Date: 2020-12-20 05:00:00+00:00
Keywords: Fantasy
Description: I should not exist. All children like me are stillborn, or die in infancy. Those who cannot grow stronger, die. No empty child has ever reached a year of age, yet I am now thirteen. It has been a long and miserable thirteen years, where the best I can manage to do is walk with difficulty. Sometimes, I cannot even manage that. My clan has paid dearly for every minute of my life. And money is not so easy to obtain, here at the edge of civilization. Perhaps I might have lived in this state for many years. A cripple, strong in mind but feeble in body. But when some unexpected guests came to our es
Publisher: Amazon Digital Services

Arthur Stone

ALPHA ZERO

Text Copyright © 2020 Arthur Stone

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the author.

Contents:

Arthur Stone

Alpha Zero

Chapter 1

A Mother’s Hands

Chapter 2

The Financial Crisis

Chapter 3

Uninvited Guests

Chapter 4

The Crow Clan’s Chi

Chapter 5

After the Battle

Chapter 6

A Look Within

Chapter 7

Good People

Chapter 8

The Crossing

Chapter 9

Wonders of Medicine

Chapter 10

Dead Man Walking

Chapter 11

Like Water in a Sieve

Chapter 12

Blackriver Trading Station

Chapter 13

Human Commodity

Chapter 14

Beko

Chapter 15

Knife with a Surprise

Chapter 16

The Art of War, Carps and Catfish

Chapter 17

Safari for the Unhinged

Chapter 18

A Mountain of Riches

Chapter 19

A Very Crucial Choice

Chapter 20

Fishless Fishing

Chapter 21

Advanced Fishing

Chapter 22

Force Majeure

Chapter 23

Minus One to Life and a Bad Raft

Chapter 24

Magical Skills and Sundries

Chapter 25

Wild Tales of the Wild Wood

Chapter 26

A Tale of Two Craftsmen

Chapter 27

Old Friend, New Art

Chapter 28

No Pain, No Gain

Chapter 29

The Treasures of Blackriver

Chapter 30

Stubs the Stern

Chapter 31

Ash Warms Up

Chapter 32

The Spoils

Chapter 33

A Truly Terrible Man

Chapter 34

On the Blackriver

Chapter 35

Water, Water Everywhere

Chapter 36

The Breath of Chaos

Chapter 37

Talents of Chaos, Talents of ORDER

Chapter 38

The Wisdom of Chaos

Chapter 39

Winning Plans

Chapter 40

Beko’s Secret

Chapter 41

Wood and Water

Epilogue

Many thanks to my readers!

Chapter 1

A Mother’s Hands

Degrees of Enlightenment: Empty

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

Teshimi is a dead man. Teshimi may still be walking, talking and breathing, but he is already gone. Teshimi is among that variety of dead men that haven’t a clue that it is all over for them. Were I to tell him that he had been banished from the realm of the living, the poor bastard would assume that he’d misheard me or that I was mad. The walking corpse is certain that everything is just peachy. That all he has to do now is to suffer through the boring half-hour greeting ceremony of the Mistress and her heir, at the end of which he’d head back home to Nadeira, as plump and jolly as ever, along with his two children. His dear beloved children, for whom he would do anything.

Including stealing from the clan.

Children are a source of joys and worries. Only in this world, the worries far outweigh the joys. Unlike the world to which I had been born and where I had lived my first life. This one comes with a unique burden that weighs on all parents without exception, peasant and noble alike.

Being the inveterate recluse that I am, I rarely interact with vassal shudras, but Teshimi is an exception. He holds a privileged position in the clan’s hierarchy of servants on account of overseeing a lion’s share of production of one of our major resources. The very product that makes food edible in the eyes of every self-respecting aristocrat. So crucial is his role that he reports to the Mistress directly and regularly. And seeing as I am nearly always by her side, I’ve had plenty of opportunity to get to know the farmer.

Compared to others of his kind, he isn’t bad. Perhaps he is even the best of them. His role carries great responsibility, and he shoulders it well. I would go as far as consider him one of the keystone pieces in the foundation of the pint-sized kingdom headed by my unhinged mother.

And today, this already flimsy foundation is going to suffer another blow to its stability.

Because Teshimi is a dead man.

It was three months ago that I had found out that he wasn’t long for this world. A man in my position is starved for entertainment, clinging to whatever comes along. So whenever my mother would sit down next to me to review the ledgers, I would join her in studying their contents. Sure, I could have just as easily ignored all the data—none of it pertained to me directly in any case—but then how would I have occupied my inquisitive mind? By staring mindlessly at the wall?

No thanks, I’ve had enough of that over the past week and a half. That and praying to the higher powers to aid in Camai’s swift return.

I knew that upon returning this time, he would kill Teshimi. But Teshimi was a dead man anyway, and I very much dislike spending my days playing the role of a spineless vegetable.

Camai brings back something that would turn me into a vegetable capable of at least some movement. Have you ever seen a walking eggplant? Me neither—until the vicissitudes of my new life had turned me into precisely such a wretch.

The place where mother chose to settle could be described by a word that had several synonyms in my native tongue. I prefer to think of it as a homestead, because a knight’s castle it certainly is not, despite formally being the last stronghold of one of Areia’s most ancient clans. Not even the Imperial family could match ours in certain points of gentility.

Yet, gentility doesn’t necessarily translate into might. Alas, the clan’s best days are in the past, as is the clan itself. Only one-and-a-half pieces remain: myself and Treya Atweir, ruler of the Crow and the biological mother of the pitiful body that serves as the host for my consciousness.

I had to become a self-taught acting prodigy to be able to refer to her as mother with a straight face and an unbroken psyche. Indeed, I may well have managed changing a few things about my psyche. But this was the only way to keep her from suspecting anything.

I had to become her son, and not someone pretending to be him.

The homestead amounts to a no frills single-story manor. Several service buildings stand out back, where the servants live and work. Further back, a tiny ceremonial grove conceals a modest ritualistic structure the likes of which I’d never seen back in my world. The locals refer to it as desai, which could be loosely translated as “great pain and courage.” It is a kind of hybrid between barracks and temple, where one is supposed to pray to the higher power responsible for military valor. Or, in simpler words, for murder. And not just to pray for it, but to actively develop it within.

This squat round barn is also the place where Camai dwells in between his excursions, upon which my very life depends. It has been said that he spends all his nights there, but even Blind Desu knows that this only happens in the rare periods when he isn’t warming the beds of shudra widows, which is both his privilege and his duty.

Losing her husband does not release a woman from her obligation to churn out new shudras for the Crow. Yet, as banal debauchery is frowned upon in the local society, it is therefore intricately woven into a complex system of rules and traditions—as was the case with all societies. And so the burden of bull stud fell on Camai, if for no other reason than the Crow simply lacking any other candidates for the job.

Today was a momentous day—and the reason for the clan’s subjects gathering at the homestead. On this day, Treya’s degenerate spawn was to be put on his feet yet again. That spawn being me.

Can’t argue with tradition.

I found myself playing mindlessly with the amulet brought by Teshimi. It is thanks to this very trinket that I wouldn’t be a total vegetable for the next five and a half weeks.

Oh, how pleasant it was to feel my hands and feet again.

Let alone actually move them.

I sat in a woven armchair to Treya’s right. Mother was perched upon her wooden throne, installed on the open terrace earlier this morning by the serving staff for the occasion. The throne was probably the fanciest piece of furniture in the entire homestead.

Staring coldly over the heads of the people who came to pay their respects to the Crow Clan and its leader, mother pronounced her sentence word by ruthless word.

“Teshimi took that which belongs to the Crow. Teshimi did this not once and not twice, but four times. That much is evident by reviewing the spices ledger.”

Teshimi, you foolish bastard. Why were you so awful at covering your tracks? I don’t actually fault him, because I understand the reason for his foolishness. He wanted his kids to grow up into people of consequence, and that costs money around here. The natives aren’t beasts—their babies aren’t capable of developing their ORDER skills independently, by filling up their spiritual centers and surrounding them with sets of attributes. If you aren’t a noble with wealth and connections, you have to really hustle for your offspring to reach the third, maybe even fourth degree, by the time they reach early adolescence. From that point on, things get a little easier.

And so Teshimi hustled. His legal salary wasn’t enough, but an industrious individual dealing with spices wouldn’t want for opportunities to enrich his mistress while taking care of his own. In all likelihood, he first started with cultivation and harvesting, as accounting for those stages rested on him alone. And for as long as he did it neatly and carefully, nobody was the wiser. But then he began to grow bolder—and all because of a new group of swindlers that turned up in our lands. Calling themselves the traders’ guild, they were the apparent blue bloods of the profiteering world, and their representatives wasted no time filling the heads of many with dangerous dreams, promising aid in unlocking any attribute. In exchange for payment, naturally. All five of them should the buyer so wish.

Teshimi adored his children. So he began pulling from the field in greater numbers—enough to make a visible dent in the accounting ledgers.

And that is why Teshimi is a dead man.

“He who steals from the clan makes himself enemy of the clan,” mother continued pontificating. “It is tantamount to declaration of war. And the Crow Clan is up to the challenge. As the izumo of the clan’s leader, Camai shall fight Teshimi to the death. Teshimi may choose any weapon from the desai of my home. Guyom, Dectori and Maguma, help Teshimi make his selection.”

Her judgment pronounced, Treya turned towards me and stroked my hair gently.

“Is my boy hungry?”

I struggled to fight back nausea at the thought of food, but didn’t let it show, shaking my head instead.

“I’m tired. May I lie down?”

“Just a little bit longer, son. Things are going to get interesting. Camai is going to punish a bad man.”

I dared to object. “Teshimi is not a bad man.”

Voicing an objection wasn’t common, and largely because doing so was utterly useless. Treya’s attitude towards me was irrational, to put it mildly. I was her only and favorite son, the source of all her broken dreams, evocative of great pity and longing—and yet, for all that, I might as well be furniture for all the attention she paid to my opinions.

“Teshimi is a very bad man,” mother repeated patiently. “Teshimi took something that belongs to the clan. He robbed you, my precious child. And for that, Teshimi shall be punished.”

The nausea was bad enough—but at least I was used to it, as it often accompanied the amulet’s return. On top of that, now I was going to have to sit here and suffer through this butchery. In a world without TV or Internet, these duels were considered premium entertainment. The few times I had witnessed such things in my former life, it was exclusively via a screen. And I must say that it hardly inspired me to encounter any such violence in the real.

I wish I could just close my eyes and not look at what was about to happen. But no, Treya wouldn’t have that. Nothing escaped her, and she was adamant in forcing me to do what I disliked.

Besides, not watching was just as hard. It is a weird trick of the psyche. You may cringe as you watch something truly repugnant, and still you can’t look away.

The last such execution had taken place at the end of winter, when Camai personally brought in a couple of bandits. Common farm hands from the southwest. The poor bastards barely made ends meet in summertime, so when the weather turned cold, the hunger pushed them to all sorts of lawlessness.

I still remembered the sight of blood spattering both my feet.

Ah crap, must I remember that now? I’m already nauseous...

Teshimi picked a spear. Good choice, Teshimi. It never failed to surprise me to see your random dolt going for a sword. It is a weapon of the aristocracy for a reason—the few commoners that could fight with it aren’t commoners anymore, but those of Camai’s ilk. Achieving that kind of status as a fighter is beyond difficult. The odds are about the same as winning a game in Nightmare mode with a naked character that can’t earn experience, when the lowest opponent can finish you off in a single shot.

Commoners were meant to be born, work the land, then die. Fighting with weapons was never in the cards for them.

That said, anything could happen—and sometimes did. The lands in which the pitiful remnants of the Crow Clan had settled are restless. But given our status of exiles who were unwelcome anywhere near civilization, we had to content ourselves with scraps of land at the edge of civilization.

And the lands beyond the edge are, accordingly, no longer civilization. Our clan was hardly enthused with our neighbors, as most of our interactions with them were of the unpleasant variety. Moreover, the scanty nature of the land fostered criminality among the locals, compelling even the most mild-mannered peasants to keep a quilted jerkin, a thick leather helm and a spear, close at hand.

So, yes, Teshimi, the spear was a solid choice. It is not uncommon to see a teenager handle the weapon with skill that would cause Hollywood stuntmen to turn green with envy, let alone a grown man with combat experience.

But skill wouldn’t be of any help to Teshimi.

Because Teshimi is a dead man.

Camai came out empty-handed and silent, as always. Wearing his usual uniform of all black, lips closed in a thin line. I once saw him go up against four men with nothing but his bare hands, and beat them all to death. With not a word spoken or noise uttered, he twisted their limbs, cracked their skulls, tore the flesh off their faces with inhumanly powerful fingers, and snapped their collarbones. That sickening crunch was still fresh in my memory.

Not once did his mouth open throughout that whole battle.

“Can that monster even breathe?”

I wish I knew the answer.

Teshimi is no fool, either. He knew full well that he wouldn’t be walking away from this. They always know. In this hinterland, a hardened beta-ranked warrior of the twenty-eighth circle of enlightenment might as well be an army of fifteen thousand Imperial guardsmen. Either scenario is just as unbelievable as the outcomes are predictable.

His chances going up against an army wouldn’t be any better than against Camai.

The duel lasted mere seconds. Displaying little enthusiasm, Teshimi spun the spear and thrusted the butt-end into the earth, aiming to send clumps of dirt flying into his opponent’s face. Camai easily evaded the clumsy attempt as he cleared the distance between the two.

A snatch and a jerk and the familiar sickening crunch, and the body of the former grower of spices crumbled to the trampled ground of the yard—his neck unnaturally twisted, the light of life gone from his eyes.

Teshimi is a dead man.

Is it me, or did Teshimi and Camai exchange words imperceptibly before the battle? It just seemed too long, the time they stood opposite each other before getting on with the action.

Must be my imagination. Teshimi was a common farmer, not a warrior. The secrets of the warrior class were sealed off from his kind.

Then again, who knows? Hardly anything surprised me anymore in this bizarro world.

“Teshimi fought honorably and deserves to rest in peace,” mother nodded, rising from her throne.

Wonderful. That meant the body would be handed over to his family instead of being dumped on the far shore of Redriver, to be promptly devoured by the predators of the Wild Wood. That would be some consolation to the widow, at least. Planning the funeral should distract her from her mourning, and channel her thoughts towards the future.

And the future far less certain now that she has two kids to raise on her own. Finding a new husband here is hardly realistic.

This land is rich with widows, making competition among the fairer sex quite fierce. And Teshimi’s widow is neither a beauty nor young, by peasant standards.

Up on her feet, Treya graced me with a smile and offered her hand.

“Come inside, my dear boy. It’s chilly out, and you haven’t your strength.”

That much was true. I don’t have my strength—or anything else, for that matter.

I am a zero, capable only of drawing breath once the amulet is discharged.

And barely capable, at that.

With an inhuman effort, I grabbed mother’s hand and willed myself to my feet.

It wasn’t the getting up part that was truly difficult. Sure, it was far from easy in my present state, but it couldn’t compare to the worst part.

The worst part was holding mother by the hand.

The same hand with which she had ripped out my heart.

Chapter 2

The Financial Crisis

Degrees of Enlightenment: Empty

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

“Teshimi was our finest harvester. There’s no replacing him. He was the only master harvester who had achieved rank nine in Deep Spices skill.”

At that, mother scoffed. “That’s merely omega. Forget about Teshimi. Teshimi is a nobody.”

A categorical statement, but not enough to silence Camai.

“Still, we have no one else. And nowhere to recruit from. Which means no spices for the foreseeable future.”

Camai prefers silence in all situations. A warrior born to a warriors’ order, where speech is far from a prized value, there had been week-long stretches when he spoke fewer words than this in my presence. I nearly dropped my two-pronged fork at this sudden outburst of eloquence. Granted, it was uncomfortable as hell to hold, and so bloody narrow that if you shaved another fraction of an inch, you could call it a chopstick. On the plus side, it did wonders for the fingers’ motor functions—as did the rest of the traditional local utensils.

Except for my own stubborn fingers, which apparently never got the memo.

Mother, for her part, was equally oblivious to my failures.

As she was to most things...

Unfazed by the comment about the spices, Treya was peering into the local equivalent of a newspaper with keen interest. It was a scroll of cruddy rice paper slotted into a simplistic device comprising a pair of wooden rollers set a couple of hand-widths apart. Slowly turning the lower handle unfolded the rolled parchment affixed to the higher one, allowing the reader to peruse the full text without touching the flimsy material unnecessarily.

Camai always brought back the same exact thing: a monthly bulletin of the Empire’s most significant tidings and social happenings. Mother’s desire to be cited in these annals was as evident as a fox’s dream of snatching itself a fattened rabbit. And it was laughable—I had a better shot of being recruited into an elite guard troop than she did of meriting even a passing mention.

Getting no reaction to his words, Camai continued.

“Without spices, how are we going to pay for maintenance of your son’s amulet?”

Uh-oh, it’s getting real now. This wasn’t something mother would just ignore.

And she didn’t.

“We’ve got plenty of rye in our granary. We’ll sell some of the supplies while we look for a new master harvester. We’re going to have spices again.”

Camai shook his head.

“Those supplies are of seed rye, Mistress. If we sell it, we won’t be able to sow a new harvest.”

“I did say that we need to replace Teshimi, didn’t I? The wretch stole for his worthless kids, and the new master harvester won’t dare repeat his mistakes, knowing what kind of fate befell his predecessor. We’ll end up with spices to spare—enough to buy back all the seeds we’ll need. Don’t you worry about that.”

“But I am worried, Mistress. It is my duty to worry about Clan Crow’s prosperity,” Camai said, turning up the pathos to mimic mother’s. “We’re not going to find another master harvester on Teshimi’s level. He alone could grow fine spices on this miserly soil. There’s no replacing him. There’s not going to be any more spices. Rye is all we have to rely on. Except it isn’t worth much, and we don’t have a lot of it. We don’t have a lot of anything, in fact, which is why the farmers go hungry every winter. The soil is just atrocious. Teshimi wasn’t stealing for himself. The peasant kids are ailing—primarily from hunger. He alone was in a position to get them food. So he risked everything. Not just for his kids, either. He fed them all—his own children, and those of his neighbors.”

I could hardly believe my ears. A year’s worth of words for Camai, condensed to a single monologue...

