《Burnout Reincarnation [SLOW BURN COZY KINGDOM BUILDING PROGRESSION] (LitRPG elements)》 1 - Unfortunately, My Memories From My Last Life Suggest Im a Chronic Overthinker Archmund Granavale staggered to top of a hill on the Granavale Estate, overlooking fields of golden wheat maintained by their tenant farmers. He was barely nine-years-old, but his body had been weakened by the Crylaxan Plague, a nationwide pandemic that had consumed the nation for half a decade and killed his mother and siblings. He was the last hope of House Granavale, but the plague had weakened his body. So despite the gentle sun upon his face, filtered through the leaves of apple trees, he eased himself down a tree trunk and closed his eyes. And he dreamed. He sat in front of a bright, flat rectangle. There was a half-sphere in his right hand, cool to the touch, and his left hand danced over a strange abacus. Like a machine, he dragged the sphere, and highlighted a sentence on the screen. He stretched his hands holding the mouse and keyboard for hours on end had strained them, and he would be here for many hours more. The world outside the window was dark, but hours of work remained on the computer. At least his office was brightly lit, so he wouldnt fall asleep. Another few months, and this bout of work would be over, only to return again in a years time. This was his life sitting at a computer at 10 pm, moving numbers around and building spreadsheets, doing nothing meaningful. Was this all life had to offer? Archmund Granavale jolted awake. The sun was still high in the sky. Yet now the clouds cast wide shadows upon the rolling fields. His heart hammered in his chest. He felt tense and restless anxiety. And his stomach felt heavy as if he was going to throw up despair. Hed felt tragedy before, when his mother had died, so long ago he could barely remember her, but this was different. This was a lack of hope. Archmund Granavale had never wanted for anything in his life before. As the last heir of House Granavale, he had been spoiled by his father and their servants alike. He had never known lasting pain, for they immediately brought forth the Gems to heal him. He had never known boredom, for his days were filled with tutelage about the lands and titles he was to inherit. And he had never known a lack of purpose, because he was to rule as Lord Granavale once he came of age. And suddenly all of that was terrifying. Fuck, he said under his breath. Fuck. Then he paused. That word had been in English. The word fuck had been in English, which was the language he used to know in that memory. It was a generic profanity for being frustrated or angry, but it also meant fornication something that he was sure he hadnt been taught, yet made perfect sense as something that could happen. He didnt even know if any swears existed in his native tongue, though now that he thought about it they obviously did. He never used to think like this. Before, hed had proud yet simple thoughts about how great nobles were, or how good the harvest was, or how much he hated tutoring. But now his mind was expanding far beyond what it had been. If that had been a dream, it had been extraordinarily vivid and detailed. Now that hed pulled the thread, he began remembering more and more about English. It had a subject-object-verb grammar, which differed from his native language, and was very very liberal about borrowing loanwords from other languages, to the point where itd borrowed words from every language on Earth. And that was another thread. Hed lived in another world, called Earth. Earth had so many languages, so many countries, its own systems of religion, power, and culture that were like nothing hed known. Yet he did know. If he tried to remember, he did, as easily as remembering yesterday''s dinner. This wasnt a normal way of thinking. His was a mind given to strange circuits and loops, that held onto strange trivia like a sponge and went places other minds would not. They had called him gifted in his previous life. He was sure of it. Hed studied Physics in college (which was like going to the Imperial Academy, but for commoners), and later more advanced math, and even some soft sciences like finance and hed been a voracious reader, absorbing books and their trivia like a sponge in water though strangely enough, in none of his memories did he actually use most of that knowledge for anything at all. And yet something didnt make sense. He had been gifted. Earth had been a paradise world. Disease had been conquered. Famine was a thing of the past. War was a distant rumor. So why was he so sure he had been miserable?
Whenever the Lord Reginald Granavale was at his estate, as opposed to schmoozing in the Imperial Capital, he would share dinners with Archmund. On normal days, Archmund would eat alone, watched by the servants, after a day of tutelage in all the topics a young lord needed to know, with hardly any stimulating conversation. Until now, Archmund had always looked forward to talking with his father. Now, he wondered if he could hide his true self. Archie, my son, said the Lord Granavale. Father, Archmund said. The dinner was elaborate yet oddly simple. Steamed greens with butter sauce, white bread, and steak, rare. Archmund had taken this at face value before; now, he had so many questions. This was a meal fit for a noble house that was comfortable but not extraordinarily rich. Butter took hours to churn by hand but much less by machine, which suggested the kitchen staff could spare the time to do this or that there was a centralized industrial butter factory. White bread, similarly, meant someone could separate germ from wheat or that there was a machine to do so. And steak? That was a dead cow. One that a peasant family could use to turn grass into milk reliably for years on end. The food was a bit lacking in salt, however far less than the ultraprocessed snacks of his previous life. Salt had been valuable enough that the Roman Empire, which men in his old world thought about daily, had paid wages in it; he wondered if that was true of this worlds Empire as well. The food was also unspiced. Are you enjoying the meal? said his father. I spare no expense for you, my son. Stolen story; please report. Truly? Archmund said. Archie? Lord Granavale said, blinking, before breaking out into a beam. Whatever do you mean? This amount of salt I have no complaints with the flavor, but is this healthful or is this all we can afford? Entirely health reasons, said the Lord Granavale. In the Capital, the meals are loaded with salt and lard. Far too rich for my simple country tastes. Archmund realized this was the first time hed asked an actual question of his father in years. And, if he stopped to think about it, he had been on the path to being a spoiled, pampered brat. The last son of Lord Granavale, the last hope of House Granavale, given every privilege from birth, endowed with the burden of his clan. No one in this estate or the neighboring towns would ever have told him no. Do you want more salt? said Lord Granavale. Would that make you happy? I can get you more salt. How much would it cost us? Archmund said. Pennies. A trifle. Its no large matter. And if I wanted it for the rest of the year? Until I go to the Academy? It would be fine! What if I started asking for extravagance? Cakes for dinner, meat for breakfast, exotic spices at every meal. There comes a time in every dutiful lords life, said the Lord Granavale, where he must learn temperance. Temperance, the virtue of moderation So it would bankrupt us if I did, Archmund interjected. Was it the spices? Why would you think that? said the Lord Granavale. His voice wasnt reproaching or scornful. It was curious. Meat, sugar, and eggs we can levy as a tax. Perhaps unfairly, but life is good enough in our lands that it wouldnt cause mass unrest immediately. Spices we would have to import. Did I teach you this? said the Lord Granavale, in wonder. Archmund shut his mouth. Regardless of whether those memories had been delusions, theyd given him instincts and intuitions that were correct. He wondered if hed said too much. He wondered if hed started talking like an unearthly child, someone far too wise for his years. It was certainly possible perhaps those memories had been more than memories, but also behaviors, mannerisms, and tics. Ive always known you were a smart boy, Archie, but Im proud of you, said the Lord Granavale. Youve got a keen eye and a keener mind. Youll find the Academy a breeze. Gods above, I might be able to abdicate early and leave the hopes of Granavale to you. Ive known it all along, but you have a gift. And a cold, creeping chill wrapped around Archmunds heart. Yes, this was the world that awaited him. This was the role he was born for. This was his original fate. Tomorrow, said the Lord Granavale, unaware of Archmunds increasing agitation, we should begin your training in earnest. What it means to be a lord, the full account of our holdings, and matters of policy and politics. Yes, this was his duty and his burden. To live a life being tutored in the ways of the lordship. To go to the academy to find a wife suitable to rule besides him. To bounce between the city and the country begging for money and military support in the bad times. To have sons or daughters capable of carrying on the family name. And to die, content, with nothing having changed. In this world, that was the duty of gifted children.
He remembered what it meant to be gifted in that previous life. Only children were ever labeled as gifted. Children who, for some reason or another, exceeded their peers. Who from some accident of birth seemed smarter or stronger than those around them, and for that brief period of strength got to live blessed lives. They didnt have to practice. They didnt have to study. They could just succeed. But that never lasted. The gifted grew up faster than their peers, but rarely further. One day, inevitably, their peers grew to meet them. And the gifted children, who never had to practice or study because of an accident of birth, suddenly were just average. And not long after that, they would be surpassed, because everyone else had learned how to study and practice and compensate for their own weaknesses. And then they would fail. The prophesied greatness of their early years would come to nothing. At best, they could hope to be normal. He had failed. By the time hed been an adult, he had been so deeply tired. Completely and utterly burned out, and disillusioned with the world. Archmund was under no delusions this time around. He mightve been gifted in his last life and ended up burned out because of it. He was still as sharp as ever, but it was flagrantly obvious that he was in the same boat. His major advantage was decades of memories from a previous life. But by definition the advantages granted by aged memories wouldnt last. Sure, he had the life experiences of a thirty-something-year-old but in three decades, so would all of his peers, and an extra thirty wouldnt mean much. To make something of this life, he needed to seize this early advantage of precocious knowledge, and use it to build a life that he truly wanted.
Archmund''s Journal:
Year 0, Day 0. I remember my past life. I hated it. The normal future for me means being the Lord Granavale. Having a loveless political marriage for status and a mistress if my wife permits it. Spending all my time begging for Imperial funding. I would hate that too. Before, duty would compel me to accept that life. Now, I can imagine another way might be possible. But to find that way, I need to know more. And to remember.
Yet deep within the Guts of Hell and the Arched Vaults of Heaven, along the Axis Mundi that speared this and all other worlds, an entry in a great cosmic ledger shifted. Think of it as a library if you wish, and the System guiding it. A people management system. A vaguely classist cosmic mechanism for separating the haves from the have-nots. Here is how Archmunds entry changed He would be seeing it sooner than he realized.
Archmund Granavale Lifespan: 9/90
Stat Value Titles Achievements Bound Items Relationships Skills
Strength 5 Granavale Heir (*new*) Reincarnated Memories N/A Lord Reginald Granvale, Father N/A
Dexterity 5 Lady Sophia Granavale, Mother (deceased)
Constitution 5 Amelia Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Intelligence 5 Linus Granavale, elder brother (deceased)
Wisdom 5 Calla Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Charisma 5
Luck 5
2 - How to do Financial Independence Retire Early in a Fantasy World How do you keep your second chance at life from going the way of your first? For Archmund Granavale, that involved a temper tantrum and locking himself in his room. He was nine. He knew he could get away with it. Right now, he had one goal: Figure out what in the world was going on. Literally and metaphorically. He wrote as much as he could remember of his past life in English, so no one else could read it. He had to reconcile what he knew from his past life with the circumstances of this life. And somehow he had to turn that into avoiding bad ends: loveless political marriage, dying in a pointless war, or worst of all, rotting away in mediocrity in Granavale County until the end of time.
What were his chances of an untimely early death? House Granavale was in a comfortable position, for a two-member house. Their holding, Granavale County, was an insignificant county outside of the imperial core. It was not a breadbasket, a trade hub, or a crucial border. Its existence may as well have been a formality. He had a few options here: play the game of status and wealth to elevate the Granavale name through diplomacy, marriage, or other avenues of prestige, or abandon the title entirely and let it be absorbed by some other noble family. He could go to the untamed lands and become a monster hunter, which was a lucrative but dangerous job. But he had no skill with a sword, bow, or Magic Gem, nor any understanding of what that job would entail because the Granavale lands were so safe. The House Granavale had lasted hundreds of years, but they had nothing on the pedigree of the Imperial Family, House Omnio, and were far poorer than the upstart Venato, a merchant clan with several de facto trade monopolies and rumored underworld ties. House Omnio descended from Alexander Omnio I, more commonly known as Alexander the Conqueror. Hed established the Omnio Empire, which was so successful that even now the country, continent, and known world were all called Omnio. Magic was real. In his old life it hadnt been. There was a University of Imperial Mages, which was insular, mysterious, and heavily regulated. He didnt know a lot about magic in this world. It could have been a party trick, a weapon of war, a closely guarded secret, or something utterly useless. It was annoying that he didnt know. That was something he had to change. One thing was for certain. He was not in a video game at least not obviously. Magic spells didnt have clear mana costs. He couldnt meditate to view a stat sheet on the back of his eyelids. He couldnt clench his brain to open up an inventory screen. If he gazed up at the night sky, there was no perk tree awaiting him in the constellations. If a System governed the world, it was hidden for now. This was both comforting and frustrating. In his old world, he had no reason to believe that there was anything but random chaos governing everything. But this world had magic, which fundamentally changed the game. Even if he had to figure out how himself. In his past life he had studied financial markets. In those systems, you could make a lot of money by teasing out hidden patterns and making bets on them. Tease out the patterns well enough, and make the right bets, and you would end up rich. Suppose that physical strength, manual dexterity, innate intelligence, and wisdom, charisma, and luck were fundamental driving stats for every living creature in this universe a common system in video games. It wouldnt make sense for a living, breathing world to function on a point-allocation system upon a discrete level up. But it did make sense for ones skills and stats to increase naturally when used. Though perhaps he was just assuming this was how it should work given his knowledge of his old world. There was an extremely simple way to test if the world functioned on a game-like system where doing strength activities built strength, and intelligence-like activities built intelligence. Do a hundred push-ups a day to build strength, and if the world functioned on exponentially scaling game logic, over the course of a year he would become superheroically strong. If this didnt work, he would still be physically stronger from having done a hundred push-ups a day for a year. This was a strategy straight from the writings of an author in his old world, Cal Newport a little bet. Little bets were small, low-risk actions one could take with the possibility of huge payoffs if they were successful. He had heard that nobles were stronger and smarter than the peasantry. Hed assumed this was natural before hed awoken, classist propaganda since he had, but now he wondered if it was simply an extension of resources and self-care. In his old world, the idle rich were able to take care of themselves, buying expensive cosmetics and health procedures and spending significantly more time in education. If this world functioned on the growth logic of games, then one would hear stories of impossible feats of strength by the nobility unless they were deliberately repressed. He would have to track his personal progress. An untracked change could be illusory, wishful thinking of the mind. But hed remembered a framework from his last life called SMART goals meant to make sure goals were achievable and not vague: specific, measurable, actionable, relevant, time-bound. Task #1: do 100 push-ups a day for a year. Track how long it takes to do them and how many are possible consecutively. Specific: 100 push-ups daily. Measurable: how long it takes to do them total and how many were possible consecutively. Actionable: it was, by definition, a physical action. Relevant: push-ups to train strength. Time-bound: hed do it for a year. That was a start.
The second major point of order was magic. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Magic pervaded society, yet hadnt transformed it into a post-scarcity utopia. Magic was rare if powerful yet common when weak. Magic was easy to use, hard to master. Magic was accessed through Gems. Archmund had one on his desk. It was about the size of his thumbnail, and it cost roughly a peasant''s yearly wage. It looked like a ruby, but was imperfectly cut like a platonic tetrahedron. He ran a finger over it. A faint electric hum, familiar yet novel, flowed from a deep place in his soul through his finger to the Gem, which lit up with an orange candlelight. The Gem had a complex official name, but this one hed always called the Red Gem of Light. He felt a little more tired than he had a moment before. Doing magic always drained him. His knowledge of magic was basic. As far as he knew, it was accessed solely through Gems. Gems came from the earth and the corpses of slain monsters. He didnt know what monsters were, just that they appeared in Dungeons and the Frontier Wilds, but it was probably worth learning more. Gems were rated on multiple dimensions. Density, size, and refinement of cut were the most basic, but Gemologists studied for decades to develop full understanding of Theoretical Gemology, which went entirely over his head. He didnt understand why when simple metrics were stunningly effective: A denser, larger Gem would be more powerful than a smaller Gem. Refinement and cut were nuanced, though. The more faces a Gem had, the more refined the cut. The more refined the cut, the more powerful the magic. A few chips or mis-cuts would weaken the magic, but not shatter it. In fact, sometimes intentional flaws would be introduced to create weaker spells. There was a basic geometric innovation here. A square, a pentagon, a hexagon, a heptagon, and an octagon were all regular polygons. There was an argument from calculus. If you had a polygon, and you added more sides to it, it became more and more like a circle. In that sense, the regular polygon with infinite sides was a circle though, since infinities were ugly to work with, strictly speaking the circle was the polygon as the limit of the number of sides approached infinity. If you made the analogy, then a perfectly spherical and polished smoothed Gem might be immensely powerful. If it wasnt already being done, why not? The spell or enchantment associated with a Gem depended on three basic things. Its element, its density, and how it was cut. Any human could touch a magic Gem and charge it to release the spell it was cut with, its Enchantment. That was the limit of his theoretical knowledge. Unfortunately, he didnt understand the practical side nearly as well either. Why did he feel more tired when he used Gems to cast spells? Was magic the normal kind of life energy that could be replenish food and was used for everyday tasks? Was magic drawn from a limited spiritual pool, and if he ran through it all would be never be able to use magic again? Or was magic something deeper, potentially tied to his soul, and could doing too much magic cause permanent damage? He didnt know and didnt know if anyone did. Magic was rare, even among lesser nobles the comfortable House Granavale held maybe ten Gems in their estate, across all their holdings. There were maybe fifteen known Gems in their entire County. He only got to have one at all because of how spoiled he was. Rough and less dense Gems were probably obtainable from the mines, but dense and refined Gems dropped from monster corpses, which allowed adventurers and monster slayers to get richer and more powerful, which allowed them to hunt more monsters, and so on. Was monster hunting the path to true power and freedom in this world? Perhaps. But then again, there was an equal argument for pious ascetic study: There were legends that when sages and wise men died, they would leave behind no bodies, only perfect and dense Gems. Task #2: Charge the Red Gem of Light to personal exhaustion over the course of the 100 days. Track how long it stays bright. Track how many days it takes to recover. Do this after the daily push-ups. Archmund''s Journal:
Year 0, Day 1. Push-ups: 100 in 1.5 hours Magic: Light lasts for 10 minutes Its so odd how I never questioned magic before, yet now I see all sorts of holes in it. What is magic? Does everyone have magic, or are nobles actually a separate species that can use magic? Why hasnt magic revolutionized society beyond the pseudo-18th-19th century environment I find myself in? Ive set two goals: one physical, one magical. If this is a game, governed by a hidden system, I should find myself becoming immensely powerful through level-grinding. But who can say if this is a game? Perhaps this is true reincarnation, like in Buddhism, and this is the realm of the hungry ghosts or the gods. Perhaps this is a physics-based simulation instead of a game, so grinding wont work. Perhaps this is all a vivid delusion brought upon by surviving the Crylaxan plague but that doesnt explain how my knowledge of English is so internally self-consistent. Perhaps this is all a dream. The worst kind of literary cop-out imaginable. The Chinese philosopher Zhuangzi once dreamt of being a butterfly. When he woke up, he asked himself was I a philosopher dreaming of being a butterfly, or am I a butterfly dreaming of being a philosopher? I will never know, until the illusion breaks. Until then, I must live as if this is my last and final chance.
The day after Archmund began his exercises, his stats, in that distant and hidden sacred library, updated.
Archmund Granavale Lifespan: 9/91
Stat Value Titles Achievements Bound Items Relationships Skills
Strength 5->6 Granavale Heir Reincarnated Memories (*new*) Ruby of Light Lord Reginald Granvale, Father N/A
Dexterity 5 Lady Sophia Granavale, Mother (deceased)
Constitution 5->6 Amelia Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Intelligence 5 Linus Granavale, elder brother (deceased)
Wisdom 5->6 Calla Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Charisma 5
Luck 5
3 - The Shocking Secret to Mayonnaise Production Mayonnaise is a condiment made by emulsifying egg and oil, usually by drizzling the oil into eggs while whipping furiously. A small amount of acid, either lemon or vinegar, is added to stabilize the emulsion. Archmund Granavale had read no small number of reincarnation fantasy stories in his past life. He had read good ones. He had read bad ones. And in the bad ones the reincarnated protagonist, upon being sent from Earth (it was always Earth) to their (oftentimes derivative) fantasy world, would invent mayonnaise and become immensely rich by selling it. Because apparently people in fantasy worlds were too stupid to understand how to mix eggs, oil, and acid in order to make a sauce. And so having one basic commonplace piece of knowledge acted as a hack to wealth and power. Archmund really hated the idea that he was being a living cliche. If there was one thing he hated, it was hackery. Trying to get rich off of selling an extremely easy to replicate sauce seemed like genuine idiocy. When the idea first floated through his mind, about a week into his training regimen, hed dismissed it as ridiculous. Yet a part of him couldnt deny that if it was stupid but it worked, it wasnt stupid, and rather he would be the stupid one for not trying it at all. And becoming an independent entrepreneur or merchant, really, in the parlance of this world was a potential key to the freedom that could liberate him from the monotony of his normal life. Then the strength training had started paying off far too quickly than was sensible. On day one, hed needed a whole hour to do 100 push-ups. By day ten, hed only needed half an hour. That was an insane rate of growth, though he wasnt dumb enough to assume it would stay exponential. But 10 days to double his physical weakness strongly suggested that the world operated on different physical rules. A scientist in his old life, Carl Sagan, had a famous quote: If you wish to make an apple pie from scratch, you must first invent the universe. Apples. Flour. Sugar. Butter. Eggs. These were ingredients that went into an apple pie. Each of them had a complex origin and supply chain. Plants had to evolve to convert sunlight to sugar, and then some plants had to evolve fruit that concentrated those sugars in a tasty bundle. Seed-bearing grasses had to be domesticated over generations to bear wheat grains. Mammals, with their live birth and milk production, had to evolve and be domesticated as sources of milk, which could be separated into whey and butterfat by churning. And, on the other end, egg-laying animals also had to evolve, with eggs that had a complex protein structure that set when heated. Mayonnaise was more than just the ingredients that went into it. The emulsion that made up mayonnaise was a complex physical process that involved the entangling of oil, egg protein, and water. It was an emergent property of the universe itself. So if the laws of physics were meaningfully different, mayonnaise might not be possible. If mayonnaise was possible, then the laws of physics still held. That was how Archmund Granavale justified spending an afternoon in his estates kitchens, trying to recreate mayonnaise, instead of finding new and innovative ways to train. He felt a little bad for the servants, because they were not in the habit of telling him no to anything. And if dinner was late, they would be the ones blamed, even if it was all his fault. Youre sure you want to do this, young master? asked a maid, Mary. Mary was just two or three years older than him. She had joined the staff somewhat more recently than the other servants, who had been there for Archmunds whole life. Archmund ignored her and cracked two eggs into a mixing bowl. A servant gently placed a jug of seed oil on the counter; another, a pitcher of vinegar and box of salt. Archmund salted the eggs and added just a dash of vinegar. It was remarkable that chickens, or creatures indistinguishable from them, existed. It was remarkable that seed oils were easily obtainable by the nobility, as opposed to needing to rely on lard or tallow. The nobility could eat well; that said little about the rest of the world. Mary, help me whip this. She rolled her eyes. You know, they usually dont even let me into the kitchen, young master Archie. Her words were dripping with sarcasm. My arms are too bookish and weak to whip this egg with any effectiveness. I am a noble with a poor constitution, so I must humbly beg my maidservant for assistance. She rolled her eyes. Then she pinched his bicep. Wha Holy shit thats an actual muscle! Mary said. I thought youd have flabby and useless arms but wow, youve actually got something going on there. He didnt feel obligated to tell her that hed somehow developed these muscles in the course of a single week. Will you help me? Surely a noble of your stature can summon your great and powerful noble magic to whip the eggs yourself, or use those muscles which you apparently have. A nobles magic is to serve the Emperor and Heaven, not to whip some eggs to make sauce. So thats what were making, huh. I think you can manage. Unless Archmund wondered whether Mary was a harbinger of bigger changes. Foreshadowing, he wouldve called it. The Crylaxan Plague had killed a lot of people, and in the aftermath of great plagues, like the Black Death, there were often radical societal changes. The older servants were never lippy with him. Either that, or she was just young. Ill read Ardur to you. The Imp and the Well, maybe. Faery tales. Mary loved those. Unfortunately, she wasnt fully literate, so she needed people like him to read them out loud. Throw in The Voice from the Highest Hill and youve got yourself a deal. Deal. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Though now that Archmund thought about it, this might be an interesting test whether skill acquisition operated on the same underlying game logic that personal attributes seemed to. Would it be possible to power-level someone in literacy? Or was it possible that power-leveling was only possible for the rare and privileged few? Either way, he liked Mary. She was about six inches taller than him, mostly because of age. Her skin was smooth for a member of the working class, but she had fading calluses on her hands. He recalled that she had worked for her aunt and uncle doing manual labor before being sent to join his household. She had straight dark hair that came to her shoulders, pale skin, and gray eyes. Archmund knew he would miss her terribly once he had to formally enter high society and she realized it was no longer appropriate for her to be sarcastic with him. But that was at least five years in the future. As Mary whipped the eggs, Archmund drizzled in the oil. The mayonnaise came together as fast as hed expected. It was a modest amount, but more than enough for ten sandwiches. He tasted it, and it was as rich and creamy as hed remembered. Would you like a taste, Mary? Id rather not. Raw eggs. Oh, he was such an idiot. Hed been spoiled by the hygiene of his old world. Theres no need to worry about that, said a booming voice from behind them. It was Willem Barst, an old friend and trusted servant of the Lord Granavale. They had been together for years since the elder Granavales time in the Imperial Academy, in fact. Chef Barst had been trained in Imperial culinary traditions, and his service was one of the few ostentatious luxuries retained by House Granavale. We run all the eggs through hygiene spells. Have ever since the start of the Plague, Barst continued. Im glad I wont catch ill again, Archmund said. Chef Barst, what do you think? Barst swiped a finger through the concoction and tasted it. Ah, youve made mayonnaise! Whered youd learn about this? (He didnt literally say the word mayonnaise, but it undeniably a proper noun. Upon hearing it, Archmund instantly understood that whatever name it was under, mayonnaise already existed.) Damn, this wasnt just one of his fits of pique? Mary said. This mayonnaise stuff already exists? Its rarer, and not an obvious recipe, said Barst. Is there any reason why? Archmund asked. Barsts eyebrows knit together, and he pursed his lips in the way he always did when he was trying to hide something from Archmund. Young master, its made from raw eggs, which perturbs the common man, especially since the start of the Plague. What if we used sanitation spells? Barsts eyebrows tensed even further. The servants had a habit of doing this, going to great lengths to hide just how rich the Granavales were from Archmund. It was obvious now, but he still hadnt figured out why they bothered at all. The average farmer doesnt have energy to cast a sanitation spell every morning to clean a few eggs when they could borrow the towns fire spell or some flint and steel once a month and cook the damn things, Mary said. If its a matter of scale, we could build a manufactory. Crack a few hundred eggs into a basin and cast the sanitation spell on all of them at the same time. We could add oil to the basin while swirling it with a rotation spell. Youd never find a noble willing to do magic in a manufactory. Why does it have to be a noble? Because commoners dont have enough innate magic to cast complex spells. Only nobles and heroes do. And an alarm went off in Archmunds mind. Magical capacity could be grown and increased. He was almost certain of it. He had been practicing with his Red Gem of Light every day, and each time he was able to charge it for longer and longer. It had gotten to the point where he would be watching it in the mornings to see how long it had stayed lit, because he had enough power to keep it lit through the night. Something told him it would be a bad idea to claim, even if it wasnt fully proven, that commoners could use magic as much as nobles if only they had the time and opportunity to practice. That was the stuff of revolution, and it might lead to getting him killed. Say I did this myself, Archmund said. Ignoring all the social obligations and such. Is there any other reason it wouldnt work? Barst told Archmund how much the eggs and oil cost. It was about half a month of his allowance, which even considering his youth, was significant. Sighing, Archmund agreed to pay for the costs of the supplies. This world was just unfair.
He wasnt in any position to refuse your offer to pay him off, Mary said. I know. They walked in silence towards Archmunds room. What didnt he tell me? Archmund asked. A whole lot. Did he cheat me? Mary stopped walking. Archmund turned around. She was gazing through the window towards Granavale Town. I dont know. You gave him what I get in a month and a half of work. Two eggs is hard to get but not impossible. I couldnt say how much the oil would be. I only ever had lard or butter. Archmund walked up besides her. I grew up with three siblings or cousins. My aunt and uncle only had enough for the one chicken. Before I started here, wed only get an egg once a month and that was for the four of us. My aunt and uncle would skip, or be out hawking their wares. When they came back wed eat well for a few days or so, but then theyd have to be off again. Perhaps, Archmund reflected, he couldve put a higher priority on understanding the harshness of this worlds poverty. Perhaps it could have avoided this conversation. Or perhaps this conversation was just what he needed. I worked for a year and a half here before I could save up enough for a second chicken. Now my siblings get two, maybe three eggs a month, though your generosity keeps me fed far better. So for a factory where we cracked a few hundred eggs into a basis She laughed, not meanly, but as if on the verge of tears. Where would you get so many eggs? From all the poor workers who need their daily eggs to live? Even you couldnt buy up that many chickens, surely. Its silly, Arch. Its beneath you, young master. The real issue with mayonnaise in fantasy worlds wasnt one of the ingenuity of the people, or for want of ingredients, or a lack of appetite for the condiment. It was logistics. If you wished to make mayonnaise en masse, you mustve first invented factory farming.
That evening, he wrote down a new task. A larger-scope, longer-term goal that would be necessary if he wanted true freedom. Task #3: Grow the Granavale Holdings and fortune to a point where he literally didnt have to do anything to maintain them, so he could do whatever he wanted. Task #4: Revise Task #3 to be specific, once he understood realistic economic power in this world.
Archmunds Journal:
Year 0, Day 11: Push-ups: 100 in 29 minutes Magic: Light lasts for 2 hours Mayonnaise wont lead to freedom unless I introduce factory farms. Would that even be allowed? They might not care about animal welfare here but maybe there are elves or beast people somewhere on the continent who would take that as an excuse for a total war? I think I should focus on magic. Somethings bothering me: Servants can use Gems. All magic comes from Gems. Only nobles can use magic. I believed that all three of these are true. They cant be. Maybe everyone can use Gems, but only nobles can do magic because doing magic is something else that transcends using a Gem. This is something I need to investigate to see if this is the path to true power (and freedom). Maybe noble blood is what you need to use Gems, and servants have noble blood. I dont like the implications of this... wait. We get most of our servants from the County. If all of them have noble blood, then so does everyone in the Empire. Maybe everyone can use Gems, but only nobles get training, practice, and nutrition to actually use Gems to their full potential. Classic classism. I wouldnt rule it out, but Its testable. Easily testable. Mary can activate Gems. Shes reasonably well fed here. Shes not exhausted in the evenings. Ill ask her to train the way I do.
4 - The Restless Dead Erupt from the Earth but Thankfully Miles Away It was a dark and stormy night. This phrase was a famous literary cliche from Archmunds previous life. He didnt know where it came from, only that it often indicated trite, hackish writing. And yet it fit almost. The sky boiled with clouds, and lightning arced across the heavens and yet it never struck the ground. And unlike anything hed seen in this life or the last, this lightning was hued violet. It was deeply atypical for the summer storms. Perhaps the skies wanted to purge all their pent-up tears in the last storm of the season? There was a knock at the door. Archie? Your lord fathers calling for you, said Mary, her voice muffled behind the wood. This was most irregular. Archmund opened the door to face her. I thought he was at the capital. He returned not even an hour ago. And he wants to see you immediately.
They met in his fathers study. What do you think of tonight? said the Lord Reginald Granavale, not turning to look at him. He kept his eyes fixed on the roiling clouds outside the window. Its dark and stormy, Archmund said. His father raised an eyebrow, not knowing what to make of it. Now that he had an opportunity to look, Archmund thought his father looked rather calm for someone whod rushed home from the Imperial Capital. And dry, for someone whod been traveling in a storm. Not a strand of hair out of place, not a drop of water in his beard. Whats so special about this storm? And now his father turned to him. His face was grave. Its a Dungeon Storm. Do you know what a Dungeon is? Archmund suppressed a groan. The word Dungeon had been spoken like a proper noun, heavy with import and connotation. There were lots of generic fantasy dungeons in the generic fantasy books hed read in his past life, but unfortunately this was reality and this world had displayed a certain level of internal consistency. This was going to be a whole ordeal. He shook his head. And his father began to explain. The Omnio Empire was not, despite Imperial messaging, fully tamed land. There were skirmishes on the frontier, entire provinces that were nations in all but name, and there were Dungeons dangerous labyrinths full of monsters that appeared after Dungeon Storms, that were an integral part of the Omnio Empires economic system.. There were Four Great Dungeons. The first was the ancient Omnio Dungeon that lay beneath the Imperial Capital, kept exclusively for the use of House Omnio and their vassals. The second was the Arcane Dungeon at the westernmost point, held by the University of Imperial Mages, which they harvested extensively for Gems. The third was the Holy Dungeon, claimed by an ancient Saintess for the Church, and they claimed it was their sacred duty to purify the souls within, but mainly it was one of their sources of great wealth. And the last was the Wild Dungeon, on the Frontier, the final challenge of many an adventurer. Those were the Great Dungeons that had lasted for decades if not more; Lesser Dungeons could appear anywhere on the continent, at any time, but would often run dry within a decade. Dungeons were spawned from the wrath of the restless dead. The Church, the Empire, and the University of Imperial Mages agreed on this; Archmund wondered whether it was literally true or if it was highly coordinated propaganda. But when the restless dead grew wrathful, they would erupt from the ground, uniting the powers of hell to strike at heaven. As the strongest of the dead degassed from the depths of the earth, they carved a labyrinthine Dungeon that echoed the memories and regrets theyd held in life. Lesser ghosts and spirits would emerge as Monsters, trapped in physical form, and haunt the halls of the Dungeon. Over time, the most vengeful dead with the deepest grudges would forsake disembodied form and materialize as truly fearsome Monsters. No one knew why. Is this common knowledge? It was not; it was a state secret. House Granavale had been given the privilege of knowledge because the Dungeon was in their lands. Even then, Archmund suspected it could not be fully trusted; it was clear to him even then that the Church, the Empire, and the University had their own agendas and this agreement undoubtedly served them. But why here? It was random, supposedly. Or rather, the driving mechanism was unknown, so it appeared random. Omnio was built on wars so ancient they were long forgotten, so legions of the restless dead were buried in unmarked graves below the whole continent. If someone had a way of detecting the next Dungeon Storm, they were keeping it secret. Two things struck Archmund about the mechanics of Dungeons. First, there were many, many inconsistencies in these explanations. Therefore, there was a fundamental truth that was unknown or, possibly, being concealed. Second, it seemed awfully like these Dungeons resembled generic dungeons (the common noun) from popular fantasy media in his past life. They could pop up anywhere, had a mechanism that caused monsters in deeper levels to be stronger than those in higher levels, and were just dangerous enough to necessitate force but not mundane enough to support an economy based on lone adventurers. It was either too convenient, or he was filtering his experience through his questionable past life memories and therefore missing many nuances. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. But now was not the time to investigate any of this. There were bigger priorities grounded in the socioeconomic reality of his current life. What happens now? Legally, since the Dungeon appeared on Granavale land, it and its spoils were Granavale property. Practically, whenever a Dungeon appeared in a minor county, the local rulers were too poor to exploit it to its fullest. They didnt have the troops to subjugate the Monsters that spawned, so they couldnt harvest their resources and wealth. Because of that same weakness, Monsters risked breaching the walls of the Dungeons and becoming genuine threats to the safety of the people. So the only option for poorer nobles was to open their Dungeons up to the forces of the wider Empire and give up the vast majority of the spoils. The Venato Family had a stranglehold over trade. They could provide the necessary supplies to support the inevitable rush of treasure hunters and Dungeon delvers, but would keep the majority of the profits for themselves and their affiliates. Similarly, House Omnio had the strongest, most elite Dungeon subjugators, but taking their aid meant surrendering the easy spoils of the upper levels. Taking aid from the University of Imperial Mages or the Church had similar issues. In the long term, the only sustainable solution was the cultivation of dedicated local adventurers, but this almost never happened because Dungeons so often lasted only a few years, so any adventurers who "settled down" would pack up their bags and leave once the Dungeon ran dry. Archmund knew how this went from how it happened in his past life. There was a certain part of the world known as America. Broadly speaking, it could be divided into two cultural blocs: North America, which had been colonized by the seafaring British, and Latin America, which had been colonized by the Catholic Spaniards. The British had practiced a form of colonization later known as settling. Their primary interest was in claiming and developing the lands, while exiling some of their political dissidents in the process. The Spanish, however, had practiced something more akin to extraction. They were less interested in transplanting their people to this untamed landmass, and more interested in extracting wealth from the New World. At the peak of Spanish extraction, they had mined so much silver from the famed Cerro de Potosi that they crashed the market entirely in the Old World of Europe. But even hundreds of years later, North America thrived and was wealthy, while Latin American nations still suffered from the resource curse: They were seen as a place where the developed world could take and take and take, and the wealth of their lands rarely went to their own people. This was a fate Archmund wanted to avoid for his lands. And thankfully, his father agreed. The Lord Granavale had a plan to play the Empire, the Church, the University of Imperial Mages, and the Venato Family against each other, and in doing so keep wealth within Granavale County. The Lord Granavale had cultivated a reputation of being hopelessly and slavishly devoted to the whims of his spoiled son; it was a wonderful coincidence that said son had recently become wise beyond his years, but that no one knew it. Said son was perfectly entitled to sit in on meetings with these powerful and influential groups. And if he happened to make ridiculous, unreasonable demands, then the Lord Granavales self-serving demands would look all the more reasonable in comparison. Any questions? the Lord Granavale asked. Just one, Archmund said. How will this change our plans for me? The Lord Granavale stared out the window. If it works, none at all. Youll go to the Academy richer, and inherit a Granavale thats much healthier. And if it doesnt? Then the Granavale you inherit might be a ghost of its former self. The carriages arrived. The dignitaries approached. It was time for his first steps onto the world stage.
Archmunds Journal:
Year 0, Day 95 (part 1??) Push-ups: 100 in 5 minutes Magic: Light lasts past dawn Dungeons? Seriously? The way Father talks about them, its like striking oil. If Monsters are the spirits of the dead, and they drop Gems, does that mean Gems are the stuff of souls? Is this the secret to power? Have Omnio, the Church, and the Mages figured out how to successfully farm soul-stuff? What even is soul-stuff? If its so powerful then how come I have some as a night light?? Those are questions I only have the luxury of asking once our economic situation is secure. Either this destroys us or its a way to establish Granavale as a world power. As much as Id like a free life, the second is preferable to the first.
He had prepared through study and exercise. His stats had changed without his knowledge. He would have to hope that it was enough.
