it. Both Bast and Rhys investigated it closely, but again, neither one found anything off. It was an ordinary piece of grass.


    Straw turned around and lashed out. A nearby tree toppled, felled by the edge of the grass.


    ¡°But you do something to make it deadly,¡± Rhys insisted.


    ¡°Precisely. I¡¯ll repeat my actions, but slower this time. Watch closely. In particular, investigate the flow of my mana. I¡¯ll drop the wards around my body, so you can watch it flow through my arms and into the grass.¡±


    ¡°You keep wards around your body?¡± Rhys asked, curious.


    Straw nodded. ¡°Most mages disguise their mana flows somehow. For some mages, that¡¯s as easy as allowing their flesh to mask their mana. Others need wards or other supplemental techniques. It¡¯s all about how you build your power.¡±


    He snapped his fingers. Rhys extended his mana. Without whatever interference Straw had set up, he could clearly sense the flow of mana through Straw¡¯s limbs. Once more, Straw drew back the scrap of grass. This time, Rhys could see mana build up in Straw¡¯s chest and arms, and even in his legs and hips. His whole body shone as he put his all into one blow.


    In the very last moment, as he lashed out, all that energy transferred from his body into the grass. The grass stiffened, empowered and reshaped from a fluttering strand into a stiff blade. Straw¡¯s mana had fundamentally changed, too. As it emerged from his hand and into the blade, it turned from mana into some other energy. A sharp, blade-like energy. Energy that felt like a weapon itself, and transferred the property of the weapon into the grass blade.


    A cluster of slender trees fell. Straw lowered his hand. Having expressed two strikes, the grass was in tatters. It drifted from his hand in tiny green pieces, torn to bits. ¡°Do you understand?¡±


    Bast squinted. He shook his head slowly.


    ¡°What is that energy? The mana changes into something, but¡­¡± Rhys squinted. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°Weapon intent. Most people call it ¡®sword intent¡¯ or ¡®spear intent,¡¯ or the intent of whatever weapon they choose to wield. What I¡¯m going to teach you, is the generalized form of that skill. The ability to put weapon intent into anything. Most people train for years to develop this skill, and I expect it to be no different for you. It will be hard, but when you¡¯re done, you¡¯ll be able to fight anywhere, with anything, no matter the conditions. Are you ready?¡± Straw asked.


    Rhys nodded. Beside him, Bast clenched his hands into fists, so excited he could barely hold himself back.


    Straw plucked a new blade of grass and drew it back, assuming a sword stance. ¡°Choose a weapon. I don¡¯t mind if it¡¯s a real weapon.¡±


    Rhys hesitated, then drew the scrap of a sword he carried. Bast pulled out his knife.


    Instantly, blunt blows landed on their legs, forcing them into a new stance. ¡°Not like that. This is a weapon. A sword! Stand as if you¡¯re holding a weapon.¡±


    Rhys lowered his stance. He copied Straw to the greatest degree possible, watching his hands, his feet, even his hips. It took him effort to adjust his mana flows, given his slim grasp on handling them in the first place, but he forcibly schooled them to match Straw¡¯s.


    Another set of blows rattled his way. There was mana in these blows, and they pierced past his flesh to adjust his mana flows directly. ¡°Not like that. Like this!¡±


    Straw turned his attention to Bast, leaving Rhys to sweat and focus on maintaining the flows. He hammered at Bast, adjusting his stance, his mana, even his grip on the knife.


    Rhys stood there, teeth gritted, his body smarting from the very first round of adjustments. This wasn¡¯t going to be easy. But this was the only route to becoming powerful and launching fireballs from his fingertips. He wasn¡¯t going to flinch now.


    Straw turned back on him, a bright vicious light in his eyes. The beatings commenced. And like that, years passed.

 8. The Passage of Time

    The years passed. The ¡®weapon intent¡¯ Straw spoke of was no easy skill to learn, nor was he in any way an easy person to learn from. He ran the both of them ragged day in and day out. Sometimes with a makeshift weapon, sometimes with his fists, he chased them down and pushed them to their limits.


    Training took many forms. Some days, they faced Straw and practiced strikes, repeating them over and over, or held a stance for hours until their muscles ached and sweat poured down their bodies. Some days, he walked around them, offering pointers and adjusting their form. Some days, the days that Rhys both dreaded and eagerly awaited, he and Bast would awaken, or jolt from their meditation, to find themselves alone in their camp, with nothing but the clothes on their backs. Even his precious potions and hard-won gold would be gone. They¡¯d have to pick up whatever they could find, a broken bone, a sturdy stick, even a rock, and hunt Straw, while Straw hunted them.


    As for hunting, there were a great many beasts in the forest around them. Some even qualified as monsters, with mana flowing in their veins and spells of their own. At first, the monsters were horrifyingly powerful, unkillable and terrible, that had to be avoided at all costs, but as time wore on, they became less fearful. Bast was the first to strike one down. He dropped from a tree and brained a magic squirrel-beast with gold fur with a stone. The thing squealed and struggled until Rhys ran over and ended its suffering with a quick slash of his broken sword. To his surprise, Rhys felt little. It was only a beast, after all. Seeing its blood flow triggered no emotion in him except for hunger, and distant curiosity about that gold fur.


    Its meat was full of mana, and eating it helped both him and Bast advance in a way that absorbing ordinary mana didn¡¯t. After that, the free-for-all on hunting beasts began. Whenever they had a rare moment of free time, they set off into the woods. Bast preferred chasing them down with his own strength, while Rhys favored traps, often built with the scraps of the beasts they¡¯d killed before. However they got it done, they hunted beast after beast, ate them whole, and reaped the benefits.


    Straw didn¡¯t stop them from hunting. In fact, he encouraged it¡­ in that it was the one time the two of them would have a break from his brutal training. Every other waking hour was spent getting beaten to the very limits of their endurance, fighting nonstop with Straw and each other.


    Their life progressed in this quiet way, slowly growing stronger, gaining skills. They wandered the land, keeping away from towns and other people. Neither Rhys nor Bast brought up going to town, but then, neither of them were too interested in it. Rhys was determined to get stronger, whether he had talent or not, while Bast simply liked keeping the company of few. And so it went, on and on.


    Rhys sat in a tree, waiting. He watched the snare down below, holding his breath. A boar wandered ever closer, snuffling in the grass for the source of its favorite berries, placed right ahead of it inside the snare.


    One step at a time. Silently, Rhys drew to his feet, raising from a crouch to a sit. His body responded easily. After all this time in the forest, he was built of lithe muscle, a far cry from the skin-and-bones of yesteryear.


    The boar hesitated. Inches before the trap, it raised its head and sniffed the air instead of the ground. Its beady eyes snapped up and locked onto Rhys, and its tail raised high in alarm.


    Shit! Rhys leaped out of the tree, drawing the stub of a sword he still carried. The boar squealed and ran, but he caught ahold of the bristles on its back. It dragged him, hooves biting into the dirt. A red aura glowed around it, its eyes glowed red, and it sped up, rocketing away, Rhys barely clinging to its back.


    Rhys dragged himself closer. He drew back the sword to strike its neck.


    The boar threw itself to the side, slamming Rhys into a tree. Rhys let out a huff. For a split second, his grip loosened.


    No! He grabbed on tighter. He¡¯d slipped a bit from his original holding spot, but he hadn¡¯t lost the boar yet. He wasn¡¯t giving up. Bacon! Pork chops! Tonight¡¯s dinner was the other white meat, and he was staking his life on it!


    The boar grunted in discontent and ran on, hurtling toward the next tree.


    His mana had greatly expanded in the last two years. He called on it now and pulled himself up the boar¡¯s body. In his other hand, he gripped the sword-stub tight. This rack of ribs was hitting the ground, right here!


    Mana flowed into his sword-hand, then changed. For just a second, as he slashed open the boar¡¯s jugular, something else, some other energy, burst from the blade.


    The boar hit the ground and slid, smearing blood behind it. Rhys released it at last and stood, slowly, looking at his hand. What was that? Was it finally an Intent skill?


    Before he could pull up his skills and check, someone began slow-clapping behind him.


    Rhys whirled, but it was only Bast. The older boy smirked at him. ¡°I¡¯ve never seen a finer pig rider.¡±


    ¡°Someone¡¯s gotta. Come on, grab the other legs. We¡¯re gonna have pork chops tonight,¡± Rhys replied, taking the boar¡¯s front trotters in one hand.


    Bast obeyed, taking on the bulk of the weight without Rhys asking him to. For all that Rhys had advanced by leaps and bounds, Bast had advanced twice as fast¡­ at least when it came to battle skills and strength-based techniques. Despite Bast starting at a great advantage in all areas, their mana pools were now comparable in size, but Bast¡¯s strength still far exceeded Rhys¡¯.


    ¡°Why are you out here?¡± Rhys asked.


    ¡°Straw sent me,¡± Bast replied.


    Rhys glanced back. That was odd. Straw usually respected their hunting hours. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Didn¡¯t say. Just said it was urgent.¡±


    That had him furrowing his brows even deeper. Nothing was urgent with Straw. In fact, he usually looked the most relaxed of all of them, whether he was beating them with his birch stick or offering pointers on how to best carry a thousand-pound boulder. ¡°That¡¯s strange.¡±


    ¡°Hmm. We might not be having pork chops tonight,¡± Bast replied.


    ¡°Pity. I¡¯ll dress it just in case,¡± Rhys replied. They could always come back to it if he drained the blood, but if the blood clotted in the body and the meat began to rot, they¡¯d be up shit¡¯s creek with no paddle. Field dressing meat was but one of the many skills he¡¯d learned to survive in this new world. The survival shows he¡¯d been a fan of back in his original world proved far less helpful than Straw¡¯s extensive practical experience, so he¡¯d turned into an eager student rather than the teacher after his first squirrel had gone horrifically wrong.


    He pointed. ¡°Here. Let¡¯s hook it over that branch, and I¡¯ll get it done quick so we won¡¯t leave him waiting.¡±


    Straw was sitting in the corner of their little camp when they returned, Rhys smelling slightly of boar blood and a little filthier than usual. A dark aura surrounded him, and for a second, Rhys thought he saw something looming behind Straw. Something horrific, shaped almost like a man, but not quite. It gave off an ominous aura of black-purple light and the same crawling sensation he felt at night, when he almost glimpsed a shape in the woods, but it faded before he could fully make it up. Dread. Doom.


    Rhys stepped back instinctively. He reached for his blade.


    Straw looked up. He smiled, and whatever illusion had come over Rhys, it shattered. Quickly, he put away a letter in his robes. ¡°We have to go into town.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong?¡± Rhys asked. Two years, and they hadn¡¯t been to town. And that illusion he¡¯d seen. Whether it was real, or just his instincts given form, he didn¡¯t have a good feeling about it.


    ¡°There¡¯s nothing wrong. I need some good food, that¡¯s all,¡± Straw replied.


    ¡°Plenty of good eating in the forest,¡± Rhys pointed out.


    Straw didn¡¯t give a response to that. Instead, he stood and walked away.


    Rhys glanced at Bast. Bast shook his head and spread his hands. He didn¡¯t know any better than Rhys.


    Sighing to himself, Rhys shrugged. It wasn¡¯t like he was against a trip to town. He could use some time in a trash heap, too. His potion needed topping up. Still, he¡¯d rather Straw was honest with them about why they were going there.


    He and Bast fell in behind Straw. As they walked, Rhys finally took a moment to check his stats. It¡¯d been a long time since he¡¯d checked them, and he was curious to see how they¡¯d progressed.


    Rhys Foundling | 14 | Foundation Building (Tier 1)


    Title: Trash-born


    Skills:


    Hunger Resist 14


    Survivalist 27


    Pain Resist 39


    Scavenging 22


    Less is More 27


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Sewing 8


    Blow Mitigation 16


    Self-Regeneration 11


    Mana Manipulation 7


    Poison Resist 3


    Improvised Weapon Proficiency 5


    He raised his brows, a little surprised. Foundation Building? Tier 1? He¡¯d progressed from Tier 0. In other words, he was a real mage now. Improvised Weapon Proficiency was lower than he expected, but it leveled slowly. Skills that weren¡¯t related to his ¡®path,¡¯ or obsession, leveled more slowly, and even though Improvised Weapons could be considered trash, they didn¡¯t quite qualify. He didn¡¯t understand why, but at the same time, he totally understood why. An improvised weapon could be anything, like a stick, or even a weapon he wasn¡¯t used to using, like a hammer. It could be something highly valued. He still didn¡¯t fully understand the rules of his path, but he understood that something had to be low-value to others in order to qualify as trash. If he picked up a stick in the middle of the woods that had never had any value attached to it, his path didn¡¯t care about it in the least. It was only if it was a stick someone else had thrown away, and attached negative value to, that his path perked up.


    Not only that, but some skills seemed to be ¡®higher level¡¯ than other skills. Not as in they were literally a higher numeric level, but in that it took more time and effort to level them up. Like Mana Manipulation, and, in all honesty, Improvised Weapon Proficiency. Both of them were slow to level, but they were also more powerful skills than, say, Sewing¡­ which hadn¡¯t leveled up either, but not because it was hard to level. More for lack of trying.


    He scanned the list once, then scanned it a second time, but there was no Intent skill on the list. Rhys scowled. Maybe that one usage wasn¡¯t enough to qualify, or maybe he hadn¡¯t quite formed ¡®intent¡¯ enough to acquire the skill.


    But either way, I¡¯m close.


    ¡°I¡¯m so close to intent. I can almost taste it,¡± Rhys commented.


    ¡°I¡¯m still stuck on Fist Intent. I feel like it¡¯s holding me back from figuring out the generalized version, since I can use it all the time,¡± Bast replied thoughtfully.


    Rhys rolled his eyes. ¡°Oh no, one intent skill.¡±


    ¡°Two. I have Knife Intent, too, don¡¯t forget.¡±


    Rhys glared at him. ¡°Yeah, yeah, rub it in, why don¡¯t you.¡±


    ¡°You got Improvised Weapons Proficiency, right? That¡¯s a step in the right direction.¡±


    ¡°And your IWP skill is, what, level twenty?¡±


    Bast spread his hands. ¡°What can I say? Martial skills come easy for me.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah. Must be nice to have a straightforward path, huh,¡± Rhys returned.


    Bast grinned. He patted Rhys on the head. ¡°One day, when you grow up big and strong like me¡­¡±


    ¡°Not this again,¡± Rhys grumbled.


    Two years. Two years at their age was a gulf of change. Bast, who had been 13, was now 15, and Rhys was 14. Bast had already hit his growth spurt, and he was rocketing off like he was making up for lost time. He¡¯d always been taller, but now he towered over Rhys. Rhys, who was still growing at a stately pace, could only glare at the boy who¡¯d been only a few inches taller than him two precious years ago.


    As they approached the gates, Straw looked back at the two of them. ¡°Buy new robes.¡±


    ¡°What¡¯s wrong with ours?¡± Bast asked.


    Rhys looked him up and down, at his tattered and torn clothes that now showed easily six inches of ankle, and his sleeves that barely came to the elbow. ¡°What isn¡¯t wrong?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yeah. I guess I¡¯m getting bigger,¡± Bast teased.


    ¡°I¡¯ll get bigger too, soon enough,¡± Rhys declared confidently. Probably. He had no idea what genetics held for him, but hopefully it was more than five-foot-nothing.


    ¡°Keep telling yourself that,¡± Bast said, patting his head again.


    This time, Rhys dodged. He stuck his tongue out at Bast.


    Bast refused to give up. He kept going, his hand darting through the air. Rhys hopped backward, nimbly avoiding Bast¡¯s hand. The two of them sparred, tussling back and forth, Bast trying to touch Rhys¡¯ hair, and Rhys refusing to let his head be touched. Like that, they approached the gate, until at last Straw glanced back.


    ¡°Quiet,¡± he ordered.


    Rhys and Bast both went stiff and fell in behind Straw. The three of them fell in with the stream of people entering and leaving the gate from the main road. A strange haze fell over them. By now, Rhys was familiar with the sensation. Straw had used it a few times in the last two years. Whenever a mage flew overhead, mounted on broom or sword, or when a large monster passed too close, he¡¯d gather them up and cast the strange haze around them. Rhys wasn¡¯t completely sure what it did, but he knew it made them harder to sense. And now, the three of them breezed past the gate guards without paying the entry fee or being inspected, while the guards questioned a pair of dark-cloaked mages carrying slender swords.


    Wish I had a skill like that, Rhys thought to himself. Maybe one day. He still had many years of training with Straw ahead of him. Once he mastered intent, he¡¯d ask about the haze skill. For now, he¡¯d just stay focused on intent.


    When they reached the main street, Straw dropped the haze skill. He nodded at the other two. ¡°Enjoy the town. I¡¯ll be back.¡±


    He walked off, quickly fading into the crowd. Rhys gave Bast a look. ¡°He¡¯s definitely distracted.¡±


    ¡°Agreed.¡±


    Rhys stared after Straw. He couldn¡¯t see the man anymore, but he still gazed in his direction. Something was going on. Straw didn¡¯t want to tell them, and that was fine. He was an adult. He had adult things to do. But it didn¡¯t stop Rhys from burning with curiosity.


    If he could¡¯ve followed Straw, he would¡¯ve. As it was, the haze skill meant he had no chance of following Straw anywhere Straw didn¡¯t want him to follow. So instead, Rhys nudged Bast. ¡°Let¡¯s go get you some clothes.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m wearing clothes.¡±


    ¡°Those don¡¯t qualify. Or rather, they won¡¯t for much longer,¡± Rhys said, eyeing the threadbare fabric. ¡°You think there¡¯s a trash heap around here?¡±


    ¡°If we leave, we won¡¯t be able to get back in again,¡± Bast returned.


    ¡°Damn,¡± Rhys muttered. He waved his hand. It was fine. There¡¯d always be trash later. He didn¡¯t need to waste his precious town time on trash.


    They wandered the town. Bast stared at the shops with big, sparkly eyes. They sold high-end potions, rare herbs, and special magical components, as well as mages¡¯ robes, gear, accessories, weapons, and everything in between. All the items were brand new, practically sparkling, and beautiful to behold. He walked from display to display, taking it all in, all but dragging his jaw on the floor.


    Rhys, on the other hand, watched the passersby. The mages walked by in clumps, color-coded by school, while the adventurers walked alone. The martials walked in groups for the most part, though a few roamed without friends. No¡­ there were a few lone mages, as well, but they always looked scruffier than the mages organized by color. The color-grouped mages walked with straight backs and quiet dignity, while one of the lone mages staggered along in broad daylight, a gourd slung over his hand. He took a long swig from the gourd and sighed happily.


    Rhys snorted under his breath. That man was enjoying not being bound by any rules. He was divided. Did he want to go to a school, enjoy a school¡¯s resources, but be restrained by their rules? Or would he rather wander alone, unsupported?


    ¡°Rhys, look.¡± Bast nudged him.


    Rhys turned. ¡°What?¡±


    Bast pointed at one of the displays, where a few herbs were displayed in delicate formation. ¡°Those¡­ didn¡¯t Straw tell us to eat them whenever we find them?¡±


    ¡°What, the ones that gave us the runs for three weeks straight?¡± Rhys asked.


    ¡°They¡¯re poison,¡± Bast said.


    ¡°Sure explains a lot,¡± Rhys replied. Such as his poison resist skill. He¡¯d thought it was just happenstance, but if Straw had deliberately told them to eat poison, it made sense they¡¯d pick up that skill.


    ¡°Cheap way for us to pick up the Poison Resist skill,¡± Bast commented.


    Rhys checked the price of the herbs. His brows flew up. Fifty gold an herb? For a poison that gave people the runs? ¡°The hell? Damn, no kidding. We should pick some of those things to sell.¡±


    ¡°Even if we did, wouldn¡¯t Straw just make us eat them again?¡± Bast replied.


    ¡°He sure would,¡± Rhys agreed. Sighing, he banished that dream for a later date. Now that he knew how much those herbs sold for, he could always pick them and sell them later. He pointed ahead of them. ¡°Down there, there¡¯s cheaper-looking shops. I think I can afford some robes down there.¡±


    Bast nodded. He cast a look at the fine robes shop off the central square, then shook his head and followed Rhys.


    ¡°You¡¯ve got a taste for the finer things in life,¡± Rhys commented, noticing his gaze.


    ¡°Can you blame me? I grew up in a brothel, surrounded by the finest of silks and the gauziest of laces. Even my dad dressed in layers of brocade when he came to visit. I thought the whole world dressed like that,¡± Bast said with a shrug.


    ¡°Orphanage must¡¯ve been a hell of a downgrade.¡±


    ¡°Mmm. I don¡¯t miss it. I got hit a lot. And there¡¯s not a whole lot for a kid to do.¡±


    ¡°No, there wouldn¡¯t be.¡±


    They walked on in silence. Rhys tried to enter the cheap robes shop, only for the owner to push him back outside gently, then lock the door. He made a face at Bast. ¡°There¡¯s gotta be a cheaper shop.¡±


    Bast nodded.


    A second robes shop simply locked their doors when the two ragged youths approached. At last, Rhys spotted a second-hand robes shop. He gestured for Bast to stand back, then walked by, pretending to have no interest in the shop. At the very last second, he spun on his toe and slipped inside.


    The shop clerk¡¯s head popped off her head. She stood behind the desk, tension clear in her body.


    The hell happened to these people? Why are they all so scared of two scruffy kids? Even if he and Bast tried to rob the shop, how far would they get? They were at Tier 1, the lowest tier of magehood. From here, he could sense that the shopkeep of this shop was at least a tier above him, and she was the weakest of all the shopowners. Before she could kick him out, he grabbed two sets of adult-sized robes and threw them on the counter.


    ¡°How much?¡± he asked.


    She glanced at him nervously. ¡°T-two gold.¡±


    ¡°Look at these! They¡¯re ragged, and the knee needs a patch on these trousers. One gold,¡± Rhys insisted, pointing at a very small scrape on the knee.


    ¡°One gold,¡± she agreed quickly.


    Rhys smiled and passed the coin over. Internally, he narrowed his eyes. Now he was convinced. Something was wrong. And from the distracted way Straw was behaving, the man knew it, too.


    He left without another word and rejoined Bast outside. Handing him the clothes, he shook his head at him. ¡°Something¡¯s wrong.¡±


    ¡°Yeah?¡± Bast asked, instantly on edge.


    ¡°Act normal. I don¡¯t know what¡¯s going on, I just know it¡¯s not right. That shopkeeper looked ready to flee her shop at the sight of me, and she was a whole tier higher. They aren¡¯t just afraid we¡¯ll steal. They¡¯re afraid of us,¡± Rhys confided in him.


    ¡°What? Why?¡± Bast asked.


    ¡°No idea. Let¡¯s get the hell out of here before we find out.¡± Rhys passed him the new robes and nodded toward a dark alley. They slipped inside. On the other side, they emerged in new robes. Rhys had let down his ponytail, and Bast wore his old robes tied into a headscarf. Rhys nodded toward the back of the town. There was a second exit that way. They could escape before things went bad.


    ¡°What about Straw?¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s a grown man. He can find us,¡± Rhys replied.


    Bast nodded.


    They walked on. The exit loomed, and Rhys sped up. He glanced to his side. ¡°Bast, come on¡ª¡±


    Bast had fallen back. He stared at a job board in silence, his eyes almost as big as when he¡¯d been staring at the shops earlier.


    ¡°What?¡± Rhys asked. He jogged to Bast¡¯s side.


    Jobs, requests, and notices were posted on the board, layered over one another until the paper was inches deep. From lost dogs to monster conquest requests to wanted posters, they were all posted on the board. And Bast stared at one of the wanted posters.


    Straw¡¯s face was printed clearly on the poster. His sky blue eyes gazed out from under that familiar straw hat. Below it, Rhys and Bast¡¯s faces gazed out at them. Compared to Straw, their faces were roughly sketched and a little more round-cheeked than they were today, but it was still clearly the two of them.


    Beneath it, bold text proclaimed:


    EXTREME DANGER


    The Remnant Weapon known as Strawman has been sighted in this area. Flee if you see him or his disciples. The Strawman wields immense curse power, and his disciples likely share the same power. Avoid at all costs!


    ¡°What the fuck,¡± Rhys muttered. Weapon? Straw? He could be a little distant at times, and sometimes he acted strange when they caught him off-guard, but something like ¡®curse power,¡¯ applied to their teacher, sounded insane.


    ¡°Damn, why didn¡¯t he teach us that?¡± Bast asked.


    ¡°Right? I wish,¡± Rhys muttered. He nudged Bast and nodded toward the exit.


    Bast nodded. He followed Rhys toward the rear gate.


    A hand grasped Rhys¡¯ shoulder. He jerked to a halt. Bast stopped as well, looking over his shoulder without fully turning. Rhys peeked back. Uh oh.

 9. A Fork in the Road

    Smiling, a man in blue robes clutched his shoulder tightly. A little too tightly, in fact. His shoulder ached, and his bones creaked. ¡°You look familiar, friend. Have we met?¡±


    Rhys glanced at Bast. He flicked his eyes toward the exit. If one of them could escape, that was better than all of them getting caught. Bast could come back and free him later. Bast looked worried, but gave him a tiny nod. He turned and walked casually toward the gate.


    ¡°I don¡¯t think we have,¡± Rhys said, turning and smiling at the man. ¡°I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m just a kid from the wilds. I don¡¯t know such distinguished figures as yourself.¡±


    ¡°Are you sure? I could have sworn I saw your face, and just recently,¡± the man replied.


    ¡°No, no. Someone like me? I¡¯m sure we¡¯ve never met,¡± Rhys insisted.


    Ahead of Bast, the gates slammed shut. Another two mages in blue approached Bast, subtly ringing him in. He tried to walk around them, but they moved with him. He jerked to a halt and glanced at Rhys, waiting for instruction. His hand subtly tensed into a fist.


    Rhys held his hand out flat. No. Don¡¯t fight. If they fought here, they¡¯d die. The man holding him was at least a tier higher. The two ringing in Bast, likewise. Neither of them could survive this if it came to a fight.


    ¡°Let¡¯s cut to the chase. You¡¯re the Strawman¡¯s disciples, aren¡¯t you?¡± the man asked.


    Rhys smiled. ¡°What? Who¡¯s that?¡±


    ¡°Enough. We know. You only put your hair down. You didn¡¯t even use a disguise technique. Don¡¯t be ridiculous.¡±


    Rhys kept smiling.


    The man in blue grunted. ¡°Fine. We can play that game, so listen. We tricked that diabolical monster you call a master. We sent a distress signal from one of his old allies and trapped him in a purification array¡­ a powerful spell meant to seal him,¡± the man explained, helpfully. ¡°Give yourselves up. If you come willingly, you can escape punishment.¡±


    Rhys put on a shocked and confused face. ¡°Punishment for what? We did nothing wrong. All we two did, was practice in the forest. We never harmed anyone, nor did we learn any dark techniques. We didn¡¯t even know what the Strawman was until just now. Sir, we¡¯re just two ordinary boys. Please tell me, what are you punishing us for?¡±


    ¡°Well, that¡¯s¡­¡± The man trailed off, lost in his bluster. He scowled.


    So that was just bullshit. It figures. He was quite used to authority figures pushing their powers further than they actually went. And that meant that he and Bast had far more power in this scenario than this man was letting on.


    Rhys raised his voice. ¡°Sir, you¡¯re hurting me. Is this some kind of revenge? Are you going to attack us, ordinary boys who didn¡¯t even know anything was going on, because of some grudge you hold with the Strawman?¡±


    Across the clearing, the mages who¡¯d blocked Bast¡¯s path backed away subtly. They eyed the first man with suspicion.


    ¡°What? I would never,¡± the first man snapped.


    ¡°Ow, ow, ow!¡± Rhys twisted under his grasp, as if his slightly-tight grip were the most painful thing in the universe.


    The other two mages stared at the first mage. He lifted his hands off Rhys as if burned. ¡°You¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bast, come here,¡± Rhys called. The other boy walked to his side. Rhys crossed his arms and looked at all the mages. ¡°We aren¡¯t going to budge from this spot until you explain what¡¯s happening, and what we did wrong. If you can¡¯t tell us, then you¡¯ll have to drag us away.¡±


    A voice interrupted from above. ¡°There¡¯s no need for that. Alistair, stand down.¡±


    Rhys looked up. A woman in delicate robes floated down from the sky, walking on white roses that materialized under her feet as she walked. In fact, her clothes reminded him of a white rose as well, with layered, floaty skirts and a fluttering hem, all made from a fine cream fabric. Her hair was a dark red, and a green thorned vine wrapped around her waist several times to form a belt. She tossed her head and gazed down at them. ¡°There¡¯s no need to traumatize his young victims, Alistair. As the child says, they¡¯ve done nothing wrong themselves. They were merely misled by this monster.¡±


    ¡°Monster?¡± Rhys challenged her.


    ¡°Indeed. Have you heard of the demon king who dominated this continent, three hundred years ago?¡±


    Rhys glanced at Bast. Bast shrugged. He turned back to the woman. ¡°Public education, you know how it is.¡±


    She opened her mouth, then closed it, thinking for a moment. At last, she shrugged. ¡°He dominated the continent for a millennia and left all mages and mortals alike in despair. When he was finally defeated, we righteous mages scrubbed every inch of him off the continent. Any legacy, any weapon, even his disciples were hunted down and destroyed.¡±


    Ah. She¡¯s not going to bother explaining, is she. Rhys snorted to himself, but he didn¡¯t complain. At the end of the day, he got the idea. Big bad guy got defeated, everything he left behind was eradicated. Pretty simple, in all honesty.


    ¡°But during his long reign, he created a great deal of items, weapons, and other useless things. Those things that he threw out long before he was destroyed no longer bore a trace of his energy when his downfall came. Thus, they were overlooked when we scoured the continent, and some of them persist to this day. Those are called Remnants, and the Strawman is one of them.¡±


    ¡°Threw them out?¡± Rhys asked, his ears perking up. Did that mean those Remnants, maybe, just maybe¡­ qualified as trash?


    ¡°Straw is one of them? What do you mean? He¡¯s just an ordinary mage,¡± Bast protested, much more reasonably.


    She shook her head. ¡°Have you ever heard of straw effigies? In truth, he is no man, but an effigy. As all effigies, his purpose is to absorb dark energies from the world around him. Despair, spite, fear¡ªhe can absorb immense amounts of it, and transform all of it into cursed energy. Countries¡¯ worth of it. And he¡¯s had centuries to absorb that energy. He isn¡¯t a man, nor a mage, but the most powerful cursed effigy in existence. One that poses an existential threat to not my sect, not our country, but our entire continent.¡±


    ¡°That seems like an exaggeration,¡± Rhys protested. In his mind¡¯s eye, he saw the dark figure that had appeared behind Straw this morning, and the horrifying aura it exuded. He could believe Straw was some kind of monster, but to say he was an existential threat to the continent? He was just a dude in a funny hat who liked straw and camping, and sometimes beat up a pair of boys for fun.


    Okay, that last one sounds a bit sketchy out of context, Rhys allowed, but mentally waved it away. He knew what it meant.


    The rose lady shook her head. ¡°I¡¯m very serious. Please, come with me. Even if he was kind to you, even if he likes you, your lives will be at risk if you remain here.¡±


    ¡°Because you¡¯re about to attack him for no reason, after tricking him into an ambush? You know, I can¡¯t help but wonder if he isn¡¯t actually that dangerous, and it¡¯s just that some people won¡¯t leave him alone,¡± Rhys complained.


    Bast nudged him. ¡°Mind your words.¡±


    Rhys crossed his arms and shut his mouth, but not without some effort. He had never been good at keeping his opinions to himself. Maybe if he wasn¡¯t the lone defender for all the trash series in the world, it would have been easier. Or rather, it was because he was unable to shut his mouth that he became the defender of all trash. The two had become an ouroboros in his mind, the beginning and the end twisted into one. But he had to admit that he was a child, barely Tier 1, and this woman was so high above his power level that he couldn¡¯t sense what Tier she had attained. Mouthing off would get him killed.


    ¡°How pitiful, how your young minds have been twisted to the Strawman¡¯s purposes.¡± The woman gestured. A giant white rose bloomed under Rhys and Bast¡¯s feet and lifted them into the air. All around them, the other townsfolk fled. Some flew, some ran, but all abandoned the town.


    Other mages, the color-coded groups he¡¯d noticed earlier, charged in. They formed concentric rings around a building near the center of town. Mana hummed around them, passing in circles. One loop after another, they encircled the building in layers of mages.


    Rhys raised his brows. Everyone seemed to be taking Straw seriously. Was he really that dangerous? This whole time, he¡¯d always been convinced the man was powerful, but this powerful?


    As they reached the height of the walls, their last chance to jump off the rose and escape, Bast glanced at Rhys. Rhys returned his look, but shook his head. Right now, they had done nothing wrong. None of these mages had any reason to kill him. The second they turned on these mages, they died. As much as he wanted to remain under Straw¡¯s tutelage for a little longer, right now, that meant he had to fight every mage here. When he and Bast were the weakest mages here, that was only a dream. All I can do is hope Straw¡¯s just as tough as these guys think he is, and he can take them out. Or at least escape. Of the three of us, Straw is the only one who has a hope of doing anything about this situation.


    She smiled at them. ¡°Let us make haste.¡±


    Below, the power thrumming between the mages built to a fever pitch. Light poured inward, from one circle to the next, circling around the building. A ring of sun-bright light revolved around the outside of the building, then darted in. It passed through the walls of the building without leaving a trace.


    For a second, there was nothing. Then a roar echoed out from the building, and the entire building erupted from within. Stone shot in all directions as an enormous straw effigy rose out of the building¡¯s ruins. The effigy had been roughly shaped into a human form, with arms but no hands, legs but no feet, and a simple, faceless lump for a head. Every piece of straw was soaked in pitch-black energy, oozing that ominous aura that had chilled Rhys¡¯ soul earlier. The effigy rose, slowly drawing it its feet. Its head tipped back, and the straw split open vertically to reveal a gaping maw. Once more, it roared.


    Black energy flew from the effigy¡¯s center and instantly soaked the mages on the ground. Their robes and skin alike turned pitch black, with an oily sheen. They slumped, then rose again, hurtling into the sky to attack their fellows. Their eyes glowed blue, like the sky, and their mouths gaped open. Goop dripped from their face and down their jaws. The un-corrupted mages charged at them and fought them back. Swords clashed.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Holy shit. Never mind, Straw is insanely dangerous, Rhys amended, taken aback.


    One of the corrupted mages lunged at an uncorrupted mage. They grabbed the mage by the wrist. In the next second, the uncorrupted mage struck their hand from their wrist, but it was already too late. Black corruption crawled over the uncorrupted mage, and they turned around and attacked their fellows.


    The rose woman¡¯s brows knitted. Her lips pressed together, turning white.


    Her underling, Alistair, looked at her. ¡°He instantly disrupted the array. He¡¯s stronger than we imagined. We can¡¯t hold back.¡±


    She flicked her wrist, and the rose flew off, carrying Rhys and Bast with it. Flipping her hair, she descended toward the battlefield. Rose-red light shone forth as she drew her sword. A cream-colored blade with a white rose for its hilt guard glittered in the sun, perfectly immaculate. ¡°I know.¡±


    Rhys ran to the edge of the rose and gripped its petals, looking down. Far below them, the woman flicked her sword. Instantly, the town turned into a raging nest of brambles. Thorned vines overgrew all the buildings, and enormous roses unfolded from their apexes. Thick pink pollen burst from the roses as they bloomed, and all the weaker mages, corrupted or not, trembled and fell to the floor, dropping into a deep slumber.


    The effigy roared again. Corruption blackened her vines, and they withered away. It lifted a crude arm and slammed it down at her. She stared up at it, watching it fall, and then her body blurred. She reappeared behind Straw, sword already striking for his neck. Her blade cut through the straw effigy¡¯s outer layers, but as soon as it passed, the straw released thick gouts of black corruption and healed shut once more. She wrinkled her nose and jumped back, lifting her sword high. A rosebush sprung from the earth and bound up the effigy. Long red thorns, each as large as a human, bit into the straw form. Poison, or maybe acid, dripped from the thorns, eroding the strawman¡¯s body.


    ¡°Holy shit, she¡¯s cool,¡± Rhys muttered, his eyes shining. He knew he should be worried for Straw, but for one thing, it was hard to picture that horrific black effigy as his mentor. And for a second, this was his first real high-fantasy battle since he¡¯d arrived here. Two high-Tier mages, fighting with everything they had. This was what trash-loving people like him lived and died for! If he could stay here and watch, he¡¯d die happy. And probably would, in two or three attacks.


    At the same time, his mind ached and his eyes stung. Watching the battle hurt. It was as if the magics being used were so powerful that even looking at them pushed his capabilities to their limits. His mana sense was already on the fritz. There was so much mana whirling around that he could barely sense Bast beside him.


    But unfortunately, the rose-lady¡¯s flower had other ideas. It whisked him up and away. Alistair, the man who¡¯d grabbed his arm, clicked his tongue and followed after him, leaving the real fight to rose-lady and Straw.


    Altair raised a gem high. ¡°Calling reinforcements!¡± he shouted, and tossed it up. The gem flew up, glittering in the sky. He landed on the rose, and they swooped off together. Staring backward, Rhys could barely make out the gem open wide into a shimmering gem-tone portal before they were swallowed up by the clouds overhead.


    ¡°I wanted to watch more,¡± Rhys complained.


    Alistair snorted. ¡°Couldn¡¯t you feel it? If we stayed there, your brain would have fried. The magics being used were too complex, too powerful. Just attempting to comprehend them might have killed you, let alone if you were caught in a careless strike.¡±


    ¡°Is it the same for you?¡± Rhys asked cheekily. He wasn¡¯t necessarily angry at these people. If Straw really was what they said he was, then whether he agreed that the man was a threat or not, he understood them fearing him and wanting to restrain him. In essence, Straw was a walking, sentient nuke, and not only that, but one created by a mage so evil he was known as the ¡®demon king.¡¯


    If such a thing existed back in his world¡­ well, Rhys didn¡¯t need to think long to figure out how that would end up. Every country in the world would go to war over it, whether it was in the name of peace or in order to dominate every other country around through controlling the meganuke. He¡¯d have just left Straw alone rather than risk angering the meganuke, but clearly these people were foolish or confident enough to try capturing him instead. He didn¡¯t know whether to commend their bravery or laugh at their foolishness. Only time would tell. If they succeeded, then it was bravery. If not, well. Then he wandered off to learn from Straw again, and it would be as though all this never happened.


    In other words, from his perspective, it was a win-win situation. If the rose lady won, he simply became a mage in her school. If Straw won, he returned to status quo. It was unfortunate what was happening to Straw, but he wasn¡¯t yet powerful to do anything about it.


    No. This just proves that I have to get more powerful. In order to protect those I care for, whether they¡¯re meganukes or my friends, I have to become the most powerful mage. Clenching his hand to his chest, the trash-level talent trash mage vowed this to himself.


    Bast glanced at Rhys. He saw him standing there, a hand clenched to his chest, and looked away without saying anything, but his eyes remained locked on their teacher far below.


    The rose flew on. Day passed into night, and day came again. The distant rumble and clash of the battle never quite faded, though it grew quieter the further they went. At last, the rose drew up to the side of a mountain. It alighted upon a marble platform, then vanished, dropping its occupants to the floor.


    Bast caught himself. Rhys stumbled and managed not to topple. Alistair floated down, landing gently on the floor.


    ¡°Now, who are these? This wasn¡¯t part of the plan,¡± an acerbic male voice lashed out.


    A loose semi-circle of mages stood before them. Each one wore the color of a different school; if that wasn¡¯t enough, a brooch or seal on their chest identified their school through a symbol. They all appeared to be powerful mages from mage schools, though a few martial artists were mixed in. Notably, no adventurers were present at all.


    ¡°These are Straw¡¯s disciples. Lady Illya rescued them before the fight began,¡± Alistair explained, gesturing at the boys.


    Rhys looked over the mages, eyes narrowing in suspicion. He tied his hair back up, suddenly feeling as though he might need to run. Hmm. Maybe my expectation that we¡¯d be taken to the rose-lady¡¯s school was a bit too hasty.


    One of the martial artists stepped forward, a big grin on his broad face. He was all muscle, with a broadsword strapped to his back. His aura battered against Rhys and Bast alike, scanning over them. In Rhys¡¯ case, cursorily, but he investigated deep into Bast.


    Bast pushed Rhys back and stepped between him and the mages. He raised his fist. Fist Intent shimmered around his knuckles, and he glared death at them, a warning written on his face.


    The muscular man¡¯s eyes widened. ¡°Oh? Look at that one. Weapon intent, at his age? Tell me, boy. What¡¯s your name?¡±


    Bast glanced at Rhys, who nodded. Don¡¯t hold back on my account! This is your future, here!


    ¡°Bast,¡± he said at last, lowering his hands.


    ¡°And what a familiar energy. Is that a bloodline, boy? What¡¯s your surname?¡±


    ¡°I have none.¡±


    At that, the muscular man¡¯s grin grew wider. ¡°Oh-ho. Interesting. I like him. If no one else wants him, I¡¯ll take him.¡±


    ¡°If no one else wants him? Ha! You¡¯re talking as if a child with weapon intent is leftover junk no one wants! With a talent like that, he deserves a spot at a premier martial school like mine,¡± a female martial artist declared, stepping forward. She wasn¡¯t as overtly muscular as the man, and carried no visible weapons, but the chains around her hips exuded a formidable energy, and the comfort with which she silenced the man spoke to her power.


    ¡°Two weapon intents? No,¡± a well-dressed mage murmured to himself. ¡°No, we must have him.¡±


    Bast glanced at Rhys again. Again, Rhys spread his hands. He¡¯d already steeled himself to the inevitable, though he was determined to prevent it if he could. Still, he wasn¡¯t going to tell his friend to hold back on his account. Leaning in, he quietly advised Bast, ¡°Pick the strongest one.¡±


    After all, if these were the representatives of their schools, they were likely one of the most powerful martial artists the school had to offer. Judging the school¡¯s strength by their individual strength wasn¡¯t necessarily accurate, but it did mean there was at least one teacher at an advanced power level. Or, in other words, someone worth learning from.


    Bast nodded. He turned back to the group.


    Before he could speak, a martial artist Rhys hadn¡¯t noticed until that moment stepped forward. He wore pure white clothes in a practical cut, with an elegant gold trim that nonetheless spoke to the rich background of his school. The sword at his hip looked like nothing special, with a simple hilt, crossguard, and a scratched-up sheath, but the power it emanated was unlike anything Rhys had experienced to this moment. When he stepped forward, all the other mages fell silent. He extended his hand to Bast.


    ¡°Come to my school. I¡¯ll make you my personal disciple.¡±


    The other martial artists looked like they wanted to protest, but could say nothing. They stared on in frustrated silence, waiting for Bast to take the man¡¯s hand.


    Instead, Bast looked to Rhys.


    Rhys was practically raging in his head as Bast¡¯s eyes landed on him yet again. Hey! What do you keep looking at me for? This is your future on the line, here! Take his hand, okay? Even a plebian like me can tell that guy¡¯s the real deal! Hell, if he were the one fighting Straw, I¡¯m not confident Straw would come out on top! He nodded aggressively, throwing in two thumbs up just in case Bast didn¡¯t get the message.


    Bast turned back to the man. ¡°I accept.¡±


    Rhys nodded in approval.


    ¡°As long as my friend can come along.¡±


    Rhys froze.


    All eyes on the platform turned to him. He felt a dozen gazes pass over him, then summarily dismiss him. There wasn¡¯t even the invasive sensation he¡¯d felt with the man from Snowdrop School, back in their hometown. Just one glance, and they dismissed him as trash.


    The man in white robes hesitated. He looked at Rhys again and frowned, then slowly drew his hand back.


    ¡°No, no, no, it¡¯s okay! It¡¯s okay,¡± Rhys said. He patted Bast on the shoulder. ¡°Isn¡¯t that right, Bast?¡±


    Bast frowned at him. He leaned in. ¡°It isn¡¯t fair if they only offer me a spot.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous. Of course you¡¯re offered a spot. You have infinitely more potential than me. Besides¡ªbesides, I¡¯m going to be a mage, not a martial artist. I can¡¯t match you in strength, can I? The school that¡¯s suited for you isn¡¯t the school that¡¯s suited for me.¡±


    ¡°But¡­¡± Bast glanced at the crowd. It was obvious. No one had offered Rhys a spot. If anyone did decide to offer him one, it would only be out of charity. He wouldn¡¯t be a valued disciple, or taken into a high-ranking school.


    ¡°It¡¯s fine, it¡¯s fine. As long as I have a big trash heap, I¡¯ll be happy,¡± Rhys assured him.


    Bast hesitated for one more second, then lowered his head. ¡°If that¡¯s what you wish.¡±


    ¡°Have I ever pointed you wrong before?¡± Rhys asked him.


    ¡°No.¡±


    Rhys pushed him toward the swordsman. ¡°Go. We can find each other later, when we¡¯re both mega powerful mages.¡±


    Bast nodded. He stepped forward and took the man¡¯s hand.


    Rhys sighed. It wasn¡¯t that bad for him, but he was an adult internally. Bast, on the other hand, had been rejected by his parents and ran away to an orphanage. To get abandoned by his father figure, Straw, and friend in the same day had to be difficult for him. And in truth, if he could come along, he would have. But the swordsman didn¡¯t want him, and he refused to jeopardize his friend¡¯s future for his own selfish gains. Especially when he clearly had no value to these people.


    Bast retreated with the swordsman, back to the rear of the group. That left Rhys alone, standing before the mages. He smiled.


    The mages muttered amongst themselves. ¡°Who¡¯s going to take him on?¡± ¡°It¡¯s not that he has no talent, but his future is clearly limited.¡± ¡°Honestly, it¡¯s already a miracle that he reached Tier 1.¡± ¡°That mana pool¡­ there are children in my school half his age who could outpower him.¡±


    He looked to Alistair, but the man cleared his throat and looked aside, refusing to meet his gaze. He snorted. Figured.


    Rhys forcibly kept up his smile, but it was hard. He knew his talent was weak, but was it truly so weak that no one even wanted to take him in and neglect him? How pathetic was he? He stepped forward, putting a hand to his chest. ¡°I¡¯m not high maintenance. I¡¯ll even help out around the school. I can gather the garbage and sort your trash. Surely someone has need of a janitor?¡±


    At that, the whispers stopped. A few of the mages stared at him in wide-eyed shock, as if they couldn¡¯t believe any mage would say such a thing. At last, one of the weaker mages stepped forward. She had dark eyes with deep bags beneath them. All the other mages were the pinnacle of youth and beauty, but her skin was weathered and her hands rough from work. Her robes were ragged at the hem and splashed with mysterious stains that even Rhys couldn¡¯t discern.


    ¡°I¡¯ll take you,¡± she pledged.


    The other mages fell silent once more, but it was a different kind of silence. The kind of hush that came when the audience didn¡¯t know whether to laugh or cry. Rhys steeled himself and walked toward her. It didn¡¯t matter, in the end. This school was immaterial to him, just like the opinion of the other mages was immaterial. After all, they couldn¡¯t even see the value in trash like him. How could they understand his path?


    He shook her hand. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    She chuckled. ¡°You won¡¯t be thanking me soon. You signed up to be a janitor? You¡¯ll have your work cut out for you.¡±


    That¡¯s not ominous. Smiling blandly at no one, Rhys followed her. He looked back once, but Bast was already asking questions of his new teacher. He turned away. I don¡¯t need to interrupt that.


    The mage stepped onto a large sword, and Rhys mounted it after her, carefully balancing on the flat of the blade. They took to the sky and quickly left the platform behind.

 10. Trash Heap

    Rhys rode with the mage, following wherever she took him. After riding a giant flower earlier, the giant sword didn¡¯t shock him too much. He didn¡¯t really know what to do. Straw was a monster, hunted by the mages. It wasn¡¯t practical to stay with him. So in the end, going to learn from some other mage in a proper school wasn¡¯t really a loss for him.


    The only real shame was being separated from Bast. He¡¯d grown quite close to the boy since his arrival here, and he didn¡¯t want to be apart. But he couldn¡¯t interfere with Bast¡¯s progression, so they¡¯d have to part here for now.


    He looked back. I¡¯ll look forward to seeing how much you grow, friend.


    The earth flashed by. It reminded him a bit of flying in an airplane, if the sword was a bit more precarious. Still, his body was far stronger than it had been in his first life, and his sense of balance likewise enhanced, so he didn¡¯t feel the fear he might have if he were a mortal riding a sword. Instead, he stood behind the mage and took in the sights, his hair swirling in the wind.


    The mage glanced back. ¡°Your reactions are too boring.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Rhys asked.


    ¡°Usually, young disciples are all agape at seeing the world flash by. But you, it¡¯s like you¡¯ve seen it a thousand times,¡± she replied.


    ¡°It is very impressive. Don¡¯t get me wrong, I¡¯m enjoying the view,¡± he reassured her.


    The mage glanced back. She snorted. Turning back forward, she tossed her hair and declared, ¡°I am Magus Aquari Gibron, Schoolmaster of the Infinite Constellation School. We are a relatively small school with small renown. You should not consider yourself personally selected by the Schoolmaster, but instead, inducted normally. I will inform all the other teachers to treat you normally, so don¡¯t think of taking advantage of this situation.¡±


    ¡°Huh? Er¡­ no, I wouldn¡¯t,¡± Rhys said, taken aback. Was this something that could be taken advantage of? Hold on. Maybe I should take advantage of it.


    She narrowed her eyes. ¡°I know your type. Don¡¯t think you can fool me.¡±


    Rhys hummed to himself. If she was going to treat him the same way either way, he might as well try to take advantage of everything he could. Already, he felt no allegiance to this school. Being stolen from Straw, then treated coldly and with suspicion¡­ why would he care about anyone where he was being sent? Especially when this was so obviously his consolation prize.


    They arrived without any more confirmation. The mage dropped him off at the foot of a mountain and flew off to the top. Rhys gazed up it. Fine buildings glittered up at its peak, the sure sign of a mage school, but there was also a strange smell. Somewhere between medicine and rot, but not rotting flesh. More like vegetable rot.


    Aquari¡¯s words echoed in his mind. You signed up to be a janitor? You¡¯ll have your work cut out for you.


    For a second, Rhys considered walking away. After a moment, he shrugged. He¡¯d been considering joining a school while he was still with Straw. Now that he had the chance, why not try it? If it gave him no benefit, he could always just walk away. He¡¯d only be going back to the same situation he came from.


    He walked on, up the mountain. A dirt path wound up it, interrupted every so often with wooden steps laid across to brace the earth and ease the climb. The further he climbed, the more extreme the rot smell grew. He drew out his old shirt and used it to cover his mouth. Weren¡¯t mages supposed to be perfect and beautiful? They certainly weren¡¯t supposed to smell like a pigsty.


    At the halfway point, he got his first hint. A pile of rotting herbs and other garbage piled up outside a small hut. Rhys tilted his head, giving it an appraising look. Some of the stuff looked like toxic sludge, but there were definitely components he could use in there. The tips of herbs, their roots and edges. Some of them even smelled familiar. He picked up a piece of leaf and sniffed deeply. His eyes widened. It smelled exactly like one of the dusty pill wrappers. There were missing components, of course, but it definitely smelled like part of it. He paused to pluck all the leaves out of the pile, sniffing the other bits of herbs as well. Any other herbs that reminded him of a pill wrapper joined the leaves in his pockets.


    ¡°Hey! What do you think you¡¯re doing?¡± a mage demanded, bursting out of the hut. His hair was a mess, and his face was blackened, as if something had just exploded in his face.


    ¡°Good to meet you. I¡¯m the new janitor,¡± Rhys introduced himself.


    ¡°Janitor?¡± the boy asked, totally lost. He was only a few years older than Rhys, but his aura was far stronger. Even if he studied nonstop at absorbing mana until he was the kid¡¯s age, Rhys was pretty sure he wouldn¡¯t be able to absorb as much mana as this kid had right now.


    ¡°The guy who picks up the trash,¡± Rhys explained.


    ¡°Oh. We have one of those?¡±


    ¡°You do now.¡±


    The boy stared at him for another beat, then shrugged. ¡°There you go. Wait¡ªhold on.¡± He rushed back inside, then dragged out a cauldron and tipped it into the pile. ¡°There. That¡¯s all my trash.¡±


    ¡°Thanks,¡± Rhys muttered. The pile hadn¡¯t been too bad. A little dark and filthy, but that was all. Now it oozed with a hot tarlike liquid that smelled like a sewer.


    The boy looked at him, then looked at the pile. He gestured.


    ¡°I need to wait for it to dry, now,¡± Rhys informed him. Plus, he didn¡¯t have anywhere to put it¡­ yet. This school didn¡¯t seem to have a trash heap, but he was going to change that.


    ¡°You don¡¯t have any heat resistance or acid resistance skills, and you¡¯re meant to be our trashman?¡± the boy asked haughtily.


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    Rhys paused. He raised his brows. He hadn¡¯t been thinking of this as a chance to train, but the boy was right. This was a great way to get resistance skills. To think, he¡¯d only seen trash, but this boy had seen it for the treasure it truly was. He nodded to the boy. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± The boy stared at him, puzzled.


    Without any further ado, Rhys grabbed the steaming pile of trash and dragged it into the forest. His hands burned and ached, searing from the heat and corroding from the acid, but he kept dragging it. There was a strange numbing sensation, as well, which lessened the pain, though he couldn¡¯t say he appreciated the way it crept up his arms toward his elbows.


    The numbing sensation abated as Poison Resist leveled up, and the burning instead came to dominate. Rhys dragged it deeper into the forest, looking for a good spot to start a trash heap, pile, or pit. A pit required a depression, but a heap or a pile both required flat land. On a mountainside, flat land was in precious short supply.


    At last, he found a deep cleft in the land. It was disappointingly narrow, but it would do for now. He set the trash clump down and stepped back, checking his arms.


    His skin was in tatters. Half burned, half corroded, it bled freely. Self-Regeneration leveled up as he struggled to close the wounds. But it was all worth it.


    Heat Resist 1


    Acid Resist 1


    Rhys grinned. It would have taken him forever to gain those, like it had taken forever to pick up Poison Resist, but instead of using standard techniques, he¡¯d now linked the skills to trash! He needed those three Resistances to carry around trash, and so, his path was more than happy to accelerate his learn rate for them.


    He nodded, understanding. He needed to focus on trash. Link everything he could to trash. That was the only way he¡¯d grow fast enough to truly become the most powerful mage.


    Dusting off his hands, he headed up the mountain once more. Every time he passed a house, he poked around until he found the mages¡¯ trash pile, then hauled it back to his pit. Some of them smelled like the pill wrappers. Whenever he found one of those, he took a moment to pick the pieces and bits out of the trash before dragging it off, but not all of the piles of trash were full of toxic sludge. Some held more ordinary food scraps, or bits of paper and fragments of ink stones, or even mysterious pieces of wood and metal. Regardless of the content, Rhys took it all. Some of it burned, corroded, or poisoned him, but he didn¡¯t mind. It just helped to level his Resist skills.


    And then, abruptly, he gained a skill he hadn¡¯t expected at all.


    Impurity Resist 1


    Rhys blinked. He tilted his head. Impurity Resist? What was an impurity, in the first place? It made sense he¡¯d get ¡®impure¡¯ by picking up garbage¡ªtrash was basically the definition of impure. But if he got a resist skill, didn¡¯t that imply that ¡®impurity¡¯ was an affliction like poison or acid?


    He shrugged to himself. He was resisting it, so whatever. He could always ask someone later.


    It took Rhys some time to climb the mountain when he diverted after every house to carry the trash to his freshly-formed pit. By the time he reached the true start of the school, twilight had settled over the forest. The trees shimmered silver in the low light, pale pillars against the encroaching dark. A very bored-looking mage waited at the central plaza. As Rhys crested the stairs, she stood, exhausted, and strode forward. ¡°There you are. What took you so long?¡±


    Rather than answering, Rhys scanned the square. A huge amount of trash piled up at the edges. It collected in mounds by the doors, in heaps under the windows, and danced through the forest like stray ghosts. He dashed out, collecting up the nearest pile of trash, and turned to descend the mountain again.


    The mage gritted her teeth. She chased after Rhys and caught him by the shoulder. ¡°Hey! You¡¯re the new disciple, right?¡±


    Rhys glanced at her. ¡°Me? Oh, I guess so.¡±


    ¡°My name is Tarais. I¡¯m supposed to be your guide. But you¡¯re just an ordinary student, right? So you can figure it out on your own. Just read the signs, it¡¯s pretty self-explanatory,¡± she said.


    ¡°I¡¯m already figuring it out pretty well, to be honest. Do you have any trash?¡± Rhys asked. The smell was awful up here, but he was adapting to it. If there was such a thing, he was going to gain the Smell Resist skill pretty soon.


    ¡°Ah¡­ what?¡± Tarais asked, confused.


    ¡°I¡¯m the new janitor. Do you have trash?¡±


    ¡°I do, but¡­¡± Tarais frowned, put off her pace. She was meant to be leading this student around, so why did she feel like she was the one being led around? And what did he mean, ¡®I¡¯m the new janitor?¡¯ What did that even mean?


    ¡°Excellent. If you could bring it to the center square, and tell everyone else to do the same, that would be a huge help for me. I¡¯m happy to wander the whole mountain and figure out the lay of the land right now, but eventually, I¡¯m going to need to collect the trash efficiently. You understand, right?¡±


    I understand nothing! Of course, Tarais couldn¡¯t admit such a thing to a student her Schoolmaster had specifically told her to treat as nothing special. In fact, the Schoolmaster had even specifically brought up how ordinary this disciple¡¯s talent was, and to not waste too much of her time on him. If she failed to understand something he did, wasn¡¯t her comprehension, the very basis of talent, lacking compared to his? So she nodded instead of questioning him.


    ¡°Good, good, that¡¯s good.¡± Rhys went to pat her shoulder, then looked at his smudged hand and lowered it instead. Her robes looked nice and recently-cleaned. He didn¡¯t want to ruin them. ¡°Then, make sure you put the trash out on Sunday night so I can pick it up Monday morning.¡±


    With that, he turned and went back to his trash collection.