At last, mother looked up from her reading material. She gave the warrior a hard stare, hissing her next question, serpent-like.

“You’re saying he fed other people’s kids?”

“Yes, Mistress.”

“And I am finding out about it only now?”

“I myself have only found out an hour ago, Mistress. I knew Teshimi well, and found it hard to believe he would be so foolish. It’s just not realistic to have the theft go unnoticed. So I surmised he must have been sharing with others to keep them quiet. I put some pressure on a few peasants with a reputation for loose tongues. Turns out your laborers had assembled in secret some time ago. They were desperate. Their children were starving, and they had no spices, which is harmful for developing their attributes. Children are the future for even the lowliest worker. So it was decided at the gathering to exchange the stolen spices for food. This is why nobody ratted on Teshimi. If he hadn’t screwed up the accounting himself, he could have continued thieving, and we’d be none the wiser.”

“So it’s a conspiracy,” Treya stated in the same unsettling tone. “I want the conspirators rounded up and punished immediately.”

“This brings us to our second problem, Mistress. Forget the spices for a moment. Yes, stealing from the clan is punishable by death. But what do we do if all of your shudras are guilty? All of them, without exception. Do we execute the heads of all the families? If so, we’re going to end up with not even a handful of rye. Women and children aren’t capable of tilling the land while fighting off predators from beyond the river. We’ve been balancing on the brink of destitution for a while now. Teshimi’s death brings us one step closer to the edge. Executing all the men, however, would be more than just another step, but an outright leap into the abyss. We will lose everything we have left.”

Though mother was prone to hovering in the clouds much of the time, she would occasionally enjoy stretches of enlightenment. Too bad those were as infrequent as they were short-lived.

Staying her nascent demand to rouse in the middle of the night the entire population of the only village under her rule turned out to be one of them. She bit her lip nervously instead.

“Are you certain that all the men are involved?”

Camai nodded.

“After thoroughly interrogating two different sources, I am. I bound them by the blood oath, and their accounts were identical. Everyone is involved, including the steward and both of your guards. I must admit, I too deserve punishment for being ignorant of all this until now.”

“We cannot allow it,” Treya drawled musingly. “Stealing from the clan is still stealing from the clan. There’s only one punishment that fits the crime, and there cannot be any other.”

“The entire Crow Clan is just you and your son,” Camai said. “There’s no one else—only the two of you are left. And your son’s life is contingent on the amulet that requires constant recharging by the master of the artifactory. I cannot imagine how we can keep doing it without spices, but let’s say we find a way. Without the harvest, though? Not a chance. Rye may be cheap, but it’s still income. Our only source of income. This land is too poor—the shudras are barely making ends meet even without having a clan to support. Think of how things were before, Mistress. We struggled to live within our means, each new year more difficult than the last. Farmers dying, harvests failing. By ordering to kill all the men, you’ll be setting the clan up for a blow from which it will not recover. Think of your son’s life. We barely have enough funds to cover the next charging of the amulet. If you still have some personal treasures, that might be enough for two. That is all. After that, I have no idea what we’re going to do. Forgive me, Mistress. I’m ready to die for you and for your clan, but I cannot replace all of your shudras.”

Rising silently, Treya headed into her private quarters. There was a rattle of both of her chest lids opening and closing, and then she was back to place three things on the table: a silk pouch, a nephrite-encrusted coffer, and a third object resembling a miniature vase made of murky reddish glass with a sealed mouth. Looking at it from the corner of your eye, you might think you were seeing red-hot embers smoldering behind opaque walls. There was one other thing I knew about this item: no matter how cold it might get in the house, you could always touch it and feel warmth.

When encountering strange things—which were in abundance in my new life—I’d gotten into the habit of assigning them familiar names from my native Earth. Though I made exceptions in certain cases—when the new words made particularly strong impact.

And then there were those instances when I simply couldn’t think of an appropriate association.

And this item, known among the locals as abunai, fell squarely into the latter category. Try as I might, I just couldn’t come up with  a similar word from normal human vocabulary. It was so bloody complicated that a sentence wouldn’t be enough.

Hell, a sentence wouldn’t elucidate even ten percent. You’d need a short story explaining numerous aspects of the local society as a whole, and of each individual comprising it in particular.

The society aspect was simple enough. Absolute feudalism with aristocratic clans perpetually vying for a larger piece of the pie, meaning power and resources. The emperor was far from a figurehead, but carried his own distinctive features that would take a while to explain, only I was admittedly ignorant of most of them.

The abunai was the shine of the Crow Clan. If you were to believe all of mother’s ravings, this hideous excuse for a vase was as old as the Universe itself. And throughout all this time, at some point in their life, every distinguished representative of this inbred feudal posse would perform a ritual here that I couldn’t hope to describe using familiar Earthly analogues if I tried.

An itay was a hara-kiri of sorts, only not physical and not quite as radical. More like taking a ritual Samurai knife, sticking the knife into your belly one inch deep, and stopping there. Then donating the resulting blood to a blood bank.

No sense wasting resources.

Except, in this case, the blood bank was the abunai, and in place of blood, one’s chi energy was sacrificed. Needless to say, there was no such word in the local language, but that was the closest equivalent I could think of. Probably not optimal, but oh well.

In this world, chi wasn’t some theoretical substance to be derided as fantasy, but as real and measurable as electricity. The phenomenon had been thoroughly studied and conscripted to serving the common good. And not by people, either, but by the very higher powers to which the locals were known to attribute everything under the sun.

And whose existence even I—an erstwhile hardened skeptic in my own right—could no longer deny.

Here, even the worst degenerate tried their best to follow the path of enlightenment. Again, that was my own terminology. The locals called it something else, but the meaning is similar.

There was simply no other way, as the path combined both physical training and an education in one package. And an internship of sorts, as it enabled learning many professions sans instructors or prolonged field work. Of course, it was still better with an instructor, sometimes by orders of magnitude. Still, it was sufficient to achieve a fundamental understanding and independence. All you needed was the corresponding degree of enlightenment.

And one additional factor, which couldn’t possibly be explained in short form.

The coffer. Now that concept would take the longest to explain. Not the coffer itself, but its contents. The receptacle stored items without which walking this path of self-perfection would be akin to driving a vehicle without engine or wheels.

Or body.

Of the three things brought by Treya, the silk pouch was the simplest. It contained the clan’s treasury. A big word for the pittance it actually contained: several small silver pieces and a handful of copper ones. Alas, the Crow was a long-time resident of the poor house. It was thanks only to the loyalty of the hereditary shudras that we were still on the map at all.

Camai knew all this better than me. He could have whooped with delight and proclaimed, “We’re rich! We’re saved! Let us throw a feast for all of the Borderlands, to which we’ll invite minstrels and flesh peddlers!” Instead, the warrior impassively replied, “This isn’t enough. The treasury cannot fund even a single charging of the amulet. You need spices and symbols... And so does your son. And their amount is likewise too little. Your clan is in for harsh times, Mistress.”

“As if we’ve been living it up lately...” mother replied, biting her lip with a distant expression.

Her mind was now clearly focused on solving one simple question: how would she pull us out of the cramped and malodorous place into which she herself had cast us? Sadly, finances were never Treya’s strong suit, and her lexicon apparently lacked the space for the word “compromise.” Money rarely lasted long in her purse while decisions that pushed us deeper and deeper into the foul and inescapable pit of despair were made with lightning speed and nary a regret.

At least, no remorse was ever made manifest.

The upshot was that we were broke, no opportunities for improving our financial hardships were apparent, and without money, our relatively tolerable existence was destined to come to a swift and certain end.

With yours truly meeting that end first.

I felt the amulet concealed in the folds of my tunic reflexively. It was still there, warming my soul. Though I didn’t need to touch it to know it was working as intended.

I wouldn’t be able to keep even this siting position otherwise.

Treya’s proposed plan to mend our financial woes was, as expected, less than stellar.

“We can gather a squad and dispatch them to the Wild Wood. Even a short campaign should prove profitable. And it could even be presented as a mercy on my behalf. A substitute for execution. What do you think of my idea?”

Almighty forces of this forsaken world, deliver me from this idiocy! How was it that one rather comely head could contain a mind so quick-witted and sophisticatedly cunning, yet hopelessly impractical at the same time? Or is this supposed to be a joke? If so, it’s anything but funny.

It would take a great force of will for Camai to keep his composure in replying. To his credit, he was up to the task.

“Mistress, your subjects have not yet recovered from last year’s campaign. They lost four men then, two of which had been our best hunters. Though it’s a stretch to call common shudras ‘hunters’ to begin with. Forgive me, Mistress, but your subjects are too weak for another campaign. They would be little more than a walking pile of meat for northern predators to smell from afar and ravage with ease. And we wouldn’t be allowed into the safe and rich sections of the Wild Wood—those have long been divvied up among the merchants, and posses from their trading posts regularly patrol the area. Such a campaign would lead only to losses, not gains. Besides, sending men to the other shore means they wouldn’t be around to do the seeding. Which means an even weaker harvest this year. And their families are already starving. I fear that such order would cause your subjects to flee, Mistress.”

“Impossible,” mother scoffed at the suggestion. “They are hereditary shudras. Their families have served the Crow for many generations, with each generation swearing the blood oath to continue their vassal service. Or did you forget that the oath binds them tighter than the strongest ropes?”

“Forgive me, Mistress, but no, I cannot forget such a thing. However, their oath... it is not absolute. Given the right circumstances, your people may yet break it. Their children are starving and their development is stunted, which could justify ending their service to the Crow Clan. If we do nothing, they will start to disperse in the next few months. But ordering a campaign or resorting to other means of punishment will only hasten their dispersement. I beg your forgiveness again, Mistress, but we cannot retain old subjects or recruit new ones. We’re about to...”

Camai broke short in the middle of the sentence, which had never happened to him before. Then again, he wasn’t so much speaking words as hammering nails into a coffin. Bang, bang, bang.

Still, why pause now?

Treya looked every bit as surprised as me, but then her eyes darted toward the light double-doors. I followed her gaze automatically, wondering if the door leaves might have grown claws or fangs.

But no, they seemed just as peaceful as before. Still, neither mother’s nor Camai’s expressions softened. They were clearly seeing something I wasn’t.

And that something was clearly bad.

Her eyes glued to the doors, mother spoke blankly.

“We have unexpected guests, Camai. I need to change. And I’m going to need help as we’re pressed for time.”

“Yes, Mistress. Unexpected indeed. Hold on, I shall help you.”

What?! This yahoo was going to help mother dress herself? Unthinkable! Couldn’t she summon one of her maids?

And what possible guests could there be at this hour...

Chapter 3

Uninvited Guests

Degrees of Enlightenment: Empty

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

Already quite unusual, the evening was getting more interesting by the minute.

It turned out that by “changing” mother didn’t mean slipping into one of her less threadbare dresses. For that she would have indeed needed a maidservant, as buttoning up those inflexible corsets independently required nothing short of rubber joints.

Nay, it wasn’t a dress she wanted. For the first time in my memory, Treya was donning armor. Not even when a band of raiders had attacked the windmill a mere couple of hundred paces from the homestead did she resort to such serious measures.

The armor looked quite striking, too (Lacking the requisite knowledge, I’m reticent to offer a more technical term). All I can say is that it was fashioned from some material that resembled super-thick leather. And if it was indeed leather, the hide hadn’t been taken from a cow or a goat, but from a creature so unconventional in form that even the most bleeding-heart animal rights activists back on Earth would likely hold their objections to murdering the sucker.

The armor’s relief was a marvel to behold, each component distinct in flawless arrangement. It looked more like a superhero costume than a Medieval suit of armor. As for the helm, it looked strangely similar to a motorcycle helmet, despite this world being far behind the invention of motor transport.

Camai’s helm was similar, though bulkier and not nearly as intricate in design. Yet, it looked more capable of actually offering protection as opposed to just looking pretty. He didn’t need to equip it, either—the man never parted with it to begin with, same as his sword.

Mother’s oddities didn’t end there. Snatching a key off the string hanging around her neck, she used it to open a long and narrow cabinet, then produced something that could almost rival the throne for the title of the fanciest thing in the homestead. But unlike the throne, this was an object I was seeing for the first time.

Was it a spear? If not, what else would one call it?

A word surfaced from the recesses of my consciousness—a long-forgotten relic from my past life. “Naginata,” a pole weapon from feudal Japan. It came closest to describing this armament, with its longish staff tipped with a curved, saber-like blade. I knew too little of Medieval weaponry to make a closer analysis of the differences between this and its Earthly counterpart. One thing was nevertheless clear—the weapon’s purpose was to cut, slice and stab.

So I might as well call it “naginata.”

Mother approached the desk and shoved into a plain cloth bag all the things she had produced earlier when speaking with Camai: the abunai, the nephrite-encrusted coffer, and the silk pouch.

Her next move came as a surprise. She helped me up, then hung the bag over my shoulder.

“Camai, bring the armchair out on the terrace for my son. We must welcome our guests as befitting proper hosts.”

What kind of guests could these be that my presence was called for in welcoming them? I barely ever poked my nose outside in the light of day, let alone after twilight. In fact, this would be the first such occurrence in memory.

And then there was the Japanese spear in my mother’s hands. No, this wouldn’t be your typical guest reception.

Decent people weren’t typically greeted by hosts armed to the teeth.

* * *

I was never particularly loquacious back on Earth, and now, when uttering so much as a short sentence drained me as much as sprinting up six flights of stairs, even less so. Moreover, I had an image to uphold—a cripple deficient in mental acumen as much as physical fitness. So the less I spoke, the fewer chances I had of undermining that image in the eyes of others.

Besides, what exactly would I say? My flummoxed state was on full display anyhow. No words were needed, so I kept silent all the while.

I didn’t sit, but rather fell into the armchair the ever-unperturbed Camai had placed upon the plank floor of the terrace, the weakness in my cotton legs further aided by my mind’s recognition of the long objects glimmering in the night’s darkness.

There was Auntie Hiemo. She was easily recognizable by her figure—almost nonexistent for some tastes, exquisite for others. And there was Teiko, a timid fourteen-year-old girl and an orphan, taken in by Bousha, our tenderhearted cook. Speaking of Bousha, there she lay, next to her own daughter, Tamiko. And many, many others.

Our entire serving staff, dead. And, by the look of things, the poor souls had met their death while in their beds. For most, it was bloodless, with only a few having soiled their nightshirts with trickles of blood from either their nose or mouth.

This realm in which I dragged out my miserable existence brimmed with oddities. There were stories of dead people moving on their own—while exhibiting cannibalistic tendencies. This, however, didn’t appear to be such a case. Someone had dragged all these dead to the terrace and arranged them in a neat row. The mysterious decorators had even tried to sort them by height: children on the left, and on the night, the night guard Dumonuro, having tragically failed in his duties.

Death was never pleasant. But when it took someone close to you, it was frightening to boot.

Now imagine witnessing death take not one but eleven people without a sound. The sheer terror would surely knock a person of sound mind and body off their feet.

Let alone someone like me.

Camai and mother seemed to be hearing something, but that had to do with their special abilities. Those might not even be sounds, but rather emanations of death itself, capable of being picked up by people like them.

Nothing about this place surprised me anymore...

The killers stood in a separate row, and, unlike our servants, were quite alive. Despite the generous absurdity of the scene, I still couldn’t process the thought that these twelve figures, shrouded in black from head to toe, had died while upright yet somehow remained standing. The narrow eye-slits in their masks were barely visible in the dark. I thought I could see their inhuman eyes flash sporadically with a ruby light, though that could easily be just my horrified imagination.

I needed neither trial nor jury to surmise that they were, in fact, the killers. Not only were there simply no other candidates present in the yard, there wasn’t a troop for miles that could rival these guys in killing efficiency.

These weren’t brigands that would turn up in our lands from time to time. A proper warrior would deem it beneath himself to eke out a living with petty crimes in destitute lands. Only the worst kind of riffraff would resort to such iniquities—the kind that couldn’t twist the head off a baby chic without rousing the whole neighborhood.

Our people, in contrast, had been sleeping peacefully. Or, at the very least, had been in a peaceful enough state at the moment of death that not a sound was made.

Which meant that these black figures were dangerous. And the fact that Camai didn’t attack them straight away only cemented that assessment. Fighting off a crowd would be easier here, on the terrace. If I were him, I wouldn’t have even left the house, which offered the best protection under the circumstances.

As I was reflecting on these thoughts, Camai began to act. Only he acted with the kind of foolishness I would expect of night guard Dumonuro driven to imbecilic bliss after imbibing too much at a rye moonshine tasting party. And mother was ready to match his folly. The two descended from the terrace, calm and surefooted, and started toward the row of killers. But rather than immediately surround and pounce on the reckless couple as they approached, the figures in black dispersed with the swiftness and plasticity of professional dance instructors.

In the span of three seconds the faceless figures lined up in two rows, forming a wide corridor. On the one end stood Camai and Treya, still at last; on the other end stood hell knows what. Another black figure, its head uncovered by the local combat variety of motorcycle helmet. That didn’t make the figure any lighter, however, as the man’s wavy, luxurious hair was raven-black, matched by an equally black, neatly trimmed beard.

My body must have been compensating for my useless legs with eagle-like eyesight to be able to make out such details on a moonless night.

Blackbeard spoke in a plummy, slightly condescending voice. “Greetings, Mistress Treya of the Crow Clan. And Camai, the Crow Clan’s last warrior of the first circle.”

I couldn’t be sure whether I’d recognize the man if I saw him unshaved, but if ever I heard that voice again, I’d know it was him in an instant. He spoke like a professional actor out of a romcom. Definitely a noble, no doubt about it. The upper crust of the local feudal realm adhered to their own codes of conduct, the highest among them being the call to maintain a bombastic manner in all situations. Especially in conversation. Even a friendly chat with a loved one was almost certain to include phrases pulled right out of a B movie villain’s final speech. The kind in which the villain stands in front of a bound and helpless hero, then proceeds to gloat and call him a loser instead of slitting his throat—all the while the hero listens intently while cutting through his bonds with a nail file he had judiciously stashed away beforehand or otherwise procured in an adequately heroic fashion.

And this particular stranger was bombastic enough for three. No commoner spoke this way, even when trying to mimic gentry.