Archmund Granavale Lifespan: 9/91
Stat Value Titles Achievements Bound Items Relationships Skills
Strength 7 Granavale Heir Reincarnated Memories Ruby of Light (Attuned) Lord Reginald Granvale, Father N/A
Dexterity 7 Lady Sophia Granavale, Mother (deceased)
Constitution 6 Amelia Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Intelligence 6 Linus Granavale, elder brother (deceased)
Wisdom 7 Calla Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Charisma 6
Luck 5
5 - People Seek to Exploit My Resources, But At Least I Can Make Them Feel Guilty About It Truth be told, Archmund wasnt entirely on board with the plan. He thought My spoiled son is making excessive demands, so please agree to my slightly-less-excessive demands was a stupid excuse. Maybe it was smart on a level Archmund wasnt considering. Maybe the Lord Granavales actual plan was to seem like a sentimental fool and so get slightly better terms from his desired benefactors. Or maybe it was just stupid. But that was on paper. For the first time, Archmund got to watch his father work. When I was twenty, a Dungeon opened in Mistvalley County. When I was twenty-five, one opened in Greenwater. And when I was thirty, one opened in Stonepeak. And do you know how all of those places are doing today? he asked, sweeping his hand grandly across their sitting room at the gathered audience. There was Mother Cera from the local Church, somehow representing the entirety of the clergy, a slick, slimy, and impeccably dressed merchant from the Venato family, a roughshod adventurer representing the adventurers guilds, and a young boy slightly older than Archmund, who wore all black, his blond hair just barely visible under his hood, who represented House Omnio. I made my name in Mistvalley, said the adventurer. Archmund actually hadnt caught his name, which bothered him. In a book from his past life, How to Win Friends and Influence People, one of the first and foremost tips for getting power over people was to remember and know their names. And Greenwater was bustling, lively, doing great when I left. And how long ago was that? asked Lord Granavale. Ten years? Twenty? The adventurer scoffed. Look, Im just telling you what I saw. Perhaps your travels dont bring you to the same place twice, but mine do, the Lord Granavale said. I was there too in Mistvalley, seeking to make my fortune. I helped the push to the Lowest Tier, over the course of two years, but I saw Mistvalley transform from a quiet farming village to yes, a bustling, lively town. And with that came drunkenness, debauchery, increased appetites for lust, and with all of that, crime. All to support hundreds of adventurers, most of whom were far more concerned with adventure, stretched out over the course of decades, when a skilled team of ten heroes or nobles could have conquered Mistvalley Dungeon in a year. Surely that is an inevitable result of any economic boom, said the Venato merchant. Please, milord, consider the opportunities youre turning down in the long-term Do you know what Mistvalley is like today? said the Lord Granavale. The question hung in the air. Its dying, said the Omnio representative quietly. He was gazing rather intently at his fingernails. What? No. No, of course not! said the adventurer. The Mistvalley Dungeon was fruitful for the better part of ten to twenty years, as I recall, said the Lord Granavale. Enough for a generation of young men and women to view dungeon delving as the only career worth doing. An entire generation gave up plowshares for swords in order to chase the glory of the Mistvalley Dungeon. Except that Dungeon is now dwindling, and its only a matter of time before it is sealed forever. A job well done, said the adventurer. The Goldwood Dungeon was sealed in a matter of months, said the Lord Granavale, with no hint of adventurer involvement. I see your concern, said the Venato merchant, smoothly, nary a change in his voice. Archmund wondered whether his unflappable confidence was genuine or if it was an attempt to salvage the situation. Without the Dungeon, the young lack local opportunity or the skill to cultivate their lands. The previous economic core of Mistvalley, the orchards, is a dying industry, and I must confirm, as you already surely know, that trade with Mistvalley has been steadily dwindling as the Dungeons spoils lessen. What kind of lord are you? scoffed the adventurer. His breath smelled of hangover. Thinking about ten, twenty years in the future when youve got a gaping hole in the ground today that monsters are pouring out of. Your people need us. You need us. Let us at them! Ill let the Dungeon ravage my lands before letting a single adventurer claim that Granavale Lands are ripe for the picking! Father, no Lord Granavale, that is beyond the realm of possibility Mercy spoke at the same time as Archmund. Both fell silent. If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Mercy recomposed himself. Youve made your point clear, I think, Lord Granavale. The Houses Mistvalley and Greenwater are already in talks for deeper alliance with Omnio given their decline in fortunes over the past decades. You walk a narrow line indeed. My son is all I have left of my family. The least I can do is assure that he has the future Ive prepared for him. Oh, come on! Youre telling me youre going to listen to these brats I am Mercy Stirpstredecim de Omnio, and I speak with the full authority of the Imperial Family, said the boy in black. And, given how this discussion has gone south so quickly, I hereby revoke the Imperial Charter of the Adventurers Guild to operate in Granavale County. Youll lose on appeal! After which point, the easy pickings of the upper levels will have been conquered, and the potential for Granavale to become a Dungeon Town shall be lost. House Omnio will be lending aid to House Granavale to clear the upper levels of the Granavale Dungeon, with further negotiations to come, said Mercy. Mercys full name tickled Archmunds brain. It was clearly Latinate in a way that seemed far too intentional to be coincidence he could excuse the name Omnio as a matter of linguistic convergence, but this was very obviously a Latin construction. And yet he had no idea what it meant. Im afraid, good adventurer, said Archmund, that you have overstayed your welcome at this negotiation. Wed love it if you stayed for dinner, though! And he gave his most innocent smile. The adventurer gave him a condescending look. Youll regret this, he said. All of you. And he stormed out, servants directing him. The Church, said Mother Cera, who had been silently watching the proceedings, can provide as much aid as needed for ongoing defensive measures. Cera, that is most generous of you, said the Lord Granavale. It is no matter, said Mother Cera. We love Granavale as much as you do and would hate to see it suffer. I do wish to stress, said Mercy, that the support of House Omnio is, at this current point in time, unconditional. You will have our aid without being obligated to our House in any way. What are you getting out of this? Archmund said. I beg your pardon? Why would you just help us? Archmund said. He decided to play up the innocent child act. Ever since mother died, lots of people have offered to help, but they wanted her jewelry or our second house or our cows. If the Monsters got free and started killing us all, the Church would get killed too, but why are you helping us? A stable Empire helps us all, said Mercy, though his voice was a bit uneven. And, well, I assume you know of the First Salvage Rights. Dungeon loot belongs to those who take it. If it isnt too much trouble, said the Lord Granavale, stepping in gently, Could I get that promise of the aid being unconditional in writing? Mercy swallowed. Okay. But if you think this is a trick you know it doesnt matter, right? If we really wanted to hurt you we could just declare it void to the courts. Which would be plenty of time for us to strengthen our position one way or another, said the Lord Granavale. House Omnio understands how the game is played, and I would be stupid not to play it as well. You understand. I share your trepidations, my lord, said Mother Cera. What good is staving off an eventual union with Omnio decades from now if its achieved by submitting to them today? Need I remind you that we are all loyal subjects of the Empire, said Mercy crossly. And dont think your blatant attempts to curry favor for the Church are going unseen. Allow an old crone her jests, said Mother Cera. But dont you worry about the Church. The High Priestesses and the Hierophants wont want to dedicate any forces if they can help it, and theyll bitch and moan until were all dead and Monsters are at the Holy City. But while I may be no spring chicken, I can bring plenty to bear when it comes to warding against a Dungeon. Negotiations went smoothly after that. The Venato merchant had few complaints: Theres always money to be made. For, ah, sophisticated customers, we can connect you with Gem appraisers and purchasers of high-value goods. The Lord Granavale wheedled a promise out of him to work through local merchants to keep the economy flowing, and unsurprisingly he agreed, no doubt seeking to make as many connections as possible. It seemed everyone, sans the adventurers errant, would leave the negotiation satisfied. And one more thing, if you may, said the Lord Granavale to Mercy. What? My son has had awfully few opportunities to speak with children his age. Would you be so kind as to spend some time with him before you depart?
Archmunds Journal:
Year 0, Day 95 (part 2) Push-ups: see previous entry Magic: its still lit Writing this in the 5 minutes before I meet with Mercy Stirpsdecim de Omnio. Mercy about captures the gist of his(?) name, but the local word isnt something thats commonly used as a name. A codename? Not translating the last name (a la Tolkein). Its honest to god Latinate structure. Stirps means something. Tredecim thirteen? De Omnio of Omnio, but more of a Spanish or Italian construction than a Latin one (i.e. Leonardo da Vinci). Did Alexander the Conqueror use Latin for secret notes and messages in the same way I use English? Either way, not sure what to expect. But if anyone can answer my questions, itll be an Omnio agent.
6 - The Agent of the Empire is a Pompous Prick Mercy Stirpstredecim de Omnio was graceful. Refined, lithe, angelic. He didnt walk so much as glide through space. Something about his face reminded Archmund of Sister Catherine from Granavale Towns Church, though he wasnt sure why. Perhaps it was simply the rarity of pale blue eyes and blonde hair in this part of the empire, which contrasted sharply with Mercys all-black outfit with far too many straps and pouches. Of course, Sister Catherine would have never looked at him with such poorly-hidden contempt and pity. Frankly, Archmund wasnt sure Mercy even was a boy. It was a reasonable guess, since everyone had referred to him as milord, but he didnt know if the term culturally mapped to his understanding of it from English. For all he knew, military commanders were called milord regardless of gender. Mercy perfunctorily sipped at a cup of tea in the Granavale Tea Room, his legs crossed elegantly. His lips puckered, almost imperceptibly, in the slightest distaste, before he set it back before him. Mary came to refill the cup, but stopped upon seeing the liquid level had barely dropped. What are we supposed to be talking about? Mercy asked. Im not a teacher. Will you be entering the Dungeon? Of course. I will be leading the expedition to clear the uppermost levels. Archmund swallowed. Then I would like to accompany you. Oh. Great. So its like that, said Mercy. Archmund sipped his own cup of tea. It was, inexplicably, genuine tea, not some herbal tisane, brewed to perfection. Frankly, he didnt care much for tea either way, but this was perfectly fine tea, complete with the slight hints of a caffeine buzz. Perhaps in Palace Omnio they had higher quality teas, but this hardly warranted disgust. I dont know how much you learn out here, Mercy said, But theres nobles, and then theres Nobles. I dont expect you to care or even know about the distinction in this place. Another tedious class distinction. Archmund found his mind wandering a terrible habit, since this was likely to be important, but he found himself wondering where tea even came from in this world. In his old world, tea was one of two words well, cognate-groups, he supposed they could be called for the same drink. The other was cha or chai. Many languages in that world adopted either cha or tea as the name for the drink. Which loanword was adopted depended on the various nuances of history, but generally cha was used by those who traded overland and tea was used by those who traded over sea. Mercy looked at him with contempt, or perhaps disgust, or perhaps even boredom. Granavale, send your maid out. Why? Unless she is prepared to be bound to you for life, send her out. Archmund nodded to Mary. She raised an eyebrow and raised her hand to her mouth in mock surprise. He rolled her eyes and gestured at her with a shooing motion. Smirking, she left. Mercy waited until the door slammed firmly shut behind her. Shield, Mercy muttered. A shimmering disc, the color of seafoam, extended from his hand. You know how I did this, yes? Mercy said, as if lecturing a small, stupid child. A Gem, said Archmund. But youre not holding any. Because Ive used this one enough to become Attuned to it. Gods above, you dont even know the basics! Sphere. The disc-like shield distended like a balloon, and it transformed into a thin sphere that protected Mercy from all directions, a bubble of translucent blue-green. Archmund raised his hand to the sphere. He touched it for only a moment before Mercy broke the enchantment. Even in that briefest moment, Archmund could feel the vast depths of Mercy Stirpstredecim de Omnios magic, how it was layered and complex in a way that dwarfed his own. Just what do you think youre doing? Mercy said. His voice had jumped to a girlish octave. Was he actually panicked? Apologies, said Archmund. Its just I havent seen anyone do real magic ever before, so far out here in the country. Was that all one Gem? Your maid isnt eavesdropping, is she? Mercy said. I was serious, you know. If she isnt a noble and hears these secrets, shell either have to die or serve you forever. She takes these things seriously, Archmund said. In truth, he wondered if it was already too late. She had, after some false starts, successfully activated the Red Gem of Light. When shed first started, she only could light it for a few minutes at most; now, she could channel enough of her magic to light it for almost an hour not nearly as fast a growth curve as his own, but then again she spent much of the day housekeeping while he sat around and studied. That was enough to disprove that commoners innately couldnt use magic, and that their lack of ability was simply a matter of not having the time and opportunity to do so. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. If commoners werent supposed to have magic, hed already put her life in danger. If that was the case, he might as well tell her everything anyways or, barring that, swear her to secrecy and never speak of the matter again. Well, theyll teach you more at the Imperial Academy, so Ill just tell you enough to keep you alive, Mercy said. So he did. Archmunds existing understanding of Gems and enchantments was basic but correct. Many different varieties of Gems could drop from Monsters, and though they werent exactly equivalent to their geological counterparts, they had been given the same names ruby, sapphire, topaz, emerald, diamond, and so forth. These colors indicated which elemental spells could most easily be enchanted into the Gems, though exceptions always existed. The cut of the Gem then determined which basic spell was enchanted into it. Denser or larger Gems could support more powerful and intricate spells. Those were the basics. So if I want to know more, what do I study? Archmund asked. Advanced Gemology? Mercy snorted. Advanced Gemology is a useless theoretical distraction meant to give half-wit mages and the noveau riche a sense of importance. You cant learn the true potential of Gems without properly using them. For example, the Gem Mercy had used was not a Shield Gem or a Protection Sphere Gem. It was much simpler: a spell to harden the body against physical attacks. Mercy said its formal name was the Baogaddiamanta, but he preferred to call it the Diamond of Guard. Through years of vigorous training another data point that supported Archmunds theory nobles could use magic because they had decades of practice with it Mercy had become unbreakable, able to fall from high cliffs or block swords with his bare hands. That must have been dangerous training, Archmund noted. House Omnio spares no expense; I always had healers nearby for any of my stunts. Anything for the elite units, huh? Yes. With mastery, Attunement had followed: Mercys understanding and technique with the Diamond of Guard was so great that he could use it without needing to touch it. So much of his magical power had flowed into it that this Diamond of Guard would always, in some way, be an echo of Mercy himself. That was one of the few risks of using a single Gem to mastery. Habit. Lock-in. If you used one Gem exclusively, your magical flux would become Attuned to it just as the Gem became Attuned to you, and you would have great difficulty unlearning those habits to use other Gems. Nobles could afford the luxury of spending time unlearning a locked-in Attunement to learn anew. Others could not. His earlier fears that using too much magic frivolously would risk depleting his power forever, or permanently damage his soul were unwarranted. The one risk was lock-in. But Mercy didnt elaborate further on that point. In fact, his discussions of Attunement were rushed, clipped, closer to bullet point lists than anything else. It wasnt a lot to go off of. Had he even achieved Attunement with the Ruby of Light? The way Mercy had phrased things unnerved him. Gems became and held echoes of their users. And they became more specialized and more powerful the more they were used. He was reminded of a principle from his past life. There was a self-help book writer named Cal Newport, whod written a book called So Good They Cant Ignore You. The central thesis of this book was that the best way to attain a life of freedom and luxury was to develop highly specialized, in-demand skills. It was better to become a potent specialist before generalizing, as opposed to starting as a generalist and meandering through skill acquisition and life. Gems were very much like that. If you could master them to develop superhuman feats, then they could evolve and become even more powerful and flexible. Even in a strange and unfamiliar world, he saw echoes of the past. But perhaps it was a poor assumption that this was a world where hard work and specialization were rewarded. Perhaps this was just a game, in which case Mercy was akin to an overpowered tutorial cheat character meant to show him what he would one day be capable of. (That sounded almost just as delusional as believing the power of hard work could overcome class differences from birth.) If I havent made myself clear enough by now, Mercy said haughtily, The Shield. The Protection Sphere. These are the Awakening of my Diamond of Guard. I could feel your magic when you touched mine you arent as helpless as Id expected you to be, but you simply arent near my level. Can you swing a sword? He could not. Can you shoot a bow? He had tried in his past life; in this body, he could not. Have you Awakened any Gems yet? He had not. You would be a liability, Mercy said. One day, Archmund said. Thats all I ask. One day in the Dungeon. You can have plenty of days once Ive cleared the first levels. If he did that, legally, House Omnio would get the full spoils and all the easy pickings of fresh Gems from the easiest monsters. And any future excursions would be tightly supervised by the coalition of stakeholders they were building through these meetings. He had to be in this first wave. Simply for the grim sober socioeconomic reality of it all. I need to see what its really like, Archmund said. I need to see the dirty, messed up combat. What adventurers really have to face, how dangerous it really gets. Otherwise, how could I possibly become a Lord who sends people to their deaths in a place like that? And if he died, as much as hed prefer to avoid it, that was that. Death meant much less when you knew that reincarnation was real. Mercy looked at him. His face seemed inscrutable, almost contemptuous. But then he rolled his eyes. Tomorrow, at dawn, right outside the Dungeon. Dont be late or well leave without you. I promise, I wont! Its your funeral.
Archmunds Journal (undated) I should really be more afraid of death. Ive already gone through it once, yet I dont remember it. Maybe it was just that bad.
7 - Pulling an All-Nighter to Make a Magic Lightbulb It was pretty fucked up that the world of Omnio just let nine-year-olds into Dungeons to fight Monsters if they were of noble-enough blood and begged loudly enough. And that if he didnt get his act together in one night, he might die. But this was progress, in a way. Archmund had helped set his House and County up for success, and hed also secured an opportunity to gain power through the Deepest Magics. If he lived, his future would be smooth sailing. Now he just had to figure out how to Not Die. He was in panic mode. The sun had set. His room was illuminated only by his Ruby of Light. He turned the Ruby around in his hand, feeling his magic hed flowing through it, casting shadows on the wall around him. He was frustrated. In his past life, hed loved fantasy stories. There was a split in the community about hard magic and soft magic. Hard magic systems were mechanistic and followed rules, being akin to solvable puzzle. Soft magic systems often aimed to set the tone or mood of the story, left unexplained to the reader. Video games treated the magic accessible to players as mechanistic, set spells that cost magic points and had predictable if pseudorandom effects, even if their lore described magic that was far more powerful and inscrutable. His life was not a story. He had no clear insights into the mechanisms. There was no full explanation of the magic system in his books. There was no convenient wiki where he could look up the lore of his life. Hed pierced together his knowledge of magic from rumors and lies. He had reasons to believe that the laws of the universe adhered to some non-physical game-like logic: hed all but powerleveled his strength, endurance, and magical power. But he had no proof. Whenever he ever actually used the Ruby of Light, there was no guide or indicator or status bar. There may have been hard rules and principles underlying magic, but actually doing it felt soft. He supposed that this was a consequence of emergence. Hed studied physics in his past life. Physics that, at a macroscopic level, still held here, from his experiments in making mayonnaise. Individual elementary particles could only sit in certain quantized energy states, like steps on a staircase. Those interactions, when between different atoms, led to complex chemical reactions. From billions upon billions of chemical reactions, life could emerge, and to understand that, the study of biology, sociology, zoology, and thousands of other fields. But none of those conclusions could be drawn from understanding the fundamental rules of quantum physics alone. Oh, you could say that electricity was a result of electron interaction, and that electricity drove the human nervous system, and the random impulses of the human mind drove the irrational decisions that led to war, but it felt like utter sophistry to use that example to prove that quantum physics was the cause of all wars. The soft might have emerged from the hard, but the hard alone was insufficient to explain the soft. He held the Ruby up. Physics. He knew Physics. And he knew this Ruby. Hed filled it with his power which mightve explained why Mary had trouble using it properly, now that he thought about it. If he was Attuned to any Gem, this was the one. If this world truly followed the same laws of physics as Earth, then visible light, which this Gem created, was part of a spectrum. That spectrum spanned from 30-foot-wide radio waves to nanoscopic cancer-causing gamma rays. Archmund didnt know if Monsters, being the embodied spirits of the dead, were vulnerable to cancer or acute radiation poisoning. Mercy had asked if he could use a sword or bow; that suggested theyd have physical form. Heat always was unreasonably effective. First, an assumption: Energy conservation held. Light wasnt coming out of nowhere when he used the Ruby, it was converting his magic. This was a big assumption, but if it was wrong, nothing he knew could work. Gamma rays carried much more energy than visible light. That had two implications: If shooting gamma rays didnt work as one-shot-kills on monsters, the technique would be far more wasteful. If shooting gamma rays drew more magic proportional to the amount of energy they carried, it would exhaust him much more quickly. Infrared radiation was much better. It was pure heat. It was less energetic than visible light, which might give him more lethality per magical power expended. It would burn things an immediate way to see if his techniques were working. He hoped he wasnt too far off the mark. It had been literal decades since hed studied physics. That was the hard magic basis. Now, he had to determine the soft magic execution.
He went outside to the garden. Testing a method to turn light magic into fire magic in a very enclosed, very flammable study was one of the stupidest things he could imagine doing. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. The stars peppered the night sky, uncountable. Were they balls of flaming gas in this world, or something magical? Maybe hed find out one day. Right now, he needed to turn his magical light trinket into something that could kill. In his old world, scientists knew how to realign all the rays from a light source in one direction, creating a potent beam known as a laser. His idea amounted to making a laser of pure heat. The question was not whether such a thing was imaginable, but possible within the limitations of magic. Of course, there was the worry about whether spell slots was a concern if he learned how to shift from light to heat, and how to shift from diffuse light to laser light, would that take up two spell slots and render him unable to combine the techniques to a third heat laser spell? The real answer was that he couldnt afford to worry; hed be as bad off not trying at all. He cupped the Ruby of Light in his hands, blocking its light so it wouldnt awaken the rest of the household. He could sense the magic hed poured into it over the past few months, surging and pooling in the facets of the Gem. It felt like his hand in an oven mitt, or perhaps the pressure of a weighted blanket, or perhaps the feeling of coffee after a long run comfortable yet tempting. He knew this Gem, in and out, and how his power interacted with it, flowed through every cranny and flaw, agitating this crystallized soulstuff to set the world alight. He could feel his magic swirling within the Gem, like water through pipes or electrons in a circuit, the constant motion and vibration transforming into visible light. It flowed over a sense he didnt know he had, over his very feeling of self, tumbling and tickling. It was still his magic, even if it had been poured into the Gem, and even if there was a foreign magic mingling with it that he knew had to be Marys. He could still feel it, reach out to it, and control it. Infrared radiation was less energetic than visible light. By physical analogy, it was as if it vibrated slower. He willed his magic to stop. Controlling it was like instinct, like swimming or walking or breathing. He had spent so long forcing the magic out that he knew how it should feel. The tumbling of magic over his spirit grew slower and slower until it was like water dripping out of a tap (oh, how glad he was this world had indoor plumbing). And then it ceased entirely, and the Ruby of Light grew dark. It had worked.
That was the easy part. The hard part was control. He hoped, desperately, that this wasnt a problem of discrete vs continuous. A light switch had two discrete states on vs off. But sometimes there were dimmer switches, that could slide between various levels of dim to bright light bulbs. Computers in his past life seemed to be continuous, capable of having all sorts of states, but fundamentally at the heart of their architecture they were discrete all data in computers, all programs, all instructions were stored at the fundamental level as either 1 or 0. They looked continuous to the end user because there were just so many of those fundamental 1s or 0s. The illusion of continuum emerged from the discrete. Hopefully magic was continuous and not discrete.
It was easy to relight the Ruby. It was instinct. He touched it, his magic surged, and it lit up. He could pull it back, stop the magic, dim the Gem. That too had become easy. This was all he could do. In, out. In, out. How much time had passed? The moon was starting to set; did that mean they were halfway through the night, or almost at dawn? In, out. In, out. He dropped the Gem on the grass before him. In, out. In, out. He no longer needed to touch it to make it pulse on and off with light. That meant he was Attuned, right? Or maybe hed been Attuned. Hed just realized it. In, out. In, out. In, out. His breaths had slowed. The Gem was synced to his breaths. Light on the inhale. Dark on the exhale. Lighting slowly on the inhale, turning from red to orange to sunlit yellow, and fading the other way on the exhale. From red to orange to yellow. A chill ran through him. This was it. It was possible. He picked up the Gem. He took the deepest breath he could, so far that he felt his lungs might burst, and with it he pushed the color of the Gem to be as brilliant white as possible. And then he exhaled. The light dimmed, as expected, from white to yellow to orange to red. And still he exhaled, pushing out every last molecule of breath from his lungs. He felt the magic in the Ruby grinding to a halt in harmony with his breath. He focused on that motion, feeling through that unspeakable sense beyond the body. Slower and slower still yet still moving down the electromagnetic spectrum The Ruby burned.
Archmund Granavale Lifespan: 9/91
Stat Value Titles Achievements Bound Items Relationships Skills
Strength 7 Granavale Heir Reincarnated Memories Ruby of Light (Awakened) Lord Reginald Granvale, Father (*new*) Heat
Dexterity 7 Lady Sophia Granavale, Mother (deceased)
Constitution 6 Amelia Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Intelligence 6 Linus Granavale, elder brother (deceased)
Wisdom 7 Calla Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Charisma 6
Luck 5
8 - Light Amplification by Stimulated Emission of Radiation He stomped at the grass of the garden frantically, putting out the fire hed set using the Ruby of Light and his newfound ability. This was an almost useless new ability. Even so, there was an adrenaline thrill running through him: hed achieved something! The past 100 days of grind hadnt been worthless; theyd given him a genuine boost in power. But it wasnt enough. (It never was, nagged a little voice at the back of his head. In this life and the last, no matter what he did, it was never enough.) But, ignoring that little voice, practically speaking, this actually wasnt enough. He could make the Ruby of Light become hot and set flames from afar, but he had no way of projecting that power unless he wanted to throw the Gem at every foe he met and scramble to recover it and he hadnt spent any time at all honing his aim. He didnt have the power to aim and throw true. Deliberate practice, a form of practice that was purposeful and focused on skill development, was a thousand times more effective in this world. If hed had a week, he couldve grinded that skill. But he didnt. He had the scant hours until dawn, and he hadnt kept track of the time. How hard could it be, really? Hed learned control over his magic by converting light to heat, and in the process learned that the electromagnetic spectrum functioned the same way in this world as it had in the last. One day, gamma rays might be at his disposal. But if he didnt want to give himself cancer via radiation, he had to turn his manifested power from diffuse light into a direct, brilliant laser. The Ruby had cooled enough for him to pick up. He held it in front of his eye. And, on a whim, he nudged it with magic and it started levitating above his palm, tumbling in the air, casting a faint warmth. It was the same tetrahedron it had always been, with slight flaws, which acted as grooves and channels for his power. It was these imperfections that shaped his raw magical outflow into visible light; to create heat and fire, hed had to overcome the instructions engraved in its heart. These same instructions told it to radiate the light outwards. He didnt even know if this world had a concept of laser beams or rays of light, and if corresponding instructions existed so he would have to mimic the effect through brute force.
He didnt actually know how lasers in his old world worked in detail. There were mirrors involved, but he hadnt been an engineer. If his memories were right, hed studied Physics, not engineering. But hopefully that didnt matter. Because magic was neither physics nor engineering. The difference between a diffuse light source, like the sun or a candle, was that the light scattered in all directions. At the nanoscopic scale, light was a wave. It was also a particle, but for imagining the laser, he chose to think of it as a wave. And it behaved like waves on the ocean (which, he suddenly realized, hed never seen with these new eyes). Two waves coming from opposite directions or at an angle would break each other apart and weaken their force upon the waters, but two waves from the same direction would merge and add their strength. The Ruby calling it the Ruby of Light was inaccurate and mentally limiting converted his magical power to electromagnetic waves. Left alone, all those waves went in every direction. He had to mentally will them to only go in one direction. Because what even was magic? Hed had assumptions, and they were already falling apart. Hed thought magic was governed by how much power you could pour into a Gem, and so his training exercises had focused on building up that power. But now it seemed that magic was holistic, that the Gems were just catalysts in the hands of those skilled and powerful enough, and that you could override their programming simply through Understanding of the Self and the World Around You. This reminded him of college admissions from his last life. Hed gotten very good grades on all of his tests, but it turned out colleges also wanted people to show they were well-rounded through extracurriculars and things that were harder to measure. Holistic admissions, theyd called it. He couldnt afford to dwell on this. All of that was from a literal lifetime ago. Why the hell did he still care? He only had a few hours left. Were there less stars now? Was the sky getting lighter? Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon. He lit the Ruby. It glowed a dim red. A minimal drain on his magical power, not hot enough to burn his hand, soft enough to not disturb anyone, but enough to test his power. Why did light naturally radiate in all directions, as opposed to being a single laser beam? Because natural examples of light did. The sun. Fire. The moon. Fireflies. And Gems were cut based on what their designers knew. But there was no reason that light couldnt manifest as directed bursts. The Ruby tumbled in the air above his hand, and with but a thought he made it rotate counterclockwise. It almost looked like a brown dwarf, the last remnant of a star that had burned through all of its fuel and was now slowly fading to nothing. But that wasnt the only way that stars could die. Bigger stars would explode, scattering their starstuff throughout the cosmos, in supernovae so bright they could be seen in the daylight sky. And even bigger stars would collapse upon themselves, the fusion pressures of their cores unable to support the gravitational force of their mass, becoming infinitesimally dense, inescapable black holes. Those black holes would rotate, drawing in matter. As that matter fell towards the black holes event horizon, that final barrier after which there was no hope of escape, it would be compressed by the sheer gravity. It would glow bright. It would turn hot. And, if matter somehow managed to avoid getting sucked into the event horizon, it might shoot out along the black holes axis of rotation, jets of superheated ionized plasma and X-rays and gamma rays blasting trillions of miles into the void of space. Like a laser. There was no reason magic should work along these lines of naturalistic inference. He was analogizing magic to physical systems hed studied a lifetime ago and yet wasnt that just natural in itself? Electrons in a circuit didnt really behave like water in pipes, but the analogy worked for most applications. But he was desperate. If he wasnt on the front lines, he wouldnt get any of the spoils or any of the experience. If he didnt get any experience on the easy battles, he wouldnt be able to challenge the harder battles at all. If he didnt challenge the harder battles, no one in House Granavale would gain any loot from Granavale Dungeon. And if House Granavale didnt benefit from Granavale Dungeon, it would become a metaphorical quarry, stripped of all its resources, wrung dry by adventure and wanderlust. He would inherit a broken husk and could only hope for a political marriage to save him from a life of slow decay. Was he spiraling? It didnt matter if he was catastrophizing, if it worked to alter his magic. He stabilized the Rubys rotation as he let his magic flow into it, so that one of the faces was parallel to his palm and one corner pointed skywards. He lit it up, keeping it a faint red. He felt his magic marshaling with the rotation. Faster and faster it spun. And as it did so, he willed his magic to move closer and closer to the center, resisting the urge to suffuse the Gem. The light of the Ruby narrowed, becoming a single straight line along the axis of rotation. And still it spun, faster and faster, until it was a blur. There was an itch inside of him, a bursting irritation, a breath he hadnt meant to be holding and he let it out. And with it came the light. A single, blinding beam, brilliant red piercing into the night sky. A burst of laser. He stumbled back, fell to his knees, dropped the Ruby in surprise. That had been more tiring than hed expected. But he drew the Ruby to his hand with his magic. He was only halfway done. Now he had to train until it was as natural as breathing.
When dawn broke, Archmund beheld the fruits of his labors. Patches of burnt grass. Dead flowers. Ashes upon the garden path. He floated the Ruby in front of him and pointed it at a rock. His magic flowed. The Ruby spun. A point on the rock glowed bright red from invisible beams of pure, concentrated heat. And then it melted into slag.
Archmund Granavale Lifespan: 9/91
Stat Value Titles Achievements Bound Items Relationships Skills
Strength 7 Granavale Heir Reincarnated Memories Ruby of Light (Awakened) Lord Reginald Granvale, Father Heat
Dexterity 7 Lady Sophia Granavale, Mother (deceased) "Infrared Lance"
Constitution 6 Amelia Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Intelligence 6 Linus Granavale, elder brother (deceased)
Wisdom 7 Calla Granavale, elder sister (deceased)
Charisma 6
Luck 5
9 - Peasants Are Easy to Turn Into a Disposable Army If You Feed And Clothe Them, Which Is Bad The first rays of sun were just peeking over the horizon when Archmund made his way to the opening of the Granavale Dungeon, to the army camp of Mercy Stirpstredecim de Omnio. Gods above, man, did you sleep? Mercy said when he saw Archmund. I slept enough, Archmund said, suppressing a yawn. He had pulled an allnighter to cram for a new magical technique. He was tired, yes, but nowhere near as tired as when hed done it in his previous life. Being young again was wonderful. If youre not taking care of yourself, you can just stay up here, Mercy said. Come back for the second wave and recovery efforts tomorrow. That would let Mercy Stirpstredecim de Omnio get the first crack at everything in the Granavale Dungeon. Utterly unacceptable. Unfortunately, the fatigue dulled Archmunds wit. He pulled the Ruby of Light out from his pocket to buy some time to think. As if by instinct, it hovered over his open palm. Mercy stared. Then he placed one palm on Archmunds forehead, gripped his shoulder with the other, and stared intently into his eyes. Archmund tried to escape, but Mercys grip was surprisingly strong. He could feel the other boys magic through the physical touch, alien to his own. Surprisingly light and pleasant for someone so serious and dangerous almost girlish, if magic could be said to be girlish. And Mercy himself was Mercy even a boy? Because up this close, with his perfectly neutral face, in the dim light of dawn and the fading firelight, Mercy was put together like a porcelain doll. I Im surprised, Mercy said, as even as ever. The way you look, Id expected you to have done something immensely stupid and spent all night draining your magical reserves. But you barely seem any weaker than you did yesterday afternoon. Archmund had in fact spent all night draining his magical reserves. And yes, it was surprising he was barely weaker than he had been yesterday afternoon. Mentally, he was tired, and he knew that missing a night of sleep was equivalent to losing 20 IQ points, as pseudoscientific as IQ was. Though there were some sacrifices worth making. You can come along then, Mercy said, releasing him. I suppose you wont be a total liability. Wait, dont you need to know what my power is? Archmund said. Oh, Ive got an idea, Mercy said smugly. Perhaps hed learned through touch alone. Archmund shuddered.
In short order, they stood before Mercys forces. There were about two hundred men no, some of them were much younger than that, Archmund realized with a chill. Through the eyes of a child, even twelve-year-olds looked ancient, but he had adult memories. Some of these kids looked fourteen. Today, we break first ground on the Granavale Dungeon, Mercy said, voice clear in the morning air. Some of you have faced Dungeons before. Some of you have lost comrades and found glory. Most of you will not survive. The men yelled the usual macho we-who-are-about-to-die type posturing. Surely it wouldnt be that bad, right? All of you knew the stakes when you joined the Omnio Sacred Guard. You will die a hundred times before you let a single drop of noble blood be spilled. You will die a thousand times before you let a Hand of the Omnio fall. You will die a million times before a single drop of Omnio blood ever dreams of a blade! Archmunds stomach turned at the idea that these men these boys were expected to die for him. But they did not share his nausea. The men roared. They pounded their chests and shook their fists. They wanted this death and glory. But those of you who do will be remembered for the ages. And for the lucky few, these will be your first steps as heroes! The men raised their swords and spears and let out a resounding cheer. Their weapons glistened, capturing the morning light in a way that plain metal could not. As the sun rose, it illuminated their armor, setting it ablaze with kaleidoscopic light pale pinks and teals and limes. His breath caught in his throat. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. First time seeing Gemstone Gear? Mercy said, voice low. Beautiful, isnt it? I thought Gems were too expensive to forge into full-body armor. Thats what has you surprised? Maybe youre not a total idiot, Mercy said. Dont worry, youll see how theyre made soon enough. One last round of preparations, first.
Mercys tent was made of extremely practical tarp on the outside but emblazoned with rare furs on the inside. Archmund saw the usual tiger, lion, and was that komodo dragon? Their furniture was no less ornate there were four proper chairs with cushions, and an actual tablecloth on the round table in the center of the room. Mary had rushed over first thing in the morning upon realizing that Archmund wasnt in his room. She fretted over him like a mother hen a small mercy that could be allowed for one who was going to his death, Mercy had declared, with a shit-eating grin that suggested he was fully aware of the pun. Mary was aghast that hed spent all night practicing magic, practically besides herself Itll stunt your growth, young master! shed screamed. But she wasnt formally working, moreso just there for emotional support. Mercys servants were the ones responsible for their final preparations. And when it came to the greater conversation, servants were supposed to be seen and not heard. Mercys head servant, a tall, slim girl with short dark hair, poured them both two large mugs of a thin dark liquid. There was a familiar warm and comforting scent wafting from it, so familiar that Archmund instinctively took a sip. He almost spat it out. It was coffee, or something very much like it. In his old life, hed had more than his share of coffee. Some days, at the worst of his job, hed drunk ten cups a day, some as late as three in the morning, just to stay awake and work. A part of his mind wondered just how much convergent evolution this world had gone, to have both coffee and tea cultures. But he forced himself to stay focused. Had coffee always been this bitter? It tasted horrid. Maybe the coffee in this world was worse, or maybe his taste buds were younger and more selective. He forced himself to swallow, only to see Mercy and her servant staring at him. You drank it black? Mercy said. His composure broke completely for a second there, his mouth hanging open, before he gestured to his servant. His servant dropped a handful of white cubes into both cups, along with a thick yellow-white paste, before swirling until smooth with a spoon. If its meant to be drunken with that extra stuff, why dont you just make it like that? The butter will split if its added at the wrong time, Mercy said. Its part of the ceremony. Archmund took a sip. It was good, but it felt more like the dessert drinks from popular coffee chains than actual coffee. In his past life, hed liked drinking coffee black, because hed drunk so much of it that if he added milk and sugar every time he wouldve been thirty pounds heavier. Dont tell me you would have preferred it without the sugar and butter? Mercy said. Archmund said nothing. He supposed he must have flinched. Well, youll be glad for it once were in there. Well need the energy, and you absolutely need it. It will keep you awake. Mercy said. If you dont have any questions, I can explain our tactics. Just one, Archmund said. Will those men truly die for me? Without question. Thats horrific. Excuse me? Archmund hadnt meant to say that out loud. It had just slipped out, an unfortunate side effect of transmigrating from a world with the concept of inalienable human rights, no matter what social class you were born into. Nothing. No, Archmund Granavale, I want to hear it, said Mercy Stirpstridecim de Omnio. What exactly about my Sacred Guard and their vows do you find so horrific? A hundred of them are supposed to sacrifice themselves so I dont get cut? Its metaphorical, but yes. That is what they agreed to when they chose to join the guard. This is the life they chose. Whats wrong with that? Material conditions. Being forced into a terrible job by the threat of poverty. Risking your life to chase glory because it was the only choice you had. Archmund knew he couldnt say any of this outright. Not to a representative of the Imperial Family. What about their dreams? Their loved ones? How can you live knowing that youll send them to their deaths to serve yourself? Because I am a scion of the Omnio. Mercys eyes were cold. His voice, colder, yet lilting. There was the faintest quavering or perhaps Archmund was imagining it, because the only hints of warmth from Mercy had been when hed told his men to embrace their deaths. I am a descendant of his Eternity, Alexander I. I was born blessed. I was born better. And no amount of handwringing from a minor noble will change who I am and what I deserve. Can you honestly say that not a single member of your Sacred Guard has the potential to surpass us? No! Mercy said. How could you even suggest that? Did the plague wipe out your memory? If there was any sign of that happening never mind that it couldnt, as far as youre concerned any sign of an unauthorized commoner using true magic is high treason, and is grounds for a full-scale invasion of the land. Right, Archmund said, leaning back on the plush chair. He was acutely aware of Marys presence at his side, and how hed asked her to try using the same magic that he had. Any sign that a commoner can use true magic, which is Drawing out the power of Gemsnot Gemstone Gear, Gemsbeyond the purpose cut into them. Like what you or I do. Thats high treason. Mercy nodded. Archmund hated this. There was an entire army all but meant to die for him. He would be joined at the hip with someone who didnt care about throwing their lives away. And he had no choice but to do it. If he didnt, House Granavale and Granavale County would suffer, and it would be his fault. He was getting vibes of his old life, when he forced himself to work jobs he hated because they were the promised success hed once aspired for. Mercy downed the rest of his coffee. Drink up, Granavale. Well be going in real soon. And like it or not, my men wont let you die. 10 - Having a Long, Explanatory Conversation While Walking Into a Den of Deadly Monsters From all the politicking and tedious negotiation, Archmund had expected something scarier from the gateway to Granavale Dungeon. Distant red flames. Echoing inhuman screams. The scent of sulfur, perhaps. Nothing special, Mercy said casually from his side. Archmund had to agree. Granavale Dungeon was an unassuming hole in the ground, rather anticlimactic given the explosive power of the Dungeon Storm. It looked like a regular cave, naturally carved into the surrounding gray stone. A cool draft wafted from the cave mouth, carrying a mineral scent and cave dampness. General Alaktor, give us a guard. Four should be enough. Only four? Well be scouting ahead. The corridors are narrow. Any more would get in our way. Then why have them? Once we see a bigger room the six of us cant handle, well call the rest. Its a standard practice, Mercy said. And then, I presume, well use human wave tactics, Archmund said. He couldnt keep the contempt from slipping into his voice. Zankto! Wrest! Yald! Vurl! You four assist Mercy! Mercy glanced at the General as he called the names of their four escorts. They were excitedly gathering their equipment, so they only had a few more moments alone. They carried rucksacks outside of their Gemstone armor there was no way that was comfortable which had their provisions for their meal. Mercy, in contrast, only had a satchel covered in pouches. Archmund had brought nothing. You still disapprove. Its a senseless waste of life. The men were approaching. They were on the younger side, likely in their twenties. Mercy leaned to whisper in Archmunds eear. Even if was a waste and its not a single piece of Gemstone armor starts a commoners journey to becoming a Hero. A full set basically guarantees them becoming a legend. Would you deny that to them? How do you keep them from killing each other for a full set? Goddess, you are a horrible person. They teach you nothing out here in the countryside, do they? Zankto, Wrest, Yald, and Vurl had drawn close, but they gave no indication of having overheard. Each was clad in multiple pieces of glittering Gemstone armor, though none had a full set. Mercy inhaled, eyes narrowed, before pointing at Zankto. Granavale, touch his breastplate. Archmund looked at Zankto for consent, but got stony silence. Mercy sighed. Its my order. He wont refuse. Do it. Archmund did and understood immediately. His magic its in it. Its like hes Attuned to the armor? Glad you can tell that much, Mercy said. Gemstone armor might be pre-formed, but its still Gem. And you can tell when someones using Gem thats Attuned to someone else. It would be extremely obvious. What if someone tried? You dont know keep asking stupid questions and maybe Ill show you. In his past life, Archmund had been raised to think there were no stupid questions, so this dismissal didnt bother him much. It came with the territory. Youre actually nervous about this. What? Of course I am, Mercy said. Ill breathe easy once we see how hard Tier 1 is. You never know at first. It made more sense, then. Mercys short-temper was from nerves or that natural fear of death, which wasnt helped by having to babysit him.