    Tarais stared after him, absolutely lost. After a second, she snapped back to reality. Somehow, that disciple, the one the Schoolmaster had specifically told her not to mind, and that he wasn¡¯t much of a talent, had ended up giving her orders! The insanity. She shook her head, determined not to follow them.


    Time passed. Rhys worked through the night and through the next day and the day after that. Days became a blur, then weeks. He didn¡¯t really need to sleep anymore. He liked sleeping, but in times like these, confronted with a mountain of trash, he didn¡¯t want to. The treasures he¡¯d spotted lingering in the piles of trash had his blood boiling. He wanted to gather up all the trash, collect it all together, so he could finally start going through it properly.


    The other disciples saw him working and laughed at him. What a fool, wasting his time with trash when he could be attending classes or studying under one of the masters! But at the same time, clump by clump, the trash in the central square diminished. Fresh air flowed once more on the mountain. No matter how they¡¯d laughed at Rhys to begin with, all the disciples started to see him in a new light as the mountain grew cleaner and fresher.


    And none so much as Tarais. At first, she resisted it. He was doing it for some selfish aim, she was sure. But as time passed, and Rhys gained nothing while the school grew steadily cleaner, her resistance toward him lowered. When she saw a student dropping a pile of trash outside of a pillmaking classroom, she grabbed him by the arm.


    ¡°Put that at the edge of the square. Rhys will pick it up on Monday.¡±


    From that moment, the rumor began to spread. The students all brought out their trash, making an immense pile at the edge of the square. And yet, when Tuesday morning came around, it was all gone. Within the span of a month, it became a ritual.


    While this was going on, Rhys hid out in his trash pit. His resist skills steadily leveled as he worked his way through the trash. There were resources galore to be found here, from scraps of herbs to tiny flecks of precious stones. He refilled his potion bottles, and then some, and set up a small garden in the rich compost he generated from the magical food garbage. Before long, he collected all the necessary herbs to build one of the pills in his wrapper collection, only to find he knew nothing about forging pills, potions, or anything like that.


    So, for the first time since he¡¯d arrived at the school, Rhys went to class.

 11. For the First Time

    Rhys didn¡¯t have a schedule. As far as he was aware, he wasn¡¯t registered for any classes. For that matter, he didn¡¯t even know if there was such a thing as ¡®registering for classes¡¯ in this world. Rather than ask for assistance and risk suffering through the slow process of school administrative paperwork, he decided to barge directly into the pillmaking class. What was the worst they could do, after all? Throw him out?


    He was already familiar with the location of the classrooms. After all, he had picked up trash outside of every one of these buildings. The teaching classes were easy to identify from their garbage. They always had lots of copies of the same items, whether it was input or output, and the failures usually had an amateurish ring to them. They were some of his favorite places to pick up trash from. Lots of good picking to be had in those heaps. Rhys wandered up the mountain to the classroom, humming under his breath.


    Class wasn¡¯t in session when he arrived. Rhys sat down on the stairs to absorb mana and wait, contemplating his intent skill at the same time. According to Straw, quiet contemplation could sometimes unlock skills that couldn¡¯t be unlocked through combat or other common triggers. He hadn¡¯t personally succeeded at it yet, but it cost nothing, and it didn¡¯t hurt to try. Besides, he could always use the time to consolidate his thoughts and consider how to approach triggering Intent next time he tried. He wasn¡¯t sure if that was the point of contemplation, or if there was something magical he was supposed to be doing, too, but either way, it was always useful to take a second to consider his actions.


    ¡°Look! A trash heap,¡± someone said.


    Rhys jolted to his feet and looked around. Did he miss one? A second later, he caught sight of three kids, two boys and a girl, pointing at him, and put two and two together. Rolling his eyes, he went to sit down again.


    The taller of the two boys, with light brown hair and dark blue eyes, met his gaze and laughed. ¡°What do you think you¡¯re doing, dirtying our stairs? Get back to collecting the garbage, trashman.¡±


    Rhys stood tall. He crossed his arms. ¡°I¡¯ll have you know I was personally brought here by your Schoolmaster. Can you say the same?¡±


    The boy hesitated for a moment, momentarily taken aback. Before he could recover, his friend, a blond boy with a square jaw and small eyes, crossed his arms at Rhys. ¡°Personally picked to be our garbage collector.¡±


    The first boy laughed. ¡°Good one, Jae.¡±


    The two of them grinned at one another. In between them, the girl rolled her eyes. She wasn¡¯t that pretty, but she clearly thought she was. She¡¯d carefully coiffed her hair into ringlets and wore layers of heavy makeup, plus tight robes that showed a good few inches of cleavage and pulled back at the hip to show her left leg in all but its entirety. Rhys considered for a moment, taking her in. It was an easy enough design to build, although the wig would be hell. Still, he¡¯d never been into the young mistress types, and his female friend had a more athletic build rather than the soft and shaped form of this girl. No, in the end, she was trash, but not his kind of trash. Rejected. He wouldn¡¯t be wasting his money on that fabric.


    She scowled at him. ¡°What¡¯s that look for? Are you eyeing me up? You dare lay your filthy eyes on me?¡±


    ¡°He looking at you, Janna?¡± Jae asked, stepping forward. The blond nodded at his friend. ¡°Jaques.¡±


    Jaques approached Rhys from the other side, cracking his knuckles.


    ¡°Wait. Janna, Jae, and Jaques? Do they call you the Triple J Trio?¡± Rhys asked, looking from one to the other. Maybe his initial evaluation had been off. That was just funny enough to qualify as the kind of trash he loved.


    Even as he glanced around, he watched Jae, who was approaching faster than Jaques. Each step, each shift, watching for the signs of a coming punch.


    ¡°Enough with the jokes. It¡¯s time you learned your place, trash.¡± Jae drew back his fist.


    ¡°Trash?¡± Rhys stepped back just as Jae punched, swaying away from the blow. Compared to sparring with Bast or Straw, the boy was dead slow. Still faster than Rhys, but Rhys was used to fighting against faster opponents. From the second the boy stepped forward, he¡¯d been watching for a punch, so unless the boy had swapped it up at the last second, their encounter was predestined to end in failure for Jae.


    Jae¡¯s face twisted in frustration. ¡°That¡¯s right. Trash!¡±


    Another punch flew at Rhys. Rhys swayed again, casually turning to put his back away from the rapidly approaching school building.


    The second he turned, Jaques rushed in, arms wide, intending to sweep Rhys in a bear hug and pin him against the wall.


    Rhys stood still until the last second, then stepped toward Jaques and ducked under his arms. He gave the bigger boy a little push toward the wall as he popped up behind him. The boy slammed into it with a meaty thud.


    ¡°I¡¯m trash,¡± Rhys muttered, his brows furrowing. It wasn¡¯t that he couldn¡¯t understand it, but that the comment , plus his recent contemplation of Insight, swirled together in his mind. Trash. Intent. Bast¡¯s Fist Intent. Anything could be the subject of Intent. That was Straw¡¯s whole lesson. But¡­ had he truly learned it?


    Frustrated, Jae spun and lunged for Rhys just as Jaques pushed off the wall and closed in on him from the other side. The two made eye contact and adjusted their angles slightly to catch Rhys between them. Their arms spread, they gave him no escape route.


    Rhys pushed mana into his legs and hopped up. With the mana, he burst into the air, easily jumping over Jae and Jaques¡¯ heads alike. The two boys had just enough time to stare at each other in horror before they crashed into one another.


    Despite wanting to acquire Straw¡¯s universal intent, he¡¯d been too focused on Bast¡¯s success. Bast was better at direct combat skills. Therefore, Bast¡¯s path, of learning smaller, more focused intents in order to eventually figure out universal intent, must be the right way to learn intent. Or so he¡¯d thought. But now, he couldn¡¯t help but wonder if that line of thinking had merely blinded him. He wasn¡¯t Bast. He couldn¡¯t acquire skills the same way Bast could. Rather than trying to copy Bast, he was better off doing this his own way.


    And what was his own way? Trash.


    He drew his broken sword and swept it, pushing mana into it. As the mana flowed out of his hand, it changed, turning into another fork of energy entirely. Something sharp and dangerous, something that flowed down the path where the sword¡¯s blade would have been and stood in for the steel of the blade.


    Trash Intent 1


    Rhys grinned. He spun the blade in his grasp and pointed it at the J Trio. ¡°That¡¯s right, I¡¯m trash. That¡¯s right, I collect garbage. Do you want to join the collection? I¡¯d be happy to have you.¡±


    Jae and Jacques glared at him. Jae reached for his sword.


    Janna caught his hand before he could draw. ¡°Idiot. That¡¯s weapon intent. He could cut through your blade and you in one easy swing.¡±


    Jae looked at her. ¡°Aren¡¯t you the one who¡ª¡±


    ¡°I just said he looked at me. So what? He can use weapon intent. Someone using weapon intent can look at me like that all day long.¡± She smiled flirtatiously at Rhys and fluttered her lashes.


    Gods. Rhys suppressed the urge to puke. Power was everything in this world, but to this extent? He managed the first level of an intent skill, and Janna went from casually suggesting mugging him to trying to sleep with him?


    I feel like this says more about Janna than society. Ah, well. He couldn¡¯t hate the hustle. Janna got it. Sure, she was a bit crude about it right now, but if she kept up that effort, she could be an earth-shattering gold-digger. Those with class and shame could never reach the apex of gold-digging. It was only those who threw away such weak emotions who overcame to marry the richest divorcees.


    Rhys nodded at her. ¡°Your obsession¡­ is it gold-digging?¡±


    ¡°Haa? What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡± Janna snapped, instantly put off again. She flipped her hair, irritation pouring off her in waves.


    ¡°No, no, it¡¯s not an insult. My obsession is trash,¡± Rhys explained. How could someone like him look down on anyone else¡¯s path? No matter how trashy it was, after all, it would only serve to further compliment his own path.


    Janna gave him a look as though she didn¡¯t know whether to look down on him or be afraid. Flipping her hair again, she marched past him into the classroom. Jae and Jaques cast final glares at Rhys, then followed after her.


    The other students were starting to arrive, so Rhys followed them in. He chose a seat slightly apart and near the back, aware of the stench that clung to him. He hadn¡¯t yet located the bathing facilities, nor did he feel comfortable stripping naked to bathe in the stream of such a populated mountain, where older disciples could easily fly over at any moment, so unfortunately, he didn¡¯t have any way to clean the stench of trash off himself. The second he walked into the room, though, his fears faded. The whole room was inundated with the smell of a medicinal smoke. It kind of smelled like burning cough syrup, and not in a good way. The smoky stink overwhelmed his own stench, and though he wasn¡¯t exactly happy about that, at least he didn¡¯t have to feel guilty about subjecting everyone else to the smell of trash at close quarters.


    Rather than traditional desks, this classroom was equipped with cauldrons. Short stools stood beside each cauldron, just tall enough to see into the metal devices. Lids sat nearby. Cast nearly as heavy as the pots themselves, if not heavier, they also came equipped with metal latches that would grip the lip of the cauldron and hold them in place. It reminded Rhys of a pressure cooker, a little bit. Looking up, he found the telltale signs of pressure-cooker explosions on the ceiling. Deep dents marred the roof directly over the pots, and in one spot near the front, a lid remained lodged in the ceiling, stuck so deep only half of it protruded from the stone.


    The classroom itself had been carved from solid stone. Based on the abuse it had taken through the years, between the pressure-cooker damage and the oddly soft, almost wet-looking places where acid of some kind ate through the floor long ago, that was a wise decision. Ashen stains on the walls and the acrid medicinal stench in the air made it clear a lesser building would have burned down long ago. Rhys raised his brows. Pillmaking was a dangerous art. The toxic garbage he¡¯d picked up from the back of the classroom had already warned him of that, but it was one thing to see its outputs, and another to see the forces that went into making that toxic sludge.


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    Awesome, he thought, grinning to himself. It was like chemistry, but if chemistry was only the cool, dangerous stuff. That was what he was talking about!


    While he waited for the students to finish filtering in, he flicked through the textbook. His copy was a bit stained, a few pages were missing, and the covers were in tatters, but that didn¡¯t matter. He¡¯d gotten it for free. Really, it was crazy what people would throw out! College textbooks cost an arm and a leg, and these spoiled brats were acting like they were napkins, to be tossed aside once they were wrinkled and soiled!


    He¡¯d always been a fast reader, and this was no exception. He didn¡¯t know if he could read because his body was literate, or because something was translating for him without him noticing, but in any case, the words flowed smoothly from the page to his head. There was no difference between reading this and his native language, nor was his speed impacted in the least. Last night, he¡¯d spent some time browsing it, but it was pretty complicated stuff, so he¡¯d decided to head to class and hear a professional¡¯s explanation, in the hopes it¡¯d clarify some of his questions. Still, there was no harm in getting a little light reading in, so he sped through the pages.


    He had to be a speed-reader. There wasn¡¯t any way he could¡¯ve survived without that trait. If he couldn¡¯t turn his brain off and rocket through a hundred pages in an hour, how would he get through his beloved trash to enjoy the gems hidden in its depths? Honestly, he was convinced that if other people could read as fast as him, they¡¯d probably share his appreciation for trash. There was nothing like turning off the brain, putting aside all judgement, and just letting the words flow.


    He lived and died on vibes and flashy scenes. Higher thinking, judgement, analysis, all those high-faulting words were for afterwards. Oh, he could break any work down, take it apart and pick through the bones to show you exactly where the flaws were, but where was the fun in doing that in the moment? It was like eating rotisserie chicken. The moment was for eating the good roasted meat. Once all was said and done, then it was time to pick the bones. And it was only once the carcass was naught but bone and sinew and taken to the curb with the trash, that he might let regret sink in.


    Not that he¡¯d ever regretted a rotisserie chicken in his life.


    That being said, this textbook was exceedingly dry. It was clear from the first page that the whole thing was based on rote memorization, which had never been a strong point of Rhys¡¯. He could do it better now that his mind was enhanced by mana, but he wasn¡¯t so enhanced that he could simply download the data directly into his brain. The idea of memorizing a thousand different formulas sounded incredibly unappetizing to Rhys. He¡¯d rather reverse-engineer them from the pill wrappers he had. Plus, the pill wrappers were trash, so he¡¯d have an easier time comprehending the recipes from them than trying to brute-force memorize the recipes from this book.


    In any case, he wasn¡¯t here to learn recipes. Right at the start of the book, it warned that individual pill and potion-makers often tweaked recipes to improve certain parts of the pill¡¯s or potion¡¯s effects. In other words, reverse-engineering the recipes from the wrappers wasn¡¯t just a good way to learn, it was a better way to learn, since he¡¯d be getting specialized formulas, not generic middle-of-the-road recipes. No, he was here to learn the basic technique for pill making. To put it simply, he had a recipe, he had all the ingredients, but he didn¡¯t know how to operate the oven. And in this world, it wasn¡¯t even as easy as twiddling with some knobs or buttons. He faced a big, blank pot that clearly had a propensity to explode, with nothing to operate it but his bare hands. He knew when he was out of his depths, and he wasn¡¯t afraid to admit it.


    The last of the students filled in. No one sat near Rhys, but a few of them shot him uncertain looks, as if they weren¡¯t sure if he should be there. Looking around, he was one of the younger disciples, but when he extended his mana, he wasn¡¯t any lower tier than the rest of them. Sure, some of them were high Tier 1, and most of them had more mana than him, but it wasn¡¯t as though he was ridiculously unqualified. They waited for a few minutes, chatting, before a hush abruptly fell over the crowd.


    A young-looking lady swept in. Her dark hair was swept back in a stern bun, and her pale blue wide-sleeved robes were cut short, hanging no lower than the elbow. Underneath it, she wore long, skintight dark blue sleeves that covered the back of her hands in a V-shape, but left her palms bare. The hem of her robes reached about as long as a miniskirt would. Beneath it, she wore leggings that likewise came to a point on her feet, almost merging into her sandals. A dark blue fabric belt dripped with gold-and-blue-glass decorations, to match the slender but unnecessarily long gold pin that held her bun in place.


    Rhys nodded to himself. That was a design. If he were still a cosplay builder, he¡¯d be calling that female friend of his right now.


    She thumped a heavy bag to the ground and approached a podium. The podium declared her name: Snr. Sorden Tagg. The podium stood beside a large cauldron with clear walls, so that the students could see inside. It looked as though it was made of glass, but there was no way something that large subject to explosive levels of pressure could be made of unreinforced glass. It was probably enchanted somehow.


    ¡°Get out your supplies. Today, we¡¯ll be making a simple healing potion,¡± Sorden announced. With a gesture, she pushed mana into the brazier below the cauldron, and the brazier lit. The other students did the same, and Rhys followed along. Sorden drew huge quantities of herbs from her bag, tossing them into the transparent cauldron.


    Rhys watched the herbs she threw in, then copied her motions. He didn¡¯t know how to make a potion, and it wasn¡¯t like he could sniff potion bottles to figure it out¡ªor, at least, his senses hadn¡¯t advanced to that level yet. The book¡¯s instructions were less than helpful; they included obtuse references to techniques and equipment that the book itself didn¡¯t explain. Honestly, he¡¯d given up on making potions. It wasn¡¯t a big deal, since Less is More meant he could sip the same potion for years, and he could scrape potions together to get more. Still, the more techniques he knew to create potions, the more likely he was to survive, so he figured, as long as the teacher was showing him the technique right in front of him, he might as well learn.


    The other students winced at the quantity of herbs used to create the potion, but Rhys had plenty of herbs from the trash. They¡¯d cost him nothing, so if the students were price-gouged on herbs, that was none of his business. Unless. He grinned to himself. He had lots of high-quality compost back in his heap, and plenty of disciples threw out rootstocks or stalks that he could try and grow herbs from. He only had a small garden right now, but if there was money to be made, he might as well expand that garden and make money.


    His herbs were ragged and in much smaller quantities, but the power they exuded when he threw them into the cauldron was just as strong as his neighbors¡¯ cauldrons as Less is More activated. Up front, Sorden chopped, mixed, and ground. All her motions were smooth and polished, with the quick motions of a professional who¡¯d made this a thousand times. Many of the students struggled to keep up, but Rhys, who was used to the fast-paced beat of Straw¡¯s brutal lessons, could keep up just fine. One herb after another joined the pot. Rhys was worried he might not have all the herbs he needed, but it seemed as if she¡¯d taught the same lesson a few times this week, and he had plenty of copies of everything he needed from the trash.


    The herbs melted under the mana-powered fire. Rhys felt their energy stirring, and called out to that energy. At the front of the class, Sorden gestured in a circular motion over her cauldron. The energies mixed smoothly together, blending into one energy.


    Rhys started to stir the energies, only for them to immediately jolt and try to escape his grasp. Sorden had made it look so easy, but it was anything but. The herbs all wanted to stay with their own like-kind energy, not mix in. Extending his mana, Rhys gripped each bundle of energy and slowly smeared them together, pummeling them from the outside and forcing them to mix into one. It fought against him, but he refused to let it go. He pushed them all together, tightening the cauldron¡¯s space so they couldn¡¯t escape.


    Without anywhere else to go, the energies melded slowly but surely. Even with all Rhys¡¯ efforts, though, he couldn¡¯t make them completely mix. He glanced at the front of the classroom.


    Sorden gestured. The lid of the massive cauldron jumped into her hand, and she thumped it home. Putting both hands on the lid, she pushed down. The cauldron took the force she applied and pressed inward evenly from all directions. Inside the cauldron, the thick liquid compressed toward the center of the space.


    Rhys copied her gestures. He pushed mana into the cauldron, and the cauldron immediately applied pressure inwards. At the same time, the lid pressed against his hands, trying to escape the pressure. Rhys strengthened his arms and pushed down with all his might, refusing to let the cauldron pop. With one hand, he reached out and closed one of the hooks down, then reached out to the other one and hooked it over the edge. The lid still struggled, but it was no longer Rhys alone who pushed it in place.


    He wiped his forehead. He¡¯d almost been one of those students with the lids embedded in the ceiling. If he hadn¡¯t noticed the hooks ahead of time, he would have had no chance.


    Inside the cauldron, the swirling, superheated, pressurized liquid started to destabilize. Rhys whirled and pressed his hands against the lid, once more carefully swirling the liquid. The potion quieted down, but only so long as he kept his active attention on it.


    ¡°At this stage, when the entire potion is melted down, pay close attention for impurities. Expel the impurities through cycling the pressure on the liquid. Remember, higher impurities mean a weaker potion, and more impurities that will build up in the body of the one who drinks your potion, whether that¡¯s you or a friend.¡±


    Impurities? I got Impurity Resist the other day. Rhys raised his hand. ¡°What are impurities?¡±


    Sorden squinted at him. After a second, she shrugged. ¡°Impurities are tiny unnecessary inclusions. They occur naturally in almost all herbs, with the exception of some extremely rare, extremely high-quality herbs. Impurities build up in the body naturally, as one eats, drinks, and exists, and can also build up from excessive reliance on pills or potions. They can build up in your mana passages and impede the flow of mana. If you have too many impurities, it can even prevent you from reaching the next Tier. You can expel some impurities from your body, but it¡¯s better to expel them from the potion before they enter your body.¡±


    It made sense. It was kind of like plaque building up in one¡¯s veins, impeding the flow of blood and ultimately leading to death, but impurities built up in the mana passages and led to magic-death. But at the same time¡­ impurities sounded a lot like trash. If everyone ignored them and tried to expel them, didn¡¯t that mean that everyone was throwing them out without ever looking at them for value? Interesting. Very interesting. Rhys could feel his excitement spiking already.


    Trash also seemed to be a great source of impurities, since he¡¯d gotten the Impurity Resist skill from it. He made a mental note to try absorbing some impurities and experiment with them later.


    For now, he simply followed Sorden¡¯s orders, cycling the pressure to the liquid. Tiny black dots oozed out of the clear liquid in the clear cauldron at the front of the room. They collected in the bottom of the cauldron, where a crust of black had already gathered. The potion condensed, boiling down. At the very last second before it burned, Sorden grabbed an empty vial from beside her, yanked open the lid, and made a pulling gesture. The blue liquid flew out and coiled into the vial.


    Rhys fished an empty bottle from the trash out of his robes. He uncapped it. Following Sorden¡¯s directions, he opened the lid and immediately reached for the liquid.


    Too slow. The second he took the lid off, the liquid shot out, bursting into the air. Rhys turned, reaching up instead of down. He managed to grab a small quantity of the liquid and pull it into the vial, but the rest of it rained down on the classroom, bathing them in potion.


    The children near Rhys shrieked. A few ran for it, or ducked under their stools. It was a successful potion, though, so aside from getting them wet, it didn¡¯t hurt them at all. Rhys wiped his face down, a little drenched himself. It healed all the little cuts and scrapes on his body, but since he didn¡¯t really need a potion, it didn¡¯t do much.


    ¡°Never a dull class,¡± Sorden deadpanned.


    Let the pressure out, then open the lid, Rhys noted for the future. But for all that, he¡¯d achieved his objectives. He¡¯d learned how to operate a cauldron, and he¡¯d obtained some fresh potion for his efforts. Bonus points!


    Alchemy 1


    Class continued for another while yet, but since it was lecture, it wasn¡¯t the most stimulating class of all time. When the doors finally opened, Rhys rushed out. But for all that he¡¯d spent a lot of time, he¡¯d gained so much for it. Two skills in one day, and a lead for future investigation. Two leads, including the garden. All good things for him!


    He returned to his trash heap pleased with himself and set about building his garden.

 12. Separate Your Burnable Trash

    There were piles of rotting food amidst the rubbish, plus shredded herbs that were too far gone to be used in even the most impure of potions. He picked out the compostable matter, leaving behind the bones, meats, and cheeses, and made a compost heap. Rather than simply wait for nature to take its course, he scanned over the compost pile with his mana, searching for the tiniest signs of life. He needed microorganisms and bugs. They were what turned food into compost. If he could supercharge them with mana, he¡¯d have compost much faster. Mana made people stronger and animals stronger, so why not bugs and bacteria?


    Time passed. He sat down and meditated beside the compost pile, focusing all his mana on the pile. He sensed the rats picking at the pile, the chipmunks burrowing into it. Smaller. Large worms and big beetles appeared on his awareness, shimmering with mana. Not yet. Smaller! He burrowed down deeper yet. His whole world was the compost pile. The compost pile marked the edges of his universe, and he knew nothing but the compost. Every leaf, every piece of scrap, every bug lit up in his mind.


    And then his mind expanded. He saw more, saw smaller things. Down into the abyss below bugs. Tiny spots of light lit up in his vision. They huddled together in splotches, clinging to one another for warmth.


    There. Rhys pushed his mana into them and the bugs alike. The microorganisms immediately leaped into action. They multiplied at a furious rate, chewing through the compost. The bugs, too, sped up. Their actions had been at bug speeds before, but now, they all ran around like maniacs, chewing down leaves and shitting them out at turbo speed.


    He opened his eyes. The pile of scraps transformed into lush, dark compost before his eyes. When it was all transformed, he stopped putting mana into it, and all the organisms returned to normal.


    Rhys took the compost and spread some of it over his existing garden. There was still plenty of room in the wilderness, and plenty of compost, too. He took a moment to pick through the garbage until he found a broken rake, then raked up a patch of ground. Some more herbs went down, roots and bits that could grow into fresh plants, and then he covered them with a good layer of compost.


    He repeated his actions over and over until he ran out of mana. There was no shortage of bits and bobs of herbs in the trash, nor any shortage of compost materials. When he was done, five neat plots of herbs stood next to the garbage pile. But there were still more herbs to plant, and still more materials to compost. The only limitation was his small mana pool.


    Rhys stood back, pinching his chin. He wasn¡¯t going to make much profit with five small plots. Sure, he could treat these as his first generation, then build a second and third generation, and so on, but that was boring, and it took too much time. He wanted a profitable garden right now. Not only that, but he knew he could do it. If he followed the same principles as the compost-generation, he could speed up the growth of the herbs. From the alchemy book, some herbs needed very specific growing conditions, but none of the herbs at this low a level needed that special of a caring regimen. He could throw them in good soil, pump them full of mana, and harvest them immediately for a profit.


    Of course, the problem was that anyone could do that. The only limitation was mana, and mana was a serious limitation for everyone, not just trash-tier low level mages like Rhys. He¡¯d need to be basically hooked up to an infinite supply of mana to make it worth it. He did have better soil than most people would have access to, so that was a definite advantage for him; that would lower the amount of mana he¡¯d need to grow the plants, and if he simply sat still and waited, he¡¯d be able to grow good herbs one way or another. But he didn¡¯t just want the same slow rate of herbs anyone else could produce. He wanted to get rich from the trash, and that meant doing more than ordinary gardening.


    He could try charging for removal, but he didn¡¯t want anyone else to get ideas. The trash belonged to him. If someone else saw him charging money for trash removal, they might try to butt in on his market. Better to make it a free service so no one thought about butting in on it, and reap the benefits of the trash himself. The last thing he wanted was for someone else to start getting ideas about his trash.


    Sitting back, he sighed. At times like this, he missed Bast. Bast would happily dig a dozen plots for him, even if he didn¡¯t have the mana to create compost or grow the plants yet. Motivate him. Provide the effort to force him to keep going when he got tired or lost the plot. He needed a friend. Someone who would help him out with his wild plans.


    Of course, then he¡¯d have to split the profits, so there were downsides as well.


    A little lost for the moment, Rhys extended what little mana he had left to sense the world around him. He needed mana. He could go meditate for it, but it would take so long to get it back. He needed mountains of mana. Piles of it. Heaps of it. If only he had¡ª


    Pale light lit up in his mana senses. Rhys turned, slowly.


    The trash. The trash was full of mana. Absolute mounds of mana.


    But how did he release it? He thought for another moment, then shrugged. Releasing the mana from the herbs to make a potion had taken heat. What if it worked the same way here?


    Rhys jumped up. He ran to the piles and started picking through the trash, setting aside every possible item that could make compost. A few days passed. At last, he had two piles, one compost pile about a third the size of the original, and the other a two-thirds sized pile of trash. He¡¯d separated out the usable herbs as well, as well as anything else that seemed valuable. The valuable pile was relatively small. It was mostly herbs, potions, and wrappers, though there were a few broken weapons and some badly-stained robes. For all that the robes were stained, they were still way nicer than his. It was worth trying to clean them, later, when he didn¡¯t have a current project.


    There was also a pair of bracelets that had a strong aura of mana, but didn¡¯t appear to do anything, and a perfectly usable gold ring that had a small storage space inside it¡ªand that was the biggest winner of them all. The storage ring was full of fine robes and nice furniture¡­ that had all been ripped to shreds, doused in wine, and then lit on fire, some of it. But most of the damage was cosmetic or repairable. He pulled all the items out and set them in his valuables pile, to repair and clean later.


    RIP to whoever pissed off their wife-slash-fianc¨¦, Rhys noted. The gold band had looked like a wedding band to begin with, and when he saw the contents, he was sure. Sure that someone had truly lost their lover, anyways.


    One man¡¯s loss was another man¡¯s gain. Considering what he was about to do, he dragged the furniture over around the edge of the hollow and into a nook in the rock formations just around the corner. There was a natural cave there that he¡¯d been considering outfitting as a home for a while now, but he hadn¡¯t had anything to do it with. Now that he had some furniture, he could really get started. Sure, it was a bit of a fixer-upper situation. Some of the chairs only had two or three legs, or no seat, or filthy shredded cushions. But the bones were good, and only a little scorched. He could definitely fix them up with a little hard work.


    With the furniture out of the splash zone, and the rest of the valuables moved out of the way for luck while he was at it, Rhys finally turned to his trash mound. He¡¯d only been collecting for a few weeks, but it was already a veritable mountain, nearly big enough to peek out of the valley he¡¯d put it in. He checked to make sure the compost pile was far enough away to not catch fire, then dug a fire break in between them just to be completely sure. Building the earthwork did help to grow his strength a little, but not as much as he was about to surge up, if all went according to plan. Only then, once he was sure that he had everything accounted for to the extent possible, did he grab a pair of matches and start a fire.


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    He didn¡¯t have a fire-starting skill, so he had to stick to mortal methods, but once the fire got started, he fed it mana. Like anything fed mana, it quickly strengthened. The flames chased after the mana, and Rhys guided them to spread over the entire trash pile. Before long, Rhys didn¡¯t even have to feed it mana any more. It self-propagated on its own. The flames tore over the garbage, eating into the dry wood and scrappy fabric. As the trash burned, just as Rhys had predicted, the mana locked inside them burst free.


    The mana hovered overhead, spotted with black dots. Even before he drew it into himself, he could sense powerful impurities mixed into the mana. Rhys hesitated, but only for a moment. In the next, he steeled himself. Impurities are a form of trash. Even if they supposedly do nothing but limit one¡¯s growth and harm one¡¯s body, I refuse to overlook them. If he couldn¡¯t do anything with the impurities, then he¡¯d go study up on how to remove them from his body. Since the beginning, he¡¯d had to take risks to get ahead. If he never risked anything, he¡¯d never gain anything.


    Studying trash was not the safest path. Even dragging the trash here had gained him three Resist skills. And back in his world, it had left him unloved and exiled among forumgoers. Hesitating here was foolish! He had already staked it all on trash a thousand times. To stop here meant to deny his path. To pause here meant to reject everything he stood for!


    And so, Rhys took a deep breath and sucked the impurity-laced mana into himself.


    It instantly ached. Everything hurt. The mana clicked and dragged, sluggish in his passages, and clunked in his mana core. It felt like he¡¯d eaten a bad meal full of junk food, and that junk food was tumbling around in his gut, but in his mana core. Rhys winced, grimacing. He dropped to his knees, then sat to focus all his energy internally. As he dragged the mana into himself, he carefully guided it through his passages. He led it to his core as quickly as possible, then circulated it slowly there until all the impurities fell to the bottom of his core. Only then did he let it circulate through his mana passages. At the same time, he pushed his mana to scour his passages and drag the majority of the impurities back to his core. In his core, he gathered them at the bottom. Just like the layer of scum in the bottom of the teacher¡¯s cauldron, so too he accumulated a layer of impurities at the bottom of his core.


    He couldn¡¯t guide all the impurities there. Some slipped by, or were too small for him to grasp. But he led enough there that he could still circulate his mana evenly, and no deadly clots accumulated in his mana passages. Small clots formed, but none so thick that he couldn¡¯t push past them with a slug of mana.


    At the same time, his mana pool filled in a few moments. The trash mana was so thick for Rhys that he struggled to absorb it all. He lifted his hand, preparing to push excess mana into the compost pile, but then the excess mana began pushing at the walls of his core, expanding it. Rhys paused. This was an opportunity he hadn¡¯t come across ever before, but it seemed like trash-based mana synergized so well with him that it could help expand his core. If he offset it, he¡¯d lose out on the opportunity. So, even though it made him feel horrifically bloated, even though it pushed his core to the limit of bursting, he held onto the mana. Clung on to every scrap of it. And every scrap helped to push against the walls of his core and widen it.


    This whole time, he¡¯d had a very small mana pool for his Tier. Not the smallest, but far from the largest. An important part of early growth for a mage was to expand that core, or so Straw had told him. He¡¯d struggled and fought, but the expansion he¡¯d attained was still only equivalent to Bast¡¯s starting point. Now, absorbing the trash mana, his core finally began expanding.


    His whole body trembled. Mana flowed wildly inside him, escaping from his core, bursting from his mana passages. With his core and passages on the edge, he lost control of containing impurities, and they ran rampant inside him. But his core still widened. Self-regeneration kicked in, struggling to repair the damage. It couldn¡¯t keep up, but that was fine. He could bear a little pain. Just a little more. While his core was still expanding, he¡¯d put up with anything.


    His core expansion slowed. From centimeters to milimeters, from milimeters to a grind so small he could barely see it. Still, he pushed on. Even imperceptible gains¡ªany gains at all!


    Pain shot through him. His core strained. No longer did it expand. Instead, it began to rupture.


    Now! Rhys threw out his hand. He poured mana into the compost pile, not bothering to target the bugs and microorganisms. Instead, he let it flow rampantly into everything. The bugs, the leaves, the bacterium¡ªhe drowned them in mana. The pile trembled. It visibly decayed, breaking down from scraps into rich, soft earth. In moments, the compost had grown as rich as it could, and yet, the mana still poured into Rhys.


    He gritted his teeth. Pain once more spiked in his core. Desperate, he looked around, and his eyes landed on the already-planted plots. He grinned. Right! From the beginning, he¡¯d planned to use the mana to force-grow plants. He might only have five plots, a far cry from his desired plottage, but five plots were five plots! Plus, it was a great chance to find out how much mana it took to force a plant to maturity and fruiting.


    Lifting his hand, he pointed it at the plots and blasted them with mana.


    For a moment, nothing happened. Or rather, nothing visible happened. The cuttings woke up and dug roots into the ground, stabilized themselves, and collected their energy. And then, all at once, they blasted off with growth. Some exploded into vines, crawling over the earth and each other in their eagerness to grow. Others burst into bushes, or simply grew, extending their stalks upward and putting off leaves. They grew and grew, seemingly boundlessly thirsty for mana. An incredible amount of mana flowed through Rhys, coursing into the plants.


    As the mana passed through him, he stripped out the impurities. For two reasons: one, because he didn¡¯t know how magical plants would fare with impurities, if they¡¯d struggle to fruit or even die of disease. Two, because he still wanted to investigate impurities for himself, and find out if there wasn¡¯t value to be found in the depths of the trash that was impurities, after all. The more impurities he had, the better. After all, sometimes value could only be found when one searched through large quantities, like panning through tons of river dirt to find gold.


    The smallest plants stopped growing first. They put up blooms, which lived, withered, and died in the space of a few moments. In the next seconds, the buds atop the plants swelled, becoming heavy with fruit. The fruits ripened, then drooped, threatening to fall and rot away entirely.


    Rhys went to pull his mana back, but found he couldn¡¯t. In the next second, he shrugged to himself. He still had plenty of mana, and what did fruits contain, but seeds? Instead of two of those plants, he could have dozens. He kept pouring the mana in.


    The fruits fell. They rotted away. The seeds within germinated and grew anew. The plants grew all over one another. They didn¡¯t grow as thickly and verdantly as the first plants, but the sheer volume overweighed quality in Rhys¡¯ heart. He wasn¡¯t here to deliver high quality goods. He was here to deliver trash that just barely cleared the mark of sellable. If some of them were high quality, he certainly didn¡¯t mind that, but while he was starting to get his business up and running, he needed quantity more.


    The longer-lived plants sucked up more mana, taking longer before they reached their herb-relevant stage. Some, like the bushes, he could simply let grow in abundance. He only needed their leaves, so the more leaves and branches they put out, the better it was for him. Others, he needed the seeds or fruits of, and so he had to be more careful about delivering them mana. The flow from the trash grew weaker, and as it did, he gained more control over it. He cut back mana to those plants which had already fully grown, and pushed more into those that could infinitely grow, or which needed nourishment.


    The mana petered out. It slowed to a trickle, then a drip, then a halt. Beside him, the fire died as well as the last od the trash burned out. Rhys lowered his hand and breathed out, exhausted. His vision wavered. His heart pounded in his head, and heat burned from his forehead. Just like when he¡¯d first practiced with mana, he was mana-sick, but worse this time than ever before.


    But what gains he¡¯d made! A fresh pile of compost. A core more than double its original size. Five plots of herbs, ready to be harvested and sold. And a technique that allowed him to rapidly gather mana, expand his core, and obtain impurities to research. He let out a sigh, tired, but proud. He took a step back, meaning to retreat to his newly furnished cave, but stumbled and fell to the ground. Lying there on the dry earth, he let his eyes drift shut. He¡¯d done it. Everything he¡¯d imagined and more. Now, to capitalize on his gains.


    But first, sleep. His eyes shut one last time, and he knew nothing but oblivion.


    A figure stepped out from around the edge of the valley. Their eyes darted to Rhys¡¯ plants, and they stepped forward.

 13. Gardening for Fun and Profit

    Rhys awoke with a start. He sat up, looking around. Lush bushes awaited him, and the air was clear, with a medicinal scent. His brows furrowed. Something was wrong. Very wrong.


    No trash! He jumped to his feet and whirled. The trash pile was gone! Someone had stolen it¡ª


    His memories caught up with him, and he reeled. Almost to check as though it wasn¡¯t a dream, he peered inside himself, but just as he recalled, his core was several sizes larger than it had been. Now, it rivaled some of the most powerful Tier 1 students in the pill class, instead of being so small that it ranked among the smallest. Not only that, but it was full to the brim with mana. Overfull, even.


    There was only one problem. Impurities raged through him. His body resisted them passively to some extent, thanks to the Impurity Resist skill, but nonetheless, they damaged him and his mana passages. He coughed and tasted copper. Turning his head, he spat a mouthful of black blood on the ground. He was in better shape than he¡¯d been before his impromptu nap, but he wasn¡¯t in great shape. He needed to handle the impurities, and soon.


    ¡°Did you do this?¡±


    Rhys startled. He whirled again, in the opposite direction this time.


    The girl who¡¯d invited him to the mountain, Tarais, knelt by the plants, taking a closer look at the herbs. Feeling his eyes on her, she looked up. ¡°These plants. Did you grow them?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. They¡¯re mine,¡± he replied forcefully.


    She raised her hands. ¡°Don¡¯t misunderstand me. I¡¯m impressed, but I¡¯m not here to steal them from you. I¡¯m simply shocked that a Tier 1 disciple could accomplish so much.¡±


    Rhys raised a brow. She was Tier 2, and he was Tier 1. Commending it like that already implied she wanted it, but he wasn¡¯t going to hand over his hard work for nothing. He crossed his arms, subtly sliding his hand toward the broken sword in his robes. ¡°I¡¯m honored you see me in such a light.¡±


    Tarais stood. She brushed off her robes. ¡°If you¡¯re so devoted to the school, why don¡¯t you attend classes or find a mentor? I¡¯m sure Sorden would be happy to have such a devoted herbalist under her command.¡±


    ¡°Devoted to the school?¡± Rhys asked, shocked.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. You grew this on school grounds, with the school¡¯s materials. Surely it was for the school?¡± Tarais stated, as if it were obvious.


    He stared at her, jaw dropped. At last, he managed a question. ¡°You¡ªyou think I did this all out of the goodness of my heart, for no personal benefit?¡±


    ¡°Did you not?¡± Her eyes flashed, and she reached for her sword. ¡°Then I¡¯ll have to reclaim the school¡¯s property for the school.¡±


    Rhys narrowed his eyes. He tightened his grip on his sword scrap. What¡ªwas the school going to steal everything he¡¯d grown? Absolutely not. They¡¯d thrown it out. The second they didn¡¯t want their trash any more, it became his property. Everything he¡¯d fished out and nourished from the trash was his, from the beginning to the end. For the school? What was this nonsense? He didn¡¯t recall agreeing to anything like this when he was brought here. In fact, he¡¯d been dumped at the foot of the mountain without another word! This school had done nothing for him that it didn¡¯t do for every other student. In fact, it had done less for him. And not only that, but he¡¯d gone out of his way and decided to help out the mountain on his own prerogative, by cleaning up its garbage. What did he get for that? Nothing but the disgust of his fellow students. Not a single piece of money or bit of thanks. The school didn¡¯t want the garbage. It didn¡¯t want him. It didn¡¯t want any of it.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    But now that he¡¯d done something with the garbage, now that he¡¯d made something of it¡ªnow it belonged to the school? Now she wanted to steal it from him? She didn¡¯t want the mountainside sludge, but once he fished the gold out, that gold was hers¡­ was that how it worked?


    He snorted. Maybe in a big corporation, but he didn¡¯t recall being hired.


    ¡°I¡¯ll ask you one last time. Are you going to hand these herbs over to the school?¡± Tarais asked.


    ¡°Absolutely not. Fuck off. If the school could do what I did, it would¡¯ve done it without me. These herbs are the product of my hard work. They belong to me. Not the school, and definitely not you.¡± Rhys drew his sword scrap and pointed it at her.


    It was insane. He should have just backed off and given it to her. After all, she was a whole Tier higher than him, at Tier 2. But he had his intent skill, and he was used to fighting Bast and Straw, who were both far stronger than him.


    If he didn¡¯t draw the line somewhere, she¡¯d draw it for him, and he already knew he didn¡¯t like where she¡¯d put it. Power ruled in this world, and by the numbers, he didn¡¯t stack up¡ªbut he didn¡¯t care. If he didn¡¯t try, he¡¯d never win. No, not trying was equivalent to losing. He might as well put his life on the line, rather than not try, and impotently become someone else¡¯s underling.


    He hadn¡¯t done all this to end up as someone¡¯s servant, producing herbs for someone else¡¯s benefit. He¡¯d done it all for him, and dammit, he was going to reap the profits of his trash! If she¡¯d taken up the trash, then she could have done exactly what he¡¯d done. But she hadn¡¯t, so she¡¯d lost out. Those were the laws of life. He refused to bow his head and hand it all over to her. It was the same as a little kid waiting until he built the blocks up, then kicking him out and playing with the castle, and he wasn¡¯t putting up with it.


    Tarais stared. After a second, she laughed, more out of shock than anything. ¡°That¡¯s what you bare at me?¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s all I need, for trash like you,¡± Rhys snarled.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, I¡¯m trash. But I¡¯m trash who understands my place!¡± Tarais shot back. She flew at him in a flurry of robes, her blade whooshing forth.


    She was fast, faster than the J Trio on the steps of the classroom. Rhys was instantly pushed to his utter limits, and had to flare mana just to keep her from dissecting him. His mana stuttered and lagged at times, tripping him up when he least needed it to. He managed to avoid any fatal blows, but he could only dream of getting the time to activate Trash Intent or landing a hit on her.


    A flurry of blows pushed him back toward the stone wall. Rhys tried to escape, but Tarais had the upper hand in all ways. From the expression on her face, she¡¯d given up on expecting a real fight. She was simply playing around.


    Her blade shot forth, hurtling toward his chest. He couldn¡¯t dodge this one. He pushed mana desperately into the sword, trying to activate his intent skill, but it clogged on the impurities.


    Rhys grimaced. If not for the impurities, maybe he would have stood a chance¡ª!


    No. That¡¯s not right. His eyes narrowed. Time seemed to slow. Tarais¡¯ blade froze in midair, still hurtling toward his chest, but slower, now. Long enough to take a breath. Long enough to think.


    He was rejecting the impurities. That was the problem. Just like everyone rejected them, just like everyone rejected trash, so, too, he was rejecting them. Naturally, then, they rejected him back. He couldn¡¯t expect them to be anything but what they were for everyone, if he treated them the same as everyone.


    I need to clear them. Make them work for me. But how?


    His eyes flitted past Tarais, to the scorched earth behind her. The place where he¡¯d burned the trash. To unlock mana from the trash, he¡¯d burned it. Then¡­ why not ignite the impurities?


    He couldn¡¯t literally light them on fire. They were inside him, and they hadn¡¯t burned to normal fire, besides. Instead, he gathered them together and filled them with mana. Inside his core, he desperately rubbed one lump of impurities against another. Friction ignition was crude, trashy, even, but it was all he had. He pressed them together, pushed harder, staking everything on the ignition. Either they lit, and he was correct, there was a hidden power locked away inside them, or he was wrong, and this was all in vain.


    But at least I tried, he thought, gritting his teeth and forcing the impurities to take more mana. To their limit, then beyond. They glowed, on the verge of lighting. He saw his chance. He saw his dream come true.


    The blade pierced his chest. Went right through his lung, with a harsh huff as it deflated. He staggered back, and Tarais pinned him to the wall. She gritted her teeth, glaring at him.


    ¡°Give in. I¡¯m only doing what anyone would do. Consider this kindness, when the other seniors would kill you.¡±


    His head slumped. She drew her blade free and turned to go.


    And then Rhys¡¯ power surged.

 14. Ignition

    Tarais turned to go.


    Rhys¡¯ power surged. Startled, she whirled.


    He pushed himself off the wall. It took him immense effort to do so, blood washing down his chest and back, but he did. He looked up at her and laughed. ¡°Is it inevitable?¡±


    Black smoke billowed from his back and head. A pillar of black poured into the sky. Yet, at the same time, his mana grew stronger and clearer than Tarais had ever felt from a Rank 1 before. It was as if he was refining it inside of him, reforging it within his core the way one forged iron into steel.


    ¡°What¡­ how?¡± Tarais asked, shocked.


    He laughed. ¡°Wouldn¡¯t you like to know.¡±


    Within Rhys, the impurities burned. As they burned, they released extremely small amounts of an incredibly pure, powerful mana. About one one-hundredth of the impurities refined to that pure mana, while the rest burned off in the pillar of smoke. The second the pure mana touched his ordinary mana, it mixed together. Although Tarais couldn¡¯t know it, she was very close to the truth. Just like mixing iron and carbon made steel¡ªin other words, by adding an impurity into the iron, one forged it stronger¡ªjust like that, the impurity-mana and his ordinary mana mixed together. The result was less powerful than that extremely pure mana, but all of his mana could become that ¡®alloy,¡¯ and that ¡®alloy¡¯ was far stronger than his Tier 1 mana was on its own.


    The super pure mana was stronger than his ordinary mana and the alloy, but he couldn¡¯t generate enough of it for it to matter on its own. Even if he collected all of it, the super-pure mana would fit on the nail on his pinky finger. On top of that, he couldn¡¯t keep the super-pure mana separate from his ordinary mana. From the beginning, the impurities were in his core and his mana passages. The super-pure mana was surrounded by ordinary mana from the moment it was born. He could sense the super-pure mana for that split second when it was created, but by the time he¡¯d gathered himself to do anything about it, it had already merged with his mana.


    He wasn¡¯t complaining, though. That tiny, pinky-nail amount of super-pure mana made all his mana vastly more powerful. Most mages could only dream of such an improvement.


    He pulled out his potion and took a good sip¡ªa full mouthful, this time. Less is More took control, supercharged by his newly-reforged mana and ignited impurities. The wound closed slowly. He took a deep breath, and felt his lung pop back into shape.


    The impurities burning also gave him a boost of power. Unlike the alloy of the super-pure mana and his ordinary mana, though, he could tell it was temporary. Once the impurities burned down, it would be gone.


    So he turned his broken sword toward Tarais. His Trash Intent burst into form, and the blade¡¯s full length sprung into shape. He dashed toward her, swinging his blade.


    She raised her sword to block his blow. He swung through it. His Trash Intent cleaved through her sword and sliced toward her neck. At the last second, she jumped back. The very tip of his blade barely cut her throat. Red bloomed. She touched her throat, then looked at her hand, shocked.


    Before she had time to fully react, Rhys closed in on her. He hammered the butt of his sword into her hand, forcing her to release her sword. She stumbled back. Grabbing her shoulder, he put the blade to her throat.


    ¡°You saw nothing here. If you tell anyone about this, I¡¯ll find you, and I¡¯ll end you. The next time you try to intercede in my affairs, I will kill you. Do you understand?¡± Rhys watched her eyes, waiting for a response.


    He didn¡¯t want to kill her, nor did he consider this a killable offense. She was trying to teach him a lesson. A lesson he disagreed with, but a lesson nonetheless. What she wasn¡¯t trying to do, was kill him. Since she wasn¡¯t trying to kill him, he wouldn¡¯t try to kill her, in return. Unless she wouldn¡¯t give up, in which case, he would have no option.


    His hand trembled at that thought. He stilled it a moment later, steeling himself. He didn¡¯t want to bow his head to her. If he had to kill to keep his freedom, then so be it.


    Tarais stared at him. She glared, unwilling, then took a deep breath. She lowered her head. ¡°I understand.¡±


    Rhys released her. He stepped back, still burning his impurities, his blade at the ready. Honestly, he didn¡¯t intend to release his impurity burning until he¡¯d burned them all, to gain the maximum amount of super-pure mana he could, and remove the maximum amount of impurities he could. Burning impurities gave him a temporary power boost, it was true, but the permanent power boost of the super-pure mana was far more important. After all, if his guess was right, he could gather more impurities, then burn them, on an infinite loop to continue gathering the super-pure mana. The one ingredient he needed for this was trash, and there was no shortage of trash. There was no need to hold back and maintain his stock of impurities, when there was such a rich source of impurities all around him.


    She sighed. ¡°I thought I¡¯d warn you off from overreaching your capabilities and attracting too much attention, but I¡¯m the one who overreached. I¡¯m even more trash than the trash collector.¡±


    Rhys frowned at her. ¡°You aren¡¯t trash at all.¡±


    ¡°I failed to¡ª¡±


    ¡°So what? Do you know what I had to do to have this kind of power? You just did the default amount of work, and you were stronger than me. Are you stupid? How are you trash? You¡¯re a perfectly respectable mage with normal clothes and a balanced personality. Don¡¯t belittle yourself. Trash? Honestly. I couldn¡¯t roll my eyes any harder. You don¡¯t even come close to qualifying.¡± Rhys shook his head at her, absolutely disappointed.


    Tarais blinked. Somehow, she had the feeling that he was defending trash, rather than insulting her. As if she was being gatekept out of trash. ¡°But I¡¯m weaker than you. I¡¯m¡ª¡±


    Rhys drew himself to his full height and looked down on her. The sun came out from behind him, peeking through the black smog still flying off his body. ¡°Why am I the boundary point for trash? Why are you trash if you¡¯re weaker than me? True trash isn¡¯t limited by power alone. There are infinite ways to be trash, and you qualify as none of them.¡±


    Tarais stared. From her angle, light seemed to be coming off of Rhys like a halo. She stared, completely lost. ¡°I¡¯m¡­ not trash?¡±


    ¡°No. You might be average, but you¡¯re definitely not trash,¡± Rhys stated definitively. ¡°So don¡¯t apply the rules you live by to me. Those are rules for normal, average people, not for trash. I know how to live as trash. I¡¯ve done it so far. Your concern is only for yourself, not for me.¡±


    Her brows knitted. ¡°My concern was only for me¡­? Then, was this all vanity?¡±


    ¡°Huh?¡± Rhys asked. That wasn¡¯t what he¡¯d meant, but whatever. She seemed to have gained something from it, and who was he to stop her from getting the most out of this?


    The smoke faded away. The impurities burned out in his core. Rhys took a deep breath. His whole body felt light and rejuvenated. Black goo clung to his skin where it had been forced out during the burning process, and he wiped it away. His mana ran smoothly through his mana passages, and circulated smoothly in his core. He examined his whole body, and found no impurities. They had burned cleanly, exiting his skin as smoke. There was only one exception. In the very bottom of his core, two small lumps of impurity remained. They were heavier than the original impurities, and didn¡¯t stir even when he circulated his mana as fast as possible. They hadn¡¯t burned, and the sensation he got was that they wouldn¡¯t burn. They, too, had been forged stronger.


    But for all that, they didn¡¯t appear to have any impact on his mana, so he wasn¡¯t too worried about them. Plus, they were so tiny. If the super-pure mana was the size of a pinky nail, then this super-impurity was the size of a rhinestone on that nail. He could absorb the same amount of trash a hundred times and forge a hundred super-impurities, and he¡¯d still be fine.


    He tucked his scrap of a sword back into his robes. ¡°If you¡¯re not going to stop me, then¡­ I suppose we¡¯re done here?¡±


    Tarais stepped away. She dusted off her robes and picked up her sword, sheathing it as well. ¡°No. We¡¯re not done here.¡±


    Rhys started to reach for his sword again.


    Turning, she looked him in the eye. ¡°You¡¯re still weak. You can create a garden and sell your herbs, but only once. As soon as someone stronger realizes what you¡¯re doing, they will muscle in on it. I was trying to stop you, to keep you from dying in the hands of someone more serious about taking over than me. But if you intend to push ahead, no matter what, you need allies. People powerful enough to stave off those who would take what¡¯s yours. Without someone to look out for you, the other students will take everything you acquire. Even if you continue to grow more powerful, without someone to have your back, you¡¯ll have to fight nonstop to keep ahold of what¡¯s yours.¡±


    Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.


    Rhys dropped his hand again. He pursed his lips, thinking. She wasn¡¯t wrong. In a might-makes-right society like this, he really did have to either fight to survive, or find someone to support him who was strong enough that no one wanted to mess with him. Though, of course, there¡¯s always the Straw problem, where they want to kill him anyways, even though he¡¯s super strong. But then, he¡¯d made it out of that scenario alive, because everyone cared about Straw, but no one cared about him. Plus, it wasn¡¯t as if his problems with holding onto his stuff in the face of the strong vanished when he sold the herbs. If anything, they only got worse, because he¡¯d have gold, then¡ªmore valuable to most people than raw herbs. He nodded, slowly. The longer he looked at this, the better having someone have his back sounded.


    ¡°Who do you suggest, then?¡± he asked. Between the two of them, she¡¯d considered this far more than him. It would be foolish of him to not ask her advice. He didn¡¯t have to take it, but compared to reclusive old him, who dragged trash around and had attended one class, Tarais knew the peak infinitely better. She¡¯d lived here for years, and presumably had more knowledge of the other mages, which ones were likely to help him, and which ones were likely to screw him over.


    ¡°The same person I suggested from the beginning¡ªthe potion master, Sorden Tagg.¡±


    Rhys raised his brows. The same person she¡¯d suggested from the start, huh? Maybe she wasn¡¯t putting any thought into it.


    Before he could protest, she lifted a hand. ¡°Hold on. Listen to my reasons first.¡±


    He nodded and gestured for her to go ahead.


    ¡°Of all the Master mages on the peak, she¡¯s the only one I can think of who benefits from large quantity of Tier 1 herbs, both directly and indirectly. She always needs more to hold her low-level potion classes. On top of that, she¡¯s not particularly interested in the affairs of students, which means she¡¯s unlikely to poke into your business and try to figure out where the herbs are coming from. She¡¯s also known for fairness and an even hand. She¡¯s a powerful Master, one of the few Tier 3s in the lower half of the school, so she should be able to protect you from everyone but the mages on the upper half of the peak¡­ who wouldn¡¯t care about the pitiful money you¡¯re making or your pathetic Tier 1 herbs, anyways. Those who are more familiar with the school will know that Sorden doesn¡¯t often directly act at all, but the rare times she does, she behaves with such extreme prejudice that her name can be used as an effective threat.¡±


    Rhys raised his brows. He¡¯d thought she¡¯d just put together herbs and potions and told him to go to the potion master, but it seemed she¡¯d actually put effort into it. ¡°Is there anyone else you¡¯d suggest?¡±


    Tarais hesitated. ¡°The librarian is more powerful than Sorden and has a hobbyist¡¯s interest in herbs, but he never leaves the library, so he¡¯s not much of a threat. The battlemage can always use cheap potions, but¡ª¡±


    ¡°Wait, librarian? There¡¯s a library?¡± Rhys asked, his ears perking up. Library? Books? Dare he hope¡­ fiction?


    Tarais grimaced, hesitation once more flashing across her face. ¡°He¡¯s¡­ reticent is the kind way to express it. And he¡¯s incredibly protective of his books. Violently protective.¡±


    Rhys thought of the tattered textbook he¡¯d found in the trash and nodded. If the students did that shit to his books, he¡¯d get violent, too. ¡°I get it. But what kinds of books are in the library?¡±


    Tarais gave him a look, one that told Rhys she¡¯d somehow misunderstood his prodding. ¡°Not dangerous ones, in case that¡¯s what you¡¯re thinking. Any truly valuable books are restricted to the upper floors, and only people on the upper peak can obtain them. All the books on the lower floors that students like us can access are the ordinary textbooks anyone can read for free.¡±


    ¡°What about fiction?¡± Rhys asked directly. He¡¯d never been great at tact, and she definitely wasn¡¯t catching his drift.


    Her brows furrowed. ¡°Fiction¡­? Why would you want to read those fairy tales for mortals? There¡¯s no truth in them.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s the point,¡± Rhys replied. He opened his mouth to keep arguing, then forcibly shoved down the internet troll inside him. Now wasn¡¯t the time to espouse the glories of trash fiction. She was a nonfiction reader, anyways¡ªthe kind of person who would never, not in a thousand years, appreciate fiction, let alone trash fiction. He made a quiet note to go see this librarian later. Given the state of the books he¡¯d seen come through the trash, he kind of understood the guy¡¯s position.