Resting on her bladed pole nonchalantly, mother replied in an icy tone.

“And greetings to you, Master Pence, exile of House Folle who has sided with the Faceless Shadows. I’m surprised that you’ve deigned to pay us a personal visit.”

Even an ignorant observer would pick up the fact that Treya knew this... guest. Whereas I nearly gasped at the implications of not only what she said, but how she said it.

Above all else, this wasn’t how you talked to a noble. Though it couldn’t be construed as an outright insult, neither would it be deemed good manners. Besides, this man or his followers were responsible for killing our subjects. And if the flames breaking out from the direction of the windmill were any indication, our losses wouldn’t end there.

The upshot was that mother’s disparaging reply was addressed to an enemy. And this enemy was devilishly powerful, as evidenced by the begrudging manner with which she had forced out the word “master.”

“Master” was no joke. Camai wasn’t a master. He wouldn’t even make apprentice, to use Earthly terminology. He was a damn fine fighter for the impoverished northern region, but a big fat nobody in the south.

All this meant that mother and Camai were facing a figure of very considerable power. I shuddered to imagine the degree of enlightenment this monster had attained. It couldn’t be less than thirty-five, and that was a scary thought. Assuming he wasn’t omega—which was a safe assumption—Camai wouldn’t stand a chance against him, let alone my mother.

Though she never publicly disclosed her degree, I was clever and perceptive enough to be certain that it wasn’t higher than twenty-five. As befitting most nobles, she was probably full alpha for at least the first degrees, back when life was good, and no lower than beta for the higher ones, completed somehow or other while battling life’s adversities. She may well be a match for Camai, but against a true master? Not likely.

And said master wasn’t even alone, but accompanied by a crowd of clearly hostile individuals. I couldn’t begin to guess their degrees, but my sixth sense suggested that a serious fella like him wouldn’t let just anybody into his entourage.

So what did all of that mean?

For starters, that this wasn’t a pickle Treya was likely to get out of. Though I wasn’t privy to the backstory of what was happening, it seemed utterly obvious that the one I’d been forced to call ‘mother’ was going to be imminently attacked. And if I were a betting man, I’d go all-in on her opponents, as they were clearly the favorites in this fight.

So, on the upside, my dream was about to come true.

The bitch was going down at last.

On the downside, I was likely to go down right after her. Alas, that was just the way the local aristocrats operated. Once you commenced with a massacre, it was considered bad form to take pauses. The Crow Clan had already been an exception once, and a repeat violation of this rule was unlikely.

The one time was bad enough.

Was I scared? I wasn’t entirely sure. I had already died once, and I couldn’t say that the new life that followed had been a source of great joy. A part of me saw my impending death as liberation.

It’s settled, then. I’m not scared. In fact, I’m all for it.

But only under one condition.

I had to die after Treya. I would not be denied the pleasure of watching her bite the dust.

Not a moment sooner, you hear me?!

Meanwhile, the scene continued unfolding before me, the participants lacking the common courtesy to wait until my mind processed everything and drew the above conclusions.

“You mean too much to me to entrust our business to a third party,” Pence replied to mother’s ill-mannered greeting. “These are but night’s shadows, faceless and nameless. No, the final entry in the Crow Clan’s chronicles must be entered by my hand, and none other.”

“So that’s what the Emperor’s word is worth,” Treya spat out with scorn.

Pence shook his head.

“The Emperor has nothing to do with this, I’m afraid. Though I suspect he may be relieved to hear what happened here, it was not a desire he had expressed. The Crow aren’t much loved by too many factions. And for good reason.”

“Lady Treya had gone into exile, having given her word that she will never again become a mother,” Camai interjected. “Her death would be without purpose and without honor.”

That caught even me by surprise. When nobles spoke, those of Camai’s station were expected to hang on every word while keeping their own mouth shut. Voicing his objection was a gross violation of conduct, akin to a cleaning lady snatching the mic from the British Prime Minister during a meeting of the UN General Assembly.

Pence gave another shake of the head.

“Camai... I remember you well, old friend. You had shown promise. Yet, you’ve buried your own prospects, and that’s a shame. You’re not the first victim of this woman’s snares, but you will be the last.” He paused, then looked askance towards mother. “You see, going into exile meant that no one would see or hear her ever again. Writing letters wasn’t part of the deal. And considering the contents of said letters and their addressees, the whole notion of exile turns into a farce. She had already been shown mercy once. A great mercy. There shall not be a second time. Stand aside, Camai. You know full well that you cannot stop me. I do not require your death. I have come for Lady Treya and her degenerate spawn.”

He shouldn’t have said that last part. My mother was, on the whole, a patient woman. There was just one thing that could shatter her self-control in an instant.

Calling me a degenerate.

The hefty naginata spun in her fine delicate hand as if it weighed nothing at all.

At the same time, a flash of bright light escaped from mother’s other hand—so blinding that I had to shut my eyes.

What was it her servants had whispered about her? Their stories suggested that Treya’s magic could make her enemies’ eyes boil in their eyelids. I had always regarded such stories as shameless exaggeration at best, and pure balderdash at worst.

Perhaps I shouldn’t have been so dismissive.

Chapter 4

The Crow Clan’s Chi

Degrees of Enlightenment: Empty

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

I didn’t know what kind of sorcery mother had flashed, only that it proved ineffective. As for her first attack with the naginata, I had missed it due to my eyes being closed, but that, too, had clearly missed the mark.

I opened my eyes to see Pence effortlessly dodging the fervently flickering blade. Moving as fast as lightning, he was nonetheless doing everything possible to show how amused—not threatened—he was by the attacks, doing everything short of scratching his ass in between the feverish sweeps and lunges executed by Treya at breathtaking speed.

Despite the utter loathing I felt for this wretch with every cell of my half-baked brain, I found myself admiring her fighting. Never would I have guessed that the mother of this pitiable body was capable of such feats. She fought with the agility and skill of a distinguished martial artist, and the grace of a professional ballerina.

Yet, she couldn’t push back Pence so much as an inch. Somehow the man kept moving in between the blades of a working propeller—always a fraction of a second ahead with a crouch, a sidestep, or a duck. He hadn’t even bothered unsheathing his sword, and his careless grin made the futility of mother’s efforts painfully obvious. At times, he seemed on the verge of roaring with glee.

Having apparently refused the gracious offer to stand aside, Camai was approaching Pence from the back, gauntleted hand gripping the hilt of his sword. Two years ago this warrior had needed but one swing of his curved sword to slice right through a brigand wearing a quilted jerkin reinforced with plates fashioned from cow hooves. Hardly the finest armor available, but it still offered decent protection.

The blade had cut through the armor, the body, and the handle of a massive cleaver, used one day earlier by the brigand to ruthlessly cut down Quisse, our blacksmith, who had been carrying home a sack filled with swamp ore he’d mined that day. The killer must have assumed the sack held a far more valuable bounty.

The assumption had proved fatal for him. Camai knew the worth of capable people, and couldn’t forgive the demise of our finest blacksmith.

Now that same sword slid out of its scabbard too quickly for the eyes to register, the blade a blur in the air approaching Pence’s neck.

And upon striking the neck, it bounced back as if it had hit a concrete wall.

Spinning around to face the warrior, Pence returned the attack for the first time in the fight. It was a lax backhand, like a pimp slapping one of his hoes for stepping out of line.

The blow knocked Camai back a good dozen yards, as if he’d been smashed into by a car going eighty miles an hour on a freeway. His sword gone from his hand, his face buried deep in the mix of dirt and hay that covered the ground of the entire yard. He kept lying there, unmoving.

Was he dead? Possibly. I would certainly be dead if it had been me. But Camai was made of harder material.

But would that matter? This was the first time I was seeing a master at work, and I had no idea what he was capable of. If Pence’s nonchalant attitude, the power of the blow, and the fact that his henchmen were happy to remain silent spectators through the fight were any indication, fighters of Camai’s caliber were tantamount to dirt for him to wipe off his shoes.

Still rebuffing mother’s constant stream of attacks, Pence grinned, then proceeded to inform mother of his plans concerning her immediate future. His tone was as relaxed as ever, but at least he took the pathos down a notch.

“Lady Treya, I’m afraid I’m going to have to kill you. Of course, you won’t die right away. Before the Order rewards me for this victory, you’re going to watch the death of your degenerate spawn. Lord Resai insisted that he die first, and that you watch it happen.”

Again with the insults. Enraged, mother skipped a beat in her dance of death—the blunder was obvious even to an ignoramus like me.

As if weaving the missing element into her dance pattern, Pence let the blade of the naginata pass overhead as he stepped forward and threw up the same left hand.

Mother screamed as she flew back several feet, falling and skidding on the ground. She tried to get up, faltered and collapsed again, then crawled on one side towards her halberd. Having spun a few times through the air, the weapon had plunged point first into the ground halfway to the terrace.

I couldn’t tell what the master had done, only that Treya was in serious trouble. She seemed to no longer control the left half of her body, her arm and leg limp as she dragged them along. Even if she made it to the weapon, what would she do in such a sorry state?

Pence’s actions, on the other hand, seemed obvious. He wouldn’t bother with mother any longer, but would simply pass her, maybe even step over her crippled body.

Then he would ascend the terrace and snuff me out.

As he had promised.

I had already decided that I wasn’t afraid of death. And I didn’t mind the accompanying pain if it would free me from this vegetative state, which would be prolonged in the event I were spared.

There was just one thought that kept nagging at me. Nay, not nagging—it was making my blood boil: the fact that my murder would go unpunished.

That would be the second time I allowed such a thing.

I didn’t want to start a bad trend.

The abunai was the shrine of the Crow Clan. Generation after generation they had poured their chi into it. Their offerings might have even been too generous, weakening the clan and potentially becoming one of the causes behind the dynasty’s extinction. In the end, nothing remained but a power-hungry bitch and her defective offspring. And the latter was anything but pureblooded, for the shell that was his body presently contained the same man his mother had sacrificed in vain hopes that this would turn her wretched progeny into a functional human being.

Legend had it there would come a time when the Crow Clan gave birth to a unique child, capable of harnessing the abunai’s hidden reserves of chi in a way that would bring glory to the clan for all eternity, elevating it above the firmament itself. And until then, the standing mandate was to keep filling it at every opportunity. The vessel had been fashioned from enchanted dragonglass by a craftsman who took the secret of its fabrication to the grave. Still, though the technology was lost, it was a known fact that the vessel could hold unlimited amounts of the ubiquitous energy poured into it.

As long as the abunai was handled with care. That meant no throwing it into a pit or drilling it with a diamond bit. Dragonglass wasn’t impervious to hard impact or friction against a hard enough material, and any damage to the walls could disrupt the structural integrity of the vessel and instantly unleash all of the energy stored within.

Now, chi wasn’t exactly trinitrotoluene in terms of explosiveness, but discounting its potential for destruction would be foolish. In my hand I held the equivalent of a two-hundred-and-fifty-pound aerial bomb. Mother had let slip once that the power stored in the abunai would turn to primordial dust anyone but those in whose veins coursed the blood of the Crow Clan.

I was going to test the veracity of her words.

I had no diamonds on me—the Crow Clan wasn’t so rich as to let a feeble manchild carry precious gemstones in his pocket. But I did have the amulet. A black claw on a string. The eternal companion hanging on my neck, enabling me to subsist in a relatively tolerable state. The moment it got removed, I turned into a helpless vegetable.

And it had to be removed on the regular. For Camai to take it south to the city, where a paid enchanter would apply to it the required effect. A temporary effect, alas. The procedure required chi, which wasn’t cheap, and had to be replenished from time to time. It was one of the clan’s main expenses.

What mattered now wasn’t the magical effect, but rather the amulet’s material. The claw had once belonged to one of the nastiest creatures of the Void. It took a great hero and a fair bit of luck to slay the beast, winning this mighty artifact for his clan. The Crow Clan.

The claw was every bit as hard as a diamond, maybe even more so. I could sense with every fiber of my soul the vibration of the abunai, held close to the chest, the curved claw pressing threateningly against the vulnerable glass. Was it my imagination or was the tempest within really churning and roiling, sensing imminent escape from its age-old prison?

Hang on, it won’t be long now...

True to form, Pence stepped over mother, who reached out with her right hand in a pathetic attempt to grab hold of his ankle.

“No!” she shrieked after the killer as he headed for her darling son.

Pence stopped, turned around and asked, his voice dripping with scorn.

“Maybe now you’ll finally confess the identity of the freak’s father? It remains one of the greatest mysteries of our time. I’m aware of the official version: a secret short-lived marriage with an anonymous noble. There are also the unofficial rumors about your youth, being locked away in a tower of stone, your chastity out of reach for everyone—until it wasn’t. But as I look at Gedar now, I find either scenario equally unbelievable. More likely, his father was some scoundrel, addicted to drink and other substances that violate the structures of Order. And I’m damned sure he wasn’t noble. A total failure like that could only have come from defective stock. So, how about it? The Crow are finished. There’s no sense in keeping the secret any longer. Who was he? A stableboy? A vagrant? Come on, Treya, fess up. Do it, and I promise to make the degenerate’s death quick.”

Gee, thanks, mister. How mighty kind of you. But I’m in no rush!

The bloody glass was still resisting pressure from the sharp claw. Damn that abunai! Damn the Crow and their damned politicking!

Scraping the ground helplessly with her weakening hand, mother hissed at Pence, her eyes burning with hatred.

“If the father of my boy were here, you would be long dead.”

“Right, of course,” Pence nodded archly, then turned back to me. “I’m struggling to remember being foretold that I would die of laughter. So I doubt I’ll get to see the pleb who had managed to worm his way under your skirt... Hey, what are you up to over there?”

“Gedar! Do it now!” mother yelped in a voice I could hardly recognize, with madness in her eyes.

Somehow she had realized why I was holding the abunai before me. And she wasn’t chastising me for careless handling of the relic. No, she was calling on me to follow through with my plan right away.

And I would have done so gladly, only the damned thing wasn’t playing ball. Though already sporting a fairly deep furrow around the middle, it still resisted a proper shattering.

Meanwhile, I was quickly running out of time. Mother’s outburst had pushed Pence to full alertness, his expression suddenly tense. It would appear that he knew the legend of the abunai—and he wasn’t dismissing it outright.

Behind the master, Camai struggled up to his feet and stumbled toward the enemy on unsteady feet, his hand producing a curved dagger from the sheath on his waist. What would that joke of a weapon do against an enemy whose bare neck had stopped a hard blow from a proper sword?

No, Camai wasn’t going to distract Pence from my person.

I had maybe two seconds left to live.

They say that extreme states of despair can push men to perform unnatural feats of strength. I would never know if it was that—or if the glass had gotten sufficiently damaged from my previous infringements—but when I pressed on the claw again with every bit of strength I had, the glass wall of the vessel yielded at last, snapping as the hand-held amulet burst through it.

Out of the corner of my eye I saw Pence leap into the air. Not in my direction, but away from me, towards Camai.

The next instant, the whole world drowned in an explosion of light so unbearably bright, it instantly incinerated everything around.

Including my consciousness.

Chapter 5

After the Battle

Degrees of Enlightenment: Unknown

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

“Asami pae dacto,” said the strange woman in a melodious voice.

I had to mentally stop myself from wolf-whistling as I studied her. A tall woman of indescribable beauty was looking down at me, her expression suggesting that it wasn’t me sprawled out here, but the world’s filthiest hobo, suffering through the final stages of leprosy, syphilis, and gas gangrene. I had never seen a look of such utter contempt.

Nor such utter beauty.

Truly otherworldly beauty.

No creature of Earth could be this beautiful. She was perfection squared, and entirely natural. Not an ounce of makeup, not the faintest line from a plastic surgeon’s scalpel. Even her hair had the look of being arranged not by a brush but by the wind itself, putting every single hair precisely in its proper place. Her attire—a loose-fitting black robe-like garment that covered everything save for her palms and head—was entirely unfashionable. Her face had mostly Western features, yet with a touch of the exotic, suggesting partially Asian ancestry.

“Taise amushabi, abi Treya,” said the other person present, his head slightly cocked.

This one, in contrast, was not good-looking at all. Though, admittedly, I was no expert on male beauty. I could tell a voguish pretty boy from a macho gym rat, but that was probably the extent of it.

Though either prototype enjoyed some success with the fairer sex, you could never know in advance which of them, if any, would be preferred by any particular female. Hell, the female herself couldn’t answer that question most of the time.

As befitting those mercurial creatures.

As far as Traco Darce went, he was about as close to a voguish pretty boy as a grizzly bear roused awake from hibernation in the dead of winter. The man was in charge, emanating an aura of danger and unwavering confidence strong enough to send beta males within a four-block radius running for cover. Dirty traffic cops from third-world countries probably paid him, as did escorts from first-world ones after copulation. How else could you explain how he managed to look so regal while wearing the same modest attire as Treya?

He had the air of every waiter’s dream customer. The kind who left a bar of gold as a tip.

In short, here was a man who was the alpha of alphas, which made his presence in these gloomy ruins rather suspect. He was fiddling with a brazier of some kind, as if prepping for a barbecue. Only instead of meat, he was heating a long curved dagger with a hilt sparkling with red gemstones.

The walls were ancient. The sections that weren’t gaping with missing blocks, were covered with moss instead. Piles of bones and skulls hid in numerous niches. A huge flat slab of stone stood in the center, to which my body was securely bound. A young child squealed somewhere behind me, but I couldn’t turn to see what was happening.

Where the hell am I? Is this a dream? The last thing I remembered was falling back in my seat on the bus for a nap. That was preferable to staring out the window, as the driver had apparently believed himself to be not a municipal employee but a getaway driver for a Mexican cartel.

What was this basement? Who were these people? What language were they speaking? And how did I know their names?

Odd that none of this seemed like a dream. Typically, I would wake up immediately upon realizing I’d been dreaming.

Hold on just a minute! I did know their names!

And I understood what they were saying, too. Only I hadn’t realized it until just now.

There was one other thing I realized at the same time.

An important thing—and a terrifying one.

I realized that this was no barbecue.

That knife with the fancy hilt. I knew the purpose for which it was being heated.

Finally, having remembered everything, I realized that this was, indeed, a dream.

And that it was time to wake the hell up.