Mercy stepped into the cave and took a few exploratory sniffs. He nodded to the guards. Guard him. The four guards took point around Archmund. What, you dont need them? I need them far less than you will, Mercy said. I am a veteran Dungeoneer. You are an insolent nine-year-old. Youre barely older than me. And yet Ive lived twice your lifetimes. Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author. With that, Mercy twirled and stalked into the cave, black cloak fluttering behind him. Archmund suppressed a chuckle. Oh, if only Mercy knew how wrong he was. Then he realized that Mercy was fading rapidly into the dark of the Dungeon and scrambled to catch up.
They examined each path, every branching intersection. Most were dead ends. For the few that werent, they painted an arrow of bright red to highlight the path forward. The guards were able to keep pace, though he could just barely keep an eye on Mercys backside. Wait. Can you slow down a second here? I suppose it would reflect badly on me if you got injured, Mercy said. He slowed down, but only barely. The Dungeon was shrouded in darkness. How can you see anything? I have an Attunement, Mercy said. Oh, come on, Archmund said. Do Attunements let you do everything? Only for those of noble blood. Mercy sighed. I was hoping youd be at least somewhat prepared. Not this frantic flailing. Didnt you bring any sources of light? I suppose well have to share our provisions with you as well. You could have mentioned any of this during our multiple talks. I thought you werentactually, youre right. This is entirely my own fault for assuming you were an imbecile, talking as if you were one, and then not treating you like one. If Archmund was mentally nine, this would have gotten under his skin, but he had been talked to sternly by bosses with the power to fire him, so really this was actually kind of quaint. At least youre not a coward, Mercy said. Which will be a wonderful epitaph. Archmund pulled out his Ruby. He cupped his left hand in front of himself, letting the tetrahedral Ruby float above it, and let the slimmest trickle of his magic into it, emitting a comforting orange light. Youre good for something after all. Was that approval in Mercys voice? Archmund understood. He really, really did. Mercy was on a routine Dungeon subjugation or whatever jargon they used, when the adventurers guild made a mess, the local Lord whined about long-term economic prospects, the local lords son started crying about his dead mother, and then to top it all off hed been handed an escort mission of that same son into an extremely dangerous Dungeon. So Archmund could excuse a little snippiness. Honestly he was more concerned about how quickly everyone had just let him go for it. He frowned. This looks like a cellar. Now that he could actually see, Tier 1 of the Dungeon could have been indistinguishable from Granavale Manors wine cellar. The walls and floor were made of stone and lumber and compacted dirt. Mercy kept moving as he spoke. Tier 1 of any Dungeon looks natural, like it could be part of the upper world. That means caves, basements, or cellars. Every one Ive seen reflects the local world. Its the subtiers you have to worry about. Subtiers? Mercy stopped at a keg of wine and opened the tap to fill a flask. He held it up for Archmund to smell; it was wine. In the highest part of a Tier, everything still makes sense. Corridors and rooms look like they could actually be part of the outside world. Books will be readable, food will be edible, and drinks will be real. See, this is wine. He wafted a bottle under Archmunds nose. Archmund didnt remember the socially acceptable drinking age and wasnt sure if this was bait. Thankfully, Mercy pressed forward instead of testing him. Get a bit deeper into the middle subtiers, and things stop making sense. Books will be smeared text, food will be made of sand, and bottles will have urine or whale oil. And at the deepest subtier, before you move to the next Tier, its real but creepy. The books are in ancient languages, the food will be rotten, and the bottles will be blood or vinegar. Thats odd. Why are Dungeons like that? Go join the University of Imperial Mages if you want to find out. I just loot the things. Grab as much food as you can carry, we dont want to be caught without as we go down.
A corridor leading to more rooms resembling wine cellars. A corridor leading to storehouses with nothing valuable in them. A corridor leading to a room full of chests but they were filled with empty glass bottles. Is any of this stuff real? Archmund asked. Its safe to eat. Its safe to use. But where did it come from? The Dungeon Storm did it, I think. If you really want to know Join the University of Imperial Mages. Yeah, yeah. Another wine cellar. An empty stable. A dining room. Stop, Mercy said. Is this it? Do we call the others, milord? Zankto said. Mercy shook his head. Not yet. I dont think its time. What do you make of this, Granavale? He could guess many things about it. The dining room looked similar to his own as opposed to any grand ballrooms. Perhaps the restless dead had been influenced by their proximity to Granavale Manor, or perhaps his own ancestors were among them? But if he said any of that he would look like a psychotic overthinker. The, uh, restless dead wish to feast once more? I meant tactically. Mercy pointed into the room. Suspicious darkness under the table. Suspicious darkness on the chandelier. Five exits not counting the one were in, all cloaked in Suspicious darkness. Good job at matching basic patterns. Thanks, I heard thats what intelligence really is. One of the guards Vurl, if he remembered right suppressed a snort. All told thats enough darkness for ten Monsters, but this high up they should be fairly weak. Should? This seems ripe for tragic overestimation. Mercys face froze for a second before the cool, collected mask resumed. Im sure. Even if it was twenty, I could take them if I was alone. Its you Im concerned about. Men, keep him from killing himself. Mercy drew a different Gem , cut into a dodecahedron, from his black robes. It glinted yellow in the light of Archmunds Ruby probably a Topaz. What are Monsters, anyways? Archmund said. If theyre the restless spirits of the dead, why arent they just ghosts? Mercy didnt seem to hear him. All his focus was completely on the Topaz. Archmund realized that the soldiers were covering their ears, so he did the same a sonic attack? Then the hair on his head stood up (it felt so odd, realizing that in the past he wouldve had hair on his arms and legs too). With a dramatic buzz, somewhere between a bee and a jackhammer, a violent discharge of electricity, brilliant white, arced from Mercys Topaz onto the chandelier, lightning streamers breaking away to shatter the dining table and strike at the shadows in the exits. The air smelled of ozone. Three small round objects fell from the chandelier. Archmund wouldnt have even noticed them if not for some hidden sense he didnt realize he had. The remaining shadows did not rest. They pulled together, pooling into six dense masses. They condensed further and further, taking a more and more defined shape. Six rotting skeletons, the flesh sloughing off their bones, stood before them. Those, Mercy said, are Monsters. 11 - Spooky Skeletons vs Lightning Six skeletons faced them, graying flesh sloughing off of blackened bone. It wasnt rot but imitation. Their movements were unnatural, not muscle pulling on bone but condensed shadows phasing through space in the forms they believed made sense. That was what Archmund thought, at least. Mercy smirked. Thisll be easy. As the skeletons staggered towards Mercy, drawn by the shock and awe of his lightning, the shadows pooled denser in their hands, as if shrouded in dark clouds of black mist. And from the darkness they formed daggers made of gleaming pink crystal. The Topaz floated in front of Mercy. A lightning bolt, direct and efficient, struck the nearest Monster. Electricity, bright and lethal, surged through it, making it look like one of those cartoon effects of people getting struck by lightning, mainly because they already didnt have flesh. The Monster fell to its knees. And then, though it tried to maintain the semblance of human form, it dissolved into ephemeral black mist that dissipated into nothing. Only its dagger remained, dropping to the ground with the sound of tinkling glass. Thats it? Archmund thought to himself. Those are Monsters? They had been provoked. They lumbered towards Mercy, just a hair faster than before. Those knives would hurt, but they had to reach their targets first. They wouldnt get the chance. Mercys smirk had only grown wider. He jumped atop the dining table, chortling with battle-lust, kicking plates and goblets onto the floor. The Topaz gleamed, shining like a beacon, before it lashed out with lethal lightning at all the remaining monsters. And were the shadows darker than before. Was that because of the brilliance of the light? Mercys lightning danced across the five remaining skeletons, not lingering too long on each one. He was toying with them. The shadows beneath the dining table had grown deep. Something felt wrong. Mercy directed the lightning into concussive blast. With the sound of thunder, one skeleton was thrown back violently into a wall, its bones shattering into mist as it hit, dropping its crystal dagger. The shadows beneath the dining table grew dense as well. Archmunds Ruby grew hot before him. Mercy twisted his hand. His power turned from electric to magnetic. Two of the skeletons were thrown into each other, false bone against false bone, before being wrenched apart. Then again, and again, until they fell apart into bone piles without distinction. And then mist, and then nothing at all. The shadows grew harsh, and a skeletal hand clenched the table right next to Mercys foot. Mercy didnt notice. He drew his power into the Topaz, gathering it for one final blast against the two skeletons he remaining before him. That unnoticed skeleton drew itself to its full height easily eight feet tall. No dagger graced its hands, but a gleaming Gemstone Greatsword. And still Mercy did not notice. He was too busy gleefully toying with the two lesser skeletons, convinced they were the only threat, as they lumbered towards him. And Archmund moved faster than thought. A surge of magic from that place beyond his senses; his Ruby thrummed, and it spun before him, like a drill bit going a thousand times a second. And the grand skeleton drew its sword back, aiming for Mercys neck. And it swung. And Mercy unleashed the lightning in a blast of drums and ozone. And Archmund pushed forward, his magic channeling through his Ruby, into a single glowing beam, as orange as the sun not the sun seen from Earth, but through telescopes in outer space, fierce and roiling with nuclear fusion. Mercys lightning struck the two lesser skeletons. They turned into dark mist instantly, leaving behind only their Gemstone daggers. The narrative has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the infringement. Archmunds laser struck the grand skeleton in the head. The shadows melted in the heat. Where the laser touched, false flesh and blackened bone became fleeting, dispersing mist. The heat was radiating more than hed expected hed put more power into it than hed ever practiced with, and his control was less precise in the heat of battle. It had been invisible when hed practiced last night, not this orange-red like the sun. And it had always been precise. But now the heat radiated outwards, dissolving not just the skull but the shoulders, the ribcage, the arms, until the grand skeleton was nothing more than a pair of collapsing leg bones. And did that even make sense, he wondered, for infrared light to transmit heat around itself instead of to whatever it hit, but that didnt really matter, since it had worked. The Gemstone sword flew past Mercy to smash into the wall, its wielder vaporized. The laser hit the chain of the chandelier, melting it. It fell straight onto Mercys head. Crystal and metal splintered everywhere, but Mercy barely moved. Though it finally got his attention. Mercy turned around. Huh. All of that, in under three seconds. Archmunds blood was pulsing through his veins he felt his skin would burst rather than hold it. Suddenly he felt as if in shock and very cold. He remembered, distantly, an odd fact: in his old life, hed never believed hed had stage fright, yet whenever he took the stage, his socks ended up stinking to high heaven with all the sweat and must hed shed. How odd. Mercy, face blank, walked up to Archmund. Milord said Zankto, his voice uncertain, but Mercy waved him off. Perhaps this was the end of it all. Despite his best intentions, hed dropped a chandelier on a scion of House Omnio. And no matter how distant the relation, House Omnio took care of its own. Archmund didnt know what the penalty for attacking a distant imperial relation was, but he was glad that he knew that death was not the end. Then Mercy clasped him on the shoulder. Not bad at all. Does that move have a name? What? I assume this was why you were so tired this morning, Mercy said. Practicing this technique. Since if you had something so impressive, you would have shown me instead of telling me how youd never seen someone do real magic before. Archmund chuckled nervously. Are you telling me that you named those techniques you showed me shield and sphere? Very straightforward. Mercy huffed. Was he pouting? I was five when I named them, thank you. A true prodigy. I am indeed. Archmund was starting to calm down, and now the idea of naming his attacks felt rather silly. Do I have to? You should. My teachers always told me that if you give your Skill a name it becomes far more consistent and much more easy to use. He said Skill like it was a proper noun. Another game-like element to this world. Wonderful. Why? No one knows. Archmund frowned. This felt oddly reminiscent. And there isnt a spirit dwelling in each Gem thatll speak to me and tell me what the names of all my skills are? What? No. Where would you get an idea like that? Mercy said with a giggle. He vaguely remembered a show or comic about that sort of thing, except it was swords and not Gems, and there was also something about self-actualization? Ill call it Infrared Lance, he decided. Below-red? Interesting.
Mercy nodded to the soldiers. Check the exits. I think were clear, but make sure before we start looting. The men fanned out in pairs Zantko with Wrest, Vurl with Yald. So, Archmund said, watching as they checked each door for further shadows. Those were Monsters. First time seeing them? Whatd you think? Truthfully? He was a bit underwhelmed. I wasnt expecting them to be I mean, skeletons? They are the restless spirits of the dead, Mercy said. He picked up a goblet from the floor, which had been knocked off during the battle. Unclthe Grand Commander thinks that the weakest of them cling to their humanity as hard as they can. So they try to keep their human form, but they cant. Somethings missing, so they end up as ghosts or skeletons or animated corpses. And if they end up really weak, they end up taking the shapes of animals. There was something vaguely Buddhist about that, but Archmund didnt remember enough about Buddhism to know for sure. Mercy sniffed the goblet and recoiled at whatever it had contained. Thats why upper Tier 1 looks so much like the outside world another attempt by the pitiful dead to cling to life, in a way that makes sense to them. Its close to the surface, so its cellars. What about the big skeleton? Archmund asked. What was that? Youre not going to tell me that giants used to walk this world, are you? He meant it as a joke, but Mercy shrugged. Who knows? I wouldnt rule it out. But no, this one was probably just a spirit thats stronger than the others. Had more power than youd think, so it mimicked a legendary Monster it remembered from life. A soldier walked up to them; they had finished securing the area and so had collected the spoils of war. Your spoils, milord. He presented to Mercy six Gemstone daggers, three smooth spheres each the size of a marble, and the Gemstone sword. Each one of you gets a dagger as payment for being advance guards. The swords his by right of conquest, Mercy said, gesturing to Archmund. Wow. Wow. I cant use this, Archmund said. Then strap it to your back. Privately, there was something he thought was much more valuable. When hed started his magical training, he hadnt been aware of Attunement. Gems became Attuned to their users, but users also became Attuned to their Gems. If he had to describe it, it was like an addiction. Physiological. Psychological. It didnt matter. He could feel how his magic had worn a rut into the idea of only being used to produce light, and how only a tremendous amount of strain and a great deal of psychological self-trickery had managed to turn that into focused heat. And that shaping had been caused in part by the way his Ruby had been cut. He needed one of those smooth, unshaped Gems. Something he could pour his power into without following an existing path. He heavily suspected there was a the potential for great power there. How about I trade you? he said. This for one of those marbles. Absolutely not, Mercy said, his earlier warmth gone. That only confirmed Archmunds suspicions. Sorry. I mean wow, you really are a bumpkin, Mercy said, pulling back. Its just these are mine. If you want unshaped Gems of your own, youll have to win them through the right of conquest. 12 - Two Sheltered Rich Kids Discuss Economics Before Getting Jumped by a Monster The next time they saw a Monster, cloaked and formless in suspicious darkness, Archmund immediately raised his Ruby and blasted it with his Infrared Lance. It vaporized instantly, and a spherical Gem, larger than those of the skeletons, dropped to the floor with a tinkle. Damn, Mercy said. I wasnt expecting you to get one that quickly. Howd you even do that? I didnt see anything. Its Infrared, Archmund said. The color below red is hot, but invisible. Hmmf. One of my tutors tried to demonstrate that once, I think. Using a prism. I didnt understand, then. So this world had the ability to make reliable prisms unsurprising for a culture with such an emphasis on gemcutting but the value of a prism was presumably more than the modest Granavale County could afford. Which meant Mercy Stirpstredecim de Omnio was probably rich. Oh, and that this world had advanced its natural sciences enough to understand optics. His knowledge was at best a few hundred years ahead, not a few thousand. It was highly unlikely he could make massive economic improvements from basic innovations like crop rotation. But then again these things depended heavily on cultural context. Something obvious to the goose was nuts to the gander. He picked up the dropped Gem. It wasnt perfectly spherical: there was a slight deformation. It was small - smaller than his thumb. It felt cold to the touch, as if it wanted to drink his energy and his magic. So, what are you going to do with it? Mercy said. Something so raw could buy enough grain to feed my Sacred Guard for a week. Archmund probed the unshaped Gem with his magic. It accepted him instantly, drinking of his essence, as if it were a bottomless pit he could pour endlessly into. There were no cuts to direct and shape his magic, nor any outlets for transforming raw magic into light or heat or sound only a blank canvas, a tabula rasa, on which he could create. Or you could do that, Mercy said disapprovingly. You just made it almost worthless. Archmund stopped pouring his magic into the unshaped Gem, albeit reluctantly. How does that make it worthless? Because youve started Attuning it to yourself! It always came back to Attunement. How much is it worth now? Mercy shrugged. I dont know, maybe about as much as one of those un-Attuned daggers? Archmund turned to Zankto. He seemed to be the most senior of the four guards. How much is an un-Attuned dagger worth? About a months wage, milord. Including room and board? Vurl snorted. Who counts field provisions and tents as not room and board? Milord. Archmund kind of liked this guy. Sarcastic despite the overwhelming difference in status and power. He could relate, though not in this life. Well, if Ive already ruined it, theres no reason not to keep going. Archmund poured his magic into the unshaped Gem again. Mercy sighed. I suppose I did the same, once. But dont do too much. He could feel his own magic clashing against the natural limitless possibility of the uncut sphere. Where once he had been as blank a slate as this, through practice and grind his magic had narrowed, constraining his prospective futures. That was simply a fact of life. The better you got at something, the harder it became to change to anything else.
He kept feeding the Gem as they kept moving through the Dungeons corridors, which hadnt changed. They were the same mockery of the living world as before. Hed proven himself, so he walked just a few steps behind Mercy, with the guards trailing them from five paces. Monster hunting had become a competition between the two of them. Whenever a lumbering mockery of an animated corpse appeared before them, they competed to destroy it and claim its Gem. So far, not counting the initial seven in the dining chamber, the count was seventeen for Mercy and ten for Archmund. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. These Gems were valuable and would certainly boost his familys fortunes, but they were too small to cut into anything practical. His Ruby dwarfed them in size. Frankly, he still didnt fully understand the economics of this. I really thought there would be more, Archmund mused. With how dangerous everyone thought this place would be. Were here early, Mercy said. Dungeons get more dangerous with time, as the Monsters from the depths make their way upwards. The ones up here expended most of their power building a pathway up. They walked in near silence when they werent slaying monsters, and Mercy kept glancing back to check on him. Youre not still pouring your magic into that unshaped Gem, are you? Archmund stopped in his tracks. So did everyone else. What else would I be doing? My tutors told me that pouring magic into a blank Gem is bad for your progress with other Gems. Which is especially bad if its a small one that you cant repurpose for something else. By how much? Much less than it takes to make progress. Why does it feel like youre trying to negotiate with the fundamental Systems of the Universe? Archmund shrugged haplessly. This was something to review later. He pulled out his Ruby and shot an Infrared Lance into the wall. The Ruby gladly accepted his magic, and without the heat of battle his control was fine. He burned a smiley face into the wall of the dungeon, barely creating any ambient heat, a much more controlled use than the fire-and-fury laser cannon hed unleashed in battle. Should I be impressed? Mercy said. How could I possibly know? Archmund said. Im from a backwater. Practically a country bumpkin. They kept walking. Im just saying. If you keep doing that, youll undo all of your progress, Mercy said. The way youre talking, its like most people only ever pick up one Gem in their lives and master it. Hed seen Mercy use two Gems, after all. The Gem of shielding, and the Topaz of Lightning. For a minor noble like Granavale? Thats quite likely. If you want my advice, get so good at using your Ruby that youve mastered light or heat or below-red. Then it wont matter how poor the Dungeon leaves Granavale County youll be able to be a courtier or the mage of some other noble family. Theres always a place for specialized mages. Archmund didnt like how that sounded. This was what he got for comparing this new second chance at life to So Good They Cant Ignore You by Cal Newport. Obviously the way to not being tied to the fortunes of the land was to get so good at magic the world couldnt ignore you. Obviously there was no way to live both a quiet, humble, peaceful life and one spent delving into the deep powers of the universe. Obviously not. Mercy held up a hand. You see that? He pointed at an engraving on the wall. It looked like Zalgo text, or maybe Wingdings font. Archmund frowned. Can you read it? Mercy snorted. No. It means weve transitioned into the Middle Subtier. The Monsters here arent as pitifully tied to the idea of the outside world. Meaning? The Monsters in the Upper Subtier are the ones that tried to escape the hardest, because they value life no matter what it means, which is why they take on the most humanoid forms and wasted the most power. Here, though, the Monsters have abandoned their aspirations for mortality, which is why theyll look more inhuman. But because theyve given up wasting energy on climbing impossibly to the surface theyll be stronger. Stronger in that Theyll be able to manifest more Gemstone gear, of different purposes and causes, much of it worthless. The shapes they adopt are alien, to be frank. You or I wouldnt be able to make any sense of them, for theyve abandoned human form. And they have greater power to draw on. You understand what Im saying? Kill them faster, and theyll drop bigger Gems, Archmund said. Mercy smirked. You really think it will be that easy? They pressed onwards. Archmund paid close attention to the structure of the Dungeon around them. The stone and compacted dirt of the uppermost subtier gave way to rougher, more natural looking stone. He ran a hand over the wall. Feels natural. Might as well be, Mercy said. Usually Monsters burrow out of the ground searching for a way up. The Upper Monsters expend their power trying to break into real basements and shape the world around them. The Lower Monsters try to preserve what they once had in life, and they have the power to do so. But Middle Monsters dont really care. So they just wander around aimlessly like ants or termites. This part is the worst kind of maze you could possibly stumble into. Archmund walked for a bit. He supposed it made sense. Already, his mind was drawing analogies and connections to attitudes towards death, or perhaps society. Some clung to the familiar so hard that they created mimicries and mockeries of it. Some knew what they wanted and the power to achieve it and made everyone elses life a pain when they did so. But many people just didnt care. They wandered through life and then wasted away. Like the silent shades in the Fields of Asphodel, in Greek myth. It all felt a little too clean, a little too convenient. Frankly, it lent credence to his fear that this whole world was his dying dream, which meant he fell into the category of people who clung to the familiar far too hard. How do you know all of this? Because Im a genius prodigy, said Mercy, a bit too quickly. That explains why you remember it. Not why youd be told it in the first place, Archmund said. Honestly, seriously, who are you? Why are you here, really? If youre this smart and this powerful why the hell are you going on suicide missions into opened Dungeons instead of sitting up there with the Omnio elite I am letting you come along with me as a courtesy There was a high-pitched screech, bearing sorrow and terror. Their four guards rushed before them, raising their arms in defense. There was a Monster. But it wasnt like the skeletons from before. No, this one hurt to look at. It had tentacles in sevenfold symmetry, a writhing star, made of shadow that mimicked rot around a pitch-black hole rimmed with knife-like teeth. It screeched again, latched its tentacles to the walls, and lunged towards them. 13 - This Creature Has Seven Radial Tentacles, so Ill Call It a Seven-Fingered Starbeast Archmund panicked. SPHERE! Mercy shouted. He raised his hand, and a sea-green bubble enveloped the both of them, just in time to stop the Monster from choking Archmunds spoke. You shout your Skill names? We have bigger problems right now, Mercy said sourly. Like this Seven-Fingered Starbeast. The Seven-Fingered Starbeast a name that felt made up on the spot wrapped its tendrils around their shield, trying to break in. The soldiers fell upon it. All four had drawn their swords, with blades of solid blue crystal that pulsed gently with magic. They hacked at the Starbeasts tendrils, making slight gashes in the blackened rubbery flesh. Are they going to be okay? Being out there? Its what theyre there for, Mercy said, though his eyes tracked all the soldiers carefully. He reached into his waistpouch, feeling each tinkling Gem, until he pulled out his Topaz. The Seven-Finger Starbeast still stood strong. One tentacle fought each of the soldiers, while three slammed and slammed and slammed against Mercys protective sphere. Im going to drop this on three, Mercy said. Get ready. Archmund was fucking terrified. Mercy Stirpstredecim de Omnio had mastered the Diamond of Guard before ten years of age. The soldiers were clad in Gemstone armor that made them closer to heroes than men. He had a heat gun. Ill die! Oh, right, Mercy said with his back turned to Archmund. Archmund swore he could hear his eyes roll. Ill guard you myself and keep those tentacles from squeezing you in half. Wonderful. Thanks a bunch. The Starbeast had grabbed two of the soldiers around the waist and was squeezing hard. The other two soldiers were too busy fending off their own tentacles to help. The Gemstone armor held strong, keeping them alive, but they were immobilized. One, two, three. The Protective Sphere dropped, slithering back into Mercys hand. Mercy grabbed Archmund by the shirt collar and threw both of them to the floor, rolling. Three of the Starbeasts tentacles smashed into the ground where theyd just stood. Mercys Topaz floated independently in the air. Lightning Lance! Mercy shouted. Once more the air smelled of ozone. A bolt of lightning traced a path through the air, from the floating Topaz to core of the Starbeast. It spasmed, its limbs going wild. The two soldiers in its grasp cried in pain as its grip clenched, before breaking free as it relaxed. But they barely had a second to rest. As Archmund watched, darkness pooled upon the skin of the Starbeast, swirling and pulsating until it took form. Its skin became tacky and nonreflective, thick and sticky and pliant. Its hide had become rubber. Its mindless, Mercy said. Draws on its Gem to resist what hurts it hardest. Seen its ilk before! Men, strike! The four soldiers slashed at the now-rubber Starbeast with their Gemstone swords. Their cuts welted its skin; it bleated in pain, its cry between a sheep and a screaming child. And in response the darkness pooled further; its hide grew thicker and thicker layers of rubber. They kept cutting at it, and it kept regenerating. Mercifully, they were keeping it occupied enough for it not to lash out at them with its tentacles. Were those tentacles getting smaller and weaker? And that implied What about its Gem? Are we depleting it? You have strange priorities, Granavale. Mercys breathing had steadied; this plan was working. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. Its going to kill us if we dont kill it first. If you wouldnt mind helping? Get your men out of there. Mercy nodded, and the soldiers fell back to guard them. He raised his own Ruby and fed it his magic. The impulse, though he had learned it just that morning, felt like reflex. Infrared Lance. The Seven-Fingered Starbeast thrashed Mercy grabbed Archmund by the collar again and jerked him back, as the soldiers held the line as they hacked at the incoming flailing tentacles. There was no flash of light, which would have been wasteful. There was a squeal, a sizzle, and the acrid smell of burning rubber. There was a pinpoint hole through the heart of the Starbeast where the Infrared Lance had pierced. Did I kill it? He knew he spoke too soon. As they watched, the hole knit back together, shadows clotting and congealing like tar. Then more shadows gathered over its body, the rubber distorting, transforming, transmuting Ceramic, Archmund said, recognizing the distinct dull albedo, like the pottery industry of Granavale County. Ceramic armor plates. Inwardly he was cursing. Ceramic could be very heat resistant it was the reason NASA used it for plating Space Shuttles, to protect against the immense friction heat upon reentering from outer space. (Outer space, Starbeast in another context, in another time, these thoughts would have inspired him. But now, he regretfully was focused on staying alive.) Like clay? Mercy said. He threw his Topaz into the air, and when it reached the apex of its climb, it released a lightning bolt at the Starbeast. Its tentacles spasmed, but its core remained steady. Then, ceramic armor plates calcified upon the Starbeasts tentacles as well. They would hit harder, would resist the lightning, but unless Archmunds eyes were playing tricks on them they seemed to move slower. Still far faster than him, though. Shit, Mercy said. He pulled Archmund out of the way of an erstwhile tentacle. Archmund rubbed his neck. It was starting to hurt from all the whiplash. Mercy took notice, and gestured at the soldiers. The four soldiers returned to a defensive stance, like a turtles shell guarding Mercy and Archmund. They parried the tentacles as they lashed, far more effectively than before. Why didnt we start with that? Because I wanted clear shots at it. Maybe if you tried to burn off its arms Never mind that those clear shots wouldve gotten Archmund killed. But then again, he supposed that if theyd killed the damn thing they wouldnt have to keep dodging. How real is it? Archmund asked. What kind of question is that supposed to be? He wasnt asking if this was real life as opposed to a dream or a simulation, but he wasnt sure how to word it in a way that didnt make him sound completely insane. Does a Monsters body obey physical laws seemed like a straightforward question, but it bore millennia of assumptions. On Earth, ancient Greek philosophers like Aristotle understood that there must have been some rules that governed the physical world, but Sir Isaac Newton only formalized the Laws of Motion two millennia later. This world had magic rocks that let ten year olds shoot invisible lasers and lightning bolts, which possibly led to problems in developing an internally-consistent understanding of physics. Im waiting! Mercy shouted, as the soldiers let out a battlecry as they beat away another barrage from the tentacles. Every other second or so a spare tentacle would burst free from the mass, and the soldiers would reflexively fall upon it. Doesthemonstersbodyobeyphysicallaws, he spat out hurriedly as the soldiers staggered back. Yes! Of course it does! shouted Mercy, his Topaz levitating just above his shoulder. It gleamed with unearthly magical light. How else would it move? He resisted the urge to retort by phasing through space in a way that it thought made sense. That was just his assumption; hed sound crazy if he said it. What do you want me to say, Granavale? If you set a Monster on fire, it burns. If you cut it, it bleeds. If you break it, it shatters. What more could you want? Theyre creatures of instinct and memory. They act like the world they remember. That was good enough for him. All living things needed water to live. Water filled every cell in a body. A Monster that mimicked the living would mimic its water. If the dead sought to live, they would drink, and store the water. That water could be boiled. Crudely, by his Infrared Laser. But what if he drew his power back even further? Stretched the wavelength even farther than infrared? What might that do? In his past life, a ubiquitous invention in kitchens the world over was the microwave oven. This had many knock-on effects on society, like reduced labor in the kitchen, worsened diet from highly processed foods, and the infantilization of generations from the presence of a magic box that could produce hot food at will. Had he been a misanthrope in his prior life? More applicable to the current moment, a microwave oven emitted microwaves electromagnetic radiation that vibrated at an even longer wavelength than infrared rays. Infrared light had wavelengths less than the head of a pin; microwaves, despite their name, had wavelengths the size of his fist. Microwaves were just the right size to vibrate water molecules directly. They dumped energy into water molecules extremely effectively. With enough microwave radiation, water could get so hot it would boil. And it was lower energy than infrared. He knew how magic flowed through his Ruby; he knew the snap as the flux was interrupted, the bulbing of his magic into a parcel, and the flow of the energy let loose when he cast his Infrared Lance. He threw his Ruby into the air and fired off a quick shot. It did nothing, barely warming the Starbeasts ceramic armor plating. That wasnt the point. He focused on how his power flowed through the spinning Ruby, how it flowed into the channels that converted magic to light, how it slowed down from visible light to infrared, and then how it was twisted to fire in a single laser. He knew what to do to slow it down even further. And he fired a burst of microwave energy. 14 - Slaying the Starbeast The Seven-Fingered Starbeast screeched in agony, its bellowing voice somehow like a crying baby and a howling wolf and a she-goat all at once. Archmunds Ruby floated above him, Mercy, and the four soldiers, emitting a eerie drone. An awfully familiar one, that sounded like a Microwave, he muttered. This spell wasnt a lance, by any means, but an ongoing pulse, his magic thrumming and ebbing and thrumming. A channeled spell. Mercys face was gravely neutral, which Archmund was starting to suspect was a result of a focused effort to suppress emotions. The soldiers were muttering. This was probably a very disturbing sight. Microwaves were invisible, so from their perspective he was twirling his Ruby in the air and causing a Monster unimaginable pain. What are you doing, Granavale? Mercy asked, voice honeyed. Now that Archmund thought about it, at no point had Mercy introduced himself as male. Not that it mattered. I think Im boiling it from within? Mercy blinked very deliberately. The soldiers blanched and started backing away. That wont hit us, will it? Yald said. It shouldnt, Archmund said with a frown. As long as you dont stand between the Gem and the Starbeast. The soldiers adjusted themselves so Archmund was a little more exposed to the danger of the tentacles, and they were less exposed to his death ray. With every passing moment, the Starbeasts tentacles shrank visibly as it drew its power towards its core to regenerate itself. Soon they were nothing more than stubs, and then, gone. Mercy let out a puff of breath. It seemed he really had wanted to harvest those tentacles. And still Archmund kept his attack going. There were ways to shield against microwaves, of course. Otherwise microwave ovens couldnt exist because their emitted waves wouldnt remain contained in one space. Metal could trap the waves, concentrate them, and block them entirely. A sufficiently large reservoir of water could absorb the energy, blunting its impact, though it would heat and boil if the power was great enough. But as he watched the beast thrash to and fro, now reduced to a stubby point of a head and seven nubby tendrils, he doubted it could ever imagine such possibilities. You could stop electricity and heat from coursing your skin by turning them to an insulating substance. Physical blows you stopped by regenerating, or becoming durable, or becoming flexible, or if you were confident becoming immune to pain. But pain was a valuable signal. It told you that something was wrong. How did you stop an invisible beam that caused you pain you could not understand, that seared your flesh right below your skin and boiled your organs? What instinct, what reflex could possibly make a pain so deep and profound it could only be a curse go away? The Starbeast gave one final, whining keen and kept giving it. Screaming in pain, like lobsters being boiled. But it had expended so much of its power on useless adaptive defense that it could no longer move. Granavale, stop casting your spell, Mercy said. I dont want that to happen to my men. Archmund did so, and his Ruby dropped into his palm. It wasnt at all warm to the touch. Mercy nodded, and the soldiers strode forward. Together, they raised their mighty Gemstone swords and sliced the Starbeast apart. The sundered pieces twitched one last time before falling still forever. At their core was a Gem. The adrenaline faded, and Archmund suddenly became very aware of his blood roaring in his ears, the shakiness of his knees, and the dryness of his mouth. The air smelled like microwaved shrimp. Was it odd that was why he wanted to throw up? If you can help it, Mercy said, nose wrinkled, Dont use that skill for Monster hunting.
They had broken the Starbeast in two, but now they had to butcher it and make use of its corpse. More precisely, the soldiers did the grisly work Wrest took the lead while Mercy and Archmund assessed the spoils. So a Seven-Fingered Starbeast, said Archmund. I dont think Ive heard of one of those before. Theyre not in the Holy Books, nor in Ardurs Fables. I made the name up, said Mercy, matter-of-factly. Are there Five-Fingered Starbeasts or Eight-Fingered Starbeasts? There could be. It depends on how common the impulse is in Monsters. Archmund frowned. This was very unsatisfying. The author''s tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. This is one of the amorphous-types, Mercy said. We get a lot of those in Tier 1 Mid Subtier. Beasts driven on instinct. Once you get to the Lower Tier, the Monsters start mimicking beasts of myth and legend. Dragons. Chimeras. Cerberoses. And do those beasts actually exist, or are they always being mimicked by Monsters? What would the difference be? What would the difference be, between a dragon that hatched from an egg and grew up to fly, breath fire, and hoard treasure, against a restless spirit mimicking a dragon in that it flew, breathed fire, and hoarded treasure? Other than the origin, if a dragon broke out of a Dungeon and terrorized the countryside, who could know the difference? But where did the myths and legends come from, then? Were there true dragons once, or were there only ever stories being played out by restless ghosts? His thoughts were interrupted by a cry from the soldiers. Milord! Zankto said. The butchery was halfway done. They had dug out the Starbeasts Gem; now, they were dissecting its carapace, which fell apart in layers. Zankto presented the Starbeasts Gem to them. Mercy raised it to his eye, squeezed with his black-gloved hand, and gave a long, disappointed sigh. You can have this one, Granavale. You dont want it? It looks perfectly round to me. The soldiers were picking apart the Starbeasts corpse. Strictly speaking, the kill had been a team effort, which in practice meant that the final distribution was up to Mercy and Archmund. Its flaccid, is the word I would use. Flaccid. Lacking in volume of spirit. Empty. Deflated I know what flaccid means for things that arent Gems. Mercys face scrunched up. Its hard to explain to someone whos only ever used one Gem, he said. You corrupted it. I corrupted it? You remember the basic rule of how big the Gems are. The faster you kill a Monster, the less power it uses on adapting, and the larger its Gem is. Right. And you saw how those skeletons manifested their Gem as daggers. And you cant melt down Gem gear because Its horribly wasteful. Why bother melting and recasting, when a dropped piece of Gem gear Can catapult a peasant to a hero without needing modifications. Right, right. There was probably a similar reason why you couldnt melt down many small gems to forge or cast a larger Gem that could actually be useful. But then again maybe it was possible, and this was just a marker of status. In his old life, diamonds had a status as the most valuable gemstones. It was possible to make synthetic diamonds in laboratories, but because of massive propagandized advertisement campaigns from the natural diamond industry, the masses preferred to buy diamonds mined from the earth using slave labor. This was just like that. Well, anyways, Mercy said, dropping the Starbeasts Gem into Archmunds outstretched hand, This is closer to Gem gear than a raw Gem. Your magic should be strong enough to know what I mean. The instant the Starbeast Gem touched his skin, he felt its foreign magic. It wasnt a blank slate, an untapped well of power that he could pour his own over and shape and be shaped by. There was an indelible essence, wisps of instinct and memory and feeling, but more prominently was an echo of a searing, boiling pain, that wormed beneath the skin and heated it, just below, just below, just below, and no matter how much armor, how much thickness, how much shield grew, how much the skin went to shadow and was remade anew, the pain wouldnt go away He dropped the Gem. You felt it. Its death throes? I havent heard it described like that before, Mercy said, but it fits. That Gem isnt raw, despite how it looks. Its changed to push back against whatever you did to it. If it has any power now, itll be related to that. Archmund was surprised that his microwaves hadnt penetrated deeper. Immense, debilitating pain at the skin level was one thing, but honestly hed hoped to boil the Starbeast from within entirely. The damage had been skin-deep, and the only reason it had worked It was an animal, Archmund said, and its primary instinct was to avoid pain. Hed read a novel about this once. An animal caught in a trap would gnaw its own leg off to avoid pain. A human being transcended. Then later on in the novel the protagonist became a messiah, killed billions of people across a vast and unknowable universe, and died ignobly as a vagrant in the desert. He didnt want to do that part. The Starbeast had killed itself, cannibalizing its power to try to make the pain stop. A smarter creature wouldnt be nearly as susceptible to pure pain. That Gem will only be good for whatever that Monster tried to do to save its life. Its useless to me. Milord, said Wrest in frustration. Nothing of use. Nothing? Nothing recognizable. Archmund turned his gaze towards the butchered corpse of the Starbeast. It was a boneless creature. It struck him that by the time it died, it had become just ineffective protective shell a thick carapace and barely anything that could be described as flesh. Is it safe to touch? he asked. Should be, milord, said Wrest. Zantko smacked him on the back, and Wrest straightened up. I mean yes, milord. Definitely safe. Archmund touched the shredded carapace. It was an odd mixture of ceramic and rubber, somehow. Sticky and flexible like rubber, yet cool and durable like ceramic. Not too heavy to the touch. He pointed his Ruby at a flat spot and fired an Infrared Lance at it; it didnt burn, and the heat didnt conduct far. Could I make clothes out of this? he wondered out loud, mostly to himself. Clothes. Well. Goddess, who knows? Mercy said. I wouldve thought it was useless. Archmund gathered as much as he could hold, and the soldiers helpfully grabbed it for their own packs. Hopefully, it would be enough for at least a cape, which would protect him from electricity and heat. He lightly probed it with his magic and found it rebuffed; the Monster had permanently transmuted the material from Gemstuff. I guess thats a silver lining. You can use it, Mercy said, with a fair amount of grumbling. You have to kill Monsters that dont die easily in specific ways. Hit them with ice magic and theyll grow heat glands. Hit them with strong physical strikes and theyll make very strong armor plating. And if you can shock them hard enough with electricity, you can get rubber out of them. Its a very rare resource. I thought it literally grew on trees. Where under heaven would you get that idea from? In his old world, rubber literally had grown on trees.