    In any case, between the reticent librarian who everyone knew wouldn¡¯t defend him, the battlemage, whom he doubted would approve of his financial adventures and who needed him to process the herbs into potions first anyways, and the potions master, who always needed low tier raw herbs in large quantities, he actually agreed with Tarais. Sorden Tagg, potion master, actually sounded like his best bet.


    He clapped, dusting off his hands. ¡°Let me harvest these herbs, and then let¡¯s go see Sorden.¡±


    Tarais frowned. ¡°If you carry the herbs with you, you¡¯ll be targeted before you¡ª¡±


    Rhys flashed the golden storage band he¡¯d found in the trash. He wore it on his thumb to prevent any misunderstandings. Plus, at fourteen, his ring finger was too slender for the large ring.


    A beat later, he considered the contradictions in his words. He was fourteen, and worried about misunderstandings? No, I live in a medieval world. It¡¯s possible. Though, looking at the mages around him, they didn¡¯t seem eager to marry young, so his initial contradiction still applied.


    Her eyes widened. ¡°Where¡¯d you find that?¡±


    ¡°The trash.¡±


    Tarais stared at him. ¡°No way.¡±


    Rhys shrugged. ¡°It¡¯s true.¡±


    She waved her hand. ¡°It¡¯s not important. Go harvest your herbs. I¡¯ll introduce you to Sorden once you¡¯re done.¡±


    ¡°I can do that myself. You don¡¯t need to hang around,¡± Rhys said.


    Tarais gave him a look. ¡°How many classes have you been to?¡±


    ¡°One.¡±


    ¡°Right. One of her classes¡ª¡±


    ¡°One class total. And it was hers! She should be honored,¡± Rhys said. He picked up his potion textbook and skimmed through it to the part about harvesting herbs, then crouched next to the bushes. One at a time, he deliberately harvested the herbs according to the instructions.


    Tarais stared at him in stunned silence while he worked. At last, she sighed and pressed a hand to her forehead. ¡°I don¡¯t know whether to be disappointed or impressed.¡±


    ¡°Hmm? Disappointed, probably.¡±


    ¡°But you bested me in combat without ever attending a battle class.¡±


    ¡°Well, I did spend the last two years fighting against the Strawman,¡± Rhys pointed out.


    ¡°You¡ªwhat?¡±


    Rhys stood, tucking the last of his herbs into his storage ring. ¡°Don¡¯t worry about it. Let¡¯s go see Sorden.¡±


    ¡°The Strawman? That horrifying Remnant?¡± she asked.


    ¡°Yeah, him. Is he fine, by the way?¡±


    Tarais hesitated, then nodded. ¡°We¡¯re safe, now. He¡¯s been sealed once more by the Celestial Rose Maiden, the leader of the Bramble School.¡±


    Rhys nodded. He hadn¡¯t asked until now, not because he didn¡¯t care, but because he didn¡¯t want to rouse suspicion. For all that no one seemed to care about him, he didn¡¯t want anyone to think he still cared about Straw, either. But he did. He owed the man¡­ weapon, whatever¡ªa serious debt, and he intended to repay it, however he could. It just so happened that he couldn¡¯t do anything about it until he was much, much stronger. In other words, the best thing to do was to keep his head down and get stronger. But Tarais seemed like the quiet sort, so it was worth a little prodding.


    ¡°Are we, uh, friends with the Bramble School?¡± he asked.


    Tarais laughed. ¡°You aren¡¯t serious, are you? Our school peaks at the Tier 4 level. Even our Schoolmaster barely brushes the border of Tier 5. The Bramble School¡¯s weakest students are at least Tier 3. Our school can only dream of being spoken of in the same sentence as The Bramble School.¡±


    Rhys pursed his lips. In other words, his dream of rescuing Straw was still far off. He shrugged to himself. He¡¯d already known that from the start. After all, rescuing Straw meant making an enemy of everyone who¡¯d come together to seal him. Until he could overcome all those people, rescuing Straw could only be a dream.


    But that just meant Straw was that powerful. And not only that, but he could also be considered trash, which meant he¡¯d synchronize with Rhys¡¯ path. When he eventually unsealed Straw, he¡¯d gain a powerful ally.


    They took off walking back toward the rest of the school. As they walked, Rhys glanced at Tarais. ¡°Do you know what school a man in white-and-gold robes might belong to? He¡¯s probably a martial artist, with a battered-looking sword.¡±


    Her brows furrowed as she thought. ¡°Battered sword, white robes¡­¡± Her eyes widened. ¡°You¡¯re not talking about Luc Sion, are you? The Sword Saint? The most powerful martial artist on the continent?¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­? He would have taken a new disciple recently?¡± Rhys added.


    ¡°That¡¯s right, Luc did recently take on his first disciple. It was big news¡­ I can¡¯t believe you didn¡¯t¡­¡± Tarais paused, looking at Rhys. ¡°I can believe you didn¡¯t hear it. It was big news. The noble mage families and Schoolmasters have been pressuring him to take on their children for centuries, and out of nowhere, he picks up some no-name child that the Strawman had kidnapped? The rumor mill went wild. People were guessing everything from him having a secret child to a generational debt to a mortal family. No one¡¯s seen him since, though, so the rumors have died down. Everyone thinks he¡¯s busy training whatever prodigy he must have found.¡±


    Rhys let out a sigh. Just like with Straw, he¡¯d been afraid to show too much interest in Bast¡¯s future, but in this case, not for his sake, but for Bast¡¯s. He didn¡¯t want the boy to hear that Rhys was asking after him and come looking. Better that he pretended not to care and let Bast gain the full benefit of wherever he ended up, rather than waste time asking after Rhys. Now, it sounded like not only was Bast receiving the best possible education, but he was also in a place where Rhys could safely keep tabs on him, without Bast ever hearing about it. He nodded. ¡°Good.¡±


    ¡°Good? Did you know him? Right, you were also kidnapped, weren¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Er¡­ yes.¡± Rhys shut his mouth, not wanting to talk on the topic anymore. The less interest he expressed in Straw, the more likely people were to think he no longer cared about the Strawman, the more likely his eventual, inevitable heist would go off successfully. He had to prepare now, so that people didn¡¯t immediately suspect him later.


    Tarais glanced at him. She clearly wanted to keep asking questions, but at his hesitant answer, she simply looked away and respected his wishes not to talk.


    Halfway there, Rhys paused. ¡°Tarais, where do they sell herbs here?¡±


    She shook her head. ¡°We don¡¯t have an herbalist.¡±


    ¡°Oh. How much do they buy herbs for, then?¡±


    Again, she shook her head. ¡°I don¡¯t know. I¡¯m not usually involved in the supply side of things.¡±


    Rhys frowned. Not ideal. No, ideally, he¡¯d have a week or two to do market research. But he¡¯d foolishly grown his herbs before doing market research, so now he had to sell them before they went bad. To be fair, he hadn¡¯t known ahead of time that he¡¯d be so successful with his trash conversion art, or that Tarais, and by extension, other senior mages would realize what he was up to so quickly. He was rolling with the punches, but soon he¡¯d be ahead of the game. All he needed to do was get things rolling.


    Ultimately, it was fine. If there was one thing he was good at, it was improv. He could pivot. Think on his feet. He wouldn¡¯t lose out, even if he didn¡¯t know exactly what he was doing.


    At last, the two of them arrived at a sturdy house at the edge of the lower school. Tarais gestured. ¡°Sorden Tagg lives¡ª¡±


    BOOM!

 15. A Natural Alliance

    BOOM!


    The earth shook. The house trembled. A wave of force blasted into Rhys and Tarais, sending both of them stumbling back. Black smoke billowed out of the windows, chimneys, and doors of the house.


    Rhys looked at Tarais. ¡°Should we, uh, help?¡±


    Tarais stood casually, her hands clasped behind her. ¡°No, this is fine.¡±


    ¡°Is it?¡± Rhys muttered to himself.


    A few seconds later, Sorden came staggering out of the door, chased by a gout of dark smoke. She coughed heavily, waving her hand in front of her face, then looked up. Finding two students in front of her, she beamed. ¡°Good afternoon! Anything I can help you with?¡±


    ¡°Er, anything we can help you with?¡± Rhys returned.


    Sorden looked at him, lost, then glanced over her shoulder at her still-smoking house. She laughed. ¡°No, no. I was experimenting with a new pill formula, and it didn¡¯t work out, that¡¯s all. This happens all the time.¡±


    Pillmaking is more dangerous than I thought. Rhys eyed the black smoke for another beat, then put it to the back of his mind and smiled. ¡°I¡¯ve discovered a way to farm herbs on the mountain. Would you be interested in purchasing my herbs?¡±


    She raised her brows. ¡°Let¡¯s see the herbs you¡¯ve made. Depending on their quality, I might be interested.¡±


    With a customer-service smile, Rhys drew out samples of his herbs and offered them to her. ¡°If you¡¯re interested, I¡¯m willing to offer you a twenty-percent discount below market price in return for your protection.¡±


    Sorden chuckled. She took the herbs from him and examined them. ¡°We¡¯ll see, we¡¯ll see.¡±


    Rhys tucked his hands behind his back and waited. He closely watched her. This was his first time seeing an herb examination. What she looked for would tell him a lot about what to work toward in the future.


    Sorden gave them a quick visual inspection. She glanced up, and seeing Rhys¡¯ eyes on her, gestured him closer. ¡°The cut at the base of the herbs is a bit crude, but the shape and quantity of the leaves is good. There¡¯s no damage from bugs, which is impressive, especially on this mountain. Nor is there any sun, heat, or water damage. These herbs appear to have been grown in a very controlled, stable environment.¡±


    He nodded. Half of that was true. The environment was incredibly stable, since he¡¯d grown all the herbs in the space of a few hours rather than over a few weeks or months. Controlled, not so much, but so be it.


    ¡°Before a deeper internal examination, their aura is also good, bright and healthy. If I didn¡¯t know better, I¡¯d guess they were grown with mana constantly piped into them. You rarely get this kind of aura, even with farmed herbs. It¡¯s something you see with herbs that grow naturally near mana springs.¡± She glanced at him again. ¡°If you found a mana spring¡­ I¡¯m not going to look into your business, but be aware, the other students will be very interested in finding it. That kind of resource should be reported immediately to the school.¡±


    Rhys nodded slowly, digesting her hint. She was basically warning him that the stronger students would steal it from him, so he was better off reporting it to a teacher and getting the credit for finding a resource for the school, rather than hiding it for himself and risking another student taking his glory from him by force. Of course, I didn¡¯t find anything like that. But I should keep in mind that the other students might want to discover my trash secret eventually. No¡ªTarais is already enough warning of that. I need to closely guard my mana generation secrets. This school only needs one Trash Lord, and that¡¯s me!


    Sorden turned back to the herbs. She closed her eyes and examined it with her mana. One second passed. Two. Three.


    Her eyes shot open. She grabbed Rhys¡¯ hand. ¡°Forget a twenty-percent discount. I¡¯ll buy these herbs from you at market price and provide backing for you. However you¡¯re growing these herbs, keep doing it. If anyone interrupts you, I¡¯ll personally make sure they never dare bother you ever again.¡±


    Rhys grinned. ¡°Of course. I knew I was right to bring them to you, Professor. You were the first person I thought of, and I never considered going to anyone else. Only someone as dignified as you could see the full potential of these herbs.¡±


    Beside him, Tarais gave him a look.


    ¡°Good, good. A good student like you knows to trust your professor,¡± Sorden said, patting his shoulder in a familiar way.


    ¡°Yes, of course,¡± Rhys agreed, as someone who had been to exactly one class in his learning career.


    She pocketed the sample herbs and reached into her pocket. ¡°When you grow more herbs of this quality, reach out to me. I¡¯ll be happy to buy¡ª¡±


    ¡°Er, excuse me, but¡­¡± Rhys drew all the herbs out of his storage ring and set them in piles beside her.


    With every pile, Sorden¡¯s eyes grew wider. She darted from pile to pile, checking the herbs from each one. ¡°Impossible. Impossible. How are they all that high quality?¡±


    Rhys bowed. ¡°Please allow a student to keep his secrets.¡±


    ¡°Naturally. You can keep all the secrets you want, as long as you keep supplying me with herbs this powerful. There wasn¡¯t a single impurity in any of these herbs. Not a single one. How¡ª¡±


    Rhys smiled mysteriously. There aren¡¯t any impurities because I put all the impurities in me. Not that he was going to admit that. Someone else might muscle in on his market.


    Sorden raised her hand again. ¡°Don¡¯t tell me. Here.¡±


    She reached into her pocket and drew out an unrealistically large bag. There was absolutely no way the bag could have fit in her pocket, but in the face of a giant bag of money, Rhys didn¡¯t question it. He accepted the bag and checked its insides.


    Gold glittered back at him. An immense quantity of gold, more gold than he¡¯d ever seen in person in any life. Rhys immediately choked the bag shut and hid it in his storage ring. Holy shit. I¡¯m rich!


    ¡°Are you locked to these herbs? That is, could you grow other herbs?¡± Sorden asked.


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    ¡°As long as the growing process is simple. If it requires a particular time, location, light, soil, or water, I cannot grow it¡­ or would have a more difficult time.¡±


    ¡°What if I supplied the soil and water?¡± she asked.


    Rhys considered. ¡°I won¡¯t guarantee it, and I can¡¯t say how quickly I could get it back to you, but I could try.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s good enough for me.¡± She turned toward her house, only to find black smoke still issuing forth. She rolled her eyes and clapped. A gale-force wind burst from her palms and instantly cleared the smoke from the house¡­ along with most of her lighter-weight personal items. Waving her hand, she called her personal items to her and walked back inside with the practiced air of someone who had done this a thousand times.


    Tarais stared at Rhys. The second Sorden disappeared, she leaned in. ¡°How did you grow herbs that even impressed Professor Sorden? I¡¯ve never seen her this excited about Tier 1 herbs before.¡±


    ¡°Let a man keep his secrets,¡± Rhys intoned, looking at her from under his eyelids.


    She rolled her eyes at him.


    Sorden came back out with a small pot and a jug of water. Rhys accepted them and put them in his storage ring. Once he¡¯d stowed them, she held up a small, star-shaped seed pod. It reminded him of star anise, almost, but it was a shimmering white instead of dark.


    ¡°This is a Star Ice herb. Despite its name, it doesn¡¯t need cold or nighttime light. What it does need, is incredibly pure mana. I¡¯ve never been able to generate pure enough mana for the seed to sprout instead of wither. This is my last seed.¡± She took a deep breath, then handed it over to Rhys.


    Rhys carefully accepted it. Despite the weight of Sorden¡¯s words, it was incredibly light. So light he barely felt its weight on his hand.


    ¡°I won¡¯t blame you if you failed. I¡¯ve failed enough times that I¡­ my heart has a snag whenever I attempt it any more. In my current state, I think I could never accomplish it. I¡¯m too hung up on the process. But you¡­ you¡¯ve already succeeded to produce pure enough mana. If you could successfully sprout this Star Ice seed, I would pay you twice as much as I¡¯ve paid you so far. No¡ªfive times as much.¡±


    Rhys¡¯ eyes widened. Hoooooly shit! Hell yeah! Easy, too easy! If all the seed needed was pure mana, then he could absolutely provide that. It wasn¡¯t even hard. In fact, it was the default.


    Beside him, Tarais stared with her jaw dropped. She looked Rhys up and down, confusion shining in her eyes. What is this student? How is the trash collector this good at growing herbs?


    Externally, he nodded with a serious expression and put the seed carefully into his storage ring. ¡°I¡¯ll do my best.¡±


    ¡°Water it with the Glittering Dew once an hour while it¡¯s receiving mana. Replenish the water if the soil gets dry,¡± Sorden informed him. ¡°That¡¯s all it takes. It¡¯s a relatively easy herb.¡±


    Rhys nodded. A smidge of concern welled up in him at that. He could provide mana, but when he was acting as a conduit, that was all he could really do. Under the enhanced, faster growing process he could induce, would the seed need watering more often? And if it did, could he do anything about it? He was pushed to his limits just channeling the mana. He didn¡¯t have the time or mobility to do anything else.


    He looked at Tarais. She glanced around her, then frowned and pointed at herself. ¡°Something on my face?¡±


    ¡°No¡­ I¡¯ll tell you later.¡± Rhys looked away. He didn¡¯t want to give away any of his secrets, even obliquely. Not that he didn¡¯t trust Sorden, but well, he had no reason to trust Sorden. She was a more powerful mage with access to far more resources than him. She backed him because of his technique, but this whole time, she¡¯d deliberately refused to even ask for hints as to how he did it. Rhys understood perfectly. If she knew how to do it, she¡¯d be tempted to eliminate the middleman, as it were. Sure, she might not. She might be a good person who valued her students, or a lazy person who didn¡¯t want to do all the hard work herself. But better for all of them if he simply didn¡¯t tempt her.


    Instead, he¡¯d broach the subject once he was out of Sorden¡¯s hearing range. He nodded at Sorden. ¡°If that¡¯s all, then I¡¯ll take my leave.¡±


    ¡°Please. And don¡¯t forget to come to class, unless it interferes with growing the herbs!¡± Sorden replied cheerfully. She waved as the two of them walked away.


    Rhys nodded. Sorden was a woman with her mind in the right place. Who needed class when you could spend your time doing far more important things?


    Of course, it wasn¡¯t as if there was no value to learning. Now that he had the piles of trash under control, and would only need to do weekly trash pickup, plus had a technique that made him stronger based on the amount of trash he collected, there was no reason not to check out the classes. Before, when he¡¯d had trash-tier stats and no ability to grow stronger, it would have been foolish to go to classes. The other students would bully him, and he¡¯d have no option but to take it. Even going to the one potion class he had, had only been out of necessity, and not only that, but he¡¯d been bullied there. Not effectively, but the effort was made, and that was the point.


    But mostly he was considering going to class because he had to wait for trash to accumulate before he could attempt growing Sorden¡¯s Star Ice plant. Not only that, but he had no idea how much mana her seed required. He wanted at least twice as much trash as the first batch of herbs had taken before he¡¯d attempt germinating it, just to be sure he had enough. And that might not be enough. The seed was at least a Tier 2 herb, from its aura. Between Tier 1 and Tier 2, the power required to grow things didn¡¯t increase linearly. It increased exponentially. Ten times the trash might be a better idea.


    And maybe that was overkill. After all, he¡¯d grown dozens of herbs with the first garbage pile. If he poured all of an equivalently sized pile into this one seed, maybe it would be enough.


    Better safe than sorry. Still, that only meant even more waiting. He frowned. He had to find a way to generate more trash, faster. Either that, or¡­


    Rhys turned toward the top of the mountain. This whole time, he¡¯d remained on the lower half, where disciples were allowed. The top of the mountain was for the most powerful members of the school. A small, select handful of experts at high Tiers lived up there, secluded from the student and teaching life of their lessers.


    Kind of like academia in my world, Rhys thought.


    He hadn¡¯t been allowed to pick up garbage up there. The upper half of the peak was just as overridden as the lower half had been, but that garbage¡­ even the scent of it was already a force at the Tier 2 level. If he could burn that glorious filth, the mana he could gather from a single scrap would outshine all the garbage he¡¯d burned so far.


    If he could handle it at all. It was powerful stuff. His mana systems had been pushed to their limits handling that first pile. He was pretty confident he could now handle a bigger pile of low-Tier trash, thanks to the strengthening he¡¯d received from pile number one, but the mana he¡¯d be able to obtain from that upper-region trash¡­


    Rhys shivered in anticipation. He dragged his eyes away. Later. For now, I¡¯ll strengthen myself until I can take on that trash. Once I¡¯m ready, then I¡¯ll go make my case to the Schoolmaster.


    When they were far enough from Sorden, he nodded at Tarais. ¡°Are you open in about¡­¡± He paused for a moment, mentally calculating the accumulation speed of trash. ¡°¡­Four weeks?¡±


    That would get him a regular-sized pile of trash, with no intervention or discovery of new piles of trash on his part. He planned to go trash-hunting, too, but four weeks was the bare minimum of time he¡¯d need to have the minimum trash required to attempt growing the seed. The piles he¡¯d picked up wouldn¡¯t re-accumulate, but then, trash did decay over time. Lots of it had already decayed in his first pile, and he¡¯d lost out on lots of wonderful trash. Plus, the older low-Tier trash like this was, the more mana it decayed, so the existing piles of trash hadn¡¯t had as much mana trapped inside them as the new ones.


    The higher-Tier trash on the top of the mountain was different. It held its mana. The whole time he was here, it hadn¡¯t decayed. In fact, the mana might have enriched itself ever so slightly.


    Tarais considered. ¡°I¡¯ll be available. Why?¡±


    ¡°Come to my house in four weeks¡¯ time. I have a job for you,¡± Rhys replied mysteriously.


    The job, of course, was supplying the seed with water. He wanted the absolute minimum number of people to know about his trash technique. Tarais had already seen him using it, so he wasn¡¯t too worried about bringing her back to see it again. Plus, something about her told him that she didn¡¯t have much interest in trash techniques. Her loss, but nonetheless, something that made her all the more trustworthy.


    She nodded. ¡°Certainly.¡±


    And now, with nothing better to do, all his affairs settled, and no needs but the passage of time to let trash accumulate¡­ it was time for Rhys to do something he rarely did. Something he¡¯d actively avoided as much as possible in his first life. Something he was loath to do even in this one, even with the promise of fireball-shooting on the line.


    It was time to go to class.

 16. Go To Class

    It was still early enough in the day for classes to be proceeding. Rhys strolled around the main square, considering his options. Potions again¡­ but he might as well attend a few other classes just to learn what they were. Plus, potions were mostly rote memorization. He¡¯d only attended a practical lesson to learn how to operate a cauldron. Now that he¡¯d done that, he pretty much just needed to read recipes and follow them. He had enough practice cooking for one that he could manage that much.


    Basically, he didn¡¯t want to attend any class that was designed to force small children into rote memorization. He already knew how to memorize things, and had the discipline to do it, besides. He¡¯d gain more out of reading a book than attending one of those classes.


    The other thing was, as Straw had indicated, this was less a school and more a gathering of fish, or rather, mages. The classes were generally shaped around what the elder mages wanted to teach, rather than what low-level mages needed to learn. Sure, there were a few designed for the children, like Sorden¡¯s potions, a mana-gathering class, and a class about how to gain, and then activate, skills, but aside from the bare essentials necessary to qualify as a mage, the rest of the classes were completely random. ¡®Advanced Astronomy,¡¯ that appeared to just be astronomy, ¡®The Search for Nightdark Truffles and the Usage of Pig-type Beasts to Find Them,¡¯ that seemed to be a rote-memorization kind of cooking class, and ¡®On the Appreciation of Mustelids,¡¯ which, when he peeked his head in, really was just about appreciating ferrets. There was nothing magical about the class, but also a shocking lack of live mustelids, which was unfortunate. He considered attending that one, but reconsidered when he saw the entire lecture hall was vacant and the professor, an old man in tattered clothes, was rambling on to himself. He tucked that one into the back of his mind for later, but left it behind for fairer waters for today. Best to skim the waves before he plunged deep, as it were.


    The mana-gathering class was meant for Tier 0 mages, so he was already too high-Tier for it. Not only that, but it really was the most basic of basics. Rhys listened for long enough to understand he already understood everything they were teaching, but no longer. He popped his head into the skill class in hopes it might teach him something like an ignition skill, but the teacher was focused on teaching young mages how to activate their first skills, rather than teaching useful skills. He listened for a while, but quickly understood that there was nothing worth learning here. When the teacher suggested advanced students might attend the library to read skill manuals in hopes of learning skills from their pages, he stood up and outright left. If the teacher was telling him to go to the library, he certainly didn¡¯t need to stick around here.


    Rhys didn¡¯t go to the library immediately, however. That was definitely a rest-of-the-day, maybe rest-of-the-four-weeks kind of task. Instead, he headed to the final remaining basics class: the martial arts lesson.


    He heard the class before he saw it. Dozens of children, shouting throaty cries with each blow. They walked through basic forms one strike at a time. He stood at the back, watching with his arms crossed. There was nothing wrong with their practice, but the fighting style was¡­ how to say? Simple. Compared to Straw¡¯s dynamic style, or even Bast¡¯s scrappy streetfighting, it was very pure. Purehearted. Clean. Straightforward. Nothing wrong with that, especially for beginners, but it wasn¡¯t anything he needed to learn. He¡¯d be better off continuing to practice what he¡¯d already learned from Straw and Bast.


    Rhys turned to leave, only to find himself inches from an absolute wall of muscle. Rhys stumbled back, startled. A huge bulk of a man loomed over him with a manic smile on his face. He reminded Rhys of his high school gym teacher, though slightly less balding and a little more handsome.


    ¡°Why so quick to leave? There¡¯s no need to be shy. Come on, join in on the fun!¡± The man pushed Rhys toward the field of practicing disciples.


    ¡°I¡¯m just here to observe,¡± Rhys excused himself, and tried to dodge around the man.


    The man¡¯s body blurred. He blocked Rhys¡¯ way once more. ¡°It never hurts to grow stronger. Even a dedicated mage can use martial arts.¡±


    ¡°I agree, I agree,¡± Rhys said, and dodged the other way.


    Again, the man blocked his way. ¡°If you agree, then why not join in?¡±


    ¡°I have my own technique I¡¯d rather practice. Alone,¡± Rhys emphasized. He faked a dodge to the left. The man appeared to block his way, and he whirled around and dodged right, fleeing at top speed.


    A hand closed around the back of his neck. Rhys dug his heels in, only to be lifted bodily by the throat. The man marched him to the front of the class. Rhys struggled the whole way, kicking and punching, but his attacks bounced off the man¡¯s powerful body.


    ¡°So, you think you¡¯re too strong for lessons?¡± the man rumbled, loud enough that the whole class turned and stared. They stopped practicing forms, and simply watched instead.


    Rhys kicked the man in the gut. This time, the man released him. He flipped head-over-heels and landed, instantly pivoting to face the man. There was definitely something to learn from this man. He had never thought that he was the strongest martial artist in the school. He¡¯d only thought that learning a whole new style¡ªone built for beginners, at that¡ªwasn¡¯t worth his time.


    But if this man was going to give him pointers, one-on-one, then he welcomed the challenge. He hadn¡¯t really had a chance to test his strength on anyone but Straw and Bast. And he hadn¡¯t gotten to test his strength at all since he had empowered himself with trash and impurities. His spat with Tarais hardly counted, since he was empowered by his active impurity-burning technique during that fight. That was a test of how high he could possibly push his limits, the answer of which was: high enough to fight up a Tier. What this was, right here, was a test of his base strength. Without empowering himself actively with any techniques, how far could he go?


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    Rhys and the man faced each other. The man stood there, one hand raised, the other behind his back. He waggled his fingers, clearly inviting Rhys to attack.


    It was a trap. Of course it was. He¡¯d fought Straw enough times to recognize that. But what was he going to do, not fight? The man was testing his strength as much as Rhys was. What this really meant, was that he was offering Rhys a free hit. And Rhys, well, he was a trashy guy. If someone offered him a free hit, he wasn¡¯t going to turn it down.


    Rhys called on his mana and charged in. He struck the man¡¯s chest with all the strength he could muster.


    His fist landed on the man¡¯s open palm instead. The man¡¯s eyes were wide, surprise clearly written on his face. He flexed his hand. ¡°Interesting. That¡¯s a powerful strike, there. Who taught you how to do that?¡±


    ¡°Do what, put mana in my punches? Isn¡¯t it obvious?¡± Rhys asked, hopping back. The man had blocked. That meant he¡¯d considered Rhys¡¯ strike dangerous.


    On the other hand, Rhys¡¯ fist was now a bruised mess. He took the opportunity to sip his potion and heal the wound quickly. The man¡¯s hands and body were tougher than they looked. Maybe even magically enhanced at a passive level. Thus far, Rhys had only considered mana as a way to empower his strikes. Defensive empowerment had always been out of his reach. But if he could learn a technique to invest it into his body, and transform his body into something tougher¡­ That was something worth considering. His body was pretty trash-tier right now. If it was possible to make it more powerful, there was no reason not to.


    He''d tried to empower it the standard way by slowly imbuing it with mana, before, under Straw¡¯s tutelage, but he¡¯d never had much success. This man, though, had a body more defensive than Straw¡¯s, as far as Rhys could tell. He could punch Straw without taking damage, for example. That implied that the man had some kind of technique or skill that helped him empower his body. If that was the case, then maybe, with the help of that technique or skill, Rhys could succeed where he¡¯d failed before.


    The man grunted. ¡°My name is Cynog. You are?¡±


    ¡°Rhys,¡± he replied.


    Cynog raised his brows. ¡°That¡¯s why I don¡¯t recognize you. You¡¯ve just arrived! So, you¡¯re the Strawman¡¯s disciple.¡±


    Rhys lowered his head. That wasn¡¯t how he wanted to be known, but he didn¡¯t have an option. ¡°Yes.¡±


    A few of the other students took a second look at him. They knew him as the garbage collector, not as the Strawman¡¯s disciple. They frowned at one another. He heard whispers behind him: ¡°Not him, surely.¡± ¡°No way.¡± ¡°He¡¯s¡­?¡±


    Cynog paid the whispers no mind. He gestured at Rhys once more, one hand still folded behind his back. ¡°Let¡¯s see what the Strawman taught you. Hold nothing back. If you can get me to lift my other hand, I¡¯ll acknowledge that you don¡¯t need to participate in our class.¡±


    Rhys drew his broken sword. He didn¡¯t activate Trash Intent, not yet. Holding it slightly behind him, he faced Cynog. This time, he was going to make the man use both hands. He¡¯d be taking that hand out from behind his back whether he wanted to or not.


    This battle wasn¡¯t favorable to him. He¡¯d always been the weakest one in his skirmishes with Straw and Bast, but both of them were high-speed fighters. Rhys was good at backstepping and dodging, parrying and gaining space. He wasn¡¯t good at full-frontal assaults on powerful tanks. Telling him to ¡®hold nothing back¡¯ in this situation was¡­ it wasn¡¯t that he was holding back, but that this situation was highly non-optimal for his strengths.


    But if this is a weakness of mine, that just means it¡¯s one I have to shore up. If I face a powerful tank in real battle, I can¡¯t just say, ¡®oh, I¡¯m sorry, I¡¯m not good at that.¡¯ The tank would simply take control of the battle and crush him underfoot like an empty soda can. This was an opportunity to test his techniques against tanks.


    For a few seconds, the two of them stared at one another, watching for weaknesses. Rhys gathered his mana. His body grew warm as the mana coursed through him, and his limbs strengthened. He kicked off the ground and darted close, drawing back his free hand.


    Cynog watched him come, his hand ready to block. He shifted his stance for Rhys¡¯ left-handed strike.


    At the last second, Rhys activated Trash Intent. He swept his sword forth, striking toward Cynog¡¯s chest. The glowing blade arced through the air.


    Cynog widened his eyes. Faster than Rhys could track, he yanked his hand out from behind his back and caught Rhys¡¯ wrist mid-swing. The blade glowed, humming a hair¡¯s breadth from his flesh. ¡°Weapon intent¡­? No¡­ but it¡¯s similar. What is this?¡±


    Rhys twisted his wrist free and hopped back. He¡¯d succeeded, but that was all. He had no illusions about the gap in strength between him and this man. If Cynog was fighting seriously, he wouldn¡¯t stand a chance. Even with the man standing still and letting him strike him, totally off-guard, he couldn¡¯t get past the man¡¯s defenses to try Trash Intent on his tough skin.


    It wasn¡¯t that he couldn¡¯t learn anything, it was just that the class wasn¡¯t worth it for him. If Cynog was willing to teach him more than the bare basics, he was willing to learn. Especially if he¡¯d teach Rhys that defensive body strengthening technique.


    Cynog lifted his hand before Rhys could charge in again. ¡°Enough.¡±


    Rhys hopped back, putting a little distance between him and Cynog. The blade flickered out, leaving nothing but the broken stub of a sword again. He could keep it active for longer, but there was no need to show the entire student body exactly how long he could use Trash Intent.


    Cynog waved his hand. ¡°I¡¯ll concede that you don¡¯t need to attend class. You can go.¡±


    ¡°Will you teach me how to strengthen my body like yours?¡± Rhys asked.


    ¡°Would you tell me all your secrets, if I asked?¡± Cynog replied.


    Rhys lowered his head, acknowledging it. On second thought, he probably wouldn¡¯t be able to comprehend Cynog¡¯s technique, anyways. Not if it didn¡¯t have anything to do with trash. His stats were bad at everything, unless they were aimed at his obsession, his path. The idea that he could strengthen his body¡¯s toughness was already enough for him. Stronger defenses would make it easier for him to survive in this world, when he could easily be just another piece of garbage, thrown away on the side of the road. He could let the connection between defenses and trash brew in the back of his mind while he worked, and see if he couldn¡¯t figure it out.


    He put the scrap of sword away and walked off. In the end, he hadn¡¯t found a class for him. It wasn¡¯t entirely unexpected. They taught classes for normal students, not people who were trash. That meant he only had one place to go.


    It was time to investigate the library.

 17. Chilling in the Library

    The library sprawled over a good chunk of the mountainside. It stood tall, its fa?ade as grand as any of the lecture halls. The steps leading up to its front door were dusty, and when Rhys pushed on the door, it creaked and halted an inch in, its hinges all but rusted shut. He frowned and pushed harder. The rust broke off with a crack, and the door swung open.


    Almost before he stepped inside, an indolent voice called, ¡°Who goes there?¡±


    ¡°No one,¡± Rhys shouted back.


    There was silence, then a grunt that echoed through the vaulted halls. ¡°Better be.¡±


    Black-and-white checkered tile spread underfoot. Rich, dark wood clad the walls. Shelves bent in the middle, laden with books. Some were tidy and neat, but the majority were stuffed full of books, so overstuffed that boos were practically oozing out at the seams. Stacked in lines, then pushed in horizontally, and even squeezed at odd angles into the gaps remaining, until they spilled out onto the floor and stacked up in pillars around the floor. And the shelves weren¡¯t merely capped at human height. They climbed from the floor, all the way up to the twenty-foot ceilings. Here and there, rolling ladders offered a way up, but the books that spilled forth from the shelves meant their wheels weren¡¯t particularly operational. The scent of dust and old books filled the air, along with a mysterious spicy scent he couldn¡¯t quite place.


    Rhys turned the corner. A massive desk was tucked to the left, in the first nook available. Behind it sprawled a man who was Cynog¡¯s opposite in every possible way. Feet kicked up on the desk, he lazed in a massive cozy armchair. Long limbs only served to emphasize how bone-slender he was. His hair spilled down his back, not in a way that said he cared for it, but simply indicated he hadn¡¯t had it cut in a long time. He didn¡¯t have a beard, but on closer inspection, fair whisps on hair clung to his jaw, too pale and thin to qualify as any sort of organized facial hair, but simply the result of his extreme languor. He wore white-and-black robes that fell back at his hips, black narrow-legged trousers so tight as to qualify as leggings, and a simple black belt. Of all the teachers, he was one of the simplest-dressed ones so far, barring the man in rags ranting about ferrets. Even Cynog had worn gold bracers, leg guards, and a matching bejeweled belt. This man wore no gems at all.


    A book rested in one hand, and his eyes scanned across the page at speed. He reached the end of the book and set it down, a satisfied expression on his face, then stretched in his chair and yawned wide, like a cat in a beam of sun.


    He and Rhys¡¯ gazes met, and he grumbled in his chest and ran a hand over his face. In the space of a moment, his hair organized itself, his face grew clean, and the facial hair vanished. He put on a very-strained smile. ¡°How can I help you?¡±


    Reclusive is a kind way to put it, Rhys reflected. The man was an absolute slug. Sure ,he was skinny, but that was probably only because it was too much effort to get up and eat. From the dust underfoot, no one¡ªnot this man or anyone else¡ªhad trodden the halls of the library in a long time. It seemed there was an unspoken understanding not to disturb him.


    Luckily, Rhys was a bit too trashy to pick up on such subtle social cues, so here he was. He stepped forward and nodded. ¡°I¡¯m the garbage collector. Are there any books you¡¯re looking to get rid of?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Oh, sure.¡± The smile vanished. He yawned again and waved a hand. A dozen boxes floated toward Rhys, all of them empty. As they passed by the shelves, books jumped off them of their own will and flew into the boxes, where they stacked up in messy heaps.


    ¡°That¡¯s a lot of books,¡± Rhys commented. Wasn¡¯t he supposed to be protective of books? Why was he so willing to toss these, then?


    ¡°Eh. They¡¯re all garbage. Um¡­¡± He paused to yawn. ¡°The kind of nonsense fake mages sell mortals, hoping to make a quick buck. None of them hold a real technique. At best, you¡¯ll waste your time. The worst of them can even lead hopeful mages astray, onto dark or mistaken paths. They¡¯re a bit dangerous, so I¡¯ve been meaning to get rid of the extra copies for a while now.¡±


    ¡°Extra copies?¡±


    ¡°Mmm. Those fakers produce these a dime a dozen and fill the world with this nonsense. Pretty much every mortal town will have five or six ¡®manuals¡¯ on display. Just from students who mistakenly thought they would ¡®get ahead,¡¯ or earnestly believed they could become a mage from this bullshit, I¡¯ve collected hundreds of copies of these things. Of course, I¡¯ve got one copy of each archived. I wouldn¡¯t dream of giving those up. But I don¡¯t need a thousand copies of bullshit manuals in various states of disrepair hanging around my library. Gods know I¡¯ve already got enough books to protect.¡± He shook his head, gesturing at the disarray around them.


    ¡°I can see that,¡± Rhys said.


    The lazy man stretched again, once more reminding Rhys of a cat lounging in the sun. ¡°I¡¯m Azarian, by the way. Azarian the Librarian. Friends call me Az. And you are?¡±


    ¡°Rhys. Garbageman,¡± Rhys introduced himself for a second time.


    Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.


    ¡°Hmm. You should find a rhyming profession as well. Or change your name.¡±


    ¡°You could call me Rhys the Recycler. It doesn¡¯t rhyme, but it aliterates,¡± Rhys tried.


    ¡°Heh, Rhys-cycler,¡± Az said. He nodded, and a real smile appeared on his lips. ¡°I like you, Rhys.¡±


    Rhys nodded, not sure how to respond to that. Then again, maybe it was simply one trash recognizing another? Az was a different kind of trash than Rhys; Rhys had nothing, while Az had it all and frittered it away lazing in this library. All his potential and skill, wasted in doing nothing but lounging at his desk and reading. His aura was no weaker than Cynog¡¯s, somewhere at the upper limits of Tier 3, but Rhys wouldn¡¯t put a penny on Az, if he were to face off against Cynog. Unless, of course, the challenge was something literary, or maybe a race to have the best snooze as quickly as possible.


    The boxes filled and stacked up near the entry hallway. There were easily ten, maybe fifteen boxes, and each one large enough that Rhys could curl up inside. He eyed them a little uncertainly. With his mana boosted strength, could he carry all of them? Let alone stacking fifteen boxes at once¡­ maybe if he was burning impurities, but¡­ He shook his head. This was going to be a multi-trip job.


    As he stacked up the boxes, Rhys decided to press his luck. He leaned toward Az. ¡°You wouldn¡¯t happen to have any¡­ trashy literature hanging around the library, would you? Anything a little less than highbrow?¡±


    Bam! Az sat up so sharply Rhys didn¡¯t see him move and slammed his hand on his desk. A metaphorical thundercloud brewed around his brows, his frown as deep as the darkest ocean. ¡°In my library? You insult me, sir. No! Not a single piece of that kind of¡­ I hesitate to call it literature! Absolutely not. I would never. Get out, before I¡ª¡±


    A book fell off his desk, knocked there by the force of his thump. It fell open to reveal a finely illustrated page with a very fine illustration of a young lady on it. Her collar was a little more than undone. Entirely missing, in fact. And the blouse, too. Her entire dress seemed to have gone missing, in fact. Not only that, but her cheeks flushed in a very unchaste way.


    Rhys blinked at the book, then slowly looked up at Az. He hadn¡¯t meant that kind of literature, just trashy scifi and fantasy¡ªpulp fiction, as it were¡ªbut, well, if Az was offering¡­ it wasn¡¯t as if he wasn¡¯t a man of culture at times, himself.


    Az flashed forth. The book vanished off the floor, and Az reappeared behind the desk, stuffing something hurriedly into his shirt. He narrowed his eyes at Rhys. ¡°You saw nothing.¡±


    ¡°No, no, I understand. Well, that kind of literature is still a bit too rich for me yet, but if you had some pulp fiction lying around, I certainly could be persuaded to entirely forget such a rosy page,¡± Rhys replied, fighting the urge to laugh aloud.


    Az snapped his fingers. A dozen additional books joined the garbage manuals in Rhys¡¯ box.


    Rhys nodded. ¡°Then we have an agreement, sir. And, ah, best of luck with your literature. I suppose I can look forward to receiving your recommendations in another few years?¡±


    ¡°Of course. Any time,¡± Az said, quickly recovering. He still stood behind his desk, one hand pressed against a somewhat unstable stack of books to keep any more from tumbling down.


    Rhys looked the stack of books up and down. They were well-worn, with cracked spines and tired bindings. He looked away rather than see too much and learn more about Az than he really wanted to, but quietly shook his head at himself. A man of culture indeed!


    Leaving Az to his studies, he quickly ferried the garbage books out onto the steps in three groups of five. From there, he hauled the books back to his hideout. Rather than just throw them in the garbage, though, he put the boxes in his cave, back where the rain and elements wouldn¡¯t easily damage them. Garbage manuals? His eyes shone just thinking about it. Garbage! Manuals! Oh, the things he could learn!


    Most people might read instructions and simply think of them as the way to accomplish something. But that was wrong. No matter what set of instructions, it was always colored by the biases of the person who had written them. An expert carpenter might leave out the lathing process and simply say ¡®turn out four chair legs,¡¯ while an amateur might focus overlong on the way to put hammer to nail. An artist would spend time telling you how to carve patterns into its back, while a dyes-man would focus on the minutiae of setting the wood stain. The way someone described something, the things they focused on and what they left out, could tell him as much about the person who had written the instructions as the instructions could tell him about how to do the thing he¡¯d set out to do. And, of course, the places where the instructions were hardheaded or wrong¡­ there were always things the original instruction writer had done incorrectly, that were simply mystifying to the reader afterward.


    Those didn¡¯t tell him how to accomplish the task. Ordinary people might simply throw those steps out. But to Rhys, that was only part of the challenge. Could he understand where the original writer of the instructions had gone wrong? Could he figure out what they¡¯d misunderstood, or comprehended incorrectly, by seeing their incorrect instructions? And from there, there was always the possibility that he could read the wrong way, and put together how to do things correctly, simply by knowing what not to do.


    Bad tutorials were just another kind of garbage. No less precious than any other trash for being wrong, or stubborn, or fundamentally misunderstanding the process. No, in fact, moreso because of that. If he was merely given the correct instructions, he¡¯d only know one correct way to get there. If he had the wrong instructions, he was free to imagine a dozen correct ways to complete the task.


    Now, he had before him manuals that weren¡¯t only accidentally wrong, weren¡¯t only hardheaded, but were deliberately, intentionally incorrect. If someone intentionally sabotaged, that sabotage simply told him where the most important steps were. And now that he was in a mages¡¯ school, if he ever got stuck, he could always go back to the library and look up the same process, to see if he couldn¡¯t come at it from two ways. In that way, by looking at the trash and the good, he could put both together and come up with an answer no one had ever come up with before. Not only that, but he could also tie all the techniques within these manuals to his path, which meant a passive boost to his comprehension. When he was done, the books could hit the trash heap and empower his attempt to grow the Star Ice seed. What wasn¡¯t to love?


    Filled with anticipation, Rhys opened the first manual.

 18. Truly Trash

    Rhys read through the manuals at a blazing speed. His mana could enhance his mental qualities as well as physical, and his already high reading speed was only boosted further by his empowerment. Many were the same, or copies of a copy. He read all the unique ones, even the copies whose only unique contribution was fresh misspellings. The ones that were truly nothing but carbon copies landed in the trash heap, waiting to feed his next excursion into herbalism. In the end, he had about a box and a half full of manuals. In the end, he even gained a skill from it.


    Speed Reading 4


    Most of them were truly trash. They were so obviously wrong, so utterly backwards, that they served more as entertainment than education. He chuckled as he read them, shaking his head from time to time.


    Others were more insidious. They described a real process or a real technique, but fudged the details just enough to leave prospective mages on the completely wrong track. Any mortal who tried to ascend to magehood from their techniques would not only waste time and effort on the wrong thing, but might even lock themselves out from magehood altogether, just as Az had told him they would. For example, one book recommended that prospective mages brew their own mana potions, then drink them¡ªnot dissimilar to how Rhys himself had awakened. However, the formula it gave for mana potions was just wrong enough that whoever followed that recipe would be so laden with impurities they wouldn¡¯t stand a chance of awakening their ability to sense mana at all. Even Rhys winced at that one. If he¡¯d found that as a child, before he¡¯d gained magehood, even he, with his optimal path that led directly to a technique to handle impurities, would have been ruined.


    He thought back to the manuals in the town¡¯s bookshop and shook his head. If he¡¯d foolishly bought those spellbooks, and hadn¡¯t recognized the problems with them, he really would have been much more worse off than simply down a few gold. Losing out on his own potential was one thing, but when he thought about how he could have accidentally sabotaged Bast, a talent so rare he was learning under the Sword Saint, the continent¡¯s most powerful martial artist, he gritted his teeth in leftover anxiety. Ruining his own trash talent was one thing. Ruining someone that rare was a crime.


    Luckily, he hadn¡¯t, so he simply put the book aside and moved on to the next.


    This one was the most promising, and the one he had deliberately put off for late, though he didn¡¯t quite have the patience to put it off until last. It had a big fireball on the cover and promised to teach the reader to do the same. His dream! Since he¡¯d first arrived, he¡¯d wanted to throw fireballs from his palms. This manual almost certainly wouldn¡¯t teach him how to, but it was at least a step in the right direction. Or¡­ in the wrong direction, but the point was, it was a step, and fireballs were somewhere in the vicinity of that step.


    Disappointingly, though, it was complete nonsense. There was a fairy-tale story of a man who stared at the sun all day, every day until he went blind, then a very long, very bullshit incantation. The manual didn¡¯t even mention mana, let alone anything approaching what he¡¯d actually need to cast a spell. It joined the garbage heap, and he moved on to the next.


    One manual after another. After a while, they all started to blur into one. He kept reading, but his mind wasn¡¯t on the material. Instead, he pondered the totality of the manuals. Why had someone created these manuals? Clearly, to hold young mages back. It was pitiful that there were experts so lacking in self-confidence that they¡¯d spread these books to sabotage the younger generation.


    But not all of them were pure sabotage. The one about fireballs seemed more like a children¡¯s fairytale. Some of the other manuals read like a mortal¡¯s attempt to emulate magehood, and their deluded surety that they¡¯d delved its deepest secrets, while not understanding the least thing about being a mage.


    As he considered the manuals, he began to see patterns. Repeated themes. There was something to them. Whether intentional or accidental, there was something deep within the manuals that touched on a truth. All their lies, taken together, pointed at one hidden¡­ something. The shape of it eluded him, slipping out of his mind every time he tried to put it all together. He sat back, folding his legs and pouring his all into investigating the truth he sensed behind the falsehoods.


    The manuals hovered in his mind. Their words rushed by, over and over. They overlaid one another, washing together into a blur of black ink in his mind. Thousands of words, all saying the same thing, and nothing at all. The truth he¡¯d sensed lurked somewhere in those words, so close he could feel it, and yet utterly unreachable. Rhys pushed himself. He delved further into the words. What was he missing? Why couldn¡¯t he understand?


    No¡ªno! I¡¯ve been going at this the wrong way this whole time. The only way to understand this trash, was to abandon his reality, his knowledge, everything, and believe in this trash.


    Rhys abandoned himself. He abandoned his identity, his magehood, his knowledge. Lower and lower, he descended into the depths of the trash. The longer he went, the further he delved, the more he immersed himself. He lost track of who he was. Of who he¡¯d been. No trace attached him to reality anymore. His only reality was the trashy manuals, and their twisted words. But now he was a naive child. Now he drank up every word and returned for more. This was his path to magehood. These manuals were his lifeline. Without them, he had nothing.


    In the depths of his heart, he cried out the fireball incantation until his voice went hoarse. He chased down the ingredients for the mana potion and brewed it, desperately believing in its powers. He meditated under the moonlight and struck strange poses in the center of town, doing anything to channel that elusive thing known as mana.


    He chased, and chased, and chased. In his mind, he lived out an entire life as a mortal, trying to awaken mana with no hints but these horrid manuals. Impurities weighed him down, and thin mana in the air eluded his grasp. From a child to a friendless adult, ignored by all those who had called him friend, loved by no woman. From an adult to the crazy elder, hidden at the edge of the village away from sight, still shouting his fireball incantation every morning.


    His dream-life drew to an end. He sat in his hut, breathing heavily. The fires of his life petered out. An entire life wasted, lost to the trash manuals. And yet, in his heart, he still clung to them. Still refused to believe they were trash. There was truth in them. From the beginning, he¡¯d sensed it. Here, at the very end, he still sensed it.


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    The old man¡¯s head dipped on his shoulders. The very last breath of life left his chest. In reality, Rhys¡¯ heart slowed, and his breathing drew to nothing. He had lost himself so fully that he had become one with the dream. If the man died, so did he. He was the man, and the man was him. There was no distinction.


    The endless practice. The potion brewing. Even the incantation. They circled his mind as the lights drew down. Darkening to nothing, but the darker it got, the brighter the truth glowed. It had been a faint star, but with each passing moment, it grew brighter. Brighter. Brighter.


    The old man¡¯s eyes snapped open, and at the same moment, so did Rhys¡¯. He snapped back to reality. His magehood. His skills. His success, even, pushing the impurities that had slowed down the old man out of his body.


    And at the same time, the truth slipped out of his hands.


    No! Rhys tried to slip back into the dreamworld, but the trance had broken. The truth was lost¡ª


    But it wasn¡¯t. Deep in his mind, the truth welled back up. Rhys breathed out, immersing himself in it once more.


    To spend a life immersed in incorrect practice, yet learn a truth. To spend a life immersed in correct practice, yet lose it.


    The irony of it made him smile, but that wasn¡¯t a useful truth. He searched deeper. What else? What had the old man discovered?


    Effort alone isn¡¯t enough. Luck and talent also play a role. There is no overturning the heavens without one or both.


    No, that wasn¡¯t it, either. A useful thing to note, but not what he was looking for. A specific truth, locked in the manuals. He knew he¡¯d seen it. What was it?


    The answer came in the form of a sensation, not easy words or a concept easily understood. He let it flow through him, investigating it, letting the sensation tell him what it was. An emptiness. A dearth of expectations. A hollow depth that meant nothing he did mattered, and nothing he could do would ever matter. And under all that, beneath everything¡ªfreedom.


    Rhys¡¯ eyes widened. At last, he understood. He had been trash. Not merely someone with bad stats who¡¯d tried hard and found a few scraps of success, as he was in reality, but true, utter trash. He had been no one, and he¡¯d had no one. He wouldn¡¯t be missed. In fact, the townspeople would have celebrated his death, as a burden lifted off their shoulders. He had experienced a lifetime as trash, and now he understood what it meant to be trash. To live and die as trash. Not just as a trash mage, but as human trash, pure and simple. The refuse no one wanted. The kind of person ordinary townsfolk wouldn¡¯t even acknowledge as existing.


    He locked that sensation away in his heart. He didn¡¯t have an immediate use for it, but he knew that he had unlocked some form of essential enlightenment for his path. In fact, his mind felt faster now, and his heart, more resilient.


    A skill message appeared before his eyes for just a second before fading away.


    Enlightenment 1


    Rhys stood. It wasn¡¯t what he had sought, but it was what he¡¯d needed. And, in fact, a more powerful strength increase than he¡¯d bargained on. He¡¯d expected a new technique. Instead, he¡¯d gained insight into his entire future path. Between the two, he knew which one was more valuable. But in some deep part of his heart, he cried, just a little bit. No fireball? Why did fireballs elude him so?


    I¡¯m heading back to the library. Rhys brushed off his robes and marched forth from his cave house, back to the main square. A week or so had passed while he was in his dream world, and some trash had accumulated. More than he¡¯d expected, even. Rhys walked past. I¡¯ll get it later. I¡¯ll¡­ I¡¯ll¡­ dammit! What if someone else picked through it? What if the good herbs dried up or blew away?


    He turned on his toe and dashed around the school. At top speed, he collected the trash. When his treasure was all safely hidden away in his protected hollow, he turned his feet back toward the library.


    Az looked up as he walked in, once more putting his book down. ¡°Back for more?¡± he asked.


    Rhys opened his mouth, then froze. He hadn¡¯t even touched the novels he¡¯d asked for. He¡¯d been so immersed in practice he¡¯d totally forgotten!


    ¡°I¡ªI¡¯ve been busy,¡± he muttered, but he knew it was a poor excuse.


    Az knew it too, from the lazy eye brow he cocked in Rhys¡¯ direction. He shook his head in silent disapproval, but said nothing.


    Ashamed, Rhys lowered his head and scratched the back of his neck. An avid reader like him, failing at such a small, basic task? He really was an embarrassment to all readers everywhere. But there was nothing he could do now but press on, past his shame. ¡°I was wondering if you have any tomes on fire spells. Specifically fireballs.¡±


    Az shook his head. ¡°At your level, you¡¯re welcome to research any low-level mana basics or low-tier skills, but anything like a fireball is beyond my ability to acquire for you. I could point you in the direction of ignition spells, but that is the limit of what you¡¯re authorized to access.¡±


    ¡°Even considering the depths of our friendship?¡± Rhys asked, eyeing the precarious stack of books on Az¡¯s desk.


    ¡°That¡¯s what allows you to stand there and blithely interrupt my reading.¡±


    Rhys scowled, but quickly schooled his expression into a flat smile. Oh, well. I guess fireballs are a powerful spell, after all. They can¡¯t just let the lowest level students run around nuking one another with fireballs before they hardly know how to be mages. That¡¯s a surefire way to end up with a school full of psychopaths. ¡°I¡¯ll take a few tomes on ignition.¡±


    Az waved his hand. A dozen tomes swirled around and landed in Rhys¡¯ arms. ¡°Return the books I loaned you in good condition, and I might feel a little more inclined to offer you the rarer tomes.¡±


    Rhys raised his brows. A second later, he saluted. Protect the books? He needn¡¯t have said a thing. Rhys loved books. He¡¯d return them in the same condition they were lent!


    Az had already turned back to his reading. Getting the message, Rhys turned and left him to it. He got the feeling Az was already a little annoyed at being interrupted two days in a row, and made a mental note to give the guy a while to reset before he came to visit again. Unless he tore through the books and needed more, in which case, Az would simply have to understand his need for fresh books.


    Putting the freshy borrowed books in his storage ring, where the novels already resided, Rhys headed back out into the sunlight, only to thump into a broad, muscular chest.


    He looked up, slowly. Simple, martial-styled robes. Short hair. A brutish face with a jawline as broad as his shoulders. Cynog smiled down at him.


    ¡°You impressed me yesterday. Don¡¯t waste your time in that dusty old building. Come, let¡¯s practice!¡±


    Rhys swallowed. ¡°Practice¡­?¡± Cynog was powerful. There was a lot Rhys could learn at his hands. He¡¯d meant to seek him out eventually, but he¡¯d figured it was something he¡¯d have to do, on his own time. For Cynog to show up, grinning so broadly, excited to see him¡­


    A sinking feeling came over Rhys. He¡¯d just escaped his daily brutal beatings at the hands of Bast and especially Straw. Surely practice didn¡¯t mean the same thing to Cynog as it had to Straw? Straw was a living weapon, after all. Cynog was just a martial artist. Surely he had more sense and compassion than¡ª


    ¡°Indeed! And what better practice than battle?¡±


    Rhys reached for the doorknob behind him. ¡°Sir, I¡¯d love to practice, but maybe later, after I learn ignition?¡±


    A meaty hand snatched him up by the robes. Rhys barely had time to react before he found himself flying through the air, thrown bodily away from the library. ¡°Lesson number one. Don¡¯t question your superiors!¡±


    Ah, fuck, Rhys thought, and braced himself for a beating.

 19. Combat Practice

    Cynog threw the student into the air. When this bug had crawled into his class, he¡¯d thought he would simply teach a fly a lesson. Give a deserved beating to a child too big for his britches, and send him to do horse stance until he couldn¡¯t stand straight.


    Instead, he¡¯d been impressed. Impressed, and more importantly¡­ embarrassed. Challenging a child in front of all the other children, only to have to admit that the child was correct, and he truly did not belong in Cynog¡¯s class? Rage burned in the warrior¡¯s heart. He couldn¡¯t accept such humiliation.


    Yet, the emotion he felt wasn¡¯t only rage, but also excitement.


    Once, Cynog had possessed a bright future. He¡¯d had exceeding talent in his small martial clan, and shone out as a star amongst mortals. When he was selected by a mage to attend a true mage school, he had received the well wishes and adulation of everyone in his village.


    But when he¡¯d arrived, he¡¯d found out that the school was a trash-heap of a mage school, looked down on by all other mages. The lowest, weakest, least capable staffed it. One of the professors was out of his mind. The only two talents locked themselves away in the library or were truly devoted to the cause of teaching children low-level potions. The upper school was out of reach, too, limited only to the Schoolmaster¡¯s closest, most powerful friends.


    Thus, Cynog had found himself in a dead end. His star was dead. There was no longer any hope of ascension, no longer a dream of becoming the most powerful. He would burn out here; this was all the more he could reach for. He¡¯d failed to ascend to Tier 4 several times now, and with each failure, it only grew harder to try again. He played professor because if he didn¡¯t, no one would teach the children any martial art, but he did it without hope. No one with any real talent ended up at the Infinite Constellation School. This was where trash filtered down from all the other mage schools, where the dropouts and those too untalented for any other school to pick them up landed.


    And then this child arrived.


    At first, he¡¯d thought nothing of him. Rhys, kidnapped by the Strawman. No¡ªthe disciple of the Strawman. Just another child with no talent, who none of the other schools had been willing to pick up. He hadn¡¯t taken any particular interest in him. When he heard the kid was picking up the trash around the sect, he¡¯d approved, but distantly. There was no reason to take any notice of it.