* * *

So, having escaped one incipient nightmare, somehow I found myself in another one that I hadn’t yet experienced. At least I was still alive, if only because no dead body could suffer like this. Even if I were a soul cast down to hell, my suffering would be strictly spiritual in nature, and not so blatantly corporeal.

I squinted one eye open as my hand twisted to hide my palm from the unbearable heat. My skin was already starting to smell of cooked flesh. A unique, unmistakable stench.

My consciousness, though dim, still registered the peculiar depth of the disturbing odor. We were well past the point when a steak goes from being well done to hopelessly burnt, transforming even the tenderest piece of meat into inedible waste.

It couldn’t be my burnt palm exuding such an odor. The fire hadn’t even gotten to it.

Right, the fire. I hadn’t even noticed it until now. It was taking my consciousness way too long to get going, perceiving reality fragment by fragment instead of the complete scene as a whole.

The terrace floor was ablaze. The floor planks had been crafted in quite an original fashion, to the point where you couldn’t even call them planks. Logs, maybe? I couldn’t be sure of the correct term given my ignorance of carpentry.

Or of the world as a whole.

The lumber had been split using wooden wedges that Camai would hammer into them with his bare hands, thereby killing two birds with one stone: taking care of a chore that needed doing while getting a workout in for his palms. The resulting halves were then hewed until their surface was smooth, and ingeniously stacked flat-side up.

The upshot was that the floor of the terrace comprised of large components that took a long time to ignite, but even longer to burn through. That was why the flames from the blazing house were taking a while to reach me.

I didn’t know why the fire had started, but I had an inkling that the cause had been the power released from the vessel, having been violated by my amulet. The apparent fallout suggested that I had been the epicenter of a serious explosion. The blast had scattered chairs and other furnishings in all directions, ripped off the terrace guardrails, caved in the nearest wall, and demolished the roof. The ground in front of the homestead’s main structure was littered with many of the things that had been blown away from here.

Being at the epicenter, I was supposed to have died, but apparently didn’t. I didn’t feel too good, sure, but that could be expected.

I never felt good in this place.

The troops in black were no longer standing over me with weapons raised. The killers lay on the ground right where the wave of the released power had reached them, the dark mounds forming a neat second row behind their victims in white night garments.

Our servants’ corpses had changed as well, their skin now a charred black. Strangely, their clothing hadn’t been damaged or even discolored by the blast, which had seemed to impact only organic matter.

Truthfully, I didn’t care to ponder the mysteries of what happened. I wasn’t even worried that I couldn’t see the main killer anywhere, nor Camai. He could even be hiding behind me now, readying himself to slit my throat. I didn’t care.

Just as long as I managed to do one thing before that happened.

The fact that I managed to stand up was a miracle. And the step forward that I took afterward—a miracle twice over.

As were all the subsequent steps.

I had a goal to which I would happily crawl on my hands and feet. But I wasn’t crawling, I was walking. Walking in the correct direction.

And that felt wonderful.

The skin on mother’s face and arms was unchanged, meaning it hadn’t blackened as with the others. Treya wasn’t moving, but that didn’t fool me.

She was still alive. Life hanging by a thread, but still breathing. I could feel it. I didn’t know how, but I could. After all, my bond to this woman was built on more than just hatred. Too much had accumulated between me and the person who had cut short one of my lives before selflessly defending the other. Somehow that gave me certainty that I would have enough time to tell her some parting words.

I stopped before her body, then proceeded to crouch—slowly, taking every care not to lose balance and topple over. But mother was true to form even now, blocking my attempt to take initiative.

Treya’s eyes snapped open, and her hand shot out in front of her, trembling. Not to help me, but to grip the amulet around my neck. She relaxed after a few seconds, then said in a barely audible whisper.

“Gedar... the coffer... Your bag... Give me...”

Why did she want those things now? I couldn’t begin to guess. Nor did I care for the whims of the dying. This wasn’t why I had walked over to her. And yet, so great was the woman’s authority over me that I could no longer remember what I was doing here.

So I took out the coffer and proffered it to her, as requested.

“Open... Give me...” Treya whispered.

I opened the nephrite lid and took out the contents. An ornamented silk pouch that held several familiar items.

Mother gripped the pouch in her hand, wheezing.

“Higher powers... last words... prayer of the dying... Essential. Essential to my boy. Give me... more.”

Another fine tremor passed over her body before she relaxed, then added peacefully.

“Your neck. Put it around your neck. With the amulet. And don’t take it off.”

As I followed Treya’s instructions, I suddenly realized what a buffoon I was being. Instead of telling her all that was on my mind, I was behaving like a mama’s boy.

The bitch was about to croak, leaving me with nothing.

I hurried to remedy the situation.

“I’m not Gedar.”

“Gedar... my dear boy...” the woman stammered out, her eyelids growing heavy.

“Wait! Don’t you dare die on me! Don’t you dare! I’m not Gedar! Do you hear me?! I’m not Gedar! This is not your son, but merely the shell of your degenerate spawn! Not an empty shell, either! It’s occupied! You remember me, don’t you? You must remember! It was you who had ripped out my heart! You and Traco Darce! You remem...”

A brutal seizure gripped every muscle in my body, and I collapsed forward onto mother, squeezing the air from her chest as her last word filtered into my ear.

“Ge... Gedar...”

And that was that. The dying woman would never know the snake she had cherished in her bosom, fighting to the end to protect an empty shell that had long been misappropriated by a stranger.

How unsatisfying. I had been desperate to explain to her what a degenerate her child truly was. Every last bit of him. He was as empty as a blank page—whereas I was the text that she, in her blind mother’s love, had recorded where the consciousness of a true Crow should have been.

Treya died with the full confidence that she had used her last strength to protect Gedar, and not an enemy who had hijacked his empty shell.

Meaning, she died with a clean conscience. And that was terrible. So terrible that not even the pain from the seizure ravaging my body fully distracted me from ruining the missed opportunity.

I should have accomplished my wish. To explain to the shrew the full depth of her error. She should have met her death in the throes of despair, gritting her teeth with helpless fury.

The seizure receded, but the pain remained. Something was happening to me. Something I’d never before experienced. The wave of chi that had passed through my body hadn’t vanished fully. Some kind of trace had remained.

And that something was torturing me from the inside with the cruelty of a professional executioner.

Were this happening to a typical denizen of this deviant world, they would probably proceed to take their own life just to put an end to the pain. Instead, it was happening to me—the weakest creature imaginable. And one that had been suffering for years. Suffering nonstop. Suffering from the moment the incandescent blade of the sacrificial knife had burned into the skin on my chest.

That is all to say, I was no stranger to suffering.

The seizures were but a bonus ingredient to a cocktail of pains plaguing my daily existence. For me, debility was a state dreams were made of. Without the amulet, I was a vegetable barely capable of breath, let alone movement. Managing to walk a few dozen paces with the gait of a blink drunk sailor was a feat to be celebrated. In normal times, I might have gone weeks taking fewer steps than that.

Yet, I was still walking.

Walking away. Didn’t matter where, but simply forward. As far from the burgeoning blaze as I could get.

The killers that had come to the homestead were dead, though one of them might have escaped their fate. Using some sort of local magic, perhaps, like Camai. I should have seen their bodies otherwise, blackened like the rest from the release of power accumulated by the Crow over many centuries. Yet, their remains were nowhere in sight, and they hadn’t had enough time to get away from the blast in time.

The emission of energy that nourished this whole world had spared only mother.

Mother and me.

The shell of the last of the Crow, occupied by an outlander.

And this outlander’s mind kept working even under these difficult circumstances. I remembered that it wasn’t just our homestead that was burning, but also the windmill. That could have been the handiwork of the killers’ accomplices, some of whom may have escaped their common fate and, upon getting to the scene, would discover the demise of their comrades. Worse yet, the one who had slain Treya could come back.

I had bittersweet feelings about that one. Sweet about her dying; bitter about it being done by his hand, and not mine.

The further from here I would get, the higher my chances of surviving.

Then again, with this life, why did I even care if I lived or died?

Chapter 6

A Look Within

Degrees of Enlightenment: Unknown

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

I woke up from a nightmare of all nightmares. I was burning alive in the homestead because my amulet had been taken by Camai, and without it I couldn’t hope to get out of bed, much less walk. Pence was at my bedside, breaking bone by bone with his bare hands, and mother was standing nearby, applauding every crunch and snap. Teshimi, having risen from his grave, was telling me about the peculiarities of feeding behavior among a variety of worms, and what happens to a decomposing corpse when being devoured by the little monsters.

Oh, and my heart kept getting extracted from my rib cage. At least a dozen times. Sometimes using a red-hot knife, other times an ice-cold one, and once without any tools at all, but bare human hands.

Child’s play for those of Pence’s and Camai’s ilk.

The worst part about it was that I couldn’t get myself to wake up. I tried and tried, but kept failing time and again. I was even starting to suspect it was all real. That I had made it to hell at last, rightfully earned for my wicked wish to brutally murder mother and Traco Darce. Perhaps the higher powers of this realm considered even thoughts of such deeds to be a deadly sin.

Until, after countless attempts, I reemerged into reality at last.

An unusual kind of reality. I vaguely remembered losing my strength and collapsing somewhere. I hoped that a few minutes of rest would help me recover, but the fit of seizures that swiftly followed was too painful even for me.

I passed out.

I expected to come to on the ground. Instead, I found myself lying on dry hay, or rather in dry hay—almost fully buried in it. My bed shook and jolted in irregular intervals as something creaked monotonously underneath. My ears registered unintelligible mutterings of human voices, and my nostrils were assaulted by a pungent smell of dung.

The clues were overwhelming. I was lying not on the ground but in a moving wagon. My immediate neighbors were sacks, barrels and crates, having been dutifully separated to make space for a prone passenger precisely my size. How very thoughtful of them.

And reassuring for me. Still, true to my mistrustful self, I was in no hurry to reveal that I had regained consciousness.

Instead, I thought to analyze my current state. Mainly, I wanted to focus on figuring out certain things about the dream from which I had just barely escaped. Things that had felt too real and too specific to this world to fit the mold of a regular nightmare.

I squeezed my left hand. Then my right one. No issues there. I might even be able to grip something with decent force. Or hold a bowl full of soup while I ate, which would be quite an achievement for me.

Careful not to give myself away with sudden movements, I tested the other parts of my body. Everything seemed to be in order, though I could only experiment so far while in a lying position.

All in all, the tests of my muscles and joints were a success.

Next came my senses, which were at once simpler and more difficult to test. Taste would have to wait, but every other sense appeared to be working just fine.

In fact, they were more than fine. Nothing had ever sounded so clear to me. Every individual sound felt almost three-dimensional and unique, easily traceable to its source. And the same went for my vision. I was seeing dozens of different shades in my bed of common hay, which was totally unprecedented. My fingers felt so agile, I felt confident enough to become a card shark, and my nose was picking up incredibly nuance in the stench of dung. Not only was I certain that it came from several horses, I could wager that one of them was dealing with a problem affecting its digestive tract.

“Shoot, Jigsaw is bloated again,” said one of the coachmen, confirming my veterinary diagnosis.

There were several coachmen, one or two per wagon. That part was suggested by my ears—as my brain revved up to keep up with the unexpectedly bountiful flow of information from all of my senses.

The child whose body I had inhabited had been thoroughly handicapped. Barely able to see or hear, and incapable of recognizing the smell of dung short of getting his face shoved into a freshly made mound of it. His taste buds were sufficient to distinguish between honey and salt, and, with a little luck, his fingers might be able to tell a person’s face from their ass.

My body had definitely undergone some substantial changes. Whereas before I felt like a grown man’s foot wedged into a child’s shoe, now, everything felt different. All of a sudden, it fit me like a glove.

This wasn’t Gedar’s body any longer. It was fully mine.

It was an unusual feeling. I had to relearn all the things that felt normal to a regular person.

The seizures were gone, but the pain was still there, nesting in all my joints. Still, it was perfectly tolerable, even somewhat enjoyable. Not in the sense of enjoying getting your balls stomped on by latex-wearing dames with daddy issues, but more like the pleasure your muscles feel the morning after a hard workout—sore yet satisfied in the knowledge that the body will be better off for it.

I didn’t know what exactly was happening, but whatever it was, I found it hard to complain about this development, considering I had never felt this good before.

It made sense to continue studying my new state. To delve into a phenomenon that clearly had no analogues in my old world.

The problem was that I had only the vaguest of ideas how to do it. From time to time mother would try and get me to understand the fundamentals of working with Order, and had even engaged some outside specialists. And I had tried my very best, hoping that it would help make me whole. Unfortunately, none of those attempts had gone anywhere.

But something had changed within me, possibly unlocking doors that had been previously closed. Certain elements of the nightmare I had escaped hinted at this as well.

Of course, a dream wasn’t the same as reality. Learning the truth of the matter would require putting my theories to the test.

Only that was a problem, since neither mother nor the instructors she had contracted had been successful in explaining to me how it was done. Such a task was akin to trying to teach meditation to someone who not only was uninterested in spiritual practices, but derided and dismissed them as quackery.

Or, perhaps, describing the color spectrum of the rainbow to the blind. Quite a challenge, indeed.

But I was trying. Trying my very best. Straining my memory to the limit to try and fish out every detail I had ever heard on the subject. Supposedly, I would first need to enter into something resembling a trance. The exact words used by the locals would translate the term as “a look within.” So I tried my damnedest to rotate my eyeballs every which way.

Again, this wasn’t my first attempt at this thing. Mother had spent a ton of her own time, as well as the clan’s money on numerous instructors. The outcome had not justified the investment in the slightest, as despite me having sat through many mind-numbing lectures, nobody had succeeded in guiding me into the required state, leaving the impression that it was simply impossible. That either something in my mind blocked the ability, or it was absent altogether.

Probably the latter. Why allow an empty shell to peer into his own emptiness?

But here I was again, back at work to do the impossible. Spinning my bulging eyeballs to somehow make them “look inside.” Snapping them shut, then back open.

All in vain.

What else can you expect from a degenerate...

In this world, it was better to be born deaf and blind than empty. I lacked the single most important instrument with which to interact with reality. My case was beyond treatment, beyond even an explanation as to why treatment was hopeless. I was a unique case. It wasn’t that people deprived of Order didn’t exist at all, but in virtually all cases the poor bastards either died at childbirth or shortly thereafter.

I wasn’t supposed to have survived. And yet, I had. Thanks almost exclusively to Treya’s efforts, despite her meager means ever dwindling. In short, the fact that this empty body had reached twelve years of age was nothing short of a miracle.

And just as much of a mystery.

As I pondered this mystery yet again, my visual apparatus continuing its experimenting on autopilot, I noticed an odd phenomenon. Something that had never happened to me before. It was almost as if I had been pushed three feet back. Or rather, not back, but down, into and through the wagon’s floor. Into a hollow that seemed like a grave—narrow with vertical walls that let in a tiny bit of light. I could make out blurry silhouettes of some objects outside the walls, but not enough to ascertain what they were.

The visuals ahead, though somewhat clearer, still appeared hazy and almost shrouded in fog so thick you could start cutting it with a knife.

My eyes focused on a particular object that seemed somehow pronounced in the general fog. It looked like an uneven ball of yarn that had been ravaged by an overly zealous feline. Ragged pieces of thread and loops stuck out every which way, torn pieces floating overhead, like satellites rotating along circular and elliptical orbits. And moving in all directions, resulting in a ton of stress for the eyes.

As I peered into the center of the tangled ball, it suddenly dawned on me that I had done it.

All on my own, I succeeded where Treya and all of her instructors had failed. More than that, I could repeat it at will, having grasped the underlying process.

Which was easy as pie.

* * *

This world was called Rock. Technically, the sole vowel should be drawled, and indeed it was written as “Roock,” but I shortened it to “Rock” as a hat tip to my first life.

I couldn’t be sure if the name applied to the entire planet, however. Treya had been my main teacher, and I hadn’t always understood her. Nor could I have risked asking clever questions, lest I shattered the image of a mentally deficient and utterly empty creature.

Hiding behind a mask of a hopeless imbecile was all too easy for someone who had both a full memory and a burning thirst for vengeance. The challenge was having the discipline not to give myself away with even the tiniest detail. And that especially pertained to speech.

Which meant trying to beat Camai in the silent game.

The local populace had interesting sets of beliefs. Perhaps my own ancestors had believed in much of the same in times of antiquity, back when atheism was unheard of, and the gods, despite their invisibility, were as real a concept as gravity was for my contemporaries.

To be clear, the world of Rock didn’t have gods. Not anymore, at least. According to legend, in the process of creating the world, the deities had overextended themselves a bit. Desperate to push the realm away from the territory of unspeakable nightmare—or chaotic grayness—at the edge of which my own homeland was situated, they had dissolved into their creation.

And so, though the gods themselves didn’t really exist, their power persisted everywhere on Rock, in the littlest speck of dust. Some places or objects were more or less successful at accumulating it, but there could not be a place in which it could be completely absent. At least that was my understanding of the explanations that had been leveled at me.

And it was that invisible, intangible substance that I referred to as “chi.”

Various creatures, including the sentient kind, possessed an apparatus with which to harness and command this power. And I had just managed to gain access to it.

The first thing I noticed was that I was hopelessly confused, unable to make heads or tails of anything. What was I supposed to do here? What should I be calling the things I was seeing? It was like throwing a user of a simple calculator into a piece of badly designed computer modeling software, and providing the instruction manual in an obscure language. Optimized, it was not—nor user friendly.

Perhaps things were different with normal children. I, on the other hand, was a native of Earth, a grown man confined to the body of a child that was deficient in every conceivable way. So, perhaps the degenerate’s apparatus of interacting with chi was likewise deficient. Perhaps that was the reason Treya’s son had been born empty. So deformed was the body I had inherited, which included the instrument intended for working with the parameters of Order, that I hadn’t even been able to access it until after the colossal release of energy from the clan’s repository.

But now, it appeared that I had. So what’s next? I felt like a caveman staring at a Windows logo on a computer screen.

For the first few minutes, I didn’t understand anything at all. Then, after a bit of trial and error, I learned that the tangle, which comprised a substantial part of my field of vision, could be controlled. Specifically, I could modify its position and configuration, remove pieces and put them back together, and, if I willed it, I could even make manifest lines of text that appeared to serve as descriptions or explanations. At first, these were but hazy images, but I quickly learned to translate them to letters and words.