The rest of their journey through the Middle Subtier was uneventful. This time, they didnt bicker, and so they avoided drawing the attention of any Monsters. Archmund was hopeful that if he practiced a bit more and came down with one or two allies as backup, he could take out the rest himself. Is this how it usually goes? It always depends on the Dungeon. Your Granavale lands have always been peaceful. True danger is in the depths. And soon enough, they came to a clearing. Shhhh. Mercy held up a fist to stop. Beyond the opening, there was a grand hall, with twin staircases running up to a balcony. It looked much like Granavale Manor. Thats the threshold, Mercy said. When we go from the middle subtier to the lower subtier. The instant we cross into that room, there will be Monsters. I hope youre ready. 15 - Theres a Mirror of my Mansion Underground, and Its Making Me Regret My Life Choices A luxurious red carpet. A crystal chandelier. Twin staircases running up to a balcony with large windows that looked out into stone darkness. Deep in the Dungeon, there was a manor. But not just any manor it was the grand entrance to Granavale Manor, down to the number of balusters on the staircases and the pattern of the chandelier. All visible through a hole in the wall. Archmund took a pebble from the ground and threw it into the manor. It bounced just once, before thudding to a stop on the carpet. Then a shadow rushed across his field of vision and whisked it away into nothingness. What was that for? Mercy said, with a cruel smirk. I wanted to know what we were up against, Archmund said. Throwing a pebble wont help with that, Mercy said. Zankto, I think we set up base here. Ill contact the men and tell them to come straight here. No point clearing the upper subtiers. Yes, sir! Mercy pulled out yet another crystal. He spoke a short, clipped message into it, too low for Archmund to overhear. Meanwhile, the men made camp, pulling out sleeping rolls from their bags. They didnt set a fire, which was probably healthier, though they pulled out their waterskins and packs of dried crackers. The sight of the food made him take pause. Hed lost track of the time, down here in this lightless Dungeon, but surely it had been several hours. And yet he wasnt tired, hungry or thirsty, and he didnt need to piss. Why arent I tired? Why arent any of you tired? Mercy gave him a one-over. You arent. I hadnt realized. Youre more of a natural than I thought. That doesnt sound right. If I may interject, how much have you practiced with that Gem, milord? said Zankto. Quite a bit. I reckon its like this Gem armor. When you first get it, it sucks you dry, makes you feel slow, but then once youve got the hang of it, it keeps you strong. Archmund nodded. It made sense; each of the soldiers was Attuned to their armor, after all. Gems took your magic and stored it, and then that magic could feed back into you to compensate for fatigue or hunger. It seemed a little overpowered, but he wasnt complaining. So why bring food? Its still better to eat, milord, Vurl said. Otherwise youll be sick as all hell for a week after a Dungeon delve. He tossed a biscuit to Archmund. It was barely salty, dry, and almost cracked his teeth. Youll want to soak it, milord, Vurl said, his voice amused. It was hardtack, and it was inedible unless wet. Alright, Mercy said. With the path weve blazed, it should take them about eight hours to get here. I suggest we get some rest.
He genuinely couldnt sleep. Eight hours until the men would get here, four of which had passed. Considering how much theyd backtracked, theyd been in the Dungeon for twelve. Though the adrenaline had surged and then abated, and his nervous shakes had calmed, there was still an agitation in the bit of his stomach, a tightness in his chest, that kept his mind sharp. And a backflow of energy his magic passively sustaining him from his Ruby. He couldnt draw it out at will for a sudden wind, like a spurt from a hose. No, it was like the tides surging backwards up a river delta. You should sleep, Mercy said. Archmund hadnt heard him approach. Cant. You should rest at least, Mercy said, and his voice wasnt harsh or sarcastic for once. You might feel awake, but This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. Archmund waited. Those men are sworn to protect us, Granavale. To die for us. A thousand of their lives for even one drop of noble blood. His voice was sad. He pulled his hood down, revealing his hair in a bun. He undid the bun, and Archmund was shocked to see the long blonde hair fall to Mercys waist. What do you think of them? Mercy said, voice neutral. Theyre good men, Archmund said. Zanktos got a good head on his shoulders. Vurls funny. I think he has contempt towards the whole idea of nobles. Yeah. I hope he doesnt slip up when hes around anyone who would care. You really care about them, Archmund said, slowly. Every commander cares about her men, Mercy said. It would be monstrous not to. You thought I would get them killed. I always get one of them killed, Mercy said. Not the small group, but in whats to come. They take their vows seriously. Theyd rather throw away their lives for their vows of honor rather than let their commander be hurt. Who knew Mercy Stirpstredecim de Omnio could command such loyalty. Who knew, indeed, said Mercy, voice somber. Who knew. Do you wish they wouldnt do that? Mercy looked at him. I was closer to my first cohort of soldiers. It would have been two or three years ago. You were going into Dungeons when you were seven? Right about. Thats very young. Its not like this backwater. For the Imperial family, competition is fierce and starts at birth. Imperial family. Stirpstredecim de Omnio. Thirteenth branch of Omnio. Of course. His suspicion was confirmed. Which tutors your parents choose, your early childhood achievements, your magical prowess, your class rank if you dont have everything, youll never be taken seriously as a contender for the Imperial Throne. That changed the equation. Of course the men of the Sacred Guard were willing to die for a contender to the throne. If an Imperial Prince or, it was seeming increasingly likely, Imperial Princess were to die on an increasingly dangerous quest, their lives would be forfeit anyways. He wondered if Mercy knew that. But it galled him. Conspicuous consumption. In his past life, the way the rich showed off their status was through buying and using luxuries that they didnt need. Mansions, yachts, private personal planes. The game of status was so vital and necessary that many of the middle class would go into debt to pay for their unnecessary symbols of status and power. Yet this world was even worse. Branches of the Imperial Family needed so badly to show that their scions, their offspring were the worthy contender to the title of Emperor or Empress that they were willing to throw away lives. And those men gladly agreed, because they could gain superhuman strength and power and luxury in the process. Sometimes Im jealous, Mercy said. Getting to grow up out here, and not knowing about any of that. Not knowing what any of thats like. Not having the ghosts of your ancestors scream knowledge into your brain when youre four years old. Is that why you dont speak like a kid? She gave him a strange look. I guess so. But you dont speak like a kid either, really. Oh, yeah, uh, it was the Crylaxan Plague. Technically, that was true. Mercy seemed to buy it and gave a long sigh. Sometimes I wonder if I couldve turned away from that, chose to live a different life, maybe settled down on a farm with a nice husband. Husband? Yes? Oh. Mercy let out a long, belabored sigh. You thought I was a boy. You dont have to explain it. I imagine a squad of men take your commands more seriously if they think youre a boy. They die for you more recklessly if they think youre a girl. Her voice was hard and gloomy. It was clear she wouldnt say any more. You could still change where your life is going? Archmund said, feeling like the worlds biggest hypocrite. It was advice he wished hed been given in his old life, in that world of cubicles and screens and spreadsheets. To change his life, turn away from the rat race, and live a life hed dreamed of. Whatever that was. And let down everyone? My sponsors, my parents, and my men? Its just a dream for a reason, Granavale. Its a nice dream from a country boy out here in the sticks. But for an Imperial heir its literal suicide.
Mercy said she wouldnt sleep. Instead, she meditated, sitting cross-legged with Gems in each hand. Archmund watched her. He admired her for being able to meditate for two hours straight, though her head was starting to droop sideways in the haze of sleep, and she mightve been drooling. She had been cold, the logic of an elitist and the necessary cruelty of a battlefield commander, but those roles had been forced upon her, even if she was good at them. He couldnt, in good conscience, let good men die because of him. If Zankto, Vurl, Wrest or Yald died saving him, hed never shake off the guilt. What burdens did she carry? If he was being honest, he feared death less than was healthy. This was his second life. If he died, there might well be another. And he wasnt nearly as valued or loved as her. The men would die for her out of love. They would die for him out of duty. He hated that idea. He remembered what it was like to live life a certain way because he held to a duty given by someone else. If he could take out as many Monsters as possible, then he might save a great many lives. His Infrared Lance was lethally efficient, a one-shot kill on most Monsters on this floor. Mercys power was undeniably great. Zankto, Wrest, Yald, and Vurl could hold their own, because they were the elite, the cream of the crop. Each had almost a full set of Gem gear, compared to some of the Sacred Guard who still used leather and metal. This wouldnt be a last stand. It would be tactical culling. He threw another pebble through the corridor into the Dungeon manor. Again, it bounced once on the carpet. Again, a shadow surged, and the pebble vanished. He threw another. Again, it bounced before thudding to a stop. Again, the shadow took it. He readied his Ruby. The tetrahedral Gem levitated before him, idly rotating with the passive currents of his power. He threw one final pebble. A single bounce. The thud. The slightest stirring of shadow. He fired an Infrared Lance. A smooth Gem dropped onto the carpet, as a Monster fell. As its shadows dissipated, a hundred other shadows amassed. 16 - I Have Made a Princess Very Angry By Trying to Be a Hero Archmund swept his Infrared Lance through the narrow opening of the tunnel into the grand hall of the underground manor. Formless Monsters popped like balloons as they were speared by invisible rays of pure heat, their shadows turning to dark mist and fading into the air. Their Gems dropped like gentle raindrops onto the padded carpet. Was he imagining things, or was the air growing darker with their miasma? A gloved hand gripped his arm. What. The. Hell. Are. You. Doing, Mercy said from behind him. She whirled him around and grabbed him by the shoulders. Her hair and hood were up, and her voice was half an octave lower. The kindred spirit from the Omnio was gone; in her place was the battlefield commander. I suppose youll have me court martialed for insubordination? Archmund said glibly. No, far more likely shed just execute him, either legally or on the spot. An Imperial heir could definitely get away with it. I thought you were smarter than this, asshole, she growled. And yet I wake up to hear you provoking the Lower Subtier, farming some Gems, doing the same glory-hound bullshit I see from every other noble that I have to deal with Thats not I thought you understood the gravity of going through a Dungeon. That they would die for us. I dont expect a spoiled noble brat like you to understand sacrifice or tragedy My mother is dead, Archmund said. My brothers and sisters too. Its different! Mercy spat. They died of the plague. There was nothing you could have done to save them! This is Dont let them die for me. If I die, say that you killed me because you had to, Archmund snapped. What? Mercy said, releasing her arms. Beyond the tunnel, the shadows undulated. They shift from formlessness to halfway manlike shapes. Mercy gave them a quick glance and struck them down with sharp shocks of lightning, the ozone byproduct wafting into Archmunds nostrils. I wanted to cull them, Archmund said. I dont want anyone to die for me. If that means I die, so be it. Youre an Imperial heir. Youll get away with it. So stupid, Mercy said, though her words less angry and more disappointed. Ill get away with my life, but a failure this big? Ten soldiers or heroes are acceptable losses, but killing a noble for getting in the way? If I could get away with that I wouldve done it to the stupider ones! The scandal! The scandal would destroy me. Theyd probably marry me off to your father as compensation. Archmunds face twisted in disgust. Hes like three times our age. He likes adult women, like a normal person. Well, theyd have me replace you as Granavale heir one way or another. Theyd make your dad adopt me. Either way Id be out of the way, and youd be dead. What were you thinking? Still the shadows coalesced. Casually, as they spoke, Mercy summoned the lightning and blasted Monsters as they formed. I just didnt want anyone to die, Archmund said. Well, he wouldve been fine with his own death. Though now that he thought about it, such a desire was desperately and thoroughly irrational. Perhaps it had been triggered by Mercys stories of how her life was doomed to go. The constant competition and jockeying for status from a young age. Being compared ones peers, and grinding down countless others to sustain that. Perhaps that reminded him too much of what he had once lived, and that constant screaming need for escape. Mercy glanced over to the soldiers. Somehow, they were all still asleep, despite the booms and sizzles coming from the manor hall. Those boys can sleep for hours if things have gone hard enough. Meanwhile youve been up for what, two days straight? No wonder you did something so stupid. I Yeah, He could blame sleep deprivation for this one. Maybe going down off of the coffee high. Maybe a sugar crash. Maybe unresolved trauma from his previous life. But Granavale, Ill be counting on you. Huh? She smirked, her eyes flashing with challenge. If you dont want anyone to die, then youd better pull your own weight. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement.
Alone, he had felt far safer sniping at the Monsters from afar. With the two of them, Mercy felt they could handle stepping in. Once they stepped in, she flicked her finger at the passage behind them. A chip of her fingernail flew off, and transmuted by her Diamond of Guard, became a seafoam-green barrier that blocked their exit and stopped others from joining them. Once again he surveyed the room. It was a wide open entrance hall. There were two sets of curved stairs that went up to a balcony. There were exits on all three walls, but they would stay here and kill as many as possible. Weve got about an hour and a half until the rest of the men get here, Mercy said. Youve provoked the Monsters already so Id only feel safe letting 1-Gem or above soldiers joining. It was easy enough to guess what she meant from context clues soldiers with at least one piece of Gemgear, which made them stronger and set them on the path to Heroism, whatever that meant. Archmund was going into this effectively naked. Even if he couldve used the Gem of the Seven-Fingered Starbeast, he wouldnt have been nearly as proficient with it as his Ruby, which hed spent 100 days practicing with. He was, at the moment, a glass cannon. All offense, no defense. And for now, that was enough. Mercy was moderating her power. Short, directed electrical blasts as the places of deepest shadow, wiping out Monsters before they could fully form. She covered the right half of the room; Archmund covered the left, standing at a 90-degree angle from her. He followed her lead with his Infrared Lance, blasting through the deepest shadows as fast as he could. As they fought, theyd struck sparks and lit fires, and so the curtains and finery of the false manor had started to burn. The ground was littered with spherical Gems, sizes ranging from dewdrops to golf balls. In a way, they were pinned in place if they walked, they would almost certainly slip and fall. The Monsters were getting stronger. When Archmund had first started slaying them from afar, he had burned through formless shadows. But now some took the shape of men and women humans, though some stood taller than any mortal soul, before he was able to cut them down. Theyre getting faster, Archmund said. Still one-shot kills for you? Honestly, I was surprised that my Infrared Lance killed them as formless shadows, before they were mimicking real things. Even whacking them hard enough with a sword works. I really wouldnt worry about it right now, she said somewhat sarcastically as she released another bolt of lightning. Was it the transfer of energy in any form? That would depend on whether ice magic worked as well. Maybe it was more metaphysical, in an Aristotelian motion sense the shadows had a telos, a final purpose they wanted to follow, and any disruption to that could release their Gem? None of that mattered if he didnt live to see the light of day. Why is this happening? Its the miasma, Mercy said. You kill a Monster and most of its power goes into its Gem, but a little goes into the air. And that goes into the other shadows. If theyre the ghosts of the same kind of grudge or memory, they Amalgamate. Another piece of jargon hed have to remember. Their powers get combined or something? In this case, yes. Its like when a peasant uses a Gem. The dead Monsters the Gem, the living ones the peasant. How cheerful. He fired Infrared Lance after Infrared Lance. He still didnt feel tired, even if he knew his decision-making was getting worse. The Monsters were more and more human now that there were more of them, they could form faster, and the soulstuff of their grudges was dense enough to survive an Infrared Lance. He could almost recognize them from his memories of grand balls and social events before the Crylaxan Plague noblemen in fineries with Gemstone Rapiers, noblewomen in glimmering dresses and Gemstone Hand fans held before their mouths. They werent skeletal, with their flesh sloughing off their bones and their movements staggering. No, they moved with the elegance and grace of the gentry, and their skin was pale yet whole. They look like undead nobles, he said. Pretty common. Most Dungeons have some Undead Nobles somewhere. Target their heads they might not look like much, but they remember having magic. If he aimed his Infrared Lance at their heads, they died in a single blow, their Gem weapons clattering to the ground. Yet he could no longer kill them before they had heads, which was frustrating. Is this how it keeps going? he asked. We just hold off wave after wave of Monsters as they get stronger and stronger? If theyre too strong, once your men get here the only thing they could do is pull us out. Mercy released a thunderbolt, brighter and sharper than the quick bursts of electricity shed been using. It leapt between several of the Monsters. Some, now, looked like suits of armor ghostly knights in Gemstone carapaces. It was easier to boil their heads using his Microwave, and they burst like balloons, their Gemstone armor falling to the ground with a thud. Its more like the Lowest Subtier is awakening. That doesnt sound good at all. Its not so bad, Mercy said. Less risk of getting knifed in the back. Archmund didnt like how that sounded. Why? Mercy pointed towards the balcony of the false manor. The miasma had thickened; it could no longer be mistaken for imagination. Even as she spoke, she released blasts of lightning at lesser shadows, her eyes constantly darting across the battlefield. It concentrates. Pools into one, a representation of what this place is. You think its a coincidence that this final subtier looks like a manor? The shadows became layered upon themselves, no longer the absence of light, but black upon black. They formed into the shape of a man, taller than the rest, with slicked-back hair. Why are they all humans? Archmund muttered. Because of where we are. People have lived in your lands for a long, long time and that Monster over there? The shadows receded; no other Monsters spawned, as if all the power of the Dungeon had been concentrated into this one final defender. Its the spirits of nobles that once ruled these lands, that once owned this manor. If I had to guess, the souls of your ancestors. 17 - The Ghost (Singular) of My Ancestors (Plural) Plays With Fire The miasma gathered and gathered and gathered into one final Monster, a slim and distended mockery of man. It would have stood ten feet tall straight, if it had uncoiled its spine from his wavelike hunch. Its skin was pale as ivory, and its hair was black and slicked back with oil. It wore an opera mask that obscured much of its face, yet in those pale cheeks was the echo of rich red, and in its eyes was a hunger born from wealth and ambition. It looked like his father, if his father gave up all that he believed in. It was an Undead Noble, yet that description felt wholly inadequate, too generic. For it was the Ghost of All Granavale, every noble who had died unsatisfied in this land, and so in this twisted afterlife had constructed an echo of their former glory. He glanced at Mercy to see her take, but she was wholly transfixed on it, watching its slightest movements. It gazed scornfully down at them from the balcony of the twisted echo of Granavale Manor. Then, it raised a spindly hand. Three Gems materialized, rotating above its palm. Move! Mercy shouted. That was the only warning Archmund had. He dodged left; Mercy dodged right. An explosions shockwave blew him forward as it hit where they had been standing. His hands rolled against the thick layer of ovoid Gems that had dropped from all the Monsters theyd slain, and he slid forward three feet more than hed expected. Miraculously, nothing was broken. The place where theyd stood burned. The Ghost of All Granavale had launched a fireball. Now a charred-through patch marred the carpet, revealing the checkered tile beneath. Dont just stand there! Mercy shouted. Keep moving! Hit it back! She threw her Topaz above her head and fired a quick, probing arc of lightning. The Ghost of All Granavale parried with one of its three Gems, a speckled grey cube that flew into the path, and split the electrical arc into a thousand fingers that splashed harmlessly upon the ground. It retaliated with a fireball cast through a red octahedron a Ruby but by then Mercy had already vanished, fleeing somewhere else. Archmund gripped his Ruby so tightly its tetrahedral edges imprinted his palm. The Ghost of All Granavale was focusing on Mercy, but in no way was it ignoring him. It was firing smaller bolts of flame at him every minute or so easy enough to see coming, and easy enough to dodge. But the room was quickly become a field of fire as more and more patches of the carpet burned. Dimly he was aware of the heat and the smoke; dimly, he was aware that he was in grave danger. But much more strongly he could feel his magic in the Ruby flowing back into him and strengthening him and resonating with the burning magic of the Ghost of All Granavale. He ran and dodged, the smoke touching his nostrils and burning his lungs, yet he did not fall not from heat exhaustion nor from poison. It was harder than hed expected. All the Gems on the ground had become a serious hazard, and whenever he had half a second out of danger he swept them towards the walls. And across the room was Mercy, light on her feet, resplendent, unleashing a constant barrage of white-blue lightning arcs like a human Tesla coil, more and more with every passing second. Each danced and struck at the Ghost of All Granavale, who easily deflected the bolts with its speckled cube, flying about like a hummingbird to its mere wrist twitches. And all the while it launched fireball after fireball at Mercy and Archmund both. It was a dance between two equal partners, a living lightning and a ghost of burning resentment. And there was him. Just sort of there, leaping and jumping and stumbling through this echo of his ancestral home. Mercy was enjoying this. Every few moments she unleashed a warcry, and her lightning glowed hotter and whiter. Yet soon it became clear that direct attacks were ineffectual. She somersaulted back to dodge a continuous gout of flame, kicking Gems into the air with every touch of the floor as if they werent there, before swatting the fire aside with her Shield Gem. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. She was impressive. His training had brought him this far. It had helped him through the Dungeon. But it wasnt enough to bring him to the level of Mercy Stirpstridecim de Omnio, or of the Ghost of All Granavale. No amount of push-ups, even with an exponential growth curve, could match the endurance training of military exercise or the endless listlessness of the dead. Mercy didnt give up despite the inefficacy of her lightning. She gathered her power into a thick, concussive blast that vibrated with the sound of thunder, a cylinder of lightning traveling like a wave. In the back of Archmunds mind, in some small corner not hyperfocused on survival, he yearned to figure out just what science made such a thing possible. The Ghost of All Granavale raised an onyx cube, which jittered wildly with the formless magic of the dead. Its defensive magic broke the concussive cylinder of lightning, shearing it into a come, which passed around its body harmlessly yet thin wisps of black miasma blew off of its form. Mercy clicked her tongue from across the room. She barely seemed winded, and if anything her fervor was renewed. Archmund had some sense of how much of his magic hed pumped into his Ruby; there was at least thirty days of normal power left. In twelve hours hed burned through power stored in almost seventy days of training. He could feel spirit drawing on the power to sustain his body in this horrifically hostile place. Mercy stretched out her hands. Down! she yelled. Archmunds hair stood up as the air suddenly grew sharp and harsh with electromagnetic power. He threw himself to the floor, cold Gems pushing into his cheeks and palms. Metallic furnishings the curtain rods, candlesticks, the chandelier, the handles on small tables and cupboards all flew towards the Ghost of All Granavale, a sharp hailstorm. Hed been able to keep up with Mercy in the regular Dungeon, when Monsters were just things to kill, but in a fight like this? Where the fighting wasnt just magic against magic or sword against sorcery, but with the environment itself? It was becoming clearer and clearer to him how great the gap between them was. The Ghost of All Granavale raised its own Ruby and was cocooned in swirling fire. Briefly Archmund thought that couldnt possibly work, if the metal got melted youd still be pelted with turning hot slag, but evidently the fire itself carried some momentum that buffeted and deflected the metal; burning slag splattered throughout the manor hall. Shit! he heard Mercy cry. He felt the energies of the air shift, felt the magnetic flux change as she tried to seize control of the molten metal, but to no avail. Dimly, he thought she should save the effort. As metal heated up, it stopped being magnetic. Then he felt a sharp pain as a tiny bead of molten metal landed on the back of his neck. Instinctively he slapped it off, and it cooled even though the air was quite hot, but it left a welt on both his neck and his hand. He couldnt keep defending or running. Even if he was weak, even if it was risky, he had to do what he could. A hand was on his shoulder. Mercy had run over to him, shielding him from a fireball. I meant to kneel, she muttered as she pulled him up. Youre a sitting duck if you drop like that. He nodded dumbly. His reflexes had always been a bit questionable. Can you fight? she said. Or do I have to guard you? Her voice was torn between the kindred spirit and the battlefield commander. He hated this feeling. That hed been a burden on her. That shed had to pull him along, doing all of the hard work of offense, as he danced and desperately tried not to die. Especially since this was all his fault, this noble attempt to save lives at the cost of his own. But all he could do was not die. Sure, he hadnt expected to face off against an angry ghost made of the grudges of all his ancestors, or whatever the Ghost of All Granavale was. But still. I can stay alive, he said. See, that slag didnt burn me too badly. Mercy looked at his neck and his hand. Its blistering. Itll hurt later. But Ill be alive. She didnt like that, but she accepted it. The Ghost of All Granavale had taken notice of their pause. It held its hands before itself, palms facing each other, its Ruby floating in-between. A fire sparked. I can wear it down, Mercy said. You can? The Ghosts fire grew larger, to the size of an orange, then a grapefruit, then a basketball. She pointed at the ceiling. Some dispersion into secondary miasma thats power thats been sheared away, power that the Ghost cant use. Its mass without power. And whenever it uses its Gems it channels a bit of its essence affecting the physical world and thats power itll never get back, not without absorbing other Monsters. That was the advantage of life, Archmund supposed. As long as you were alive, you could grow, change, and regenerate. But the restless dead could only spend. While they were speaking, the ghost had raised its spindly hands above its masked head, stretching its branch-like apart as the fireball grew larger and larger like Atlas holding the Earth. Might be hard to dodge that, Mercy said testily, and itll hurt to block. Archmund threw his Ruby into the air, and it hovered, borne about the currents of his magic. He wouldnt need to point to aim. He could aim with will alone. Infrared Lance, he whispered, and an invisible beam of pure heat seared through the Ghost of All Granavales head. 18 - Its Very Annoying that Monsters Adapt to Our Attacks The Infrared Lance speared through the Ghost of All Granavales head. The fireball above its head glowed with malice, a miniature sun that threatened to consume them all. For half a second, nothing happened. Then the Ghost of All Granavale screeched, a high pitch keening, clutching its smoking eyes as they burned from the highly concentrated infrared light. With its concentration broken, the massive fireball expanded. Yet in growing it became weaker, less hot, less dense. And then the Ghost of All Granavale grew back its pair of eyes, inky blackness smothering the smoking flames. But imperfectly. Its ivory mask had half burned off, and its face was covered in burn scarring. It reminded him of the Phantom of the Opera, a musical from his past life. Archmund hit it with another Infrared Lance. Again it screeched as its eyes burned with blindness. Its fireball expanded even larger, but its power was dissipating, wisping away into the air. Without fuel or the force of magic, fire didnt last. The Ghost of All Granavale might have been proficient at fighting multiple opponents, but evidently regenerating its own body and sustaining a killing fireball were too much for it. Im surprised that worked twice, Archmund said out loud. It wont work a third, Mercy said, pointing at the Ghost of All Granavale with a black-gloved hand. Look at its eyes now. The Ghost of All Granavale had forgone regenerating normal eyes. Its eye sockets were filled with empty blackness, but speckled around its head was a wirey black gauze peppered with undulating eyestalks. Archmund fired another Infrared Lance. His beam hit the black gauze, and one of the eyes burst into flame, but the Ghost of All Granavale shed it, the afflicted eyestalk burning away to ash before it could hit the ground. And now that it had found an adaptation that could stall him Mercy grabbed him by the collar and pulled them both out of the way of a fireball. It was a good shot, Granavale, but Im just not at its level. Yeah, I figured that one out already. Not what I was about to say. No tactic works all the time, every time. I was hoping I would blow up its head, Archmund said. The Ghost of All Granavale had changed tactics. Perhaps it now viewed them as serious threats. It took a spindly hand and scratched four deep gouges into its own torso, excavating shadowstuff from its own body. Then, it flicked its fingernails towards the two of them. Four shadows formed upon the ground. From each an Undead Noble rose. Two bore Gemstone rapiers. Two bore Gemstone hand fans. All four had thick visors over their eyes. The Ghost of All Granavale scratched itself again, and cast its inner darkness into the outer world. Another four Undead Nobles arose. Then again, and another four. Its learning, Mercy said. Not just for itself, but for any other Undead Nobles. Theyre all going to have those visors from now on. Damn it, Archmund said. How come it didnt bother adapting to your attacks? Mercy unleashed a broad net of electrical bolts from her fingers, which danced across all twelve Undead Nobles. They jiggled lightly under its power but did not fully convulse. Oh, it did, she said. Look at it. The lightning grew brighter and hotter. Rubber clothes. Rubber bones. The air split, oxygen to ozone. This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience. Rubber something. Who knows? The bolts danced across the ground like the staccato tap-tap-tap of a drum. But thats a crutch, she said, as her power crested. When Monsters try to be clever, overwhelm them. Her power exploded, like power lines bursting, and seared through the Undead Nobles, leaving branching fractal burns across their rubber garments. Their Gemstone gear and rubber armor fell to the ground, emptied, leaving the putrid stench of burnt rubber. None of them dropped raw Gems. Why didnt you do that with the Starbeast? Wouldve taken too much. But these are small fry. She said that, but her breath came out in pants and sweat was visible on her brow. The Ghost of All Granavale didnt stand idle. Again it scraped at its flesh, and again it cast the pools of darkness, and again twelve lesser Monsters arose. They looked like suits of armor, but the armor lacked a metallic sheen. If he wasnt wrong, it was made of rubber. For lack of a better word, he decided to call these Monsters Rubber Armors (maybe the smoke deprivation was getting to him). All carried Gemstone weapons several swords, a few maces, and even one flail, all shining with the unearthly light of death. The Ghost of All Granavale also raised its hands once again above its head, pouring its magic into another fireball. Again, it went from the size of a marble, to an orange, to a basketball. Archmund really didnt like this. Hed been a desk jockey in his past life. He was barely ten in this one. He lacked the reflexes for something as harsh as this. He hit all twelve Rubber Armors with an Infrared Lance to the face. They lumbered forward, raising their weapons, and he grimaced. You think thatll work? Mercy said. That main ghost would have to be pretty stupid to not He fired the Infrared Lance again, more concentrated this time, and the nearest Rubber Armors helmet burst into flame. As its head was consumed, it collapsed, until it was hollowed out. Ah. Mercy said. Truth was, Archmund did think the Ghost of All Granavale was stupid. At the very least, primitive and unlearned. Rubber was an organic material. It caught fire if you dumped enough energy into it. In his world, it came from trees, for heavens sake. Frankly it was a bizarre, bizarre bit of convergent evolution that the restless dead naturally generated false rubber instead of metal or ceramic naturally though, if they sought to mimic life, it almost made sense. Rubber was made of carbon, and so wasnt that different from skin. Metal or ceramic rarely congealed naturally in the bodies of living things. Now that he knew it worked, he hit all of the Rubber Armors with Infrared Lances. All of them burst into flames and collapsed, leaving their armor but again, no Gems. But it was still stupid. If you tried to resist an electrical current, you could be very successful for a time with a substance like rubber or wood or human flesh. But eventually, the current would overwhelm you, grounding itself through whatever the most efficient path was, even if it ran through your heart. Far wiser it was to intentionally create a path for the electricity, catching it before it caught you and guiding it harmlessly into the ground the principle behind the lightning rod. Then again, lightning usually acted completely randomly instead of following the commands of a noble girl to kill the undead. Magic tended to have unpredictable effects on the laws of physics. The Ghost of All Granavale gouged its flesh again; its fireball still yet grew. Now it was the size of a large bear, or perhaps a small elephant. It was growing slower than it had before, but because theyd been preoccupied with stopping the Monsters sent against them, they hadnt be able to interfere as easily. Shoot the shadows out of the air! Archmund shouted. Now theres a thought. Mercys Topaz glowed; lightning electrified the air, striking the ceiling of the manor hall, almost like a cage. The blobs of shadow flew against the bars of that cage, split into bits by the dancing lightning. When they landed, they were negligible, far too small and thin for anything to form. How do we kill it? Archmund said, wondering out loud. His Ruby floated before him, rotating serenely despite the chaos and destruction around them. He probed the Ghost of All Granavale with his Infrared Lance, shooting it across its hide. If my men were here, Mercy said, Theyd throw themselves at it. Theyd cut it apart and cut it down with their swords, and theyd stab each piece over and over again until nothing was left. Our job would be to stun it just long enough so someone could get in and start cutting. And if you get that wrong, someone dies. There has to be another way. The Ghost of All Granavale fixed its twisted eyestalks upon him. It wasnt educated, but it wasnt unintelligent either. It clearly knew there was some connection between its mysterious burning pains and him. It raised its onyx cube Gem, and pulsed magic into it. There was a brief wind, followed by a stillness. The fires throughout the manor hall quieted, only to roar up again. There was something in front of the Ghost of All Granavale. Archmund couldnt see it if he squinted, he imagined he could see the air rippling, but then again that could easily just be the heat haze but he felt it, in that sense beyond his senses from which his magic sprang. It was an odd feeling, this certainty. Knowing that there was a whole dimension of being in this world that his last had not had. The fireball was still growing, but much, much slower. Mercy jolted him out of his reverie by firing a stream of lightning towards the Ghost of All Granavale and the bolt shattered, split into tendrils, outlining a large invisible wall that stretched across the entire balcony. Theres no other way, Mercy said. Not after this. She pointed at the Ghost of All Granavales fireball, which was about the size of a regular elephant now. Its still feeding that, but weve only shown it magic so far. So it thinks its safe to build up its fire behind that shield it has until its strong enough to blow us to kingdom come. She took a deep breath, and clasped him on the shoulder. We just have to prove it wrong. 19 - Risking Your Life Is A Great Idea If Youre Going To Die Anyways He hated this plan. Mainly because it involved running straight towards the very deadly Monster that could definitely kill them, as it charged a fireball, as bright as a miniature sun, to the size of a large elephant. Yet as they charged up the twin staircases, him on the left, her on the right, he had to admit the adrenaline flowing through his veins wasnt unpleasant. It was nice to feel alive. He rested one hand on his Gemstone Greatsword, his spoil of war from the Grand Skeleton, still strapped to his back. Take your power, Mercy had said to him earlier, and shift it from your Gem into that sword. But dont draw it yet. How The same way you did everything else! she snapped. Look, if you can come this far this quickly, youll figure this out. A fourteen-year-old who cant read or write can use one of these damn things! So now the Greatsword felt alive, like a third limb hed sat on until numbness. Distant in his awareness, but there. The air felt much hotter than it had been. His limbs were just a bit heavier, though not by much.
Im not trained, hed hissed to Mercy, not a minute before, as she pulled him towards the staircase A sword, Mercy had muttered back, exists for one purpose. What? To cut. To kill. Exactly. I dont see Its not some masterwork forged by a human smith working with metal. Its the killing intent and hatred of the dead. Give it your magic and itll listen.
And listen it had. He could feel his hands itching to draw it and to slash, and slash, and slash, and just start cleaving this place apart. The words Attunement and lock-in flashed briefly through his mind; would this warp him, turn him into a sword-wielding berserker? Worrying about the future was a luxury of the living.