    Not until Rhys had flaunted into his class.


    The kid landed, skidding over the earth. He didn¡¯t hesitate, but turned and fled. Cynog gave chase, letting the kid get a little breathing room. Rather than overwhelm him with his higher Tier, he wanted to see what the kid could do for real. He hadn¡¯t missed that the kid was a bit lost, attacking an immobile target. Whatever skills the Strawman had taught him, they couldn¡¯t be fully utilized in such an artificial facsimile of combat.


    So it was time to turn up the heat. Let the kid take his field of choice. And see how deep those skills of his really were.


    A grin played over Cynog¡¯s face. He cracked his knuckles. For the first time in a long time, he felt himself longing for the thrill of battle.


    ¡°Show me, boy!¡± he shouted. Silently, he added, something to hope for.


    --


    Ahead of Cynog, Rhys glanced back. He sped up, sprinting toward the forest. Forest terrain was the most familiar to him. He wasn¡¯t sure he could lose Cynog, not when the other man could outpower him in every meaningful, and most meaningless, ways. He was in it to win it. Until Cynog tired of the chase, he had to fend the man off.


    He checked the sun. If Cynog had class at the same time every day, then he had three hours to run. He gritted his teeth. Not the number he wanted to see, but not a number he couldn¡¯t deal with, either. He drew his sword stub and kept running.


    This forest wasn¡¯t familiar to him, but all forests had the same cadence. He jumped from tree to tree, building some distance between him and Cynog. The man wasn¡¯t moving at his full speed, but instead, handicapping himself. In other words, this was truly a lesson, not a life-and-death battle.


    Of course, he had no illusions about what would happen if he got caught. Straw had beaten that into him, literally, a great many times. All that remained to be seen was whether Cynog would be as merciful as Straw or not.


    I¡¯d rather not find out, to be honest. He ran on.


    As he ran, he familiarized himself with the forest. The places where footing was good, the places it was bad, where he had enough room to swing his sword, and where he didn¡¯t¡ªhe noted all of them. He led Cynog in a loose arc that doubled back on the area he¡¯d surveyed. The man wouldn¡¯t be content to chase him forever. Eventually, he¡¯d make his move, and Rhys wanted to be familiar with the lay of the land when he did.


    That is, if Rhys didn¡¯t move first.


    They doubled back over a flat span on the mountain. Cynog laughed loudly. His voice boomed off the rocks ahead of Rhys. ¡°Are you going to make your move, or keep running around this mountain forever? I¡¯m happy to get a bit of running in, but I thought we were fighting!¡±


    Now. Rhys landed on the branch in front of him and kicked it hard. The branch bent, then recoiled, throwing Rhys toward Cynog. The man kept running for a step, then raised his hands, skidding to a halt¡ªright over the loose shale. It didn¡¯t matter how good Cynog¡¯s horse stance or footing was. The flat, loose stones slid over the stone underfoot, and Cynog was carried with them. His raised fists sailed under Rhys, and Rhys slashed down at the man¡¯s back, activating Trash Intent on the way down. His blade met Cynog¡¯s skin¡ªand the glowing blade of Trash Intent shattered.


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    Mana recoiled, shocking up Rhys¡¯ wrists. It twisted like poison, eroding his mana passages. He gritted his teeth in pain as he landed behind Cynog, then immediately jumped away.


    ¡°I commend you for your efforts, but boy, if you¡¯d stood and faced me, I would¡¯ve prevented you from hurting yourself so foolishly. Such a low-Tier intent skill could never break my skin,¡± Cynog boasted.


    Rhys hopped into the trees and rubbed his wrists, checking the damage. It wasn¡¯t as bad as he¡¯d expected. The reinforcement of his mana and mana passages from the first round of trash ignition had made his attacks stronger, but they¡¯d also reinforced his flesh. He¡¯d taken damage, but it wasn¡¯t the shredding, dangerous damage it could have been.


    He eyed Cynog warily. One round of empowering himself wasn¡¯t enough to jump two tiers, it seemed. Cynog was at Tier 3, and he couldn¡¯t even scratch the man. But then, if one round of trash was enough power to jump two tiers, everyone would be absorbing trash, and not only that, but he¡¯d be a godly talent. He couldn¡¯t be a godly talent, so that simply couldn¡¯t be possible.


    Honestly, I don¡¯t know that any number of trash absorption layers could let me defeat Cynog. Even threatening Tarais¡ªnot defeating her, just threatening her so she backed down¡ªrequired him to be actively burning impurities. The unfortunate (or fortunate?) downside of that technique was that he no longer had any impurities to burn, save the tiny tidbits in the bottom of his core, and those tidbits wouldn¡¯t ignite. Still, facing Cynog, he was pretty sure that even if he burned impurities, he wouldn¡¯t be able to defeat the man. Scratching him wasn¡¯t even a sure bet.


    That didn¡¯t mean he was giving in. No¡ªwhy would he give in? He already knew he was trash. If he gave up because he had no chance of defeating his opponent, he never would have dueled Straw or even Bast.


    Rhys spun the sword stub around in his hand and charged at Cynog again. While the man was on poor footing, he could test his speed without allowing Cynog to use his full strength. The majority of power in a blow came from the feet, after all. Without a good foundation, Cynog had nothing in terms of power.


    Nothing for a Tier 3, anyways. Which turned out to still be a lot of power.


    Rhys swung at Cynog¡¯s head. The man¡¯s eyes glittered. Slipping and sliding, he blocked Rhys¡¯s attack and sent his hand rebounding. Rhys didn¡¯t give up. From under his robes, he drew a piece of wood and hammered it down toward Cynog¡¯s head. But the piece of wood was clearly not long enough to hit Cynog.


    Cynog frowned. ¡°You¡¯re better than¡ª¡±


    Rhys¡¯ eyes flashed. Trash Intent!


    As he brought the scrap of wood down on Cynog¡¯s head, a chair made of the same shimmering light as his sword materialized and bonked the man on the head. Since he knew he couldn¡¯t actually cut or break into Cynog, he just smashed him and released the Trash Intent for the rest of the swing. The bit of wood scooted by Cynog without touching him, saving Rhys from any recoil, even the physical kind. The small bit of wood had far less momentum and backswing as well. Rhys wielded it like a dagger, yanking it back just to whip it at Cynog¡¯s head again.


    Cynog¡¯s hand snapped out. He blocked the chair formed of light with his forearm. Turning his hand around, he tried to grab the chair, and managed it, but only for a moment before Rhys released Trash Intent and yanked the wood out of his reach.


    ¡°Interesting! That¡¯s an unusual weapon intent. I¡¯ve never seen one so flexible before. In fact, I¡¯ve never seen a chair-shaped weapon intent. How did you do that?¡±


    ¡°Would you tell me all your secrets if I asked?¡± Rhys returned, throwing the man¡¯s words back at himself.


    Cynog chuckled. ¡°I like your spirit, boy.¡± He lunged toward Rhys, sweeping his dinner-plate sized hands wide.


    Rhys backpedaled, but too slow. Cynog¡¯s hands slammed together. The percussive force of the impact swept out from his palms and smashed into Rhys¡¯ chest. He flew backward and crashed into a tree. His head cracked against the trunk, and dark spots danced in front of his eyes. Before he recovered, Cynog was on top of him. He desperately blocked, but the blows hammered down on him. Cynog obviously held back. If he hadn¡¯t, Rhys would have died in one hit. Instead, Cynog beat him black and blue. Rhys heard a bone crack, and as the sickening pain sunk in, he realized something.


    Cynog wasn¡¯t going to stop. He was holding back, but that was the extent of it. If Rhys couldn¡¯t escape, this might be it for him. At best, he¡¯d get pummeled unconscious. At worst, he¡¯d die. In this kind of school-in-name-only, he was pretty sure there were no punishment for killing a student. He¡¯d die unnoticed and unloved, and no one would mourn him.


    Rhys gritted his teeth. Not here!


    He still clenched the bit of wood in one hand. As Cynog¡¯s fist flew in, he activated Trash Intent. Cynog smashed his Trash Intent chair into tiny pieces. The reverberations of the backlash smashed into his whole body, far greater than it had been for smashing the blade, but Rhys was able to buy himself space. Just a few centimeters, but it was enough. He dropped down off the side of the tree and whirled, fleeing into the forest. His shoulders screamed from the pain, one of the bones in his chest or upper arm broken and wobbling around. Rhys yanked out the potion and took a sip, letting the concoction enhance his Self-Regeneration. Putting it back away, he sprinted on into the forest.


    Cynog laughed and gave chase. ¡°Come back here. I¡¯m not done with you!¡±


    Rhys grimaced as his shoulder snapped back into place. He sprinted away.


    The two of them continued on like that, Cynog chasing, Rhys fleeing, breaking out into a desperate melee, then fleeing again. Every time he used the chair to escape and the chair shattered, cracks appeared on the stub of wood. The cracks grew deeper with every block until it finally exploded into splinters.


    Rhys noted it numbly as he ran away for the hundredth time: at the end of the day, trash was just trash. Even an Intent didn¡¯t make it invulnerable or all-powerful. At its core, it was still something someone else had thrown away. It would still shatter when he put enough stress on it.


    The backlash wore at his body, but his trash-and-impurities enhanced body could take it. Self-regeneration was still too slow to heal him in combat, but he could tell that out of combat, a little sip of potion and the powers of regeneration would patch him right up. If he kept doing it nonstop for weeks, he might reach the point of irreversible damage, but Cynog wasn¡¯t brutal enough to do that. When it came time for his class, Cynog left, and Rhys finally dared to come down from the trees. He took a swing of potion and breathed out, exhausted.


    It had been a hard lesson, but a good one. He¡¯d learned a lot about fighting a much-higher realm opponent who was actually interested in cornering him, as opposed to Straw¡¯s light-footed hit-and-run style, and he¡¯d learned a lot about Trash Intent, too. Its limits, how to use it, when to hold and when to dissipate it, how to use it offensively or defensively.


    ¡°Same time tomorrow!¡± Cynog bellowed from the distance.


    Rhys stiffened. He turned slowly. No¡­ Damn it! Regret flowed over him. He shouldn¡¯t have tried to get out of the basic martial class. He might have gotten to the library faster, but as a result, he¡¯d signed up for a beating twice as long as the class would be.


    He sighed. At least it was a helpful beating. He was learning a lot. If only it were a little easier to learn, without getting the beating along the way.


    At least Cynog had to go teach his class, which left the rest of Rhys¡¯ day open to recover, practice on his own, and read up on fire spells. His eyes shone. Fireballs! At last! He scurried off to his cave, eager to start on the manuals.

 20. Fireballs

    Rhys sped through the fire spell manuals, only to find himself completely lost. It was like the words were oil, and his mind was water. He had to read every word a dozen times before it sunk in, and even then, he struggled to comprehend the meaning.


    He leaned back, letting out a breath. The problem was obvious. It wasn¡¯t trash, so it was hard for him to understand it. He couldn¡¯t easily comprehend the manuals due to their lack of familiarity with trash.


    Even so, he refused to give up. He picked up the manuals and pored over them again, forcibly putting the words into his head. He¡¯d lived an entire lifetime as a trash mage, who was never able to so much as sense mana, but had never given up. He wasn¡¯t going to throw in the towel this easily. The words might be hard to understand, they might not stick in his mind, but he wasn¡¯t going to give in. He was going to learn an ignition spell, whether the ignition spell wanted him to learn it or not!


    He studied the manuals deep into the night, poring over the words over and over again. At last, enough of the spell stuck in his mind that he felt he could give it a shot.


    Day broke in the distance. Rhys lifted his hand. Carefully, he dragged his mana through the shapes indicated in the manual, pressed it into a form, and then pushed.


    Nothing.


    Gritting his teeth, he threw himself into the manuals again. Only when Cynog showed up with a roar did he abandon them. The two of them sparred for the allotted three hours, and then Cynog ran off to class, and Rhys limped back to his manuals. Once more, he forced himself to keep reading over the manuals.


    Comprehension eluded him. Words flashed past his eyes, but meaning refused to materialize. It was like he was reading in a foreign language, but he recognized the words. The words meant something to him. He just couldn¡¯t put it together past that base level understanding.


    No, it¡¯s like reading high level math, he realized. He could ¡®understand¡¯ the letters and symbols of e^(i*pi)=-1, but he didn¡¯t actually comprehend anything about what that meant. It was just letters and numbers to him, with a few symbols mixed in. It might mean something to mathematicians, and it had probably meant a whole lot to Euler when he¡¯d written it for the first time, but it was gobbledygook to Rhys. That was exactly what reading these manuals felt like. It didn¡¯t matter how many times he forced himself to read the manual over and over again, it wouldn¡¯t matter.


    He lacked some fundamental understanding about the formulas on the page that he would never be able to intuit out of nowhere, because he wasn¡¯t a math genius. If he had a good teacher, he might be able to learn them even though he wasn¡¯t a math genius¡ªor in this case, an ignition spell genius, but where was he going to find a teacher like that in Infinite Constellation School? The only instructors who actually did their jobs had their hands full getting the lowest level mages up to snuff, and from there, mages were expected to figure things out on their own.


    Rhys sighed, putting the book down. Was it impossible? No. But for now, he was beating his head against a wall, and as a piece of trash, he didn¡¯t have a head hard enough to beat it down.


    But that was fine. He was still young. He still had plenty of time. He could learn these spells later. Putting the ignition manuals safely back in his ring, he returned to his other pursuits. Namely, recovering from Cynog¡¯s beatings, and practicing Trash Intent.


    There was more to Trash Intent than just making blades. As long as it had been thrown aside, he could reform its general shape with Trash Intent, given he had a feeling for its general shape. That part mystified him a little. With the nub of wood, he¡¯d tried materializing a table, a staff, even a stool, but only a chair had ever materialized. It was as though the object knew what it had been, and wanted to be that thing once more. Trash Intent gave shape to the object¡¯s desires, not Rhys¡¯.


    Trash Intent. It was in the name, he realized, one afternoon when he was sitting there, sifting through the trash for a new weapon-slash-shield. Trash Intent. The trash became what it intended to be, not what Rhys intended it to be. It became what it had been, in its glory days. A thought came to Rhys. He grabbed a broken table and materialized its missing legs, then poked at them. They felt like wood. Even the cracks on its surface had filled in. But it was only wood.


    If this is based on the object¡¯s intent¡­ I wonder if I can draw out its full potential? The things it wanted to become, the things it dreamed of, before it became trash.


    He laughed at himself a little. Did things dream? Did they have desires? But then, when he could materialize the intent of objects, it wasn¡¯t that far-fetched. Besides, if he could draw out the full potential of an object, or even pull out more than the full potential of an object¡­ Rhys¡¯ eyes shone. If he could use this to polish a sword into the perfect blade, to turn a table into a bulwark, to transform a mirror into a reflective shield, how powerful would that be?


    He released Trash Intent on the broken table. Steadying it against his body, he activated Trash Intent again, but this time, he poured everything into it. All his mana, and not only that, but his belief in the table. In what the table could have become, at its utmost potential.


    Trash Intent activated and instantly began sucking Rhys¡¯ mana down. His mana dropped at a shocking rate. The table soaked it up, thirsty as a camel in the desert. He gripped it tight, even as he felt his mana draw down to nothing. Uncapping his mana potion in one hand, he sipped it down. One little sip at another, still pouring all his mana into the table. The potion drained. One quarter. One half. Three quarters.


    Just as Rhys began to doubt that he had enough potion to finish the technique, Trash Intent keened out, then halted. He took a deep breath and steadied himself against the table, on the verge of pitching over from exertion. Almost afraid of what he¡¯d see, he slowly looked down.


    A shining, perfect table stood before him. Not a scratch remained in its surface. Its Intent legs were indistinguishable from its original legs. Its wood glowed, so perfectly polished the surface had a sheen to it. The legs stood firm, ready to stand until the end of time.


    This wasn¡¯t the table he had repaired with Trash Intent. This was the table, as it had been at its most perfect. In the glowing moments immediately after it had been made, before anyone had touched it, before a cup rested on its face or a knife scratched its surface, this was the table the carpenter had turned, oiled, and polished with love. He¡¯d drawn out, not its full potential, but its absolute most perfect moment.


    But I failed because I didn¡¯t have enough mana. Something like drawing out its full potential, or even polishing it beyond its potential¡ªall that was possible once he got stronger. Rhys looked down at the table, and his heart pounded in anticipation. I can¡¯t wait.


    He released the Intent on the table, unable to hold it any longer. The sheen vanished. The scratches returned. The table immediately listed over once more as two of its legs ceased to be. Rhys sagged as well, exhausted, mana all but spent. It was an awesome technique, but not one he could use in battle yet. Not until he had significantly more mana.


    Rhys turned, looking at his trash pile. It had been about two weeks of training with Cynog and reading the manuals, and the trash had begun to stack, but it still needed to accumulate before it reached the heights where he¡¯d ignited it last time. He needed at least that much trash to bother igniting it.


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    Maybe four weeks was a bit premature for that seed, Rhys thought, then shrugged. He could always ask her to push the meeting back if he had to.


    He tossed down the last swallow of the mana potion. It put a decent quantity of mana in his core, but he wasn¡¯t anywhere near full of mana. He¡¯d scraped together a second mana potion out of the trash pile, but he hesitated to use it. He¡¯d already drank one mana potion today. He didn¡¯t want to drink too much at once, and lose his Less is More bonuses. Instead, he settled down to absorb mana¡ªthen paused.


    If I¡¯m going to absorb mana anyways, why don¡¯t I get dinner and a show? Nodding to himself, he stood and jogged into the school¡¯s central square. As always, On the Appreciation of Mustelids was running again today, and as always, no one was in attendance. Rhys poked his head in the room, scanning an empty lecture hall, while the teacher ranted on at the front. Why would anyone attend, anyways? It was a trash class about a trash topic no one would ever use. Clearly nothing but the teacher¡¯s excuse to rant about a topic they cared about, whether it was helpful to anyone else or not. A fluffy elective that would do nothing but pad a student¡¯s credit hours while offering no valuable information.


    That¡¯s right. It¡¯s trash! Rhys grinned and sat down in the back of the class. He steadied his breathing and began to meditate, while the teacher¡¯s voice droned on through his head. He didn¡¯t listen attentively, but he didn¡¯t completely ignore the man¡¯s lecture, either. It really was a lecture on mustelids, on ferrets and all the beasts in the ferret family, from otters to ermines, but Rhys had always liked biology. He didn¡¯t mind learning a little bit more about some fluffy little critters. He was just sitting still, wasting his time doing nothing but absorbing mana anyways, so why not pick up a little passive education along the way?


    The old man didn¡¯t acknowledge his arrival. He droned on about badger-ferrets and the unique distinctions between them, the polecat, and true badgers. His voice was even and smooth, and if Rhys had been trying to listen instead of passively listening while he gathered mana, he probably would have fallen asleep. As it was, it was the perfect environment to gather mana in. Just enough noise to keep him focused and drown out all the background noise that might have distracted him, but not enough noise to pique his interest. It was the perfect white noise.


    Lo-fi old man beats to absorb mana to, he thought to himself, and chuckled.


    With the small change in his itinerary, his days drew on again. He battled Cynog in the mornings, and absorbed mana with the mustelid man in the afternoon. Three days into the lecture, he found himself pondering on the man¡¯s topic of choice. Mustelids. They were hardy and adaptable creatures. Tiny little carnivores, fearing nothing. Desired for their fur, and hunted down across all the land.


    But they weren¡¯t trash. They were beloved. Adorable in life, and used for their fur in death. Nobility searched for them. Their furs went for high prices at auction, and live ermines, stoats, sables, and ferrets were beloved pets of many high-ranked nobles or mages. In a certain way of thinking, they couldn¡¯t be further from trash.


    Tiny furry creatures. Scrabbling around, fearing nothing. Eating everything in sight. His mind left mustelids behind, and wandered to a distinctly trashy creature instead: the humble rat. No one liked rats. They were chased out of cities, chased out of villages, chased out of houses. Their nests were destroyed, and they were even driven out of the trash. But they persisted anyways. They didn¡¯t let that stop them. No matter how little someone might want them around, so long as they wanted to be around, they¡¯d get there.


    And not only that, but they were clever. Smart little beasts that could keep their trails clean and get in and out without anyone noticing. Even if they were considered trash, they were quite capable and impressive creatures, with many admirable skills. Stealth, speed, burrowing, rapidly building a house, not letting a wall tell them no¡ªall skills even a human mage found desirable.


    He furrowed his brows. There was something about that. Something¡­ it was on the tip of his tongue, but he just couldn¡¯t put it together. When the time came to fight with Cynog, he stood, but reluctantly. I¡¯ll be back. There¡¯s something about this old man¡¯s speech that¡¯s speaking to me. It wasn¡¯t the words exactly, but something about it. The gist of it. The ideas he put forth. It was just that his comprehension wasn¡¯t high enough for it.


    He checked his skills, to see where he was on all that.


    Rhys Foundling | 14 | Foundation Building (Tier 1)


    Title: Trash-born


    Skills:


    Hunger Resist 15


    Survivalist 29


    Pain Resist 40


    Scavenging 39


    Less is More 33


    Sewing 8


    Blow Mitigation 16


    Self-Regeneration 13


    Mana Manipulation 8


    Poison Resist 14


    Improvised Weapon Proficiency 10


    Heat Resist 9


    Acid Resist 10


    Impurity Resist 15


    Trash Intent 8


    Alchemy 2


    Herbalism 7


    Speed Reading 6


    Comprehension 5


    Enlightenment 1


    He¡¯d gained a few new skills that he hadn¡¯t expected, like Comprehension, but when he thought about it, what had he been doing, slamming his head against the ignition books? And maybe the lecture had helped it tick up, too. Enlightenment he¡¯d seen pop when he was working on the fake manuals, so that was no surprise. The rest of them had grown as he¡¯d expected, with Improvised Weapon Proficiency, Trash Intent, and Impurity Resist showing good growths from his combat and trash-absorbing experiences, despite being harder skills to level.


    Strangely, none of his active skills, spells, or techniques showed up on the skill list, with the notable exception of Trash Intent. The System didn¡¯t list his impurity burning technique, or his trash-absorption technique. Maybe that¡¯s because they¡¯re techniques and not skills? Or maybe they were just too trashy for the System to acknowledge. He considered for a second, then shrugged. As long as they worked, it didn¡¯t matter if they showed up in the System or not.


    Rhys eyed his Comprehension and Enlightenment skills. One of those, if not both, needed to be higher if he was going to put together¡­ whatever it was he wanted to figure out from the mustelid lecture. But what was better to level it up, than to keep going to the lecture? Plus, he could keep grinding whatever it was that was tickling at his brain about the mustelid lecture at the same time.


    With that decided, he rushed into the battle with Cynog. As he¡¯d fought, he¡¯d discovered more about Trash Intent. Things like too small a piece wouldn¡¯t form intent. Likewise, if he couldn¡¯t visualize the thing associated with the piece of trash, the Intent wouldn¡¯t form. There was also an upper limit to the size of Trash Intent he could create, but that had more to do with the amount of mana he had than the limit of the skill itself. Currently, something like the dinner table was the limit of what he could instantaneously draw out the intent of. If he spent a little longer, he could manifest something one-and-a-half times longer, but that was basically useless in battle.


    He kept getting beaten by Cynog, but he rarely took backlash anymore. He¡¯d spawn the intent for an instant, then destroy it a second before Cynog¡¯s blows landed. The trash still created space between him and Cynog, but by retracting it before Cynog smashed it, he prevented himself from taking damage. That, plus Blow Mitigation, meant he took much less damage than he had at the start.


    Even so, he knew it was artificial growth, to some extent. He knew how to fight Cynog now, like he¡¯d known how to fight Straw. If he faced a new opponent, he¡¯d still be lost way he¡¯d been the first time he fought Cynog, when Cynog didn¡¯t fight like Straw. But then again, he reasoned, the more fighting styles he learned how to fight against, the better he¡¯d do in the long run. If he eventually learned to fight against all the fighting styles in the world, then he¡¯d be unstoppable.


    That was still a long ways away, however. Just like whatever he was trying to comprehend in the lecture hall. The sensation stuck in his head every time he went in there, but he could never get past that starting thought. He left the hall dissatisfied for the thousandth time and pursed his lips, crossing his arms as he faced the square. What was he doing wrong?


    Maybe I need to sit there and do nothing but attempt comprehension until it sticks. He nodded. That might be it.


    The four weeks had almost passed. Today was the final day before the end of the four weeks. It was an arbitrary timeline he¡¯d set for himself, but, looking at the trash, it had piled up sufficiently to give the seed a try. It felt richer in mana than his first round of trash, and besides, he¡¯d be pouring it all into one big seed, so he was fairly confident in success, but nonetheless, a little anxiety twisted in his gut. This was Sorden¡¯s last seed. If he failed this¡­


    Rhys shook his head. He couldn¡¯t think about that. He needed to focus on success, or else he¡¯d fail for sure.


    He nodded at Cynog as the man approached. ¡°Tomorrow, I¡¯m going to be busy, and after that, I might need some time to comprehend something.¡±


    Cynog nodded. ¡°Understood. It¡¯s been a long time since we¡¯ve had a talent like you. I may have been a bit overeager in training.¡±


    ¡°A talent?¡± Rhys gave him a look. What is this? ¡°I¡¯m no talent.¡±


    ¡°For a sect like this, you¡¯re a world-shaking talent,¡± Cynog replied.


    Rhys pressed his lips together. He tried to keep it in, but he just couldn¡¯t. He took a deep breath.

 21. Asking for a Beating

    Rhys took a deep breath. ¡°No. You¡¯re wrong. I only have average talent, at best. Actually, I¡¯m probably more like absolute trash-tier talent. I struggle to learn any martial skills. In all my battling with you, I still haven¡¯t picked up one tier in Sword Proficiency or Barehanded Combat. My only talent is recognizing my path early, and working hard to bring it to life.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re young to have already recognized your path,¡± Cynog flattered him.


    Rhys shot him a look. ¡°It¡¯s trash.¡±


    ¡°Eh?¡±


    ¡°My path is trash. The only thing I can reliably learn any skills in, is trash. If a skill isn¡¯t associated with trash, I¡¯m useless.¡±


    Cynog¡¯s brows furrowed. He opened his mouth.


    ¡°¡­Or I would be, if your Schoolmaster, or even you, had evaluated me. But instead, Straw saw value in me. He took me in and trained me, and in doing that, gave me value twice over. Value from his teachings, and value in him taking me in, which made me just interesting to your Schoolmaster for her to take me in.¡±


    ¡°But you¡¯ve comprehended Intent. No matter the Intent, that¡¯s a feat at your age.¡±


    ¡°I only have it because Straw trained me relentlessly toward obtaining an Intent, any Intent. Only because someone else saw value in the trash that was me, and polished me; and only because I then saw the value in myself, and continued to work on it, am I now a ¡®talent¡¯ to you. But that¡¯s not talent at all. It¡¯s luck, the dedication of everyone around me, and hard work. Don¡¯t call me a talent. I¡¯m not. I couldn¡¯t be further from a talent. What I am, is a piece of garbage that no one gave up on. Least of all myself.¡±


    Before Cynog could speak, he pointed at the man. ¡°And that includes you. I might have fooled you into seeing me as a talent, but nonetheless, you also chose to polish me and not give up. Think about it, Cynog. If an idiot like me who can only grow stronger by playing with the trash, can be polished to the extent that you mistook me for a talent¡­ how much could you polish all those students under you? I¡¯m still too weak to polish anyone else, but you are an expert. You have that power. With your skill, you could make those students really shine. But because you dismiss them out of hand as ¡®not talented,¡¯ you don¡¯t even try.¡±


    Cynog frowned. His brows knitted.


    ¡°Thank you, Cynog. I deeply appreciate everything you¡¯ve done to help me. But when you go back to your class, look at your students, and know that they all started with more potential than me. This time, don¡¯t give up on them. Try treating them the same way you did me, and see how much they grow.¡±


    Crrrrk.


    Rhys had turned away, but he whirled at that sound.


    Cynog cracked his knuckles, a slow, evil grin on his face. ¡°So you think you can tell me how to teach? You, a mere student, who¡¯s barely been at this sect for weeks?¡±


    Rhys swallowed. He backed away. Ah, shit. My knee-jerk reaction to defend trash got the better of me. He¡¯d spent an entire life passionately defending trash in person, on online forums, everywhere he could. In modern society, the worst consequence for his actions was becoming a social pariah and facing the distaste of his coworkers. In a medieval society, the worst consequence for supporting an unpopular opinion was death and torture. In that order, if he was lucky.


    Cynog glared at Rhys, slowly frowning deeper. Thoughts whirled within his mind. Not a talent? Impossible. The boy was delusional. After all this time? He wouldn¡¯t accept that the boy wasn¡¯t talented.


    His worldview began to crumble. All this time, was it really his fault? Could he really have polished any of his students into obtaining Weapon Intent, if he hadn¡¯t given up on them? He was the one who¡¯d failed? Not his students, but him. Anyone could be powerful, as long as someone believed in them, but he hadn¡¯t believed, and so not only his students, but also he had failed to become powerful.


    He was the source of his own failure? Not only that, but the source of his entire school¡¯s failure to produce martial artists? Him? One of the few teachers who actually put in effort? One of the few who actually tried to help students? This boy dared to question him, when he worked the hardest of any of the teachers?


    No, it wasn¡¯t that the boy wasn¡¯t talented. He was talented. Cynog was right. He knew he was right. Rhys was talented. He was different from the other students. More powerful, more capable. If the boy refused to see it, then he¡¯d just force him to see it.


    It wasn¡¯t that Cynog¡¯s worldview was wrong. It wasn¡¯t that he¡¯d been doing the wrong thing all along. That wasn¡¯t possible. He refused to believe it. It was Rhys who was wrong.


    It had to be.


    Cynog¡¯s heart hardened, and resolve sparked within him. Resolve to prove Rhys wrong, no matter how far he had to take it.


    Rhys saw murder crawl across Cynog¡¯s face, and cleared his throat nervously. ¡°It¡¯s not that you¡¯re wrong, it¡¯s¡ª¡±


    ¡°Someone¡¯s asking for a beating,¡± Cynog rumbled, and charged at Rhys.


    ¡°No no no¡ª¡± Rhys turned and ran, sprinting off at top speed.


    Cynog closed in on him before he got a dozen steps. Rhys threw up Trash Intent, as usual, but Cynog grabbed him bodily by the shoulders, reaching around the end table Rhys had picked for today¡¯s shield, and threw him up against the nearest tree. Rhys put the end table between him and Cynog, but Cynog ripped it out of his hands, tossed it away and went right on hammering Rhys. Caught between a tree and Cynog¡¯s fists, Rhys had little option but to take the blows. He used Blow Mitigation to lessen them to the extent possible, but he was still getting hammered. His only saving grace was that Cynog wasn¡¯t so pissed that he forgot he was fighting a student, and still pulled his blows enough to not kill Rhys.


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    Not immediately, anyways. Pressed up against the tree, barely protecting his head, Rhys felt his vision begin to fade. He forced himself not to pass out and took a short breath instead, hissing slightly through the pain. If he stayed here, Cynog might pummel him to death without realizing it. The man had a high estimate of Rhys, but Rhys wasn¡¯t actually a talent like Cynog thought. Cynog overestimated him, and that meant that he might accidentally kill Rhys by assuming he could take more than he could. Especially after that lecture. I basically provoked him into forcing me to recognize I¡¯m a talent. The only problem was, Rhys was no talent, and if Cynog pushed too hard, he¡¯d die, just like the trash he was.


    Something¡­ anything¡­


    His vision flickered. Caught on the razor¡¯s edge between life and death, things abruptly became very clear to him. He couldn¡¯t sit here and take it. He would die. He had to escape.


    But how? His trash had been taken from him. He could use Trash Intent on his sword, but it wouldn¡¯t do any damage, and Cynog would knock it away. Cynog was overwhelmingly powerful. He needed to get out of here, or else he¡¯d die. But to flee, he first had to get away from Cynog¡¯s hold. The man had a firm grip on his shoulder. He couldn¡¯t escape without breaking that hold.


    No, that was wrong. He had another option yet. When he thought about it, between breaking a powerful warrior, and breaking trash, one of them was obviously easier to break.


    Rhys took a deep breath, forcing himself back to awareness. He steeled his heart, then delivered a decisive blow to his own shoulder. His bones broke, but for just a second, Cynog¡¯s hold on him weakened. He wrenched his shoulder free and ran.


    Everything hurt. Every piece of his body was in pain. But he put all that to the back of his mind and ran. Trees lashed past, digging into his wounds. Undergrowth tugged at his ankles, almost toppling him. He swigged his potion to let the healing get started, and desperately pushed his brain to the limit. He was slower than Cynog, weaker than him, and even with all of Straw¡¯s techniques, lacked the raw stats to evade his attacks completely.


    Completely. A fist flashed through the air, and Rhys threw himself to the side. Cynog¡¯s fist took a chunk out of his side, but it didn¡¯t kill him. He ran on, pushing himself to the limit. His ears strained. His legs burned, on the verge of overloaded with mana so he could not only run, but also dodge. He threw caution to the wind, pushing his body past its limits just to survive. He was a hare on the run, a pigeon with a bullet lodged in its chest. Even if it meant he died eventually, he¡¯d run on now.


    Another punch clipped his shoulder. He flared Blow Mitigation and threw himself into a sideways roll, popped up, and ran on. Air rushed toward the back of his head. A forward roll, and that fist struck his ponytail instead. He grabbed the ground and held himself still. Every wound in his body screamed in pain, gaping wider. Blood spurted over the ground. He held his breath, holding back the scream, and refused to let go.


    Trash Body 1


    Caught up in momentum, Cynog rushed past him. Just up ahead was a slate field, as Rhys knew better than anyone. The martial artist stepped onto it as he started to backpedal, and instead of instantly reversing, he slid forward, his feet meaninglessly kicking at the loose shale.


    Rhys¡¯ eyes flashed. He jumped up and sprinted in the opposite direction, charging back toward the central square. One destination gleamed in his mind, one perfect destination that Cynog couldn¡¯t tear him out of. His legs blurred. Mana pushed his muscles to their limit, then past them. They began to rip, but he pressed on. He needed to push it past its limits so he could escape. He refused to die here. Even if he turned his whole body into trash in the attempt, he¡¯d do whatever it took to survive.


    Cynog growled. He found his footing, whirled, and gave chase. Rhys¡¯ hard-earned lead was obliterated in an instant. Still, Rhys ran. He knew nothing but running and dodging. His body accumulated wounds. Before long, no part of him wasn¡¯t bruised or bleeding. He was a tattered mess, barely recognizable as human. With no time to sip his potion, all he could do was keep taking hits and keep running, desperately ensuring not a single hit landed on something vital.


    ¡°Get back here, you slippery eel. I¡¯ll show you martial talents!¡±


    Ahead, the central square, at last. A heavy hit landed on Rhys¡¯ lower back, and he let it propel him out of the trees and into the square. He flew through the air, landed on the tiles, and rolled a dozen times, head over heels¡ªat first, on nothing but the momentum of the blow, and then on his own efforts. Just as Cynog was about to reach him, he kicked off the ground and popped back up to all fours. He scrambled off, chasing toward his sanctuary.


    ¡°Where do you think you¡¯re going?¡± A hand closed around his ankle. Cynog instantly tightened his grip. Rhys¡¯ flesh bruised. He pulled, intending to lift Rhys by the foot.


    Rhys¡¯ eyes flashed. Determination burned in his soul. He couldn¡¯t let himself be caught. Not now, when he was so close.


    And he wouldn¡¯t.


    Gritting his teeth, Rhys clamped onto the cobblestones, sinking his fingernails into the cracks. Flaring the very last of his mana, he pulled.


    Cynog laughed. He tightened his grip. ¡°You aren¡¯t getting away that easily. There¡¯s still more training left for you.¡±


    ¡°Easily?¡± Rhys asked.


    Their eyes met. For the first time, Cynog looked his victim in the eyes. Madness burned there, with a determination that verged on insanity. Cynog frowned, shifting back, but he didn¡¯t release his grip.


    Rhys pulled harder.


    With a horrible sucking pop, Rhys¡¯ foot came free at the ankle. Splashing blood after him, he fled the last few steps to the library on all threes and threw himself through the door. He lifted his head and, with the last of his strength, shouted, ¡°Lock it! Lock the door!¡±


    ¡°You fool. Of course I wouldn¡¯t allow that brute near my books,¡± Az replied lazily. His voice echoed down the hall, the man not so much as rising from his desk.


    A heavy weight slammed against the thick wood. Rhys sighed, letting out all the tension in his body. With the tension, his consciousness, too, started to flow away.


    Shit¡­ not yet. Fumbling in his robes, he pulled out his potion and downed the rest of it. Rhys set the bottle carefully to the side, then drew a mana potion and slurped down half of it, as well. Less is More and Self-Regeneration both kicked off, and only then, as he felt his wounds closing, did Rhys allow himself to fall into darkness.


    ¡°Not coming to greet me? That isn¡¯t very proper of you,¡± Az¡¯s voice sounded again. It echoed over an insensate Rhys, the boy unconscious as he regenerated his wounds.


    There was silence for a few beats. At last, with a heavy sigh and the creak of long-settled furniture, footsteps sounded from around the corner. Az turned the corner, and froze. ¡°You¡¯re just going to bleed all over my library, are you?¡±


    Rhys didn¡¯t reply.


    ¡°Hmph.¡± Az wandered over, then sat down beside him. He reached into his robes and upended a potion on the sleeping Rhys¡¯ face. Rhys spluttered for a moment, but the potion quickly vanished, absorbed into his skin and through his wounds.


    Az lifted his head, looking at the door. ¡°What a foolish child, daring to provoke Cynog. He should know none of us ended up in this bottom-tier sect by choice.¡±


    After a moment, he let out a pleased hum. ¡°Except for me.¡±


    Az¡¯s shape shifted. He grew smaller and smaller, landing on four legs, then curled up beside Rhys. A small tuxedo cat in Az¡¯s place settled in to purr the pain away.

 22. Library Cat

    Rhys jolted awake. For a second, he laid there, aching and staring at the ceiling. The pain was familiar. Nowadays, he was lucky not to wake up with a crick in his back or a pounding headache. He knew he should live better, lose a few pounds, but damn if his chair wasn¡¯t comfortable. No, that part he understood. The confusing part was the ceiling. Vast and immense, old hardwood vaults interrupted lush wood panelling. His brows furrowed. Now that he was looking around, the walls were a bit off, too. He had a pretty big library, but he didn¡¯t recall the books looking so¡­ leather-bound and aged. Where were all his figures?


    A cat shifted beside him. It lifted its head. ¡°Awake?¡±


    Rhys startled. He looked around, taking in the library, and reality began to reassert itself. He pointed at the cat. ¡°You?¡±


    ¡°Me?¡±


    His jaw worked. Many words and concepts rushed through his brain, all of them jostling to emerge from his mouth at once, but none of them succeeding. At last, he managed, ¡°Az?¡±


    The cat sat upright and curled its tail meticulously around its paws. ¡°That is my name.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a cat?¡±


    ¡°You¡¯re a human?¡± Az returned, in an equally shocked but doubly sarcastic tone.


    Rhys sat up, all his pain forgotten. A catboy? Right in front of him? What god had smiled upon him? What a glorious moment, to have lived long enough to see a real live catboy right in front of him. A catgirl would be even better, of course, but he wasn¡¯t going to question the merciful god who had given him this moment. Catgirls and -boys were the epitome of trashy characters. The absolute peak. There wasn¡¯t a catgirl or -boy he wouldn¡¯t defend to the death. Add cat ears to any character, and they got better. It was just a fact.


    Rhys took a deep breath. All at once, he said, ¡°Can you turn back into human form but keep the ears and tail, lift one leg and curl your hands like paws, and say ¡®meow¡¯ please?¡±


    Az lifted his paw and smacked Rhys hard in his broken bones. A dozen rapid cat slaps landed right on his wounds. Rhys screeched in pain and curled up, trying not to outright scream.


    ¡°After I go out of my way to save you,¡± Az complained, retracting his paw. He licked it primly, disapproval all over his face.


    ¡°Sorry. I let my foolish past get the better of me. Thank you for helping me,¡± Rhys said, properly lowering his head.


    ¡°Mmm. I don¡¯t like Cynog much. Anything that lets me make fun of that fool is a plus in my book.¡± Az stretched luxuriously and padded around the corner, back toward his desk. At the corner, he turned back. ¡°You can lie there until you¡¯re healed. You¡¯re free to read, but be quiet, and leave when you¡¯re healthy.¡±


    Rhys saluted. He hadn¡¯t had time to read for fun lately, anyways. Using his good arm, he scooted up to the bookshelf and put his back to it. His shoulder still hurt, and nothing felt perfect, but overall, he could feel Self-Regeneration and Less is More continuing to work on his wounds. By now, one sip of potion could give him not only enhanced momentary healing, but also longterm slow healing over more than a day.


    This whole time, he¡¯d been avoiding looking at his foot. He took a deep breath and forced himself to look at it.


    A stub grew out of his ankle. There was a heel, and a quarter or so of a foot, but definitely not a full foot. Still, there was something. He was healing. Making progress.


    Rhys let out a sigh of relief. Under the influence of the skill, he hadn¡¯t hesitated to sacrifice his foot to save his life. He didn¡¯t regret it. If he hadn¡¯t lost the foot, he was pretty sure Cynog would¡¯ve killed him right there, whether he¡¯d meant to or not. It was only afterward that regret had set in.


    He wasn¡¯t going to complain. He¡¯d done what he had to in order to survive. Not only that, but he was trash, anyways. It wasn¡¯t as if having a foot would make him a martial artist, or losing one would keep him from being a mage. But still, having all his limbs? Regenerating his foot? A huge relief.


    ¡°Why did Cynog react like that?¡± Rhys asked. Even for medival times, it was a bit extreme. Surely he¡¯d noticed that Rhys was just running for the back half¡ªno, for the entirety of ¡®training.¡¯


    ¡°Quiet in the library,¡± Az replied.


    Rhys obediently shut his mouth.


    ¡°In any case, it¡¯s because you challenged his world view. Inadvertently, you told him that he was the source of his own failure, and not only that, but the sect¡¯s failure to ever produce a successful mage.¡±


    Confused, Rhys blinked. He¡¯d expected to have to explain himself, but Az seemed to know exactly what had happened. A second later, he snapped. ¡°That¡¯s right. Cat ears!¡±


    ¡°All mages at my Tier have enhanced hearing, thank you very much,¡± Az replied laconically, drawling out his final words into a yawn.


    ¡°So basically, I denied his entire existence,¡± Rhys summarized.


    ¡°More or less. I thoroughly enjoyed the verbal beatdown you gave him. Most people are afraid to talk back to Cynog, so it was refreshing to hear him finally get the tongue lashing he deserves.¡±


    ¡°Ah, yeah. I figured out why,¡± Rhys replied.


    ¡°You certainly did. How unfortunate. I would have enjoyed listening to you talk down to others much more powerful than you, had you not immediately punished yourself for it.¡±


    Rhys sighed. ¡°No, I probably will keep doing it. I¡¯m¡­ it¡¯s a lifestyle, not a lone mistake.¡±


    ¡°Is that so?¡± Az poked his head around the corner. He was back in human form, and didn¡¯t sport cat ears, to Rhys¡¯ disappointment. He hummed to himself. ¡°I could enjoy that.¡±


    ¡°I probably won¡¯t,¡± Rhys admitted, somewhere between sad and embarrassed. Even so, he had no confidence in his ability to keep his mouth shut. He knew he shouldn¡¯t, but¡ªbut in his heart, a fire burned. A fire full of rage for the mistreatment of trash. If he didn¡¯t speak up for it, who would? He might have gotten beaten half to death, but he knew he¡¯d do the same thing all over again if he had the chance.


    Az rumbled in his throat, a sound not dissimilar to purring. ¡°Excellent.¡±


    He vanished back around the corner at that, and before long, a soft snore sounded from the vicinity of his desk.


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    Rhys took a deep breath and adjusted himself, then settled in to gather mana and wait for Self-Regeneration to heal his wounds. After that battle, if you could call the one-sided beating that, he¡¯d been completely wiped of mana. Slowly, his bones set and his muscles knitted back together. Blood cleared from his bruises, and his gashes closed. At the same time, his core slowly refilled with mana. Both his potions were completely empty. He would have to buy new ones once he got out of here.


    And avoid Cynog with all my might. He had no idea how long Cynog would hold a grudge. For all he knew, the man was already over it, but it was equally possible that Cynog was still completely pissed off and ready to murder. He thought for a moment, then twisted his lips. He¡¯d have to gamble on Cynog not caring. He couldn¡¯t stay locked in the library forever. There wasn¡¯t much trash here, and he couldn¡¯t burn any of it in here. For one thing, fire wasn¡¯t a good idea around books, and for another, he didn¡¯t want to test Az¡¯s reaction to him burning books right in front of him. Even if Az was done with the books, he wasn¡¯t sure Az had absolutely no emotional attachment, especially if he struggled to let people borrow his books because of the damage they might do.


    A few hours in, Rhys remembered he had Az¡¯s novels and pulled one out of the storage ring. He could read and gather mana at the same time. For some people, it might be too much disruption to their meditation, but not for Rhys. Sure, a serious topic or a tough piece of literature might distract him, but trashy novels? He practically entered a state of meditation and-or higher being when he read them, and that was back in his original world. He had plenty of attention span to both read and absorb mana, given how natural reading trash novels came to him.


    As far as trash novels went, these were a bit lacking. They had the vibes of Frankenstein, not the true trash heights of a good webnovel. Still, they were lighter reading than the original science fiction literature, and due to this world being high fantasy to begin with, even the novels that were meant to be boring romances or societal commentaries came off as fantasy novels to Rhys. He read on, enjoying his first fantasy novels since he¡¯d come to this world. After a few moments, he was immersed so deeply in the book that he barely felt pain, and in fact, mana absorption came easier as he gained the ability to simply ignore his hurts.


    Time passed. He finished all the novels and had to return to merely meditating. A part of him wanted to call out to Az and ask for more books, but Az was still snoozing, and he knew better than to interrupt a catnap. The books he¡¯d finished with sat beside him, neatly stacked. He continued to gather mana until his wounds healed. When his foot returned to normal, or at least mostly normal, he finally stood. He didn¡¯t have a shoe anymore, so he took off the other shoe to match and put his remaining shoe in his robes. It was garbage, now, but that was exactly why he was holding on to it. He could always use more garbage.


    Rhys finally approached the exit to the library. He reached the door and extended his mana outside. Closing his eyes, he focused on exploring the area outside with his mana. He sensed students, some of higher Tiers, most of lower, and a lone high-Tier mage wandering outside, but not Cynog. Rhys pushed the door open and peeked outside.


    Still no sign of Cynog. He looked left and right, up and down. No burly martial artists in sight. Just to be absolutely sure, he extended his mana once again, without the door in the way. Scans returned negative.


    ¡°Go outside already. You¡¯re letting all the hot air in,¡± Az complained from his desk.


    ¡°Right, sorry,¡± Rhys said, and hurried outside.


    There was a distinct reek in the air, a familiar one, yet one he hadn¡¯t smelled in a while. He turned, slowly. Trash had piled up everywhere. At his estimate, at least two weeks of trash laid around the central square.


    Damn, I really was out for a while, he realized. Shaking his head at himself, he hopped to, scurrying around the square to collect all the trash. In the span of a few hours, the square, and the areas around it, were once more clear of trash.


    With that done, he returned to the central square. Back in the trash pit, he had plenty of herbs between the scraps in the trash and what he¡¯d held in reserve from when he¡¯d grown herbs. What he lacked, was a cauldron. Strangely enough, no cauldrons had turned up in the trash¡­ or if they had, they were in such horrible states that he couldn¡¯t recognize them as cauldrons anymore. As much as he wanted to immediately get started on growing the Star Ice seed, now that he had more than enough trash, he couldn¡¯t go without a potion. Self-Regeneration was nice, but it was an out-of-battle heal for now. It didn¡¯t work fast enough to matter, when he was getting ripped up by a martial artist. That was when he needed his potions, and his Less is More skill to empower them. Right now, with a martial artist potentially after his ass, he couldn¡¯t be without potions.


    Sure, he could buy potions, but he had the herbs, so he figured he might as well level up Herbalism and Alchemy while he was at it. Cynog wasn¡¯t going to attack him while he was in Sorden¡¯s class. Or rather, if he tried, Rhys was pretty sure Sorden wouldn¡¯t sit back and let him tear up her high quality low-Tier herb supplier.


    As for mana potions, he had the recipe in the book, and by cross-referencing it with the generic potion recipe, he¡¯d figured out what all the instructions meant. He figured he could hack one or two out and figure out the little quibbling things he didn¡¯t understand. After all, worst case, he gave himself some impurities. For Rhys, there were definitely worse fates.


    Rhys slipped into the back of Soren¡¯s class. She was in the middle of teaching some kind of speed-boosting potion, and as interesting as that sounded, he didn¡¯t need that right now. Luckily for him, this seemed to be an advanced class. Only a few students were in attendance, and they clustered toward the front, right around Sorden. Rhys settled quietly in a corner and began heating up his cauldron for a healing potion.


    One of the students at the front of the class whipped around and narrowed his eyes at Rhys. Rhys gave him a friendly wave, then paused. It was the boy from his very first day! The one who¡¯d dumped his cauldron in the trash, and given him such precious resistance training. He nodded and smiled a little, then turned back to his potion.


    The boy turned back forward. Rhys thought that would be the end of it, but instead, he cleared his throat. ¡°Professor Sorden, there¡¯s a student you didn¡¯t invite here. Didn¡¯t you say this class was invite only?¡±


    Back to the class, Professor Sorden hummed. ¡°Did I say that?¡± Still, she lowered her chalk and turned. Her eyes roamed the room, before snapping to Rhys in the corner.


    Rhys waved.


    ¡°Ah. He¡¯s fine.¡± She turned back around and continued to scribble a formula on the blackboard.


    The boy¡¯s jaw dropped. He stared at Sorden, then whirled and stared at Rhys. This time, Rhys ignored him in favor of beginning the brewing process. The boy turned to Sorden again. ¡°Why does he get special treatment?¡±


    At this point, the whole class stared at Rhys. He did his best to ignore them, though he felt their gazes prickling on his skin. He¡¯d just struggled to escape Cynog with his life after saying something stupid, and now, he felt as though he¡¯d done the same, somehow, without saying anything. He raised his hands. ¡°Should I leave¡­?¡±


    Sorden made eye contact with him. ¡°No.¡± She turned to the students. ¡°The cauldrons are a free resource anyone can use at any time. Do you have a problem with a fellow student using my cauldrons?¡±


    Most of the students either turned thoughtful, then shook their heads, or immediately understood the implicit threat, and shook their heads as hard as they could. Only the boy frowned deeper. ¡°He¡¯s not a part of the advanced class. Why is he allowed to stay?¡±


    A chalk stub flashed across the room and struck him in the forehead. The boy¡¯s head snapped back, and he let out a little oof of pain. ¡°He grew the herbs at a high enough purity that I was able to hold this class. Of everyone here, he¡¯s the most qualified to be in attendance, wouldn¡¯t you say?¡±


    The boy startled. He turned, slowly, and looked at Rhys again¡ªat first, in a new light, but then in growing disbelief. ¡°Him? The garbage collector?¡±


    ¡°Him indeed. Perhaps you should consider collecting garbage?¡± Sorden replied lightly.


    Rhys frowned at that. Perhaps he shouldn¡¯t. The garbage belonged to him. He didn¡¯t need anyone competing over it. He wanted everyone to appreciate garbage, but not muscle in on his business.


    The boy looked at Rhys for one more moment, then scoffed and turned back to his potion. Rhys shook his head at the boy¡¯s back and turned to his. Some people couldn¡¯t leave well enough alone. He mentally marked the boy as someone to stay away from, and paid no more attention to Sorden¡¯s class.


    In no time, he¡¯d brewed the potions, and made a few mana potions with the bare minimum of bumps and explosions. Rhys nodded at Sorden and slipped out, rushing back to his trash heap.


    It was time. He had everything ready. Potions in case he got injured. Enough trash to make a small mountain. And the seed itself, just waiting to bloom.


    Let¡¯s get that bread! he cheered to himself, and sped off through the square.

 23. Star Ice Seed

    Pausing in the center of the square, Rhys extended his mana. He searched the air, hunting out any sign of Tarais¡¯ signature. For a long moment, there was nothing, and then the color of her materialized, brushing the very limit of his senses. He chased after it, leaving the square behind. Not far behind the main buildings, he came up to a large, blank, boring-looking white building with evenly spaced windows placed at short intervals over its entire three-story height. Instantly, he recognized it. A hive of villainy. A pillar of filth. A den of utter depravity.


    A dormitory.


    Or at least, it had been that way in his college. It was probably different in a school for mages in the medieval era.


    Yeah, it¡¯s probably worse, he thought, laughing to himself.


    He stood outside for a moment, contemplating how to get her attention. He was used to the building itself; he could count on it for a good couple armloads of trash every few days. But he¡¯d never been inside, and he didn¡¯t know, either, if he should go inside. What if it was a women¡¯s dormitory? He already had Cynog on his case. He didn¡¯t need all the women of Infinite Constellation School out to murder him, too.


    A male student passed by and entered the dormitory, thus ending his moral conundrum. Rhys followed him in. The dorm was a pretty familiar layout to him, with narrow white hallways and doors on either side of each hall. Each room held a single aura¡­ for the most part. He didn¡¯t look too closely at the ones that held two or more. They were probably just wholesome study groups, anyways. Good students, focusing eagerly on practice and study.


    He traced Tarais¡¯ aura through the dorm to a boring door on the third floor. There, he paused, scanning her room briefly. When he sensed Tarais and only Tarais¡¯ aura within, he knocked.


    ¡°Hello?¡± Tarais pushed the door open, only to frown when she saw Rhys. ¡°You¡¯re still alive?¡±


    ¡°Yep! Do you have time to help me grow some herbs?¡±


    She considered for a second, then shrugged and nodded. ¡°Lead the way.¡±


    They quickly crossed the peak and reached Rhys¡¯ cave in no time. The furniture he¡¯d found ripped up in the storage ring was patched with fragments of robes from the trash. Bright segments of fine fabrics gave the furniture a boho look¡­at least in Rhys¡¯ opinion. From the look Tarais shot it, she had a much lower opinion of his efforts. He shook his head. She couldn¡¯t comprehend his modern aesthetic.


    Around the corner, he already had the plots set up. In his few moments of downtime the previous week, he¡¯d set the scraps of herbs from the garbage into the plowed earth. There was still enough compost hanging around that he¡¯d been able to renew the rich soil around the herbs. Rhys checked his stocks of compost, then sighed. It wasn¡¯t low, but it wasn¡¯t high, either. If he had extra mana after growing the Star Ice herb and the other herbs, he might as well have the compost ready to go. ¡°I¡¯m going to separate out the compostable garbage, if you want to wait for a minute.¡±


    She looked at the trash, then looked at his somewhat ragged furniture and sighed. ¡°Did you drag that out of the trash?¡±


    ¡°Huh? No, no. I found it in a storage ring,¡± Rhys replied honestly. The storage ring was in the trash, but she didn¡¯t need to know that.


    Tarais nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll wait for a moment, then.¡±


    Rhys darted across the trash. He¡¯d grown stronger and faster after his battles with Cynog, not to mention more agile from all the dodging he¡¯d been doing. Now, he darted over the trash, picking out bits of herbs and organic trash, pushing over large lumps with ease and fleeing from collapsed spots before they damaged him. Before long, he had the organic trash separated into his compost pile. He gave the pile a stir with a broken-off table leg, then stood back to think. He had the compost ready to go. He had herbs ready to grow. He had the Star Ice herb ready, too. The pot of soil set slightly aside from the rest of his gear, with the seed buried just enough in the earth to take root. The jug of water Sorden had given him sat beside it, ready to go.


    ¡°I¡¯m ready,¡± he called out to Tarais.


    Tarais walked over. ¡°What do you need me to do?¡±


    Rhys pointed. ¡°I need you to stand by the seed with the water. Give it some water at the start, then keep an eye on it and give it water whenever it looks dry. Understood?¡±


    ¡°I understand.¡± Tarais lifted the jug and poured a little on the seed to start, then stood at the ready.


    Rhys took a deep breath. He closed his eyes and took a minute to settle his mana flows and consolidate the mana in his core, then walked over to the trash. Drawing his matches, he once more lit the trash on fire. Mana began to well up from the trash. Rhys sucked it in, pulling it into his core. The mana whirled inside him. For the first few seconds, he could handle it, but then it began to push his limits once more. Just like the first time, though, he was able to use this mana to expand his core. He pulled it all in, filling up his core to its limits, and then some.


    The books he¡¯d read on magehood indicated that a larger core was better; well, to be honest, he¡¯d figured that one out himself. Bigger core, more mana. More mana, bigger spells and more power for longer. It sounded like a good idea all along. The only thing the books had really told him was that a bigger core in Tier 1 would also set him up to be stronger in Tier 2, and, if some of them were right, might even influence his absolute upper limit as a mage. In other words: the bigger, the better.


    Quickly, he reached his absolute limit. His core stretched until it began to tear, and his mana passages swelled, on the verge of bursting. The pain was more bearable this time, but he did have a higher Pain Resist than last time. Still, he didn¡¯t rely on Pain Resist. When his mana organs began to break down, he lifted his hand and pointed his palm at the Star Ice seed, and sent all the mana flowing through his body, into his palm, and into the seed.


    The seed instantly absorbed all the mana he sent its way. It was like dropping a clay ox into the ocean. Rhys acted as a conduit and nothing else, transferring mana from the trash into the seed, only slowing it enough to strip the impurities as he went, and the seed drank all that up and showed no sign of approaching its upper limits. In fact, it didn¡¯t so much as show signs of life.


    Rhys breathed narrowly. His whole body was stiff, every piece of him focused on drawing the impurities into himself and the mana into the seed. Breathing deep hurt his overburdened core. The seed continued to drink down the mana without twitching. It didn¡¯t even show an indication of awakening, but simply swallowed up his mana like a black hole.