None of that helped to make any sense—until a thought came to me that I should try looking at this thing not as something entirely alien, but as the interface of some familiar computer program. The closest association that came to mind when looking at this visual mess was that of a talent tree from a role-playing game. One of the main features of such games was the ability to modify different parameters that impacted the effectiveness of your character’s skills or certain items.

That changed everything for the better. To be sure, it took me a while, but in the end I managed to reshape the mess into a coherent structure, the kind all the normal natives probably started with by default.

I was a unique degenerate, indeed. And would require unique solutions.

Every child born on Rock came with their own kind of reservoir of chi. The process of traversing the birth canal became their first trial, and by completing it successfully, the gods that permeated the world rewarded the newborn by filling this starting receptacle.

This was how natives earned their first degree of enlightenment. A great achievement in the bag before they would even cry about being removed from their warm and cozy home.

An achievement that had taken me twelve long years.

Because I hadn’t had a chi reservoir to begin with. Such was my fate as a degenerate cripple. Despite mother’s and her instructors’ best efforts to locate it, their failures would have them admit that nature must have been asleep on the job when my turn had come. Yet, the paradox defied belief: in a world so thoroughly permeated with divine emanations, it was hard to imagine the existence of a child so thoroughly lacking in even the smallest particles of the primordial force. A fully empty vessel was simply nonviable. Such cases were common with C-sections. The higher powers considered this type of birth too easy for the child, oftentimes resulting in the receptacle not being filled to the top. An amount of chi insufficient to attain the first degree meant a quick and certain death for the newborn.

One of the instructors had theorized that my vessel hadn’t been partially filled. It simply didn’t exist at all, and that somehow allowed me to keep up my miserable existence. Mother hadn’t agreed with him, maintaining that the vessel was there, but that it was perfectly empty, without a drop of the primordial essence, and that also somehow prevented me from dying. That was why she had flushed all her wealth down the drain in an effort to fill me up manually, hoping that this unconventional method would ultimately bring me to the first degree.

And down the drain it had gone. The chi just wouldn’t stay in me, like water running through a sieve. No one knew where it went, only that nothing had remained.

Until today.

Today, for the first time, I saw my reservoir. To be sure, it was either immaterial or comprised of matter so rarefied that it didn’t really matter. I could use my will to manipulate it into any shape. After a bit of experimenting, I decided on a ring, and placed it right at the center.

This was the essential core. The foundation of my other self. A superstructure so critical, no denizen of Rock could survive without it.

And, in my case, only partially filled. My inner eye saw it as a ring made of cheap and dirty silver, having been carefully sawed open, and the resulting hollow filled with the purest gold. If I could paint the remaining parts the same bright-yellow color, I would move on to the first degree. That is to say, I would achieve what the local infants received at the very start.

A tsunami of chi had passed through my body, devastating everyone around who hadn’t the blood of the Crow. And all that power had been barely enough to fill a tiny hollow in the emptiness of my ring.

Where would I get the rest? I’d had only the abunai, and that had been blown to the smithereens. I couldn’t begin to fathom where to look for any additional chi.

And yet, this wasn’t my only handicap.

At birth, the locals typically received three attributes out of a possible five. Ignoring the highfalutin language used to describe these, I would call them simply: Strength, Agility, and Stamina. The words were expected to be capitalized when written—and affected with a reverential tone when spoken.

Each attribute came with its own degree and milestones—or levels. From zero, when it made no impact at all, to a certain max. Take, for instance, two young people of a similar age. The first gets poor nutrition and doesn’t do any manual labor, so he grows up soft, yet manages to develop within himself the Strength attribute. The second is the opposite: eats like a horse, works like an ox, and pumps iron in his spare time, but pays no mind to his attributes.

Suppose the two decided to hold a weight-lifting competition. In such an event, the athlete may well lose to the weakling due to the difference in their attributes. No doubt, the latter would have a tall hill to climb to compensate for his physical inferiority; and yet, in this world, the prospect of such a pipsqueak beating out a bodybuilder was not out of the realm of possibilities.

For the overwhelming majority of the populace, these three attributes were quite enough. There just weren’t that many professions in this world that required more.

Those who managed to manifest and level all three attributes were called omegas. So, any local reference to omega-threes had nothing to do with fish oil food supplements. Rather, it meant a person who had achieved the third degree of enlightenment, having developed nothing but the three attributes acquired at birth.

So, the matter of the chi reservoir was more or less settled. First, I actually had one. And second, it was at degree zero, and barely filled with anything. Practically empty.

The matter of the attributes was worse. I had none.

They weren’t empty or partially developed.

There weren’t any at all.

I was a zero on both fronts: degrees of enlightenment, as well as attributes.

I was a creature that had no business existing in this world.

Not an omega-zero, but a zero-zero.

Not even at square one. Square zero. The very bottom.

Chapter 7

Good People

Degrees of Enlightenment: Unknown

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

I was trying everything possible to find that with which the nature of this strange world should have presumably endowed Gedar’s body. And getting nowhere. Not Agility, not Strength, not Stamina. Nothing. I wouldn’t even make it here as an indigent serf, as the physical body alone meant very little. Even if I somehow managed to train my body into amazing shape, like that of a pro athlete, the best I could hope for was matching the level of a pitiful omega-one. On a good day.

And I wouldn’t have too many good days. Here, the parameters of Order were paramount—the foundation upon which stood absolutely everything. Without them, there wouldn’t be anything to develop.

But I did discover something interesting as a result of my “introspection.” It turned out that my body had not one superstructure, but two. The first was the primary one—the ring scarcely filled with chi. The second contained an odd-looking vessel filled to the second degree of enlightenment, and containing all three attributes at decently raised levels: Stamina at nine, Agility at six, and Strength at three.

Decent, because one degree of enlightenment only added six points to the attributes of a standard omega. Whether by blind luck or careful selection, one attribute would be raised to three, another to two, and the third to one. And that was it. If you wanted a different set, that would require unlocking other attributes, which was far from simple. Or getting a new degree, which would net six more points to distribute among the same three attributes.

In other words, my second superstructure displayed the attribute levels of a full omega of the third degree. Yet, according to the same superstructure, I had only achieved the second degree of enlightenment.

At first, I couldn’t make heads or tails of this mystery. The natives simply didn’t have multiple superstructures, so what could it mean that I did?

And then it hit me.

Careful not to draw any attention, slipped my hand into the cut of my tunic, found the amulet, then took it out and brought it up to my face, trying not to fall back into my regular state. That is, I tried looking at it with my inner vision, and then tried to make order of the chaos it presented. I followed the same path as before, viewing the picture through the lens of raw computer software.

Experience was a grand thing. Not five minutes had passed before I organized all the information into a neat icon free of anything extra.

Black Claw on a String. Amulet. A vessel for chi that has absorbed a portion of the great might of the Crow Clan.

Active Effects:

Unknown Spellcaster

Conditional Degree of Enlightenment: 2

Stamina: 9 (56 days remaining)

Agility: 6 (56 days remaining)

Strength: 3 (56 days remaining)

Treya the Enlightened from the Crow Clan

Invisibility (44 days remaining)

You’ve bonded with this item as a result of a devastating stream of primordial power passing through you.

Did I understand everything that was written? Hardly. I had more questions than I could count.

I had already known that the amulet boosted attributes when worn. That had been the general consensus as to how Gedar had managed to make it to thirteen years of age when most empties died either immediately upon delivery or a few torturous days after.

Except that Gedar had possessed this body for only its first year. For the subsequent twelve, it was occupied by a new owner. And I hadn’t been merely counting flies on the ceiling all of those years, but also studying the world in which I’d ended up against my will. Some things were clear, other things less so or not at all. Either way, I had been dutifully storing all the observed information in my memory bank in hopes that it would come in handy later in life.

My amulet had always added six attribute points. And deficient attributes at that. Three points to Stamina, two to Agility and one to Strength would bring me to the level of a full omega of the first degree. But whereas children at this stage behaved like you would expect—running and jumping and generally horsing around—I had been barely capable of moving my feet. Most of my time I had spent either lying down or lounging in a low armchair. A walk of twenty steps was a record-setting affair that took no less than a minute and required at least one spotter to ensure I didn’t stumble and fall, as such an injury could have easily resulted in my death.

So, any way you sliced it, I was a fragile creature with broken parameters. And those weren’t even mine, but borrowed from a recharged amulet that I had always struggled to adjust to in its brief periods of activity.

And now, I had not six attributes, but eighteen. Even if they were deficient as before, that still meant I was now three times more capable. The practical application of this discovery was not yet clear. I wasn’t feeling any special vigor, but only the familiar pain in every joint, muscle and bone.

Just as the pain was familiar, so was the state. I had experienced it on numerous occasions, albeit not so acutely.

It would happen whenever Camai was a few days late returning from his trips. The reasons for the delay had varied, but the result had been the same—I would experience negative sensations upon reuniting with the amulet’s life-giving power.

After taking the amulet, Camai would put me on forced bed rest, then set out south with maximum speed in search of the nearest master of enchanting offering the required recharging services. Alas, the claw wasn’t of the legendary tier of artifacts, so the attribute boost wasn’t permanent. Magical items that held charges for at least a year carried considerable costs that even top clans were often reticent to pay, never mind those down on their luck. As for the destitute Crow, such luxuries had been well out of reach.

Even my amulet had been far beyond our financial means—nobody knew the lengths to which mother had gone to keep hold of such a powerful item. She had been squeezing every last drop from her pitiful remnants of shudras, and selling every last crumb of clan property. Denying herself all but the very essentials and driving the clan further and further into penury.

Camai had been able to charge the amulet for near one calendar month. That was the amulet’s maximum capacity.

But if the enchantment’s status was to be believed, the effect would fade in fifty-six days. Roughly twice the expected duration.

The boost seemed similar to the one applied to my parameters. So, the simplest answer appeared to be that the power that had escaped the abunai was to blame. The power of the Crow. In my veins coursed their blood, and around my neck hung their amulet, which the clan’s chi had also apparently taken as belonging to me.

The unleashed power had somehow impacted both the claw and me. Unlocking a source of chi and activating my inner eye, and making the black claw more effective.

And the latter must have been the source of my pain. Previously, my frail body experienced discomfort even after Camai’s brief absences, the boosted attributes manifesting as a kind of soreness that might follow a month’s worth of exercise condensed into a single high-intensity workout. The sensations were such that I wouldn’t have wished them upon an enemy.

And now, I was “blessed” with three times more attributes. Which meant three times the stress—or more like a year’s worth of exercise. After all, the attributes weren’t just numbers—they were directly linked to their owner’s physical state. In other words, my new attributes had to be reflected in my physique. And they were hard at work doing exactly that, transforming my body with haste and considerable cruelty.

The conditional degree of enlightenment was an entirely new development. And not one, but two of them, technically.

Where had it come from? Probably from the same source. At least I had no other guesses.

And the forty-four-day invisibility? That seemed to involve Treya somehow, rather than the “unknown spellcaster.”

Pushing through the pain-induced brain fog that made it difficult to think and act, I recalled yet another item hanging on my neck.

A pouch of Heirutean silk, decorated with an enchanted crest of the Crow Clan. A tiny reservoir of chi imbued with a snippet of the Crow Clan’s power. Hinders others from noticing the items stored within. Hinders others from detecting itself.

Treya the Enlightened from the Crow Clan

Invisibility (26 days remaining)

You have bonded with this item

The pouch was unique in its own right. Not to the same extent as the black claw, but also not without surprises.

One of those surprises I had half-expected: the invisibility that had something to do with mother.

Or rather, with the mother of the degenerate whose body I had been forced to occupy.

Standing on death’s doorstep, she had grasped at both the pouch and the talisman. This must have been the reason. It would seem that Treya was capable of applying enchantments, albeit with dubious success as far as effect type and potency. No wonder she had had to resort to hiring outside specialists—even at the expense of a lion’s share of the family’s budget.

What was the invisibility part about, though? I could see both the amulet and the pouch quite clearly.

What about the moneybag? I reached for it, but, as suspected, it wasn’t in its usual place. Nor anywhere else that I looked. Either it had gotten lost, or...

Mother hadn’t touched the moneybag. Meaning the mention of invisibility probably hadn’t been applied to it. And assuming that the invisible items had been rendered such for everyone but me, logically, that could mean only one thing.

The moneybag must have been taken off of me. After all, I had no idea how long I’d been unconscious. Likely more than enough time to search me and rob me of all my valuables many times over.

All except for the black claw amulet and the pouch, both with quite valuable contents.

The invisibility effect was clearly effective. The thieves might not have even been able to feel the enchanted items on my body.

Now it was time to begin figuring out just where I had ended up.

* * *

Movement came surprisingly easy. Despite the pain wracking my body as if it had been run through a meat grinder a couple of times, with physical exertion only exacerbating the sensation, my arms and legs obeyed my brain’s commands sufficiently well that I was able to accomplish independently what would normally require assistance.

Assuming a seating position, I took a curious look around. My eyes were watery, blurring the picture. Perhaps I’d been looking within a bit too long, which wasn’t something my eyes were accustomed to doing. Thankfully, the discomfort wasn’t so great that it hindered me from surveying my surroundings.

As suspected, I was in a wagon. It was your standard farmer’s cart—a rough wooden trough stuck to a pair of creaking wheel sets. Serving as the engine was a solitary draft horse, driven from the coachbox by a veritable munchkin of a man in his middle years wearing plain homespun clothing. His shoes, woven of bast and hemp, betrayed him as the poorest kind of peasant.

Another man sat next to the coachman, taller and sturdier than his neighbor. His head was covered by a primitive helm of yellowed bone plates, like fish scales stitched to a leather base. A peculiar looking horsehair braid hung from the helm’s back, coming down to almost the tailbone. A simple but effective means of protection against chopping attacks from the back. It wouldn’t help against an enemy slashing directly at the waist, but could certainly prove useful against others. His padded jerkin, though not much to look at, should likewise offer decent protection. But the short boots looked more like house winter slippers than combat equipment. Still, the man’s gear and the axe at his waist left no doubt that this was a soldier, though probably not from the army of a respectable feudal lord. No, the man was either part of some merchant’s security or a lowly merc, the kind too useless to be hired on his own, but only as part of a band of similar fighters of dubious skill.

My eyes glimpsed the shaft of a spear to his right, and I focused on it. It was your standard hunting pole, favored by locals to hunt big game, with a crossbar just beneath a spearhead that looked unnecessarily clipped. The blacksmith must have been far too economical with expensive metal. To the left, on the coachman’s side, the handle of a crudely carved club stuck out of the hay.

The wagon was one of maybe a dozen in a caravan rolling down a narrow broken-down dirt road. I counted the wagons to the front and back of us, and indeed, there were eleven others besides ours. Nearly all were driven by the same duo of a coachman and a poorly equipped soldier.

At the head of the caravan was a solitary rider. Clad in a full suit of armor of leather and metal, wielding a long pike with a proper spearhead, this one looked to be the only serious soldier of the bunch. A bow of wood and bone peeked out from a flat bag affixed to the left of the saddle, alongside an open quiver containing bundles of white-feathered arrows. I couldn’t see any other weapons from my vantage point, but I had no doubt that there would be more. An axe, a warhammer, a mace, maybe even a sword—something along those lines for close combat.

Bringing up the rear of the caravan were a bunch of people moving on foot. Women, old men, and children of all ages. Roughly thirty in all, among which I only saw a couple of relatively young men. They appeared to be common peasants. The wagons had no room for them, having been loaded with crates, sacks and barrels. But the pace of the caravan was slow enough that the pedestrians didn’t seem to have trouble keeping up.

The road didn’t seem to be used all that often, with many of the deep ruts filled with rainwater covered with duckweed. Every so often, you could see tiny frogs leap out of the water as a wheel rolled through it. A strip of tall glass ran down the middle, too tall to have been regularly trampled by horse hooves. Almost as tall as the bushes encroaching on either side of the road, edging against the wagons’ sides.

Further ahead, past the thick brushwood, loomed lines of tall oak-like trees. Massive trunks with sprawling crowns and large, unfamiliar leafage that sort of resembled chestnut, but not quite.

So we were in a forest, and a thick one at that. That wasn’t good. There hadn’t been anything of the sort in the vicinity of our homestead. The farmers didn’t need any decrees from their feudal lords to keep vegetation at bay, preventing the appearance of thickets in which something foul may begin to germinate.

The northern lands weren’t like the south. Here, the forest meant only headache for those with the misfortune of dwelling near it.

And this clearly wasn’t a grove the likes of which shudras and free settlers might tend. No, it was precisely the kind of dense woods one ought to avoid.

Where was I, then? And who were all these people?

The coachman turned around and spat out a lump of tar he’d been using as gum, nearly hitting me square in the forehead. Then he grinned, displaying a mouth with more gaps than teeth, and spoke in a nasal voice.

“Took you long enough to wake up, beauty queen.”

“How long was I out?” I thought to clarify.

“You were picked up yesterday, near the side of the road. Closer to morning. So, just over a day, it looks like. You just kept lying there, drooling. What the heck happened to you, eh? Are you just sickly?”

“Oh, I just... hit my head, is all. Where are we?”

“In the devil’s asshole! Can’t you see?” the coachman declared a bit too enthusiastically. The soldier next to him chortled without turning around.

“Are we on the left bank of Redriver?” I asked, figuring that a proper forest such as this could only lie across the river if we’d made it here in the span of a day.

“Still the right bank, but if you want to be on the left one so badly, I can make it happen for you,” the soldier groused, joining the conversation.

My grasp of the local geography was worse than I had thought. If we were on the right bank, I could relax a bit. Though it still had a fair bit of wooded stretches, they weren’t anywhere near as troubled as those on the other shore.

After digesting the information, I dared to inquire about one important detail.

“I had a purse with some coins on me. Where is it?”

“And why would you want to know such a thing?” the coachman said with a chuckle. “Do you prefer walking on foot or riding in a wagon?”

“I’m in no condition to walk.”

“Keep quiet, then. Don’t worry about your coins—they’re being kept safe by good people.”

“And who might those good people be?” I wouldn’t relent.

“See me and Rycer here?” the coachman asked, elbowing the soldier.

“Sure do.”