They reached the top of the staircase and passed through the barrier like it wasnt there. It was a barrier meant to block magic or radiation or energy, not gross matter. The Ghost of All Granavale sneered at them from its burned and visored face, no doubt wondering what paltry magic they would use next. It drew forth its specked gray cube, languorously stretching a spindly white arm and Archmund cut it off. It screamed in pain. Its fireball detonated, the magic disrupted. Archmund wondered, wondered, wondered how such a thing would work in the first place, whether it was magic sustaining the combustion reaction in place of fuel and whether a fireball itself was more akin to a plasma, even as the heat approached his face and burned his skin. Mercy slid in front of him. She raised her hand and her Diamond of Guard with it. The seafoam green shield appeared between them and the oncoming flames, blocking enough of the heat for Archmunds comfort. But through the shield even though it was seafoam green and supposedly translucent, from the intense light of the fire, he could see fractal rivulets and a stretched rods. Blood vessels and twisted bone. She grimaced, though whether at his shock or the fire he didnt know. The shielding wasnt some magical construct, it was a distortion of Mercys own body, her own hand. And of course that made sense now, didnt it? Because shed developed these techniques after becoming unbreakable herself, able to fall from high cliffs or block swords with her bare hands. A natural extension of one power into another. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it. But he didnt have a moment to discuss or interrogate her. The shield withdrew; her hand was barely reddened. Immediately she jumped six feet straight into the air, pulling a dagger out from one of her many pouches, soaring towards the Ghost of All Granavales face. He could breathe much easier now that there wasnt a looming fireball above them. And he wouldnt let her fight alone. Even as the Ghost of All Granavale stretched to grab her with its remaining arm, as it started sprouting a new arm from the nub hed cut off, he threw himself forward. He cast a glance at the severed arm, still twitching and pulling itself towards him, and hit it with a Microwave. It spasmed in pain as it cooked from the inside, no longer protected from magic or radiation. He trusted his instincts to let his magic flow as he ran forward, the smell of boiling flesh behind him, his sword in his hands. Just as the Ghost of All Granavale was about to clutch Mercy with its spindly hand, he cleaved his sword into its ankle. Its leg did not shatter or sever. Already it had adapted, knitting the darkness into natural armor. But it was enough force to knock it sideways, shake its arms, enough to give Mercy a clean shot at its head. She caught its neck in its legs, using her momentum to swivel around with a force that wouldve cracked any mortal neck, and stabbed from behind. Her legs distorted, becoming like twin boa constrictors entwining the Ghost. She chipped away at its crystal visor and its mask. Archmund could see more of its face. It struck him just how similar it looked to his own, every day he woke up and looked in the mirror. Dark hair, though the Ghosts swam with the undulating miasma of death. A sharp nose and thin lips, though the Ghosts were gaunt with hunger. A round face, though the Ghosts was stretched by age. There was no denying it. This might not have truly been a ghost of All Granavale, all his ancestors and their vassals and tenants, but it was a ghost of Granavale. The creature thrashed, trying wildly to shake Mercy off, but she clung on tightly. He wasnt worried about her. She was immensely durable. He was worried about himself. The swords purpose was to cut and kill, not to guard the life of its wielder. And the Ghost of All Granavale wasnt ignoring him. It used one arm to stab at Mercy, its fingernails lengthening into needles. The other arm splayed out into a wide hand that slapped blindly where he had just stood, like elastic bands. It was kind of stupid, if it was his ancestor. It was confident in its power and comfortable in its instinct, so it had all but stood in one place for the whole fight, content to rain fire down upon them. And then, once theyd chosen to face it directly, it had done the same. Its only adaptations were slight inflations and regenerations of its flesh. He dodged out of the path of the hand and countered by slicing at the thinnest point of its arm. It worked. The arm fell off, oily black seeping from the wounds. No time to be distracted; he turned his Infrared Lance upon it, burning the shadows away. Its working! Mercy shouted. Every defensive adaptation cost it power it could not use on transformation. Every transformation cost it power it could not use on limb regeneration. Every limb regeneration cost it power it could not use on getting rid of Mercy. And yet the instinct-driven beast wanted so badly to be whole, to regain the truth of life. So it kept regenerating its limbs, and Archmund kept hacking them away. And with each strike, it became easier to cut through flesh and bone, the Gemstone sword in his hand becoming more and more an extension of him. His was the sword; the sword was him. Together, they cut through thinning shadow, and that which was cast away burned below his baleful gaze. And Mercy? She stabbed and stabbed and stabbed, her Gemstone dagger marring the Ghost of All Granavales face. But they had spoke too soon. The Ghost screeched once more, and suddenly the air grew hot. Mercy swore, loosening her transformed legs. They sizzled as she gracefully landed on the ground, regenerating into normal legs as she stood besides Archmund. Though the smell of burnt flesh already filled the air, Archmund couldnt help but imagine it growing stronger. He swallowed, even as sweat beaded on his brow. The Ghost of All Granavale burst into white-hot flames, like a funeral pyre. Wild at first, but as they watched the flames swirled, drawing into a vortex, before straightening into a pillar of white fire. (Was it white because of phosphorous, or sheer heat, or magic? It didnt burn his eyes to see, so probably magic.) Shit, Mercy swore. Shit shit shit. Whats wrong? Granavale, she said, looking at him gravely, the dead are the dead. Theres nothing they can offer you that would be worth it. Got it? We loot their corpses for power to fuel our economy, he said. It was the first thing that came to mind. It was a non-sequitur. It wasnt something a child would ever say. Thats fine, its a good point. Whatever. Look, whatever they say, its a lie or a half truth. The dead cant grow or change. They can only mimic what they once saw in life. Shed grabbed him by the shoulders, but she kept one eye on the white-hot flame. Taking her cue, he did the same. One eye on the flame, one eye on her. The fire cast a shadow that made her seem far older, that accentuated the dark bags beneath her eyes. Archmund didnt like where this was going. The pillar of fire exploded, a cylindrical shockwave rippling towards them. Mercys Diamond of Guard flashed; her hand distorted to shield them from the fire. Though the ambient temperature dropped drastically once the shockwave had passed, she kept her shield up. They peered cautiously through the gap between two stretched fingers. There, where the Ghost of All Granavale had stood, was a woman. She was the spitting image of Archmunds dead mother. 20 - I Didnt Realize My Mommy Issues Were This Bad... Mother? Archmund said, his voice cracking. His mouth and throat fell dry, and he didnt think it was just because of the parched air. A part of him was kicking himself. He shouldnt have been surprised. Hed guessed it was the ghost of all his ancestors. There was no reason to believe that didnt include the most recent ones. Granavale, dont! Mercy said. Dont listen to it! He was suddenly just so, so sad. A sob bubbled up from his belly. It didnt make sense. Hed been at this for a hundred days, and he hadnt cried at all since his memories came back. Archmund, said his mother, and her voice was just as he remembered. Youve grown so much Youre so much stronger than I remember I am, mother. I really am. His eyes were wet from tears, and not because the smoke had stung them. Despite all of the trivia he remembered, despite the hard work hed put into getting good at magic, at his heart he was still just a little boy. Come here, Archmund, his mother said, extending a hand. We can be a family again. You, and me, and Linus, and Calla. It is very difficult for normal people to think their way out of sorrow. Sociopaths might be able. But Archmund Granavale was no sociopath. Yes, he was far more jaded than any nine year old had the right to be. Yes, he had awakened to ambitions that no normal child had. Yes, hed spent the past day cutting down ghosts in the shape of man. But he was still a child. A child whod lost his mother and siblings. A child with many servants but few friends. A child who knew with near certainty that there was life after death. Granavale Archmund, dont encourage it, Mercy said. She cupped him in her stretched, distorted hand, holding him back. Archmunds mother walked up to him, and ruffled him by the hair between the gaps in Mercys fingers. Distantly he wondered why Mercy wasnt doing anything to stop this. Perhaps it was a form of compassion. We can be a family again? he said, stumbling over the words. He didnt know where this was coming from. At no point after his awakening had he felt like he was an alien presence in his own body he was always Archmund Granavale, noble boy with a dead mother, and he was always that person from the other world with loads of cynicism. Hed cried his eyes out already. Hed cried his eyes out and left himself feel sad and then set to work. Hed cried his eyes out and pushed past it. He thought he was over this. Thats right, his mother said, kissing him on the forehead. Her touch felt both chilly with death yet painfully, searing hot. He could see it in his minds eye. The five of them, sitting around the grand dining table, and the hall that currently echoed the sounds of his lonely meals was instead drowned by the chatter of life; Their grand excursions to Granavale Village or the Imperial Capital, dressed in all the fineries they could muster, and instead of looks of pity at their loss, the townspeople looked with envy and pride; Sitting in a box at a jousting tournament, gazing down at mighty knights upon steeds clashing into each other, the envy of the crowds below, filled with cobblers and craftsmen and merchants and playwrights; And on the slow summer days, they would play on the hills and fields of Granavale Estate, overlooking the golden wheat of the county. And once hed played his way through and was all tuckered out, he would drift asleep under the apple trees in the light of the setting sun, as his mother caressed his hair and sung a lullaby. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Thats right, my son, the Ghost said. I can offer you everything. Whatever the dead offer is never worth the price you pay, Mercy said. Her voice was strained. Whats everything? And his mother told him. In the upper world, he was a minor noble, of the lesser gentry. There was a path for him. A known progression. To go to the Imperial Academy, to find a wife who could tolerate Granavale County, to sustain the lands as their rightful lord, and to raise a heir who would do the same. And then, to die, and leave behind his worldly grudges. A simple life. A pointless life. Here, in the bowels of the earth, halfway to the Guts of Hell, he would reign as a prince. The legions of the formless dead would be under his command. They would heed his every beck and call, taking the shape of whatever indulgences he desired. They could be the manor, or a castle, or the Omnio Imperial Palace itself. They could be any matter of food or drink, be anyone at all, be anything at all. He could grow strong, here. Spend the decades and centuries building his strength. Exploit eternity to train. Become more powerful than anyone could ever image. So strong they couldnt ignore him. And then, when the time was right, they could surge forth from the earth, an undead army millions strong. Every nation would fall like dominoes against their might. The world would be theirs. All under heaven would become his dominion. She made no mention of what it would cost. Archmund closed his eyes to blink away the last of the tears. This was a familiar enough story. Hed heard it before. Get As in all your classes. Take classes at the college level in middle school. Explore every interest no matter how mutually exclusive to become a well-rounded person. Win a science fair, a literary competition, and a math meet. Become top of the class and give a speech for it. Go to an elite college. Get an elite job. Join the ranks of the rich, the well-off, the jet setters. The world would be his. He was fucking tired of it. Those false promises of success, so dependent on his own luck and the goodwill of others, if only he worked just a little harder to make his dreams possible. To be railroaded down a path that had no such promises. Youre not my mother, he said, and he knew that it was true. My mother wanted me to be happy. She didnt want to force me onto a throne. Oh, Archmund, said the twisted ghost. Parents hide things from their children, hoping they can grow up before they have to face the realities of life. But I no longer have that luxury, here so close to the Guts of Hell. I see your power. I see your potential. I see how far youve come already. This is what I always hoped you could become. Mercy snorted. Oh, now you step in? Archmund said, glancing in her direction for just half a second. If you gave in, I couldnt have stopped you, Mercy said. But I would have put you down. Every parent wants the world for their children, Archmund, the ghost of his mother said, her voice soothing and gentle, not a single plea in it. If I could give you every star in the sky and every Gem in the earth and every nation of the world I would. I couldnt, because I left you. But youve come to me now, and I can grant you such great power. I can make your strength multiply a hundredfold. But power at what cost? What would she offer him? To become one of the aimless dead. To become the king of the aimless dead. To join the legions of the unliving. To command the legions of the unliving. Not a life, but a pale imitation of one, throwing away all that life had to offer in pursuit of power. Mercy? Archmund said, have you seen someone take this offer before? Yes, Mercy said, and her voice was just a whisper. My first subcommander. The offer was from my fifth-cousin thrice removed his grandfather. How did people even keep track of relations that distant? What happened to him? Mercy glanced down at the floor, and that was enough. Dont listen to her, my son, his mother said. Shes the one whos lying. Ill make you strong! I could never do anything to hurt you! The power of the dead flows into you, and with it, their grudges. Their thoughts become your own. You see the living as obstacles. You turn on them. They put you down. Thats how it would look from the outside, he was going to say, but she cut him off. A living body isnt meant to channel the magic so close to its raw form. The dead are already crystallized. So the power flows into your flesh. The crystals grow in your body. You become dependent on them. They reinforce your thoughts. Everything you do from the moment you accept the power and become one with the dead is the echo of that last final desire that makes you accept the power. You will get the world! He did not know if she was telling the truth. But it was enough to decide. He could feel her Monstrous magic, thick and twisted in the air. Yet a door had opened in it, like a vortex or a whirlpool, a siren song for his mind that drew forward his attention. He readied his magic. 21 - My Mommy Issues Really Were That Bad... All of Archmunds magic surged into his Ruby, into one final mighty Infrared Lance. It blasted down his mothers face and torso, burning her pallid skin. As she screamed, he drew his Gemstone sword and impaled his mothers heart. And then Mercy was besides him, stabbing her everywhere. Gouging out chunks of flesh, piece by piece, even as his mother stared sadly at him and caressed his face one last time. Its not too late, Archmund. Accept my power, and I wont leave you ever again He could feel the vortex of the Monsters magic, tugging on his own. A choir of his ancestors sang to him, that he could be one with them, one with the Granavale legacy, one with his blood and his purpose. The grandparents he didnt remember, their grandparents, a line stretching to the very first Granavales. Very deliberately he forced his power into his sword. A swords purpose was to cut and kill, not to accept an offer. This would be a shortcut to power. Mercy and the ghost agreed on that. But the ghost told him it would grant him the world, while Mercy warned him that it would trap him as he was now. I could give you the far shores of Salamar. The woodlands of Eth Darel. The peaks of Gundarr. All of it could be yours. His mother wrapped her hands around his head and kissed him on the brow. She react to Mercy gouging at her flesh. If she were to twist, she could snap his neck, but she seemed content to look at him with love in her eyes. He hated to admit it, but running the world as a tyrant seemed like a pain. Far better to have the power to put good people in places where they could make changes. And even then, Mercys warnings didnt seem false. Was this really the right decision? Crystals caused Attunement and lock-in, difficulties with using other crystals, if they were mastered. Wouldnt it be logical if becoming living crystal did the same with all of ones goals and ambitions? I love you, Archmund, his mother said. No final attempts at persuasion. But now she showed pain. She winced as Mercys Gemstone daggers dug harder, and deeper, and closer to her core. And her magic grew wilder, more desperate, clinging harder and harder to his own. He could stop this, and save her, if he were to accept that magic. But if there was even the slightest possibility that taking this power would crystallize him as he was now as a little boy who missed his mother, and who would rule over the kingdoms of the dead, and be one day slain by a brave adventurer he could not take that risk. That was all. That was the reason. So he stood in place as Mercy gouged, and gouged, and gouged. Until his mother was no more.
There was a story in a religious book from Archmunds past life. There was a man named Jesus, who some called the Son of God. Jesus went into the desert. There, the Devil, who was the incarnation of supreme evil, offered him all the kingdoms of the world a dark temptation to turn him from his purpose of salvation for the masses. And Jesus, because he was righteous and pure, turned the devil down. Goddess, he really was an egomaniac, wasnt he? Comparing himself to Jesus Christ. He was so, so sad.
What was she, really? She was your mother, Mercy said without hesitation. Archmund sat down, as if his knees were knocked out from under him. So I just killed No. You didnt, Mercy said, and her voice was gentle. She was already dead. Everything pure and good about her was How do you know? Archmund said. If it looked like her, and had her memories, how can you say it wasnt her? Mercy had no good answer for him. I dont know, Granavale. Ive never much looked into the cycling of souls. But if we hadnt done killed her, she would have remained here, as a spirit trapped within the Ghost of All Granavale. At least this way, she can move on. You dont think this is the last of her. Thats not what I think, Mercy said a bit too abruptly. But I mean, no one knows if the soul goes to one place once the body dies, or if it splits into many different pieces. How could you ever know?
Task #5: Figure out the nature of life and death. Task #6: Find where Mothers soul really went.
There was a banging on the barrier Mercy had erected between the manor hall and the Dungeon outside. Someone had awakened. Mercy collapsed the barrier with but a touch now that Archmund thought about it, it was incredibly likely that barrier was literally her fingernails keratin to see the terrified faces of Zankto, Wrest, Yald, and Vurl. You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story. Milord. Thank the goddess youre alive! Yald shouted. The commanders always survived things that would be practically suicide for anyone else, Vurl said. Looks like this time is no different. And Granavale, too, Zankto said, his eyes widening with relief. Oh, thank the goddess. I was so afraid this would mean paperwork. Glad to see you all too, Mercy said, her voice clipped and dropping back down half an octave. Unfortunately, theres not left for you to claim here anymore. I can see that, Zankto said, casting his gaze across the manor hall. The floor was littered with small, pearl-like raw Gems, very few of which Archmund had successfully kicked to the walls. There were a few rapiers and a few hand fans scattered around the room, a few usable pieces of Gemstone armor, and some useless rubber outfits. Abruptly Archmund felt overwhelmed. There was a great deal of wealth here, more than hed seen in his entire life. He was at a disadvantage. He didnt know how much any of this stuff was worth. No Tier core, Mercy said. We had to tear the level master apart in order to save ourselves. It wasnt a clean kill. And the allocation? Zankto asked. Even split, Mercy said. Archmund and I will work it out. This was all jargon he didnt understand. Could he even make use of the rapiers and the hand fans, or did he just want the raw, unshaped Gems?
Come on, Mercy said, offering him a hand and pulling him to his feet. Were not done yet. I know that look on your face you seem exhausted! Arent we done? Archmund said. We killed the boss. We should be done. Killed the boss. I guess that fits, Mercy said. Oops. Hed let the gamer lingo from his past life slip out. But no, Mercy said. Were not done. The Upper Tiers been subjugated, but we need to figure out where the gate to the Middle Tier is so we can reinforce it and since this place is based on your ancestral home, I need you with me. Archmund nodded. It really made a lot of sense. He hadnt quite had the opportunity to play around with all of the secret passages of Granavale Manor, but he knew enough to see if they had echoes in this twisted mirror deep beneath the earth. Plus, theres definitely more spoils, Mercy said. More, Archmund said flatly. He didnt believe it. Yes, more, Mercy said, rolling her eyes and smirking. You think a ghost that remakes its manor from life and offers you hundreds of luxuries wouldnt make some for itself? I figured it was a trick, Archmund said. What need do the dead have for luxuries? To make them feel like theyre still alive, obviously.
The Grand Hall was the most flagrant mimicry of the true Granavale Manor, so far above them on the surface of the earth, but the rest of this part of the Dungeon was just similar enough to what Archmund knew. Atop the balcony there was a door to a grand sitting room, where his father often entertained guests; this funhouse mirror version of Granavale Manor had the same. He pushed ahead with no care in the world. The room was as he expected. A loveseat and two armchairs surrounding a low-lying coffee table. One side of the table was left open, so the host could stand and make wild, gesticulating speeches about how great they were or how nice it was to have guests. There was a landscape painting on the wall. In the true Granavale Manor, it was a map of the Omnio Empire. Here in the bowels of the earth halfway to the guts of hell, it was a picture of a black cone divided into nine layers. There was a rectangle made of shining Gemstone, light cerulean, lying on a side table just beneath the painting. It was the only obvious crystalline object in the entire room. Granavale, wait just a second Mercy said, but he ignored her. The danger was past; he knew it in his bones. They had slain the only threat, the master of this domain, and it had worn the face of his mother. He touched the Gemstone tablet and almost stumbled back from shock. It was hungry far hungrier than he had expected. It supped eagerly of his magic, drawing what little left remained in his reserve to fill its every crystalline facet with his essence, Attuning itself instantly to him. Damn it! Mercy shouted. Archmund lifted up the tablet and took a good look at it. Even though his legs were suddenly jelly and his vision was hazy, he read something that instantly made his blood run cold.
Archmund Granavale
Lifespan: 9/91
Stat Value Titles Achievements Bound Items Relationships Skills
Strength 9 (8 + 1) Granavale Heir (*new*) Reincarnated Memories Ruby of Energy (Awakened) > Family (click to expand) Heat
Dexterity 9 (8 + 1) Granavale Dungeon Tier 1 Conqueror Gemstone Sword (bound) Allies Infrared Lance
Constitution 7 (6 + 1) Matricide Unshaped Gem (bound) Mary Alisdaughter di Granavale (linked - shared power) Microwave
Intelligence 8 (6 + 2) (*new*) Angelina Grace Marca Prima Omnio (Crown Princess, "Mercy Stirpstridecim di Omnio") > Mundane Skills (tap to expand)
Wisdom 8 (7 + 1)
Charisma 6
Luck 5
Angelina Grace Marca Prima Omnio: Crown Princess "Mercy Stirpstridecim di Omnio" 22 - My Ancient Magic iPad Revealed My Friends the Crown Princess?!? Archmund struggled to keep his grip on the Gemstone tablet that had just overturned his view of the world. He had stats. The classic RPG stats Str Dex Con Int Wis Cha Luk. The names hed chosen for his techniques with his Ruby were recorded in this mysterious, omniscient System. Everything important hed done heretofore was similarly recorded and visible. Alright, Mercy no, the crown princess Angelina Grace Marca Prima Omnio said. What did you see in that thing? She knew. She knew something about what this was and how it worked. Do you have one like it? I found one after I won my first Dungeon, she said. Theres only ever one per Dungeon, and She sighed and flopped down in one of the armchairs. They Attune instantly, which Im sure youve realized. And they Be honest with me, your majesty, Archmund said, taking a seat in the armchair across from her. It was as soft as the ones in his real sitting room. How much of what you said to me before we went in here all that stuff about how fierce the competition was for the throne how much of that was bullshit? She winced. Just call me Mercy. The men dont know. And honestly, Archmund? None of it was a lie. But it says youre the The Crown Princess, right, yeah. Im certainly the first in the running, but thats because of my effort and hard work. She glared at him. He hadnt really thought about it, but this worlds monarchy didnt follow primogeniture. His assumptions had just overtaken him. Sorry, he muttered. Dont be, she said. She reached into one of her pouches and pulled out a Gemstone-encrusted book. This is my version of that. Youll start to see how pointless everything feels, once you see how easy it is to draw the story to a conclusion youve already read. She sighed. He could emphasize. Yet a part of him was dreadfully excited. How many of these are there? One per Dungeon. They Attune for life, so the only way to take one from its owner is killing them. The Imperial Family has one, which is passed down from Emperor to Emperor, which makes it a huge waste for this one to be with me. Their existence is a state secret, because, as Im sure you can tell, there are no secrets hidden in it. You cant share them? Only with someone youd trust with your life, Mercy said. You can see everything in them. The truth of the universe. A window to profound eternity. She said all of this very morosely. As much as he would have liked to see, he knew she would likely refuse if he asked to see hers. Did the whole universe operate according to RPG game rules, or was this just his interpretation of a deeper, more profound system? Would someone born into this world with no knowledge of video games or tabletop RPGs see these same stats, or would they view the game in terms they could understand? Why does this make you so sad? Because every time I could be doing something, I think about my ledger, and how I could be increasing it, she said. And taking so much of the mystery out of human life. Who you are. Who your friends are and how you stand with them. Your odds of taking the throne. Its scary. He looked at his own stats again. Allies: Angelina Grace Marca Prima Omnio. No standing, and no statistics. She saw more than he did. Was it because she had a special Skill, or was it because she was the crown princess, trained from birth to keep an eye on the line of succession and threats to her position? Metaphysically, was there even a difference? If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it. There was one final secret in the Upper Tier: the gate to the Middle Tier. Disturbingly, it was in what corresponded to Archmunds room. And beyond, there were endless rows of cubicles. After a single look, both Archmund and Mercy agreed that this was a problem for later, when they were both stronger. He wondered if she had made any sense of what theyd seen. If Archmund had to rank the spoils of their journey, the Gemstone Tablet was the biggest find of their investigation. There was simply no contest whatsoever. It was a definitive window into the metaphysical basis of the universe, obviously some sort of state secret, and extremely valuable. He stood besides Mercy on the balcony of the grand manor hall, overseeing the final collection of loot. It was frankly jarring, looking down upon the hall, where a hundred soldiers were sorting and piling up the spoils of war in great piles. There was one pile for rapiers, another for hand fans, and a third pile just for raw Gems. That pile looked like sand compared to the others. They also gathered tapestries and paintings and candlesticks and whatever else seemed like it might be of value from this false reflection of Granavale Manor. He was entitled to half of it, but he just didnt care. Not with what he knew now. And yet he had to care. Because his goal coming into this was improving the economic trajectory of Granavale County, so he could live a liberated, free life, and this was not enough wealth to fuck off forever to whatever passed for a tropical beach resort in this world. And there was the other matter. Mercy, does this make me an assassination target? People would kill for one of these, she said. But nobody needs more than one. Im not going to be sending anyone after your head, but that doesnt mean someone else might not. You said they were a state secret. And Im not going to tell anyone about yours. It was a headache when I got mine. If anyone learns about it, its on you. It sounded too good to be true. What do you want in return? Hmmm, Mercy said, gazing down at the crowds. Thats a very interesting question. What could you possibly have to offer me? He braced himself for blackmail. Despite all the odds, youre walking away with at least half of all that gear down there, Mercy said. Itd be a stain on my honor if I didnt let you have it, after what you managed. You didnt cost me a single man, so I cant demand extra armor or weapons as replacement not that rapiers or hand fans are any good for maintaining a standing army. I thought you said one piece of Gemstone Gear was enough to start a man down the road of being a hero. That was a simplification. Look at your Tablet and read what it says about your Gemstone Sword. He looked at the entry Gemstone Sword (bound) and tapped on it, which showed it in greater detail.
Gemstone Sword
Reservoir 50/1000
Attunement 10%
Skills
??? ???
??? ???
??? ???
Bonuses
Bound +1 CON +1 STR +1 DEX
Im sure you can see something about how as your magic flows into the crystal lattice, it flows back to you strengthened and ordered, Mercy said. That must have been the stat bonuses. And in doing so, it grants you strength and agility beyond your mortal peers. The more you use the weapon The more Attuned you get, Archmund said, the more you Awaken Skills, and the stronger using it makes you. And easier you can get more Gemstone gear of higher power and higher quality. You understand this awfully quickly for someone who had no idea how the universe worked 24 hours ago. What was he supposed to say in response to that? He couldnt just tell her he was reincarnated, and this was a fairly basic gameplay loop. Sure, reincarnation was a popular folk belief, but that was out here in the sticks, and she was an Imperial Princess from the Imperial Capital. Youre changing the subject, he said. So, what do you want from me? Now that the Upper Tier of the Dungeon has been conquered, the Monsters within wont be able to mount an organized insurgency. Theyll continue to spawn as more of the dead escape from the depths, but theyll be less organized and harmless. The perfect creatures for adventurers to whet their blades on, or for you to harvest more of those uncut Gems. One day youll have to clear the Middle and Bottom Tiers, but those are much worse. But theyll be quiet for at least a few years! He didnt like the sound of that it was a problem waiting to happen but he was glad he could wait on them. He reached into his satchel and ran his hand over his Gems. I was under the impression you thought these were mostly useless. Enough grain to feed your Sacred Guard for a week? I could fund the guard for a thousand years with the Omnio coffers. But for you? Collect one of these a week at the quality youve managed to get them nasty Skill, that Infrared Lance of yours, able to kill them before they can react at all and youll be well on the way to turning Granavale into a boom town. It couldnt be that easy. There was no way it was that easy. If I flood the market with these, wont it devalue them? She frowned. Devalue? She was a ten-year old Imperial Princess with the wealth of the whole empire behind her. Of course she wouldnt have any idea about supply and demand curves or devaluation of currencies and commodities. In a few years, after her formal education, she would, but Attunement means that theres always a need for raw Gems of high quality, no matter how many you might produce. Theyre not easily transferable. A used Gem depreciates almost immediately. The Empire will buy your fresh ones. Maybe hed underestimated her, just a little. Youre telling me that if I put in a bare minimum of work for just a few years, Archmund said, Ill put myself in a position where Ill be set for life. Whats the catch? The catch is that you have something more valuable than material wealth, and I need allies. Do you plan on attending the Imperial Academy? 23 - My New Princess Friend Wants Me To Go Back To School, So Im Making a Private Army Do you plan on attending the Imperial Academy? Mercy was digging her fingernails into her palms as she asked this to Archmund. The Imperial Academy. Located in the Imperial City of Omnio (a very original name), it was a cross between an upper class boarding school, the Ivy League, and Hogwarts. Archmund had looked into it soon after hed awakened to his memories and decided that attending sounded horrific. Hed sat through one highly annoying childhood of doing very well on standardized tests that barely translated to the real world, and he had no intention of doing it again. He could hardly imagine a worse way of spending his time than being surrounded by children and teenagers when he had the mind of a 30-something year old or at least the memories, because honestly he felt genuinely emotionally unstable compared how hed felt in his past life as an adult even if those teenagers were the inheritors of this worlds destiny. And on top of all that, attending that school would have bankrupted his entire family. I had no plans to attend, he said, watching Mercys reaction very carefully. Is it the money? Ten Gems of your grade and quality would cover all eight years. You can pay for it already. He genuinely had no idea how this monetary system worked. You need to go, Granavale, she said, pressing her point. Granavale County is on the map now. Your house was, if Im being blunt, dying before this. But now? Youll get offers for investments, for partnerships, for betrothals. You need to know whos who and whats what. It all just sounds so tedious, Archmund said. It is. He did a double take. Oops. Hed said that out loud. On top of that, he hadnt expected her to agree. This is all I want in return, she said, her voice dropping to a whisper. Go to the Academy. Just attend. Promise me youll attend, and youll find no barriers to complete Granavale control over this Dungeon. Full ability to tax the loot and negotiate your own prices on Gem sales though all Gems are regulated, so youll still have to go through Imperial authority. I need true allies, Granavale. Id be a fool not to make one of you. Maybe her stat sheet didnt say that they were already allies. Maybe the stat sheets were an imperfect relationship of softer aspects of reality. Or maybe she just knew more. But regardless, it seemed that he would have to change his plans somewhat. He would go to the Imperial Academy, try and spend as little time as possible actually studying, make friends with everyone else who seemed like they could make his life easier, and try not to be ground down by a second bout of pointless schooling. In his past life, hed seen YouTube videos about people whod managed to cheat the whole system of college admissions. Or rather, hed seen the thumbnails and read the comments, because it pained him to read about opportunities that he could no longer access himself. Essentially, those people had taken community college classes in high school in order to get college credit. Then they could immediately flip that college credit into a proper 2-year Associates Degree, and with that coursework, leverage a transfer or application to prestigious Ivy League colleges without needing to undergo the same application rigmarole that most normal people had to sit through. He didnt know the details because it had, even then, been advice for a lifetime ago. But there was probably something similar in this world that he could exploit to the fullest. I dont suppose you can get me a scholarship? She snorted. Do you want to be a scholarship student at a school of the richest, most spoiled, most powerful assholes in the country? Put like that, absolutely not. The loot from the final room ended up being close to a 50-50 split, as discussed. Although the soldiers seemed a little annoyed at having to carry all of it back up to the surface, they didnt seem all too upset about not getting more gear, though some were a little annoyed they didnt get all of the Gemstone armor that had crystallized. They didnt quite see the potential of burnt rubber gear and so were happy to let him have it. If you encounter this narrative on Amazon, note that it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it. Archmund wondered if it might be worth setting up a materials science lab. Mercy slapped him on the back as they observed the soldiers start forming up in groups to bear the equipment back to the surface. Consider this Imperial permission to establish a standing army, Mercy said, gesturing at all the Gemstone Gear. Using rapiers a dueling weapon and hand fans, something ladies hold over their mouths when they gossip. Was that sexist? It might have been sexist. But this world was a little sexist. Probably. Maybe it was just him. Mercy snorted. Its a poor craftsman that blames his tools. You should be honored. Very few Houses are ever granted permission for a standing army. And this wouldnt violate the rules against giving peasants Gems? Different rules for Gemgear no ones ever going to do something as horrifying as your Infrared Lance using a Gemstone Helmet. Though its customary for them to swear undying loyalty to you in exchange. A wonderful recipe for political stability. Private armies that swore undying loyalties to their commanders. Though he suspected there was more to it. What happens to those that create a standing army without permission? Mercy blinked. Well that would be viewed as high treason, and the whole family would get annihilated overnight. Hmmm. And permission is never revoked overnight as a result of arcane political maneuvering or power plays? How are you this sharp and jaded? Seriously, Granavale. Why do you think likeme? She was going to say something else, he was sure of it. Princess Angelina Grace Marca Prima Omnio still had her secrets. She sighed. Well, youre smart. Youll figure something out. Archmund had a pretty good idea. Obviously an overt standing army would be asking for trouble, especially with weapons that looked as stupid as these. But a private, covert force of respectable assassins not people who used poisons and daggers and jumped around like idiots in the night, but well-dressed guys who used their connections to get into places where powerful people were and killed them if necessary now that was a good idea. It was obviously illegal, which didnt matter if you never got caught. And here, Mercy said. These are for you. She dropped two Gems into his hand. One was an octahedral Ruby, like a D4. The other was a speckled gray cube. He swallowed. These are His mothers. The Gems of the Ghost of All Granavale, Mercy said, avoiding his eyes. A Ruby, which will likely be stronger than the one you currently have. And a Quartz, I think, that does magical shielding or energy deflection. If you ask me, if you want to train, these are safer bets than the Starbeasts Gem. He ran his magic over them. Although the Ghost of All Granavale had used them liberally, there were no traces of active magic remaining in them. That was how the magic of the dead worked it formed and calcified as solid conduits of power within a crystal, which the magic of the living could flow through. He poured his magic into the Gem, and it flowed in easily and comfortably a far cry from the effort hed spent on Attuning his original Ruby to himself. That was another thing to practice casting the Infrared Lance through this new Ruby instead of the old one. I wont lie, Mercy said, keeping you alive was a tactical burden. If you can use this Quartz to keep yourself alive, you wont need bodyguards for every time you get in a bit of danger. He nodded mutely, and immediately pulled out his Gemstone Tablet to look at what the Quartz could do for him. Mercy threw her cloak over him. Whats the big idea?! I told you this was a state secret, and youre just pulling it out in front of a hundred of my men. It was a good point, but the screen was like a computer or iPad screen, so he could see it even in the darkness. He tapped the new entry for Quartz of Barrier (bound).
Quartz of Barrier
Reservoir 2/1000
Attunement 1%
Skills
Deflect Energy ???
Interference Barrier (locked) ???
??? ???
Bonuses
Bound +1 CON
There was a lot of potential for him left to unlock.
All things considered, his priorities had to change drastically. He mentally reviewed his list of tasks: Task #1: do 100 push-ups a day for a year Revised Task #1: Do 100 push-ups a day. See how this changes my Strength stat. Task #2: Charge the Red Gem of Light to personal exhaustion daily. Revised Task #2: Attune the Ruby of Energy to 1000/1000 and track how this changes my stats. Attune the Gemstone sword to 1000/1000 and track how this changes my stats. Attune the Quartz of Barrier to 1000/1000 and track how this changes my stats, and create a spell for personal safety. Track psychological changes. Task #3: Grow the Granavale holdings to a point where he could do whatever he ever wanted. Task #4: Revise Task #3 upon learning more. Revised Task #3: Use the spoils of Granavale Dungeon to build sustainable industry within Granavale County. Personally invest in Granavale County. Gain enough influence through attending the Imperial Academy to enable this goal. Task #4: Unchanged. Task #5: Figure out the nature of life and death. Task #6: Find where Mothers soul really went. Both unchanged. And a new one: Task #7: Get out of the debt of Mercy Stripstridecem di Omnio, aka Crown Princess Angelina Grace Marca Prima Omnio. 24 - The Young Lord is Good At Everything Except for Interacting With Women Everything else went by like a blur. The moment Archmund emerged from the Dungeon into the light of late-morning, he was seized by the powerful arms of his father. Though the Lord Granavale scolded him tearfully, he was overjoyed that Archmund was alive and, Archmund suspected, more than a little bit proud. He remembered little of the next few hours. Stumbling back to Granavalge Manor, the true Granavale Manor, and undergoing a moment of vertigo as he remembered its false twin deep beneath the earth. He vaguely remembered being bathed by the staff, crawling into bed, and falling asleep. When he woke up, three days had passed. His body was still sore, but he had healed. There was a bell on his bedside table, and a lukewarm bowl of porridge. He supposed he was supposed to summon a servant to feed him, but he was far too hungry to wait. The lightly salted grain mush was the best thing hed eaten in a long time. Compulsively, he checked his stats on his Gemstone Tablet.
Stat Value
Strength 9 (8 + 1)
Dexterity 9 (8 + 1)
Constitution 7 (6 + 1)
Intelligence 8 (6 + 2)
Wisdom 8 (7 + 1)
Charisma 6
Luck 5
Nothing had changed. A part of him remembered how on some weekends in his past life, hed lie in bed for hours just scrolling on his phone, watching random trivia videos, doing nothing productive. Surely this was different. Surely.
His thoughts had clarified in his dreams. There was a System governing this world. All systems (lowercase-s) had loopholes. In his past life, that was how people could skip to prestigious Ivy League colleges by taking community college classes in high school and transferring their credits: loopholes. Clever, obvious exploits that you could take in order to get ahead, without ever harming anyone. He hadnt taken many of those loopholes in his past life. He wasnt sure why, but he vaguely remembered that hed had a sense of ethics and adherence to the rules a feeling that was shockingly absent now. Hed had anxiety in his past life, and this body didnt at all. For a whole life, hed lived with a permanent weight bearing down on his chest, holding him back, but now he saw only possibilities. Possibilities and choices, both small and large. He had a small one right now: tinker with the Gemstone Tablet, and see if he could find a representation of the economic state of Granavale County, or get up and look at the world with his own two eyes? He chose the latter. Mercy had left while he was sleeping. Shed been training for years, and it had been an utter miracle that hed managed to keep up with her at all. Hed been wiped out for three days as a whole day of accumulated fatigue slammed into him like a truck, while she had barely broken a sweat. This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Privately he suspected that shed held on just long enough to get into her private carriage, to maintain her image in front of her men, before falling asleep in there for the long journey back to the Imperial Capital. True to her word, her men had built surface infrastructure for the Dungeon. The entrance was now heavily fortified against any Monsters that might breach the surface, and they had also left a number of empty sheds that were suitable for shops or other stores. There was ample room for further development an adventurers town waiting to be filled.
Task #8: Make Granavale Dungeon attractive to adventurers just weak enough to keep the Upper Tier clear of Monsters, but not strong enough to push down through the Middle Tier and beyond. Tax them enough to profit but not so much they dont come. Make it sustainable, for however long the Dungeon remains. Task #9: Conquer the Middle Tier of the Dungeon before anyone else. There was simply just so much to be done. New avenues of power to be explored. Business ventures to create. Governments to navigate. Friends to make. But most importantly, his obligations to those nearest to him.
We need to talk. Mary batted her eyes like she was trying to get dust out of them. Anything you command, young master. Right, so He ushered her into his room and pulled out chairs for the both of them. He sat, just a little bit off from his desk. She didnt. Archmund wasnt sure how to best approach this. Hey Mary, it turns out that training exercise I gave you? Yeah, its illegal and you could be put to death for it. The easiest way to save you would be to make you my servant for life. Hey Mary, I found this crystal tablet that gives me stats on everything in the world around me. Turns out that having you use the same Gem I was already Attuned to means we have a spiritual link now! Hope that doesnt creep you out! Hey Mary, how do you feel about serving me forever? These sounded like slavery, which he was very uncomfortable with. Even the thought of saying that made his skin crawl.
There was really no way at all to handle this properly. The urgency of their need to talk had pushed him to asking her instead of preparing, which was a mistake. You want advice on how to talk to that Mercy girl, right? She didnt sit in her own chair. Instead, she perched herself on the armrest of his. If any other servants saw them, shed be reprimanded harshly, but frankly he couldnt give a damn about these ridiculous social mores. What? I know how you nobles think. Shes already a military commander at the same age as you are, shes distantly from the Omnio, and she doesnt look half bad especially compared to the folks out here. And shes not so high up in the family that shes out of reach. Im rooting for you here, young master! She performatively flipped her long, straight black hair. He ducked, but some of it still slapped him in the face. Mary was wrong about Mercys status as a lower-ranking noble, of course. But truthfully, Archmund had no intention of pulling that particular thread. He also didnt know if her ideas of courtly love were true or compatible with reality. On Earth, in the medieval era, courtly love was a highly ritualized form of romance between highborn ladies and gentlemen. It was also largely fictional, but perpetuated because of how romantic it was. This was just like that. But a question struck him before his thoughts could run away again. Wait. How did you know she was a girl? You thought she was a boy? He didnt answer that. He wondered if he was sexist, but he was sure hed had a good reason at the time. Marys eyebrows raised. You thought she was a boy. You went into a Dungeon with a noble lady from the Omnio family and you thought she was a boy. All of the soldiers called her milord, and at no point did she ever act like a noble or a lady. This was entirely on him, now that he said it out loud. Hed assumed she was a boy because of how much of a realpolitiking, calculating ass she was when it came to the lives of her men. Now that was definitely sexist. Girls could do realpolitik too. You were like five when people still threw grand balls before the Crylaxan Plague hit, you have no idea what noble ladies act like! And you only know how they act from the faery tales I read you! I give, I give. You win, Mary said, laughing. So no grand designs from you to raise the station of Granavale House through that route? I dont know, Archmund said. Thats not a no, young master. Its not possible, he said. You say that now, but the springtime of youth will come for you someday, and youll wonder what might have been Mary, I actually have the reincarnated soul of a thirty-year-old. I have no intention of doing any of whatever you just said. He hadnt meant to say that out loud. He didnt realized until he had until she burst into laughter. Very funny, Archie. Youre the last person who Id think is wise beyond his years. Ouch. There was no helping it now, though. He pulled his Ruby out from his pocket (hed have to see about getting some custom jewelry made for it maybe a pendant or a ring? Something that could allow it to float freely), and it floated in between the two of them. Now thats a new one, Mary said. You turn into one of those wizards after one Dungeon run? I guess you could say that. But you know that exercise I had you try with my Ruby? he said. Of course I do, Mary said. Even if it was hardly one of your odder whims. He tossed it to her. She caught it on reflex, and it sparked to life, casting an orange glow upon the both of them. He could feel her magic intruding into the Gem, and it struck him how different it was to his own. His magic had conquered the Ruby, shaped it to his own sense of self, while hers followed the channels and facets designed to control the power. It feels different. Sharper? Hotter? And yet his worst fears were confirmed. She didnt have the words for it, but shed developed a sense for the magic forbidden for commoners. More practice, and shed be able to match him. But even her current skill level was more than enough to draw suspicion. He willed the Ruby to float back to him. Ooh, thats an odd touch, she said. I think I can feel your magic? He pulled out a pouch of raw Gems. They had been nothing to Mercy Stripstredecim de Omnio. They were a few years expenses for him. They were a life-changing amount for Mary. Youre being awfully somber, she said, her voice finally calming a little. Mary, I made a mistake. Everyone does. Its not any mistake, Mary. Its a mistake about you. I put you in danger. Mary smiled sadly at him. Its the Gems, isnt it? Yeah. Peasants using them enough to feel the power in them is super illegal. Now youll never be able to live a free and normal life. Hed screwed this up. There wasnt any other way to put it. I knew that, she said. What? 25 - The Maid Doesnt Agree With "Better To Reign in Hell Than to Serve in Heaven" I knew that, Archmund. Mary was a peasant, or lowborn, or a commoner, or whatever. Just not noble. Only nobles were supposed to be able to use magic. Mary hadnt truly used magic, but she definitely had the potential to. Which made her a criminal of the highest order. Unless she were to be bound to a noble family, one way or another. Something Archmund hadnt known, yet somehow she had. When you first came to me and asked me to try that exercise with the Gem? Struck me as something that could get me in hot water real quick. She smirked. When my auntie got me this job here, that was the first thing she told me any noble throws you a Gem as a gesture of goodwill and says you can play with it, hes playing a nasty trick on you. Do what he says, and hell have you in the palm of his hand for life. Because the more you use Gems, the harder it gets to pretend theyre just trinkets. But you listened to me. I figured if you actually had any screwed up designs on me, you wouldnt be stupid enough to walk up to me and ask me to pour as much magic as I could into a Gem until I passed out, she said. You couldve told me I was telling you to do something illegal, he said. He couldnt keep the pout out of his voice. Then you wouldve stopped me, she said. She was right. He would have. That was why he had brought it up. You still can, he said. He held out a pouch of raw Gems towards her. You could take these Gems. Trade them to the Venato merchants and say they were a gift from me. Take them and go anywhere in Omnio, live a new life as someone else. No one would know youd broken the law at all. Absolutely not, she said. Why? She leaned in and flicked his nose. He winced back. What would I even do with all that money, Archie? Start a store? Seems like a waste. Cant buy a mansion like yours unless its from a family thats truly fallen on hard times. I could live a pretty good life for a while, but I wouldnt get all the food and nice clothes I get from working here. Mary, if youre here, your lifes in danger. Unless you officially make me a servant of the Granavales for life, she said. And Id be awfully worried about that sort of thing, if I didnt know you. Youre nothing if not interesting. Archmund genuinely didnt know how to respond to any of that. Think about it, Arch. Making some weird sauce that even Barst barely ever saw. Telling me to do the same ridiculous training that you do to become stronger. Going into a Dungeon and coming out alive with no combat training. You think there are any better options for my life? Uh, yes? Belatedly he realized that in his past life hed had a very bad habit of downplaying his achievements in favor of beating himself up. But he was from a world replete in possibility, where there was a lot of social mobility. This world was still highly stratified. You think its easy for a peasant orphan girl to find herself a good life that isnt filled with drudgery, Archmund? Youre a hell of a boss you let me walk in the same path of power as you. If I wasnt here Id be a peddler or a scullery maid or a tavern wench or a spinstress and all of those are less well fed. Where else could I go?