    His brows furrowed. He couldn¡¯t keep on like this. At this rate, he¡¯d burn down all the trash and then burn down the impurities, and he still wouldn¡¯t have enough mana to awaken the seed, let alone grow it to its full size. Is it that I¡¯m not giving it enough at once? He tried to up the rate of mana pouring through him, but his body proved the limit. His mana passages were only so big. His core was already overburdened. If he pushed any more mana at once, he¡¯d break.


    I¡¯ll break. He stared at his hand, then clenched it. His eyes shone with new resolve. So what? If he had to break, he¡¯d break! He was trash. If he let himself get held back by his own limitations, he¡¯d never be anything but trash. The only way to break free and become something more, was to push past them. The limit where his mana passages split open? Let them split! The limit where his core began to burst? Let it burst! Pushing himself only as far as was safe, wasn¡¯t pushing his limits at all!


    Rhys pushed the pain to the back of his mind. He shoved all his hesitations back and sucked in mana with abandon. His mana veins tore open. His core cracked. Mana leaked through his whole body, coursing through his muscles and bones. It bit into him like poison, eating into his body. Like acid, it seared through his blood and curled its claws into his organs. Instantly, he felt sick. Every piece of him shuddered, on the absolute limit of breaking down. There was nothing safe about this. He treated his body as a piece of garbage and trampled over it as though it had no value. Without hesitation, he pushed so much mana out of his hand that his fingers burned and a hole opened in his palm. Narrow blue veins twisted through his body, pushing at his skin as mana invaded every blood vessel. His eyes flushed mana-blue, as clear cerulean as the sky above.


    Mana exploded from him and blasted into the seed. It laid there, dark and dormant. He could sense it, still sleeping. Waiting.


    More? Fine! Even though he was already past his limit, and his body falling apart, Rhys pulled at the mana. All that he could draw down from the trash¡ªonly to find out that this was the absolute upper limit of what the trash could give him at once. He was already absorbing all the mana the trash put off.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.


    No!  This wouldn¡¯t be enough. He had to do more. More¡­ but how?


    His eyes widened. He reached out through his body, scrabbling together the last of his consciousness, and focused on the impurities inside himself. They already stuck in his body; now, he guided them to his core even as more poured in. One part of his mind began filtering them into his core as the new mana flew in, while another part pulled the impurities that had already escaped into his core. Once most of them were gathered together, Rhys once again grabbed two of them and crudely rubbed them together.


    Come on!


    The impurities ignited. Black smoke billowed up from Rhys, and even more mana exploded into his overloaded system. The blue veins twisting through him gained a second color, a yet more pure, darker blue, and in his eyes, an inner ring of dark blue formed. He grabbed that mana and poured it, too, into the seed, while at the same time guiding more impurities into the furnace in his core.


    Tarais stood opposite him, watching him with fearful eyes. He was killing himself. Right in front of her, killing himself. But if she stepped forward, or told him to stop, she¡¯d interrupt the tenuous grasp he had on whatever technique he was using. Then he¡¯d die for sure, and in all likelihood, his core would explode and take her out as well. So she stood there silently, grasping the water and waiting, while quietly saying a prayer for him in her heart.


    Rhys gathered up that ultra-pure mana in the wreckage of his core. He guided it in a circle, building up more and more of it until the very flame of his life began to flicker. This wasn¡¯t a limit of pain, or a limit in his head. If he pushed any further, he would die. He knew that as certain as night followed day.


    Now. Narrowing his eyes, Rhys fired the mana at the plant. He released it all at once, in one great blast. This was all or nothing. If this failed, he had nothing. He was truly out of ideas, and he could only tell Sorden that he, too, couldn¡¯t grow it. He watched it fly toward the pot and held his breath, urging the seed to grow with his whole heart. If not now, then when? If not this much mana, then how much?


    Within the soil, Rhys watched with his mana-senses as the seed soaked up his ultra-pure mana. It sat completely still. Still sleeping. Still waiting.


    Rhys clenched his teeth. Even so, he wouldn¡¯t give up. Not until the last flame of trash burned out¡ª


    The seed twitched. It trembled.


    He held his breath. His eyes widened.


    It burst open. A single white root pushed into the moist earth, and a tiny green bud began to unfurl. Almost immediately, it sucked up all the water, then slowed.


    ¡°More water! Now!¡± Rhys shouted.


    Tarais jumped. She lifted the bucket and tipped some water into the earth. The seed began to grow again, and this time, the tiny shoot pushed through the earth. Two round green leaves stretched to the sun. Rhys felt her mana senses brush against his as she joined him in monitoring the seed under the earth, and added water every time the seed¡¯s growth slowed.


    The seed began to wither. The two little leaves drooped, and the roots thinned. Rhys stared, confused. He was giving it so much mana. How was it withering?


    ¡°Too much!¡± Tarais snapped. ¡°Cut down on your mana!¡±


    Rhys flinched back. He pulled back the flow of his mana, rescinding the ultra-pure impurities mana and using that to reinforce his failing body instead. The sprout stopped withering and started growing again. Its slender stalk grew taller, and a third leaf appeared, while below the earth, the roots grew deep and strong.


    Now that Rhys no longer had to overshoot his limits to push mana into the seed, he could focus on healing his body, as well. He drew out a potion and tossed back a big sip, then guided the healing power that unleashed to his core and mana passages. His body was burned and injured, too, but he first needed to treat the source of the damage. Otherwise, his core and passages would keep pouring mana into his body, and he¡¯d be trapped in a loop of damage.


    Deliberate Triage 1


    His core closed up. His mana passages knitted back together. As they reformed, Rhys had enough extra mental processing power to optimize them, just a little. He straightened out the kinks in his mana passages, and widened the veins. Reforged his core larger than it had been, even if just a little, and with stronger, more flexible membranes. The potion had also added more impurities, which he pushed into the bottom of his core to burn with the rest.


    Once his core and mana passages were no longer a problem, he turned his attention to the real problem: the rest of his body. He was riddled with mana, absolutely addled with it. His Pain Resist pushed back the horrifying pain, but he could tell that if he left things as is, he¡¯d be facing long term consequences. At the minimum, a long sickness until the mana naturally left his body.


    But when he thought about it, wasn¡¯t part of the process of strengthening one¡¯s body to push mana into it? To imbue his muscles, bones, and even organs with mana, to empower them permanently? Sure, usually that was a long, slow process, or at least one where a safe amount of mana was pushed into the body, but he wasn¡¯t the kind to treat his body preciously. He had the skill Trash Body for a reason. And now that he¡¯d already made his body trash, why not take advantage of it?


    He monitored the seed for a moment, but it seemed happy with a steady stream of mana and the water Tarais supplied. It grew slowly but steadily. As long as he continued to supply it with pure mana, it would continue to grow. Putting that duty on the backburner, he turned his active attention to his body.


    Trash Body was a passive boost. As far as he could tell, it basically allowed him to trash his body and maintain some semblance of ability over it, even past the limit he should be able to move. When shock, pain, and broken bones should have stopped him from advancing, Trash Body stepped in to push them back and allow him to push just a little further. But there was more to it than just that. He could sense it. He just hadn¡¯t figured out what it was, yet.


    Now, he had a slight suspicion, as he turned his attention to his mana-addled body. He pulled the mana forth and weaved it into his body. Usually, enhancing his body with mana was a difficult process, one that he beat his head against. From the back of his mind, a memory welled up. In his mind¡¯s eye, he sat under a waterfall, shoulders freezing from the pounding water. The air was pure, and overflowed with mana. His legs crossed, cold water pooling around his waist. There were no distractions. Any that remained were washed away by the roar of the waterfall. In that perfect setting, he focused on his legs. With all his might, he pushed mana into them. They grew warmer, but that was it. His muscles refused to hold the mana, or enhance themselves from it.


    He glanced beside him, peeking for just a second. Bast sat there, perfectly serene. A faint blue aura hovered over his skin, undulating slightly with the flow of the water. Even from where he sat, Rhys could sense Bast¡¯s whole body growing steadily stronger.


    ¡°How?¡± he muttered, in disbelief. What was he doing wrong?


    A piece of reed smacked him on the chest. ¡°Focus,¡± Straw demanded, arms crossed and brows furrowed.


    He shut his eyes again obediently and focused once more. Yet, at the end of the session, Bast had advanced by leaps and bounds, while Rhys remained the same old weak him as ever.


    But no longer. Here and now, in the present, torn apart by his own foolish actions, he strengthened his body with ease. His trashed muscles drank up the mana he pushed into them and obeyed his will when he directed them to reform. For the first time, he understood how easy it was for Bast to strengthen himself. It was that easy for him! As long as he trashed his body first, anyways.


    He snorted under his breath. From the beginning, he¡¯d been unable to advance except through the trash. Why would his body be any different?


    His body came back together, bit by bit. The mana cost was immense, but the supply of ultra-pure mana from the impurities was more than enough to handle the remodeling. The parts of his body he didn¡¯t manually reconstruct, he surged mana to Self-Regeneration to force them to heal. That, too, had immense mana cost, but under his current situation, that was no problem at all. Now that he couldn¡¯t feed the impurities¡¯ mana into the seed without overwhelming it, that power had to go somewhere. It might as well go into improving his body.


    At the same time, he kept pouring mana into the plant. The plant grew slowly. The amount of mana he¡¯d poured into it was already more than it had taken to grow all the herbs he¡¯d grown last time, and the seed still had plenty of growth left in it. It had put out two slender, long leaves, and a bud swelled atop its stalk, but it was still far from blooming. Tarais stood beside it, monitoring it alongside Rhys, and fed it water whenever its soils dried. Rhys kept the mana going, but the trash was dwindling. He cut back on reconstructing his body to gather the ultra-pure mana inside him instead, preparing to feed it into the plant later. Ideally, he would have simply stifled the impurities and re-ignited them later, but he didn¡¯t know how to stop the burning once it had begun.


    As the trash burned down, he started pushing the ultra-pure mana in alongside the mana. He had to carefully limit the ultra-pure mana; after the initial surge, too much made the plant wilt. But just enough, and it began to grow at a wild rate. The bud swelled up. The two leaves trembled, growing darker green. The stalk thickened, toughening in order to carry the heavy bud.


    The trash burned out. Rhys could no longer absorb mana from it. All he had were the impurities, and the ultra-pure mana. He fed that carefully into the plant, urging it to push its limits and finally bloom. The bud grew and grew. Traces of color appeared behind the green leaves that engulfed it.


    Come on! Rhys clenched his teeth. The ultra-pure mana ran down. The bud shuddered. One after another, the leaves peeled off, but the bud remained stubbornly furled. The black smoke petered away. The last of the impurities burned out, leaving a few lumps of the harder, darker impurity in the pit of his core. He poured the mana into the flower, willing it to bloom. Just a little more. Just a little more¡ª!


    His mana ran dry. Rhys lowered his hand. He and Tarais both stared at the bud. It sucked in the last of the mana and sat there, trembling slightly. The petals strained outward.


    ¡°Oh?¡± Rhys stepped forward.


    Tarais stared, holding her breath.


    The bud settled in. The trembling stopped, and the petals went still.


    Rhys sighed. He shook his head. ¡°Oh well, maybe that¡¯s close enough. Let¡¯s take it to Sorden.¡±


    Tarais shook her head. ¡°After all your hard work¡­¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m used to failure,¡± Rhys said. He was used to failing, but he couldn¡¯t help but feel a little bad about failing Sorden. She¡¯d trusted him, and he¡¯d let her down. His failure didn¡¯t just impact himself, it impacted Sorden, too. He turned away, running a hand over his hair. Maybe with a mana potion¡­? But would the mana be pure enough?


    Tarais gasped. ¡°Rhys!¡±


    He turned back around.


    The flower unfurled, blooming beautifully in the pot. White petals traced with dark blue spread under the sun. A faint cold wind blew, and Rhys swore he saw ice crystals swirling around the heart of the bloom.


    ¡°Holy shit! We did it!¡± Rhys said, punching the air. He snatched up the pot and ran off. ¡°Before it withers, let¡¯s get it to Sorden!¡±


    Tarais nodded. She set down the water and raced after him, both of them hurrying toward Sorden¡¯s classroom.

 24. Delivering the Flower

    Rhys rushed across the peak, Tarais at his heel. When the students saw him coming, they dismissed him, but they cleared out of the way at the sight of Tarais, a rare Tier 2 student. In such a way, the two of them ran easily across the peak almost entirely unobstructed. Rhys wrapped his arms around the pot, hugging it tight to his chest. He protected the delicate flower with a raised hand, shielding it from the wind that blew around him from running. Coolness brushed against his chest, emanating from the flower¡¯s heart. The mana from the bloom pulsed, nearing a fever pitch. The time to harvest it was now, but he didn¡¯t know how, and didn¡¯t want to risk damaging it.


    Tarais patted his shoulder. She pointed. ¡°She¡¯s in class.¡±


    Rhys nodded. Without hesitation, he beelined for the potions class and threw the door open.


    It slammed against the wall. Once more, the whole advanced class stared at him. The same boy from before lifted a lip, sneering.


    Sorden looked up. ¡°I did invite you to come by anytime, but I hoped you would be more subtle.¡±


    Rhys lowered his protective hands, showing her the bloom. ¡°It blossomed! The Star Ice¡ª¡±


    Before he finished, Sorden stood in front of him. He hadn¡¯t seen her move, so quickly had she flashed from the front of the class to in front of him. She stared, eyes wide, open-mouthed. Her hands hovered around the flower, almost afraid to touch it.


    ¡°Professor?¡± the boy asked.


    ¡°Class dismissed.¡± Sorden dashed back and forth for a second, lost on where to go, then sprinted off. She returned with a set of very specific blades, each one a different width, hardness, and span. Taking the pot delicately from Rhys, she knelt on the floor right in front of him. Holding her breath, she watched the plant closely. The mana beat, pulsing faster and faster. As it reached its top speed, her hand lashed out. A dozen precise cuts filleted the plant where it stood, separating bud, petals, leaves, stalk, even the roots were sectioned up. Another flash of hands, and she quickly, but carefully, stored each individual piece in a separate vial.


    Most of the students quietly filed out the other door at the front of the classroom. Most of them. The boy who¡¯d questioned Rhys this whole time stood at his seat, his arms crossed. He narrowed his eyes at Rhys. ¡°Why is he allowed to recklessly interrupt our classes? If I attempted the same, you would¡ª¡±


    ¡°Bring me a perfect Star Ice Flower, and I¡¯ll let you interrupt any class you want,¡± Sorden interrupted him, distracted. She nodded at Rhys. Lifting the vials, she said, ¡°I need to brew these immediately. Five times your initial reward¡­ it¡¯s not enough, for what you¡¯ve given me. See me tomorrow, and we¡¯ll discuss a more worthy reward.¡±


    The boy¡¯s jaw dropped. ¡°Professor! This blatant favoritism¡ª¡±


    Sorden dashed off, completely dismissing the boy. With the teacher gone, he immediately turned to Rhys instead and marched up to him, pointing directly at his chest. ¡°Why do you get special treatment?¡±


    Rhys smiled. He offered his hand to shake. ¡°Hi, nice to meet you! What¡¯s your name?¡±


    The boy froze. He narrowed his eyes and put his hands behind his back, where Rhys couldn¡¯t possibly touch them. ¡°You can call me Alun.¡±


    ¡°Alun. We got off on the wrong foot, I think. Listen. I know I¡¯m trash. You don¡¯t need to push me down, or anything. I¡¯m quite happy here at the bottom.¡±


    ¡°Why is Sorden letting you act like no one else can, then?¡± Alun demanded, crossing his arms.


    Rhys spread his hands. ¡°Sorden doesn¡¯t care about me. She cares about the herbs I grew. If you grow her some herbs, she¡¯ll treat you the same way! It¡¯s that easy. See? No secret to it at all. I¡¯m just someone who worked in the mud, that¡¯s all.¡±


    Alun scoffed. ¡°As if I could get into her good graces by growing any old herbs. You¡¯re doing something, Inflating your output, so you look better to Sorden. What are you doing? Stealing someone else¡¯s herbs? Reselling another mountain¡¯s herbs at a loss?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m too weak for the first, and too poor for the second. I work hard. That¡¯s all.¡±


    Alun wrinkled his nose. ¡°I¡¯ll figure it out. Whatever you¡¯re doing, whatever dirty nonsense you¡¯re up to, I¡¯ll search it out and lay it all bare before Sorden!¡±


    With that bold declaration, he marched off.


    Rhys watched him go. He sighed. ¡°I¡¯m not the best at making friends, huh.¡±


    ¡°Why¡¯d you say that? You basically told him to be suspicious of your herbs. What if he finds out you can, in fact, grow valuable herbs, and tries to steal them?¡± Tarais pointed out.


    Rhys shrugged. ¡°I had you at my back. You¡¯re a Tier 2. He¡¯s a Tier 1. He isn¡¯t going to fight you. Besides, he knows I have Sorden¡¯s backing. If he¡¯s foolish enough to steal my herbs, he¡¯ll find out that a Professor is quite proficient at identifying how herbs are grown¡­ including the signature signs of my very specific technique. If someone else shows up with herbs that look like mine, she¡¯ll be suspicious. All I need to do is show up and tell her the truth, and it¡¯s curtains for him.¡±


    ¡°What if he outright attacks you instead?¡± Tarais asked.


    ¡°Would you attack someone who showed up to class unannounced with a friend a Tier higher beside them?¡± Rhys asked her rhetorically.


    Tarais snorted. ¡°Fair point.¡±


    ¡°If he does try to attack when you aren¡¯t there, he¡¯ll find out I learned quite well under the Strawman. That, and I¡¯ve got a few new moves I want to try out, courtesy of Cynog.¡± Rhys grinned, cracking his knuckles. He still wasn¡¯t an earth-shaking martial artist, but compared to some random potion-brewer at the same Tier, he was confident he could hold his own.


    ¡°What I don¡¯t understand, is why he¡¯s so broken up about this. Shouldn¡¯t he be happy that his teacher is getting excellent herbs, even if it means class gets canceled a few times?¡± Silently, he added, and plus, isn¡¯t class getting canceled a bonus?, but he kept that to himself. He got the feeling that student-mages in this world didn¡¯t feel the same way about school that years of obligatory public schooling had inflicted upon him.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    ¡°Alun is¡­ well, he¡¯s considered a prodigy in potions. He was Sorden¡¯s favorite student until you came along. He¡¯s probably a bit envious of the attention you¡¯re getting from her, now that she¡¯s paying more attention to you, than him,¡± Tarais explained.


    Rhys nodded slowly. ¡°Jealousy, huh?¡± Nothing he could do about that. He sighed. ¡°Crazy that he¡¯s jealous of the garbage collector.¡±


    Tarais shook her head. ¡°That¡¯s probably part of it. He thinks you¡¯re not worthy of her attention because you¡¯re the garbage collector, who obviously ranks below him. He doesn¡¯t see you as a fellow student who deserves to compete for Sorden¡¯s attention, but instead, a servant who¡¯s daring to reach above his station.¡±


    ¡°But I¡¯m a fellow student who chose to collect the garbage,¡± Rhys pointed out.


    ¡°True, but does he conceive of you that way? The truth doesn¡¯t matter. What matters, is how Alun feels¡­ to Alun, anyways,¡± Tarais added.


    Rhys sighed. ¡°Oh, whatever. Nothing I can do about that. If he comes after me, I¡¯ll shut him down. If he passively hates me forever, that¡¯s his problem.¡± He glanced at Tarais. ¡°Unless he has some kind of formidable backing?¡±


    Tarais shook her head. ¡°Not so much. To an ordinary student, I¡¯d warn that he¡¯s one of Sorden¡¯s favorites, but you¡¯re clearly held in higher favor at the moment. As for his family or anything like that, if anyone here had that kind of backing, well¡­ they wouldn¡¯t be here. At best, a student here might have parents who are bigshots in the mortal world. Most of us are from no-name mortal families, who leaped at the chance to give their child any shot at being a mage, no mind if it was from a school they¡¯d never heard of before.¡±


    Rhys nodded. He could relate. It was like predatory for-profit schools back where he was from. People were so desperate to have a degree that they¡¯d do anything to get one, even pay exorbitant rates for what amounted to worthless paper. If the prize was magic, godhood and immortality, he could only imagine how much harder someone might fight to be a part of that.


    After a second, he tilted his head. There was one part of that which had been bothering him from the start. Until now, he hadn¡¯t had anyone reliable to ask, but Tarais seemed knowledgeable about this kind of thing. He nodded her way. ¡°If this school is so lowly regarded, then why was Schoolmaster Aquari summoned to the same meeting about the Strawman that the Sword Saint was?¡±


    Tarais laughed. ¡°Oh, that¡¯s easy. It was a coincidence. The city where we captured him is technically within the bounds of the Infinite Constellation School¡¯s territory. Though the city itself hasn¡¯t paid tribute to our school in ages, and treats us with disdain, preferring to pretend it has no relation to us at all, it¡¯s still technically within our bounds. That alone gave Schoolmaster Aquari the right to attend that meeting, if she likely didn¡¯t have much right to speak.¡±


    ¡°Ah¡­ no, that explains a lot,¡± Rhys murmured. Such as why she¡¯d picked him up. If he was technically found within her boundaries, but was so weak that not even the quasi-independent city wanted to pick him up, then by the same technicality that gave Aquari the right to be there, she was also honor-bound to take him in. Though, given how stinky her peak was, I imagine she might have ducked that responsibility a bit harder if I hadn¡¯t offered to be her janitor.


    He glanced at Tarais. ¡°I¡¯m surprised you can speak so frankly about your own school.¡±


    Tarais spread her hands. ¡°Schoolmaster Aquari knows all this, and more. She isn¡¯t the kind of tyrant who refuses to face reality, and she doesn¡¯t mind if we vent about it a bit, as long as it¡¯s not to her face¡­ or blaming her.¡±


    Rhys winced instinctively, flashing back to his lecture to Cynog. He¡¯d really been out of hand back there. He had to remember he wasn¡¯t on the internet, waxing eloquent about trash. He was in the real world. If he didn¡¯t give someone face, they very well might cave his in. ¡°Yeah¡­ I get that. But I meant you, personally. Don¡¯t you have any affection for your school?¡±


    ¡°I do, of course I do. But I think it¡¯s foolish to allow sentimentality to cloud one¡¯s vision. It¡¯s best to face reality and do your best to overcome it, than to flee from it and give up.¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°Good, good. So, have you faced the reality that you aren¡¯t trash?¡±


    Tarais opened her mouth, then laughed. ¡°Let¡¯s just say there¡¯s advantages to lying to oneself in the interest of promoting self-growth. Wouldn¡¯t you agree, Rhys?¡±


    Rhys blinked at her, lost. ¡°What¡¯s that supposed to mean?¡±


    ¡°Oh, come on. You don¡¯t actually believe you¡¯re still trash, do you? Everyone knows you¡¯ve been getting one-on-one tutoring with Cynog. You survived actually pissing him off. And just now, when I told you Alun was a potions genius, you told me you would beat his face in without a moment¡¯s hesitation. Is that how trash behaves?¡±


    Rhys shrugged, spreading his hands. ¡°From my perspective, that¡¯s an awful lot of trashy behavior on my part.¡±


    Besides, she just didn¡¯t get it. Trash was a starting point. It was because he was trash, that he was willing to trash his body to advance. If he wasn¡¯t trash, he might treat himself preciously and not trash his body, and instead find another way to advance that didn¡¯t involve mashing himself into garbage. But because he was trash, he lost nothing by becoming even more horrible garbage, and only stood to gain.


    It was Tarais¡¯ turn to blink at him. Her jaw worked, words struggling to emerge, and then she threw her hands up. ¡°I give up.¡±


    ¡°Don¡¯t give up yet. I¡¯m just getting started,¡± Rhys replied on instinct.


    Before he was forced to figure out a way to follow up those words, Sorden returned. She nodded to Rhys. ¡°Apologies. I had to store those stably¡­ and directly transmute a few, before I had breathing space to continue our conversation. Now then, where was I?¡±


    ¡°Something about five bags of gold not being enough to repay me,¡± Rhys replied.


    She nodded. ¡°Right. No, and that¡¯s correct. Five bags of gold is nothing. This herb is¡­ it¡¯s beyond my wildest dreams. The purity, the life force¡­ if only I knew your secrets! No, no. I¡¯ll give you the bags of gold. But beyond that¡­ is there anything you want?¡±


    Rhys considered for a moment. He held up two fingers. ¡°Two things.¡±


    ¡°Speak. Whatever they are, I¡¯ll grant them, as long as they are within my power,¡± Sorden promised.


    ¡°One, individual potions tutoring. I can more-or-less read a recipe and follow it, but there¡¯s some advanced techniques that I don¡¯t get yet. I¡¯d love to dive deep on those and learn from the best.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Naturally. I was planning to ask you to study with me, if you hadn¡¯t asked,¡± Sorden replied, nodding easily.


    ¡°Two. Access to the upper half of the mountain.¡±


    At that, Sorden hesitated. She gritted her teeth. ¡°That¡­ is not my decision alone. It will be difficult, especially given your low Tier. Most students are not permitted to enter the upper peak until they are Tier 3, at least. Might I ask why you want to enter the upper peak?¡±


    ¡°I want to gather the garbage up there,¡± Rhys replied.


    Sorden froze. She stared at him. ¡°What?¡±


    ¡°I want to gather the garbage. There¡¯s so much of it! Piles and mounds! I want to clean it all up and take it back to my garbage dump,¡± Rhys explained.


    ¡°Why?¡±


    He shrugged. ¡°I¡¯m obsessed with trash.¡±


    Sorden stared at him for a moment. Emotions flashed over her face, everything from disgust and despair to shock and confusion. Her jaw dropped, then slowly shut. At last, she laughed aloud. ¡°Obsessed with trash! What a thing to be. Well, well, I¡¯ll see what I can do.¡±


    ¡°Thank you. I understand if you can¡¯t. And I don¡¯t need permanent or unsupervised access! I just want to clean up the trash. Whatever caveats you need to enforce, I¡¯ll likely be able to bear them.¡±


    Sorden nodded. ¡°We¡¯ll see if I can¡¯t get you unfettered access. You have done a great deal for me, after all. If it was my decision alone, I¡¯d let you through right now, but you understand, these things cannot be decided by one lowly Adjunct Professor.¡±


    ¡°Of course, of course,¡± Rhys replied, nodding. He bowed and retreated.


    At the door, Sorden¡¯s voice echoed. ¡°Oh, and Rhys?¡±


    He looked back.


    ¡°I¡¯ll see you in class tomorrow, six o¡¯clock sharp. I¡¯ll have your gold then¡­ and with any luck, an answer on your request.¡±


    Rhys grinned. He saluted and walked off, Tarais following after him yet again.

 25. Potions and the Pit

    Rhys spent the rest of the day in the mustelid class, but whatever enlightenment awaited him beyond that train of thought, he couldn¡¯t grasp it yet, nor could he grasp it before six A.M. the next morning. He rose, a little annoyed at himself. He¡¯d freed himself from Cynog, only to throw himself into Sorden¡¯s class! He should¡¯ve had the foresight to see out this enlightenment, first.


    Ah, well. Sorden liked him. He was pretty sure he could ask her for a few days off to focus on the mustelid class. Not right away, of course. He was eager to start learning advanced potions techniques. But after a week or two, if he still couldn¡¯t break through on the mustelid enlightenment in his free time, he¡¯d ask her for a week off.


    Sorden¡¯s tutoring was a far cry from Cynog¡¯s. There was less getting-beaten-up, and more accidentally scorching or searing himself on superheated caustic materials. His Resistances steadily leveled, but his potion making screeched along at a glacial pace.


    It wasn¡¯t that he couldn¡¯t read the recipes, or that Sorden wasn¡¯t a good teacher. He could, and she was. But at higher levels, the recipes became more vague and left more to the potion-maker to decide, which wasn¡¯t ideal for a beginner like Rhys. Sorden pointed out the best ways to go there, which herbs to pick and which ones to generally avoid unless they were specifically called for, but even then, he still made mistakes. Mistakes which generally ended with him gaining a new scar, until his hands, arms, and face were covered in red burns.


    Higher-level recipes also called for more and stranger techniques. He had to carefully modulate his mana to give it just enough power now, then pull back to the bare minimum the next second. Or keep his mana swaying at the right pace to keep an herb melding with the liquid.


    Now, he hovered over a boiling pot. Blue smoke billowed by, stinging his eyes, but he couldn¡¯t look away. Not now. It was too close.


    With his left hand, he stimulated the blue-white grass to swirl clockwise and fed it mana to empower its properties. With his right hand, he gripped the silver bud powder, clenching down on it to keep it from gaining too much mana. Enhancing with the left, suppressing with the right. All his focus poured into the pot, not an inch to spend elsewhere. Slowly, the two materials melded, forming a new, silver-white liquid.


    The silver reached the edge of the pot. The entire body of potion turned silver. Sorden stepped forward, expression tense. ¡°Now!¡±


    Rhys dropped his hands and slammed the lid on. He went to grab ahold of the herbs again, but it was too late. The silver bud powder eagerly drank in mana, and the blue-white grass ran rampant. Pressure welled up against the lid. His eyes widened. He pushed down on the lid with both hands, locking his feet under the cauldron to keep the whole thing together.


    Sorden flashed away. The cauldron rumbled, and then pressure slammed into the lid. For a split second, Rhys suppressed it, but then he lost his grip on the lid. It flew past his head, narrowly missing his nose. He jerked his head back just in time and only got splashed, rather than getting a face-full of boiling silver liquid. It flew up, then poured back down, threatening to rain all over Rhys.


    Sorden stepped forward. She spun her hand, and all the droplets froze in midair. With a calm gesture, she called the silver liquid down into a separate cauldron. She stood over it, focused. Mana flowed from her palms. The potion spun placidly, no longer over-excited. Sorden put the lid on the cauldron and stepped away, and the potion simply simmered, rather than exploding.


    She sighed, then looked at Rhys. ¡°You almost had it. If you hadn¡¯t lost focus at the last second¡­¡±


    Rhys nodded, embarrassed. ¡°I¡¯m sorry.¡±


    ¡°No, no.¡± But that was all she said. He¡¯d failed too many times for any excuses. Instead, she just stared at him, something between confusion and exhaustion in her eyes. ¡°How are you so good with herbs, and bad with potions?¡±


    Rhys scratched the back of his head. ¡°Er¡­ it¡¯s more like ¡®good with trash¡¯ than ¡®good with herbs,¡¯ actually.¡±


    ¡°Good with trash?¡± Sorden frowned, eyes narrowing.


    ¡°It¡¯s my path. My obsession. I really love trash. Anything trashlike is easy for me to learn, but if it doesn¡¯t have anything to do with trash, I struggle.¡±


    ¡°How is growing herbs¡­¡± Sorden raised her hand. ¡°No. I¡¯d rather not know.¡±


    Rhys nodded. To be honest, he¡¯d rather not tell her, for a variety of reasons. Of course, he wanted to protect his technique, but also, he wasn¡¯t sure she¡¯d have given him his five bags of gold if she knew how her precious Star Ice seed were grown.


    Speaking of¡­ ¡°How did it go? Is there any chance I¡¯ll be able to get to the trash up at the top of the mountain?¡±


    Sorden twisted her lips. ¡°I¡¯m trying, but it¡¯s slow going. I¡¯m only one lowly teacher, after all. I¡¯m barely allowed atop the peak. To ask for permission for a student to climb the peak¡­ I just don¡¯t have enough influence to make that happen on my own.¡±


    Rhys thought for a second. ¡°What if I got more teachers to request it?¡±


    ¡°Maybe¡­ it might help,¡± she said, uncertainly. ¡°But we¡¯re¡­ we have very little influence. I¡¯m not sure any number of teachers from down here could guarantee you access to the peak.¡±


    But from the way she said it, there was a chance. And weren¡¯t the teachers being treated as trash by the lucky few who lived on the peak? If he thought about it, it really was that simple. He just had to gather up all the trash together, and they wouldn¡¯t be able to ignore it. It was like when your garbage bag was half full. Then, it was easy to ignore. But when it was full, then beyond full, when a dozen pizza boxes stacked atop it and trash overflowed onto the floor¡ªthen, even the brattiest of college kids would at least have to admit it was a problem, even if they might not do anything about it.


    That was when Rhys would step in, and offer to take down two problems with one fell swoop! Give him access to the peak, so he could clear the peak¡¯s garbage, and get the lower, trash-tier teachers to stop pestering those powerful, busy mages atop the peak, who had no time for this kind of foolishness.


    Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.


    He nodded to himself. ¡°So if I gather all the tras¡­teachers together, I might be able to get in?¡±


    ¡°I¡­ wouldn¡¯t guarantee it, but it¡¯s probably a better bet,¡± Sorden admitted.


    ¡°Better is better than nothing,¡± Rhys said.


    A foul smell emitted from his pot before he could continue the discussion. He leaned over it, peering inside. Black filth coated the insides of the cauldron, caking it completely. Rhys made a face. ¡°I think I burned this one.¡±


    Sorden stepped up beside him. She sighed. ¡°That¡¯s fine. Use your mana like I taught you, like a blade, and scrape the edges, then give the gunk to me.¡±


    Rhys raised his hand. He focused for a moment, and a shaky scraper-like blade appeared from shimmering blue mana. He lowered his hand over the pot and dragged it over the edges. The black gunk clung to the pot stubbornly, refusing to break free.


    ¡°What do you do with this stuff?¡± he asked, a little curious. All he knew was that she always demanded he give it to her without touching it. It seemed precious to her, so he¡¯d always obliged without asking, but now he couldn¡¯t suppress his curiosity any longer.


    ¡°Oh¡ªit¡¯s dangerous. Highly toxic, full of impurities. I have a special pit where I throw it all, so it won¡¯t contaminate any students,¡± Sorden told him.


    Rhys froze. From one beat to the next, the flickering scraper-blade strengthened. He swooped his hand around the inside of the pot, and all the black gunk snapped free of the pot¡¯s walls to hover over his hand. He lifted it, letting the clumps spin slowly. His eyes shone. ¡°It¡¯s trash?¡±


    ¡°Yes¡­¡± Sorden caught his look, and shook her head. ¡°Dangerous trash. You¡¯d be absolutely riddled with impurities if you touched it. Even if you¡¯re obsessed with trash, it¡¯s too dangerous for you. Hand it over, and I¡¯ll take care of it.¡±


    Rhys retracted his hand, hiding the gunk behind him. He quietly put it into his storage ring for later. ¡°Can I see your trash pit?¡±


    ¡°Why? If someone like you gets too close, you¡¯ll be inflicted with impurities, even without touching it,¡± Sorden warned him.


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. I can handle it. Actually¡ªI can even cleanse that pit of gunk. Please, won¡¯t you let me see it?¡± Rhys all but begged.


    Sorden gave him a look. After a second, she sighed. ¡°Fine. I¡¯ll show you. But you¡¯ll stay back, and don¡¯t touch. I don¡¯t want to injure a student like you.¡±


    ¡°No, no, that¡¯s no trouble! I¡¯m trash. Don¡¯t treat me preciously. It¡¯s fine to injure trash,¡± Rhys insisted.


    She frowned at him. ¡°Even I failed to grow the Star Ice Seed. You can¡¯t¡ª¡±


    ¡°But that was because of trash. Because I treated myself like the trash I am! You¡¯ve seen how skilled I am at potions¡­ or rather, not,¡± he amended, gesturing at the mess around his station. The stone was melted and deformed from potions gone wrong, and the wreckage of at least one cauldron sat nearby, ready for Rhys to drag it back to his heap. There might have been more than one cauldron mashed into the twisted mess of metal; Rhys really wasn¡¯t sure. ¡°It really is the case that I¡¯m only talented when it comes to trash. So please, won¡¯t you show me the trash pit?¡±


    Sorden hesitated for one more moment. ¡°This won¡¯t interfere with your ability to grow herbs?¡±


    ¡°No¡ªin fact, it might enhance that,¡± Rhys assured her.


    ¡°Well¡­ if you say so.¡± She still looked a bit uncertain, but nonetheless, led him out the rear door of the classroom and into the woods.


    Rhys followed her up the hill. Despite his habit of running all over the mountain, especially when he was being chased by Cynog, there were still parts of it he didn¡¯t know well. The mountain was a vast place. There were even secluded residences he hadn¡¯t yet found, as evidenced by the residences¡¯ inhabitants bringing their trash into town every week or two when they wanted him to pick it up. He hadn¡¯t worried himself too much about that idea, telling himself that whatever secluded residences there were, they¡¯d only contribute one house¡¯s worth of trash. It wasn¡¯t worth it to spend an entire day running out to a distant house to pick up one house¡¯s garbage, when he could simply wait and have it delivered to the central square.


    Yet, as Sorden drew out a ladle and gestured for him to mount it, he reflected that the trash must not have started piled up in the town. It must have started somewhere else. Some ancient garbage pit, full of trash. Sure, it would be stale trash, but trash nonetheless. What he was really beating himself over, was that, as Sorden¡¯s trash pit indicated, the truly powerful, dangerous trash would be hidden somewhere far from the students, to prevent accidental access or contamination. In other words, what he¡¯d been dismissing all this time as ¡®a house or two worth of ordinary trash,¡¯ was actually ¡®the most powerful trash on the mountain, hidden out of sight in incredible quantities where it could rot in peace.¡¯


    Rhys shook his head at himself, disappointed from his heart. He needed to broaden his horizons. He couldn¡¯t allow himself to be blinded by the trash right in front of him. People hid their trash! It was human nature! If he was satisfied by such reachable, obvious trash, he¡¯d never find the deeply buried gems of trash piles!


    It was like reading the most surface-level LNs and being satisfied that you¡¯d seen the trashiest novels available. Not so! Ah, it was true, they might be trashy, but they were merely mainstream trash. The weak, diluted trash that everyone could appreciate. How simple, how basic. What he sought wasn¡¯t so shallow. He yearned for the depths. The unplumbed depravity, where the true brainrot resided.


    Or, in this case, the most toxic, most dangerous, most powerful of trash.


    They soared over the forest. The trees flashed past, somehow more magnificent when seen from the sky. Rhys watched them fly by with rapt eyes, far more excited by Sorden¡¯s low flying than he¡¯d been with Aquari¡¯s heights. He was sure Aquari¡¯s flight was more impressive, but, well, he¡¯d been on a plane a thousand times. Sorden flew low and tight over the trees, and the effect was far more akin to riding in a helicopter or swirling through the air as a bird. He laughed aloud, taken with it.


    Sorden glanced back at that and smiled. ¡°Looking forward to flying? Once you¡¯re Tier 2, you can start practicing with flying swords¡ªthe kind that need to be powered with spirit stones. At your Tier, you¡¯ll struggle to keep a spirit stone activated, but at Tier 2, you should be able to do it easily. It¡¯ll be Tier 3 before you¡¯ll be able to forge your own flying sword¡­ or implement of your choice.¡±


    Rhys glanced down. ¡°You chose a ladle?¡±


    She smiled. ¡°I was more attached to it than to any sword. Besides, it felt a bit pretentious to mount a blade to fly, when my skills with the sword are¡­ less than impressive.¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°I get that.¡±


    Sorden looked at him, then laughed. ¡°You can hold your own with Cynog, no? In that case, your sword skills likely outstrip my own.¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s¡­¡± Rhys grimaced a bit. Aside from the sword scrap he kept on him at all times, he usually fought Cynog with whatever he had to hand. Bits of trash, trees, his own hands and fists. When it came to the sword, he had no particular skill¡­ unless it was trash.


    Abruptly, Rhys looked at his hands. Fighting with my hands and feet¡­ Trash Intent¡­ Trash Body. Could he use Trash Intent on himself, now that he¡¯d obtained the skill Trash Body, which clearly labeled his body as Trash?


    His eyes sparked at the idea. He clenched his fists, eager to try it, but quickly suppressed the urge. Not now. Later. After he¡¯d obtained this fresh, powerful trash¡­ then, then for sure. But he¡¯d wait until he had the trash safely within his grasp to try any exciting new experiments. Better a bird in the hand than two in the bush, after all.


    ¡°Here we are,¡± Sorden said. She began to descend.


    Rhys quickly spun on the ladle, taking in the world all around them. He marked the distant town and a tall rock near him, fixing the landmarks in his head. They ducked below the tree canopies in a rustling rush of leaves, and Rhys was forced to close his eyes. An acrid scent assaulted his nose, and he tensed in anticipation. Come on! Here we go, powerful trash pit!

 26. Dont Play in the Ancient Toxic Trash Pit

    They descended through the trees, hurtling down toward the earth below. For a hair-raising moment, Sorden slalomed through branches, dropping so fast Rhys¡¯ stomach lurched only to soar back up again, and then they were down at ground level. Rhys hopped off, glad to be back on solid ground. The flight had been fun for the most part, but those last few seconds had really whipped him around. He¡¯d never been much for roller coasters, and roller coasters without any of the guarantees of modern engineering or extensive testing were absolutely not his thing. He glanced at Sorden and her ladle, then took a deep breath. More of that awaited him, if he rode back with her. At least on the way back, they wouldn¡¯t have to dodge branches as they went for the landing.


    She gestured for him to follow and walked on without looking back. Her ladle jumped into her hand, and she stuck it through her belt. ¡°Just up ahead.¡±


    Rhys jogged after her. He quickly caught up, then had to hold himself back from rushing ahead. Already, he could smell it. The caustic stench. The sting of impurities on the air.


    Sorden stepped forward. She pushed back a thick layer of undergrowth to reveal a hole in the earth. ¡°Careful.¡±


    Rhys drew up to the edge. He caught his breath. His eyes widened, even if that made them water a little bit.


    Dark gunk coated the sides of the pit. The black, crusty, seething grime slumped in the depths, not quite liquid, not quite solid. A powerful aura emanated from it, more powerful than any of the trash piles he¡¯d gathered so far. This trash hadn¡¯t decayed for its time in the pit. If anything, it had only grown more powerful.


    He hovered his hand over the pit, testing the toxicity of the gunk within by calling a little bit of it to himself.


    Almost instantly, his mana circulation slowed, then ran backwards. His hand turned black, and his blood began to ache. The toxicity climbed up his arm, toward his chest. His veins turned black where it coursed through them. It seared his veins, like acid injected directly into his bloodstream. Instinctively, he knew that if it reached his heart, he would die.


    ¡°Rhys!¡± Sorden shouted, shocked. She fumbled in her storage ring, searching for a potion. ¡°This is why I said you shouldn¡¯t get close!¡±


    Quickly, Rhys retreated, no longer calling the gunk to himself. He pushed his mana out of himself, taking the contaminants and the filthy blood with it. His hand spurted with blood, first black, then dark, then safe, healthy red. His mana streamed out of him as well, taking most of the impurities with it. Some of them got past, but those were at an ordinary level. A level Rhys could handle.


    Even so, the density of the impurities in his body after one second of trying to absorb the trash pit, after ejecting them, was nearly as high as when he absorbed an entire pile of ordinary trash. Rhys stared at his hand in awe. One second, and he¡¯d gained that many impurities? And he hadn¡¯t even lit it on fire! How dense was this gunk? How powerful?


    Doubt crept into his mind. Maybe he wasn¡¯t ready for the peak¡¯s trash yet, if he couldn¡¯t absorb this gunk.


    He looked at the pit again. So many impurities. Such a density of them! Impurities were better than ordinary trash, when it came to refining his body and expanding his core. He couldn¡¯t pass by this opportunity. Now wasn¡¯t the time. It would be reckless, no, foolish, no, deadly to try to absorb it all now, when a single pull almost killed him. But he should practice. Expand his ability to absorb trash and impurities, until he could absorb all this gunk.


    His mind went to the gunk in his storage ring. That was still toxic, but less toxic. If he could practice absorbing that, he¡¯d be able to step up to the gunk in the pit.


    Sorden pressed a potion into his hand. ¡°Drink this. It¡¯ll expel some impurities. Quickly, now. There¡¯s little a potion can do once they settle in.¡±


    Rhys looked at her like she was insane. Expel the impurities? He needed those!


    No, wait. I shouldn¡¯t reject this. He smiled and pretended to drink it, quietly palming it into his storage ring instead. He could use this later. If he tried to absorb the hyper-toxic pit goo and overestimated his tolerance, this would be a convenient bail-out. Especially with Less is More, where he could use it multiple times if he really needed to.


    He turned to Sorden and smiled. ¡°Rather than putting the burned potions in the pit, could you send them to me, instead?¡±


    She narrowed her eyes in suspicion. ¡°What are you going to do with them?¡±


    Rhys gave her his most earnest puppy dog eyes, using his current youth to his advantage. ¡°They¡¯ll help me practice and get stronger! Please?¡±


    She stared at him for another moment, then sighed. ¡°If you insist. Consider it part of the favor I owe you, since I couldn¡¯t get you to the peak.¡±


    Rhys nodded happily. ¡°But don¡¯t give up on that second one. I¡¯m going to get up there eventually. I¡¯m going to get as many teachers as I can to back me, until they can¡¯t ignore us.¡±


    Sorden opened her mouth, her brows knitting, then laughed. ¡°Why not? It might work.¡±


    Rhys smiled. He understood without her having to say anything. She and all the other teachers were lower in the hierarchy than those on the peak, so much lower that it didn¡¯t matter if all of them asked for Rhys to enter the higher peak, those on the upper half might still ignore him. But that was fine. He didn¡¯t expect this to be easy. As long as he caught the upper half¡¯s attention by having everyone on the lower half demand he get access, he¡¯d already won. Getting their attention was the first step to obtaining their trash.


    He bowed to Sorden. ¡°Thank you for showing me the pit. You¡¯ve given me a goal to achieve. I promise I will work tirelessly until I am able to overcome the pit.¡±


    ¡°Overcome?¡± Sorden asked.


    Rhys didn¡¯t explain himself. She didn¡¯t need to know. She probably wouldn¡¯t approve if she did.


    She waved her hand. ¡°Whatever you¡¯re doing with this trash, just try not to kill any fellow students? I¡¯d hate to see you expelled.¡±


    ¡°No, of course not! I¡¯m not planning to kill anyone,¡± Rhys assured her. In fact, the opposite. He was getting stronger so people couldn¡¯t kill him. Sure, in a world where there was someone capable of making the Strawman, who in turn had to be suppressed by the most powerful schools around, he had a long way to go before no one could kill him, but he was already making pretty good progress on getting strong enough that absolute trash couldn¡¯t kill him. A little was better than nothing!


    With their visit to the pit done, Sorden drew out her ladle once more. They flew back to the potions class. Sorden headed inside, while Rhys turned to leave, but not before he heard Sorden clear her throat and announce:


    ¡°From today forth, bring your burned potions to me at the end of class. They¡¯ll go to a fellow student¡¯s long-term project.¡±


    Rhys flinched a little. He glanced into the open door behind her, only to find Alun, sitting alert in the front row and gazing straight at him. Their eyes met. Understanding flashed across Alun¡¯s face, and he slowly grinned.


    Rhys grimaced externally, but the second he walked away, he shrugged to himself. Alun was surely going to make his burned potions as toxic as possible now that he knew they were going to Rhys, but wasn¡¯t that in Rhys¡¯ favor? He could start from absorbing the normal-level potion gunk, then absorb Alun¡¯s, and treat that as a baby step toward the seething toxicity of the ancient gunk pit. He wasn¡¯t quite sure how he was going to take the next ninety-eight steps toward the ancient gunk pit¡¯s toxicity, but at least he had the next few steps laid out for him.


    Hmm. The inkling of an idea rattled around in his head, but it didn¡¯t quite take form. Resting his chin on his hand, he wandered toward the mustelid class.


    ¡°Who do we have here?¡± a deep voice rumbled.


    Rhys looked up, half-expecting to see the J Trio from such cheesy lines. Instead, two muscular boys in their late teens loomed over him. One punched his fist into his open palm, while the other put his hands on his hips. They blocked off Rhys¡¯ path and grinned down at him.


    ¡°If it isn¡¯t the guy who insulted our teacher.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s right. The guy who thinks he¡¯s better than all of us, and not only that, but Cynog, too. That guy.¡±


    Rhys¡¯ eyes widened. He nodded slowly, lifting his chin from his hand, and pointed at the boys. ¡°Cynog¡¯s students!¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s right. And we¡¯re here to teach you a lesson,¡± the bigger one said, cracking his knuckles loudly.


    Rhys considered for a second, eyes darting from one to another. They were both roiling with muscle, and reeked of testosterone and a general lack of good hygiene. The one with his hands on his hips had a bit of cruelty in his eyes, hinting at higher intelligence, but the larger one, cracking his knuckles, showed no such spark. He wouldn¡¯t be talking his way out of this one.


    This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it


    His mind flashed back to the forest, where he¡¯d had the idea about Trash Intent and Trash Body. He scanned the boys. Both at Tier 1, the same level as him. The one with his hands on his hips had a more powerful aura, almost at the peak of Tier 1. Mentally, he shrugged. He could take on two Tier 1s, no problem. Seemed like a great chance to test out the skill combo.


    Since he wouldn¡¯t be talking his way out, and since he¡¯d already decided to fight, Rhys threw caution to the wind. He laughed in their faces, putting his hands on his own hips. ¡°You? Teach me a lesson? I¡¯m the one who taught your teacher a lesson. You should be on your knees calling me teacher, not trying to teach me something.¡±


    The bigger one lunged, fists already swinging. Rhys stepped into the blow. He grabbed his wrist, turned his body, and pushed his hip under the bigger boy¡¯s hip, lifting him up and over his body. The boy landed on the ground with a huff, staring at the sky with wide eyes.


    Rhys dusted off his hands. He shook his head. ¡°Typical.¡±


    The other one charged Rhys while the first scrambled to his feet. Unlike the first, the second boy kept his center of gravity low and his fists high. The one self-defense class Rhys had taken back in his first life hadn¡¯t covered that scenario, so instead, he stepped forward and feinted toward the boy¡¯s head.


    The boy lifted his hands to block. Rhys kicked him hard in the shins. The boy huffed in pain and shuffled back on instinct. Rhys didn¡¯t back away, but kept pressing in, kicking the boy¡¯s shins over and over until the boy yanked one of his legs up, only for Rhys to kick the other leg. They continued like that, the boy hopping from foot to foot, until the other, bigger boy caught up with them.


    A punch whistled toward Rhys¡¯ head. He ducked, and the blow hammered the hopping boy in the face instead. The hopping boy reeled, stumbling away. Rhys popped back up and gave the hopping boy a good push at the shoulders, hooking the boy¡¯s ankle at the same time, and the boy hit the ground with a heavy thud.


    Standing, Rhys looked at his hands. Punches hurtled toward him from behind. Used to this kind of assault from Straw and Bast, he ducked left and right on instinct, relying on the sound of the wind from the boy¡¯s punches alone. This whole time, he¡¯d been trying to activate Trash Intent and Trash Body, but nothing happened. It wasn¡¯t that the skill combo wasn¡¯t working; he couldn¡¯t even get the combo started. Trash Body wouldn¡¯t activate. Without a trash target to activate on, naturally, he couldn¡¯t use Trash Intent.


    Come to think of it, I haven¡¯t used Trash Body since I fought Cynog. A second later, he furrowed his brows. No, that wasn¡¯t true. He¡¯d used it when he was growing the Star Ice Seed, when his body was on the verge of crumbling entirely due to the energy flowing through it.


    Wait, is that it? He stilled as he finally connected the two scenarios.


    ¡°Stand¡ªstill!¡± the boy grunted.


    ¡°That¡¯s right. I can only use it when my body¡¯s in dire straits,¡± Rhys realized aloud. He glanced at the boy, then stepped slightly uphill and stopped moving, just like the boy had requested.


    For the first time, the boy¡¯s fist connected. Rhys didn¡¯t activate Blow Mitigation, but took the full power of it. His ribs cracked. Stumbling back, Rhys grunted in pain. He waited, watching the boy.


    Confused, the boy looked at his fist, then at Rhys, then shrugged and charged Rhys with a shout. Blow after blow hammered into Rhys. Aside from shifting slightly so the blows didn¡¯t hit fatal points, he took them all. The whole time, he kept trying to activate Trash Body, only for the skill to stubbornly refuse to activate.


    Rhys gave the boy punching him an annoyed look. ¡°Could you hurry it up? I¡¯m trying to test something.¡±


    The boy roared and hammered into Rhys. This time, he put mana in his punches, and they landed with more weight than everything before put together. Rhys laughed. ¡°More! More!¡±


    Although Rhys paid it no mind, a small crowd had started to gather in the distance. All eyes watched one boy beat up another, while the boy getting beaten up laughed, a horrible grin on his face. More than one watcher shivered, a distinctly uncomfortable sensation flowing over their skin.


    ¡°Is that kid¡­?¡±


    ¡°Smiling?¡±


    ¡°What a pervert¡­¡±


    ¡°Should someone stop them?¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know. He seems to be enjoying it. Maybe we shouldn¡¯t?¡±


    ¡°Never mind, someone stop it. I can¡¯t handle any more of this.¡±


    A heavy blow sent Rhys flying. He struck the ground and rolled back to his feet, only for the pain to fade away. He controlled himself from outside, almost, just detached enough from his body to make rational decisions and move it precisely, despite its beaten state and what should have been extreme pain.


    His eyes shone. It activated! Then¡ªTrash Intent!


    Light flashed over his body as the skill took ahold of him. It gripped his body, reforming all the missing pieces and adjusting the broken bones back into place. His body strengthened back to its original strength, and then beyond it, as the skill pushed him to the ideal form of his current body. He lifted his fists and faced the boy. Another punch flew his way, but so slowly that it was almost comical. Rhys sidestepped easily. He turned to watch it go by, then faced the boy once more.


    ¡°Get fucked.¡±


    His punch flashed in, too fast for the boy to react. It landed on his jaw with a sharp crack. The much larger boy went flying. He hit the ground like a sack of potatoes and bounced a few times. Rhys stood over him, watching to see if he¡¯d get up.


    His eyes showed only whites. Foam dribbled from his mouth. From the instant Rhys¡¯ punch had hit, he¡¯d already been unconscious.


    ¡°Is this him?¡±


    Rhys looked up. The first boy, the one he¡¯d kicked in the shins a lot, ran toward him, leading a yet older, more muscular boy. This one wasn¡¯t properly a boy, but a young man in his early twenties. He had the lithe muscle of a practiced martial artist, and the weathered face of someone who lived rough. Correspondingly, his short robes had no sleeves and were frayed at the hems, and his trousers dirt-stained and threadbare, ripped open at the knees. His hair was a tangled mess, barely held back with a sweat-stained bandana around his forehead.


    Rhys tensed. The young man¡¯s aura was at least Tier 2, and if his instincts were right, it was higher than Tarais¡¯. He was a real threat. He raised his fists, watching the boy approach with wary eyes.


    The young man looked at Rhys and scoffed. Turning to the hopping boy, he shook his head. ¡°That runt is what beat you and Honeg so badly? If I were you, I¡¯d be hiding under the bed and pretending nothing had ever happened, not running to my seniors.¡±


    He had an unusually high tenor voice, Rhys noted, but maybe he looked older than he actually was. Like how some mages looked younger than they were.


    The hopping boy shook his head. ¡°He was bullying us, Ev! You have to show him that Cynog¡¯s students aren¡¯t so easily put down!¡±


    ¡°Haaa, who was bullying who? Your memory is so short, you might as well be a goldfish,¡± Rhys accused the boy.


    Ev snorted. He nodded at Rhys. ¡°Is it true? Were you bullying them?¡±


    ¡°Hardly.¡±


    ¡°He did! He badmouthed Cynog!¡± the goldfish boy insisted.


    ¡°Did you badmouth Cynog?¡± Ev asked.


    ¡°Only for picking such shitty students,¡± Rhys replied.


    Ev laughed aloud at that one. He shook his head. ¡°I mean, you ain¡¯t wrong. But¡­ you know how it is. I can¡¯t have someone out here badmouthing my juniors.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s alright. Come.¡± Rhys gestured for Ev to attack. With Trash Intent and Trash Body active, he really did feel like he was bullying these weak Tier 1s. Ev might be a bit above what his current state could handle, but he was curious to find out just how large the gap was between him and a martial Tier 2, fighting seriously.


    Besides, he hadn¡¯t used all his tricks yet.


    ¡°Oh? That¡¯s bold, kid. You do know I¡¯m a Tier over you?¡±


    Rhys watched him. He waited.


    Ev laughed. He stepped forward. ¡°Got it. Well, you did ask for it.¡±


    Ev¡¯s body blurred. Motion flashed toward Rhys¡¯ temple, and then he was flying through the air, cartwheeling head-over-heels, but sideways. Searing pain bit through his skull. He blinked, struggling to push back the black dots in his vision.


    Before he landed, Ev appeared again. A fist slammed into his stomach. He vomited, tasting blood, and flew backward.


    He couldn¡¯t do it. Couldn¡¯t see Ev, let alone land a blow on him. He¡¯d overestimated himself. No, he¡¯d forgotten¡ªat his core, he was trash. With two techniques synergizing, he could fight people at his own level, but that was all. Fighting over his Tier was a dream, with only this many buffs stacked on him.


    But that was fine. He had more buffs to stack!


    Reaching into his core, he grabbed some impurities and started rubbing them together. Luckily, he¡¯d just refilled, thanks to that ancient toxic trash pit. By now, he was used to friction-igniting impurities. Before he finished flying backwards, the impurities lit with a whoosh. Black smoke billowed from his body as power poured through it.


    Rhys kicked, steadying himself in midair. He slammed his feet down, dragging himself to a halt. Ev instantly flashed in, arm already drawn back to punch, but now, he could see the man move. He blocked Ev¡¯s punch with his forearm and returned one of his own. His knuckles landed smack on the man¡¯s jaw.


    Ev staggered back. He paused, then lifted his hand and touched his jaw, a little surprised. ¡°Wow. I actually felt something.¡±


    ¡°More where that came from,¡± Rhys returned.


    ¡°Oh¡­ I recognize you now. You¡¯re that runt Cynog was tutoring! I can see why Cynog likes you,¡± Ev replied. Grinning madly, he flashed in.


    Fists flew at Rhys from all directions. He desperately blocked, barely fending Ev off. Instantly, he was transported back to sparring with Bast. Ev was just as strong¡ªno, stronger. But now, Rhys could keep his blows from connecting consistently, unlike with Bast, where he¡¯d miss a few and pick up a few bruises for his trouble.