“He and I are good people. But the more you talk, the more likely we’ll turn evil.”

With those words, the soldier let out a loud fart, causing both men to guffaw with laughter as though they had never witnessed anything so funny.

And maybe they hadn’t, judging by their appearance and manner. I still didn’t know who they were or where they were headed, so the matter of the purse would likewise need to wait.

For someone in my situation, information was far more valuable than money.

Chapter 8

The Crossing

Degrees of Enlightenment: Unknown

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

Despite regular threats of forcing me to walk or, worse yet, feeding me to goblins, neither Rycer nor the coachman—whose named turned out to be Krol—left my curiosity unquenched. The key was avoiding unpleasant questions or making them feel interrogated. Both men were clearly bored, the journey offering little in terms of entertainment. The horse barely needed driving while the wagons kept moving in a line, so why not indulge a feeble boy with a word or two?

Good people they were, indeed.

It took less than an hour to find out plenty more, though I didn’t understand much of what I’d learned. Both of my interlocutors were free people, meaning neither shudras nor vassals of any clan. They belonged to the so-called free folk of the north. No people were actually native to these lands, the locals comprising a mix of rebels that had fled from their feudal lords, servants that had lost their masters in the civil strife, fugitives and other such disreputable folk. Though these people grew mellower with each new generation after settling on the right bank of Redriver, their freedom-loving sentiment remained just as strong. As a result, virtually all attempts by aristocrats to gain a foothold in these territories had ended badly. Moreover, the emperor appeared to approve their presence. Perhaps he was content with having this border of the realm populated not by perpetually squabbling nobles, but by people that made up for their lack of blue blood by living as a close-knit community—and keeping similarly close control over the border.

Of course, their lives weren’t filled with many comforts. The soil was simply too poor—which I suspected was also the main reason why the nobles hadn’t bothered laying claim to the entire right bank of Redriver. The free folk had a hard enough time feeding themselves, supplementing farming life with all sorts of odd jobs.

Rycer, Krol and the rest had been hired by a small merchants’ guild. At least I assumed that they were small, if only because I had never heard of them before. They were called the Three Axes, and I definitely would not have forgotten the name, as it reminded me too much of my college life. Back then, my buddies and I would often drink a brandy called “777,” dubbed by one creative thinker from our crew by the same name.

The mercs had only uttered the full name once. Between the two of them, they simply referred to the guild as the Triad. The organization controlled a trading station on the left bank of Redriver. The lands were perilous, no doubt, but promised quite the reward for those capable of settling them.

And the merchants appeared to have settled here pretty well. The trading station had been in operation for years now, and must have been making money given that it kept being supplied. Were the operation unprofitable, it would have been shut down long ago. Such had been the fate of most ventures that sought to extract some kind of profit from the Wild Wood.

Mother’s subjects made infrequent sallies into the area as well, with the same purpose. And many of them were successful in terms of the haul. Yet, the loss of life was likewise heavy, leading to Camai admonishing Treya to forgo any such raids for the foreseeable future on that fateful day.

By my estimation, the wagon held roughly fifteen hundred pounds worth of cargo. The big-boned farm horse pulled it easily enough even along this shabby road—and there couldn’t be a better one this close to the Wild Wood. With twelve wagons in the caravan, the total was coming out to be around nine tons. Despite having lived under rather special circumstances, I’d seen enough to surmise that most of the cargo was foodstuffs. I would guess roughly two-thirds of the total. Plus wares, both glass and ceramic, tools, clothes, medicine and, of course, the cheapest spices—the cornerstone of the local diet. Not pepper or clove or anything banal like that, but something that helped transform plain food into a resource with which the natives of Rock could develop attributes that could be seen by looking within.

In developing its structures, the Order was forced to transform physical bodies. This process could be done with quality in mind—or without. The former made it possible to achieve maximum progress, but required regular consumption of a varied range of spices, which only aristocrats could afford. Everyone else had to make do with budget options, which was nevertheless enough to raise one’s attributes to considerable heights.

So, a total of six tons of food. Given that such caravans were scheduled to run several times a year, and the trading station should be meeting their needs at least partially by procuring their own resources, it had to be accommodating quite a bit of people. A couple of hundred at the very least, and possibly three hundred or more. And most of them able-bodied men, seeing as the hiring contracts lasted no less than one full year and necessitated plenty of hard, albeit fairly well-paid labor. All of that amounted to quite a serious operation—far more substantive than anything the Crow Clan had been up to at the twilight of their existence.

Then again, perhaps it was too early to be calling an end to the ancient clan. For all of my oddities and deficiencies, officially, I was still a member of the Crow Clan. And, if Treya was to be believed, the last such member. Which meant that, technically, the clan was not yet extinct.

Of course, shouting about it publicly would be about as smart as a rabbit screaming into a fox hole. The killers had come after us hardly because of a spontaneous impulse to extinguish the remnants of our bloodline. They had been deployed by one Lord Resai. Though the name told me nothing, his wish to root out the last of the Crow Clan had been made fully evident. So, for as long as I was still breathing, I would do well to fear another encounter with the band in black.

Both Pence and Resai were officially on my shit list. Would they care even if they knew? Hardly. I posed more danger to myself than I did to them. But were I to have the ill luck of facing either of them, the result would be tragically predictable. And I wanted to live. I hadn’t a clue as to how I would survive past the near-two-month mark allotted me by the boosted amulet, but I wasn’t throwing in the towel any time soon.

I was a fighter by nature. And I intended to fight until the end. But before I could fight, I needed to observe and to analyze. And then to conceive a battle plan.

Then I might just have a fighting chance.

A few pressing questions remained: why had I been picked up, where was I being taken, and for what purpose? I kept trying to come up with some plausible explanations, but so far none of them had clicked.

Though these two had referred to themselves as good people, if their treatment of pedestrians was any indication, goodness was not one of their primary attributes. Besides, good people wouldn’t have appropriated my money the way they had.

So, in all likelihood, I’d gotten myself in some kind of trouble.

On the other hand, I wasn’t going to get far on my own two feet, so I might as well hitch a ride to wherever they were taking me.

Then, I supposed, they would do whatever they wanted...

* * *

I had heard of Redriver before, but had never actually seen it. No one in their right mind would have taken me there—and I would’ve had to be out of my mind to go on my own. But even if I had tried, my body would have failed me after ten steps.

Not that there was a reason to go. Redriver served as a natural border between the relatively settled north and other, either untamed or utterly wild parts of it. The further out you went, the gloomier it got. And once you passed the Foothills—assuming you could even make it to a place where even warriors of the twenty-first circle couldn’t always reach—that was when the truly terrible places began. The local version of the gates of hell, where the Order itself was an infrequent guest, for this was Chaos’ domain.

Lying past these lands was not hell, but rifts through which chaosites came into Rock. That was my name for forces that adhered to their own systems of order, congruent with their host worlds in some ways, discordant in others.

Magic hadn’t existed in Rock until the arrival of Chaos. Or rather, it had, but there hadn’t been any instruments for working with it.

It had been the chaosites that brought those.

Along with a multitude of other, far less pleasant novelties. Ever since then, the lands that ended up being in close proximity to the rifts’ locations remained abandoned and extremely inhospitable.

Thankfully, we didn’t have to travel that far—there would be no sense in starting up a trading post in a place where it couldn’t survive even a year. From what I’d gleaned talking with Rycer and Krol, we had about two days of travel left. Assuming that the caravan would continue heading strictly north at a similar leisurely pace, that meant a distance of less than fifty miles. Possibly a lot less, though I couldn’t be too sure given such imprecise data.

When I laid eyes on Redriver for the first time, I felt a great disappointment. The sinister frontier looked like an ordinary lowland river. A couple of hundred yards across, with a sluggish current and muddy waters. The banks were lined with reeds, and the walls were perforated with dead channels overgrown with duckweed. The shallows abounded with seaweed-decorated snags washed downstream, lily-white herons promenading between them as they scoured for food.

On the opposite bank stretched the very Wild Wood with which the locals so loved to scare their kids. As well as other grownups. Only I wasn’t seeing anything scary. The relatively flat and sandy slope was covered in underbrush and short leafy saplings. Beyond those, sparse pine trees soared like skyscrapers. That meant the wood had plenty of natural light. Nor should it be as damp as the forest on this side of the river, the terrain being more elevated than these marshlands.

Yet, the caravanners’ behavior made it clear how seriously they were approaching the crossing. Even the peasants, which had ostensibly been sent to the trading station to work off debt or some such minor infractions, were being armed with gnarled clubs, stored in the last wagon until now for this very purpose. Once armed, the newly minted “militia” were warned to hold on to their weapons from here on.

Women, children and the elderly made for dubious soldiers, especially armed with such crude weapons. But it was better than nothing.

No club was issued to me. No sense arming a teenager who was barely able to stay on his feet even without a weapon. And indeed, I was capable of taking no more than ten or twenty uncertain steps before being overtaken by dizziness and needing something to hold on to until it passed. And if I continued moving, the fits became more frequent.

This was concerning. Were I to find myself in danger, I wouldn’t even be able to get away. The infusion of energy I had felt from the wave of chi was long gone. My body was wracked with pain as it adjusted to the amulet’s changed attributes. No, I wouldn’t be getting far in such a sorry state, and I had no idea how long it would persist.

The speed of my recovery was all over the place. And bloody confusing.

Naturally, there was no bridge, these lands being not nearly so civilized as to support major engineering projects. The dirt road came out to a sandy ford, at which point the wheels of the heavily loaded wagons started to get stuck. I had to leave the comfort of my carriage and proceed on foot to make it easier for the others to push.

A question arose that I couldn’t resist asking.

“Won’t the caravan get stuck? The river bottom seems to be lined with the same sand.”

“You dolt,” Krol replied lazily. “The wheels get stuck in dry sand. Wet sand is a breeze for foot and wheel alike.”

A dolt, indeed. It had been a while since I saw sand, so I had forgotten about this aspect of it.

The twelve years spent in the homestead had left me completely unaccustomed to life’s basic realities. I would have to work on restoring the lost skills and knowledge posthaste. My objective was challenging and my time limited—and a clumsy simpleton wouldn’t have a chance in hell at completing it.

As promised, the wagons had an easier time moving through the shallows than over a grassless beach. I held back any expressions of joy on account of being barely able to move, weak hands holding on to the wagon’s side for dear life, terrified of losing my grip and collapsing in the water. If that happened, I could only hope that someone would bother rescuing me instead of leaving the waif of a boy to the mercy of fate.

I had no knowledge of these people’s plans, only that they were my only support and only hope. Alone, I was utterly powerless. So I would have to push to my last breath to ensure I wouldn’t be left alone.

Being focused solely on keeping my balance, I began to neglect my surroundings. So it took me longer to notice when the caravan’s affairs began to sour. Someone behind me screamed as though they were being cut open—it was all I could do to keep my grip on the wagon and not fall.

“Move it!” Rycer bellowed, seemingly right into my ear.

Of course, the soldier wasn’t screaming at me, but at Krol. The impact was the same, however. His pitch and panicked expression made it clear that something bad was happening behind us. Screams of pain and rage quickly followed, interspersed with choice expletives from coachmen as they whipped their horses.

The water began to recede. It had been up to my neck in places, but here it was barely waist-deep. Ten more paces and it would be down to my ankles.

Something whistled overhead, the sound reminiscent of Camai practicing with a bow. Rycer bellowed an altogether different sound, something between a growl and a cry of pain. Hands outstretched, he stepped behind the wagon and dropped clumsily to his feet.

My blood chilled when I saw his face. A thin shaft stuck out of the mercenary’s eye. Sporting gray feathering, the arrow had hit him just above the wrist, slicing through his raised forearm and getting wedged in his eye, leaving the man half-blind, his hand pinned to his head. The sight was at once absurd and horrifying.

My scant knowledge of medicine suggested he could survive such an injury. Assuming he’d be treated back on Earth, with modern drugs and skilled surgeons. Alas, my knowledge of the local medicine was even poorer. Who cares? We’re under attack! The realization was sobering.

I was at serious risk of being shot myself by the unseen enemy.

The death would be entirely too bland for someone with such an incredible biography. Besides, I wanted to live. Crouching quickly next to a groaning Rycer, I squeezed underneath the halted wagon, pushing the back of my head against the wheel axle. From here, I had a good view of what was happening at the tail of the caravan.

The situation appeared to be in flux. The direction of the arrows still wasn’t clear, but the mercs serving as security had other problems besides. The water around them seethed, the surface breaking here and there. The flickering tails appeared to belong to fish at first glance, but I had never seen such fish before: sporting an armored back with a pair of slick black fins. Whatever these creatures were, they were besetting the caravanners stuck at the deepest section of the ford.

A mother holding her baby stumbled and fell, submerging under water in full before popping back up with a heartrending shriek. Her hands were empty, the child having remained underwater.

An old man leaped up to her and began whacking at that spot in the water with his club. Likely not to finish off the poor child, but to fight off whatever had snatched him. A second later, something dark and sleek—presumably the baby-snatcher—leaped out of the water.

Another shriek, this one coming from the old man. His arm was now a bloodied stump, the club gone from its grip.

I glanced down warily. Though the water level at this spot was inches deep, somehow sitting here didn’t feel too safe.

More yelling, this time from up ahead. The battle had apparently reached the head of the caravan, and judging by the clangor of metal against metal, I highly doubted that the fish were to blame. Brandishing axes was as out of character for river dwellers as archery, so no, the mercs were up against a different opponent.

I twisted forward to try and snatch a glimpse. The view from underneath the wagon was poor. All I could see was the lower half of a mounted man, and then the tip of his bloodied spear as it flickered near the water’s edge.

A round object rolled on the sandy beach. My eyes, unaccustomed to such spectacles, didn’t immediately recognize it for what it was: a severed human head. The head didn’t belong to our sole mounted soldier—that one wasn’t red-haired, and he never took off his helm besides.

“To the shore! Get all the wagons ashore!” I heard voices yelling from all directions.

No more arrows were whistling, and the fighting seemed to have been isolated to the tail of the caravan. The enemies there clearly weren’t human, but some kind of giant armored pike close to six or seven feet in length.

My wagon began to move, the wheel axle nearly pushing me down nose first. Twisting out of the way just in time, I hurried after the wagon—my only cover against enemy fire. I couldn’t help but feel surprised as to how well I was moving for someone who had been barely walking just a few minutes ago.

The survival instinct was the best kind of motivator.

I glanced at the corpse at the water’s edge. It was the coachman from the wagon just ahead of ours. He, too, had caught an arrow in the eye, but unlike Rycer, the angle of this arrow was perfect, piercing the brain. There was no coming back for this one.

The fact that the enemy’s archers were this accurate caused me to crouch even more, giving them absolutely nothing. They shouldn’t even see me behind the wagon.

Just as long as I kept up... The wave of stress-induced energy had come suddenly, and might evaporate just as quickly, leaving me defenseless.

And with my degree of enlightenment totaling a big fat zero, the tiniest scrape could be fraught with serious consequences. So I would do well to become “one with the wagon” until things settled down.

I glanced back to gauge the situation behind us. All of the wagons except for one—lopsided and mired in the water for some reason—were hurriedly moving ashore. Those caravanners who weren’t pushing the wagons, were fighting instead, swinging and stabbing with their clubs, axes and spears, though with dubious results. The dark armored shapes weren’t breaking the surface near the convoy any longer, but only in two distinct circular spots downstream, where the water boiled as if in a cauldron. Something over there must have captured the strange creatures’ attention far better than the distancing caravan.

I looked harder as the water in those spots grew muddier. And changed color.

Now I knew why they called it Redriver.

Chapter 9

Wonders of Medicine

Degrees of Enlightenment: Unknown

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

The caravan got off easy. I had been certain that our fates were hanging by a thread, that we were all about to get an arrow in the eye and become fish food. Yet, the danger had passed surprisingly quickly.

The attackers had somehow lured to the ford a group of full-grown kote—the big fish from before. I had only heard of the creatures until today. They were known to be as delicious in their cooked form as they were dangerous while living. Even the smallest specimen required careful handling once caught, lest it snap its jaw and snatch the flesh off the fingerbone. A larger kote could bite off the whole finger, while a fully mature monster could get the whole hand. But one would need to have the worst kind of luck for that to happen.

Indeed, Redriver was hardly rich with monsters that grew to a size of six or more feet. I had heard this from people whose word could be trusted. And the beasts rarely ventured outside of the river’s deepest sections. How, then, did a group of them end up in the shallows? That was an anomaly. And the fact that it was a group was an anomaly twice over. Kotes were known to be solitary creatures—even a few of them working together was a rare phenomenon, let alone a dozen.

Someone had somehow gathered over a dozen of these armored sharks in one place, then set them on the convoy at just the right time. The folks in the front section were already safe, but they had naturally turned toward the commotion, and that was when the main assault was launched. Several bandits leaped out from the bushes and engaged the coachman and the merc from the front wagon, while another one stayed out of view, taking a position on the hillside to rain down arrows with remarkable accuracy. The archer ended up killing two, striking both squarely in the eye, and wounding Rycer in much the same manner, while his accomplices were finishing off their opponents.

And the battle might have ended very differently if it hadn’t been for Atami, our mounted warrior. The eagle-eyed archer had failed to strike him down, despite many attempts, while the rider himself killed two enemy combatants and drove the rest back into the bushes. The attackers didn’t reappear but retreated, along with the archer.

Having pulled the eleven surviving wagons ashore, the caravanners set to counting their losses and licking their wounds.

Two had been killed by the archer, and two more had fallen from axes, clubs and spears. The kote had torn up two small children and one infant after snatching them away, and injured several grownups. One woman that had suffered particularly grave wounds bled to death shortly after making it to the bank. An elderly man who hadn’t been bitten once outlived her by only a few minutes. Once on land, he grabbed his chest and sat down, then collapsed on his side—it appeared that his heart couldn’t handle the stress.

The wounds inflicted by kote teeth looked gruesome. These creatures were indeed similar to sharks, as whole chunks of flesh had been torn out. A tremendous amount of rags was utilized to stanch bleeding wounds, much of it ill-fitted for the purpose. Bandages were either unknown technology or used entirely too rarely in this world.