Somehow, he had Marys undying loyalty which frankly made him uncomfortable. It was high time he made something of it. It wasnt hard to get Mary reassigned from her other duties to be his personal maid. The other staff had raised eyebrows, but one request to his father and Mary was swiftly reassigned. He was young enough that such a request didnt raise any questions, though he was fast approaching the age where it would and Mary made no secret of this fact. Youre awfully precocious, young master, she said sweetly the first day of her full reassignment. I know that, Archmund said. I fought my way through the Upper Subtier of a Dungeon at the age of nine. Thats very precocious. Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences. Mary suppressed a snort. So now that you have my undying loyalty just what is it that you want from me, young master? She was teasing him, just like theyd always been, yet there was a sheen of sweat upon her forehead. Perhaps her earlier bravado had been a bluff. He emphasized. This might have been an easier life than being part of the working class, but it certainly wasnt one with freedom. Plus, there was always the possibility that nice men could change for the worse upon getting power and authority. I know my life is in your hands, but please be merciful. Her voice was teasing, but her words rang with desperate truth. Archmund just couldnt resist messing with her. Just a little. As revenge for all the teasing. No other reason. Oh, youll find no mercy from me. You have no idea what hell youre in for. Do your worst, young master. She was defiant. He admired that about her. Shed signed up for this and resigned herself to an unknown fate, but even in the face of a potential turn to horror she stood strong. Are you absolutely, completely prepared? Whatever you throw at me, Ill take it on. You asked for it, he smirked. He reached for something on his desk. She winced, anticipating something harsh. And he shoved a book against her chest. She blinked. What? Im teaching you how to read, he said. Properly. Her face turned pale. She was actually scared of this. Youre serious. Completely. While Marys loyalty was nice to have, it wasnt useful yet. She had domestic skills cooking and cleaning. She also was at the very start of her journey with magic. These were not correlated. She wouldve helped with cooking and cleaning regardless of her pledge of loyalty. But it was obvious that the only reason Archmund had boosted above and beyond in terms of power was because of his basic knowledge of the laws of physics inherited from a past life. A half-remembered fact had allowed him to turn a trinket or flashlight into an invisible death ray. And the base for knowledge in depth was literacy. Ergo, Mary needed to learn to read. I already know how to read, Mary said blithely, her eyes shifting. Archmund frowned. Did she not like being reminded of things she wasnt capable of? He knew the feeling. If thats the case, how come you ask me to read Ardurs Faery Tales for you? I can do figures. Read ledgers. Do inventory, read those symbols. Anything a merchant would need, she said. Her eyes shifted evasively. So if you want me to start a business for you He believed her, but it frankly wasnt enough. Can you read a full sentence in plain language? Or a business contract? She didnt answer him. He had an ulterior motive as well. For one, he didnt want to spend a second longer than necessary reading through obscure legal contracts or mercantile agreements, so he needed to delegate. But more importantly, he wanted to see if he could powerlevel her reading ability. Was she subject to the same System logic as he was, even though she didnt have an insight into it? He hoped she was, hoped that she was governed by the same systems, that he wasnt some player character surrounded by NPCs. He wanted to believe that everyone around him was a real person. Maybe interaction with Gems gave the people to tap into stat-boosting activities, even if they didnt have direct insights into the System. Or maybe some people were just born different and better, and through mechanism of destiny those people ended up gaining Gemstone Tablets or Gem-Encrusted Books or some other way of peering into the System. Hopefully hed prove that last one wrong. One story a day, he said. Read one story a day to me out loud. But I I barely know any of these words. We can start with just one story until you get it right, then. You love this book. That doesnt mean I recognize anything that its saying! Back in his old life, in his old country, there had been a literacy crisis. People in America just hadnt been taught to read in a way that made sense. Instead of being taught phonics, how to sound out words from the noises their letters made, they were told to remember words from memory which had been the entirely wrong approach. He was reasonably sure he hadnt been a teacher, so he knew he wasnt 100% up to date on the most efficient way to teach people to read, but phonics was in reach. So if you know your alphabet, heres how it goes
Teaching Mary to read would be a long and somewhat tedious ordeal, but he was curious to see what she would achieve in the next hundred days. He was glad to have her loyalty, but he hoped she would be strong and confident so that one day, he could leave the tedium of managing his investment empire to her.
Archmund Granavale
Lifespan: 9/91
Stat Value Titles Achievements Bound Items Relationships > Skills (tap to expand)
Strength 9 (8 + 1) Granavale Heir (*new*) Reincarnated Memories Ruby of Energy (Awakened) > Familly (click to expand)
Dexterity 9 (8 + 1) Granavale Dungeon Tier 1 Conqueror Gemstone Sword (bound) Allies
Constitution 7 (6 + 1) Matricide Unshaped Gem (bound) Mary Alisdaughter di Granavale (linked - shared power)
Intelligence 8 (6 + 2) Language Teacher * Devoted Servant
Wisdom 8 (7 + 1) * Student
Charisma 6 > Angelina Grace Marca Prima Omnio (tap to expand)
Luck 5
26 - The Voice from the Highest Hill (totally not a metaphor) Every day for the next week, Mary read from Ardurs Fables. Every day, she stumbled over fewer words. Until shed mastered the Voice from the Highest Hill: This was The Voice from the Highest Hill:
Once upon a time, there was a little orphan boy. He lived in a small village that was surrounded by many great hills. The people of the village never went into these hills. They said there were bandits and beasts and demons living in these hills, and that if you went into the hills you would be lucky to escape with your life. The little orphan boy wasnt treated very well by the townspeople. Some said his parents had died in sin. Others whispered they had been criminals, and so his circumstances were a punishment for the sins of his father. Still others said his parents werent dead at all, but had instead gone into the hills to become bandits, mooching off of the charity of the town. The little orphan boy tried the best he could to fit in with the town. He did errands for anyone who would accept, even if they often cheated him at the end of the day. He shined their shoes and carried their parcels for them, even if they spat and kicked him when he knelt for them. He even offered to spend time in jail for them, if they were accused of drunken carousing. Though his treatment never truly improved, there was a warmth in his heart that one day they would accept him fully. One day, as he was standing at the edge of the fields to keep the wolves at bay for the shepherds, holding nothing but a short wooden stick, he heard a voice from the hills. Young boy, said the voice, Young boy, these are not people who deserve you. Follow my voice, and you shall be rewarded. Join me at the top of the Highest Hill. The little orphan boy remembered what everyone told him about the dangers of the hills, so he told the village elders about the voice he had heard. But they mocked and jeered at him. Oh, you are hearing voices! You have gone mad! they said. So he thought nothing more of it, and took their abuses and ran his errands once more. But the next time he was at the edge of the hills, collecting stones to make bear traps, the voice spoke to him again. Young boy, see how they mock and jeer. You have been chosen by my voice, and you shall be given the world you deserve. Once more he ignored the voice. This time, he did not tell the village elders. But he did not heed the call. Again their abuses continued. Now the little orphan boy had grown into a young man, and the whispers around him grew only stronger. None of the young ladies could bear to be near him at all, and the other young men often beat him with sticks to ward him away. One day, after they dumped him at the edge of the hills, he heard the voice once more. Come to the Highest Hill, said the voice. And there you shall find a place for you. So the young man journeyed. He had been beaten by many sticks for a very long time, and now people were starting to refuse his offers to do errands in order to keep him from being in the same houses as their daughters. He climbed the hills, which were empty. No brigands, beasts, or demons bothered him. But there at the top of the Highest Hill, there was nothing. But he could see the clear blue sky stretching into infinity, and endless lands beyond his little village. His little village was trapped in a tiny circle of hills, and the rest of the world stretched out before him. And so, although there was nothing upon the Highest Hill, the young man walked into the endless horizon and never returned to the village.
Why do you like this story, Mary? Archmund said. He had mixed feelings, personally. You dream of it too, she said. I can tell. Dream of what? Leaving this place. Leaving Granavale County. Being more than this. Mary, I literally cant, Archmund said. Im the heir. Id be giving up so much in doing that and youve sworn your loyalty because of the whole magic thing. Stolen novel; please report. I know, Mary said with a sigh. I know all of that. But its still nice to dream, isnt it? That a voice will call you to your purpose, and youll be able to walk into a world full of possibility? He knew the feeling. But there was just a lot that made sense to do first. Someday he would leave, and he would be free, and nobility would be wings instead of chains. Yet somehow in this life hed stumbled into achievements that were also burdens. She gave his shoulder a comforting squeeze, then went off to practice reading on her own. When she left, he opened up his Gemstone Tablet and tapped on her entry in his stat sheet.
Mary Alisdaughter di Granavale (linked - shared power)
* Devoted Servant
* Student
He jabbed at the entry, trying to see if he could pull any more detail out of it, until after some convoluted sequence of button presses he finally somehow saw her stat sheet.
Mary Alisdaughter di Granavale
Lifespan: 14/95
Stat Value Titles Achievements Bound Items Relationships Skills
Strength 4 Personal Maid of Archmund Granavale Literate Commoner ??? Archmund Granavale (Contractual Master) Mundane:
Dexterity 5 ??? Cleaning
Constitution 5 ??? Cooking
Intelligence 7 ??? Magic Sense
Wisdom 6 Reading
Charisma 8
Luck 5
Her intelligence had improved. Of that much he was sure. It had only been just a week, and shed never been a slouch by any means, but it wasnt necessarily normal for someone to go to bare minimum literacy to being able to read a 600-word story, even if they devoted that entire week to practice. Or maybe it was. He had no idea of knowing since hed never actually studied pedagogy. But it was working. The System benefited her, somehow. And somehow he could see it.
He wouldnt be neglecting his own development by any means. Hed been passively charging his harvested Gemgear as much as he could spare, draining himself to exhaustion every night. Thanks to his increased magical reserves, hed attained an equilibrium state of the following stats:
Ruby of Energy 850/1000 100%
Quartz of Barrier 150/1000 1%
Gemstone Sword 150/100 10%
Unshaped Gem 0/0 214.00
Some of these numbers made much less sense than he wouldve liked. But in times like this, it was smartest to prioritize. Hed been constantly at risk of dying down in the Dungeon. He wouldnt have someone to defend him every time he wanted to risk his life. The way to go forward was the Quartz of Barrier.
He stood at the top of the hill beneath the apple tree, and pulled the Quartz of Barrier from his waist pouch. A good amount of his magic had infused the Quartz. The way his magic flowed through the Quartz felt distinctly different from how it had in the Ruby. In the Ruby, it had felt like power flowing through a circuit, electrons bumping against each other, directed into vortexes by the crystalline structure. In the Quartz, his power built up. He could feel six distinct pools of power where his power collected, as stable as slabs of stone. As more of his power flowed into the Quartz, the harder it was to keep going. Still he persisted perhaps foolishly and futilely, but it was a method that had worked before with his Ruby. It felt like stacking rocks on top of each other to build a wall. The first bit was easy, dragging rocks from around the ground into a straight line, without needing to exert his upper body much at all. But the more that the wall got built, the more he had to use the rest of his body. Lifting the stones in order to build the wall to waist level, and then above his head to build it high enough to block a man. After an hour or so of channeling his magic, he checked his Gemstone Tablet. It felt like he had done a full workout. Though his muscles didnt ache, there was a deep weariness in his soul akin to as if he had just run a marathon.
Quartz of Barrier 180/1000 3%
He felt a rush of dopaminergic excitement that he immediately tamped down. Was this what his life was reduced to? Straining for an hour to watch a number go up thirty points? Hed been a degenerate gamer in his past life. He was certain of that. He loved watching numbers go up. Fake numbers, his stock market portfolio, all sorts of things. If there was a number, he liked to watch it go up. But this felt horrifically inefficient. At this current rate, it would take him another month to charge the Quartz to full, and even then he wouldnt have access to any of its techniques. No, there was a much better way to learn that hed never truly had a chance to implement in his past life: Project-based learning. 27 - Project-Based Learning is the Fastest Way to Learn The idea behind project-based learning was simple: It was common for young men and women in his previous life to sit through over a decade of formal education. They would sit for hours in factory-like classroom having facts and principles drilled into them, but upon joining the working world, they would be confronted with a simple fact: You could learn all sorts of theory and ideas through formal schooling, but you learned so much more on the job. Project-based learning short-circuited that. Instead of bothering with the theory, supposed facts that had a thousand extra complexities once implemented in reality, and principles that had never been tested, why not simply learn by doing? And so the Quartz of Barrier was Archmunds latest "project. The goal was straightforward: Hed seen the Ghost of All Granavale (ignoring the little voice in his head that thought of it as his mother) redirect powerful bolts of electricity and create an invisible wall that blocked all magical attacks. It had even cocooned itself in fire to melt a barrage of slag. If he could duplicate these efforts, he would be much more durable. An arrow to the face or knife to the back would still kill him, but a lightning bolt would not. It was, of course, unproductive to chastise himself for not having thought of his sooner. That ran counter to a growth mindset, and this was a brand new world and of course he couldnt expect to be familiar with everything. Plus, over the course of the past week or so, hed been charging up the Quartz to make sure it could support his weirder experiments. If he hadnt built a solid foundation with his Ruby, he never wouldve unlocked the great and menacing power of the Infrared Lance. He really hoped this wasnt cope. The next day, Archmund woke up to the annoying realization that he didnt actually know how to use the Quartz to deflect energy, nor would he know if it worked unless someone was actually attacking him. His control over the Quartz was outright primitive compared to his Ruby. He tried drawing the Quartz to him and managed to levitate it above his palm, but if he tried floating it in front of him it fell to the carpeted floor of his room. The first few times hed tried that, hed assumed it was because he didnt have enough magic stored in it or that maybe it was just inherently too heavy. But after sneaking down to the kitchens to compare the weights of his Gems, he had to concede that he just hadnt practiced enough. So when Mary came to his room to do her reading for the day, he interrupted her before she could speak and led her to the apple tree on the hill. The sun was gentle in the sky, yet there was a fierce yet inconsistent wind that wafted the grasses back and forth. Archie, what are we doing here? Try this, he said, giving her the Ruby that hed taken from the Ghost of All Granavale. Unlike his own, personal Ruby, this one was octahedral. Wow, its huge! she said. He winced. It was in fact significantly larger than any other of his Gems. Point it down the hill. He could feel his own magic in the Ruby, swirling and pooling, even if it was also distant, yet he still wasnt used to the sensation when she added her own magic to it, gliding gently within and past his own, readily plunging into the crystalline channels of the Gem and manifesting as An ember, about the size of a golf ball, spurted from the tip of the octahedral Ruby and flew down the hill. It landed in a patch of grass. Archmund ran down to it to stamp it out, but there was no need it had sputtered out, quenched by the last drops of the morning dew. Unauthorized use of content: if you find this story on Amazon, report the violation. Do that again! he shouted up the hill at Mary. What? I said to do that again! Just so Im hearing that right, youre asking me, a peasant, to attack you, a noble, with a magic fireball? she shouted back. A crime worthy of death? I think you crossed that line already! he shouted back. Many times! She smirked. Before he could react, another ember was flying right towards him. He raised his Quartz, gripping it with all five of his fingers, remembering how the Ghost of All Granavale had wielded it to split Mercys lightning into inconsequential little sparks, and he forced more and more of his magic into it as Marys fireball flew closer and closer, and the Quartz vibrated within his hand, screaming for release, even as the fireball drew closer and closer, and just as it was about to hit A searing pain as the fireball hit the Gem head-on, undeflected, deforming into a cone of flame that enveloped his fingers. It dissipated into the morning air as quickly as it had came, but his fingers were red with a light burn. Mary rushed down to him. Im so sorry, young master Dont be, Archmund said, gritting his teeth (which his dentists in his past life had emphasized was very bad for their long-term integrity). Pain is a good motivator. Still, Mary said. She reached into the pockets of her uniform and pulled out a durable-looking glove. These are heat-resistant! Stoborrowed them from the kitchens. Archmund frowned. He pulled out his own Ruby and blasted the edge of the glove with his Infrared Lance. It smoked, glowing slightly orange with combustion. I dont want to be wearing one of these if it catches on fire. I doubt Im that strong. Yet, he said. I bet you could do it if you werent afraid of hurting me. Which made it a much more reasonable risk, all things considered. He could avoid permanent scarring on his fingers from training accidents, and Mary could go all out in her training. He slipped the glove on. Mary went back up the hill. She waited for his signal. He didnt give it. Perhaps he simply didnt understand the mechanism of the Quartz well enough. The Ruby followed an obvious physical logic. It made light. Light was electromagnetic energy. EM energy had different forms depending on its wavelength and could be focused and strengthened under constructive interference. Thus, Infrared Lance and Microwave. The Quartz of Barrier was actual magic. It defied obvious explanation. The Ghost of All Granavale had used it to split lightning and make barriers impenetrable to energy. How could such things function given his understanding of physical laws? Even if they were magic, hed drawn out a hidden power of the Ruby by understanding the physical world. Destructive interference was the first thing that came to mind. In the ocean, two waves coming at each other from different directions or even just at an angle would collide, interfering with each other, breaking the force of each so that neither had any true power. The same applied to waves of light, energy, and the very quantum waveforms that composed all matter down at its root. (He had no idea whether quantum mechanics applied in this universe, but that wouldnt be all that difficult to test. The double-slit effect was hard to formalize but easy to demonstrate. All you needed was a set of blinds though it was a matter for later.) But a barrier that was universal, that worked on both arcs of superheated plasma and invisible infrared lasers and balls of fire? That spoke to something more fundamental or more innovative something capable of adapting. Something that drew upon the realm of ideals as opposed to the realm of logical science. To embody and incarnate the ideal of Barrier, as opposed to generating one via constructing a medium that vibrated with the exact destructive resonance of whatever energy was hitting it at the moment. He was unsure which paradigm he was operating in. And yet perhaps he was overthinking it. The entire orthodoxy around Gems was that anyone could use them, even if only nobles could draw out their true potential. Therefore, if he just dumped power into the Gem with the intent of using it for its purpose, he would learn how to use it. All of his training with the Quartz had been trying to mimic that of the Ruby. Instead of generating shields and using the Quartz for its doom-driven purpose, he had tried to mimic the expertise hed had with the Ruby. There was a lesson here. He was sure it would be important some time in the future. He caught Marys eye, and gave her a thumbs up. She fired. And he simply didnt think. He held the Quartz in front of him and let his magic flow into it from that deep place in his soul. He ignored the sensations. He ignored his theories. He ignored his memories. He just let the magic flow. He ignored that there was a System that governed this world, and that his Attunement with the Quartz could be boiled down into a set of numbers. Because hed mastered his Infrared Lance long before he knew that the System existed, and hed done so from thinking really really hard. But before that, before hed delved into his memories in desperation, hed done something much more fundamental: He had practiced the basic skill of giving his all when using a magic Gem. And it had paid rich dividends. Marys fireball flew towards him. He was ready. 28 - Using Project Based Learning to Learn How to Set Things on Fire Marys fireball flew towards him, and burst around his fist harmlessly. There was a shield of something, about three inches away from his outstretched fist, that kept the fire from hitting him, making it dissipate harmlessly in the morning air. Woo hoo! Mary shouted from atop the hill. You did it! Again! he shouted. Give me a second! she said. Its draining! He supposed that would be another area of development for the both of them. Hed spent a bunch of time pouring his energy into his Gems as his primary mode of self-development, but she had to do that while also learning how to read properly. And yet it was imperative that they both keep at these basic exercises. Ralph Waldo Emerson, an essayist in his previous life, had written on the necessity of both genius and drill. Genius was the brilliant creative spark that allowed for truly great transformations and innovation, but drill was the rote, tedious acts of doing and practicing and memorizing and assembling. The transformative manifestation of Genius came only after the skills and abilities had been developed and cultivated through drill. That had been his takeaway, at least. He hadnt read the actual essay in a lifetime. It was entirely possible hed jumbled it up with decades of later life observations, like how CEOs of innovative companies, like Jensen Huang of Nvidia, were often builders and engineers themselves. He shook his head to clear it. The words Jensen Huang or Nvidia or computer chips or AI meant nothing in this world, which was deeply and profoundly reliant on magic for a significant portion of its industry. Are you feeling better yet? he shouted up the hill. Just a few more minutes Mary panted. He supposed she wasnt as powerful as he was, as he walked up the hill to join her. She hadnt practiced as hard or as smart as he had, if that made sense. Hed charged his Ruby to exhaustion, building up his magical reserves, while shed also had to do the daily tasks of being a maid of the Granavale Household. Once shed been freed of that daily burden, hed demanded that she learn how to read. The wind picked up and blew fiercely as he reached her. Just a bit more, Mary said. Her long, black hair was frazzled, and she swayed on her feet. Archmund caught her as she stumbled forward just half an inch and lowered her to the ground. You can rest if you want, he said. She shook her head. Cant. Cant let you pull so far ahead of me Then practice more, he said. Mastering the Quartz under a live fire situation would have to wait until he had partners able and willing to attack him for real. Briefly he considered asking his father to help or to hire a specialized magic tutor. His fierce independent streak resisted the idea, but he had to admit that maybe reaching out to an expert, now that Granavale County could afford the tuition fees, might be a worthwhile investment in himself. That was a matter for later. He held out his hand, and Mary grabbed it, pulling herself to her feet. She was still sweating, her cheeks were flushed, and her breath was ragged. No. You keep resting, Archmund said. Thats an order. She dropped down to the ground and pouted. Fine. If you insist, young master. Be as sarcastic as you want. I can tell thats an order you dont actually have any issues with, he said. Give me the Ruby. Wordlessly she passed it to him. There was no static jump between their fingers as she handed it over when it wasnt in use, it was an inert rock. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. He turned to look down the hill. The wind had picked up, rolling the golden fields of grain of Granavale County. There were a few commoners out in the fields, just starting with the early harvest. Archmund didnt recognize some of them. The Omnio Empire wasnt strictly under a feudal system, where commoners were serfs legally restricted to parcels of land, and so bands of migrant workers often journeyed throughout the Empire chasing the harvest season for different crops. He hadnt paid enough attention to the seasons in this world. Hed had other concerns. Yet now those concerns had snuck up on him and become, for lack of better words, unavoidable. Hed wanted to live a nice, quiet life under his own direction, yet out of the fear of extreme poverty that plagues medieval worlds, or even the fear of becoming an impoverished foreign noble like those that existed in Great Britain right around the end of World War One, hed risked his life diving into an extremely dangerous Dungeon and through that gained the economic resources to start the revitalization of his home. He had, very unfortunately, made himself Mildly Important, and taken the responsibilities akin to that. He let his magic flow into the Octahedral Ruby, and a fireball formed at one of its eight points. He quenched it before it could grow larger than his fist. He wasnt drained by that at all. Nobles are just better at this, huh? Mary said. Shed tied her hair back into a ponytail. Though her voice was more normal, her breathing was still heavy. He wanted to tell her this was the result of a hundred days of slavish practice. But hed told her to do the same, and yet she hadnt had the same results. Had she just not tried hard enough? If he asked that, it would have been an insult yet maybe it was one that was deserved. He chastised himself. Sure, maybe she sucked at magic and wouldnt be a great bodyguard, or maybe he was running into some issue with the magic system that wasnt obvious, but shed made an amazing amount of progress in learning how to read over the course of a week. I dont believe that, he said, mostly for himself. The idea that some people are just better from birth Im not sure it makes any sense. Its true though, Mary said. My cousin, hes a bit slow. We wanted him to man the counter like all the rest of us, but he always got distracted by the shapes of the coins or the knickknacks and wasnt able to memorize all the tender. We taught him everything in the same way as the rest of us me and my cousins, that is and he just wasnt able to pick it up. He really didnt want to armchair diagnose her adoptive brother, as tempted as he was to suggest that he wasnt thinking slow so much as thinking differently. And looking at you, Archie, with how good you do magic and how you survived going into a Dungeon? Its hard not to believe that some people just are born better. He resisted the urge to snap at her. She didnt deserve that. It was practice. He was sure of it. It had to have been practice. Maybe this was his impostor syndrome working up again, but he had another reason to reject the idea of inborn differences: If inborn differences were the largest factor for power and success in this world, as the nobility liked to encourage, then he would never exceed his station in life. Thered be no chance of him rivaling the Princess Angelina Grace Prima Marca Omnio in power, despite how far hed climbed so far. Archie, Mary said, her voice concerned. A world strictly defined by caste and bloodline could not be one with meaningful progression; such things struck him as nigh impossible. Entropy inevitably won out over order; such strong societal lines inevitably became suggestions. Archie! Mary said again. If such a world was inevitable, then noble families would be have sprawling, labyrinthine lines of descent, bloodlines tracked ruthlessly to eliminate any who might be a threat or to keep an eye on those who could be useful. Those with power had leverage over those who did not. If blood and power were absolute, then some counterbalance had to exist for any semblance of the rule of law to emerge which it had. Archmund, Mary said, her voice rising. No, he rejected this ideology that society was governed by birth alone. And he would raise Mary up and make her as powerful a mage as himself if that was what it took to prove it. Young master! Mary shouted. But maybe he was in the wrong. Maybe his high-minded ideals of equality and equity, born from a world where vaccines existed and literacy was widespread and food was plentiful, legitimately werent compatible with his new circumstances. Maybe he was bearing the flag of meritocratic elitism to a world where such things were actually impossible, so he could justify his own achievements as a result of his hard work instead of the circumstances of his rebirth. Maybe he was a colonizer from another world. SIR ARCHMUND GRANAVALE! Mary shouted, her voice taking all the breath she had. Archmund whipped to face her, but then he did a double-take as the air suddenly felt lighter and cooler. In his spiraling thoughts, hed unconsciously been feeding magic into the Octahedral Ruby. It had grown, first to the size of a golf ball, then a baseball, then a basketball. And then it had the size of one of those bouncy yoga balls that were used primarily for stretching exercises. But not for long; when Mary shouted his name, his concentration had broken, and hed released the fireball. As he watched, it flew down the hill and impacted a patch of grass. The morning dew had quenched some of it, but the autumn grass was dry enough that the flames lingered and grew. The fire ate through the meadow grass, leaving an ever-expanding circle of burnt earth in its wake. Archmund swore. 29 - Oh no! My Project-Based Learning Has Set Things on Fire! Archmund swore. He rushed down the hill towards the expanding ring of fire. This was absolutely the worst time he couldve lost control of himself. He hadnt studied the ecosystem of Granavale County or its fire management systems nearly well enough to know if this was normal or the start of a horrific tragedy, but he had no intention of starting a brushfire just before the Harvest Festival. Regardless of the actual danger, it was a terrible omen. He reached into the pouch at his waist. He had his tetrahedral Ruby, but it wouldnt be of much use. The techniques hed mastered were Infrared Lance and Microwave. Both could start fires. Neither could quench them. He had his Quartz of Barrier. He could shield himself from bursts of fire, but he knew he was very far from being able to create a circular barrier that could keep the fires contained. He had to try. This land was his land. He was Archmund, heir to Granavale, and these lands were his to govern and guard. If he let them burn now, when he had put so much into raising them up, he would be a failure and also it would just cost a lot to rebuild all of this and to buy grain from other parts of the Empire. The fire was hotter than hed expected. It was the contrast against the cold morning air and the brisk winds. He could bear it, as he had in the Dungeon, but the heat clawed at his skin. He held the Quartz of Barrier in front of him and swung it through the air in an arc. Nothing happened. Methods of putting out a fire either deprived it of fuel or deprived it of air. Normal fires, when not sustained by magic, needed both. In time, if he mastered the Quartz of Barrier, he would be able to do both. He considered using his Infrared Lance to burn barriers into the plains a controlled burn, designed to stop an uncontrolled fire from spreading wildly. He dismissed it almost immediately, as he knew there was a real risk he would make things worse. And that was how he ended up pinching his nose, waving the smoke out of his eyes, and wildly stomping on bits of fire as it spread. It looked extremely silly. It was also incredibly ineffective. If he could run back to the manor or the town, he could get some help, maybe a bucket brigade or maybe one of the Water Gems that they allocated to the gardeners. But that meant letting the fire spread. Even as he stomped, he channeled his magic into the Quartz, trusting that it would somehow help. And it did but only for his comfort. His boots stopped smoldering, and his legs didnt feel as hot. But it didnt help directly with putting out the flame, it just made him less painful in doing so. He stopped, dropped, and rolled, using his body like a steamroller across the edge of the ring of fire. It didnt hurt, but it didnt work very well. Just when he was about to despair, the air fell still. He gasped for breath, and drew little. The air was thin. Sound was distant. The crackling fire quieted. He sucked in a breath, then another, but the air was gone. It wasnt from the fire. There was a vacuum. Then, with the tumult of the four winds, the air rushed back in. It rushed over him, the atmospheric torrent roaring like a waterfall as it filled the vacuum, and he was grateful that he was already lying down for it would have knocked him to his feet. When the winds quieted, he pushed himself up. There was a figure not twenty paces from him, at the foot of the hills. Mary smiled sheepishly at him. Sorry? Though she drew deep breaths, she seemed fully energized. But that wasnt what drew Archmunds eye. She held a glistening hand fan, crystallized of the purest Gemstone. I guess theres no hiding it now, huh?
That was more than enough excitement for one day, so they started walking back to Granavale Manor. Since she walked ahead of him, he discreetly checked his skills.
(new) Bodily Barrier
So that was why his clothes hadnt burned.
So howd you get that? he said, casually, gesturing to his fan. If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. You gave it to me. I did? He vaguely remembered dragging a bunch of the spoils of war into Granavale Manor the day hed come out of the Dungeon, hoping to keep them in storage, before collapsing into his bed and falling asleep. He supposed it made sense that hed given some to Mary to hold. I guess I did, he said. You did, she said. There was something unidentifiable in her voice. Did everyone see me do it? Your father. The cook. The head maid. Not too many people, she said, not looking back at him. Wonderful. This could provide plausible deniability. If anyone asked why she suddenly became smarter or stronger or stealthier after coming into his personal employ, he could simply point at the Gemstone Handfan hed given her in public view of all the servants. It wasnt unheard of for commoners to wield Gemgear they made up the bulk of Mercy Stirpstredecim di Omnios Sacred Guard, after all and they werent bound to their noble lords for life. Commoners wearing Gemgear would improve their strength far more than others, until they could walk the world as heroes. And this way if Mary wanted to leave, she could. Shed only imagined a life as a lowborn woman, but now, even if she didnt realize it, she could be a hero.
So can you do that again? The next day, they stood at the base of the hill with the apple tree, about twenty paces apart. It was technically Marys day off, so she was wearing a simple green shirt and brown canvas jeans. It was a lot more practical than her maid uniform. She held up her Gemstone Handfan. It caught the morning light, refracting the sun through a thousand emerald facets. She gave it a cursory wave. Nothing happened. Archmund frowned. Are you putting your magic into it? What does that feel like? You know when you charge a Ruby, you feel something happening inside of your soul and your spirit, and it made the light happen? Thats with Gems. If you give Gems magic they release their Enchantment, Mary said. Everyone knows that. But what on earth is this fan supposed to do for me? Nevertheless, she tried. Archmund had no idea if anything was happening he could only sense Marys magic when it mingled with his own donated reservoirs, pooled in his Rubies but the next time Mary gave a swing of her fan, a gust blew past him. Huh, Mary said, looking at Gemstone Fan. I guess it works. Now can you do that thing with the vacuum? With the what? This world lacked the wide cultural context of vacuums. There were doubtless scientists in their hallowed halls creating vacuum chambers for testing purposes, but vacuum cleaners were decades of innovation away, and so domestic servants like Mary had little reason to know or care. You made the air go away, Archmund said. Can you do that again? Mary gave the fan a few more waves, and a few more gusts of wind blew past Archmund, but nothing like the crippling majesty of the vacuum. She shrugged apologetically. Ill say one thing, this sure is easier than using your Rubies! she said. There was a lot to unpack there. Maybe Mary was better suited for Gemgear than Gems outright, but hed never given her a Gem he hadnt already claimed for himself. In a moment of fear and pressure, Mary had demonstrated an immense control over the winds via her Gemstone Handfan. Without an acute existential stressor, she was unable to reproduce such power. Hed heard of how adrenaline could push the human body past its natural safeguards and allow it to access immense strength stories of how mothers would be able to life a two-ton car in order to free their trapped children and it seemed like it might apply to magic too. Try it again, I want to try something, he said. This time, when Mary waved his fan, he raised his Quartz of Barrier and fed it his magic. He felt nothing. Are you doing it? Look around you, she said, rolling her eyes with a smirk as she waved her fan again. He glanced to the side, where the grasses were roiling and the first fallen autumn leaves flew past him wildly. And yet he felt nothing. Huh, he said, looking at his Quartz of Barrier. I guess it just works? Mary shrugged.
When he got home, he checked his Gemstone Tablet to look for changes in his stats
Archmund Granavale
Lifespan: 9/91
Stat Value > Titles (tap to expand) > Achievements (tap to expand) > Bound Items (tap to expand) Relationships > Skills
Strength 9 (8 + 1) Ruby of Energy (Awakened) > Familly (tap to expand) Heat
Dexterity 9 (8 + 1) Gemstone Sword (bound) > Allies (tap to expand) Infrared Lance
Constitution 7 (6 + 1) Unshaped Gem (bound) Microwave
Intelligence 8 (6 + 2) (*new*) Bodily Barrier
Wisdom 8 (7 + 1) > Mundane Skills (tap to expand)
Charisma 6
Luck 5
His Charisma had increased. The only thing he could think of related to that was his efforts invested in teaching Mary to read and to use her own level of magic, but other than that his stats hadnt changed. Hed maintained his pushup routine, but it seemed like he was starting to hit diminishing returns on that for of exercise. His Constitution had increased. Perhaps that was a reflection of his cardio level, or perhaps it was a passive ability granted by Bodily Barrier. He tapped the Items tab to expand it to greater detail.