    It wasn¡¯t that Ev was weaker. Instead, with all his buffs active, Rhys was just strong enough, now, to fend him off.


    ¡°Damn, no wonder. You¡¯re strong. But all that mana you¡¯re putting out¡­ you can¡¯t keep that up forever, can you?¡± Ev asked. He hopped back. ¡°If I wait, you lose.¡±


    Then I won¡¯t let you wait. Rhys chased after Ev and punched. Ev stepped back, turning his shoulder. Rhys gave chase, but Ev evenly backed away, hands in his pockets, ducking left and right. He whistled, boredom on his face.


    Rhys bared his teeth. Jumping forward with all his face, he lashed out at Ev¡¯s hips with a high kick, hoping to knock him off balance.


    He saw Ev¡¯s teeth shine white, bared in a predatory grin, a second before Ev caught his leg. He tried to yank it free, but Ev had it in a stranglehold. Ev twisted it slightly, and pain shot up his knee. Rhys froze, focusing only on balancing. Ev could break his leg right now, and there was nothing he could do about it. If the man did that, the fight was over.


    Instead, Ev tugged, gently putting Rhys off-balance. ¡°I can tell you¡¯ve been sparring with Cynog, too. He goes too easy on you newbies.¡±


    He grinned and shoved Rhys¡¯ leg hard, throwing off Rhys¡¯ balance entirely. ¡°But I won¡¯t.¡±


    Rhys staggered, trying to regain his balance, but before he could, Ev was on top of him. He shoved Rhys to the ground and hammered at his face. Rhys blocked with his arms as best he could, and this time, he held nothing back. Blow Mitigation worked as hard as it could, fending off some of Ev¡¯s blows, but there was only so much the skill could do. Before long, his vision darkened. Spots appeared in his vision.


    No. I refuse. Rhys twisted, tearing his robes to break Ev¡¯s hold. His bones creaked a bit, joints screaming, but in his Trash Body-Trash Intent state, that was easy enough to ignore. Face-down, he crawled out from under Ev at top speed, hammering a kick backward at the man¡¯s crotch on the way out.


    Ev took the hit with a bare grunt. Rhys¡¯ foot landed on a lump of fat and bone, not delicate genitalia.


    Ev looked down. Rhys stared up.


    ¡°You¡¯re a¡ª¡±


    A grin split Ev¡¯s face. ¡°Damn straight I am.¡±


    Her fist slammed into his face, and his vision went black.

 27. Help, Help, Ive Been Kidnapped!

    Pain was the first thing Rhys felt. He swayed slightly, a breeze shifting through his hair. Rather than open his eyes, he let himself hang there, his knees wrapped around the wood of a tree and weighed there with some kind of counterweight, reflecting on what had just happened. He¡¯d been fighting some losers and totally dominating them, and then Ev had come around. Taller, more muscular, more powerful, but still only Tier 2, well below Cynog¡¯s strength. She hadn¡¯t tried to kill him, or seriously injure, the way Cynog had, but she had straight knocked him out with a punch. That was some serious power.


    Unlike Cynog, I don¡¯t hold back. Was that it? It sure hadn¡¯t felt like Cynog was holding back. And to be fair, he had been in much worse a state afterward. If anything, he felt as if Cynog, the sadist, had deliberately left him awake to experience as much of the beating as possible, while Ev had simply landed the KO when she felt like it.


    On the other hand, Cynog definitely could have killed him, and had deliberately held back. On the other hand, Rhys had been using his most powerful enhancement techniques, neither of which he¡¯d used against Cynog, and he¡¯d still lost. He¡¯d landed a good hit, and he¡¯d put up a fight, both of which were remarkable achievements for someone a Tier below, but he¡¯d lost.


    No, that¡¯s not quite right. Cynog and Ev¡­ from the beginning, their blows had completely different goals. Cynog hadn¡¯t had to fight him. Rhys might as well have been punching a rock wall, for all the damage the man took from his blows. It wasn¡¯t a fight at all, but a one-sided beating. He¡¯d been free to torture Rhys, and had chosen to do so at his leisure. Ev, on the other hand, had been fighting him seriously. He¡¯d forced a Tier 2 to fight him on even footing, as though he was a Tier 2. He wasn¡¯t, and so he¡¯d lost, but he shouldn¡¯t denigrate his accomplishments. For trash, that was quite an achievement.


    ¡°You can go ahead and open your eyes. You aren¡¯t fooling anyone,¡± a distinctive tenor voice intoned, vaguely amused.


    Rhys opened his eyes. Ev lounged in a tree opposite him, one leg dangling, her head propped on a hand. He gasped in shock. ¡°Ahhh! I¡¯ve been kidnapped!¡±


    ¡°Uh huh. Convincing,¡± she deadpanned. ¡°Come on. Get your ass up, and let¡¯s get started. Forget Cynog¡¯s bullshit and let¡¯s get to training.¡±


    Rhys swung in place, getting a feel for the counterweight on his legs. ¡°I¡¯m stuck.¡±


    ¡°Sure you are. I didn¡¯t tie your arms or take your blade,¡± she replied.


    ¡°Then¡­ why¡¯d you hang me up?¡± Rhys asked, lost.


    She snorted. ¡°Your sleeping face looked too smug. It was annoying me.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Rhys shrugged, not really understanding. He drew his blade from within his robes and activated Trash Intent. Reaching past his hips, he strained his feet down and slashed the rope that bound him to whatever she¡¯d used as a counterweight. His body instantly fell head-first, but only a foot or so before he hooked his ankles on the branch and caught himself. Rhys dangled there another few seconds, reaching back to free the loop of rope from where it had been tied around his ankles, then swung himself around, flipped off the branch, and landed on his feet.


    He looked at Ev. ¡°Why¡¯d you kidnap me?¡±


    ¡°I need a training partner. Cynog¡­ well, it¡¯s like hitting a big sadistic wall, if you get my drift.¡±


    Rhys grimaced. ¡°What a way to describe it.¡±


    ¡°Am I wrong?¡±


    ¡°No, not at all.¡±


    ¡°What I need, is someone about my strength, that I can fight without holding back. You seem to be about that size. And I trust I¡¯m about that size to you, huh?¡± she asked, crossing her arms.


    ¡°If I¡¯m fully buffed, yeah,¡± Rhys replied.


    ¡°Buffed?¡±


    ¡°Er¡­ if I¡¯m using all my techniques,¡± he quickly recovered.


    Ev nodded. ¡°That¡¯s what techniques are for. Alright, it¡¯s settled. From here on out, you¡¯re my training dummy.¡±


    Rhys hesitated, then raised his brows. This actually wasn¡¯t a bad deal. He needed to get stronger. In the absence of Bast, he needed a training partner, too. Plus, like this, he had something to do with all the mana he¡¯d generate from the impurities-burning technique, as he progressed in absorbing stronger and stronger impurities so he could absorb the toxic slime pit. Sure, he could just sit still and strengthen his body, but he¡¯d have a better idea of how to strengthen his body¡ªwhere he needed to reinforce, and what he needed to empower¡ªif he optimized his body based on real battle, as opposed to while just sitting still.


    ¡°Understood. Then¡­ can you give me a moment? One of my techniques requires a, uh, different kind of fuel than mana, and I need to recharge it,¡± Rhys explained.


    She thought for a second, then stepped back, giving him space. ¡°You have a moment.¡±


    Not wasting his time, Rhys immediately drew the impurities he¡¯d rescued from Sorden¡¯s class out of his storage ring. He kicked the bushes and undergrowth aside, then laid the gunk on the ground and lit it. Impurities flowed into his body; not as much as a full load of trash, but more than a third of a usual week¡¯s worth of trash. He grinned to himself. His instincts were right. If he gathered a lot of this gunk, he could quickly scale up his impurity-absorbing tolerance.


    Come to think of it, he usually had one or two potions¡¯ worth of gunk in the trash when he burned it. Right from the start, the majority of the impurities had come from potion-gunk.


    The gunk burned out. Rhys breathed deeply, sucking down the last of the smoke. He stood back, wiping his face. ¡°I don¡¯t have as much as usual, but I can be your sparring companion for a short while, at least.¡±


    ¡°Is that all you need? I thought I could sense at least three techniques active on you,¡± Ev commented.


    Rhys glanced at her. He didn¡¯t intend to deliberately shatter his body again. Honestly, he probably didn¡¯t need to. The way Ev fought, with no holds barred, he¡¯d end up broken whether he wanted to or not. ¡°Those¡­ I¡¯ll activate later.¡±


    ¡°You holding back?¡± she asked, eyes narrowing.


    ¡°Don¡¯t be ridiculous. I don¡¯t want to die.¡±


    ¡°Then there¡¯s some kind of condition on activating it,¡± she concluded.


    Rhys stared at her. He did give it away a little bit, but he hadn¡¯t expected her to jump on it that quickly. She was sharper than he expected.


    She laughed. ¡°What, did you think I was a brainless meathead? Don¡¯t be stupid. Fighting¡¯s all about mind games. One mistake or misunderstanding can overturn an entire battle. Like when you tried to land a dick-shot on me. If I¡¯d had a dick, that might have worked, but I didn¡¯t, and so I had the chance to absolutely hammer you.¡± She paused. ¡°I mean, I could¡¯ve done it anyways, but you get the point. If we were actually perfectly matched, that might¡¯ve given me the advantage I needed to beat you.¡±


    This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.


    Rhys nodded. He looked at Ev again, reappraising her. He had taken her for a meathead, she was right. After dealing with Cynog, he¡¯d kind of written off all the school¡¯s martial artists as meatheads. But Ev¡­ she was clearly thinking ahead. He was playing checkers, and she was playing multi-dimensional chess. ¡°Is that why you dress like a boy?¡±


    ¡°Well, I¡¯m also a lazy ass who doesn¡¯t like showers and taking care of my hair and shit, but yeah. Tactical advantage,¡± she said firmly, nodding.


    Rhys snorted. ¡°You can do that dressed as a girl, too.¡±


    ¡°Eh. No one bothers me if I dress like this and do it. They harass me if I dress like a girl and act messy.¡±


    ¡°Fair enough.¡±


    She raised her fists. ¡°Enough talking. You¡¯re all fueled up, so it¡¯s time to fight.¡±


    ¡°I don¡¯t know how long I can stay in this state, so please don¡¯t kill me,¡± Rhys requested. He still hadn¡¯t tested the limits of his impurity-burning technique. Testing it within the relatively safe limits of a spar was better than discovering its limits in real life-or-death battle.


    ¡°If you can¡¯t last long enough to satisfy me, that¡¯s on you,¡± Ev returned.


    Rhys raised his brows. What the¡ª


    She flashed in. Rhys barely had time to jump back. She pressed the charge rather than fall back, aggressively chasing after him. He ignited his impurities as he landed and barely managed to block. Her fist slammed into his forearms. His arms trembled, almost giving out. Fierce pain rattled through his bones from the weight of her blow.


    Ev laughed. ¡°Oh, caught that one, did you? Good, good. I knew I picked a good training dummy.¡±


    ¡°Sparring partner,¡± Rhys corrected her.


    ¡°Same difference.¡± She threw a punch at him, and Rhys dodged backward. The fist breezed by his face, fast enough to send his loose hairs into a flurry.


    Rhys¡¯ eyes widened. If Ev landed a punch, he wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d have time to enter Trash Body-Trash Intent form. He might just directly die, even with impurities burning. He gulped, then took a deep breath, settling his energy and focusing on the task before him. If he didn¡¯t give this fight his all, he might not survive it. He lifted his fists to match Ev and stood on his toes, watching her every move.


    She grinned. ¡°That¡¯s more like it. Hold in there, partner. You might actually survive.¡±


    With that, the melee began. It wasn¡¯t as one-sided as Cynog¡¯s beating had been. Rhys could dodge most of Ev¡¯s attacks, and the few that landed, he deflected with Blow Mitigation and his usual techniques, leaning away from the blows and turning with the force. He was on the defensive, no question about that, but every so often, Ev made a mistake. Underestimated him and overreached, misstepped, lowered her defenses a little too much. Every time she gave him an opening, Rhys punished her with his heaviest blows.


    They barely seemed to smart. She laughed aloud, eyes blazing with the thrill of the fight. The two of them battled for almost ten minutes before Rhys ran out of impurities. By then, though, he was able to use Trash Body, and so he fought on with the help of Trash Intent. He could tell Ev was holding back some to prevent killing him, now.


    Time ground on. Rhys desperately held her off. His mana guttered, running low. Sweat dripped down his ragged body, stinging in his wounds. She dashed in, hammering a fist at his forehead. Rhys doggedly raised his arms to take her blow.


    Trash Intent flickered, then went dark as his mana petered out. Rhys¡¯ eyes widened. He jumped back, no longer able to take Ev¡¯s hit.


    Her fist froze an inch before his forehead. The wind from the blow struck Rhys, but the hit itself went short. She looked at him.


    ¡°Out of mana?¡±


    Rhys nodded. And impurities, but she didn¡¯t need to know that part.


    ¡°Hmm. That was fun, but it could have lasted longer.¡± She sighed, running a hand through her hair, then looked at him. ¡°How long will it be before you can recharge?¡±


    ¡°Uh¡­ I need to check something, but I could be back as soon as this afternoon,¡± Rhys told her. If he was just recharging his mana and reloading on impurities, he could burn some trash and hop back into it, it would just be a matter of gathering the trash and burning it. For the impurities in particular, it would depend on whether Sorden had dropped off the cauldron gunk or not, but since she had class in the morning, it wouldn¡¯t surprise him if she¡¯d swung by while he was out fighting Ev.


    ¡°This afternoon? Don¡¯t go crazy pushing yourself just to fight me! I¡¯ll be here. How about you come back tomorrow?¡± Ev suggested.


    ¡°No, as long as I have the right conditions, I can come back this afternoon,¡± Rhys insisted. Right now, Ev was ideal training for him. Not only did it give him a chance to really spar, but she also forced him to use his buff moves for as long as possible and gave him something to do with the energy he obtained from burning impurities. She¡¯d also push him to burn more impurities faster and rebuild his body properly. He didn¡¯t want to do anything but train with her, at least until he was significantly closer to being able to absorb the toxic pit.


    She crossed her arms. ¡°If you¡¯re sure.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not sure, but give me a few minutes, and I¡¯ll be sure,¡± Rhys assured her. He quickly sipped his potion to heal the most grievous of his wounds, and turned to run off.


    Rhys paused. He turned back, slowly.


    Ev raised a brow. ¡°Yeah?¡±


    ¡°Er¡­ how do I get home?¡± He¡¯d been kidnapped here while unconscious, and he didn¡¯t recognize this part of the mountain. He legitimately didn¡¯t know how to get back.


    Ev snorted. She pointed. ¡°Dead ahead, ¡®bout half an hour full speed. Can¡¯t miss it.¡±


    Rhys frowned. If that was the case, he should¡¯ve seen this place during his spars with Cynog. But then, who knew? It wasn¡¯t as if he¡¯d walked every inch of the mountain. Maybe this was a part Cynog didn¡¯t like.


    He set off across the mountain, occasionally sipping the potion whenever the previous hit wore off. As he ran, stone walls closed in on either side, until he ran through a narrow crevasse. The land naturally sloped up, until it spat him out through a gap in two rocks barely wide enough to squeeze through.


    Rhys glanced back as he fled. If he hadn¡¯t left through that gap, he would have never seen that gap, let alone imagined that a huge valley gaped beyond it. He mentally marked the entrance so he could come back to it, and ran on.


    Back to the main square. Rhys did the usual loop to pick up all the trash. Outside of Sorden¡¯s class was a pile of particularly noxious waste, sitting in a beat-up old cauldron. Rhys poked at it with a stick, only for the stick to hiss and melt away. He raised his brows. ¡°Damn.¡±


    For all that, it wasn¡¯t nearly as toxic as the pit. It¡¯d be good training, though, and he would only continue to amass more the longer he had this deal with Sorden. He grinned. Excellent.


    Taking the trash and the gunk, Rhys retreated to his usual stomping grounds. He piled the trash up to burn it, then looked at the gunk. It was pretty nasty stuff. Too potent for him to try absorbing it all just yet. He had to adapt. Work up to it.


    He gripped the pot by its handles and sloshed a bit of the thick, molasses-like goo on top of the trash. Even that much felt a bit too much, but he rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the matches. If he never pushed his limits, he¡¯d never be able to absorb yet more toxic goo. This was but the stepping stone to the toxic pit.


    Black smoke welled up from the trash pit. Before he even stepped into it, Rhys could feel the weight of impurities sinking into him through his lungs and skin. He hissed in pain and shook himself out, working himself up. Come on. I can do this. I can do this!


    Rhys stepped into the black smoke and breathed deep.


    Mana flowed into him, but so too did impurities. His body instantly grew heavy. They clumped in his mana passages and slowed the flow of his mana. His organs ached, barely continuing to function. Rhys began to burn the impurities just to keep his body from shutting down, and still they poured in, an unending stream of them. He filled up his core, patched up his body, and energized his muscles and organs, and they still came.


    Luckily, he had a fresh set of compost and a few nice plots of land just waiting for mana. Rhys turned all the organic waste to compost and encouraged two plots of herbs to grow, and that managed to spill off just enough mana that he could absorb all the impurities as the last of the trash burned away. Since it was only one day¡¯s trash, it didn¡¯t burn long. If it hadn¡¯t been for the splash of goo, it wouldn¡¯t have done much for him at all. He still couldn¡¯t kill the burning impurities before they burned off, so the second the fire burned out, he sprinted off, back to Ev.


    She stood just inside the valley, leaning casually against the wall. At the sight of him, she raised her brows. ¡°I saw that black smoke coming¡­ so it really was you.¡±


    Rhys hurtled at her and punched with all his might. She dodged to the side, and his fist hit the wall instead. His knuckles bruised, but now he was sturdy enough that nothing broke. Nothing except the wall. Bits of rock flew away, and a small dent appeared where his fist had landed.


    ¡°Oh? You¡¯re raring and ready to go. Damn. Well then! Come at me, kid.¡± Ev swept a kick at his legs from behind even as she spoke. Rhys hit the ground hard and immediately rolled away from the wall, toward Ev. She¡¯d closed in to leap on him, but now he slammed into her ankles and forced her to hop instead. Rhys used the bare seconds he¡¯d bought himself to climb back to his feet and immediately charge at her back.


    She spun around, grinning wide, and swung to meet him. The two of them clashed once more. Blows echoed through the valley. The trees shook, and dust flew. Neither one held back as they both gave it their all.


    Rhys grinned. He wiped the blood from his face and charged at Ev again. Until he could absorb infinite impurities, until he was stronger than Ev, he would fight! Anything for his precious trash. Anything!

 28. Burning Impurities

    A legend spread among the students of Infinite Constellation School. In a distant part of the mountain, high on the peak, some horrible monster had made its home. It spent all day hammering away at the stone, shaking the trees and rattling the earth itself. Some people claimed it was angry, furious at the school, and that it wanted to burn the whole school down, as evidenced by the black smoke that issued from its den. Others postulated that the beast must be a dragon, and that black smoke no more than the breath pouring out of its nostrils. No matter how hard they searched, no one could find hide nor hair of the beast, and yet, between the horrific din it made and the billowing black smoke, they knew it was real.


    ¡°I saw it!¡± a student claimed. ¡°It was small, but fierce, and moved too quickly to be seen. It shrouded its body in black smoke and reeked like rot and decay!¡±


    Thus the monster took on a definite shape. It was an undead, some kind of ancient, twisted zombie. The thumping was its rage at having been awakened, and the smoke was its curse, so furious as to manifest physically.


    ¡°Someone must have opened its grave and disturbed the formation that kept it asleep.¡±


    ¡°Then what are we supposed to do?¡±


    ¡°We need to make offerings. Appease it. And search for its grave! Set its tombstone back upright, reset the formation.¡±


    The mountain came alive with activity. The students rushed around, setting up a makeshift shrine and searching for whatever grave might have been disturbed. But, for all their effort, the booming only got worse, the dark smoke grew stronger and more ominous, and now, pained grunts and terrible screaming, like a child in pain, joined the symphony of fearful noises issuing from the deep mountains.


    ¡°It¡¯s digging in! It grows stronger by the day.¡±


    ¡°Forget the grave. It¡¯s lost. We need to seal it anew. Set up an undead-sealing formation on that side of the mountain, and hope it takes!¡±


    The students set up red ropes to bind the forest and burned purifying incense to placate the undead. And yet, the thumps only grew louder, and the smoke grew darker. Nothing they did could change a thing. No matter how hard they tried to seal it, it only grew stronger.


    Some students gave up in despair. If they couldn¡¯t stop it, there was no point trying. They¡¯d simply have to wait and pray that it cared not for their lives, and leave its fate up to the more powerful teachers, whenever they chose to take action.


    Others simply tired of it. They shouted back at the monster¡¯s cries and ceaseless thumping, spread fragrant herbs to mask the acrid rot stench it put off, and went on with their lives. The teachers didn¡¯t seem concerned, so why should they be?


    A handful continued to fear the monster. They searched for it, sealed it, feared it. Candles accumulated at the makeshift shrine. Offerings piled up, only to mysteriously vanish every week. They cowered in fear when the hammering booms rolled out, and sang praises when the smoke flowed strong and dark. Slowly, what had been an effort to seal the beast, turned into a kind of worship.


    Unaware of all this, Rhys and Ev continued to battle. After the first few rounds, Rhys started stockpiling the trash in Ev¡¯s valley rather than make the run between his nook and Ev¡¯s valley. He could only take in a little bit of the black goop at first, but steadily, he grew able to absorb more and more of it, as his body grew more tolerant toward impurities and his Impurity Resist skill leveled up. The black goop piled up at first, as Rhys struggled to absorb any of it, but as his tolerance increased, he began to keep up with the rate of accumulation, then surpass it. Eventually, he began fishing out the most toxic parts¡ªprobably contributed by Alun, from the mana that clung to them¡ªand saving them separately, so he could give himself the maximum hit of impurities at once. The first time he did it, when the first wave of the more powerful impurities sunk into him, his mana passages seized and almost stopped entirely.


    Ev immediately stepped in and smacked a dozen points on his body, and his mana passages swelled, letting the impurities flow through. Gasping a breath, Rhys immediately ignited the impurities, clearing them out of his passages as they burned. Even so, the larger, thicker, stickier impurities stuck in his passages, resisting the flow of mana and even his efforts to burn them. His whole body shimmered with heat, mana starting and stopping as the impurities chunked through him.


    She looked at him, her brows furrowed. ¡°I appreciate the effort, but you¡¯re going to kill yourself if you keep this up.¡±


    Rhys raised his hand. He focused internally on the impurities. They were too big for his passages. What Ev had done was only temporary. When his passages narrowed again, he would die. The impurities kept rolling in, just as big as before. He struggled with it, pushing it into his core as fast as he could. It was only a temporary fix. Without the bigger passages, he was ruined.


    I have to do something. But what? He furrowed his brows, thinking, then startled. He looked at the smoke with new eyes. If he just blindly absorbed the smoke, then he had to adapt his body to take whatever it had, no matter how dangerous or toxic it was. That was one strategy, but if he limited himself to one strategy, he would be limited by that one strategy. In other words, the limits of his body would hold him back. Since he had a trash body to start out with, that was a severe limitation. On the other hand, if he had multiple strategies running at once, he wouldn¡¯t be limited by any one chokepoint.


    He extended his mana outside of him. Carefully, he pulled a thin thread from his mana. The first time, it broke off, but he widened it a little and kept going. One thread overlapped over itself a thousand times as he slowly wove it together, forming a fine net. He set the net over his throat, at the point where impurities entered his body, and breathed.


    The impurities sucked in. The smaller ones flowed neatly into his body, while the bigger ones caught on the net. Rhys flared his mana, heating the net. The net seared into the impurities, cutting them into smaller pieces. They rushed past and into his core, where they joined the rest.


    It wasn¡¯t the neatest or most mana efficient technique, but it worked. It kept the impurities small enough to handle, and easy enough to break down. Like this, even before he managed to enlarge and toughen his mana passages enough to handle the larger impurities, he could press on and absorb more dense and dangerous impurities.


    Rhys straightened, strongly drawing in the impurities once more. He turned to Ev. ¡°Let¡¯s continue.¡±


    She shook her head at him. ¡°You¡¯re insane. This is going to be the death of you.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s the death of me if I don¡¯t,¡± Rhys said. If he gave up and didn¡¯t try to progress, his trash stats would leave him at the bottom of the food chain. He¡¯d be chewed up and spat out before he knew what was happening. No matter what, he could never stop climbing. Never stop growing stronger. Even if he had to harm himself in order to get stronger, he couldn¡¯t stop now.


    Their eyes met. After a moment, Ev nodded. ¡°That resolve in your eyes¡­ you really believe in this, don¡¯t you? In this technique.¡±


    Rhys nodded in reply. ¡°I do.¡±


    ¡°This¡­ is your path?¡±


    ¡°Yes.¡±


    She laughed. ¡°Then who am I to tell you to stop? If this is your path, walk it to its end. But first¡­¡± She backed away, gesturing him on.


    This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.


    Rhys charged at her, and they leaped toward one another once again.


    Ev wasn¡¯t one for many words. Their exchanges were mostly fists. Occasionally, backed into a corner, Rhys would draw his sword, but Ev only ever fought barehanded. She didn¡¯t hesitate in the face of a blade. If anything, it made her faster and more brutal. Rhys struggled to keep up with her speed even now, but he¡¯d learned the pattern of her technique. Just following her footwork, he could react to her attack before she launched it. The more she fought, the better he got at reading her. She realized what he was doing, and changed up her footwork, but he kept his eyes on her feet. As long as he could follow the way she shifted her weight and watched her steps, even if he didn¡¯t recognize her specific movement, he could guess what she was about to do next.


    They fought on. Impurities flowed through Rhys. He grew stronger and stronger as he absorbed more impurities, enhancing his body as he went. More of the ultra-impurities gathered in his core, but even with this rate of impurities, the small ultra-impurities remained negligible in size.


    His body, too, adapted to impurities in small, subtle ways as he kept going. His mana passages widened, and the speed at which he pushed mana through his body increased, keeping the impurities flowing even when they were larger. The temperature of his mana grew warmer, which kept the impurities softer. All these small adaptations allowed him to absorb impurities more smoothly and merge their power, once unleashed, into his body with ease.


    At the same time, he gained practice with using Trash Body, Trash Intent, and both at the same time. He streamlined each technique to the point he could activate Trash Body before his body was in complete tatters, and instantly attach Trash Intent to it the moment it was up. He also practiced the two separately, using Trash Intent on his sword stub and Trash Body to hold on when his body should give out. Less is More also grew stronger, as did Blow Mitigation. Of all his skills, Trash Body and Trash Intent grew the slowest. They were also the strongest of his skills, so it made sense that they leveled slowly. The more powerful something was, the harder it was to level it.


    After nearly a month of training, his stats looked far different.


    Rhys Foundling | 14 | Foundation Building (Tier 1)


    Title: Trash-born


    Skills:


    Hunger Resist 14


    Survivalist 27


    Pain Resist 39


    Scavenging 28


    Less is More 36


    Sewing 8


    Blow Mitigation 25


    Self-Regeneration 19


    Mana Manipulation 10


    Poison Resist 12


    Improvised Weapon Proficiency 7


    Heat Resist 7


    Acid Resist 8


    Impurity Resist 13


    Trash Intent 4


    Alchemy 2


    Herbalism 4


    Speed Reading 4


    Enlightenment 1


    Trash Body 3


    He looked over his stats and nodded, pleased. It was worth it to see hard work pay off, even if checking his stats was just seeing a number go up, and using them to feel the change in their power far more meaningful. Number go up was nice. There was something satisfying about it. Something concrete. It spoke to his heart in a way that he couldn¡¯t fully express in words. The beauty of it. The simplicity.


    ¡°Dazin¡¯ off over there?¡± Ev asked, walking over.


    It was a rare peaceful moment. Rhys needed to heal before he could fight again, so they were resting. Rhys had been reading one of the books Az had leant him yet again, while Ev had been off practicing punches or whatever it was she did for fun. She usually walked away to handle her own business during downtime, and he didn¡¯t press the situation.


    It was rare that she acknowledged his existence during that time, but now, she was talking to him? A rare mood, for Ev.


    Rhys looked up, dusting off his robes. ¡°Just checking my stats.¡±


    ¡°Stats, ha.¡± She spat.


    ¡°You don¡¯t like the System?¡±


    Ev shook her head. ¡°Doesn¡¯t mean much to a fist fighter. ¡®Fist Proficiency¡¯ is whatever. It can be as high as you like, but it doesn¡¯t mean you know how to counter a throw or turn a blade.¡±


    ¡°Aren¡¯t those their own skills?¡±


    ¡°Mmm. Sure. Still don¡¯t like ¡®em. Putting too much faith in a number makes my skin crawl. Saw someone with Knife Proficiency in the fifties get oneshot by an arrow. Even had a skill to intercept arrows, and everything. But he wasn¡¯t paying attention. Didn¡¯t keep his guard up, and all those skills meant nothing. He bled out like everyone else. And everyone always says, ¡®oh, but he could train Bleed Resist and¡ª¡¯¡± She rolled her eyes. ¡°Sure, he could. But unless you¡¯re a mage, you don¡¯t have the time to sit there and slowly grind bullshit defensive skills. Skills aren¡¯t everything.¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°I get what you¡¯re saying. It¡¯s like how you could have a high Sword Proficiency, but if you never fight spearmen, you¡¯ll never know how to counter them, and they¡¯ll still have an advantage over you regardless of the number in Sword Proficiency.¡±


    He¡¯d already experienced that, himself. He had points in Improvised Weapon Proficiency, but when facing the absolute wall that was Cynog, he¡¯d been reduced to hit and runs in hopes he could do a little damage. Without real world experience, skills were¡­ well, what they looked like. Just a number.


    ¡°Yeah. Not a lot of people get it. They just think big number equals power.¡± Ev cracked her knuckles. An evil grin crept over her face. ¡°And then I beat their faces in.¡±


    Rhys smiled, but internally, he was just a little bit scared.


    ¡°It¡¯s like you. You can fight me, even though your Tier says you can¡¯t. Well¡ªto be honest, that¡¯s far rarer than some idiot with a big number in one skill who doesn¡¯t know how to use their skill, but¡­¡± she shrugged. ¡°Point is, don¡¯t worry too much about numbers. Even if yours is small and theirs is big, it¡¯s all about how you use it.¡±


    ¡°Are you doing that deliberately?¡± Rhys asked. This wasn¡¯t the first time she¡¯d said something that might have been an inuendo, or might have just been innocent misphrasing. By his count, she¡¯d done it at least three times, if not more. At this point, though, he had to know. There was just too much coincidence.


    ¡°Doing what deliberately?¡± Ev asked.


    Rhys opened his mouth, then shut it. He eyed Ev, who watched him with a dangerous glint in her eyes. If it¡¯s not deliberate, I¡¯m not going to bring it up. If she takes it the wrong way, and this ends up as a Cynog situation, I¡¯ve got a lot farther to run to get back to the library.


    ¡°Nothing,¡± he said, wisely.


    ¡°That¡¯s what I thought,¡± she said, grinning. She gestured him on. ¡°You¡¯re healed up, right? Back to it.¡±


    Rhys raised his hand. He checked his stock of gunk. It was almost out¡­but even then, it no longer did much for him. Ordinary gunk barely bothered him anymore. Even the more toxic stuff that Alun created just wasn¡¯t cutting it. He¡¯d tried separating out Alun¡¯s toxic goo and just absorbing that, and it had worked for a few days, but now, it did little for him. The impurities still gave him power, but they barely did anything to strengthen his body. He needed more. Something more toxic, so he could actually work toward absorbing the pit. Right now, he still wasn¡¯t getting any closer.


    He had ideas, he just couldn¡¯t act on them here, far from his base camp. He needed equipment and knowledge back at his home, or in the main square. The settings were too austere for him here.


    He looked up at Ev. ¡°Actually, there¡¯s something I want to try. Could you give me a few days?¡±


    Ev pouted playfully, then waved her hand. ¡°Sure. I¡¯ll just sit here and practice my forms, I guess. Wait for my durable training dummy to reappear.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ll be back,¡± Rhys promised, and stood. He jogged out of the crevasse and stopped.


    He¡¯d noticed a few bits and bobs being added to the woods. Some strange red ropes, tied in specific knots. Odd wicker structures, often vaguely humanoid, which turned into burned piles not long after. Even a strange shrine cobbled together out of scrap wood, stained with black smoke from the herbs they burned in it. But this was¡­ over the top.


    Paper streamers hung from the trees, black as the night. It looked like someone had TP¡¯d a tree after a college football game gone sideways, but black, and vaguely ominous. Small black figures hung from the trees, all of them distorted and only humanoid if he squinted, paired with bundles of fragrant herbs. The trees were riddled with red ropes, knotted in strange and exquisite knots.


    Rhys frowned. What happened? Had some evil being escaped, that needed to be appeased and sealed? Was it some kind of festival to celebrate one of this world¡¯s gods? He leaned in close to the humanoid figure, getting a better look at it, but couldn¡¯t make heads nor tails of its intent. Rhys lifted a hand to touch it, then flinched back. What if it was some kind of cursed doll? He, of all people, should know they existed. He¡¯d been trained by one of the most powerful cursed dolls of all, after all.


    Shaking his head at the strange decorations, Rhys headed back into the town. At the square, he hesitated, thinking. He wanted to brew the leftovers into a toxic potion, concentrating and hopefully increasing the toxicity of the gunk at the same time. Sorden would have the potions knowledge necessary, but just the idea of explaining himself to her gave him a headache. Plus, she¡¯d already hinted that he shouldn¡¯t tell her too much about how he had grown so strong, so quickly. Asking her something like that might give away too much about his techniques, and turn him from a student to a target. Not that he¡¯d let that hold him back, if it was something truly essential, but for something he had another route to achieving, he didn¡¯t know that he wanted to give that away to her so easily.


    Which left his other option. And honestly? It was probably the better of the two. Nodding to himself, Rhys set off.

 29. Book Exchange

    Having eliminated Sorden as a good starting point, Rhys headed toward the library, his second idea. It was a good place to start. It wasn¡¯t like Az would leave the library and tell anyone that he¡¯d asked about potions, and Az had shown no inclination toward aggression toward Rhys, even if Rhys told him his techniques; Az was just too lazy to bother. Asking Az for potion books in the library wouldn¡¯t keep him from being able to visit Sorden later, and besides, he could use the books to figure out what he specifically needed to ask Sorden, and that way avoid giving away too many hints as to what he was doing, but still get the knowledge he needed.


    Braziers full of smoldering fragrant herbs hung from the buildings in town. Others simply hung bundles of herbs over their hearth. Rhys raised his brows. Wonder what that¡¯s all about? It reminded him of the strange decorations in the woods, somehow, but much less extreme. He sniffed. There was a slightly strange smell on the air, but it wasn¡¯t that bad.


    Then again, I do live in a garbage pit. He was used to bad smells. Maybe it was worse than he could tell, because he¡¯d gone nose-blind to bad smells. Shrugging, he headed to the library.


    The library was still the same as ever. No herbs hung over its mantle. He stepped into the cool, quiet interior. The smell of old books and slowly decaying leather reigned supreme, as usual. The entire space hung in dusty silence, save for the quiet echoing tap of his shoes.


    He turned the corner to Az¡¯s desk, only to find it empty. Books still piled over the desk, and the chair stood ajar behind it, as if its occupant had only just stood up. Rhys frowned and looked around. ¡°Az?¡±


    Soft paws landed on his shoulder. A light weight settled onto him. In a scathing tone, Az murmured, ¡°I see you¡¯ve returned. Did you read the novels I so kindly leant you this time?¡±


    ¡°I did! I did, this time. Do you want your books back? I took good care of them.¡±


    ¡°I do.¡± Az hopped off Rhys¡¯ shoulder and padded a few steps away, then transformed back to human. He held out his hand.


    Rhys pulled the books out of his storage ring and passed them over. ¡°I really enjoyed the one about the coward who¡¯s determined to play dead to survive.¡±


    ¡°Oh? There¡¯s eight books in that series. I can give you the sequels,¡± Az replied. He stacked the books under one arm and headed out toward the shelves.


    ¡°Wait, wait. Do you have any books about potionmaking?¡±


    Az gave him a deadpan stare. He lifted his head, taking in the thousands of books all around them, then slowly lowered his eyes back to Rhys.


    Rhys cleared his throat. ¡°Low-level potionmaking books about concentrating potions to make them stronger. I¡¯m interested in general-purpose concentration techniques. You know, like boiling a soup down, but for potions.¡±


    He assumed it was more complicated than just boiling the potion down. In any case, with something as toxic as what he was working with, he wanted to make sure he concentrated it according to best practices. If there was an equivalent of a fume hood or some other protective measure while cooking down something toxic, he should probably use it. After all, he didn¡¯t know how toxic he¡¯d be able to cook it to be. He might be able to cook it up more toxic than he could handle, even by burning impurities. There were still upper limits of toxicity he couldn¡¯t yet absorb. If the cooking process unleased more than he could handle, or if he concentrated it harder than he could bear, then he could always water down the potion afterward, but he¡¯d need something to handle the toxicity while he was cooking.


    Az considered for a second, then nodded. ¡°I¡¯ll bring you a few books that touch on the subject. And the novels?¡±


    ¡°Oh, yes please. A few more would be good, as well,¡± Rhys said.


    Az was about to leave, but then turned back. ¡°Do you know Alun?¡±


    ¡°Hmm? Oh, yes. I do.¡±


    ¡°He¡¯s been in here looking for tomes on making the most vile potions possible, the ones that have the most disgusting waste products. Muttering something about ¡®that stupid garbage collector¡¯ while he¡¯s at it.¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°I¡¯m very grateful for his efforts.¡±


    Az stared at him, then chuckled, just once. ¡°I¡¯m glad you have it under control. I¡¯ve been working on Alun for quite some time, and I would¡¯ve regretted having to give up on my efforts if he happened to pick an argument with a student I far prefer.¡±


    Rhys blinked. He looked at Az. ¡°What do you mean, ¡®working on Alun?¡¯ Working on him how?¡±


    ¡°There¡¯s a tome in here that contains the secrets to the Illuminating Fist technique. I¡¯ve been trying to influence Alun to learn it for a long time.¡±


    ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Because then it would be the Alunminating Fist,¡± Az said simply, as if it were obvious.


    Rhys¡¯ jaw dropped. He stared at Az for a moment, then laughed. ¡°You really like wordplay, don¡¯t you?¡±


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Az snorted. ¡°How sad it would be, to live in a library and not enjoy playing with words.¡± He turned away for the final time, striding off into the books. His black-and-white robes fluttered behind him, long sleeves dangling around his elbows while the narrow under-robes clung tight to his wrists.


    Rhys watched him go, then shook his head. He couldn¡¯t counter Az. Everything the cat had said made sense. He chuckled to himself and leaned against Az¡¯s desk to wait.


    Az returned a short time later, carrying the books. He handed a stack of heavy leatherbound tomes to Rhys. ¡°These are the potion books that have information on potion concentration.¡±


    Rhys accepted them and stored them in his storage ring. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    ¡°And these¡­¡± Az lifted a second, larger set of books. Although the stack was larger, the books were smaller, with cheap, thin pages and paper bindings. Thin pages meant more words could be packed into a smaller space, so even though the books were smaller, Rhys knew they were no less full of knowledge and wisdom¡­ or even better, trashy plots, dangling subplots, and crazy characters who barely made sense. With a much more serious expression, he handed them to Rhys. ¡°These are the novels.¡±


    Rhys accepted them with all due respect. ¡°Thank you, sir.¡±


    Az nodded. ¡°In the future, I hope I can discuss them with you.¡±


    ¡°I would certainly hope so,¡± Rhys replied.


    He missed his days on the forums, ranting and raving about all his favorite trashy novels. Since he¡¯d gotten here, not only was there no time, but there was also no one to discuss them with. Bast wasn¡¯t much for reading. He was definitely a man of action, not of nice, slow thinking. Tarais seemed too serious, and he didn¡¯t think Ev was interested in sitting still long enough to read. Until Az, he hadn¡¯t had anyone who shared his hobby, let alone so thoroughly, and who also wanted to discuss the books afterward. He smiled to himself, already excited. Becoming a mage, growing more powerful, and gaining powers beyond his wildest dreams were all nice, but they were a career. A job. Reading was his hobby, and it was one he hadn¡¯t been able to indulge lately. Now he could, and it felt so good.


    Az plopped down in his chair and put his feet up on his desk. He yawned and gave Rhys a meaningful look.


    Right. Rhys nodded and hurried out before Az got really annoyed. After a quick loop to gather trash and pick up Sorden¡¯s leavings, he headed back to his home base for the first time in a while and settled in under the stone nook on his repaired furniture to read the tomes. The novels were burning a hole in his pocket, but he knew he had to focus. Now wasn¡¯t the time to give in. Besides, he¡¯d have plenty of time to read them while he was recovering from Ev¡¯s beatings.


    He sped through the tomes, skimming the bits that weren¡¯t about concentrating potions. At last, he set the book down and took a deep breath, thinking. For the most part, concentrating potions went about how he¡¯d expected. Using better ingredients, then boiling them for longer. The main issue was that the longer a potion boiled, the more concentrated it became, the harder it was to maintain its properties. Some potions were downright dangerous to try to concentrate; they¡¯d directly turn into poison, or destroy themselves and become worthless goo instead. Others required specific reagents to keep them from corrupting under the additional brewing time and extra heat. There was nothing about ventilation or fume hoods, except for the occasional note that potion concentration was best done outside, with a weather eye kept for explosions and the brewer crouched, ready to hoof it if one came knocking.


    Rhys closed the last tome and put it into his storage ring, then stood. He usually lugged the old, beat-up cauldron back to Sorden¡¯s place so she could refill it, but right now, the beat-up cauldron was hanging out in Ev¡¯s valley, so he had a slightly less beat up one full of gunk today. It seemed to be in good enough shape to handle a little bit of concentration, at least to his untrained eye. He didn¡¯t have any reagents, but then again, he was concentrating waste. He didn¡¯t need to be precious about it. It was trash. If things went poorly, he¡¯d throw it out, wait for more trash to accumulate, and try again.


    He bent and lit a fire under the pot. He still had to use matches like a mortal, but he had enough money now that he didn¡¯t have to worry about running out. He had enough matches piled up in a corner of his storage ring to light the entire state of California on fire.


    Once the fire started, he began feeding it mana. The fire grew hotter and hotter. The bottom of the pot began to glow red, and slowly, the thick liquid began to boil. Rhys watched it closely, treating it like a pot of soup. When the liquid got too low, and the gunk began to solidify and threaten to burn, he added some water and stirred. His stirring sticks kept dissolving into the gunk, but luckily, he had plenty of trash around to use as sticks. After the first few melted down, he started using Trash Intent on the rest of them, and that helped them survive the gunk a little longer.


    There was no recipe to follow. Shockingly, no one had ever tried to cook the noxious remains from potions gone wrong into a yet more noxious potion before. With no other option, Rhys played it by ear, closely watching the pot and letting the potion tell him what it needed. He¡¯d harvested the herbs from his second round of growing them out and sold the best of them to Sorden, but he still had the trashy leftovers that hadn¡¯t made the cut hanging around in his storage ring. He was pretty used to their properties from using them to make his usual potions, and when the nasty concoction before him needed a little bit of any of those herbs to keep from congealing, he quickly added them. He wasn¡¯t too worried about the extra herbs altering the shape of the potion. It wasn¡¯t like he was trying to keep a delicate potion balanced, after all. He was just trying to keep a vile concoction from exploding in his face. The potion boiled and spat, shaking the cauldron with the force of its boiling. It didn¡¯t like being heated, and it made sure Rhys knew it.


    Slowly, the cauldron-full of gunk cooked down. The metal creaked as the potion kicked around inside its belly, but it held. The liquid boiled away, and the gunk grew smaller and smaller, but more potent at the same time, and more vicious, too. The cauldron shook, rattling aloud. Rhys struggled to stand over or too close to the cauldron, or else heavy impurities would clog his mana passages. He gathered the impurities into himself, but at a slower rate than sticking his head in the smoke would do, instead absorbing it as it slowly dissipated in the space around him.


    Down, down, down. The cauldron trembled. It rattled, hopping where it stood. Rhys drew out a vial. He tensed, one hand hovering over the mouth of the cauldron, preparing to call it up. Not yet. There was still too much. Just a little more. The cauldron shuddered and groaned. Its whole body glowed red-hot. The single handful of liquid gleamed viciously in its heart, giving off such pressure and volatile gas that the cauldron¡¯s walls bent outward. With a ping, a band of metal snapped off the cauldron¡¯s belly and shot across the valley. Rhys shied away, but refused to run. It was almost there. So close! Just a little more, one second more¡­!


    BANG!

 30. Explosion

    BANG!


    The cauldron exploded. Red-hot metal shards hurtled through the air. Rhys threw himself backward, covering his head with his hands as he hit the floor. The shockwave hit him and pushed him further, and he slammed into the rock below. Hot metal seared into his back and sizzled through his sides. He gritted his teeth and hissed rather than scream in pain.


    But there was no time to wait. On the floor, he activated Trash Body and whipped around to face the remnants of the cauldron. The potion still hung in the air, though it rapidly plummeted. He thrust his hand out and called the potion to him. The black sludge twitched in the air, then flew toward him.


    Shit. Vial, vial¡­ The one he¡¯d been holding was lost to him, tossed out of his hand by the shockwave. The dangerous goo flew his direction with nothing to protect him from its imminent impact, seething with thick impurities. Rhys scrabbled in his robes and pulled out a vial just as the sludge reached him. He called it into the vial and quickly capped it.


    Exhausted, bleeding from a dozen cuts, Rhys examined his prize. The goo slurped slowly in the vial, thick and disgusting. He could sense its potency from the far side of the glass. It was truly horrifying how vile it was. A single drop of the potion was worth an entire cauldron of ordinary goop. Somehow, he¡¯d strengthened the potion while hew as concentrating it¡ªnot that he was complaining. He grinned, then grimaced as the pain finally caught up to him. Reaching over his back, he slowly pulled the chunks of metal out of his body. He put the filth potion away and drew out an ordinary potion. A quick sip, and he began to heal. He kept pulling metal shards out as his body did its best to shove them out on its own.


    Now he had his filth potion so he could keep training impurities, and he could keep fighting with Ev to strengthen his martial prowess, as well. He waited while he healed, occasionally taking sips of the potion to speed things along. Slowly, the pain faded. Rhys climbed to his feet and dusted off his robes. A part of him wanted to rush right off to Ev, but he held back. First, he needed to make sure he could handle the potion. It would really suck if he got there, only to find out the potion overwhelmed him, and then get beaten up by Ev while he was struggling to not die to the potion at the same time.


    He pulled out the sludge. Staring at the vial, he hesitated. Was it just him, or had the glass decayed a little from the inside out? The inner layer of the vial looked a little corroded, the surface cracked¡ªonly at the hairline level, but enough to be worried, nonetheless. Rhys tipped his head, then shrugged. It wasn¡¯t like it would make the potion less toxic.


    ¡°Time for some plasticsmaxing. Or glassmaxing, I guess,¡± he muttered, and took a tiny sip of the potion.


    The potion burned. His whole mouth felt like it was on fire. He tasted acid, then electricity, then nothing at all as his mouth went completely numb. There was only pain and numbness, the two fighting one another for dominance. He quickly swallowed. It burned all the way down and roiled in his stomach, eating away at him from the inside out.


    My body might not be able to handle this, he thought, and then the impurities slammed into him, and there was no more time for thinking.


    The filth poured through him. Usually, he breathed it in, and could filter it on the way in, misusing his lungs and throat, perhaps, but nonetheless, filtering it. This time, he¡¯d stuck it directly in his stomach. There was no leaning out of the impurity-smoke to gain a little breath of fresh air. He was in it to win it. He absorbed these, or he died, and there was no other option.


    The pain reached an apex, then tapered off. Rhys took a breath. I can handle¡ª


    Less is More activated, and the pain redoubled once more, more than twice as powerful as before.


    Rhys¡¯ body contorted against his will. He curled around his stomach, his limbs twisting unnaturally. Gasping, he managed a grunt of pain before all the air huffed out of him. Every inch of him burned, ached, went stiff, became overcome with pins and needles. Reaching his mana into his stomach, he stirred the potion, manually searching for the large clumps of impurities, only to find out he had the opposite problem.


    The impurities were tiny, but intense. He¡¯d truly cooked them down. Now, they were slivers, splinters, tiny needles that pierced through everything they touched. His stomach, his organs, his muscles, his bones, his mana passages, the needle-like tiny impurities pierced through them all. They were as dense as they were small, heavier than they had any right to be. He couldn¡¯t control them. They slipped through his mana, too heavy and slippery to get a hold of. In a few moments, there was no part of his body that wasn¡¯t riddled with the things.


    Rhys continued to stiffen. His mana flow slowed, and his vision darkened. In his chest, his heart thumped, slowing with every passing moment. Death pressed close.


    Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.


    Fuck it! Rhys grabbed two of the impurities. Without caring that he wasn¡¯t anywhere near his core, he rubbed them together. The slender slivers grew warm, but stubbornly refused to ignite.


    Rhys narrowed his eyes. His heart beat slower. His vision had narrowed to a pinprick. He rubbed the impurities faster, putting all his strength into it. At the same time, he poured mana into the both of them, like blowing on a spark.


    Everything faded. He could no longer see. His heartbeat throbbed in his ears, each thwub too far from the next. He felt nothing. His body no longer responded to him, nor could he sense anything through it. There was nothing but him and the two impurities.


    Fzzt.


    Light flashed. Once. Twice. A steady flame took. The impurities began to burn. It quickly spread across his entire body, as the other impurities came alight in a flash of chain reactions. Rhys¡¯ heart sped back up to normal. His vision returned, and so did feeling in his body. He stood upright and roared. Power flowed through him. More thoroughly than ever before, it flowed through his whole body. Just as there wasn¡¯t a piece of him that hadn¡¯t been pierced by the impurities, now, there wasn¡¯t a single piece of him that wasn¡¯t inundated with strength. His whole body thrummed, improving by leaps and bounds simply from absorbing the energy from the burned impurities.


    Everywhere the impurities had invaded grew stronger. His bones. His muscles. His organs and his mana structures. The power from the burning impurities reforged all of them, completely strengthening every aspect of his body. More of the super-impurities gathered in his core, but his core grew larger and wider, so that the additional super-impurities were negligible. All of them amounted to a tiny portion of his core. In this state, scoured by the impurities and their flames, Rhys could feel something emanating from them. A power¡­ or maybe not? Potential, he realized. He sensed potential from them. Potency. Something he couldn¡¯t yet unleash, waiting for him to get strong enough to handle it.


    Let¡¯s survive this first, he decided. He straightened back up as the impurities transformed his body and took a small sip of his healing potion, letting it fix up the injuries the impurities had done to his body and organs before he¡¯d ignited them. Rhys sat down, crossing his legs and entering a meditative state to wait out the transformation. The impurities still did harm. They ravaged him, but what they broke, they rebuilt stronger. He was still able to refill his core, but this wasn¡¯t like ordinary impurity burning. Until he got used to this higher level of condensed, Less-is-More-boosted impurities, he¡¯d have to burn them, then fight, and treat the fight as the cooldown period between absorbing impurities.


    He could sense that he had an immense amount of power from the impurities, but right now, he had to devote all that power internally, to heal the damage the impurities did either by guiding the potion he drank or by flaring Self-Regeneration. The mana he gained from them was, as usual, almost overwhelming; it was just that he needed that much mana to support his body and keep it from collapsing entirely. He battled against death, even as the impurities refined every iota of him.


    At last, the impurities burned down. Rhys sat there for a little while longer, healing himself to full, then stood. It was time to get back to battling. Sure, he couldn¡¯t burn these impurities and fight now, but that was all the more reason he needed to figure out how. These impurities gave more power than the lower-level ones. If he got to the point that he didn¡¯t utterly destroy himself with these impurities, he¡¯d unlock a fierce power in battle that would give him a serious boost when he needed it most.


    Unbeknownst to Rhys, the devotees of the strange god were aghast. The pillar of smoke came from a different part of the peak? And not only that, but it was darker, thicker, and more powerful than the first? Had a challenger come to upset their god¡¯s reign?


    Even those who took it as some sort of spirit or beast were taken aback. There were two of them, now? Wasn¡¯t one enough?


    Only a few saw the pillar of black smoke and thought to themselves, wait, now that I think about it, isn¡¯t that where it came from to begin with?


    Rhys rushed back to Ev¡¯s usual valley, only to find it vacated, and Ev nowhere to be found. He frowned and looked around, confused. A piece of paper stabbed to the tree with a pocketknife caught his eye, and he wandered over.


    Got a problem to deal with for my brothers. Be back by end of the week.


    Rhys twisted his lips, then shrugged. He couldn¡¯t count on Ev forever. She was her own person. If she had something else to do, then he¡¯d have to find something else to do.


    Like what? He considered for a moment. He could practice forms, run laps, spar against some trees or dummies¡ª


    No, hold on! Rhys shook his head. He hadn¡¯t set out to be the ultimate martial artist! From the start, he¡¯d recognized that it wasn¡¯t a path available to him, and to this day, he still acknowledged that. He could hold his own against Ev because of all the buffs he had on him, but that was all. Without the buffs, he¡¯d struggle to fight someone at his own strength. No, from the start, he¡¯d set out to become a mage. The problem was that spell skills were few and far between, precious things that weren¡¯t just given out to anyone. Even Az wouldn¡¯t hand him one¡­ though that probably had more to do with Az struggling to come up with a technique that played on his name, rather than simply being unwilling to give him one.


    He wracked his brain, pinching his chin in deep thought. How to get a spell¡­ how to get a spell¡­ The teachers were worthless. They were so basic-level that even the advanced classes were worthless. So where¡ª


    Rhys straightened up. He snapped his fingers. That¡¯s right! The class on mustelids! It wasn¡¯t the class itself, but rather, something about it¡­ if he sat there and pursued enlightenment, he felt as though he could surely acquire a spell.


    It was a long shot, but it was his only shot. Besides, he was curious about the Enlightenment skill. How far could it take him? What did it give him? The only way to find out, was to keep practicing.


    He¡¯d meant to go back and pursue enlightenment in that class for a long time, now. Now that he had some free time, he might as well see it to the end.


    Drawing a brush out of his robes, he replied, Find me in town, and with that, he set off in pursuit of enlightenment.

 31. See It To The End

    Rhys slipped into the back of the class. It had been a while since he¡¯d sat in on it, but it remained the same as ever. The man ranted away about mustelids to an empty room, with no visible acknowledgement of Rhys¡¯ arrival. Rhys settled in to his seat and evened his breathing, letting his mind wander. Thoughts flowed in and out as he sat there, listening idly to the lecture. Today, the man was covering the details of the mustelid sleeping patterns, comparing that of ferrets and weasels.


    Time passed. Days flowed by, marked only by the passage of sunlight across the floor. The man ranted on, and Rhys sat there, listening. Quietly, he smoothed the flow of his mana, peeling out the last scraps of impurities and storing them in his core with the rest. The same sense of potential flowed from these, telling him they were the second-level super impurities, rather than the base impurities he was currently able to process.


    When he was done with that, there was nothing to do but listen. And so Rhys cleared his mind, and focused all his energy on the lecture. The man ranted on foraging and hunting habits, now, clarifying the differences between martens and stoats.


    Foraging. Hunting. Rhys submerged himself in his subconscious. A vision of an enormous trash pile appeared before him. It stretched to infinity, so far that he couldn¡¯t see its end.


    No. He turned slowly, taking it in. It wasn¡¯t an infinite trash pile. This was his hometown trash pit, it was just that he was small. Not just small, but tiny. He sniffed, and a blast of aromas met a more sensitive nose than Rhys had ever possessed in real life. It didn¡¯t smell bad, though. It smelled delicious. His dinner was right around the corner. He scurried over the trash.


    Scurried? a tiny part of Rhys wondered, but the rest of him pushed it down. This was him. This was his life. He lived in this mountain of trash, and loved every scrap of it.


    A chitter caught his ear. He perked up. A friend approached, nose wiggling, black button eyes wide, fur sleek and healthy. The two of them greeted one another with a few sniffs, and then the friend scurried off. Rhys followed. The friend led him to a fresh patch of garbage, one that smelled delicious. Fresh food, still steaming hot, thick with sweet and salty scents. Rhys touched noses to thank the friend before he set upon the pile of tossed food, gobbling it down.


    The friend joined him, and another friend, and another friend joined them. Soon dozens of friends all chowed on the delicious food together. When he was full, Rhys scurried off, back to his den. He snuggled up there and slept, curled up in a cozy den of trash.


    His days came and went. He darted from shadow to shadow in the sun, and ran freely in the darkness of night. Sometimes he found food, and sometimes it was the others who found food first. They shared and gloried in the scraps, reveled in the garbage. He dragged soft scraps back to his den, along with fascinating tiny objects. As the years passed, he found a mate, and they made more friends, all in the cozy confines of his den. Life was simple, but it was good.


    Until that night.


    A sharp, acrid scent. His heart trembled instinctively. He chittered, warning anyone else not to come close, then went silent. Ears swept back. Eyes wide, watching.


    From out of the dark stepped a shadow. It loomed tall, as ominous as it was large. Spotlight eyes beamed from above a vicious maw, so full of hunger and vicious hatred that he froze where he stood. The beast stepped forward. One step. Two.


    A little cry. One of his friends, a coward, burst out of the trash and ran. His heart pounded. He kneaded the earth with his claws. No!


    The beast¡¯s eyes flashed. It pounced. His friend let out a terrible squeal, and the scent of blood filled the air.


    He turned and ran, making use of his friend¡¯s sacrifice to flee. All the way back to his den, where he burrowed in the deepest depths and cowered. That thing could not be overcome. It was far too powerful.


    From that day on, his happy life turned to one of terror. The beast haunted their every step, terrorized their every thought. It lurked around corners and crouched atop cliffs, pouncing from all angles, attacking every chance it got. He fled, and fled, and fled, hiding in nooks and crannies, fleeing into dark corners and narrow squeezes where the beast couldn¡¯t fit. He resigned himself to his new life. What else could he do? The beast was too powerful. Even if he fought back, his claws couldn¡¯t even cut through its thick fur, nor could his teeth find blood. Better to flee and protect his little life.