Feeble thing that I was, I didn’t participate in the fuss, still sitting behind the wagon, content to stay out of sight. Though sentries had been placed up on a hill, I still didn’t trust those woods. My ears were still ringing with the thumping, squelching sounds of arrows smashing into eyeballs before Atami rode in to the rescue.

Turning to a groan nearby, I saw Rycer sitting down clumsily, holding on to the wagon’s side while slowly bending his legs. Each movement was a struggle for the wounded man, forced to keep his skewered hand suspended in the air. The smallest shift of weight in relation to the body reverberated with pain in his forearm and eyelid.

Krol waited for the warrior to sit, then said with uncertainty in his voice.

“If I pull on the arrow, it should exit the head. Then I’ll cut the shaft and pull it out of your arm. Can you... handle that?”

The warrior moaned. “Give me something for the pain, at least, before you torture me!”

“You drank it all...” Krol bleated. “I ain’t got no more swill left, that was the last of it.”

“We’re transporting wine. I’m sure they could spare a barrel for the cause,” Rycer moaned again, then added resolutely. “Go on, do it!”

“Wait!” I nearly screamed, though a second ago I wasn’t even going to open my mouth.

Krol, who was about to grab the arrow’s tail, turned toward me.

“What is it?!” he barked viciously.

I raised my hand, displaying a broken piece of arrow found in the sand. One of the many that the archer had shot at Atami.

I proceeded to explain, picking my words carefully.

“See the tip? It’s not held by glue, but rather mounted on the shaft. And mounted well. The arrow nearly made it to the temple—see the bump from it pressing from inside the skull? It’s wedged tight in there. If you pull on it, the tip will remain. And that means death.”

“The kid is right,” Rycer drawled with resignation. “I won’t make it with a piece of metal in my head.”

“The trading station has a healer, he’ll take care of you,” Krol reassured him, though his own tone was far less than certain.

“The arrow is enchanted. It’s doing something to me, I can feel it. The magic is ruinous, it’s draining the life right out of me.”

“But the healer—”

“Shut your trap already!” Rycer blew up, then groaned from the flash of pain punishing him for the sudden stress to his vocal organs. “I told you, it’s draining the life out of me. And it’ll keep draining for as long as the tip is inside. Even if I make it to the station, what then? There ain’t no healers there, that’s why they use potions. And potions are expensive. Treatment there would cost me more than what I earn in a year. And, again, the metal is enchanted—it ain’t some rusty nail in my backside. I ain’t got many options. I’m too far from my home village and our healer. So, it’s either death or bondage...”

“So what are we going to do...” Krol threw up his arms in frustration.

At that, I offered a suggestion. “Take the tip out from the other end.”

“What? How?”

“Easy. The arrow went into the eye-socket and through to the temple. It must have missed the brain, considering that Rycer is still alive. The temple bone is broken, I can see the tip from here. If you push on the arrow, the tip should pop out of the temple. Once you remove or saw off the tip, you can pull it out like you were going to before.”

“Push it further into his head? Are you nuts?!” Krol gasped.

Cursing mentally at the dunderhead, I tapped into my reserves of patience and explained again.

“His head is already pierced through. You merely need to finish the job. A new hole in the temple beats an arrowhead stuck in the skull, every time. But I’m not here to argue. It’s just a suggestion, do with it what you will.”

“Grow a pecker first before you start spewing suggestions!”

“I was born with one that’s bigger than yours.”

Another gasp, this one more from rage than surprise. “What did you say?! Why, I’m gonna...”

“Shut up!” Rycer barked anxiously. “Before you start measuring. Both of you are assholes!”

“But he—” the coachman persisted, still aghast.

“I said shut up!” Turning his surviving eye my way, Rycer added firmly. “Go on, kid!”

“What?”

“Do as you said. Take out the tip. Krol can’t do it, his hands are shaking. Yours ain’t shaking, so you do it.”

“I’m no healer.”

“So what? Go on.”

“My hands are about to start shaking, too.”

“Why? They ain’t shaking now, so keep’em still.”

“They always shake when I remember about my ‘misplaced’ coin purse.”

“Listen, kid. If you don’t take out this arrowhead, I’m going to take out your eye with my free hand. You’ll end up just like me. Now hurry up, I ain’t got much patience!”

The soldier was indeed on edge—that much was clear. And with his size, one hand would be more than enough to make me a cripple.

I didn’t have much choice in the matter.

Surgery was not my strong suit. The only operation I had ever borne witness to, in which my own heart was cut open and extracted, hadn’t afforded me much practical knowledge. Nothing that I could apply to this situation, anyway.

The one thing I had going was that I wasn’t afraid of blood. My hands weren’t shaking, though that alone wouldn’t do the job. Weak as I was, the force that I was able to apply wasn’t enough to push the arrowhead through the temporal bone. I pushed and pushed, Rycer groaned and gritted his teeth, but nothing was happening.

It was time to change tactics. Shifting my position a bit, I pressed my full body weight into the warrior’s arm, only using my hands to hold on to him. He began to yell about being shredded alive—which wasn’t an unfair assertion—but we were finally making progress. The temple began to swell until the skin broke and blood streamed from the open wound.

I kept pushing until, at last, the arrowhead popped out all the way with one final crunch of the temporal bone. I pulled on it, but it held firm to the shaft, so I turned to Krol.

“I can’t pull it off. You try—or saw it off, if you want.”

Watching the proceedings with wild eyes, he handed me a knife.

“Chaos take me! You saw...” he muttered hoarsely.

The caravanner’s hands shook so badly that I nearly cut myself taking the weapon from him. But there was more to it than that. In this absurd world, any item you wanted to handle had to conform to you. A degenerate like me could use only the plainest items, and in limited ways. And so this blade with an ugly wooden handle objected to being defiled by the touch of my hand, making it hard to operate.

But there was even more to it than that. I realized that, in addition to everything else, my hands were too unaccustomed to complex motor functions. It had been years since I performed any kind of challenging manual task, so now it was all I could do to wiggle my fingers like a newborn. The amulet’s boosts were helping, but not sufficiently so.

I had a long way to go to master this body.

The sawing process was long and painful. Figuratively painful for me, and quite literally for Rycer. Twice the poor merc nearly passed out from the pain, and a third time when I finally pulled out the arrow shaft sans its tip.

Bandaging the profusely bleeding forearm also fell on me, Krol having entrenched himself fully in the role of spectator who could do nothing but “ooh” and “aah” and grab his head with both hands in horror. When the time came to swab the gaping, oozing eye-socket, I didn’t even bother asking the man for help.

As soon as I finished, something happened that I had never before experienced. The world went dark for a moment, immersing me in a state similar to the one I had entered when looking within.

Words flashed before my eyes, rendered in the same strict font I had used when systematizing all the information that had been revealed to me earlier today.

You have potentially saved a human life! You receive:

Lesser Symbol of Chi x2

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Healer x1

Trying not to betray the bemusement that took hold of me, I left the wounded in Krol’s care as I made for the river, anxious to wash off another person’s blood and mull over what happened.

So shocking and unexpected was this development that I had forgotten all about my fear of arrows, though I’d make an easy target now for any archer hiding in the bushes. Relax... The bank is fully secured.

The assurance helped. Besides, caution was a luxury now. It was imperative to make sense of... myself.

The fact that I was seeing information presented in letters and numbers wasn’t too far fetched. Simply put, I had converted the visual forms favored by the natives into strict data, which I found easier to work with. It was as natural for the residents of Rock as text on a computer screen was for humans of Earth, only the former didn’t need Wi-Fi to access the network. The same higher forces whose presence permeated every single physical particle in the world—as well as concepts and events without physical form—neglected nothing and no one under the Rock sun. It was what the locals referred to as ‘the Order.’ Truthfully, I found it pretentious as hell. It wasn’t enough to capitalize the word, no—you had to use all capital letters, and accentuate each letter in a specific way. Alas, I couldn’t think of a way to recreate the unique spelling of the term in any human language I knew.

At any rate, it was the foundation of everything in this realm. It was precisely the Order that kept Rock and all of its constituents from sliding into the abyss of absolute Chaos. My own world was halfway to the same infinite chasm, so this one was somewhat more fortunate.

Now, don’t ask me how something that’s infinite could have an end. The local philosophers could spend days on the subject, throwing around a million theories and conjectures and still not arrive at a plausible explanation.

Even realms of Order had room for Chaos, and my second life was a prime example thereof. Deprived of the ability to interact with the parameters of the Order, from the vantage point of the locals, I was an absurdity to be pitied. Something akin to a harmless circus freak. All of mother’s great efforts to fix me had been for naught. She had only flushed the last of the clan’s savings down the drain, pushing the Crow past the point of no return. She might have even deemed the arrival of the band of assassins a mercy, allowing her to leave the stage with honor—a fine solution for a noble.

But then something unexpected had happened. Pitiful degenerate that I was, on some very basic level I had somehow managed to connect with the Order. And the invisible controllers that governed this reality had somehow recognized my affinity for processing information differently from the natives, and allowed me to customize my interface not in visuals as they did, but using strictly numbers and letters.

And now, another unexpected development. The higher powers had apparently decided that successfully treating the wounded soldier was a significant enough achievement as to merit a reward.

Turning away from the caravan while leaving one hand in the water, I used the other to find the pouch on my neck. I loosened the string, opened the mouth, then looked inside, giving each item a focused stare. And it almost didn’t surprise me when the world faded once more as information about the contents displayed before my eyes.

Lesser Symbol of Chi x17

Medium Symbol of Chi x4

Lesser Essence of Stamina x2

Lesser Essence of Agility x1

Lesser Essence of Equilibrium x11

Lesser Essence of Melee Combat x10

Lesser Essence of Iron Skin x10

This was Rock’s universal currency. And it was more valuable than any coin, which was why it had merited being stored in this clever container. In the good old times, it used to be filled to the brim, but those times were long gone—mother had spent way too much on experiments trying to make me whole. Still, even this was enough to last a few months of living modestly.

Too bad the treasure was of no use to me. If ever I flashed it anywhere, it would suffer the same fate as the coin purse, leaving me with nothing and bringing me a few months closer to certain death.

As soon as the amulet lost its charge, I was a goner, for despite all the recent developments, I remained a nonviable invalid.

And I hadn’t a clue as to how to correct that.

Not just yet.

Chapter 10

Dead Man Walking

Degrees of Enlightenment: Unknown

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

The convoy was led by two people: Kashik and Atami. The former managed everything not related to security while the latter handled only security. It wasn’t obvious which of the two was the other’s superior. So clear was the division of responsibilities between them that it might not have even mattered. They each saw to their own affairs, and didn’t get in each other’s way.

Kashik had a lousy reputation, and the people didn’t feel shy voicing their distaste for the men publicly. Still, if he gave an order, everyone obeyed.

So when I was informed that the man himself wanted to see me, I had no choice but to satisfy his wish.

Needless to say, I didn’t want to go. What the hell did he want with me all of a sudden? Rock was a world of strict hierarchies, in which anyone who rose higher than the level of a baseboard was almost obligated to spit on the heads of the scum floundering below. Kashik should have no business with a small fry like me. And even if there was something to say to a broken foundling, he should have passed the order down the chain of command—for his underlings to relay to me. Summoning me for an audience that would involve direct communication was a violation of unwritten hierarchical principles. A representative of the Three Axes deigning to entertain a worm like me suggested that something extraordinary was in play.

And considering how likely even ordinary developments were to snuff out my pitiful existence, I would do well to give a round berth to extraordinary ones.

Alas, when faced with a direct command from someone so highly above my station, I could hardly afford refusing it.

Kashik wouldn’t even look at me. The fact that he was speaking to me directly was honor enough.

He simply pointed to the river and said in a squeamish tone.

“There’s a sack of spices left in that wagon. Bring it here.”

So it wasn’t quite an order, but a suicide mission. But what was I supposed to say? That I didn’t feel like walking into a river teeming with kote? Or argue that, with my meager strength and stamina, I wouldn’t be able to carry my own body back and forth, let alone a full sack?

Kashik knew all this even without my saying it. I was a nobody to him. A weakling nobody knew or cared about, lucky to have been picked up on the side of the road. There was no one here to stand up for him, so he was free to do with me as he pleased. Here in the Wild Wood, getting injured or killed was par for the course. But spices were valuable cargo that needed to be salvaged. Or, at the very least, you needed to provide proof that you had done all you could to salvage it.

So why not try and solve the problem by risking the least important person in the caravan?

Refusal would not be accepted. I would either complete the task or die trying. And if I tried to object or wriggle out of it, I risked injury or death right here and now.

After quickly surmising the situation and assessing my limited options, I nodded my agreement.

“I will do my best to try and retrieve your spices, my lord. For that, I’m going to need the bloodied rags used to wrap the wounds inflicted by kote attacks. Please issue the order to supply me with several. The dirtier, the better. I’m also going to need a stalk of wild blueleaf and a knife. I shall return the knife before going out for the spices.”

Kashik couldn’t resist giving me a heavy askance look. Apparently, my calmness combined with the unusual request surprised him.

Not that it mattered—he wouldn’t be budging off his decision anytime soon.

I was still going to have to get into the river.

I didn’t know much about wagons. As such, I could only guess as to how that one had managed to get stuck where others had passed without issue. All I knew was that whenever a wagon would get stuck, the caravanners would push it up and forward to get it going again.

But in this case, the people were too busy fighting off the kote to push the wagon. All the while the coachman was probably whipping the crap out of the horse to keep moving, possibly causing the panicked animal to jerk hard enough to break the wooden joints connecting the axes to the wagon. Especially if the horse was turning to get back to the nearer shore instead of pushing forward to the farther one. That would be my guess, looking at the lopsided wagon half-buried in the river floor, the way it might stand on solid ground if it had only one wheelset remaining.

Some of the cargo had spilled out and either sunk underwater or gotten carried away by the current. Of the load that remained, however, Kashik had spotted something too valuable to leave behind.

Even if his own greed allowed it, he was beholden to his masters’ will—and they would demand that all efforts be made to salvage such precious cargo. After all, if he failed to deliver to the station something essential yet relatively inexpensive, the locals might be tempted to cover the shortage with higher-end substitutes, like those produced locally. That would be bad for business, and merchants greatly disliked things that were bad for business.

The process of developing one’s degrees of enlightenment, attributes and skills was a complex one. The surest, most reliable way to squeeze maximum value from it involved eating not randomly but sticking to a very particular diet that included special substances extracted from plants, animals, mushrooms and certain minerals. I had dubbed all those extracts “spices,” but only to myself, as Rock’s residents were adamantly against generalizing or abridging anything in such an important field.

Spices came in great varieties. And our caravan was transporting dozens of sacks, each wagon carrying a portion of the total load. Kashik’s wagon held the most valuable ones, while the cheaper ones were distributed among the others. Of course, “cheaper” almost never meant “cheap.” Generally speaking, the prices of spices ranged from expensive to very expensive to “king’s ransom” expensive.

The sack I was tasked with recovering held the cheapest kind. Something along the lines of sprouted shalecrust seeds, which had been Teshimi’s specialty. He had been the clan’s only harvester to successfully grow the capricious plant on the local soil without detriment to its potency. Or lily mushroom pollen, harvested in the woods and groves along the relatively safe right bank of Redriver. Though slightly more expensive, it was nonetheless within the means of most farmers.

All that is to say, the value of the bloody sack was negligible, yet far higher than the value of my life. Kashik wouldn’t feel even a pang of regret at the sight of me being torn to pieces by kote. Or rather, he would regret only the fact that the simplest method of salvaging the caravan’s property had failed.

I couldn’t care less for his spices, but I did care for my life. And so I was exercising caution from the start, taking care with each step to avoid drawing attention to myself with splashes.

Mother had tried raising me like a normal child. And that implied giving me an education. Lacking the means to hire teachers, she had taken my education into her own hands, only occasionally inviting specialists she deemed particularly knowledgeable to supplement her teachings. I had been too busy playing the dimwit to risk asking them clever questions, but one particular story about a rider being attacked by kote while crossing Redriver had caught my attention. Assuming the creatures to be similar to piranhas, I later asked others to tell me what they knew, and a couple of more stories cleared up the misconception. The kote weren’t anything like piranhas, after all.

They were more like sharks.

Kote were drawn by movement and smell. As long as I didn’t expose myself with either, the monsters might not sense my presence even a few feet away. Of course, these were only conjectures, but none of the stories I’d heard contradicted them. In fact, they only supported the hypothesis.

My body may be scrawny, but it wasn’t small for my years. As I neared the wagon, the water level reached just below my midsection. The current had cleared the waters of murk, and despite my being on full alert as I scanned the area, I couldn’t detect any kote presence.

Until the very end.

The bloody sack was almost within reach when, suddenly, an enormous dark torpedo shape of the river predator splashed some thirty feet to my right. Startled, I glimpsed a bloodied ribcage in its jaws. More like half a ribcage by now. Somewhere around here raged the feast over the remains of the caravan’s unluckiest members. No, the feast is ending. There’s barely any meat left on those bones.

The coachman had been able to free the horse, after all. The harness floated on the surface not far from here, all cut up. Good news for the horse, but bad news for me—I would have preferred for the ravenous fish to get more of a haul, not less. Otherwise, they were more likely to keep scouring the waters for seconds.

And I didn’t want to still be here when that happened.

Was that my imagination or had a subsurface wave hit my legs from a monster swimming nearby? Fear was a superb stimulant for the mind’s eye. Suddenly I thought I saw all of the Redriver kote swarming around me, occupying every inch of space of this body of water.

Grabbing the sack in these conditions would be way too dangerous. I didn’t even know what kind of spices it held. In case of mineral dust from bitter lakes, I wouldn’t even be able to pick it up; in case of something lighter, I might still only move it a few feet before toppling over.

So I tried to distract the kote the only way I could. Holding my hand out carefully, I lowered into the water the rags caked with blood, one by one. The current picked them up and began carrying them away, forming halos that exuded a very particular smell that many of Redriver’s smaller dwellers found very compelling. Insects and their larvae, midges, even freshwater shrimp. These were everywhere, and they weren’t about to let such goodness pass by unmolested. I counted on them making a commotion that might attract larger and deadlier creatures, leading them away from me.