Item Reservoir Attunement Awakening
Ruby of Energy 855/1000 100% 1
Quartz of Barrier 101/1000 15%
Gemstone Sword 150/100 10%
Unshaped Gem 0/0 214.00
Ruby of Energy (Octahedral) 50/1000 1%
There was only one major change in the status of his items: Despite depleting the Reservoir of his Quartz of Barrier, his Attunement had jumped from 3% to 15% from his practice session with Mary. There was something to this project-based learning thing after all! And yet. He was just guessing which projects would be most effective. It was blindingly obvious that he didnt know enough about the fundamentals of magic. He was groping around like an idiot via trial and error, when his peers, like the Princess Angelina Grace Marca Prima Omnio, had the best private tutors money could buy since the age of four. He needed a magic teacher. 30 - Whenever I Forget How Insufferable Geniuses Are, I get a Rude Reminder Archmund gave his father a minimal list of requirements for a magic teacher. First, any teacher had to be competent both at theory and at practice. A purported mage who only knew theoretical gemology was useless; a pure practitioner who cast based on intuition wouldnt transmit their knowledge effectively. Second, any teacher had to be good at teaching and not a jackass. Hed dealt enough with egotripping professors and gatekeepers in his past life, and though the scars of that psychic trauma had been mellowed by his rebirth, he was young again. Those scars could be inflicted anew. In his past life, hed lost people grandparents, friends, mentors and yet the loss of his mother had felt wholly fresh and new. Some pains always did. Third and this, surprisingly, was the point his father had argued with him the most on any teacher had to be affordable. Magic teachers came at all price points, within the range of the nobility. Rich merchants who married into the nobility might arrange for a weekends worth of magic lessons for the cost of a fancy meal, without truly dedicating them to their craft, for the novelty of being allowed to use magic. These noveau riche would be lent Gems with flashy-but-useless Enchantments solely for the duration of the lessons Gems to manipulate a wine glasss worth of water, just enough to make fancy sculptures mid-air. Attuning these Gems was almost impossible, since theyd passed through so many hands, but that was fine. Attunement wasnt the point. The point was to feel like a real mage or wizard, even if only for an afternoon. It was rather like adult pottery or painting lessons that urban professionals did in Archmunds past life. Not meant to become a serious focus, just meant to be fun. On the other end of the spectrum, the Imperial Family had spared no expense in turning Princess Angelina Grace Prima Marca Omnio into a lethal military-grade mage. Shed been granted a shapeshifting Gem and an electromagnetic-spectrum-control Gem at very young ages, and now that she was Archmunds age she could kill at a whim and commanded the authority of a hundred men. Immense wealth could buy immense magical power. His father could spend a decade of Granavale revenues on one magic teacher, but it would be an entirely selfish expenditure. It would equip him to do any of the jobs suitable for an Imperially sanctioned mage with little regard for the fate or well-being or provenance of Granavale County. Maybe his father had seen the writing on the wall, and known there was no true future for him here in Granavale County, and so wanted to empower him to reach escape velocity from his backwater home. He chose to ignore that thought. Two weeks later, he was surprised when his father told him hed brought a suitable magic teacher back from the University of Imperial Mages at no trivial expense for such a short timeframe. Hed thought his fathers first priority would have been the Harvest Festival. But his father had simply smiled no expense for his beloved son was too much, after all, and directed him into the sitting room. He was even more surprised when said magic teacher appeared to be a teenage girl, barely older than Mary, slouching in one of the red-velveted armchairs. She sprang up as he and Mary entered, and then awkwardly fell back into her chair as they sat down across from her. The teacher had shoulder-length straight orange-red hair, pale freckled skin, and wore large circular glasses that made her eyes look large. Beyond that, she was dressed in the standard regalia of the University of Imperial Mages a long purple robe with a brimmed purple hat. She looked like the spitting image of a young witch who was looking for a lost cat in the Alps. How old are you? Archmund said, before she could introduce herself. He was pretty sure the University of Imperial Mages was post-secondary education, since it was a University he certainly hadnt expected to join before turning 20. Either she was petite, or she was young. Didnt your mother tell you its not polite to ask a lady her age? My mother is dead. Oh. Sorry. Im fifteen, which makes me almost twice your age? One-and-two-thirds times. He didnt like being a pedant. Nobody liked pedants. But she was coming off really arrogant. Oh, I was rounding. You never know if they teach fractions out here. We have money out here, you know, Mary said. You need fractions for that. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. Is this your bodyguard? the witch said, scurrying over to peer at Mary over her glasses. Hmmm. Not bad, a bit on the malnourished side, but magic should backflow and fix that. She tried to grope Marys muscles, but Mary shoved her away. The witch hummed inquisitively. Very interesting. Theres definitely a sense of a magical bond, but youve got some surprisingly well developed magic of your own hmmm Is it too late to get you another teacher, young master? Mary asked pointedly. This one seems Hey, Ill have you know that Im already a Master myself in the University, the mage said. Ive been one for a few years already. No way. Is that supposed to mean something? Archmund said. Being a Master means youre a full member of the college as opposed to a Neophyte or an Apprentice, Mary said. But Its true. Ask your father, said the witch. The names Raehel. Im famous for being one of the youngest Masters in the past century I achieved it at thirteen! I was going to say its not the highest rank, Mary said peevishly. The higher ranks are all politics, not skill, Raehel said. Is Raehel your whole name? Archmund asked. He was used to more elaborate names, even though his own was rather simple: Archmund Granavale. But next to names like Mercy Stirstredecim di Omnio or Angelina Grace Prima Marca Omnio or Mary Alisdaughter di Granavale a name that was just Raehel felt hard to imagine. Oh, I had other names before I joined the University. Raehel Janusbastarddaughter, or Raehel Urchin. But these days I prefer to go by Raehel the Genius, or Raehel the Magnificent, or Master Raehel. Archmund winced at hearing that. He wasnt sure whether her detached arrogance or implied sad backstory worried him more. And if you need someone to teach you magic, theres no one better than me! Raehel said. Hmmm, Archmund said slowly. Raehel, you strike me as a genius. You wouldnt be the first person to call me that. And I specifically remember telling my father that any teacher I had should be good at teaching. Which geniuses often have trouble with, he said. Hey, Im great with kids! Im more than half your age! Which makes you a kid, Raehel said smugly, as if that settled anything. He couldnt tell if she was serious or if she was toying with him, as if it mattered either way. Were you really the best he could get? Archmund said, a bit more harshly than hed intended. Her face fell instantly. She recoiled, as if physically struck. He genuinely didnt realize people could do that. I I get that a lot. Raehel seemed a lot less bubbly than she had before, and Archmund felt a pain of empathy. It was never easy being a precocious kid. He knew that better than anyone else. Yet here he was tearing at someone in the same position. Well, he already paid you and brought you out here, Archmund said. You might as well teach me what you planned. Mary gave him a reproachful look, her mouth opening and closing. He knew there was a chance Raehel might be an abrasive teacher, but she couldnt possibly be worse than fumbling through things alone until he started another wildfire. Really? I mean, I hope youre ready for this! What is magic? Raehel said, in a melodramatic theatrical voice. The shifting of the tides? The divination of the future? The sacred words of the dead? They were starting with theory. Raehel had switched out her witch hat for a hood that cast her face in shadow, though the effect was muted somewhat by her fiery hair. She had also laid a perfectly spherical gem, far larger than any of the raw gems that hed harvested from the Granavale Dungeon, on the table of the sitting room. Shed also insisted on drawing the curtains, to set the mood. He thought it was rather silly, but Mary had obliged, saying it would be fun. It is all of these and more, Raehel said, the power to master the self and the world, to rule heaven and earth in a way no king or Emperor would ever dare but its also control of the five elements. The five elements, Archmund said flatly. This was simplistic. The five Omnio elements, said Raehel. Fire, Earth, Air, Water, and Numen, the divine spark in all things, were first declared by the Emperor and great natural philosopher Alexander Omnio I, over two thousand years ago. Uh huh, Archmund said, nodding dumbly. This was depressingly simplistic. This was also far too much of a coincidence to actually be a coincidence. Shed said the word numen outright, the Roman word for the concept of divinity that permeated the universe or something. The elements, of course, aligned with the five western classical elements, with Numen taking the place of Aether. Alexander Omnio I had almost certainly been a reincarnated Roman. Of course, thats the beginner level, Raehel said. Now, once you really start digging into the matter and well leave out Numen for now, because it really is something a lot more complicated you realize that Water and Earth relate to the manipulation of gross matter, while Fire and Air are akin to the transmission of energy. That got his attention. Air is matter though, he said. Gas, specifically. Mmm, you know more than I thought you would! He raised an eyebrow. She didnt elaborate further. Mmmm, she said. Then she blew a stream of air from her mouth and it lightly brushed his face, even from several feet away. Air is so diffuse that any disturbance of it might as well be control of energy rather than matter, Raehel said. The magical schools treat it as a medium through which power is transmitted, instead of form outright. I can manipulate it so easy even with this form of flesh and blood. Who talked like that? Does anyone actually think of magic in terms of the four classical elements anymore, or is it just a useful teaching tool? he said. Oh, youre really quite clever! Its a teaching tool. And why is it necessary at all? he said. Because with Gems, you just give them power and they just do things. You dont need all of this theory. He suspected there was more to that, because his knowledge of the electromagnetic spectrum had been very useful in drawing out the potential of his Ruby, turning it from a Ruby of Light to a Ruby of Light. Because natural science reveals how the world works and lets you draw more power out of Gems than is first obvious! Alright, he was right on the money with that one. Youve completely lost me, Mary said. Ah, Archmund said. Do you think Ahhhhh, Raehel said. You want her trained up too. I gotcha. But if were doing that, well need a full syllabus. 31 - A Syllabus, the Bare Minimum for Serious Learning Raehel was, like many professorly types, extremely scatterbrained. That much was obvious from even an hour of speaking with her. Somehow, she managed to scribble a rough syllabus on a piece of parchment, after an hour and a half amount of back-and-forth. She wanted to spend a few hours discussing the Five Omnio Solids (which were what he knew as the Platonic Solids, another highly convenient renaming), and their philosophical underpinnings and how they related to specific aspects of the Empires bureaucracy. Archmund had argued back that if it wasnt essential now, then it could wait. (It wasnt a great syllabus, but it covered what he needed to learn.)
  1. What is magic? (Halfway Done)
  2. What using magic actually does to your body and soul
  3. How to train magic effectively
  4. How to turn trained magic into full Skills
So Ive given you the theory, and you know the basic practice, Raehel said. You use magic through Gems, you feed Gems your magic to use their Enchantments, everyone has magic energy but nobles are the only ones who can do magic, et cetera, et cetera. Any specifics? I have one, Mary said. What is an Enchantment, really? I know its the magic that each Gem is capable of doing, but Master Archmund here can use magic that isnt the Enchantments of his Gems. Huh. Do you know anything about gemcutting? Mary shrugged. I can appraise mundane gems, but not all that well. I can tell the difference between a 50 mark gem and a 50,000 mark gem, but not between, say, a 100,000 and 150,000. An Enchantment is analogous to the cut of the Gem. Most people think the physical cut of the Gem literally dictates the Enchantment it casts, which is an oversimplification, but its close enough to the truth. Its the easiest path for magic to flow through a Gem, and so its the magic that anyone can use. Anything else needs Attunement. Awakening. The other stuff. And Gemstone Gear? I dont use that kind of stuff, Raehel said, her face scrunching. But same idea, I think? The shape of the Gear is the same thing as its cut. Frankly, she reminded Archmund of himself. Good at memorizing things she was interested in. Bad at remembering anything she didnt. So Attunement, Archmund said. Thats the next big thing, right? Oh yes, you know the word at least, Raehel said. What do you think Attunement is? She was talking down to him, just a little bit, but he couldnt tell whether she genuinely was looking down on him or whether this was her idea of what being an effective teacher looked like. It was such a softball question he felt like he couldnt possibly answer it without sounding like an idiot. When you use a Gem a lot, you become Attuned to it. Uh huh. When youre Attuned to a Gem, you know it well enough that you can start drawing out more of its power and using techniques that arent obvious. Mmmmm kind of. And once youre Attuned to a Gem, its hard to use other Gems because its changed your magic and your soul. Uh huh. She was going to keep doing that for everything he said. He could tell. Well, Ive never had that last problem, she said. Or maybe I used to but then I stopped having it because I kept using more different Gems and got used to it. A noble like you is probably rich enough to use as much as you want, right? That just wasnt true. Before hed entered the Dungeon, the Granavale Household had maybe ten Gems total, at least five of which were under permanent lock and key, three of which were carried personally by his father. Now, of course, they could get way more, but still not a limitless amount. He really needed a better understanding of their finances. Archmund rubbed the side of his head. How much did my father pay you, honestly? The rest of my tuition, if I wasnt on every possible merit scholarship. So probably enough for a decade of expenses? That told him nothing, still. It was a lot for her, but for him? Was that ten tax seasons, or ten percent of one? That was a rhetorical question. Speaking of. Well, your understanding of Attunement is Raehel pulled out a scroll with a diagram of the human body. Its fine, she said. Youre clearly a beginner but its fine. Hed take that. She didnt seem judgmental either way. The biggest limitation for any mage is the inherent constraints of their body and soul, Raehel said, unrolling the scroll. The diagram was surprisingly detailed, almost like Leonardo da Vincis Virtruvian Man, but there were additional circles and spirograph loops in the marginalia, like epicycles in a solar system where the human form was the sun, or perhaps like a magnetic field diagram where the human form was the core. This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Thankfully, Gems help you with that. The more you use a Gem, the better you get at using them, because your magical power infuses the Gem. He knew that as well from experience. Of course, the instant you use the Gem, it becomes Bound to your magic, she said. Your magic is in it, so its much harder for anyone else to use it effectively. Anyone who tried would be well, mingling their souls, kind of. Way too close for comfort. Now that he didnt know. He diligently avoided Marys eyes. You can think of it like a circular river, Raehel said, looping her finger around the diagram along one of the circular whorls. She hadnt noticed his flustered state at all. Magic flows from the soul, she said as she pointed at a place above the diagrams head It gets transformed in the Gem, and she pointed at a column of polyhedrons on the right side of the diagram And returns to the body, which strengthens the soul, and she finished by pointing at the diagrams solar plexus before dragging a line back up to the head. In the Attunement state, the flow is smooth. When you say smooth, do you mean continuous? Uninterrupted? A steady flux? She peered at him through her glasses, before glancing at Mary. Does he always use such big words? He does. Archmund opened his mouth to protest, but Raehel waved him off. Its a steady flux, she said. The body and soul naturally exchange Numen, the element of magic, at the maximum natural capacity. Thats what it means to be alive. You follow? He nodded. And Gems You introduce a blocker or barrier into that exchange flow. The magic still comes back to you, but when it passes through the Gem, it gets polarized, and some gets shaved off to cast the Enchantment. The Gem also has a reservoir too, where it keeps a bit of your own power in it, so you cant force all of your magic through it without filling that reservoir first. If youre too weak, all of the power goes into the Enchantment without filling the reservoir much. If youre strong enough or youve filled the reservoir enough, the rest goes back to you and strengthens your body and soul. Thats Attunement. Youve filled the reservoir. You barely need to think to cast the Enchantments. That cant be the whole story, though, Archmund said. Im definitely Attuned to my Gems, but I drained the magic reservoir when I was fighting through Granavale Dungeon. I didnt stop being Attuned. Raehels eyes went wide, comically round behind her glasses. Right. You fought your way through the Dungeon. Didnt my father mention Every young noble heir lies about fighting their way through a Dungeon for clout. Few start lying about it when theyre nine. He decided to ignore her sarcasm, though he wondered whether she was usually so bold with her students. Or was she bitter? When I went in, I was Attuned to one of my Rubies. When I fought the Monsters within it, I drained the power. But I could still use my Enchantments. Once you reach full Attunement with a Gem, it becomes a part of you, Raehel said. A third component, as much a part as your body and your soul. Not being able to use the Enchantment would be like forgetting how to walk or how to clench a muscle. And because of the resistance it introduces to the body-soul circuit, using a Gem almost always makes both stronger, like how exercising makes your heart pump more blood through your veins. It was a rather clean explanation of why Attunement gave stat bonuses. So clean, in fact, that there was an infinitely more interesting question on hand. So the world of Omnio had some idea that the heart was responsible for pumping blood. How modern was that belief? The ancient Egyptians of Earth had thought the heart was the seat of the soul; Leonardo da Vinci had created modern Western medical knowledge by dissecting the dead. Thousands of years had passed between them, but it had only taken a few hundred more to develop the entire field of exercise science. Was the knowledge of the cardiovascular system ancient or medieval? I dont like exercise much, but its a good analogy. You build up your strength and stamina so you can do more complex exercises, and if you try to do exercises you cant handle youll drain yourself. If you try to do too many different types of exercises you cant handle at the same time in this case, trying to Attune to multiple different Gems you wont make much progress on any. Youre so much better off getting good with one, then getting used to others. Again, not a problem for me, since Im a prodigy, but normal people need time for each Attunement. She really had a knack for rambling. But he supposed he couldnt blame her. The temptation to go off on tangents was strong in his heart as well. And yet. Well, he was paying her good money for her knowledge. He slapped his cheeks. Focus. Focus on the syllabus. What about Awakening? Raehel snorted. Lets not get ahead of ourselves here. She was starting to annoy him. Hed have to prove he could handle himself, which was something he hated having to repeat every time. Archmund pulled out his Ruby of Energy and leaned forward in his chair. It floated above his hand. With the slightest twitch of will he set it alight, and it glowed its default dim orange. Alright, you feel Attuned to that, Raehel said. You can tell? Yeah, of course I can. The basic qualification for being a Master is having a sense of how magics flowing in the Numinous around you. I can tell youre not forcing it at all. Jargon, jargon, more jargon. Geniuses, geniuses, geniuses. So many words to say that really good mages could sense magic around them. Archmund changed the color of the Rubys light to red. Raehel scrambled out of her armchair, hopping to her feet. She scurried up to the Ruby and peered at it over her glasses. It was as if he could feel her presence through the Gem. Alright. We can talk about Awakening. She studied the Gem very intently. Can you do anything else? I have two Skills, but She gave him a bemused look. Of course you do. Mary, could you get us a pot of cold water? Mary stood, curtsied and went to grab it. So back to my earlier question, Archmund said, Im Attuned to my Ruby. Ive Awakened it. How come I drained its magic? The base element is Fire, but the Enchantment is light, Raehel said. Shed pulled a monocle out of her robes and was peering at the Gem through it. Activating the Enchantment is as easy as drawing breath or twitching a muscle. But doing anything more is like learning how to balance on a rooftop, or throwing a fist, or pickpocketing. What was with her examples? Itll take more energy to use skills youre not familiar with, and youll be more and more efficient with practice. Generally speaking, at least. Assuming you are Awakened, after all. What does it mean to be Awakened? Cmon. Youre not seriously asking me that. Not after you showed me what you just did. Im serious, Archmund said. What does it mean to be Awakened? He didnt get any choir of angels or sudden surge of strength or massive boost in triumph. All hed gotten was the melting power of the Infrared Lance and a new entry in his stats. If she knew the fundamentals of the universe, he would squeeze her for them. That was his right as a student. 32 - Even the “Genius” Doesn’t Know what Awakening Is So? said Archmund. What does it mean to Awaken a Gem? Its so simple, Raehel said. Its just words. How do you not get it when youve already done it? This is why I didnt want a genius teacher, said Archmund. Youre literally a genius yourself, Raehel. Im not. He wasnt. He had the advantage of desperately not wanting to be a lesser noble and a clear vision of what his life would look like if he followed the road set for him, and just enough knowledge to try to avoid it. He had the life experience of someone older, which was inherently an advantage with an expiration date. Youre Attuned to a Gem, and youre not even ten years old. That alone puts you ahead of 70% of nobles. Im not a genius. You are, Mary said, returning with a bowl filled with water. Im not! Mary gave him a deeply skeptical look. He supposed hed gotten too many lucky breaks for it to be purely coincidence. And hed built enough of an early advantage that he could leverage it enough for comfort. But that was all. Hed exploited the one big advantage granted to him. Alright, Lord Genius, Raehel said. Whatd you want to show me? His Ruby of Energy floated gently in the air before him, borne upon the currents of his magic. Could you stand back? he said. He knew microwaves could be very painful if they hit the skin. Raehel waved him off. Ive got magic resistance. You can throw whatever at me. How on earth does that work? Im Attuned to a Gem that strengthens my body against magical harms, obviously, she said. How else would it work? He wasnt going to attack her intentionally. Perhaps her nerves could resist being cooked from within by a concentrated microwave, but he didnt want his father to spend money on a cover-up if she couldnt. Even if shed been an orphan or a bastard child or something else, somebody probably would care if she went missing. He focused his attention. Now that hed heard the theory behind Attunement, he understood the sensations of magic better. It flowed like a circuit, not just within the Gem, but through it and into him once more. Casting his Microwave sapped power from that circuit, effecting change in the physical world instead of strengthening his spirit. Nothing happened for about ten seconds, so he dumped more magic into the spell. His magic flowed faster in the circuit, so proportionally more was shaved into the spell. Still nothing happened. I can tell youre doing something, Raehel said. But He was beginning to feel rather silly. Wait. There were reasons not to microwave water. He didnt remember the exact details, and he was sure hed never seen it happen himself. But the way microwaves transmitted energy was direct excitation of water molecules. Sometimes, if you microwaved water directly, it would stay liquid, even if heated beyond its boiling point. And then, if you disturbed it With a twitch of his finger, his Ruby Tetrahedron flew into the bowl of water. It erupted in a plume of steam, like a geyser. Oh, thats certainly curious, Raehel said. She gave a light golf clap, even as a haze of mist infused the room. Very curious. The invisible transmission of energy! And thats definitely a Skill. Alright. Youve Awakened that Gem. What does that even mean?!? It just means that! Raehel shouted enthusiastically. You have it, you get it, you use it, you make it do what it doesnt want to! Youve Awakened it! Its the difference between slapping a guy or stabbing his eyes out with your fingers! Thats literally it? If theres some deeper metaphysical implication I dont know it, Raehel said. But they wont let me into the deepest parts of the University Library yet, so who knows. Archmund nodded absently. Great. Wonderful. An expert had verified that he was Attuned but didnt know what it actually meant. Anyways. Are you ready to move on? Raehel said. She seemed on edge. If she was anything like him, she didnt like being reminded when she didnt know something. Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. I have a question actually, Mary said. What is a soul? Oh, thats a great question! Raehel said. No one knows. Come on, Archmund said. Im serious! Raehel said. When I say soul, its the part of your self thats not in your body or brain that lets you use magic. Thats all it is. Does it reflect your identity? Archmund said. Sure, I guess, the way your body and brain are your identity, Raehel said. Does it persist beyond death? Archmund asked. He knew the answer was either yes, or he was deeply delusional. You fought through a Dungeon. You should know the answer to that. He swallowed deeply. From what she said, the natural science of the day suggested hed fought the ghost of his mother. But what did she know, really? She was fifteen and so her understanding of the universe was probably still simplified, though his own was likely as deficient. And wait how could the soul and brain be equal seats of identity, if the soul persisted long after the rotting of the brain? Look, these are questions for philosophers of magic, Raehel said. Not actual mages. At least shed had the courtesy to give him his next lead. Now that youve seen what I can do, Archmund said, Do you want to revise the syllabus? She checked the syllabus. Well, you know what magic is. Mostly. You know what it does to your body and soul. Lets see you wanted to learn how to train magic effectively, and how to go from practicing magic and Awakening, to having and using Skills? That sounded about right. Were better off doing practical exercises for those last two, she said. Lets hammer out a plan for that. As the sun set they determined a training regimen:
  1. Practical exercises for encouraging the healthy flow of magic
  2. Best practices to Attune new Gems quickly and safely
  3. Awakening Skills from Attuned Gems
  4. How to develop and evolve your Skills
Any other philosophical questions you want answered that arent on here? Is there a System that governs the strength and positions of all things? Archmund asked. He knew the answer was yes. Hed seen his own stats. He had a magical artifact that let him visualize the state of his self. Raehels face darkened. She started an answer, but silenced herself swiftly. That was answer enough for Archmund. Everyone has natural limits, Raehel said slowly and delicately. There are standardized manifestations of Awakenings and Skills Fireball, Flamethrower, Flashbang. But these could be culturally determined. Mimicry of what others do. She eyed the bowl. Most of the water had erupted in the steam explosion. Some people naturally grow stronger than others, faster than others. There are upper limits to strength that can be achieved with the aid of Gems of different sizes. If you want to break your limits, you need denser or larger Gems. But that could be a side effect of how magical flux works, like lifting weights. Archmund nodded. I can tell this is sensitive. The University has all sorts of metrics to measure and rank mages and heroes, Raehel said. But if there was proof of an objective numerical System that defined the potential and achievement of every person on Omnio, it could justify the overthrow of the Empire and its bureaucracy for a true meritocracy. Archmund snorted. Right. As if the Imperial Princesses wouldnt be exploiting the System from the age of four. Assuming the System could be exploited in that way. He sensed pushing any further would be far more dangerous than he bargained for. Raehel joined him for dinner, but she ate only cursorily, sitting across from him at the head of the wide and lonely table that felt just a little less lonely. His father had left again already. Mary, as usual, was not permitted to join him. The food was simple fare wildfowl served with the last summer fruits in a butter sauce. Lord Granavale contracted my aid for a full semester, Raehel said, as she wiped the last of the butter sauce from her lips. Though shed implied she was a street urchin or a bastard and had spent most of her life in the Imperial University, her table manners were impeccable. I thought he was exaggerating about how much you were capable of so I only drew up really simple plans, but Ive got plenty of advanced techniques I can train you in. He spoils me, Archmund said. Way too much. Must be nice. If we spend six hours a day on your training, we can get you to the level of a fourth-year at the Imperial Academy probably by the end of the season. Thats He really didnt want to do that. Hed stayed at his grade level in his last life, and even then hed been poorly socialized. Hed heard horror stories of kids who took college level courses in middle school, though how they couldnt relate to their peers at all. Youre already past the level of an impoverished noble first-year whos legally allowed to use magic but cant buy any Gems before going to the Academy, by the way, Raehel said. You want to cram three years of training into three months? Its theoretically possible, she said, shrugging. But if you dont want it He dropped his voice, noting that the servants were too far to overhear, and walked over to lean in her ear. And Mary? Does she have a Gem? Gemgear. Gemgear Attunement is easier, Awakening is harder. Depends on her natural aptitude. He moved back to his seat. She gave him a shrewd look. Nine years old, and youve already got a Gem-Attuned personal bodyguard. Very precocious. Believe me, the last thing I wanted was someone willing to die for me. That actually does sound pretty horrible. She was serious and wasnt sarcastic in the slightest. He wondered what shed been through. So thats what you want? To train you up maybe a year or two ahead of everyone else, but to train her up as a warrior? He nodded. This year will be the first Harvest Festival after the Dungeon opened and all of its wealth, he said. I want to make sure it goes great. Youre just a kid! You want to do event planning and organizing too? Im the Granavale Heir, Archmund said. These lands are mine to govern and guard. An event like the Harvest Festival is a chance to see how the harvests doing, how all our infrastructures working, and how good the people feel about their lives. Its a good chance for me to find potential allies and contributors to make my home a great place to live. That sounds quite nice, actually, Raehel said, her eyes growing misty behind her glasses. It must be nice to be grounded in the real world. So whyd you want me to come now instead of just waiting until the Harvest Festival was over? The truth was he hadnt thought that far. Hed wanted to be trained quickly and effectively so he didnt lose momentum, and chalked up inefficiencies as acceptable waste. Well, if magic reflects who we are, he said, mentally flailing but remaining calm, then it helps to know where we come from and where were going. Yeah, sure, she said, giving him a bemused look. And I figure it might be more fun to train through the festival instead of being cooped up in here for months. So why dont you come along with me when Im helping arrange things? You know what, sure. Im getting paid anyways! 33 - Raehel Actually Is Just Being Overdramatic By Calling it a Kidnapping Ack! Im being kidnapped! The carriage rattled as Raehel woke up, her red hair untamed and frizzy from a nights sleep. The first streaks of dawn streamed in the window as they rode past the waking fields of Granavale County. He ducked to dodge a wild flailing fist. Sleep well, Raehel the Magnificent? No! I did not, she said, as she realized where she was. You dragged me out of my quarters before the crack of dawn and told me to join you for a ride out to Granavale Town! This is an outrage! You said you wanted to come along when I helped arrange things. You didnt tell her wed be traveling so early, did you? Mary said. I assumed it was self-evident. Mary sighed. Raehel sighed. Nobles, man. Even the nice ones are like this. He winced. Maybe she had a point. So where are we going? Granavale Town, Archmund said. Ill try to speak to the Church to get their support, since theyre one of the most important civic organizations and one of our close allies. I also want to ask them about souls. Oh, come on. Theres no way they actually know how souls work Theyre thousands of years old and they actually do Miracles. Theyve got to be doing something right. If they didnt do Miracles, no one would have any reason to believe the tripe they spew. Mary frowned. I dont get it. Isnt doing miracles what the Church does? You need to read theodicy. Archmund didnt personally see how investigations of the Problem of Evil, why an all-loving, all-benevolent. all-powerful Goddess would allow Evil to exist, could convince the average commoner of the falsity of Miracles, but he didnt want to argue the point. Anyways, Archmund said. I can wake you once we get to town. I have a better idea, Raehel said. She jostled around in her robes until she pulled out a clear spherical Gem. It was close to perfectly spherical, like a crystal ball, but quite a bit larger than the ones that hed collected from Monsters. She handed it to Archmund. Archmund frowned, weighing it in a gloved hand. Whats this? He remembered his idle thoughts about how circles were the mathematical limit of a regular polygons as its number of sides approached infinity, and how that might imply a perfect sphere had unlimited potential. Hed had to adjust that theory a little bit when he got near-spherical but magically inert Gems from Monsters in Granavale Dungeon. He suspected hed have to adjust it again. It didnt make sense at all if the University of Imperial Mages was just handing perfect spheres out to nobles rich enough to hire a student as a private tutor. This is a Storage Gem, said Raehel. Meaning? Pour your power into it. Try to Attune. Archmund did. There was almost no resistance his power flowed freely into the Gem, yet little flowed back to him, and what did was pure and unaltered. The sphere started glowing a pale blue, but the power didnt dissipate or fuel an Enchantment it remained, just at the edge of his consciousness, yet within reach. He understood instantly. In the visual language of fantasy video games in his past life, the color blue meant magic. A characters capacity for magic was often abstracted into a magic gauge, a bar or globe that filled up and emptied with blue magic points depending on their remaining capacity. It was as easy to drain the power from the Storage Gem as it had been to contribute it another marked difference from his other Gems, which fed power back into him at a natural, almost unnoticeable rate. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. You picked that up real quickly. Is it supposed to be hard? Incredibly hard, for anyone who uses it as their first Gem, Raehel said. Because theres no Enchantment that demands the magic be used. Of course itll be hard if thats the case, Archmund said. Thats so much more preferable to teaching bad habits and locking fresh mages into Gems they might not have an affinity for. Unfortunately, that made sense. So whys it a sphere, anyways? Archmund said. Other spherical Gems are inert. Anything that can actually do something is shaped. Sacred geometry, said Raehel. What does that even mean? What is the shape with the highest surface-area-to-volume ratio? The University was apparently an institution that wanted its members to have a strong understanding of mathematics and the natural sciences. A sphere. Raehel nodded. She didnt elaborate further. He took that as a cue to continue. And each of the Omnio Solids, really, he knew them as the Platonic Solids, but if Alexander Omnio I had taken credit for the ideas of Plato, both of them were too dead to bother arguing with, is associated with one of the elements, which dictates what Enchantments it has. Further flaws can alter the Enchantments. Naively true, fundamentally incorrect. Raehel started gesticulating wildly with her hands as she explained. Cut a sphere into a dodecahedron, the shape of Numen, and you lose a minimal amount of mass. Cut that dodecahedron into a tetrahedron, the shape of Fire, and itd be the same as if youd cut it from a sphere. But cut a dodecahedron from that tetrahedron, and you lose way too much comparatively. The spheres got the most potential. Its just the geometry of waste. You make it sound like the shape and the element dont actually correlate at all. Ive seen enough special cases of that not to take the correspondence at face value. He nodded absently, mainly because he had no idea whether she was making things up or not, and made to hand the Storage Gem back to her. She leaned back. Oh no. That ones yours now. I wouldnt want any trace magic from that flowing back into me. Thats waaaaay too close for me. Dont want your soul mingling with mine. Its yours now. Put it on a necklace or something. He felt Marys eyes burning a hole into him. He steadfastly refused to look in her direction. The sunrise over the fields was beautiful.