    The sun was high. The shadows, sharp. He dodged from empty vase to pile of wood, dashing across the open spaces. Once-familiar spaces smelled strange, full of the beast¡¯s horrid stench. If not for the scent of food, he would have never left his den. But he was starving. His mouth watered.


    A pile of scraps laid ahead, glistening in the sun. Friends surrounded it, already devouring the tasty food. He glanced around, searching the sky for any sign of the beast, then darted forward, closing in on today¡¯s meal.


    A flash of orange and white. The beast hurtled down from the heavens. All the friends fled, and he turned to flee as well, only for a sharp row of teeth to clamp down on the back of his neck. He flew into the air, hurtling over the garbage heap. The beast chased after him, golden eyes glowing.


    Did you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator.


    Landing with a thump, he turned and ran. The beast gave chase, amused more than worried. Every time he dashed for a hidey-hole, those teeth caught the back of his neck and threw him once more. He was naught but a plaything for the beast, a tiny ball of fur and bones to toss as it pleased.


    Once more, it threw him. He landed amongst the trash again, but this time, he had nowhere to run. His back was up against a wall. His heart thumped in his chest. Adrenaline pounded through his tiny body. As the beast crept up on him, head low, each paw placed silently, a strange resolve came over him.


    He was going to die, but he¡¯d take as much of the beast with him as he did. Maybe his mate and pups would live if he did.


    The beast lunged, and so did he. Hopping with all the strength in his body, he bit the beast¡¯s nose. Startled, it jerked its head back. He landed, then jumped again, clawing, biting, and hissing like a thing possessed. The beast batted him with its paw, and he whipped around and bit the paw. It yowled. A heavy punch sent him flying. He struck the wall with a thunk, but the second he landed on his paws again, he leaped at the beast again.


    The beast hissed back. It lunged. White fangs flashed as it snapped at him. He didn¡¯t retreat, but threw himself at it. Pain lashed over his body as the beast bit down, but he refused to stop. Latching onto its fur, he clawed at its face, scratching his way upward, stretching with every inch of his length. His claws found the beast¡¯s eye, and he pierced it open.


    The beast shrieked in pain. It bit down again, once more, powerfully, and his body finally gave out. He went limp. As his vision went dark, he watched the beast back away, its eye leaking down its face. He¡¯d done it. He¡¯d blinded it. Even if he had to trade his life, he¡¯d bought a chance at survival for those he¡¯d left behind.


    Rhys didn¡¯t awaken immediately. The dream had ended, but he remained lost in enlightenment. The images from the dream looped over and over, replaying in his head. His quiet life. His desperate last stand. A rat. A being that lived in garbage and was treated as trash, a pest to be killed by pet cats and anything else that cared to kill it. Worthless. And yet, he¡¯d lived a full life. He¡¯d had a mate, and children, and a soft little den. His life had worth. No one else might agree, but it had value to him.


    The last moments of his rat life flashed before his eyes. The desperate struggle. Backed up against the wall, nowhere to go, he¡¯d chosen to fight. Fight an overwhelmingly powerful foe, one he knew he¡¯d lose against, but fight with his all nonetheless. That fight replayed over and over, and two things took form in his head. The desperation with which he¡¯d fought, putting his all into it, everything he had¡ªfighting without holding anything back, because he was dead one way or another, and it was better to take his foe down with him than die without accomplishing anything. Fighting with neither honor nor humanity, but instead, mindless savagery.


    Even A Cornered Rat Fights Back.


    The second was the image of the rat. His life as a rat, burned into his mind. Not only that, but the protectiveness he¡¯d felt, attacking so that his friends might last a little longer.


    Rhys opened his eyes. He lifted his hand. His mana surged, flowing out in that image that still lingered in his mind¡¯s eye. A rat materialized, formed from silvery mana. It leaped out from his hand and circled around his ankles, rearing up to hiss ferociously at his enemies. It circled defensively around him a few more times, then faded.


    Enlightenment 1 > 2


    Gained Enlightenment: Cornered Rat


    Rhys chuckled, looking at his hand. He¡¯d gained his first spell! A defensive spell, but a spell was a spell. How interesting, too, that he¡¯d gained two opposing skills, both from the same enlightenment. One, the offensive aspect of a cornered rat, and the second, the defensive aspect. Fighting ruthlessly himself, or summoning a cornered rat to protect him. This Enlightenment thing might be the key to growing as a mage.


    The sound of applause broke him out of his thoughts. Rhys looked up, startled. At the front of the classroom, the mage in tattered clothes clapped. Tears streamed down his cheeks.


    Taken aback, Rhys stood. ¡°Sorry¡­ did I do something wrong?¡±


    ¡°Not at all! Not at all. I¡¯ve been waiting for this day for so long. The day someone finally gained enlightenment from my speech. I knew I was right. All this time, I knew this was the right track. And now, my young friend, you¡¯ve proven me right!¡± Crossing to Rhys¡¯ side, the old man patted him heartily on the back.


    Rhys smiled, a little lost. Huh? ¡°I might not have gained the right enlightenment, though.¡±


    ¡°Ah, well, it¡¯s fine. To the uninitiated, rattus and mustelid creatures can seem similar. Besides¡­¡± The old man looked him up and down. ¡°Am I wrong in sensing a hint of a path in your actions?¡±


    ¡°No, not at all,¡± Rhys replied.


    The old man grinned. ¡°I knew it. Then in that case, I¡¯m honored to have provided enlightenment to one such as yourself. To know your path at such a young age is a gift few share.¡±


    Rhys smiled and rubbed the back of his neck. I wonder if he¡¯d say that if he knew what my path was¡­


    ¡°You¡¯ve granted my long-held wish. Is there anything I can do for you?¡± the old man asked.


    Rhys cleared his throat. ¡°Well, actually¡­ would you mind putting me forward for access to the upper peak? There¡¯s something related to my path up there that I can already sense would allow me to improve greatly, but I¡¯m not allowed to access the upper peak yet.¡±


    The old man nodded. ¡°Absolutely, my friend. Someone as talented to yourself should be an easy pick! Why, if they don¡¯t want someone as skilled as yourself in the upper peak, then I don¡¯t know where the school¡¯s gone wrong!¡±


    Rhys smiled, but he didn¡¯t share the man¡¯s optimism. Compared to Sorden, this man certainly seemed to have a much more tenuous grasp on reality. Besides, how long had he locked himself away in this classroom, lecturing no one? If everything worked out, and all it took was this man¡¯s recommendation, then he wouldn¡¯t complain. But he¡¯d be startled if it did work out that easily.


    Nonetheless, he nodded. It was all part of his plan, after all. If one teacher¡¯s recommendation wasn¡¯t enough, what about two? If two wasn¡¯t enough, what about all of them? He wouldn¡¯t stop until he had access to the upper peak¡¯s rich, rich trash piles. ¡°Thank you. I would be very grateful if you did.¡±


    ¡°Of course! It¡¯s a simple enough task. Ah, how wonderful, how wonderful. Hmm, I wonder what I should lecture about next?¡± The man walked away, mumbling under his breath to himself, Rhys forgotten.


    Rhys watched him go, even less confident than before. Will he even remember to recommend me?


    He shook his head. It didn¡¯t matter. Two teachers probably wasn¡¯t enough. Once he had more, he¡¯d come back and remind this old man. Until then, it wasn¡¯t too problematic, even if he was forgotten.


    Rhys walked away, heading back out into the sunshine for the first time in weeks. A new spell and a new fighting technique¡­ it was time to go test his new skills on Ev!

 32. Carrying On

    Outside, Rhys stretched, relishing the sunlight on his face. After so long in the musty classroom, the scent of fresh air was like ambrosia to him. He yawned and stretched some more, then turned to face Ev¡¯s nook. From here, he couldn¡¯t tell if she¡¯d returned or not, but he figured he might as well stop by.


    Meow.


    Rhys startled. His whole body tensed, and he leaped back. A long-haired white cat walked by. It looked up at him in mild confusion, then kept walking.


    He sighed and rubbed his face. He¡¯d spent too long as a rat, to react that way to cats. It had only been a week or two in real time, but in his dream, it had been years. Almost an entire rat lifetime. To the rat him, it might as well have been an eternity. I¡¯d better get over this before I see Az again.


    He jogged off toward Ev¡¯s usual training nook. At the entrance, he sensed her aura, but also two other figures¡¯ auras. Rhys narrowed his eyes. He slowed his speed and pulled his mana in, moving quietly toward the gap. Sliding inside, he drew to a halt at the far end of the entry crawl. He peered out, silently searching through the trees for Ev and the other two.


    The familiar field spread before him. Trees scattered around, the bark hammered off their surfaces. Well-beaten earth marked the spots where he and Ev most often sparred. He saw nothing.


    No, the signal¡¯s a bit¡­ higher? He looked up.


    At the top of the crevasse¡¯s steep wall, Ev faced two muscular men. Her back was to the cliff¡¯s edge. The two brutes loomed over her, both of them almost as muscular as Cynog. So muscular that they seemed to be bulging with it. They were both Tier 2, but low Tier 2. Lower than Ev, for certain¡­ but low enough that she could handle two at once?


    Rhys wrinkled his nose. He ran toward the cliff and hopped up it, pushing off narrow nooks in the stone and pulling himself up on small juts. As he climbed, he heard the men talking.


    ¡°¡­took in that kid who disrespected your master?¡±


    Ev scoffed. ¡°Who, Cynog? He¡¯s no master.¡±


    ¡°You disrespect him, too? The one who took you in and taught you everything you know?¡±


    ¡°Ha! There¡¯s a joke. That old sadist can kiss my ass. He never taught me anything but how to take a punch.¡±


    ¡°You dare?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. So? You¡¯re the pussies who need to outnumber me to be brave enough to fight me. I turn that back to you, assholes. You dare?¡±


    Rhys scrambled to the top of the hill. He looked at Ev. ¡°Everything okay?¡±


    ¡°Huh? Oh, there you are.¡± Ev nodded at him. She turned back to the bigger men. ¡°Ready to piss yourselves now, now I¡¯ve got a fair fight?¡±


    One of the men sneered. ¡°Called for backup, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Nah.¡±


    The men waited, expecting more explanation, but Ev offered none. She waggled her brows instead and punched her hand into her fist. ¡°We fighting? Or are you guys scared to fight when you don¡¯t have the numbers advantage?¡±


    One of the men growled and lunged at Ev. She sidestepped, holding out her foot. The man stumbled, lurching out-of-control toward the edge of the cliff. He flailed, reaching toward Ev and Rhys with his wide arms.


    Rhys hopped to the side. Ev twisted again. The man¡¯s grabs went short, and he fell over the edge and bounced down into the depths.


    The other man looked from Rhys to Ev and backed away. He turned to run.


    ¡°Nope.¡± Ev grabbed him by the back of the collar and the belt, and pulled, yanking him onto her shoulder. Turning, she tossed him into the pit with the other man.


    ¡°Damn. I guess you had it handled,¡± Rhys said. He rubbed the back of his neck, feeling a little stupid. Here he was, rushing over to


    ¡°Eh. Could¡¯ve gone bad if they¡¯d both attacked at the same time. I appreciate the distraction,¡± Ev replied. She dusted off her hands, then nodded at Rhys. ¡°You feel stronger. Learn something?¡±


    ¡°Yeah, actually. A new technique. I¡ª¡±


    His world pivoted. Two strong, calloused hands gripped his collar and belt, and before he knew what was happening, he found himself flying over the edge of the cliff.


    ¡°Neat. Show me,¡± Ev said, watching him from the cliff above.


    Oh, gods damn it, Rhys thought. He wasn¡¯t really surprised, just annoyed at himself for not seeing this coming. He pivoted in midair, shifting his weight to adjust his trajectory. He didn¡¯t have perfect control, but he had enough to slam into the back of one of the men as the man was trying to rise.


    With a muted grunt, the man hit the ground again. Rhys rolled to the side and jumped to his feet. The second man lunged. A wall of muscle closed in on him. For a moment, he was back in the square, ¡®fighting¡¯ Cynog again. In the next, he snapped out of it, but it was too late. The blow was already en route.


    Rhys didn¡¯t have time to dodge. All he could do was throw his hand out and call forth his mana. A silvery rat materialized. It lunged to meet the man. The man¡¯s blow landed on Rhys¡¯s chest. Rhys fell backward, bones creaking. Blood welled up, and he coughed up red. Even as Rhys took the hit, the rat darted out and slammed its teeth down on the man¡¯s ankle.


    ¡°Ow!¡± the man exclaimed, hopping backward. The rat clung on, persistently digging its jaws in deeper. The man shook his leg, then stomped down on the mana construct and forcibly yanked his other foot out of its grasp. The rat de-materialized, but that was all the time Rhys had needed. He climbed back to his feet, his stance a little shaky. Trash Body held him together, and Trash Intent gave him the power to fight, but he couldn¡¯t activate his new technique. Not yet. It wasn¡¯t just damage. There was something else. Another condition he hadn¡¯t triggered yet.


    The second man climbed to his feet. Both men closed in on Rhys. Rhys backed away, only for the second man to blur. In an instant, he closed in on Rhys, blocking off his escape.


    Cornered.


    Rhys¡¯ eyes blazed. Mana surged through his body, more than he¡¯d ever felt before. His hands curled into claws of their own volition. He jumped toward the first man and clawed at his face. Red lines bit deep into the man¡¯s face, as though Rhys had claws. The man jerked back at the last second, or else Rhys would have taken his eye.


    This was his new technique, Even A Cornered Rat will Fight Back. As long as he was injured and backed into a corner, he could unleash a powerful claw attack on his opponent. His ability to fight recklessly was further empowered, as the skill synergized with Trash Body and Trash Intent to pour power into his failing body.


    ¡°You fuck¡ª¡± the first man growled. He lifted his arms to block, only for Rhys to slice them open with his clawed hands. ¡°Stop!¡±


    Rhys didn¡¯t relent. He hammered blows on the man, forcing him to back up. The other man landed blows on him, but with Trash Body, he was able to shrug them off and keep fighting. Caught between the two men, he was able to land claw attack after claw attack on the first man. The first man was a block of muscle, not unlike Cynog, but unlike Cynog, he didn¡¯t have the Tier and raw power to fight back, instead relying on his bulk and muscle to hammer big blows and absorb the same. Pushed on the back foot by Rhys¡¯ endless attacks, it was all he could do to keep his arms up and hold a block.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Rhys fought on. If not for the impurities he¡¯d just absorbed, he could already tell he wouldn¡¯t be able to launch these claw attacks so thoughtlessly. Each one took an immense amount of mana. If he didn¡¯t have the mana from his impurities, he probably would have only been able to launch two or three of them. But as it was, his whole body still buzzed with mana, and his core was overfull. He drew the mana from his body and from his core, pouring it all into his attack. A few seconds in, he could tell he was starting to run out, but he didn¡¯t let it show on his face. Instead, he hopped back, putting his back to the wall. The two men faced him, but the one he¡¯d clawed did so warily, and the other one limped a bit, injured from where Rhys had landed on him.


    Looking from one to the other, Rhys scoffed. Hands curled into claws, he pushed mana into them, threatening another claw strike. ¡°Is that all you have? Come! Fight with all you¡¯ve got, or I¡¯ll take your eyes next!¡±


    The man Rhys had landed on glanced at his slashed companion. ¡°Come on. We didn¡¯t come here to fight this loser. Let¡¯s get out of here.¡±


    Blood dripped down the slashed man. It dribbled down his face and soaked into his robes. He glared at Rhys for a few more seconds, then spat and turned. ¡°Whatever. If Ev wants to train this fuck, that¡¯s her problem.¡±


    They turned and stomped off, shoving their way through the gap in the rocks. Rhys watched them go, his claws bared. Only when they vanished did he lower his hands and call the mana back to his core. Exhaustion washed across his face. In that state, where he forcibly overcame the limits of his body, it was far easier to overdraw his mana than he¡¯d realized. He¡¯d been running on dregs. If he¡¯d launched that claw attack, he wasn¡¯t sure he¡¯d have survived it, that was how low he was on mana. He leaned against the rock wall behind him and wiped his face, taking a moment to collect himself.


    Bluff 3


    Rhys startled, a bit surprised by the system pop. Bluff? And it was already level three? He¡¯d only just picked up the skill, and it leveled that fast. For the skill to level that fast¡­ His brows knitted. Did that mean bluffing was trashy?


    No, wait! Of course it is. It¡¯s part of trash-talking! Rhys stared at his hands, a bolt of enlightenment hitting him from the blue. Trash wasn¡¯t this limited. He¡¯d been treating it only as the physical substance of trash, but that was foolish. Trash had many dimensions¡ªalmost infinite dimensions! Limiting himself to the physical substance of trash and its denizens was a mistake. He needed to broaden his mind, open his horizons, and accept the vast expanses of what others considered ¡®trash¡¯ as part of his path.


    A heavy thump right beside him had him whip around, but it was only Ev. Rhys drew out a potion and took a sip, letting the healing goodness work on his wounds. He put it away and drew out a mana potion, sipping that as well, and put it back in his robes, then nodded at her. ¡°You didn¡¯t have to throw me down there.¡±


    ¡°Nah, but it was funny,¡± she said, grinning.


    Rhys shook his head. ¡°What if I didn¡¯t land on that guy? I could¡¯ve gotten hurt!¡±


    ¡°And activated your ability faster? That¡¯s no punishment. Besides, I¡¯m not crazy. I wouldn¡¯t put you at a disadvantage to start the fight, even if it makes you stronger. I threw you at that guy.¡±


    The phrase I¡¯m not crazy followed by threw you at that guy rattled around in Rhys¡¯ brain. He gave her a deadpan stare and shook his head. ¡°Uh huh.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s an interesting technique, though. Where¡¯d you learn it?¡± Ev asked.


    Rhys pointed back at the main square. ¡°You know that mustelid class?¡±


    ¡°What, crazy ol¡¯ Bernie taught you that? How?¡± Ev demanded, startled.


    ¡°He didn¡¯t teach it to me, per se. I kind of¡­ got enlightened by his class, and figured it out all at once.¡±


    ¡°Oh.¡± Disappointed, Ev shook her head.


    Rhys glanced at her. ¡°I thought I¡¯d be coming in to save the day, but you had that handled, didn¡¯t you?¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Well, they¡¯re kinda annoying assholes, so I didn¡¯t mind tossing them to you,¡± she said casually.


    Rhys shook his head. He met her eyes. ¡°It isn¡¯t that, is it? The way you threw them, and me, too. You¡¯re hiding your strength.¡±


    He¡¯d thought he was able to spar with Ev, that he was almost at her strength, but he¡¯d only been able to barely fend them off by fighting with all his might and bluffing desperately. Ev, on the other hand, had easily tossed them, like so much garbage. If he and Ev were truly the same strength, he would have been laughing as he crushed those two men, not lying so they¡¯d run off and leave him alone.


    He¡¯d always understood that there was a gap in strength between him and Ev, but not to that extent. He¡¯d thought he¡¯d been growing close to her power. But that was all a lie, wasn¡¯t it? Just Ev pretending.


    Ev chuckled. She raised her wrists, showing him a pair of dark bands. The same black cloth wrapped around her ankles. Now that she¡¯d drawn attention to it, Rhys sensed mana flowing through the cloth¡ªa suppressive spell that weighed her down as she moved and restricted her mana flow. ¡°Yep. Got it in one.¡±


    Rhys frowned. ¡°Why?¡±


    ¡°Why?¡± Ev gazed up at the sky. Her gaze seemed to pierce past it, landing on something far, far from here. At last, she sighed and met Rhys¡¯ eyes again. ¡°The hearts of others are not always pure.¡±


    ¡°No¡­?¡± Rhys asked, a bit lost. Ev was smarter than she looked, but she rarely spoke like it. In fact, he¡¯d never heard her say this kind of thing before.


    ¡°If someone with immense talent were to appear in a small school, do you think a small, desperate school would let go of them and let them grow and flourish? Or do you think that small, desperate school would cling onto them with all their might, in hopes that the school might grow in power commensurate with their talented student?¡±


    Rhys opened his mouth in an O. He nodded, slowly. ¡°I understand.¡±


    To put it simply, Ev knew the state the school was in. She knew it was small, and had little renown. She would struggle to grow, stuck here in this school, but the school could easily grow by clinging to Ev and dragging itself up after her rising star. She hid her strength to escape, so she could find a better school where she could grow, without the baggage of having to haul and entire school up after her. Especially a school like Infinite Constellation, which had done so little for her. Given how little it had done for Rhys, and given Cynog¡¯s tendencies and the status of the martial students on the peak, he couldn¡¯t imagine that Ev had gotten a good education here.


    ¡°At the end of the day, this isn¡¯t a martial school. I need to find a true martial school to continue to hone my fists,¡± Ev stated.


    Rhys nodded. ¡°Of course.¡±


    ¡°I¡¯ve been putting out feelers. I have a good chance at getting into a high-quality school. One that¡¯s both good at martial arts and magecraft. It¡¯s just¡­¡± She shook her head.


    ¡°What?¡± Rhys asked.


    ¡°There¡¯s a tournament that all the schools partake in. It doesn¡¯t happen until early next year, four months from now. For me, everything rides on it. If I perform well in the tournament, I¡¯ll be able to pick my school of choice. If I don¡¯t¡­¡± She twisted her lips.


    ¡°Stuck here, huh?¡± Rhys asked.


    She nodded. ¡°Yep.¡± A second later, she waggled her hand. ¡°I could probably still squeeze my way into a medium-sized martial school, so long as I made a good showing in the lower rounds. But my dream is to make it into one of the biggest schools. The most powerful ones on the continent. And for that, I need to win the tournament.¡±


    ¡°Win the whole thing?¡± Rhys puffed out his cheeks and let out a slow breath. The image of Bast flashed through his head, studying under the Sword Saint, the most powerful martial artist in the continent. Sure, Bast would¡¯ve only had a year or two to study, but he knew how quick a learner his friend was. And that was just who he knew about. Who knew how many powerful martial students attended the big martial schools in the area? Students who could properly train against equally powerful students, instead of beating their heads against the insensate wall that was Cynog?


    She laughed. ¡°It¡¯s fine. I¡¯ll be happy starting at a medium-sized martial school. I¡¯ll work my way up to the big ones. But it would be nice if I could get it in one, you know?¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°Yeah.¡±


    It was just like in his world. The college you went to, the people you attended it with, could set the level of your success for the rest of your life. Sure, you could always struggle and overcome, but it would all be easier if you started from a powerful position. He understood that better than anyone, and so, he understood what Ev aspired to better than anyone. Rhys patted her back. ¡°Whatever I can do to help, just let me know.¡±


    ¡°You don¡¯t want to take part in the tournament?¡± she asked.


    Rhys hesitated, then shrugged. ¡°I don¡¯t know. Maybe? I¡¯ll see when we get closer.¡±


    For now, after all, he was happy in Infinite Constellation sect. The place was full of wonderful, wonderful trash. What else did he need? And yet, he knew that was only for now. Eventually, he would clean all the trash and absorb all the gunk in that toxic trash pit. After that, well, it was a small school. His objectives were bigger than that. He wanted to become the most powerful mage he could, and that meant finding a school big enough to help him gain his dreams. But would that happen in one year? That was what he wasn¡¯t sure about.


    Ev knocked his shoulder. ¡°You should. Even if you¡¯re not aiming for another school, it would be a good experience for you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah, yeah,¡± Rhys said. There was another angle here: he was trash. Could he prepare enough in a year to handle a tournament? Sure, with all his buffs, he could fight pretty well, but¡­ compared to students who didn¡¯t start as trash, how did he compare?


    I¡¯ve been doing pretty well against my fellow students here, a little voice in the back of his head noted. But at the same time, this was a tiny school, full of the refuse that couldn¡¯t make it into any other school. He couldn¡¯t meaningfully track his progress against these students. Even if he outshone all of them, that didn¡¯t make him not trash on an objective scale, rated against students from every sort of academy.


    Ev snorted, seeing his consternation. ¡°Don¡¯t make that constipated face. If it hurts that hard, don¡¯t think about it yet. You¡¯ve still got a year to figure things out.¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°That¡­ is reassuring.¡±


    ¡°Plus, don¡¯t worry about beating me. They organize students by Tier,¡± Ev said.


    ¡°I would hope so,¡± Rhys replied, chuckling.


    She looked him over. ¡°You healed up?¡±


    ¡°Yeah,¡± Rhys replied.


    Ev grinned, raising her fists. ¡°Come on, then. I want to try out those new techniques of yours for myself.¡±

 33. A Challenge

    Rhys and Ev sparred once more. This time, Rhys occasionally had to take breaks to absorb and burn impurities, but the more they fought and the more Ev pushed him, the faster he was able to absorb the impurities. He grew used to the pain, and slowly, it became less crippling to him. Eventually, he was able to burn the impurities as he fought Ev, though the pain and the distraction of handling the impurities did impair his fighting until the impurities were fully processed. Compared to fighting while burning the lower-level impurities, he was certainly worse at fighting under these ones. The lower-level ones were a straight buff to his power, while these came with caveats.


    On the other hand, these enhanced his body to a higher extent, expanded his core more, and provided him with more power, not to mention allowed him to store that power in both his body and core¡ªif temporarily, in the case of his body. That one was only because they invaded his body so thoroughly, that he was almost always still in the process of expelling the mana or processing it when he was with it enough to fight Ev. These impurities also held more power than ordinary ones, which was in turn further boosted by Less is More, so overall, they were stronger; it was just that he couldn¡¯t quite handle them yet.


    As for Less is More, he wasn¡¯t sure if it activated because he wasn¡¯t drinking the whole potion, or because he was drinking a potion. Was it a potion-specific skill, or did it only work when he left most of the expendable behind? With his previous techniques, he¡¯d absorbed impurities from smoke, from burning it. By the very nature of burning, he had to burn the whole thing, whether it was a pile of trash or a clump of potion impurities. True, in the case of the potion impurities, the clumps could be considered portions of a whole, but on the other hand, he was still using handfuls of the stuff. If it was activated by a ¡®small portion,¡¯ then maybe the clumps of impurities he used weren¡¯t small enough to trigger ¡®less.¡¯


    Naturally, breathing smoke also wasn¡¯t a potion. So between his two techniques of obtaining impurities, one of which triggered Less is More, and one of which didn¡¯t, he couldn¡¯t say securely what quality it was that activated Less is More.


    Rhys raised his hands. Sweat poured down his face and soaked into his robes. His hair dripped with it, and his back was as wet as if he¡¯d jumped into a pool. ¡°Break, I need a break.¡±


    ¡°Hmph. A real opponent won¡¯t give you any breaks,¡± Ev opined, raising her fists.


    ¡°I know, but please?¡± Rhys said, still backing away.


    She narrowed her eyes, but sighed in the end. ¡°Fine. Get some water and drink that nasty potion of yours, so we can keep going.¡±


    Rhys saluted. He jogged over to the stream that ran through the crevasse and threw himself into it. Water splashed, then coursed over him, cool and comfortable. He let himself sink to the bottom of the shallow water and watched the sky through the clear stream. Nowadays, he could hold his breath for a long time, though not indefinitely, as he could go without food and water. Ev had taught him a turtle-breathing technique to extend his time underwater, but he was still at the lowest levels of it. He waited until his body cooled to the point he wanted to do more than just lie in the shade, then sat up. Water splashed all around him, soaking into his long ponytail. He touched it, lost in thought for a second. Back in his world, long hair was uncommon on men. Here, it was the norm, so much so that Bast stuck out in his mind for preferring a short cut. I wonder if I should get it trimmed? It was starting to get excessive, long enough to tickle his waist when he let it down. He hadn¡¯t seen any hairdressers here, but there was no shortage of blades.


    Ev crouched on the edge of the stream and splashed water in her face. Looking up, she laughed at him. ¡°Look at you, sitting in the water and playing with your hair. What are you, a water sprite, luring all the girls into the depths?¡±


    Rhys raised his brows at her. ¡°I don¡¯t know, am I?¡±


    ¡°Maybe in five years,¡± she scoffed, rolling her eyes at him.


    Rhys blinked, then startled. He stared at his small hands again. That¡¯s right. I¡¯m still a child. It was easy to forget just how young his body was. ¡°How old am I?¡± he muttered aloud, pulling up his sheet to check.


    Rhys Foundling | 15 | Foundation Building (Tier 1)


    Title: Trash-born


    Skills:


    Hunger Resist 14


    Survivalist 27


    Pain Resist 39


    Scavenging 28


    Less is More 36


    Sewing 8


    Blow Mitigation 25


    Self-Regeneration 19


    Mana Manipulation 10


    Poison Resist 12


    Improvised Weapon Proficiency 7


    Heat Resist 7


    Acid Resist 8


    Impurity Resist 13


    Poison Resist 3


    Trash Intent 4


    Alchemy 2


    Herbalism 4


    Speed Reading 4


    Enlightenment 2


    Trash Body 3


    Bluff 3


    Fifteen. At some point, unknown to him, that fateful day had slipped by, and he¡¯d grown older yet again. He sighed out and stood, wringing the worst of the water out of his robes.


    ¡°Forgot your age? You¡¯re a bit young for that,¡± Ev commented.


    Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.


    Rhys kicked some water at her. ¡°Yeah, yeah. I¡¯m old at heart.¡±


    She laughed aloud. Lowering her hand into the water, she squeezed it shut and squirted a stream of water at him. At her strength and martial prowess, it actually reached Rhys, and not only that, smarted where it hit. ¡°Look at this baby-face, thinking he¡¯s so mature.¡±


    ¡°Give me five years, and I¡¯ll lure all the women to their watery doom,¡± Rhys replied, sticking out his tongue at her.


    ¡°You just gonna sit around in the stream until then, or are we gonna spar?¡± Ev asked, standing and clapping the water off her hands.


    Rhys climbed out. He shook himself all over like a dog. ¡°I¡¯m ready. Let¡¯s go.¡±


    Ev raised her hands, then froze. She lifted a hand to Rhys, her eyes distracted, all her attention on listening to something Rhys couldn¡¯t hear. Rhys stilled as well, trying to hear whatever it was she¡¯d latched onto. All he heard was the drip of water off his robes.


    At last, he heard it. The crunch of leaves. Heavy footsteps, softened by the lush forest floor. Rhys whipped around, finally following where Ev was staring.


    Cynog stood at the edge of the cliff, where he and Ev had confronted his students a short while ago. He crossed his arms at them, and his eyes narrowed.


    ¡°You dare to bully my students?¡±


    ¡°Bully? They¡¯re the ones who were bullying us!¡± Rhys protested, but quietly, to himself.


    Ev snorted. ¡°As if Cynog cares. All he cares about is making sure everyone knows he¡¯s the strongest warrior in the school.¡±


    ¡°Isn¡¯t that always the case with bullies,¡± Rhys muttered.


    On the clifftop, Cynog ignored them and kept going. ¡°I see I¡¯ve let you run rampant for too long. Two students, grouping up together and thinking they can train one another? This is foolishness. It¡¯s time I bring you back into the fold.¡±


    ¡°Like fuck you are,¡± Ev grumbled.


    Cynog hopped down from the cliff. He approached them, one slow stomp at a time. Ev stepped forward.


    Rhys held out his arm. He looked at Ev. ¡°Please let me have this.¡±


    She cocked a brow. ¡°Are you sure? He¡¯ll chew you up.¡±


    ¡°That¡¯s fine. If things go bad, carry me to the library afterward, if I¡¯m, uh, you know. Not able to walk,¡± Rhys replied, growing more nervous the more he said. He swallowed. Shit. I¡¯m really going to do this.


    But on the other hand, when would he get a chance like this again? He needed this. It was a definitive step toward his goals. Forcing his fear down, Rhys stepped forward.


    Ev gave him an uncertain look, but shrugged to herself and let him go. ¡°I¡¯ll try to save you before he kills you.¡±


    ¡°Yeah. Thanks.¡± Rhys pulled out his impurities potion and took a sip. Impurities ravaged his body, but only for a moment before he ignited them. He stood in front of Cynog, spreading his arms to block his way forward. Black smoke began to waft off his body.


    ¡°What?¡± Cynog asked.


    ¡°You claim that we cannot grow stronger by training one another, and that¡¯s why we need to be brought back into your class. After all, you¡¯re a teacher. You want us to get stronger, don¡¯t you?¡± Rhys asserted, looking Cynog in the eyes. What he said wasn¡¯t entirely true, but it was close enough.


    Cynog thought for a moment. He squinted, but in the end he nodded. ¡°I am a teacher, yes.¡±


    ¡°Then how about this. If I prove that I¡¯ve gotten stronger training with Ev by landing one good hit on you, you leave us alone. If I can¡¯t, then we both go back to your teaching, with no complaints.¡±


    Cynog laughed. ¡°And why don¡¯t I just beat you up right now?¡±


    Rhys spread his hands. ¡°You can. I can¡¯t do anything to stop you from crushing me. But that proves nothing about my strength, or yours. You¡¯re a higher Tier than me. Even if I trained perfectly, I can¡¯t do anything to beat you. But that¡¯s not the point. The point is whether or not I trained at a level equivalent to or better than you could teach me.¡±


    He watched Cynog¡¯s face, waiting. It was similar logic to what Cynog himself had suggested when Rhys had tried to escape his class in the first place. The man was always up to a good trial. By his estimation, this ought to work.


    ¡°Why not,¡± Cynog allowed. He cracked his knuckles. ¡°I¡¯ve been looking for another chance to pound you for a while now. I¡¯ll enjoy this.¡±


    Or¡­ he¡¯s a rampant sadist who enjoys getting down to other people¡¯s level, then beating them on equal footing. Rhys licked his lips, then forced his heart to calm. He couldn¡¯t have it beating like that with impurities burning. There was too much gunk floating around. He might die if anything started moving a little too fast.


    Rhys raised a hand, backing away as Cynog approached. ¡°How about a little add-on, to sweeten the pot?¡±


    ¡°Speak quickly.¡±


    ¡°If I draw blood, you have to request that I get access to the upper peak,¡± Rhys said, as quickly as he could manage.


    This was it. His true goal from the beginning. He wouldn¡¯t get another chance to ask Cynog to request his access. It was a slim chance he¡¯d win, a slim chance that Cynog would honor his bet¡­ but if he did, this was it. The only way to get Cynog to advocate for him.


    The other teachers wore ordinary robes, studded here and there with gold and gems. Cynog¡¯s was plastered with them, the thick belt around his loins all but solid gold. From wealth alone, Cynog obviously was a teacher worth targeting, someone who would doubtless have influence over the Schoolmaster. If not overtly, then at the least, he was someone who was able of obtaining money for the school, and that made his voice worth listening to.


    A dry chuckle emerged from Rhys¡¯ throat at that, unbidden. My stint in grad school is finally worth something, huh. Hadn¡¯t done anything in his first life, but it did mean that he understood academia and power structures like it more than the average person.


    Cynog threw his head back and laughed. ¡°Bold. I like it! Then how about this? When I win, when you fail to land a single blow on me, you have to apologize in front of the whole class and forsake all training but mine.¡±


    ¡°If you win,¡± Rhys returned. He narrowed his eyes. The apology was nothing to him. He¡¯d long since gotten over the childish fear of public speaking and humiliation. The real problem came in with forsaking all training but Cynog¡¯s. He had absolutely no intention of doing that, but if Cynog decided to enforce it, there was little he could do.


    Then again, it wouldn¡¯t be a bet if I didn¡¯t ante up. Rhys steeled himself and raised his fists. He pushed mana into the impurities, accelerating their ignition. Black smoke billowed from his shoulders and back, soaring up into the sky.


    ¡°What are you doing? Don¡¯t you have to draw blood? Draw your weapon,¡± Cynog egged him on.


    Rhys smiled, just an inch. He drew his sword-stub. Its blade leaped into shape, formed by the pale blue light of Trash Intent. Lifting his hand, he pointed it at Cynog.


    Cynog blurred. He leaped at Rhys. Rhys hopped back, and Cynog¡¯s fist slammed into the earth so hard that it formed a crater. Dirt and rocks sprayed up, bouncing off Rhys¡¯s legs.


    Rhys raised his brows. That blow was as hard as the attacks Cynog had launched at him after the trash lecture. Cynog didn¡¯t intend to hold anything back from the beginning.


    That being said, compared to his current strength, a blow at that level would hurt, but it wouldn¡¯t seriously phase him. In other words, it was the exact kind of blow he needed to take in order to reach his trash modes without dying.


    Cynog furrowed his brows. ¡°You¡¯re fast.¡±


    ¡°Ah? Ah!¡± Rhys shrieked in false surprise, then turned and ran.


    ¡°Oh ho? What happened to landing a good blow on me?¡± Cynog asked, laughing. He slammed his foot down, then vanished. Rhys bounced off a wall of muscle. A fist hammered into his side, and he went flying.


    Rolling with the force of the blow, Rhys came back up to a three-point stance, watching Cynog. He was close, but he wasn¡¯t there yet.


    ¡°Are you just going to run? Come on,¡± Cynog mocked him, gesturing him on.


    Enraged, Rhys shouted. He charged in, sword raised high. Before he got two steps in, another heavy blow smashed him to the ground again. Cynog chased after him, but Rhys rolled out of his reach and bounced up. Cynog¡¯s eyes narrowed. He lunged, but Rhys darted to the side. Another lunge. Rhys hopped backward, evading his grasp.


    ¡°If you keep dodging, you¡¯ll never land a hit,¡± Cynog informed him, chuckling.


    Rhys¡¯ nostrils flared. He rushed in, thrusting his sword in a headlong charge. Cynog blurred and reappeared beside Rhys. With a blackhanded slap, he hammered Rhys into the ground.


    Rhys laid there, breathing heavily. The black smoke continued to billow, but his breathing was labored. Blood dripped down from his mouth and nose and a dozen other cuts. His whole body was a mess of bruises and broken bones.


    Behind him, Ev narrowed her eyes. She crossed her arms and tilted her head, lost.


    ¡°This is foolishness. You need my training,¡± Cynog declared. He dragged Rhys up by the collar.


    Rhys growled and slashed at Cynog. Cynog let the sword hit him. The Trash-Intent enhanced blade stopped dead on his side, without drawing so much as a drop of blood.


    Cynog looked down. He laughed. ¡°Now, do you see? It was futile from the start!¡± Grabbing the sword in one hand, he threw Rhys into the wall of the cliff with the other. He dropped the sword stub, now without its Trash-Intent blade, and vanished again, reappearing over Rhys, his fist raised.


    Rhys¡¯ eyes flashed. A vicious grin spread over his face. ¡°Says the fool.¡±

 34. Cornered

    Backed against the cliff wall, Rhys¡¯ power spiked. His hands curled into claws. Rather than attacking recklessly, he slammed all his mana, all the strength from the impurities, every ounce of power he had, into one hand and struck Cynog¡¯s neck with all his might.


    There! What I¡¯ve been waiting for!


    Having beaten Rhys one-sidedly for the last few minutes, and in his entire last battle, Cynog wasn¡¯t expecting an attack. He jerked back, but all his momentum was forward, his fist still raised to hammer the final blow home. The laws of physics prevailed. His bulk meant he couldn¡¯t dart away when he¡¯d already committed to a forward movement.


    And so, Rhys¡¯ strike hit its mark.


    If Cynog¡¯s guard was up, if he¡¯d expected a counterattack, Rhys was sure things would be different. But this entire battle and the last had conditioned Cynog to see him as a helpless idiot, a fool who talked big, but could only run away. The last thing the man expected was for Rhys to actually live up to his words and be able to land a counterattack.


    It''s like Ev said. Half a battle is in the mind. A dumb jock won¡¯t get far as a martial student.


    His claw bit into Cynog¡¯s neck. Blood spurted, and Cynog jerked to the side, almost lifted off his feet for a split second. In the next instant, his fist smashed into the stone cliff face. Pushed by Rhys¡¯ blow, it veered off-target and missed Rhys¡¯ face by millimeters. Rock shattered. Shards slashed past Rhys¡¯ face, reflected with enough force to cut. Rhys swallowed, staring at Cynog with wide eyes. If the man had landed that blow, he would be dead. No ifs, ands, or buts about it. Nothing Blow Mitigation could have done. His head would have been chunky salsa on the cliff.


    Cynog roared in frustration. He drew back his fist.


    It might still be! Rhys dropped straight down, raising his arms in futile hopes of protecting himself.


    Crack.


    Rhys blinked. He looked up, and his eyes widened. Cynog stared as well. Both of them gazed in shock at Cynog¡¯s wrist, now broken, and the calloused hand that gripped it tight enough to break it.


    ¡°That¡¯s enough, Cynog,¡± Ev growled, her eyes burning with anger.


    Cynog turned. His jaw gaped. ¡°Since when did you¡ª¡±


    ¡°Since I stopped being your training dummy and started working on myself, you dusty old sadist. Get the hell out of here before I get serious.¡± She released his wrist and stepped back, giving him room to flee.


    Huh? Training dummy? Wasn¡¯t that what she¡¯d called him, when she¡¯d kidnapped him? Rhys stared at Ev, suddenly understanding a little more.


    His eyes darted to her wrist. For the first time since he¡¯d seen her, the black band was missing from her right wrist. The other three limbs still bore their restrictive bands, but the one with which she¡¯d attacked was free of suppression.


    Cynog stepped back, giving Rhys room to stand and slip out of his pin. He frowned. ¡°Why do you waste your potential training this¡­ this coward?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m not a coward. It¡¯s called ¡®strategy,¡¯¡± Rhys informed him primly, fixing his robes. So what if his fighting style was trashy behavior from the beginning to the end? He was trash! What was he supposed to do, not act like it? Pshaw! He didn¡¯t believe in denying his nature. If he was trash, then so be it. He¡¯d be the trashiest trash there was, down to taunting a superior opponent after he won thanks to a psychological trap, a surprise attack, and carefully preset conditions¡­ as long as there was a yet bigger fish like Ev there to stop that superior opponent from transforming him into so much spaghetti bolognaise.


    In fact, from his perspective, he was holding back! These people had never spent time in an internet lobby, trash talking someone who¡¯d just sniped you fifty times for being a virgin loser who was too good at the game. Sure, it wasn¡¯t like he thought he won those arguments, it was just fun to shout at people. That was, when there were no consequences to it, anyways. But what was this, but a rare opportunity to taunt someone in this life with no consequences?


    He glanced at Ev. Speaking of, he once again felt a little stupid. Not as stupid as when he¡¯d ¡®saved¡¯ her from the bullies, since he¡¯d deliberately asked for this fight so he could win Cynog¡¯s influence, but still a little stupid. She obviously had this whole situation well in hand. Even if he¡¯d needed the fight to win Cynog over, it didn¡¯t mean he didn¡¯t feel foolish for all the bruises and bleeding he¡¯d done to get there.


    Cynog ground his teeth, narrowing his eyes at Rhys dangerously.


    Ev rolled her eyes at him. ¡°You, shut up. Go play in the stream. The adults are talking.¡±


    Rhys saluted, pressing his hand into his fist and bowing. ¡°Yes!¡± Without another word, he limped off. He took a sip of potion as he went, then settled by the stream to finish reinforcing his body with impurities and heal all the damage Cynog had done.


    From the edge of the stream, he watched Ev and Cynog speak. Ev had a dark, dangerous look in her eyes, but after the show she¡¯d made of snapping his wrist, Cynog was simply polite and respectful to her. They traded a few words, and then Cynog yanked his wrist back into place and walked off. Ev watched him go. Only when he¡¯d hopped up the edge of the cliff and vanished well and truly from sight did she bend, picking up the cloth she¡¯d dropped on the floor. She wound it around her right wrist once more as she walked over to Rhys¡¯ side, tossing him a nod along the way.


    ¡°Everything good?¡± Rhys asked.


    ¡°What, between me and Cynog? Fat chance. He¡¯ll honor the promise he made to you, though. I made sure of that,¡± Ev said.


    Rhys looked her up and down. ¡°You really are the strongest person in the school, aren¡¯t you? Even at Tier 2, Cynog can¡¯t beat you.¡±


    ¡°Mmm. It¡¯s not impossible to fight up a Tier. You know that,¡± Ev replied.


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    Rhys laughed. He turned, gesturing. ¡°I have a friend. Had¡­ no. Have a friend. Name¡¯s Bast. When we were still together, he was the wall I could never beat. When the Strawman got captured, he was taken in by the Sword Saint. Every time I see you, I can¡¯t help but wonder: between you and him, who would win?¡±


    Ev laughed. ¡°Either way, he sounds like a good fight. I¡¯d like to test my fists against this friend of yours. The Strawman¡¯s other disciple, is he? I heard big things about him, right when you got taken in, but I haven¡¯t heard anything lately.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯ve heard of him? Of Bast?¡± Rhys asked, surprised. He¡¯d heard nothing, so he¡¯d assumed there was nothing to be heard. But he was the trash. Why would he hear anything?


    ¡°Only right at the start, and not much more than that he was an incredible talent. Someone with the potential to be the strongest swordsman in our generation, and maybe even the next Sword Saint. Haven¡¯t heard much since¡­ ah, but that¡¯s not worth worrying about,¡± she added, as Rhys¡¯ face fell. ¡°The Sword Saint is notoriously private and reclusive. He wouldn¡¯t let anyone learn too much about a disciple of his, especially if your friend is as extreme a talent as they say.¡±


    Rhys nodded. Somehow, he was a little proud to hear that his friend was valued so highly. And to think, he was going to be thrown out with the trash. If he hadn¡¯t stepped in, Bast would still be just another kid at the orphanage, overlooked and of no interest to anyone. But now, his friend¡¯s talent was being recognized, as it had always deserved to be.


    There was a bit of bitterness in the pride, though. Now everyone could see the value in the trash; now his find wasn¡¯t his anymore. After a moment, Rhys pushed it away. It was the same as reading a manga before everyone else and trying to share it for years, only for everyone to suddenly be into it when the anime finally came out. He should be happy that the thing he valued was finally being appreciated by everyone, not sad that it didn¡¯t ¡®belong to him¡¯ anymore.


    Besides, Bast never belonged to me. He chuckled at that thought. He was being a little too possessive, wasn¡¯t he? But Bast was like a sibling to him. And not only that, but the first one to see the value in him, when he, too, had been nothing but trash. They¡¯d both chosen to pick one another out of the garbage, and raise one another up. Naturally, his emotions were complex, to hear that Bast was succeeding long before he could. At the end of the day, though, he was happy to see his friend succeed. That was the one thing he was absolutely sure of.


    In any case, Bast wasn¡¯t trash, and he was. Bast had been miscategorized. Between the two of them, Bast was a diamond ring that had fallen down the sink and ended up in the compost, and Rhys was a scrap of potato that belonged in there. Of course Bast would be picked up and treasured, while Rhys had to put down roots and make his own fortune for himself.


    ¡°You two were close, weren¡¯t you,¡± Ev commented.


    Rhys startled. ¡°Er¡­ yes.¡± He¡¯d just sat in silence, lost in thought. How awkward for Ev! ¡°Sorry about that.¡±


    She waved her hand. ¡°No, no. It¡¯s fine. I¡¯m glad that you have a good friend like that. Not everyone has that! You should always treasure that bond you share.¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°Of course.¡±


    Ev stretched. ¡°That¡¯s enough training for today. I¡¯ll escort you back to the main plaza.¡±


    ¡°Huh? I know the way back.¡±


    ¡°And I know Cynog. I wouldn¡¯t be shocked if he, or some of his idiot underlings, are out there waiting for you to come by.¡±


    Rhys opened his mouth, then shut it, conceding the point. He only had a few drops left in his potion. He could still use Trash Intent, Trash Body, and even Cornered Rat, but without impurities to actively burn, he couldn¡¯t be confident in his ability to survive Cynog, or fight off his underlings. If Cynog wanted to get revenge, he might just die outright. He was a little more confident when it came to Cynog¡¯s underlings, but he was also healing from the wounds Cynog had inflicted still, and didn¡¯t really want to get beat up again today.


    ¡°Thank you,¡± he said instead.


    ¡°Ha, so you do know how to be grateful,¡± Ev joked. She led the way, and Rhys followed close behind.


    No one jumped them on the way home, though whether that was because they hadn¡¯t bothered, or because Ev was there to scare them off, Rhys couldn¡¯t say. Halfway back, they passed a small group of mages, bowing and offering incense to the sky. The incense burned an intense black, and a heavy fragrance filled the air. The mages chanted and swayed in place, moving in sync.


    ¡°What¡¯s that all about?¡± Rhys asked, nudging Ev. Maybe she knew. He hadn¡¯t seen it before, but he hadn¡¯t been here long, either. Ev had been here much longer than him, so she might recognize it.


    Ev looked over. She nodded at one of the nearer mages. ¡°What¡¯s all this about, then?¡±


    Rhys opened his mouth, then shut it. Now that I think about it, I could¡¯ve just started there, honestly.


    The mage looked up. His eyes were big and worshipful, and his manner, as though she had interrupted him at church. ¡°Quiet! We¡¯re worshipping the Exalted Filth. Don¡¯t interrupt us, or it might punish us all with its earth-shattering wrath!¡±


    ¡°Exalted Filth? It¡¯s the Impure Being!¡± a female mage interjected.


    ¡°Shush, or the Black Smoke Spirit will devour us!¡± another snapped.


    Rhys nodded slowly. Even as he did, his brows furrowed. Hold on. I¡¯m starting to put things together. He pointed back in the direction they¡¯d come from. ¡°Are you¡­ worshipping the, uh, the pillar of black smoke?¡±


    All the mages nodded.


    Ev glanced at Rhys. She snorted.


    Rhys licked his lips. ¡°I don¡¯t think you need to worry about its wrath. Actually, I¡¯ve heard it¡¯s pretty benevolent.¡± Yeah, because it¡¯s me! What wrath am I going to visit upon you? I¡¯m not even higher Tier than you!


    ¡°With those impacts, that tremble the mountain itself? With that pitch-black smoke? Benevolent?¡± The male mage shook his head.


    ¡°Please leave. You¡¯ve already interrupted us long enough.¡±


    The mages went back to their chanting and swaying. Rhys stared at them for a second, then sighed. What am I supposed to do about that? He shook his head and walked on.


    Ev smirked at him. As they walked away, she nudged him. ¡°Well, well, well, your Exaltedness. I didn¡¯t know I was in the presence of a god.¡±


    Rhys rolled his eyes at her. ¡°Somehow, it¡¯s the second time someone¡¯s made that mistake.¡±


    ¡°Oh, really?¡±


    ¡°Wish I was joking. Don¡¯t think there¡¯s anything I can do about it, either.¡±


    ¡°Doesn¡¯t seem like it. It is funny, though,¡± Ev replied.


    Rhys shook his head. ¡°Gods.¡±


    The two of them made it back to the square without any further encounters, whether with worshippers or Cynog and his followers. Ev nodded and walked off, leaving Rhys alone in the square. He looked around for a moment, then headed toward the library.


    He now had three teachers advocating for him: Sorden, the potions teacher, Cynog, and the mustelid man, whose name Rhys belatedly realized he still didn¡¯t know. Of the teachers he knew about, that left the astronomy teacher, the extremely low-Tier classes¡¯ teachers, who probably had little influence, and one more teacher he knew well.


    Rhys pushed open the door and stepped into the library. The usual cool and calm encompassed him, so utterly familiar. He hurried to Az¡¯s desk. ¡°Az, are you in?¡±


    ¡°Am I ever out?¡± Az replied, his voice echoing around the corner.


    He rounded the corner of the shelves to find Az lounging behind the desk in much the same pose he¡¯d been in the first time, his feet up on the desk and a book in his hand. He didn¡¯t bother to look up as Rhys drew up to the desk, but turned the page in his book instead.


    Rhys cleared his throat. ¡°I have a favor to ask.¡±


    Az arched a brow. His eyes continued to track across the page. ¡°You want me to ask if you can gain access to the upper peak?¡±


    ¡°I¡­¡± Rhys blinked. ¡°How do you know?¡±


    ¡°I¡¯m lazy, but I¡¯m not deaf or blind,¡± Az remarked, turning another page. He nodded behind Rhys. ¡°What do you think, then? Upper peak material?¡±


    ¡°Huh? I¡ª¡±


    A voice he hadn¡¯t heard in some time sounded from behind him. ¡°So, you already aspire to such heights?¡±


    Rhys turned, startled. No way.


    But it was.  Aquari Gibron, Schoolmaster of the Infinite Constellation School, stood before him. She tapped her fingertips on the butt of her sword and glared down at him. ¡°What do you want so badly from the upper peak, that you¡¯d risk life and death to achieve it?¡±


    Rhys grinned. Without hesitation, he replied, ¡°The trash!¡±

 35. Upper Peak

    Aquari stared at him, taken aback. ¡°The trash?¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°It¡¯s my path. I can burn it to get stronger.¡±


    She considered for a moment. Her lips twisted. ¡°I have to admit, I have no particular use for the trash, and I wouldn¡¯t mind to see it gone. Someone recommended to me by the majority of the lower-peak teachers is surely trustworthy enough to handle the trash. However, I am the Schoolmaster. I also have to consider the other students. If I give only you access, won¡¯t everyone stronger than you also request access? It¡¯ll be quite annoying for me.¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°I can keep it secret.¡±


    As if she hadn¡¯t heard him, she continued. ¡°But if it¡¯s part of your duties, no one would question it.¡±


    Rhys¡¯ eyes widened. He shut his mouth. She didn¡¯t actually care about the other students, she just wanted him to do something for her. Well, that wasn¡¯t a problem for him. Whatever she wanted, he¡¯d do his best to accomplish. It wasn¡¯t as though he had grand plans, other than continuing to study with Ev and absorb the toxins from the cauldrons. He had all the time in the world. As long as she didn¡¯t ask him something he wasn¡¯t capable of, or couldn¡¯t eventually achieve, this was a step in the right direction.


    ¡°We have a¡­ guest teacher coming soon,¡± Aquari murmured, lowering her eyelids and gazing somewhere interminable. She turned her eyes to Rhys once more. ¡°You will be his assistant with everything here on the mountain. His will is your command. But remember to hold your school first and foremost. He is only a guest, and should be treated with respect, but no more.¡±


    I understand. Rhys nodded. This ¡®guest teacher¡¯ had some ulterior motives, if he was picking up what she was putting down, with those long pauses and reminders about respect. Aquari wanted him to show the guest teacher around with the utmost respect, but not allow him to see any of the school¡¯s secrets. Not that Rhys knew any of the school¡¯s secrets, but then, didn¡¯t that make him the ideal escort?


    ¡°I¡¯ll do it,¡± Rhys agreed.


    ¡°Excellent.¡± Aquari fished around in her robes and pulled out a small, palm-sized flat gem plate. The hexagonal plate was about a milimeter wide, but only partially translucent; the gem was cloudy, shot through with thin hairlines and a faint glow of mana.


    ¡°This is the key to the upper peak. I will not give you a second one. Hold on to it, or lose access to the upper peak.¡± She handed it to him.


    Rhys accepted it in cupped hands and slid it into his storage ring. He wasn¡¯t going to show this to anyone. Not even Ev. This was his ultimate treasure, his key to the next tier of trash, his route to unlock his destiny¡­ but mostly his method of absorbing the toxic trash pit¡¯s gunk.


    ¡°The guest teacher will be here in a few weeks. Prepare yourself.¡± Aquari turned to walk off. At the last second, she turned back. Her eyes locked with Az.


    Az lowered his book just a hair. He cocked a brow.


    ¡°I don¡¯t recall acquiring a librarian.¡±


    ¡°You wouldn¡¯t,¡± Az agreed.


    They held one another¡¯s gazes. A great surge of mana emanated from Aquari, given form as a shapeless pressure, as if she¡¯d turned up gravity a dozen times, or plunged him into the deep sea. It wasn¡¯t directed at Rhys, but the weight forced him to his knees anyways. He toppled forward, and barely caught himself with his hands before he fell completely flat.


    Az, on the other hand, remained completely unbothered. He lowered his gaze from Aquari¡¯s and turned back to his book.


    Aquari retracted her pressure. ¡°Who are you? Why are you here?¡±


    ¡°Be a shame if such a magnificent collection went to waste. I simply decided to cat-ch it for myself.¡±


    She narrowed her eyes.


    Az lowered his book with great reluctance and spread his hands. ¡°Cat got your tongue? Schoolmaster, pay me no mind. Write me off as one of those eccentrics and leave it be. I go where I please and I do as I like. A free spirit, if you like.¡±


    ¡°How long have you taken root here?¡±


    Az chuckled. ¡°Is that not an indictment of yourself more than me, Schoolmaster? Should you not know the goings-on of your lower peak better than anyone?¡±


    ¡°Can I not be rid of you?¡±


    ¡°When I please. Or would you like to try violence? I warn you, I won¡¯t sheathe my claws.¡±


    Rhys had climbed back to his feet during their exchange. He dusted off his hands, then looked at Aquari. ¡°Why run him off? He¡¯s been very helpful. And you aren¡¯t paying him, so he¡¯s working for free. Isn¡¯t that ideal?¡±


    Aquari frowned, but didn¡¯t have a counterpoint. She pointed at Az. ¡°I¡¯ll see you in the upper peak.¡±


    ¡°No, you won¡¯t.¡±


    ¡°I had better.¡±


    ¡°You¡¯d be better off forgetting about me,¡± Az murmured. His eyes glowed.


    Aquari jumped back. She raised a hand, and a pale shield of light wrapped around her.


    Az chuckled. ¡°¡­or you could leave me be. Besides, I have no key. How could I possibly enter the upper peak without one?¡±


    His voice dripped with a level of derision that suggested he would have no problem entering the upper peak, if he wanted to.


    Aquari narrowed her eyes at him, but backed off. ¡°Congratulations, you¡¯re hired. Welcome to your new post, Librarian.¡±


    ¡°Oh my, oh my. Official recognition, how exciting.¡± He lifted his book and went back to reading.


    ¡°I¡¯ll expect you to teach a class and report to yearly meetings.¡±


    ¡°Expectations. I couldn¡¯t imagine letting them down.¡±


    Aquari scoffed. She turned on her heel and marched out. Her eyes landed on Rhys, who had seen all this, and she froze.