Soon Granavale Town was visible on the horizon, as theyd passed through the end of the rolling hills. So, how are you going to do this? Raehel said. Never been along for one of these before. Weve got a few things on the agenda, Archmund said. Mary? Mary nodded. She wasnt one of the literati yet, but her reading ability had jumped in leaps and bounds to the point where he could trust her to make lists and plans. The Church, as Archmund mentioned, is the center of religious life in Granavale County, but it also serves a powerful secular purpose as a center of community, she said. Mother Cera has always been a staunch ally and good friend to the Lord Reginald Granavale, so this meeting is to pay her the courtesies shes due after our long relationship. I also want to speak to Sister Catherine Im sure you do, young master About religious matters, said Archmund. Shes not formally inducted, so shell be more open to talking about potentially heterodox ideas when it comes to the nature of the soul. On the hunt for more knowledge? said Raehel. I want to come with. I dont know if thats a good idea, Archmund said. Shes wary of outsiders. If you learn anything you think could be useful for your training, let me know so I can add it to your lessons then, Raehel said reproachfully. Archmund nodded, and gestured for Mary to continue. Granavale Manor tries to source many of its meals and household tools from local merchants and craftsmen instead of Imperial supply channels. Over the past centuries, weve built strong relationships with those who live on our land, and we would like to check in on the status of their households. The Crylaxan Plague had disrupted things greatly, which made it all the more essential to keep an eye on them. Mary had been a proud member of one of those households, and yet shed ended up working as a servant in Granavale Manor. Id also like to see if any of their sons and daughters have changed their life plans, Archmund said. Because of the Dungeon. Dungeons had a way of ruining counties in a very simple way. A single piece of Gemgear could turn a regular person into a superhuman hero; it was easy to luck into getting Gemgear through fighting through a Dungeon with a group of your five or so close friends, if you accepted at least one of you would get maimed; the more gear you had, the more you could easily get. The risk was alluring, tempting compared to sixty years of farming or blacksmithing and staying in one place. So youth would try to become heroes, and none would learn craft skills, and the thriving infrastructure of a self-sufficient County could get hollowed out in a decade. Well, theyd be stupid to try now, Raehel said. You cleared the Dungeon, didnt you? Just the Upper Tier. Still, thats the safest one. The easiest place to get Gemgear without dying. All of the Gear they couldve taken is yours, now. It was. And hed already given a piece of Gemgear to one fanatically devoted servant. My goal is to keep them from leaving and turning my home into a ghost town, Archmund said. And to stop that from happening I need to keep it a good place to live. Raehel was smart and capable, but he didnt trust her not to blab once she wasnt working for him anymore and she seemed the type to let things slip on accident. It would be useful to have a private army, but Mercy had all but told him to do it without being obvious. Letting it slip to his hired magic teacher would be a major tactical error, especially since she was a self-proclaimed genius. Soon, their journey finally drew to a close in the town center. They stopped in front of the Church. A young woman in a modest gray habit was sweeping the steps, and Archmund sauntered forth. 34 - Talking to a Fake Nun about Blasphemy Young master Archmund Granavale! said the young woman in a nuns outfit. She was the adopted daughter of Mother Cera and Sister Isha, and she insisted upon being called Sister Catherine. Shed taken no vows, monastic, marriage, or otherwise, which made sense because she was about Archmunds age. Sister Catherine, Archmund said, with a slight bow. He wasnt in the habit of mocking peoples chosen names, no matter how unearned. He could roll his eyes in private while earning her favor in public. How goes it? All is as it should be on earth and heaven, Sister Catherine said. What brings you here today? Festival preparations. Are your mothers around? Mother Cera and Sister Isha were either very close friends or deeply in love, so either way Catherine had been raised in a loving family. But Lord Granavale had warned Archmund not to get entangled with the Church and hed heeded that warning, always keeping Catherine at the distance of courtesy. Its always important matters with you, she said, smiling. When the other boys ask me to ask my mothers for spiritual guidance, they compliment my hair or ask me what kind of flowers I like. Her hair, what little of it could be seen under her nuns habit, was the exact same shade as Princess Angelina Grace Prima Marca Omnios. Her pale blue eyes also had a marked resemblance. It would be a discourtesy to say either, but it was a most curious coincidence. Perhaps he was delusional. In his past life, when he didnt get enough sleep, he would sometimes see complete strangers and think they looked awfully similar to a long-lost friend. I believe I sent ahead last evening, he said. So they should be expecting me. I dont think they expected you to arrive so early, she said. So if you wouldnt mind waiting? He had planned this, of course. His ulterior motive was the investigation of blasphemous beliefs, which authority figures were less inclined to entertain. Gladly, he said. I would hate to impose. If that wouldnt draw you away from your duties? She smiled. My duties consist of making this place suitable for the visit of the Granavale Heir. I think teaching you of the Goddess would qualify, would it not? Sister Catherine led Archmund into the church. What of the people in your carriage? she said, glancing over. Theyll be fine. Mary could keep Raehel busy, and in any case learn a good deal from her. This was the only church hed stepped foot in as Archmund Granavale, but though hed been here before, it always struck him how it matched the overall design of a modern Catholic or Protestant church or a synagogue from his past life an altar/speaking area at the front and rows of front-facing seats. Though he supposed there were only so many ways to arrange a room that one person gave sermons to many in. It was convergent evolution, surely. Catherine led him to one of the side offices, which hosted a few chairs and a desk piled up with scrolls and petitions. I dont see you here very often, Catherine said as they sat down. We have a chapel in the manor, he said. I do most of my devotions there. It was a lie. He didnt do any devotions. What little he knew of the churchs teachings didnt gel with his memories. Do you, Catherine said, her voice like shed dealt people who pretended to be devout for ulterior reasons many times before. Well, its no matter. House Granavale has always helped us if we ever truly needed it. Such aid is devotion in itself. Archmund nodded. Im not opposed to talking theology, he said. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Oh? He took a breath. He would be revealing his hand. The immortal soul, and reincarnation. She chuckled. Reincarnation. Would you like to ask if I could peer into your past lives and see if you were Alexander the Conqueror? Alexander the Conqueror was of course Alexander Omnio I. There was a common folk tradition, the Choosing Ceremony, in the east of the Empire. Children would choose toys, which symbolized the great figures of history that had been their past lives. It was vaguely reminiscent of a Buddhist tradition from his past life, but he wasnt all too familiar with the tradition personally. Archmund had chosen a toy sword and a quill pen, which represented Alexander the Conquerors martial prowess and his shockingly-effective post-conquest legal framework. But other combinations had their own meanings. A pearl necklace and an olive branch represented the soul of Alexander the Bridgebuilder, who had married the Church with pagan folk traditions so delicately that both coexisted in the modern day. He too was Alexander Omnio I. A flint and sickle represented the soul of Alexander the Worldshaper, known for his dedication to farming but also his judicious use of arson against any rebels. He too was Alexander Omnio I. By Archmunds estimate, half the boys in Granavale County were reincarnated from Alexander Omnio I under one of his many names. You seem skeptical. Al Baker, Lex Potter, and Xander Cooper all tried to impress me by telling me they were the return of Alexander, she said. Obviously they cant all be him. Obviously. Even their first names were all variants on Alexander. Obviously. She appraised him. He hadnt interacted with her much before hed been endowed with the memories of another world, but he recalled hed very much been a typical child at the time. By no means had they been close enough for her to be suspicious of his changes. Youre skeptical about reincarnation, he said. The Church, despite all our miracles, has no magic to prove the nature of a soul, though our faith remains resolute. Thats why an unorthodox belief like reincarnation can continue to exist in so many forms across the Empire. You know about the rest of the Empire? Their practices and beliefs, but only from books. Ive never left this place, she said, and she sighed and looked wistfully out the window. Archmund sympathized. He wondered, briefly, whether he could persuade some nobles from neighboring counties to visit the Granavale Harvest Festival. Surely there were a few landless gentry who yearned for the bucolic Arcadias? Or they could stagger the weekends of the Harvests, if the seasons so allowed. But most of its the same across the Empire, Catherine said, turning back to him. Youre born, you get one life to live, and if you live it well you rest forever in the bosom of the Goddess. Live wickedly, and your soul is cast to the Guts of Hell, where it remains until you escape. But most never escape. Not a lot of room for reincarnation in that framework. Theres some, she said. Say, few souls are pure evil. Few are pure good. Rebirth Theology teaches that souls in the middle are reborn until they become one or the other, and then they can move on. But in these parts people tend to believe Seed Theology, even if they dont call it that. Seed Theology, Archmund said. No one would call their own beliefs something like that. What does it mean? Catherine chuckled. Its incoherent. The immortal soul goes to the Goddess or the Guts of Hell depending on its virtue, but also at the same time it remains in the material world as seeds for new souls. And thats how you get twenty boys all saying theyre the reincarnation of Alexander Omnio I. There was a knock at the doorway. Archmund turned; Mother Cera and Sister Isha had come to join them. He hastily stood to greet them; they waved his concern away. Archmund Granavale, Isha said warmly. So good of you to visit an old woman. Thank you all for having me. Mother Cera was, despite her jokes, not that old. She was at latest in her early forties. Her hair, which she wore up but uncovered, had only the first flecks of gray, and her only wrinkles with tiny crows feet near the eyes and laugh lines. Isha was in her upper twenties, and her chestnut hair was wrapped in a nuns habit, but Archmund actually couldnt tell ages well at all. His mental frame of reference had been completely destroyed by his rebirth, especially since people used Botox in his past life but had magic Gems that changed their physical attributes in this one. People were either his age, babies, adults, or elderly. Mother Cera and Sister Isha were adults. We got your courier, Isha said. Youre here about the Harvest Festival? I am, Archmund said. While this was his first time taking any hand in things, Isha and Cera had been helping with the festival for years. He knew he could trust them with the grand scale. And you dont have any concerns about the Dungeon? Sister Catherine said. Archmund frowned. He didnt miss the reproachful glances Isha and Cera gave Catherine. Should I? No, none at all, Catherine said. Our Miracles are working As Is Wrought. All is as it should be on earth and heaven. By the blessings of the Goddess, the Harvest Festival will not be beset by the wrathful dead. Archmund wanted to look into what the Churchs Miracles were, and how they were different from the magic he knew, once all this settled down. And youll be fine providing blessings to the fields and the townspeople? As we always have, Cera said, though she kept one eye fixed on Catherine. Im grateful for your aid. This had ultimately been a cursory visit out of politeness, Archmund thought as he left the church. It would be extremely rude and a great break from tradition to not acknowledge the longstanding friendship between the nobility and the clergy. He hadnt expected to learn anything true about reincarnation, yet he felt unsettled. The restless and wrathful dead descended to the Guts of Hell, where they forever tried to return to the mortal world. And one of those hell-fleeing dead was his mother. 35 - Mary Also Doesnt Know Her Own Strength So. Hes going to talk to a church girl? Nasty business, that can get. It ruins a few nobles every few years or so in the Imperial Capital, Raehel said as she watched Archmund disappear into the church with Sister Catherine. Once the door had swung shut between them, she kicked the carriage door open and stretched her arms high above her head, her orange hair spiraling wildly in the morning sun. Um, Mary said, suddenly unsure of how to react now that Archmund was gone, and she was trapped with an eccentric witch. Im not going to bother them, I assume he left us out here for a reason, Raehel said. I know how boring towns like this can be and what passes for a scandal out here. Im not stupid Im a genius, remember? Mary clambered out of the carriage after her. She had a quick conversation with the carriage driver, who assured her he wouldnt be going anywhere, and kept a close eye on Raehel as she started poking around the town square. Wow, this place really is the sticks, Raehel said. Youve got wood buildings, and wood houses, and wood shacks. Wow. Yes? Even the Manor is mostly wood. Mary looked around nervously, but it seemed that while they were an unordinary sight, they werent an extraordinary one. The adults were too busy going about their day, setting up their market stalls and haggling over morning groceries, while the few children around focused on the church door, where Archmund had entered. In the Imperial City, everything is made of stone and marble. They stay warm in the winter, and there are Gem Arrays to keep things cool in the summer. Every few feet, theres an Enchantment that helps keep the whole place running. How does that where does the power come from? Mary said. She had her Gem fan, and shed illicitly practiced with Archmunds Ruby of Energy, and both had been utterly exhausting. A whole city running on Gem magic was unimaginable. Raehels mouth fell open as she gave Mary a sideways glance. Frogs. Magic frogs. Magic frogs that are constantly breeding, whose spawn die as tadpoles to supply the city with the necessary life force. It was either a ridiculous lie or a truth too ridiculous to be one, and Mary was not in the business of asking questions that would get her killed for no gain. I can see why he chose you for Gemgear, Raehel said. Youre not an idiot. Thank you? No, Im serious, Raehel said. She plucked one of the draying leaves from a low-lying branch, chewed it gingerly in her mouth, then spat it out. Mary winced. Blech. Tastes like nothing, not even poison, Raehel said. You hear a whole bunch of horror stories about maids or manservants being trapped into lifelong bondage because they were given Gemgear, right? Their fealty ends up bound up with their local lord, and their only hope of escape is getting strong enough to be Heroes who nominally serve the Empire but practically get to do whatever they want so long as its not illegal. But that doesnt happen, because most of the Gemgear that the Empire lets the gentry distribute freely are useless trinkets. Stuff that nobody can start climbing the ladder with, because if the gentry had real weapons they could start making private armies. She nodded at Mary. Let me see yours. Mary reluctantly pulled out her fan. Right. This, Raehel said. Whats a hand fan even good for? Mary genuinely had no idea what she was getting at. A swords good for slicing. A knifes good for cutting. A bows good for shooting. Whats a fan good for? The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. For making wind? And for ladies to hide their mouths when they gossip? Mary said. She wasnt sure about that one Granavale Manor had never hosted a grand ball in her lifetime, or indeed any major social gatherings, due to the Crylaxan Plague but it happened in many of the books she asked Archmund to read to her. Hopefully soon shed be able to read those own her own. There always seemed to be a few bits he skipped over, when the lords and ladies were getting real familiar with each other. Exactly! Raehel said. How are you going to kill Monsters and get Gemgear on your own like that? You wont. Youd be reliant on the charity of others. So its a serious decision, giving someone a piece of Gemgear. It means either he trusts you deeply or hes an evil, manipulative piece of shit. Archmund wouldnt be Right! Exactly! Raehel said. I dont know exactly why he gave you that thing but Im so relieved theres some kind of bond of mutual trust here. Honestly, I think it was an accident, Mary said. She couldnt reveal that hed messed up and this was compensation, or a way of hiding that mistake, and that shed run towards the offer instead of shying away from it. Whenever she came into town, she turned a blind eye to the fraying shabbiness of the townspeoples clothes and the inflammation of their skin and the gauntness of their cheeks. Was it so wrong, to want three meals a day and properly-fitting clothing and large bathtubs with soap that smelled nice? Well, not my business, Raehel said, which was odd because shed spent the past day or so making Marys magical prowess all her business. Have you used that thing yet? Mary recalled when shed create a vortex, sucking all the air out of a circle of fire, nearly suffocating Archmund in the process. A bit. Can you show me? Show you? How? What do you use a fan for? Cool me down. Feeling rather foolish, Mary flapped open the fan. Even the ribs and leaves of the fan were made out of translucent green crystal. She gave it a few flaps back and forth, aiming it roughly at Raehel. She didnt feel anything of the magic circuit between her body, soul, and the fan that Raehel had described in their casual lessons the day before. She yawned. An autumn wind blew past Raehel, carrying orange and brown leaves that matched her hair. She pulled her purple robes tight to resist the wind and held on to her hat. A sign in the market square fell down. A basket of fruits tumbled over. Raehel looked at her in disbelief. How long have you been practicing with that, did you say? Not too long. She didnt mention that Archmund had asked her to spend at least two months pouring her magic into one of his Rubies, which had grown her capacity. Because that would have been illegal. Alright. Because that was a lot more power than Id expect. Raehel walked up to her and studied her closely. Mary didnt like it when she did this, especially when the older girl prodded at her arm. A fans purpose, Raehel said, repeating Marys earlier words, is making wind and hiding gossip. I wonder. Is that is this good? Raehel chuckled. Look, if the boss is going to spend all his time running around talking to people, we can find a chance to train you up properly. Youve been basically groping around in the dark when it comes to power, and magic, and all that nobody ever wants to train the help to actually, yknow, be good at things but he wanted you to sit in on the lessons. Ill teach you the tricks on how to use magic for real, so if you ever want out, you can. Mary! Archmunds voice came ringing through the square. As nice as he is, a boss is still a boss, isnt he? Raehel called just quiet enough for only her to hear, as Mary briskly walked over to meet him. Young master, Mary said, bowing slightly. Have you finished your preparations with the Church. Yes, its the same as it is every year, I presume, Archmund said with his usual wholly unearned confidence. You brought a notebook, right? Mary nodded. She hoped he wouldnt ask her to take notes. While she could read, her handwriting was still horrid. Her shorthand was illegible to anyone but her. Which, knowing him, was what he wanted. Were going to talk with a lot of craftsmen. Whenever they mention numbers, could you write them down? Now that she could do, and easily. Archmund turned to Raehel. Would you like to come with us? I doubt itll be interesting at all to you, but No, Ill come, I love seeing how the poor manage to be happy, Raehel said. Its really inspiring! Archmund looked vaguely disquieted by that. Alright. Please dont talk more than you have to. If you see anyone with higher magic potential than normal, let me know afterwards, I guess. Oh, what a fun idea. This whole next bit would be perfunctory. Nothing ever changed in Granavale County. Every Harvest Festival was just like the last. They would talk with the townspeople and alleviate their concerns and ensure the Harvest Festival went well, and then they would all go back to their homes and live their normal lives, as different as all of them were. Come on, Archmund said, as if hed heard her. This is actually important. 36 - Desperately Ignoring a 10-Year-Olds Taunts The town square was lively and bustling. Today was a market day the townspeople brought all their goods and wares to the market in an act of grand scheduled exchange. While the occasional peddler, like Marys aunt and uncle, would hawk their wares whenever they were in town, normal people had to work most of the time and couldnt spend all their time trading. It was busy with chatter and birdsong, yet he couldnt deny it was oddly empty. There was room for forty stalls, but maybe twenty hawkers were there. He nodded to Mary, who had pulled out a notebook. He knew she wasnt fully literate yet, but she knew more than she gave herself credit. Raehel, thankfully, took the hint and lingered conspicuously a few paces away. She was obviously out of place, but normal people were often too busy living normal lives to pay attention to such matters. And that the source of an odd discomfort. If he didnt feel the distant vibrations of magic crawling up and down his spine, among the commoners who could never dream of Gem, he couldve imagined he was in 16th century Europe. Or whatever century. He could see the smith, selling pots and pans and trinkets. What weapons he had to sell were low-grade, as even the finest sharpened steel was most useful in the hands of a wielder of a Gem-blade, and normal people only needed knives and hatches and scythes for their daily lives. The baker, selling loaves of bread, some fresh but most doomed to stale, one of the few merchants who was always at the market, ready to sell. The carpenter, with a pile of chairs and tables to fix behind him at his stall. None of the detritus of the Dungeon had made its way to the market square yet. He expected that would change soon. A place like this organized itself. Or rather it had organized itself over many iterations of trial and error, as different people figured out what day worked for them in terms of the market to meet their commercial needs. In his past life, hed taken a single course on Project Management from Google and spent no substantial time implementing its teachings. When he was much younger, hed read the SCRUM manifesto and also not bothered implementing a single one of its teachings. But here these ideas were foreign and alien. This was a world that had never heard of the concept of the middle manager and project management. He could completely revolutionize this world if he so desired. But bringing a philosophy of project management to squeeze a few more drops of labor and efficiency out of a bucolic fantasy world felt deeply, deeply pathetic. And speaking of pathetic Yo, look who it is, said a reedy boyish voice as a figure swaggered forth from the carpenters stand. Its Granavale. Xander Cooper, said Archmund. He wracked his brain for what little he knew of the boy. Had they been friends, or had they taunted each other in the harmless way immature boy are wont to do? Most of his memories were useless Xanders father had been a cooper five years ago, making barrels in Granavale County, but since the place had been hollowed out by the Crylaxan Plague hed taken on the mantle of carpenter as well in the time since. Like in the Black Death on Earth, the need for specialization weakened when so many specialists died. I know why youre here, said Xander, speaking with the wholly unearned confidence of a ten year old boy. Here to say nothing and do nothing and say that means youve done a good job with the Harvest Festival! It would be pathetic, Archmund reminded himself, to get mad at this. It would be pathetic to rise to a ten year olds taunts. Even if he was currently nine himself. It would be deeply, deeply, pathetic. Young master, Mary said, her voice low with warning. I cant believe he makes you call him that, Xander said, turning to Mary. I hope hes not beating you too badly. He bit back a retort that he would never lay a hand on her, because any denial would be taken as confirmation. Xander, show some respect. See? What happened to you, Mary? Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author''s preferred platform and support their work! Ah. So maybe that was it? Maybe Xander and Mary had been childhood friends, and theyd inevitably drifted apart upon her employment as a servant, and Xander was taking out that anger on Archmund? Ive heard of all sorts of the wicked things nobles do, Xander said. How they treat commoners like cattle and also horses sometimes. Archmund looked at Mary. Thats a quote from Ardurs Fables. I may have shared the stories on my last break. As just stories, though! He sighed. Even in his old world there had been people with great difficulty telling the difference between made-up stories and the truth and Mary had the special authority of actually working with real-live nobles, which wouldve confused the matter even further. Look, none of thats real, Xander, Archmund said. Let me talk to your father. Whatever you want to say to him, you can say to me, Xander said, with the unearned bravado of a young boy whod hit his growth spurt already. Archmund would have sighed, but he just really thought this was honestly kind of adorable and precocious. There had to be a way to flex his superiority over a ten year old that didnt lead to a lifetime grudge and that, more importantly, wasnt also deeply, deeply pathetic. Hell be building the stage for the Harvest Festival, Archmund said. Well be building the stage for the Harvest Festival, Xander said smugly. Now that my older brothers taken on Dungeon duty, Ill be town carpenter of Granavale in five years time. That was a good data point. There were still people who took pride in honest work, even if they were mildly annoying. You have all the supplies you need? Archmund said. He would treat this like a business thing. Yeah, that was the way forward. Of course we do, said Xander proudly. We have no need for noble charity! Archmund wondered whether all of this really had come from Marys stories on the days she got to go out of town, or whether some adults were fomenting anti-noble rebellion. It wasnt entirely out of the question. After major upheavals, like when the Black Plague had killed half of medieval Europe, there was often a boom in social mobility as living people got better jobs because the people who used to have good jobs were all dead. This was just like that, because the Crylaxan Plague had killed a lot of people. True, those people had included his mother and siblings, but the common people had arguably suffered worse, because they lost their mothers and siblings too but werent rich. And theres the matter of his payment for building the stage for the Harvest Festival, Archmund said flatly. Far better to keep this moving. You want even more in taxes? No, Archmund said, resisting the urge to add a you idiot. Payment rendered for services due. I dont get it. We the House Granavale are paying you, the Granavale Coopers, money for your help in building a stage for the Harvest Festival. I said we dont need your charity! Can I please just speak to your father. Xander glowered at him. It didnt seem like hed budge. Young master, Mary said, her voice completely level. Archmund sighed. They stepped away, giving Xander this small victory. He swaggered off, back to the carpentry. You shouldnt listen to him, Mary said. Of course not, Archmund said. Obviously the Coopers get paid for their work. If we stiffed them theyd never work for us again. Thats not what I meant Mary, half of Ardurs tales are about good and righteous nobles. The ones that arent are about ragged princes who learn theyre secretly nobles or magically become nobles. How on earth did he go from those to thinking all nobles are bad? Obviously there were issues with an entrenched hereditary nobility that had access to magical rocks that made them superhuman, but this resentment had nothing to do with that. It was out of the blue. It was reasonable anger for illogical reasons. Mary had gone pale. I just tell them about some of the things you do, Mary said weakly. Its nothing bad! I told them about the mayonnaise, and how youd been so reckless to charge into the Dungeon, and how youd forced me to learn to readplease dont take it out on the town, its only him whos like this for some reason, I swear! Archmund hadnt been planning on it, because even though he was emotionally nine years old and spoiled there was a part of him that was roughly thirty and thought it was immensely, immensely pathetic to pick a fight with a ten year old, but he was pretty sure he couldnt allow this to spread. Somehow. Mary, well just have to figure something out, he said. He walked back to the carriage to get out of the market square a few pairs of eyes had started drifting towards him. An altercation between two young boys was pedestrian, but when one of those boys was impeccably well-dressed in clean linens and a vest, whispers would spread. It wouldnt do if he got a reputation as a bully. That really was quite something, Raehel said, having walked right up behind them. Mary shrieked; Archmund didnt flinch. Somehow, hed sensed ripples of her magic through the Numen, or maybe he was fooling himself. I think hes maybe got a crush on you, Raehel continued, nodding at Mary. What, Xander? I no, thats never going to happen, Mary said, shaking her head. Archmund glanced back at her and she quickly darted her eyes away. Hard to get married to anyone other than an adventurer, a noble, or a mage when youre one of the Bejeweled Elite, Raehel said airily. Youll live longer, move faster, be stronger, think quicker Better let him down easy. Im telling you, its not like that. At all. Hes just a kid I took care of a few times, years ago, Mary said. Archmund didnt want to think about things in these terms either. Either way, though you cant let him just mouth off to you like that, Raehel said. If you dont, one day, hell try to stab you in the back or hammer a nail through your eye. Hed fail, Archmund said. Yeah, hed fail, but youd have to kill him, Raehel said. And I only see one carpenter in this town. You really want to let it get to that point? She really had an odd intuition for these power dynamics for someone so young. Academic politics really must have been quite vicious. 37 - Once Again I Ask the Poor to Explain Economics The ego-fueled psychosocioeconomic confrontation between Archmund Granavale and Xander Cooper (di Granavale, reflective of his hometown) was, of course, highly atypical for how festival preparations usually went. Here is how a typical preparation usually went: Archmund walked up to the bakers stall. The bakers, a kindly couple who went only by Ma and Pa, smiled at him. Their son, a gangly fellow named Al (named, of course, for Alexander Omnio I), also smiled at him with a mouth missing two teeth, and smiled even bigger at Mary. The smell of warm bread wafted from their stall, as they were continually baking. Raehel had been politely asked to stay some distance away. Archmund asked typical questions of their inventory and capacity: Do you have enough supplies?: Yes. Do you have enough hands to bake enough for the festival?: They had been able to cajole Al into helping instead of practicing his swordsmanship with his friends, but other hands were unusually expensive this year. Will you be able to provide everyone with a loaf for free?: They were on track to have enough bread, with a 10% allowance for the unusually hungry. Funded, as usual, by the usual noble charity. Will the agreed-upon payment cover the costs?: Almost, but this year their labor costs had been higher than expected by about 15%. Mary had jotted down all of these figures. Archmund was concerned, to put it lightly, but he agreed that House Granavale would cover their extra labor costs in the name of keeping the Festival grand. Fundamentally, although hed been entrenched in the study of the movement of money, he was not well-read in economics. He didnt have a great frame of reference for how all this would go. But a 15% increase in labor costs in the course of a season was unheard of. The demand of bread was the same as it was last year Imperial demographers had assessed that the level of population had remained roughly constant from year to year so that meant there was a constraint on supply. And that constraint? The Dungeon. He knew the Church and the town leadership had arranged for a rotating guard of the Dungeon, partially appropriating the existing militia and levies, but theyd had a fair bit of new signups. Was that adequate to explain all 15%? Or was the Dungeon itself changing the hopes and dreams of the population? He would have to go there later to check. The story was the same among all the craftsmen. The basketweaver had paid twice as much for an extra pair of hands to thresh grasses for baskets. The glassblower had paid 20% more for someone willing to keep the fire stoked. The farmers, shockingly, hadnt paid all that much, but theyd had to hire some extra migrant workers since some of their usual aides were drawn to the Dungeon. Theyd had some minor harvest losses due to the disruptions from the Dungeon Storm, so their taxes paid would be about 10% less. All small things. But together, they compounded into a very concerning picture. What do you think? he asked Mary. Theyd snuck back into their carriage for privacy, though they left a window open to stop it from being too stuffy in the afternoon sun. Raehel had graciously agreed to stand guard, though doubtless she was eavesdropping. I think youre ignoring how much in taxes you collect from the Dungeon. It was true. They levied a hefty 20% tax on any Gems harvested by adventurers, which was actually very generous compared to the Great Dungeons. The spoils of the Omnio Dungeon belonged fully to House Omnio, those of the Arcane Dungeon were reserved for the Imperial University and their research, and the Holy Dungeon belonged to the Church, and its relics were sacred. Only the Wild Dungeon, far on the Frontier, was totally free to loot but even reaching it was an ordeal in itself, and it was deadly. In practical terms, since adventurers had no need for most unshaped Gems, they gladly gave any Gems they had in exchange for keeping their Gemgear. One unshaped Gem could easily cover the 20% tax on ten pieces of Gear but most adventurers rarely harvested any, so they racked up an unpayable debt. Those who got nothing skipped town, going to some other opening Dungeon (there always seemed to be one every summer, opening in a different far-flung part of the Empire), hoping to get lucky, and since the local authorities rarely could enforce their will into other lands, their taxes would go forever unpaid. If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. But those that did succeed more than covered those that didnt. Frankly, this was why Archmund had insisted on doing the first delve himself. So youre saying, Archmund said, forcing his thoughts back to Mary, Were still in the net positive. Even if we cover all the increases. But that would mean giving everyone free money. Which was fine, if it was just for one year, or two. But across the ten or so years of a Dungeons typical lifespan, an annual 10% increase in the money given out would compound to a total of a 150% increase. And once the easy money of the Dungeon ran out, those expectations would remain, the wealth to fund them would not, and Granavale County would lose its luster and collapse back to what it had originally been. This must have been how Jerome Powell, the leader of the Federal Reserve, which managed the currency of the United States of America had felt, when he was raising interest rates to try and tame inflation. He had to stop money from becoming totally devalued nationwide for reasons, which Archmund didnt think were fully applicable. This was clearly just like that. He gave Mary a quick summary of the issue of compounding. She seemed skeptical of it she argued that expecting a permanent, yearly 10% growth rate in expenses was unrealistic, that surely peoples requirements would peter out at around a flat 50% increase from the current amount, but he pointed out that was still pretty bad so she accepted his premises. What do you think we should do? Archmund said. If its the cost of goods and labor, Mary said, House Granavale could provide them directly? Archmund shook his head. Price fixing and price controls had issues. He didnt understand them fully, but he knew there were reasons to be wary. It was easy to think of them as a preferable band-aid to raw, unfettered capitalism, but he didnt want to unleash a tool that could so obviously come back to bite him later. Well, moreso than he already had. He still felt more than a twinge of guilt about the whole situation with Mary being permanently stuck with him. What about the labor? Mary asked. What do you mean? Archmund asked. Surely she wasnt suggesting that they send the household staff out to work the fields. They had maybe three gardeners for the whole of Granavale Manor, and they were more concerned with lawncare and pruning and flowerbed arrangement, not the harvest. Slaves, Mary said. Absolutely not, Archmund replied instantly. I had a feeling youd say that. Yes, this world had slavery. His old one had too, but in more subtle and insidious ways. But this world straight-up followed the imperial Roman model of slavery, complete with philosophers moralizing about how the master-slave bond was actually good for society and uplifting to the soul, educated slaves serving as tutors, expeditions into the Frontier to civilize unprepared villages, and a lot of expended human lives in dangerous heavy industry. The existence of slaves meant that those who traded their lives to the service of noble houses for Gemgear werent at the bottom of the social pecking order. And they had the social mobility to escape as well, something far less possible for slaves. Either way, he didnt want to participate in it. It really seemed like the sort of thing that could actually damn your soul to the objectively real hell. Also, he knew from his worlds history that actually it could be quite a bit more expensive than hiring workers at sub-market rates while requiring them to handle their room and board themselves. Which was better morally, in theory at least, despite the obvious continuing exploitation. Mary smiled. I dont care what Xander says, youre definitely not one of the wicked nobles. Surely you didnt suggest something you already knew Id never agree to. Maybe shed done it to see if he was turning into a bad person. Their class system was complex and, as far as he could tell, imposed and surmountable. That made all nobles a little wicked for reaping its rewards while never questioning it, surely. I do have another suggestion. Lets hear it. Ive heard in other lands, the local lords have stricter controls on migrants, Mary said delicately, her eyes flitting back and forth. Her aunt and uncle had been wandering merchants, after all. Did that make her a class traitor? You could hire them directly, and tell them who to help, Mary said. You get control over how much they get paid. You can take it out of your goods subsidy to the craftsmen. Archmund frowned. The idea appealed to him. But why would they agree to it? To take less money from me when they could negotiate with the craftsmen directly? Because you can force them, Mary said. Which was true. That wont work in the long run. Then Mary said. She took a deep breath. And Mary explained how the lives of wandering merchants, and presumably other migrants, worked. It was possible to bring ones home on ones back a tent and a camp but it was far more preferable to find an inn or some other place to lodge. That took money not much for a single night, but it added up. And either option was lacking in security. Inns relied on the trust of strangers (though some measure of the ancient Greek idea of Sacred Hospitality had filtered into this world, probably from Alexander Omnio I), while camping exposed you to all the normal dangers of the lawless lands outside of towns the bandits and beasts and escaped Monsters that somehow managed to escape eradication. But none of that compared to a true sense of safety and security. And Archmund realized what she was saying. Sure, slavery was morally abhorrent. And yes, cheating people out of their wages was wrong. But people would gladly take a lesser wage if they got the sense of safety and security that came with a short-term rental. Besides, it wasnt like it would be that much more evil for him to become a landlord. He was already a hereditary noble with a natural claim to all of the land within Granavale County, so he was already evil in the sense of taking advantage of his position as hereditary nobility. He would just be putting it to different use. But there was one glaring issue, a factor that had distorted the labor market, the very value of a hard days work: It was time to return to Granavale Dungeon. 38 - I Wish Raehel Would Stop Saying Shes Being Kidnapped Help! Im being kidnapped! The carriage rattled as Raehel woke up, her red hair frizzy from a night of sleep. The first streaks of dawn, muted by gathering clouds, lightly danced upon their faces as they rode towards Granavale Dungeon. Archmund rolled his eyes, unamused by his sense of deja vu. Do you always do this? Archmund asked. I dont know why I agreed to this again, Raehel grumbled. You complained that we didnt spend enough time in town for you to investigate the little people, and then you complained that we only got back to the manor after dark. Its dangerous to travel by dark! Usually it was, but every first-rate carriage had embedded Gems that drew upon the drivers magic and acted like floodlights. It was rather ingenious, really, though obviously a bit constraining magicwise though it was worth noting that normal people actively tried to use as little of their energy as possible when using a Gem instead of pushing past its limits. Archmund ignored her complaint because it was completely unfounded. And thats why were coming out bright and early. So we can see Granavale Dungeon. Like you wanted to. Oh, thats right! Raehel said, perking right up. Granavale Dungeon. Id love to see what its like before it really really calcifies! Calcifies. Like a bone, or a brain, or a fossil. Oh, yeah. Lots of accidents have happened in the Arcane Dungeon, so the place feels like all the regrets of dead mages in training. Ive heard the Omnio Dungeon feels like a mausoleum for the Emperors, though no one outside of the Imperial Family can confirm. It calcifies. Stops changing. Becomes all the same. Im not sure I want you poking around in my subconscious. The words just slipped out. Now thats an interesting thought. You think the Dungeons are the subconscious of the people who first enter them? It was a tricky question. The Dungeons first tier ended with a reflection of Granavale Manor, which could be blamed on his ancestors and their grudges. But hed also seen a glimpse of an unexplored level of the Dungeon, and it looked like a cubicle farm, the type of place that haunted his nightmares. But he couldnt say that. He didnt want to reveal too much. I thought they were shaped by the grudges of the dead. No one denies that. But you make it sound like its also the grudges of the living. Archmund shrugged. Technically, he was pretty sure hed already died once. When they got to the Dungeon, the sun had just fully risen. The Dungeons geography was actually quite unusual. Archmund hadnt actually seen it in the light of day, only in pale torchlight. The Dungeons entrance was at the bottom of a massive caldera. But no volcanic eruption had blown this hole in the ground, and there was no hill surrounding it it had been created, rather, by the deathly power of the Dungeon Storm. Mercys troops had built a ramp from the rim down to the bottom wide enough for two carriages to pass comfortably, that took a full rotation. Down at the bottom there was a decently-well-stocked supply camp. At Archmunds instruction, theyd also started building rudimentary arbalests and ballistas and catapults and pots of large rocks and other such traps on the rim of the Dungeon. These were, of course, last resorts should Monsters ever escape. They would likely do more damage to the guardians of the Dungeon than any escapees. The Dungeon was under a 24-hour armed guard, by the ragtag sons and daughters of Granavale County. They wore leather armor. Many wielded pitchforks. Hardly an elite fighting force, but suitable for keeping an eye on the Dungeon. Some were on the rim, but the bulk of the camp was down below in the crater. All of this was fairly standard for how Dungeons were guarded, at least those that didnt natively support an adventurer camp. That was the one big deviation. Instead of letting adventurers come and make their mark on Granavale County, he was handling it himself. A pair of guards saluted, raising their pitchforks, as their carriage started descending the ramp. If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Mary frowned. Are those going to do anything? she said, eying the pitchforks. Raehel snorted. Doubt it. Itll keep them alive long enough to get a warning out, which should be enough to keep at least half of this county alive. Archmund frowned. The ones at the surface level shouldnt be that difficult to deal with. Besides, we do get a few adventurers a month who manage to keep the upper levels clear. I guess? Raehel said. This place just opened, didnt it? Id say you have another year or so until youd need actual guards. That, he wasnt looking forward to. They observed the camp as they made their way down. When they got to the bottom, he commandeered the commanders tent the largest tent there. Even still, it was spartan a simple cot, racks of honed weapons, some diagrams of the dungeon. Purely practical. The three of them sat down to talk strategy. The Omnio agent who helped me clear this place was a bit tight-lipped on what to expect as the situation evolved, Archmund said. That was one of the major flaws of this world: the extreme sparsity of highly crucial life-saving information. In his old life, he had access to the Internet, a global network of information and people yelling lies at each other, but in theory he couldve looked up the answers to any question he could imagine. Here, he had only garbled theories and musings and rumors. As far as he could tell, information about Dungeons was given out on a need-to-know basis to nobles, through word-of-mouth and ghost stories between adventurers, and under mountains of jargon for magical researchers. You can expect an s-shaped mortal force curve, Raehel said, her voice becoming increasingly textbook. First few months sets the steady-stable state of Monster escape rate. If you clear out the place good enough, theres a antithesis reaction between ecosystem niche creation and psychomortal trauma shock. Archmund sighed. Is there anything that matters other than what, an s-shaped mortal force curve? So theyll get deadlier suddenly, and people wont be prepared? I heard that happens, Raehel said. But thats what adventurers are for. All adventurers get graded roughly by their peers and their magic capacity, and they give danger ratings to Dungeons and reassess when needed, so Wonderful. Another proprietary, unclear, potentially bullshit rating system. He wondered if he could just hack his personal Gemstone Tablet to display what everyone elses rating was, or whether that would be too overpowered. Didnt the Omnio agent revoke the charter for the adventurers guilds to operate in Granavale County? Mary said. Archmund closed his eyes and took a deep breath. She said it would be temporary. Rather, the adventurers guild said theyd challenge the matter in the legal system. And it had been long enough that presumably the suspension had either lapsed or the appeal had succeeded. Oh, thats no good though, Raehel said. You dont want to piss them off. They were trying to bleed us dry, Archmund said. They risk their lives, of course they ask for more than they really need. Now that he thought about it, hed really ended up backed into a corner. If he hadnt refused the adventurers guilds, Granavale County wouldve been bled dry over the course of decades. If hed let them operate freely, they wouldve fundamentally shifted how people saw risk-reward: why spend years making an honest living when you could become superhuman by risking your life for eight hours for one day? But since hed rebuffed them over his reasonable concerns, they were understandably wary of working in the County. And without an adventurer ecosystem, they were woefully unprepared to keep the Dungeon at bay, and fighting through a Dungeon to gain the necessary practice and gear was risky and life-threatening. But the Dungeon couldnt go unguarded, so it was in House Granavales best interest to pay people to watch it. But in doing so they also distorted the labor market for a job that was fundamentally temporary. And their lives were at risk, when the Dungeon inevitably became more and more dangerous without adequate adventurer support. But if he were to train them and equip them on his own initiative, he would be making use of the Princess Angelina Grace Prima Marca Omnios dispensation to build a private fighting force. A dispensation that could be revoked at any time should the tides of politics be turned against him, thus making his House guilty of high treason. I need to talk to some people, Archmund said. If you want to go into the Dungeon Mary, why dont you go with her together? Me, young master? Dont you want my help with numbers? It was complicated. On one hand, Mary was smart enough to take notes and get insights he didnt necessarily had. On the other hand, he didnt like the image having a maidservant tagging along projected when it came to talking to the rough-and-tumble salt-of-the-earth guards. And anyways, it was a Dungeon, and Mary was trained. Somewhat. Come here, Mary, he said. He grabbed her by the shoulders, which was a little awkward since she had a good six inches of height on him, and positioned her about a foot away from him. Think of the worst pain youve ever felt. When I was young with a fever and stuck in bed, throwing my guts out. I thought there was a real chance Id die. Thats a ten. Think of no pain at all, and thats a zero. Mary frowned, and she opened her mouth but didnt say anything. Archmund punched her in the arm as hard as he could. (So much for never laying a hand on her.) Ow! From one to ten, how much does that hurt? Mary shook out her arm. She was glowering at Archmund. Zero, young master. He was sure hed actually tried. Are you sure? Because I just want to make sure you can handle it in there Wow, ruthless, Raehel said. If you wanted to know if she could handle it in there, you couldve just asked me. There are ways to tell that sort of info, actually. Really? That was certainly an interest data point. Is she ready? Shell live. But next to Raehel the Magnificent, no one is ready! He hoped this would be a valuable learning experience for Mary. Shed get the experience she needed fighting some Monsters for real in the Dungeon, shed be able to report back on Raehels capabilities, and hed get a real sense of the discontentment of the working class. Because one thing was clear as day: Granavale County needed military power. A private army could become a capital crime at any moment. But a peacekeeping force or road guards or a purely ceremonial honor guard? All of those were more than permitted. And if they were used to project power or enforce order in other ways Well, he hoped it wouldnt come to that. But he would be prepared if it did. 39 - Archmund Takes On Too Much Responsibility Mary had two major opinions about who Archmund Granavale was, at his core. First, he thought he was a conniving bastard. Second, he was also very bad at it. When he smiled and waved her off, it was blatantly obviously that he wanted her to get something from Raehel. Maybe it was information about stuff that the other girl wouldnt share willingly but that was precisely why Mary thought he was so bad at it. Raehel was an open book. She didnt hide or obfuscate anything. When she opened her mouth, it was a genuine wonder that the whole of her knowledge didnt come tumbling out. Well, Im glad to have you with me, Raehel said. You dont want to be caught alone with a Monster, but I want to see one before heading back. I dont know what you expect me to do, Mary said. I mostly did dusting. If you see a Monster, wave your fan and blow it into the wall. Pretty easy. Mary was unconvinced. Together, they entered the Dungeon. The opening was now behind two wooden gates, each guarded by a pair of guards. Doors wouldve been a bad idea they wouldve trapped people fleeing Monsters, but did little to stop the Monsters themselves. All told, there were probably thirty or forty people guarding the outside of the Dungeon at any given time. Archmund had given Mary some idea of what to expect, but it was still jarring to see the near-parody of the Dungeon herself, how it mimicked so closely the network of underground maintenance tunnels that underlaid Granavale Manor. Archmund probably had no idea that such tunnels even existed he had been spoiled, until that day hed suddenly become eccentric, but even after turning eccentric there were a lot of things he just ignored or didnt consider worth thinking about. This was one of them. Raehel walked a few paces forward before stopping and rubbing her hand against the wall. This really is shabby, she commented. Its a Dungeon, Mary said. I wouldnt expect a slaughterhouse or a tannery to be pretty. The Arcane Dungeon is, Raehel said. If anything, its like a second branch of the universitys library. Now, lets see Raehel walked forward a bit more until they came to the first fork in the corridor. There were symbols in white paint. An arrow pointing downwards, on the right side. A circle with an x beneath it, on the left side, and one vertical line beneath it. A sun, back the way theyd came. Frankly, times like this Mary wondered why Archmund even wanted her to bother to learn how to read. Pictographs were more than clear enough, and when one wasnt clear, asking questions was always possible. The arrow means down, Mary said, but what does the circle mean? Thats a skull and bones, Raehel said. There be monsters. Mary didnt like the sound of that. She was about to suggest that they head downwards, but Raehel turned and walked in the direction of the Monsters. What are you doing? Mary said, calling after her. So far up, the Monsters are weak. The first round, the ones that actually wanted to escape, got cleaned out, so any Monsters spawning up here are masses of undirected instinct. Anything smarter or capable of actual combat is biding its time. It made sense, but Raehel had sounded like Archmund did when he had a reasonable guess about something but was missing one or two details that proved he actually knew what was going on, so Mary wasnt very reassured. Why were they like this? ***** Archmund was nervous, but he refused to let it show. A moment of weakness could lead to a lifetime of ridicule for a noble. The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. He was glad hed commandeered the commanders tent for his private discussion with Mary and Raehel. It meant he could fidget and pace and burn off some of his nervous energy and he considered his situation. The tent was spartan. It had a single meeting table, upon which was drawn a map of the first Subtier of the Dungeon. Hed seen more finalized copies of it sent to Granavale manor, but this had a few scribbled-out charcoal marks where people had tested for secret passageways, and potential spawning grounds for training purposes. He recognized the various nooks and crannies hed explored, all leading to the shadow of the Manor deep beneath the earth. Other than that, the tent had few other furnishings, just crates piled full with dull Gemstone Gear. Nothing particularly potent or useful, but things like pauldrons, boots, gauntlets, and masks. Useful additions to a set of armor to empower their wearers with Gem power. There were, all told, around thirty to forty men currently on duty. This world didnt have the concept of resting on the weekend or 8 hour workdays, but generally speaking not having those things led to losses in productivity, so when he was talking to his father about how best to staff the Dungeon, hed argued for a slightly more generous than usual work for 5 days for 12 hours each, then get two full days off. It wasnt particularly supportive of labor rights compared to what he knew, but it was a whole lot fairer than making them do 12 hours per day all week. He missed the four stooges of Mercys men: Zankto, Vurl, Yald, and Wrest. Them staying had never been in consideration they were Mercys men, after all, in the official employ of the Empire but theyd been disciplined. Theyd been measured. Theyd been professional Young master Archmund, said a gruff but gentle voice. Weaponsmaster Garth Alavant was a long-contracted retainer of House Granavale. He was one of Lord Reginald Granavales bosom friends and had served House Granavale for as long as Archmund could remember. Most recently before this as a groundskeeper. In another world, unravaged by the Crylaxan Plague, he wouldve trained Archmund in the way of the sword from the age of five, but Archmund had been too sickly for that to have been possible. Instead, hed been relegated to guard duty. I hope youre doing alright out here, Archmund said. Weaponsmaster Garth chuckled. Lad, Im more than fine. He was clad in scale armor, light enough for him to stay mobile but strong enough to blunt a strike from a bandit or a Monster. His beard was growing out rough, untrimmed in likely half a month. There was a Gem-encrusted sword peeking out from a scabbard at his waist, but no other Gemgear. And he looked alive in a way Archmund didnt remember him ever looking before. You missed it, he said. The dungeoneering, the sense of adventure. Youve gotten awfully keen in the past summer, lad, Garth said. Awfully perceptive. Im glad. Youre growing up. More like hed grown up a lifetime ago and was reminded of all its horrors and wonders. Whats the situation? Not much at all to report, Garth said, rubbing the back of his head. We got maybe five adventurers in the past month. Only two of them got any loot of note. You cleared out the place too well, so the wrathful dead are running scared. Weve probably got a few more months of that before we need to send in a serious presence or call for aid. We had one breach of the surface by an animated skeleton, but the boys chopped it up. Did it drop any Gem? Garth handed Archmund a crystal dagger all but identical to the ones he already had. Archmund sighed and pocketed it. Youve done this before, Garth. How does the development usually go? Garth told him. The Dungeon Storm was a burst of raw instinct the wrathful dead, having finally built up enough pressure within the earth like a volcano or zit, burst forth, running amok and carving out the Dungeon in their fury. This first wave absolutely had to be culled, lest their momentum continue and overwhelm the land they were in. The Frontier Dungeon had gone unnoticed and unculled, and even now the hundreds of miles around it were a bizarre wondrous wasteland. But after that first culling, things normalized for a time. Monsters slowly built up their power in the depths, training and eating and emerging from the underworld, fighting each other and amalgamating into more powerful, wrathful forms. There wasnt enough space for all of the spirits of the dead to take full physical form, so they would merge and become stronger instead. The dumber ones would still naively try to escape into the light of the mortal world, but they were both weak and prone to expending all of their power to create Gemgear for survival. That made them a prime target for adventurers, whether they were commoners who werent bound to land or those favored by the nobility. It was a simple loop: hunt the dumb and simple monsters for their Gemgear. Attune that Gemgear and become stronger. Go deeper into the Dungeon and hunt stronger Monsters for their Gemgear, which would likewise be stronger. Go even deeper and hunt stronger monsters there. Ad infinitum. Once you had a full set, you could become a Hero, able to go toe to toe with nobles. But it required that first stroke of luck, that first victory of Gemgear, to start the loop. Hard work and training to sustain it. Luck to not die in the process. Hed disrupted that loop by doing too good a job. Normally, a first pass through a Dungeon cleared out 70%-90% of its monsters, leaving just enough to spawn. It was exponential growth the more there were, the faster they grew. So now the Monsters of Granavale Dungeon were weak near the surface but growing stronger in the depths. There would come a time when they left the depths and started climbing the higher levels, and unless they managed to train a stronger defensive force before then, things would go from quiet to very bad very, very quickly. It was a much clearer and more intuitive explanation than Raehels. So he asked Garth. Is this empirical? Is it theoretical? Its based on observation, lad, Garth said. Most Dungeons that open up these days follow these patterns. The Four Great Dungeons are exceptions, but all the rules go out the window with those. Hed expected to hear about how this was a problem on an economic level. But clearly, this was a problem on a home-defense level as well. Hed made this problem, and he had to fix it.