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    Rhys lifted his hands. ¡°I saw nothing. The Schoolmaster¡¯s power is absolute.¡±


    ¡°Of course it is.¡± With a final harrumph, she walked out. Sunlight spilled in for a moment, and then the door slammed shut.


    Having watched her go, Rhys turned to Az. ¡°So¡­ who are you?¡±


    ¡°I told you, didn¡¯t I? A free spirit.¡±


    Rhys pressed his lips together, then sighed. He could already tell that Az wasn¡¯t going to tell him any more.


    ¡°But to you, I¡¯m the librarian. Now get out of my library,¡± Az said, tossing a book at him.


    ¡°Wait, wait. I read that series you leant me.¡± Rhys withdrew it from his storage ring and handed it over.


    For the first time since Rhys had arrived, Az sat up to receive the books. ¡°So? What did you think?¡±


    ¡°It was a good time! The last book was a bit eh, but it was pretty good until then. And it had to finish somewhere, I guess.¡±


    Az nodded. He pushed one of the stacks on his desk forward. Looking closer, Rhys saw it was a new stack, one he hadn¡¯t seen before. ¡°Try that one next.¡±


    ¡°Got it. Thank you.¡±


    ¡°Of course.¡±


    He paused. ¡°Er, if you aren¡¯t actually a teacher here¡­ how did you summon Aquari?¡±


    Az laughed. ¡°Isn¡¯t it obvious? What¡¯s more startling than finding out you suddenly have a Librarian you didn¡¯t hire?¡±


    Rhys opened his mouth, then closed it. Az had a good point. He¡¯d go check it out, if someone he¡¯d never heard of suddenly claimed to be his employee. ¡°Why don¡¯t any of the other teachers question you?¡±


    Az smiled, but didn¡¯t say anything.


    Rhys snorted to himself. Az wasn¡¯t revealing his mysteries? That was fine. He didn¡¯t really need to know. He already understood the most important part, anyways: Az was stronger than Aquari, to the extent that Aquari couldn¡¯t do anything about him. Rhys got the distinct impression that there were probably schools which would be happy to have someone like Az colonize their library¡­ but, well, the Infinite Constellation School was just trashy enough that Aquari was angry, instead of appreciating her good fortune.


    One way or another, Az didn¡¯t seem to mind, and as for Rhys, a trashy school suited him, so he didn¡¯t bring it up.


    Rhys nodded. ¡°Thank you for all your help.¡±


    ¡°Mhm. I¡¯ve taken a shine to you, Rhys.¡± Az stretched luxuriously, resting his book on his chest to tuck his hands behind his head. ¡°I think you and I have a great future ahead of us.¡±


    Is this what it feels like when a stray cat randomly comes up to you and decides it¡¯s your cat, now? Rhys wondered. He didn¡¯t give voice to his thoughts, though. Having a high-Tier expert on his side sounded like a good deal. Though, given how catlike Az was¡ªsince he¡¯s literally a cat, after all¡ªhe was pretty sure he¡¯d be a fool to rely on Az to help him, except when the man felt like it.


    ¡°I hope so as well,¡± Rhys said, smiling.


    ¡°Now get out. It¡¯s naptime.¡± Az waved him away, vlosing his eyes even as he spoke.


    Rhys saluted and scurried out, as Az had indicated. He didn¡¯t want to get on the guy¡¯s bad side. Not right after he¡¯d declared something like appreciation toward Rhys.


    Exiting the library, Rhys stood under the sky for a few moments, considering his next move. No matter what he came up with, though, one pressing prerogative kept floating to the top: the trash in the upper peak. He was probably ready for it, at least the weakest parts of it. And not only that, but the mysterious ¡®guest teacher¡¯ with unknown ulterior motives would be on his way soon. Getting the trash now meant protecting his path from the teacher¡­ but more importantly, it meant getting information on this guest. If Aquari had thrown out any correspondence with him, any of the paperwork, even an indication of what school he was from, that would be invaluable information that Rhys could either directly capitalize on, or read up on in the library later.


    ¡°Nothing for it,¡± he muttered to himself, and turned his feet toward the upper peak.


    He didn¡¯t walk directly there. That would be foolish, when Aquari had just indicated that access to the upper peak was a point of contention among other students. Instead, he ran off into the woods as if he was going to meet up with Ev, then rounded the mountain up toward the upper peak. The barrier that surrounded the upper peak had no visible entryway, so he was willing to bet it was equally accessible from any point on its perimeter. He could be wrong, but better to start sneaky and get pushed back to the front entrance, than to start with the front entrance only to find out he had a sneaky route all along.


    He drew up to the barrier and pulled out his pass. Nothing about the barrier changed. He looked at the pass, then at the barrier, then back at the pass. Slowly, he advanced toward the translucent blue wall of the barrier, one hand out.


    His fingertips pressed against the blue surface. Ripples spread from where he touched, as though he¡¯d dipped his hand into water. His fingers slipped past the barrier with no more resistance than the surface of water. He passed through, and stood on the other side of the barrier. He¡¯d reached the upper peak.


    ¡°Huh,¡± he muttered. He¡¯d wanted this since he¡¯d arrived. Access to the upper peak, and its precious trash. Now that he was there, he didn¡¯t know what to feel. He was happy, that was sure, but that was about it. He still had lots of work ahead of him.


    Rhys tucked the pass back away, then clapped. Lots of work to do, and it was time for him to get down to it. Just like the lower peak when he¡¯d first arrived, the upper peak was strewn with garbage. There was trash absolutely everywhere. Even out here, on the edge of the barrier, little bits of trash were strewn around, wrapped around the trees or tangled in the undergrowth. It reminded him of his home world, honestly.


    But unlike back home, this trash would make him far more powerful. He picked up a scrap of paper and instantly felt the thrum of mana in it. One piece of trash, made of more powerful materials, held almost as much mana as a small trash pile.


    He collected the trash as he walked, piling it up into a bag. To burn here, or burn back in his cave? It wouldn¡¯t give himself away to burn it up here, at least not now. The students thought he was a god, or cryptid, or something. No one but Ev and Tarais would link the black smoke to him.


    But on the other hand, if anyone ever did figure it out, they¡¯d know he was able to access the upper peak immediately. The jig would be up. The other students who cared about such things, who were probably the powerful ones to begin with, would be up his ass.


    And on the other, other hand, if he dragged powerful trash down the mountain, he risked losing it. At this power level, even the students who didn¡¯t care about trash might take an interest in his treasure. It emanated powerful mana pressure, enough for other students to notice, and more than enough for them to come after him or investigate it.


    He looked at his storage ring, then immediately dismissed it. The storage capacity was big enough for what he needed¡ªsome particularly choice pieces of trash for use with Trash Intent later, his herbs, a beat-up cauldron, and a few other do-dads he liked to keep on him¡ªbut it wasn¡¯t large enough for all that and a trash pile. He didn¡¯t want to completely empty it out to carry the smallest of trash piles down the mountain, because, after all, he wanted to push his limits and grow. Eventually, he¡¯d be burning huge piles of trash, which wouldn¡¯t be able to fit in the ring at all, even if he emptied it. Taking the trash down in batches had the same problem as toting high-powered trash down the peak. The aura risked luring the students to his little hideout, and the last thing he wanted to do was give away his safe spot, his home base, to a random passing student who got curious about the powerful mana signature coming from a supposedly empty patch of mountain. It wasn¡¯t a viable option.


    So either he burned it up here, and when or if they figured out that he was responsible for the smoke, he was in trouble, or he burned it down there, and if any students decided they wanted the powerful stuff he was lugging around, he was in trouble.


    Rhys twisted his lips, thinking for a moment, then shrugged. The trash was up here, and there was a barrier between him and the other students. He could always flee back up here or into the library if the other students caught on, though with the rumors going around? He was pretty sure anyone who tried to claim that little weak Rhys was the ¡®Impure King¡¯ or whatever they called the black smoke he produced was going to get ridiculed. He smirked at the thought of the strange mythos around him, and what sending smoke up from beyond the barrier of the upper peak was going to do to it.


    Only one way to find out. He threw down the cloth, piling up the trash he¡¯d gathered so far. There wasn¡¯t much of it, but already, its mana signature rivaled the pressure of an entire potion of filth. Even this remained but a fraction of the impurity and mana level of the toxic pit, but it was a place to start. A first step, in a long upward climb¡­ or downward fall, into the pit.


    Rhys took a deep breath. He clapped his hands together, then approached the pile. ¡°Here we go.¡±

 36. Big Trash

    Rhys sectioned off a portion of the trash that felt more-or-less equivalent to one of his impure potions, piling the rest to the side to add on later. He wanted to push his limits, but not too much. The first impure potion sip had almost gone too far, and now he was a little more wary of carelessly shoving up the upper limit of impurities he took in at one time. He didn¡¯t want to almost kill himself again. Better to be a little more cautious and approach this one step at a time until he could take on massive amounts of this upper-peak trash.


    Looking at his pile of trash, Rhys grinned. Activating stalker mode! He dug into it. One piece at a time, he went through everything he¡¯d gathered so far, searching for any interesting letters or tidbits of paper. The rare organic trash he set aside, for making yet richer fertilizer later. He hadn¡¯t forgotten how much Sorden had paid him for those herbs. If he grew herbs with the fertilizer from the upper peak, would they increase in quality yet again? He wasn¡¯t sure, but he was game to try.


    As expected, the trash that had flown this far had been out here for some time. The paper was weathered, the ink all but washed away. What little he gleaned was only what he already knew¡ªthat the Infinite Constellation School was a poor, small school, with few connections and little power. It owed large debts to nearby schools, which it slowly paid off, but which were often leveraged to force Aquari or the other teachers into tasks that they had no desire to complete. Rather than a noble mage of great standing, their Schoolmaster, Aquari, was more like the bullied kid who could only bow her head and act as a gofer for the more powerful Schoolmasters. From what he read, she was at the absolute lower limit one could be to qualify as a Schoolmaster, and consequently, she wasn¡¯t able to act freely very often. Instead, she was bossed around and treated like trash.


    Well, I knew that.


    There was nothing, however, about the upcoming ¡®guest teacher,¡¯ or even an indication of what school he¡¯d be from, or what Tier he was. To find out that kind of thing, he¡¯d need much fresher trash than the long-lost dregs that had fluttered through the woods to the edge of the barrier. It wasn¡¯t that surprising, in all honesty, that he didn¡¯t find anything out yet. It was fine, too. He planned to pick up every piece of trash on the upper peak. He¡¯d find out eventually.


    He set the trash he wasn¡¯t going to burn to the side, nearby enough that he could reach for it and add it on later. With all his pre-treatment done, it was time to get down to business and burn some trash. Rhys clapped his hands and rubbed them together eagerly. Here we go!


    He touched a match to the pile. Fire crackled, quickly growing. The familiar dark smoke leaped up, and Rhys breathed it in.


    It was powerful. Mana flowed into him, and with it, impurities. Fewer of them, but with each one individually more powerful than any impurity he¡¯d felt before. He breathed deep, excited.


    The smoke poured in. It was powerful, but his limits had expanded from his early days. He had enough mana to send it into the compost, but that was it. His limits weren¡¯t stretched. He was simply able to take in this much mana.


    Hold on. That¡¯s no good! Rhys grabbed a hunk of nearby trash and threw it on the pile. The mana flowing into him grew stronger, but the smaller amount of impurities flowing in with the mana meant that only his mana limits were pressed. The impurities, too, were stronger, but they didn¡¯t possess the piercing qualities of the hyper-concentrated impurities from the potions, or even a corrosiveness that exceeded that of ordinary impurities. Or rather, they were more corrosive, far more corrosive, but there were so many fewer of them that Rhys still had a good handle on keeping them in check.


    Rhys¡¯ brows furrowed. His impurity limits weren¡¯t pressed by this. That wasn¡¯t good. He needed to raise the quantity and quality of impurity he could absorb, not simply expand his mana capacities.


    He was at his very limit, his core stretched like a balloon about to pop even with spewing off mana to make compost, so he couldn¡¯t add any more to the fire, but as he sat there, Rhys thought to himself, his brain working overtime. How could he make these impurities more dangerous, so he could use them as a stepping stone toward the toxic pit?


    The first answer that came to his mind was concentration. But how? This wasn¡¯t the leftover scum in a cauldron, this was trash. Cauldron scum had been a potion, at some point¡ªa liquid. By adding a few reagents, he could coax it to re-enter that liquid state, then concentrate it into a potion. How did he concentrate trash? Trash was¡­ things. Anything. A piece of charcoal. A tossed-aside fork. Bent metal, a clump of paper, a rotten apple, a ruined waterlogged book crawling with mold. If he put all that in a cauldron, he didn¡¯t even know how he¡¯d go about melting it down. How did one melt an apple, in the first place? A book? He was sure it was possible, but through complex chemical or magical manipulation that was far beyond his pitiful skills and comprehension.


    I could just burn more, he considered, but given that he was at his mana limits now, from this small amount of trash, he¡¯d have to slowly ramp up over a long time to push his core to be large enough for him to absorb a significant amount of impurities. Years, even. It was an option, but not one he relished taking. That impure pit would sit there, waiting, the whole time. At any point, someone else could come along and swoop it up, and then where would he be?


    Not that many other people had an interest in trash, of course, but who knew? Maybe there was someone who came along and emptied the pit every century or so. He didn¡¯t know, and it made him profoundly uncomfortable to leave such a valuable source of power sitting there for so long.


    Rhys took another deep breath, then widened his eyes. Would that work? He looked at the smoke, then reached into his storage ring. He¡¯d put some tidbits in there that he¡¯d found in the garbage that seemed useful. Bits of string, long straight sticks he could use for bonking, twisted bits of metal that might serve as caltrops or thrown weapons. Now, he pulled out one of the items. A huge, stained bedsheet. He¡¯d washed it thoroughly, but the mysterious stain refused to completely come out. It was clean, though, and it would serve his purposes today.


    By now, it was relatively simple for him to disconnect from the trash¡¯s mana stream, at least with a pile at this level, where he was relatively under control. Running around the edge of the burning trash, Rhys tied the sheet into the trees, high over the fire. The smoke now had to pass through the sheet to escape.


    Rhys touched the sheet and called forth Trash Intent. His mana flowed through the sheet, strengthening it, and closing the gaps between the fibers. Now, it was a complete thing, a whole, powerful piece of fabric that couldn¡¯t be singed by a passing ember. More importantly, without gaps between the fibers, there was nowhere for the smoke to go. It collected in the sheet, catching all the impurities he might have let escape, even with breathing the smoke.


    Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    One hand pressed to the sheet, Rhys returned to absorbing the trash mana, but this time, he deliberately excluded the impurities as well as he could, by forming a dense net of mana strings at the opening of his mouth and nose. It was far denser than his previous net, which had only sought to make the passing impurities smaller. This one strove to keep them all out.


    His mind blurred. Between activating Trash Intent to its limits, forcing it to create an impermeable barrier from a cheap old sheet, and creating the mana net at his mouth, he was pushing his mental strength to its limits. He instinctively sensed he couldn¡¯t keep this up for long. It was a good idea, capturing all the impurities and breathing none in, so that he could concentrate the ashes into a potion later, but impractical. He wasn¡¯t powerful enough to maintain both yet. If not for the trash mana pouring in, he wouldn¡¯t have had the mana for it, and as it was, his core was emptying of mana even with the mana he gained every moment. He was losing mana on this exchange.


    Rhys held on, wracking what little remained available of his brain for a solution. Abruptly, his eyes widened, and he smacked himself in the forehead at his own stupidity. If Trash Intent could keep the impurities in the smoke in, why couldn¡¯t it also keep the impurities out of his body? He reached into his storage ring and drew out another, smaller scrap of fabric. This one was finer, as well, from one of the nice pieces of clothing he¡¯d found in the trash heap outside his hometown. He wrapped it tightly over his nose and mouth, then deactivated the mana-thread net and, for the first time, activated a second simultaneous Trash Intent.


    Instantly, he felt his mind and body reach their utter limits. He no longer lost mana, but two activations of Trash Intent simultaneously were almost more than he could bear. Trash Intent meant understanding the item intimately, every fiber, every crack and hole, every twist and tear. He had to hold the whole item in his mind, or else lose it. In some cases, the item¡¯s own intent would speak to him, like when he used a table leg to resurrect a table, filling in the gaps of what had been; in other cases, like with this scrap of fabric, the item had long forgotten its own shape, and so instead, Rhys was forced to wrap his mind around the item and hold it there, in the shape he desired. The sheet had its own intent, but he wasn¡¯t relying on that. Instead, he was forcing it to take on the shape he desired, which likewise pushed Trash Intent to its limits.


    A splitting headache immediately assaulted Rhys¡¯ mind, and his focus wavered, barely holding on. Between the two options, this one he could keep up indefinitely, but it pushed his mind to its absolute capacity. He¡¯d thought he¡¯d been straining before, but then, he¡¯d still had brain to spare on thinking up new solutions. Now, there was no brain to spare. His whole world boiled down to these two objects. He was aware of nothing but the scrap of cloth, the sheet, and the mana that rushed in with every breath. The headache hammered into him like a sledgehammer beating an ice pick into his skull. His head pounded with each beat of his heart. Black dots swam between his vision, and darkness encroached on its edges.


    There were still impurities in the mana, but far, far fewer, so few that, were he able to think, he might have suspected that other mages who avoided impurities would have been satisfied with the outcome. The sheet, on the other hand, let no impurities through. He needed mana and air to pass through the cloth over his mouth, and some tiny impurities slipped through along with those two. The sheet was an impervious barrier. He didn¡¯t need to let anything through it, and so he didn¡¯t. The smoke collected there, thick with impurities, then condensed and fell back down into the fire. Through the horrific headache and his utterly split focus, Rhys could barely sense impurities gathering in the ashes with every passing second.


    The flames burned down. The mana ran out. Rhys lowered his Trash Intent, and gasped as the pain faded from his head. It felt like a breath of fresh air, like sunlight after a thousand years in the dark. The relief from the pain was profound, utterly lifting all the weight off his body.


    He hadn¡¯t made any leaps and bounds in strengthening his body. He only had a few impurities, not enough to burn. His core, on the other hand, was larger. Not hugely larger, but increased in size by enough that he was satisfied with his growth.


    Rhys drew out his favorite slightly-beat-up cauldron from his storage ring and, using a broken shovel Trash-Intented back into its true form, shoveled the ashes into it. He delicately brushed off the sheet as well, pushing any of the impurities clinging to its fabric into the cauldron. The result was barely enough to fill a tenth of the cauldron, and even then, he¡¯d shoveled in plenty of ordinary ashes along with the impurities.


    He dusted off his hands and grinned. Nine more fires to fill the cauldron? No problem. It was time to get to work.


    His first order of business was to cart the compost back to his old hiding spot, where he tested it on his garden. Just adding the new compost, without even adding any of his own mana, the plants instantly bloomed, surging taller, putting out new leaves and fresh stems. Buds unfurled, stubborn sprouts grew taller, and seeds that had lain dormant suddenly sprung up. Still riding high off the tide of his previous absorption of mana, Rhys fed the plants until they were ready to be harvested, then plucked, chopped, and picked the best sprigs, with a note to stop by Sorden later to see if she¡¯d be interested in buying another round from him. It had been long enough by now. She¡¯d probably need more.


    He didn¡¯t have enough for a second batch of the same size as the first at the higher quality with the new compost, though, so he returned to the upper peak shortly after. Burn trash, filter out the impurities, fill the cauldron, take the compost down, grow the herbs, return to the peak. Like that, his days took on a familiar loop, as he rushed up and down the mountainside. His legs grew stronger from all the climbing and descending he was doing, and he grew faster as well. The other students, used to seeing him rush around, didn¡¯t comment at all, except to complain when he neglected the lower peak¡¯s trash a bit in favor of focusing on the new, stronger, upper peak trash.


    Ten days in, he¡¯d finally cleared the outlying forest around the Schoolmaster and her friends¡¯ dwellings of scraps of trash. He left the far-flung regions of the upper peak alone. His instincts told him nothing but death awaited him, and the piles of horrific-smelling droppings and large clawed paw prints agreed. Some fearsome beast or beasts lived on the peak, and he would be foolish to wander too far from the peak in search of trash, lest he end up in that beast¡¯s belly instead.


    Rhys shoveled the last batch of impurities into his cauldron. Ashes filled it to the brim. There wasn¡¯t a single space for anything but impure ashes and impurities. As he finished filling it, and gave it a final pleased tap-down, he suddenly hesitated and looked it over again. A whole cauldron, filled to the brim with impurities. Not just any impurities, but larger and more powerful ones than the ones he¡¯d concentrated from the potion gunk. When he¡¯d made that, the cauldron had exploded with enough force to impale him with metal. What would happen when he tried to brew this cauldron into an impure potion?


    Rhys licked his lips. He nodded slowly. I might have fucked up.


    A second later, he steeled himself. It was just like when he¡¯d burned the trash on the peak. He wouldn¡¯t get anywhere if he played it safe and cautiously filled the cauldron with only the amount of impurities that he was sure he could handle. Mages grew by pushing their limits. He had to step outside of his boundaries, outside of his comfort, and push himself, or he¡¯d stagnate like the trash he was at heart.


    Besides, that potion gunk was deliberately made volatile by Alum. I can¡¯t judge this ash¡¯s explosiveness from that.


    So decided, he faced down the slightly beat up cauldron and took a deep breath. It was time to concentrate the impurities, part two.


    Hopefully without exploding the cauldron this time.

 37. Brewing Ash

    For all that mages grew by pushing their limits, Rhys also wasn¡¯t stupid. A table leg with a portion of table attached to its top sat within reaching distance to his left, table-side pointed at the cauldron, ready to become a shield via Trash Intent at the first sign of danger. Rhys set up on the side of a cliff. He could kick the cauldron off if it showed signs of fruitlessly exploding, and a stub of what had once been a long board sat on his right, ready to push it off if a kick would be too slow or too dangerous.


    Now that he could maintain two Trash Intents at once, he could also activate the stub to jab it off and the table to act as a shield at the same time, and he¡¯d deliberately angled the two so such a thing was possible. Tested them, even, though one at a time. The splitting headache that two activations of Trash Intent, and the prohibitive mana cost, kept him from trying to activate both at once. It was a good activity to do when he had excessive trash mana flowing through him and needed something to get rid of mana, but not when he was about to attempt a difficult round of alchemy that would likely require a fair share of mana.


    It really wasn¡¯t something that he could simply ¡®maintain at once,¡¯ but rather a life-saving last-ditch technique. Once he practiced it more, he was sure he could maintain two at once without the requisite headache and paralyzingly intense focus, but for now, it was something he¡¯d have to keep as his ace in the hole. If his opponents knew about it, they could easily counter it.


    Not only was it hard to activate and maintain, but he also felt instinctively that both Trash Intents were easier to shatter than a single Trash Intent. It made sense. After all, he could truly commune with the trash when he only had one Trash Intent. He could pour all his mana into that one item, and give it every scrap of focus as he dragged it into being. When he had two, and both his mind and mana were split, it was all he could do to hang on, forget about reinforcing the Trash Intent. A good blow would break one, and the subsequent backlash from breaking one might well shatter the second, too, in one fell swoop.


    All in all, his new technique was best used as a final ace, to be used as a last surprise to finish an opponent, or for flashy intimidation, but not in equal battle. Right now, though, it was more than enough to save his ass from a cauldron explosion, or so he hoped. His plan was to activate both for a split second, then deactivate the pushing-rod and focus all his attention on the table, so that way the table could absorb the blow. Still, he couldn¡¯t be sure it would work.


    Only one way to find out.


    He¡¯d fetched some water from a nearby stream. Now he poured it in, wetting the ash to a dark slurry. Most potions called for pure water, but he wasn¡¯t worried about that. The water was clear enough, and besides, he was trying for the maximum concentration of impurities, not attempting to make a proper potion. Once the ashes were fully wetted and ever so slightly slopping around in the cauldron, he lit the fire underneath and began the process of extracting the impurities.


    The first time he¡¯d brewed an impure potion, he¡¯d been dealing with potion scraps. They were dense with impurities, and mostly needed to be boiled down. This time, the ash was strewn with a light distribution of very powerful impurities. At a guess, he could probably remove seventy percent of the material in the cauldron, and lose no impurities. No, it¡¯s probably higher than that. The problem was, he needed to remove both the water which he¡¯d just added, as well as the ash, which was a solid, non-melting material.


    The pot reached a boil, and Rhys drew out a piece of thin, threadbare fabric from his storage ring. Using a random bit of crooked wire, he fashioned a makeshift net. As the water boiled, the heavy impurities naturally settled down, while the light ashes separated up. He pressed his hands to the side and circulated his mana through the cauldron, encouraging the process to speed up. The impurities he called to the bottom, pulling them down through the ashes. As if sensing their brethren ingrained into Rhys¡¯ every pore, the impurities eagerly followed his mana¡­ or maybe it was the fact that he was pushing out waves of mana into the cauldron, so that the ashes trembled at a high frequency and naturally separated into their impure and pure parts. The ashes constantly welled up, fountaining on the surface, while the impurities sank, sank, sank. It reminded him of those videos online of the rings being cleaned by vibrating them at supersonic speeds. He made a poor replica with his mana, but the end result was more or less the same. The filth sank down, and the ash rose up.


    At last, he sensed no more impurities in the surface ash. Rhys skimmed the surface of the water like a poolboy on a summer afternoon, and came up with a shimmering scoopful of pure white ash. He started to dump it on the ground, then hesitated. Pure ash¡­ was that something Sorden might use in her potions? Ash was highly alkaline, so it could be used as a reactant in a basic potion or a neutralizer in an acidic one. Alchemy wasn¡¯t exactly chemistry, he realized that even with his high school chemistry background, but it was close enough that the general rules about acids and bases held true. A highly alkaline base, and one this pure, at that, would likely be valuable to Sorden.


    He drew out a fine-knit piece of fabric, large enough to wrap around the cauldron, and dumped the scoop of ash into it. The water instantly soaked through it, but the ash stayed within.


    A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.


    One scoop at a time, he removed the ash from the cauldron, waiting until he was sure he¡¯d extracted every impurity he could from it. The result was highly purified ash, but that was only a byproduct to Rhys. His true intent was the thick sludge of impurities at the very bottom of the cauldron, the dark slime he could already sense the potency of, even in this incomplete and less than completely dense form. The cauldron slowly emptied. At one point, it grew too low for him to easily separate the ash and the slime, so he added more water and returned to the cycle of removing the purified ash.


    A heap of ash piled up beside him. Strangely, it had diminished as it had purified. Although the cauldron had been heaped to absolutely full, almost overfull, and most of the cauldron¡¯s worth of ash had been removed, the pile of purified ash that remained was only about enough to fill half the cauldron. He wasn¡¯t sure where the missing ash had gone, because it certainly wasn¡¯t in the small puddle of impurities at the bottom, but he definitely ended up with less than what he¡¯d put into the cauldron on the other side, and Newton be damned. He gave the shimmering white ash a look, then shrugged. Might as well chalk it up to the angel¡¯s share and move on. It was only a byproduct, after all, so it wasn¡¯t like it even upset him. The world had magic, so why would it follow the physics he knew, after all?


    He removed the last of the ash, and was left only with the impure sludge on the bottom and the water on top. He fed the fire beneath it more heat, and the pot began to boil. Steam poured out of its mouth. Using a stick, he stirred it gently to keep the impurities from sticking to the bottom and becoming cauldron gunk, all the while boiling it down.


    Up until this point, the process had been largely non-volatile. The ash wasn¡¯t particularly reactive, and since he¡¯d focused his efforts on the ash and not the impurities, the impurities were free to lounge at the bottom of the pot, largely undisturbed. As the pot boiled down, though, the impurities were brought to bear. At last, the energies he remembered from his last attempt began trembling within the pot, beating against its walls.


    Rhys put his hands against the cauldron and pushed his mana into it. Trash Intent surrounded the cauldron. His Intent couldn¡¯t fix the dents and dings in the cauldron. If he allowed the Intent to take on the cauldron¡¯s ideal form, it would only stand there, outside of the dents, and do nothing to strengthen the actual cauldron. Instead, he held the Intent within the walls of the cauldron, using it to reinforce the trashed cauldron. The impurities¡¯ energy hammered against the walls, but with the reinforcement, the energy bounced harmlessly back.


    He focused, pushing his mana through the wall. He massaged the impurities, pulling them inward. He needed them fully concentrated. As dense as they could get.


    The denser they got, the more they bumped into one another, and the wilder the energy got. The impurities were separated in the ash, and hadn¡¯t interacted to one another. Now that he was concentrating them, they reacted strongly with one another. The pot bubbled and spat. The cauldron trembled. Mana twisted in the air around the cauldron as the impurities corrupted the air around them. Dark smoke settled around the ground near the cauldron. Rhys probed the smoke with his mana, a little worried that the impurities were escaping, but it seemed to only be an effect cast by the brewing or an illusion of some sort.


    These were the strongest impurities he¡¯d ever handled. Before, they¡¯d been less dense, and they hadn¡¯t been hard to deal with. Now that they were closer together, they fought against one another. They didn¡¯t want to be close. The glob of impurities trembled in his mana grasp, struggling to break apart. They resisted existing in their current concentration, and anything further was absolutely against their nature. Each impurity on its own was a significant source of power. A handful, ten or so, was enough to equal an old trash pile. If they hadn¡¯t been so dispersed, or rather, if they¡¯d been as dense as the lower level impurities were in the low level trash piles, they would¡¯ve absolutely overwhelmed him when he¡¯d burned the first trash pile up here. Not a single one of them wanted to anywhere near another impurity.


    Not that it mattered. He was going to concentrate them, whether they wanted to be concentrated or not. The benefits from Less is More alone were enough to decide it for him, not to mention the total waste of absorbing them at their dispersed rate.


    He pressed the impurities together with his mana, refusing to let them apart. As he did, he carefully lifted one hand off the pot and drew forth a few strands of herbs from his storage ring. Those he added into the pot, then slammed the lid down. The herbs had concentrative properties, but more importantly, they were purifying herbs. They pushed impurities out of things. There was no such thing as completely ridding a potion of impurities, but adding one of these could strip out at least a little of the unwanted materials.


    Now, he brewed those purifying herbs into the liquid that surrounded the dense glob of impurities on the bottom. The water became the antithesis to impurities, and forced the impurities tighter together.


    Tighter and tighter. Between his direct mana manipulation, the pressure gathering under the closed lid, and the purifying herbs, he condensed the impurities down to an orb, then tighter. The cauldron rocked under his hands. Its metal creaked. One of the dents abruptly popped back out, resuming its original shape. Even under the full force of Trash Intent, he couldn¡¯t completely preserve the cauldron¡¯s integrity any more. This was the critical moment. If the cauldron burst now, he¡¯d lose everything.


    Sweat dripped down his forehead. He focused intently on the ball of impurities in his hands, slowly massaging it down, down, down, to something smaller and smaller. Pressure built. The cauldron groaned, bulging out at the middle. The lid shuddered, struggling to break free. All the water boiled down to steam, which pressed on the impurities and likewise on the sides of the cauldron, seeking freedom.


    A little longer. Hold on a little longer!


    The impurities trembled. Rhys¡¯ focus narrowed, down to nothing but the impurities. This was it. The moment. They either exploded, or he succeeded. His everything was the tiny, dense glob; his world was contained within the cauldron. His hands pressed down, and the orb pushed back. It slipped in his hands, and his grip loosened.


    No!

 38. Condensed

    His grip slipped, but only for a moment. Rhys caught the ball and clenched down, tighter than before. It shuddered, tried to slip, but this time, he didn¡¯t let it. The intense pressure from Rhys¡¯ mana, the steam, and the heat all came to bear on the orb, and it finally, at last, melted.


    Rhys¡¯ eyes flashed. Now!


    He kicked the cauldron. The lid shot off in a jet of steam. A black blob flew out just behind the lid, hurtling up into the air. He grabbed a potion container from his storage ring and held it out, calling the impurities to him with his other hand. The black blob fell, but it retained its shape as it fell. Rhys pulled it into the vial and slammed the lid shut.


    Crrk-crrk-crrk. Instantly, hairline cracks shot through the vial. High pitched creaks and shatters filled the air as new cracks formed and existing cracks dug deeper. Startled, Rhys released Trash Intent on the now-empty cauldron and quickly applied it to the vial. The deterioration slowed, but it didn¡¯t stop. The potion was too corrosive, too destructive. It ate away at the mana powering his Intent and corroded it, the same as it corroded the glass.


    Rhys poured more mana in, only for it to sink into the impurities. At the absolute top speed he could feed mana into the Intent skill, he could barely keep up with the rate of corrosion inside the glass. He stared at it, shocked. It was a success and a half. On its own, this potion was a training material, to force him to keep Trash Intent up for longer and practice preventing his mana from getting corroded by impurities. If he drank it¡­


    A sensation of terror came over Rhys, his instincts quailing at the idea. If he drank it, he died. He was absolutely sure of that. It was too corrosive. His body, his mana, neither of them were ready for it yet.


    He grinned, looking at the potion. Neither of them were ready yet. With the potion he held in his hand right here, though, they¡¯d be ready. He just needed more practice.


    Rhys sat by the cauldron and focused his Intent on the bottle. He¡¯d never used it for more than a few minutes at a time, but now, he held it active for hours. At the same time, he paid close attention to where his mana met the potion, watching the corrosive process closely. If he wanted to drink this potion, he needed to be able to handle it without his mana corroding. Whatever it did in the bottle was the same thing it would do inside him, just on an easier-to-handle scale. If he could solve it here, he¡¯d solve it for when he drank the potion, as well.


    Fifteen minutes passed. His mana was almost out, and a tiny headache grew at his temples. He had the vague sensation that Trash Intent was drawing an unusual amount of mana, but he couldn¡¯t be sure. He¡¯d never held it this long before. His Intent held strong, though, showing no sign of wavering. He sipped his mana potion to keep his mana high.


    Half an hour. The mana loss accelerated the longer he held the technique. He no longer questioned whether it was unusual or not; it was. He needed to sip the mana potion more often now. His temples throbbed, and his skull ached. His Intent wavered at the edges as his focus wobbled, split between the Intent and his studies, distracted by the pain.


    Three quarters of an hour. Rhys sipped his mana potion yet again and kept going. His whole head was on fire. His Intent barely held. He would have given up, but there was something about his mana. About the way it corroded. He¡¯d almost understood it. Just a little longer. He only had to hold on a little longer, and he¡¯d understand!


    An hour. The first mana potion was empty, and he was already a quarter through the next one. His vision blurred. His Intent wobbled, on the verge of collapse. But none of that mattered. He stared closely at his mana and the impurities, bloodshot eyes wide. The mana touched the impurities, and the impurities infected it, degraded it, then destroyed it. But where did that energy go? Surely it had to go somewhere.


    Inside. Inside the impurities. The impurities absorb it.


    His mana wasn¡¯t deteriorating. It was changing. From ordinary mana, it became part of the impurities, an energy source for them that allowed them to grow and change. He¡¯d thought of impurities as garbage, as nothing but solid blocks of refuse that he could burn for energy, and that was true, but it was a limited understanding. Impurities were more than just garbage. They were also a disease, of sort. Something one could get infected with. Something that could build up over time, accumulate, but also taint and ruin mana.


    Or, at least, that¡¯s what the average person who only sees them as trash might think, Rhys thought to himself. They ruined mana? No. They simply turned the mana into more impurities. More energy for themselves. That was the energy he unlocked when he burned them. Static, low-level impurities passively drained the mana out of objects. Higher-level impurities could actively seek out and absorb mana¡ªthough again at a low, slow rate. These impurities were dangerous to him because of his low Tier. If he were a higher Tier, then, based on the vast disparity between his small mana pool and that of a higher Tier mage, they might seem no more than passive to him. It was only because he¡¯d encountered them so early, when he was so weak, that he was able to have this insight.


    Since impurities carry energy the same way mana does, I wonder if I could circulate impurities, instead of mana? Rhys allowed himself the thought, but quickly shut it away. It was impractical, for now. It took far too much effort for him to find and absorb impurities of a sufficient strength and density to be equivalent to his current mana, let alone stronger, and even if he fed all his mana in, the transaction wasn¡¯t 1:1. He¡¯d lost all his mana and then some, trying to keep Intent active, and the impurities hadn¡¯t even increased an appreciable amount within the potion. That didn¡¯t even get into the troubles with circulating impurities¡ªthe strange and sometimes damaging shapes of them, keeping them moving without letting them cling to the walls of his mana passages, the difficulty of igniting them to get energy out, let alone the problem that he couldn¡¯t put out an impurity fire, only light one and wait for it to burn out. It was a thought for later, not now.


    He snapped back to the moment. His mana corroded when it touched the impurities, because the impurities could infect it. When he touched the impurities, tiny bits of them broke off and went into his mana, which began the downward spiral of his mana deteriorating. But what if he didn¡¯t touch the impurities?


    Rhys turned his focus on Trash Intent. It gripped an object and filled it with mana, reforming it or holding its shape according to how it was meant to be, or perhaps how the object itself longed to be. The intent itself touched the object, and consequently, touched everything inside the object.


    But what if it didn¡¯t? He could see the impurities and his mana without touching them. Using his aura, he could even watch from inside the potion bottle without risking his mana. What if he projected an aura around the trash when he used his intent on it? That way, the mana would be protected, and not only that, but he¡¯d be able to sense things around the trash, rather than simply reshape it and support it with mana.


    Rhys took some of his aura and wrapped it around the potion, but that did nothing. The potion was already within his aura. Intentionally wrapping it just meant he paid more attention to it. It didn¡¯t change anything about the Intent itself.


    He frowned. No, that was wrong. That was his aura. He wanted the trash to have an aura. Like how he gave the trash intent, he also wanted to give it aura.


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    He reached out and felt the Intent, sensed every part of it. The Intent skill was formed from mana. His mana had an aura, so surely the Intent skill had an aura as well. He focused on it, searching it for any sign of an aura. The amount of mana actively in the Intent was so small that he could barely feel it, especially on an object this small, but it was there. It was there, and he could feel it. If he could feel it, did it not have an aura?


    Using his aura, he examined the potion closely. He could feel it. Feel its mana. And there¡ªwas that it? A fuzzy sensation just over the surface of the mana. Like drifting his hand past a sweater in winter and feeling the static electricity against his palm. Right there! From the outside, he sensed the aura.


    Now, from the inside.


    He turned back to his Intent skill and focused on it. He put his all into it, until he wasn¡¯t just observing the Intent, he was the Intent. He surrounded the potion vial and kept it intact. Bits of himself broke off, but that was fine. He was being fed by the great source, the beginning point of all mana. The pieces he lost would be replaced.


    His whole world was the glass within him and the great source. There was nothing else. Nothing else mattered.


    No, a little voice interrupted. It does matter!


    He tried to push it away, but it wouldn¡¯t shut up. With a sigh, he turned his attention inward. Something sludgy churned within the glass. It was this that tried to invade him, destroy him, devour him. This was what took the pieces of him.


    It hadn¡¯t bothered him a moment ago, but now, facing it, he was filled with rage. Something took pieces of him? Unacceptable! The great source had limited resources, and mana potions cost money! He couldn¡¯t simply sit back and allow himself to deteriorate.


    The thing he¡¯d used to sense the sludge lit up in his mind. It was weak, but it was there, the same as it was present in all things with mana¡ªan aura. For the first time, he forcibly extended it. He used the aura to surround himself, firming it up and intentionally emitting it at a high enough power to keep the sludge from touching him. The sludge tried to eat away at the aura, but found itself facing a far more difficult task. The aura was nothing but energy, rather than pseudo-physical mana, and it couldn¡¯t corrupt energy.


    He smiled, pleased at a job well done, and let his awareness slip away.


    Rhys jolted back awake. He blinked, startled. Did I¡­ uh, insert my consciousness into the Trash Intent? No, it wasn¡¯t just that. He pulled up his skill sheet, already suspecting what he¡¯d see.


    Sure enough, at the very bottom:


    Enlightenment 2 > 3


    Trash Aura


    He laughed aloud, running his hair back. A level in Enlightenment and a new skill? He¡¯d really made great gains here today. He stood and dusted himself off, then drew out a new vial, used Trash Intent and Trash Aura on it¡ªthough using two intents at once made black spots appear on his vision, and almost drained his remaining mana in one go¡ªand poured the potion into the new, uncorrupted vial. Better to reinforce a whole, well-shaped vial than try to keep a near-shattered one intact.


    He canceled his Trash Intent on the first vial. Without Trash Intent to keep it together, it instantly shattered. Shimmering grains of glass rained down. Rhys saluted the fallen soldier, then turned. For all that this was great training, he couldn¡¯t keep Trash Intent up forever, not to mention that if he got caught off guard right now, he¡¯d immediately be in deadly danger without the ability to call on Trash Intent to defend himself. It was time for another trip to Sorden. Surely the potion master had specialized vials meant to contain highly corrosive materials.


    Rhys packed up his cauldron and the ash, separating out a small portion of the ash for himself. He looked at the potion longingly. He wanted nothing more than to take a sip and see what happened, but he knew better. He hadn¡¯t managed to actually shield his mana against the corrosion, he¡¯d only figured out how to use Trash Aura on top of Trash Intent to prevent his Trash Intent from decaying. That probably wasn¡¯t a good route for him to keep his general mana from getting corroded, so he still needed to work that one out. Plus, the danger he sensed from this potion far exceeded the danger he¡¯d felt from any other source of impurities. He wasn¡¯t going to carelessly drink it. He needed to work up to it, which meant he needed a container to store it in until he was ready to use it.


    It was a short trip down the mountain despite his roundabout route to prevent anyone from seeing him exit the upper peak. He headed straight to Sorden, not wanting to risk a negative encounter on the way there. Though at this point, he wasn¡¯t sure who would attack him. He¡¯d countered the low-tier Triple J Crew bullies, and the higher-tier bullies of Cynog¡¯s underlings.


    Cynog himself was still a serious threat, but he was pretty sure the man wouldn¡¯t come after him in public again, between the potential that Rhys might actually land a good hit in front of everyone, and the opposite potential that Rhys would simply play the victim in front of everyone, and reap everyone¡¯s sympathy while moving Cynog firmly into the position of the worst bully in the school. It was a rock and a hard place for Cynog¡¯s reputation. Either he got badly hit by a low-Tier student and humiliated in front of everyone, or he beat up a defenseless low-Tier student for the second time and became even more of an asshole in everyone¡¯s mind than he already was.


    In any case, no one interrupted his journey back down the mountain. He reached Sorden¡¯s room in record time and pushed open the rear door, peeking inside. This one opened near the front of the room where Sorden lectured, so he only poked his head in for a moment before retreating again when he saw she was busy lecturing. It didn¡¯t stop Alum from glaring fiercely at him, not that he cared. Quietly, he wished the boy well at creating yet more toxic potions so that he could still gain by absorbing the scum. Alum¡¯s potions had been great training. If not for them, he probably wouldn¡¯t have survived the fumes from boiling down the more powerful impurities. In fact, if Alum could make something really toxic right now, that¡¯d be a huge help. The potion he¡¯d just brewed was a big step up in impurities. He was pretty sure he could handle it, but it wasn¡¯t going to be easy. It¡¯d be much easier to absorb a few toxic Alum potions, then try the potion again.


    He turned to walk away, only for the door to open. Sorden stepped out. ¡°Can I help you?¡±


    ¡°Er, aren¡¯t you in the middle of class?¡± Rhys asked.


    She waved her hand. ¡°Do you have a new batch of herbs?¡±


    ¡°I do, and also¡­ I don¡¯t know if you¡¯ll be interested in this at all, but¡­¡± He drew out the purified ash and handed it over.


    Sorden squinted at it, examining it. She dipped a finger in the ash and sniffed it, then touched it to her tongue. Her eyes flew open, and she jumped back. ¡°Is that Silver-White Ash?¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s purified ash,¡± Rhys replied honestly.


    ¡°Silver-White Ash is any kind of ash that¡¯s reached a certain threshold of purity,¡± she replied distractedly. She looked at Rhys. ¡°You¡¯re selling this, then? And herbs?¡±


    ¡°And herbs, yes. They might be a bit dry since it¡¯s been a while since I plucked them, but they should still be usable.¡± Rhys drew them out as well.


    Sorden stored the ash and herbs away. ¡°What do you want? Gold? Something more?¡±


    ¡°Gold is nice, but also¡­ do you have any containers¡ªbottles, vials, whatever, it doesn¡¯t matter¡ªthat can hold something highly corrosive?¡±


    ¡°Glass should work,¡± she replied.


    ¡°It corrodes glass,¡± Rhys said.


    Sorden¡¯s brows rose. Intrigue crossed her face. ¡°May I ask what it is you need to store?¡±


    Rhys pressed his lips together. ¡°It would be too much to explain, but just understand that it¡¯s something highly corrosive, destructive and dangerous. I need something that can store it for longer than¡­ say, ten seconds for unprotected glass?¡±


    She put a finger on her chin, thinking, then nodded. ¡°I think I have something. Let me finish class, and I¡¯ll find it for you.¡±


    ¡°Of course. Thank you,¡± Rhys replied.


    ¡°No, thank you. I¡¯ll still owe you a fair bit of gold after this, so don¡¯t go anywhere,¡± she said, and vanished back into the classroom.


    Rhys nodded to her back. With nothing to do, he lounged outside the classroom. A few minutes in, he drew out the potion. He was keeping it in his robes, within easy reaching distance in case he needed to transfer it again. The low-grade headache from keeping Trash Intent up for a prolonged period resurged with nothing to distract him, pounding against his temples. He sipped a mana potion to push the pain and the mana drain back¡ªnot from the potion corroding his mana, but from simply keeping Trash Intent active for this long¡ªand lifted the potion to eye level, getting a good look again.


    The impurities ate away at his Trash Aura, but the Trash Intent simply replenished its aura. It took far less mana than keeping Trash Intent active, too. He grinned. He¡¯d caught them, and bottled them, and soon, they¡¯d be all his.


    Just wait. As soon as he had a permanent bottle that he didn¡¯t need to constantly enhance, he¡¯d try out these impurities.


    Sorden must have been almost done with class, because she emerged a bare fifteen minutes later and gestured. ¡°Follow me.¡±


    Rhys nodded. Smiling wide, he followed after the potion instructor, unaware of Alum glaring a hole in him from far behind.

 39. Bottle

    Sorden led the way to her house. Rhys followed close behind, familiar with the route from the previous time he¡¯d handed herbs over. She had him wait outside her house while she vanished inside and emerged with a white enameled bottle. A faint aura of mana emanated from the bottle.


    ¡°What do you think?¡± she asked, holding it out.


    Rhys held up his potion. He tilted his head back and forth, unsure. ¡°Do you mind if I try it out?¡±


    ¡°Certainly. Go ahead.¡±


    ¡°It might destroy the bottle,¡± Rhys warned her.


    She waved her hand. ¡°The bottle¡¯s enchanted. Nothing a Tier 1 student can brew could destroy its enchantment. If you do, I¡¯ll be impressed more than angry.¡±


    Rhys raised his brows, then shrugged. She¡¯d said herself that she¡¯d only be impressed. He didn¡¯t necessarily trust that, but it was worth a try.


    By now, even with Trash Intent and Trash Aura, the potion vial was starting to look a little ragged. The material contained within couldn¡¯t directly degrade the vial¡¯s walls, or even the Trash Intent that enveloped them, but neither could his Trash Intent stop the gasses that welled up from its surface from interfering with the glass. Opening the cap on his bottle, he drew out the impurities and sent them into the new bottle. He deactivated his techniques on his vial and relaxed as relief flowed through him.


    The new bottle held for a second. Two seconds. Three.


    Sorden turned to him, beaming. ¡°There you have it! I¡¯m more than happy to¡ª¡±


    Rhys lunged just as the bottom fell out of the bottle and barely caught the impurities before they spilled onto the ground. Re-activating Trash Intent and Trash Aura, he sent the impurities back into his vial and half-smiled, half-grimaced at her. ¡°It¡¯s really corrosive.¡±


    Sorden¡¯s jaw dropped. She stared at the enamel bottle, then at Rhys. Taking the remains of the bottle, she retreated back inside. ¡°I¡¯ll bring out something stronger.¡±


    ¡°Please do,¡± Rhys replied earnestly. He was starting to get tired of this headache, and the momentary relief he got every time he could release the combined techniques was so sweet, only for him to get slammed once more when he had to reinstate them.


    She came back out with a black stone bottle. ¡°Try this. It¡¯s also enchanted, and it¡¯s made of a sturdier material.¡±


    Obediently, Rhys sent the impurities into the black bottle. This time, both he and Sorden watched it closely. It held for ten, fifteen, twenty seconds before the impurities started to seep out the sides. Rhys gestured, calling the impurities to him once more.


    Sorden shook her head. She returned to her house, this time drawing out two bottles with her. One was glass, but shimmered with a faint barrier, while another was solid crystal. Without a word, she handed the barrier bottle over.


    Rhys grimaced. He put the impurities inside, but almost instantly drew them back out again as the barrier popped. She traded him for the crystal, and he let the impurities touch its interior for just long enough that the crystal began to crack before he pulled them back. Back into her house, and out with another three. One after another, the bottles broke or corroded. In and out, in and out. A pile of broken bottles grew around the door.


    At last, Sorden stared at the goo. ¡°What the hell did you make?¡±


    Rhys shrugged apologetically. ¡°It¡¯s a bit corrosive.¡±


    ¡°A bit!¡± She shook her head. Pushing the broken bottles aside, she straightened up and looked him up and down. ¡°I only have one container left. If it doesn¡¯t work, I¡¯m out of bottles.¡±


    Rhys pressed his lips together. ¡°I hope it works.¡±


    ¡°I do, too.¡± She paused. ¡°It¡¯s my most powerful bottle. Meant to contain dangerous Tier 3 potions. If it can¡¯t contain this, then not only do I not know what to do, but you could probably use it to find yourself a job at a high rank school as a poisonmaster.¡±


    ¡°It¡¯s not a poison. I¡¯m going to drink it. I need to, if I¡¯m going to get stronger,¡± Rhys explained.


    Sorden stared at him. He stared back.


    She turned away. ¡°I¡¯m going to tell myself you¡¯re joking. Don¡¯t tell me if you aren¡¯t.¡±


    With that, she vanished into her house.


    Rhys turned to the blackish-brown potion. ¡°Why does no one ever believe me?¡±


    The impurities churned inside the vial, searching for a way out.


    There was a long pause this time, longer than any other time Sorden had gone for a bottle. When she emerged, it was with a blast of cold, stale air, as if she¡¯d opened a cellar that had remained shut for a long, long time. She offered him a small vial.


    At a glance, it was nothing special, no different from the vial he held, if a bit bigger, clunkier, and older in design. As if it were the prototype of the standard potion vial. He couldn¡¯t sense any mana in it, but it felt heavy. There was something about it, some kind of truth that he didn¡¯t understand. It felt like¡­ like his path, but not.


    His eyes widened. Someone else¡¯s path. That¡¯s what I¡¯m sensing.


    He turned it over in his hand, getting a sense for the shape of the path in the glass, then looked at Sorden. ¡°Where did you find this?¡±


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    ¡°I traded for it from a ragged traveling salesman who claimed he found it in a secret realm. It¡¯s nothing special, but it is very durable. I¡¯ve used it before to store particularly dangerous potions. If I¡¯d known how dangerous that thing you brewed was, I would have brought it out right away¡­ but who would expect a Tier 1 student to make something so dangerous I couldn¡¯t easily contain it?¡± Sorden replied, muttering the last part mostly to herself.


    Rhys nodded. ¡°A secret realm?¡±


    ¡°Ah, that¡¯s right. You¡¯re of mortal breeding. There¡¯s places where incredibly powerful experts have created pathways to new worlds, or folded the world to prevent access, or even created their own worlds within artifacts. Sometimes, beings vastly more powerful than us can even spawn secret realms within their bodies as they decay. There¡¯s a vast variety of sources. What ties them all together, is that unless you know how to access the world inside, you¡¯re unlikely to ever encounter it. Hence, ¡®secret realm.¡¯¡± She looked at the bottle. ¡°I¡¯ve never had the fortune to visit one that wasn¡¯t already plundered myself. The larger sects and schools usually pin down the valuable ones and only allow weaker schools like ours to visit after they¡¯ve already taken all the loot out. Some incredibly rich schools even possess secret realms for training, or hold events within them, but you¡¯re unlikely to see a school like that around here.¡±


    Rhys raised his brows a bit at Sorden¡¯s outright admission that their school was weak. It wasn¡¯t startling¡ªhe¡¯d long since come to terms with it, in fact¡ªbut he wasn¡¯t expecting such an honest assessment by one of the school¡¯s own staff. I guess I can consider myself someone Sorden trusts, if she speaks so frankly with me.


    His head panged, and he turned back to the task at hand. Lifting his hand, he called forth the potion from the bottle. The blackish gunk swirled in midair, then plunged into the new bottle. Slamming the cap home, Rhys held his breath. Sorden leaned in, watching closely.


    Nothing happened. The bottle easily contained the impurities. Not a crack nor deterioration of any kind appeared.


    Sorden breathed out. She stepped back. ¡°I was starting to worry I wouldn¡¯t be able to return your kindness. There! A bottle that holds that dangerous potion of yours.¡±


    Rhys nodded. ¡°Thank you.¡±


    He turned to walk away, but Sorden caught him by the shoulder. ¡°You¡¯re not going to use that on someone, are you?¡±


    ¡°Only myself,¡± Rhys promised her.


    She chuckled. ¡°Stop joking.¡±


    Rhys held her gaze, eyes earnest.


    Sorden pressed her lips together, then waved her hand. ¡°As long as you don¡¯t use it on anyone else. I¡¯d better not lose my herb provider, though.¡±


    ¡°You won¡¯t,¡± Rhys pledged. He had no intent to kill himself. He¡¯d have to be careful about applying this potion, but no progress was made without danger.


    She looked at him for a moment, then sighed. ¡°I suppose you could have already ended yourself, if you meant to do such a thing. Be careful.¡±


    Rhys saluted. He walked off, putting the decayed potion bottle he¡¯d had to use his intent and aura on in his robes for later examination. If he could figure out how it had decayed despite his efforts, he might be able to prevent it in the future. And maybe, one day, he could even create a bottle that held hints of a truth in it, like the bottle that contained the potion now.


    But first, it was time to train.


    He returned to his usual cave to train. It might have been safer on the upper peak, behind the barrier, but only from the other low-Tier students. There was that beast he¡¯d sensed, and of course, he knew nothing about any of the high-Tier mages on the upper peak. If one of them was a Cynog-style bully, he might get turned to sludge for daring to practice on the upper peak. Better the devil he knew than the devil he didn¡¯t.


    Settling in on a piece of patched furniture, he considered the impurities within the bottle closely. The sludge emanated a deadly dangerous aura. He couldn¡¯t drink it, the way he¡¯d drunk the other potion. In fact, it would be better if he could slowly ramp up to this potion. The only problem was, with how dispersed the impurities were in the higher-Tier trash, there was no such thing as a slow ramp up. He jumped up here, or he didn¡¯t advance at all.


    Still, there were safer ways to absorb things than simply drinking it. A survival guide he¡¯d read online came to mind. It had been describing how to test new plants, to see if they were edible, but the same idea applied here.


    Rhys uncapped the bottle. Step 1: apply a little to your skin to test for irritation. Carefully tipping the bottle, he allowed a single drop to contact the back of his hand.


    The black liquid sat on top of his skin for a single moment before it sucked into his flesh. Black veins spread from the point of contact, twisting through his skin and biting into his veins. His blood darkened, and his mana passages corroded. Black-tainted mana flowed from the point of contact toward his heart, darkening everything it passed. From the single point, a black mark raced up his arm, visibly growing longer.


    Shit. Rhys plunged inside himself. He closed off his veins and mana passages, but the taint kept spreading¡ªslower, but it kept moving, oozing through the walls of the passages. He searched for two impurities to ignite, desperate to find them before they spread too far.


    From the smooth flow of his normal mana passages, he plunged into the darkness of the impurity-corrupted passages. There, he latched on to one, then a second impurity. He rubbed the two together. Come on. Ignite!


    Nothing happened.


    Rhys gritted his teeth and rubbed them faster and faster, but nothing continued to happen. These were not ordinary impurities, and they wouldn¡¯t be lit by ordinary means. Behind him, the impurities continued to spread, tainting his impurity-resistant body. If not for his Impurity Resistance, it probably would have already spread through his body.


    Ignite! How can I make them ignite? He¡¯d been rubbing the impurities together like two sticks, but these impurities wouldn¡¯t ignite. But that was a primitive way to start a fire. Humanity had come up with so many ways to light fires since then. Like matches, or electricity¡­


    His eyes widened. That was it! He gripped one impurity and forced mana into it. The impurity quickly reached capacity, and then it started to glow. Heat emanated from the impurity. The black mark spread further. It reached his shoulder and climbed toward his chest. Rhys focused on the one impurity in his hands, refusing to let that distract him. More mana. More. The impurity refused to absorb any more, but he poured more in anyways. The heat grew more intense. The glow grew brighter. Rhys shoved in more mana, even as his core began to run dry. This was it. All or nothing.


    A flame burst out from the top of the impurity. Rhys¡¯ eyes widened, but just for a moment. Quickly, he grabbed up the impurity he¡¯d been rubbing together earlier and held it close to this one. The fire spread, and spread, and spread. It raced up his arm, chasing after the impurity as it coursed through him. Rhys pushed impurities into it, encouraging its spread. In a few moments, it had caught up, and all the impurities burned, no longer progressing through him.


    Mana poured out from the impurities. Not as much as he was used to, but it was denser and more pure than any mana he¡¯d experienced. He had the feeling that this mana would let him use twice as many spells for half the quantity, and if that was the case, then the mana he got from one drop was about as much as an entire trash pile. It wasn¡¯t quite a sip of the previous potion, but it was one single, tiny drop. A few drops would exceed a sip of the previous potion. A sip of this would exceed his current mana capacity several times over.


    He opened his eyes, breathing evenly as he circulated this new mana. Now that he knew how to burn these impurities, he was ready. He could train while he gathered the trash, and accomplish two tasks in the same time. It was time to head back to the upper peak and dig through the trash for clues about the teacher he¡¯d been assigned to watch.


    Rhys let an evil grin cross his face. That¡¯s right. It¡¯s stalker time.