One of the rags was pulled underwater with a soft splash. A large back crested with black paired fins broke the surface next to another one. All of the nearby kote would hopefully join the party. Excellent. Now let’s see if my trick with the blueleaf stalk will work. Stories claimed that the beasts could sense poison, but they shouldn’t ignore rags soaked in blood. And I hoped to be far away from here by the time they realized the rags didn’t contain any edible treats.

The sack wasn’t heavy at all. In fact, it was more of a pouch than a sack. In terms of volume, it couldn’t hold even twenty pounds of flour, and its current contents were similar to flour in density. The load would be a trifle to a normal person; alas, I was anything but normal. Before the attack on the homestead, I would have collapsed immediately upon taking the sack. Thankfully, having grown sufficiently accustomed to the amulet’s enhancements, my body didn’t let me down. Though not without difficulty, I heaped the load up on my shoulder, then turned back around.

And turned to stone. Because the next wave that pushed at my feet definitely wasn’t my imagination. I even saw the shadow of an enormous kote as it nearly brushed up against me. The beast might have been the largest one in Redriver, the size of a man-eating croc. It was moving toward its splashing cousin in the wake of the floating rags, and had nearly smashed right into me with its ridged nose. What if the thing belatedly realized that I wasn’t a snag or a lump of algae, and went back to check?

And how else would it check if not with its teeth?

There was a much larger splash downstream, as if made by a galloping horse. I looked askew to see a medium-sized kote surrounded by the fins of several others, clearly intrigued by their cousin’s boisterous state.

The beast was indeed behaving strangely, keeping to the surface as it twisted and turned every which way and smacked its tail on the water periodically. In the gaping jaw, amid two rows of sharp crooked teeth, I glimpsed scraps of dark cloth. And a bright yellow stalk as well.

My plan had worked. Not exactly how I had envisioned it, but it had worked.

Blueleaf was an interesting plant. It was rarely found on the right bank, but the left bank abounded with its creeping bushes. Its stalks were similar to steel in terms of elasticity, losing this attribute a few hours after being cut. Children entertaining themselves with this material had to keep cutting fresh stalks. It had been an easy thing to notice when observing the local life.

The stalks were peeled, sharpened from both ends, and spun into tight braids before being wrapped with cloth. I had counted on the kote swallowing it whole. And the creatures’ digestive acid was extremely potent, frequently utilized in certain alchemical recipes as a highly effective solvent. In other words, there was a chance that the cloth would quickly perish in the beast’s belly, releasing the wooden spring. The trick was similar to that used by Eskimos when hunting polar bears, only they used whalebone concealed in a frozen lump of fat. The fat would soften in the bear’s warm belly, and the destructive agent would straighten, its sharp ends inflicting fatal wounds from the inside.

Kote were known to sense poison and similar dirty tricks. This one might have suspected something as well, but its hunger and agitation hadn’t allowed it to avoid the fragrant lure. And as it chewed the cloth, the stalk sprung free, skewering the jaw above and below, and now it couldn’t shut its mouth. But there was more to its strange behavior. The monster fish was moving as though it had been partially paralyzed, whether from sheer shock or from some serious injury.

The behavior of the other kote suggested that a new feast was shaping up, this one of the cannibal variety. More and more of them were gathering, swarming their sickly cousin. Still at risk of being rammed into by another rushing beast, I kept moving. Quickly enough to increase the distance, but not so quickly as to get noticed.

Cause if that happened, I wouldn’t last a minute.

You’ve dealt significant damage to the kote. The kote has died. You are one of numerous creatures responsible for its death. Your actions are recognized as your first ever defeat over an enemy: kote (partial involvement).

Kote defeated!

You receive:

Lesser Symbol of Chi x2

Talent Mark, Scent of Blood x1

First defeat of an enemy: kote (partial involvement). You receive:

Lesser Symbol of Chi x2

Lesser Personal Attribute Embodiment, Agility x1

The messages caught me at a midway point to the shore. I didn’t even need to look within to read them, having grown sufficiently accustomed to the changes to note them without any additional straining. Not every detail, sure, but that wasn’t necessary.

So the wounded kote had been finished off by its bloodthirsty brethren. Still, the Order had determined that my contribution to the kill had been significant enough to warrant a generous reward.

So generous, in fact, that I should think long and hard about my next steps. My existing knowledge was perhaps too deficient to maximize this opportunity.

Largely because my knowledge on the matter was pure theory. And theory unbacked by practice was, by default, deficient.

Chapter 11

Like Water in a Sieve

Degrees of Enlightenment: Unknown

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

When trying to find analogues to the local realities, it was easier to imagine that I’d gotten stuck in a video game with all the bells and whistles conceivable, and not kidnapped from my home world with the aim of being sacrificed.

Classic role-playing games measured a character’s development by their level. In Rock, the equivalent was a character’s degrees of enlightenment—milestones achieved only after accumulating a certain amount of chi. My situation on that front was just as pitiful as on all the other fronts—I was still a big fat zero. The one change was that a new ring-shaped indicator had been unlocked, displaying how much chi I still needed to accumulate before achieving the next milestone, or, in gaming lingo, “leveling up.”

The degrees themselves weren’t helpful. They didn’t add to the natives’ strength, agility, stamina or magical ability. Each seventh degree reached unlocked a new talent, and though that could be quite valuable, you couldn’t claim that it made the person an order of magnitude stronger. So, if you didn’t delve into the details, you might dismiss the local equivalent to a “level” as little more than a status number.

However, the truth was that this number determined a great deal. For starters, each degree came with a cap (limit) to its associated attributes. There were five primary ones in all, which I called Strength, Stamina, Agility, Perception, and Spirit. The first three are relatively easy to get and develop. In most cases, they were available from birth, meaning even commoners were afforded this set. The last two, on the other hand, were much more difficult to acquire, typically reserved for nobles and their inner circles.

If you failed to develop the attributes afforded by a degree before reaching the next one, there would be no do-overs. Suppose you were a lowly peasant’s son, having achieved the first level by virtue of simply being born and inheriting from your ancestors all of the presents innate to nearly all newborns. Your parents were too poor to nourish you with precisely the right spices to optimize this essential growth period. As a result, you weren’t able to max out more than six attributes at this degree, and their number might not even correspond. If you raised them all, you would end up with one attribute at three, another at two, and the third at one. This was the most common distribution, and those who achieved it were referred to as “pure omegas.” The unluckiest ones who failed to reach even this were known as “lesser omegas, “pseudo-omegas,” “bottom omegas” and other such epithets reserved for the dregs of Rock.

For those like me.

Most peasants raised their Stamina to three, Strength to two, and Agility to one. It was the optimal build for the type of work a common laborer was born to do, meaning to toil by the sweat of their brow from dawn till dusk. Once these six attributes were maxed out at one degree, the peasant could “level up” and start working on maxing out the next set of six.

And so on and so forth, degree after degree. The process was potentially infinite, limited by only the grave. And death, too, could be delayed by developing harmoniously, unlocking the right skills, avoiding harming one’s health with bad habits, paying healers for timely rejuvenation treatments, and, of course, utilizing spices.

Attributes were more than status indicators, but actually increased one’s strength, stamina, and so on. Furthermore, attributes were key to unlocking and developing all sorts of useful talents.

And talents could be quite a serious boon. For instance, unlocking a Marksman talent and adhering to certain conditions made it possible to become a pretty good archer without so much as ever handling a bow. Such a path, however, was not advisable, as harmonious development necessitated practice to “lock in” any theoretical gains.

Sticking with the Marksman example, to get the talent you first needed to acquire the talent mark, whether personal or common. Defeating opponents with this talent granted a small chance of getting it yourself. Or you could luck into a situation and be rewarded with it, as had happened with me when treating the wounded soldier. Failing that, you could train like a madman until the ORDER deemed you worthy of acquiring the talent mark as a prize for your dogged persistence and efforts.

Without any Agility though, you still could not unlock it. This world’s conditions were harsh. Once you did pump your talent to level 10, your progress would stop until your Enlightenment reached 2nd Degree—and your Agility reached 3.

I wasn’t one hundred percent sure about the numbers, but only about the main principle. The big takeaway was that you didn’t need to attend academies, apprentice with artisans or trainers, or even train yourself. Though all of those things were obviously helpful, they weren’t nearly as important as developing your own hidden parameters.

Teshimi’s success in growing spices was rooted in more than just his magic touch. He had possessed a number of relatively advanced attributes and talents that enabled him to excel at such a difficult task. The plants he had worked with required special care that could only be provided by an appropriately skilled caretaker. By executing him, mother had killed the proverbial golden goose, and Camai had been right to be flabbergasted, as the clan had had no other who could have replaced a master of Teshimi’s caliber, meaning not only his degrees of enlightenment, but the required sets of attributes and other talents besides.

Grooming a new master was always an option, but one that would take years and years, as the process of developing one’s talents was both long and expensive.

So where did that leave me, a tragic anomaly in the world of Rock as a thirteen-year-old teenager with zero degrees of enlightenment? I hadn’t gotten the first degree at birth, and the defect hadn’t been rectified despite mother’s considerable efforts. All attempts to fill me with chi had been futile.

Like filling a sieve with water.

But something had changed in the attack on the homestead. I had gotten access to a kind of interface with which I could now observe and partially manage my inner parameters. For instance, the partially filled ring symbolized the degree’s progress. If I filled it to full with chi, I would finally unlock what others received as their birthright. That was how insignificant this achievement truly was.

Insignificant, yet so very difficult for yours truly.

If not impossibly difficult.

If the numbers indicated in the parameters of my present—and pitiful—degree of enlightenment were true, I would need to accumulate eight hundred and eighty-eight units of chi to move on to the next degree. Three 8s, three symbols of infinity. That hardly felt coincidental.

But let’s put that aside.

The events at the homestead had partially filled my ring. During my first introspection, the counter had been at sixty-two units. Meaning I had eight hundred twenty-six to go.

Though technically not impossible, that number still felt well out of my reach. As far as I knew, your average newborn received about a hundred chi at the start of their life, which was enough to reach the first degree of enlightenment. From then on, some had to accumulate more than others to keep advancing, but only because their affluent parents weren’t just raising their kids, but actively expanding their vessels. After all, the more of the primordial energy one imbibed, the more opportunity they would have in life.

So, in a way, I was one lucky bastard, my “infinite” vessel having been stretched to the max from the very start.

But I was in no hurry to rejoice at my stroke of luck. And not only because the remaining eight hundred twenty-six units would still need to be acquired somehow—quite a tall order for someone in my condition.

The bigger concern was that, at present, my zero degree was only filled by sixty units out of a possible eight hundred eighty-eight. And I very clearly remembered that there had been sixty-two when first I laid eyes on it.

And when I had checked again after salvaging the sack of spices, there had been sixty-one. There could be no confusion on that front.

So what happened? Though one’s “base chi” could theoretically be reduced, that typically required tremendous effort on the part of an enemy or some other horrific hardships. And even then, it wasn’t guaranteed.

My situation was clearly different. I couldn’t blame upon any enemy the fact that my zero degree reservoir was leaking like a rusty galvanized bucket. And if the rate of leakage remained steady, it wouldn’t take more than several days to empty, dropping me back to square one. Moreover, if I allowed it to happen, I feared an irreversible return to my initial state. Meaning I would revert to being a hopeless wreck incapable of the smallest development, forced to rely on regularly recharging the amulet to keep drawing breath. To say that I wasn’t enamored with such a prospect would be a gross understatement.

How long until somebody noticed such a valuable item hanging on the neck of a homeless wretch? It might be invisible, but surely some possessed the ability to see through the ruse. There was no scenario under which I would retain possession of the amulet indefinitely.

So, priority number one for me was to keep myself from falling back to zero.

All I had to my name at the present was twenty-three small and four medium symbols of chi. The former yielded one unit each, the latter yielded a dozen. That meant an additional seventy-one units with which to fill the ring. If my math was correct, I was losing six-seven units per day, so this would delay the woeful prospect of nullification by over a week. Added to my existing reserves, I had roughly twenty days to work with.

But what would tomorrow bring? Today’s efforts had netted me six units in all, a solid return by all accounts. A common peasant would have to toil for a solid month to get anywhere near this number. Assuming I got lucky—which was more than a fair assumption—I couldn’t possibly rely on recreating such a feat with sufficient frequency. And that meant nullification was not only inevitable, it might arrive sooner rather than later.

What else could I do? My attempt at activating the Novice Healer mark had failed. The number of talents unlocked at any particular degree must conform to the number of attributes achieved at said degree. And I had zero of those. All I could do was unlock one point in Agility, having received a personal embodiment of this attribute from my fight with the kote. But unlocking it was half the battle—now I had to fill it to the max in a process similar to filling my general reservoir with chi. I had gotten one small essence of Agility from mother, which would add one point to the attribute’s progress bar of the several dozen it should require to fill in full.

As far as I knew, the lowest possible number of points to advance an attribute was ten. In other words, there was no point in unlocking Agility, as there was no way I could fill in the required number. And that wasn’t the only problem. Activating an attribute with a personal embodiment should start it off with one progress point from the get-go. But if my attributes leaked in the same way as my chi, I stood to lose that bonus almost as soon as I used it.

Which brought me to my second objective: find the starting embodiments of the other attributes, as well as further means of their development. I was aware of only one way of getting those: defeating opponents with advanced attributes of the same kind. I had gotten lucky with the kote when the Order deemed my rather insignificant contribution to the killing of one predator worthy of a reward. And those beasts were certainly agile, like living torpedoes, swift and lethal.

Objective number three: fill up my chi reservoir. Perhaps that would put an end to the leakage, neutralizing the Damoclean sword of nullification from constantly looming over me.

Maybe that should be the primary objective, but I was too sensible a person to hope to find so much chi within a short enough span. Again, the six units I had acquired today were fantastic luck. Based on all that I had heard from others, that kind of luck might only happen to a person once in his life.

Or not at all.

I would need over eight hundred units even before accounting for the constant leakage. That was a small fortune. Indeed, a fortune, as chi symbols were proper merchandise. One small symbol was enough to buy several days’ worth of plain food. That was my impression, at least—actual market values could be much different. Besides, prices varied from region to region, and our homestead and village with a handful of subjects, lost amid the northern boondocks, surely couldn’t represent the whole world.

Still, there was no way I could earn that much. Which meant my sole lifeline was the magic of the amulet. As soon as it lost its charge, my life was equally lost.

Similarly, once the chi reservoir emptied, my strength would likely suffer a sharp decline. I wasn’t particularly full of vigor even in my present state, incomparable though it was to my previous one. But if I allowed nullification to happen, I would kiss goodbye to all of my present capabilities, along with any chances of enhancing them. I might still be able to move or perform very basic functions, but I wouldn’t be able to recreate the sack of spices rescue mission. I would lack the strength to make the trek to the middle of the ford and back even without a load.

It wouldn’t take long for me to become a useless wreck, and then a corpse. Unless I came up with a solution before that happened.

Wait, let me rephrase that. Coming up with a solution wasn’t the problem—actually implementing it was.

Even with the nice boost to the amulet and my newly discovered reservoir of chi, I was anything but a capable individual, whereas all the methods aimed at quickly raising one’s inner parameters were incredibly demanding and requiring of exceptional prowess on numerous fronts.

I couldn’t begin to imagine how I was going to get out of this, only that I would have to. My only other option was death, but that was no option at all.

It wasn’t long ago that I dreamed of death. Of getting even with a few people, and then of bidding farewell to my wretched existence. But no more. For the first time in years, the glimmer of hope afforded by my new abilities, deplorable as they were, filled me with a thirst for life. And that, in turn, gave hope that somehow things would work themselves out.

That a time would soon come to shed my skin of a cripple, a sponger stuck to the teat of a woman I had loathed yet had been forced to call mother.

A time when I would finally take care of myself.

Chapter 12

Blackriver Trading Station

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (60/888)

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

The Wild Wood, also known as the Dark Wood, was commonly used in the north to scare young children. But grownups were likewise rarely enthused at the mention of lands on the left bank of Redriver. Everyone knew that the territories stretching beyond the river were filled with monsters that were the stuff of nightmares, terrible creatures in whom structures of the Order had been intertwined with Chaos’ tentacles in the most grotesque of ways. These lands were no place for humans, but alas, human greed was stronger than any horror, and these parts were plentiful with treasure. Of course, a serious force would be required for even a chance of snatching a morsel of the local riches, and the operation would still be fraught with great risk.

It was the convoy’s second day moving through the Wild Wood, and the only danger it encountered had been yesterday’s trouble at the crossing. Moreover, from a geographical standpoint, the attack had taken place at the border. I had braced myself for worsening conditions as we kept moving north, but so far those fears were proving unfounded.

I hadn’t seen so much as a hare. The only signs indicating that the forest wasn’t fully extinct were tracks of paws and hooves along the edges of puddles lining the road. The sky showed more signs of life: mostly smaller birds but also the occasional crow and magpie, and even some doves. A few times the flapping of wings nearby portended something more serious, and last night Atami had shot down a pretty large bird. Krol had called it by some fanciful name while I registered it in my head as a wood grouse due to its striking resemblance to the latter.

Pines and spruces dominated the landscape, interspersed with some cedars and other leafy trees that resembled oaks, chestnuts and even birches. At least that was what they looked like to my amateur eye. Strips of thick shrubbery often lined the road on either side, but no arrows had flown from there in our direction.

Only once did we encounter signs of danger. This stretch of the road lay uphill, the elevated terrain being poorer in vegetation, with numerous wide meadows dotted with scatterings of rock and large boulders. Several heaps of flame blackened logs stood on the largest meadow, ringed by a crumbling stockade. Whatever structures had stood here several years ago had been so thoroughly devastated by fire that you could no longer ascertain their purpose.

A string of equally fresh graves lined the shoulder of the road, each punctuated with a hastily fashioned stake sporting a cleft to which a round piece of bark was attached. The local equivalent of a cross.

It looked more like a rushed funeral than a cemetery. Visual evidence suggested that the graves were now occupied by the residents of this place, and they likely hadn’t died of natural causes.

The convoy kept the same pace through this stretch, with no apparent interest displayed by anyone. It would seem that the caravanners were well familiar with the road and the attractions. Since they have most likely seen these ruins countless times, the macabre site no longer instilled in them any sense of unease.

* * *

Twilight was falling when Rycer suddenly hung down from the wagon and extended his hand.

“Come on up here, boy.”

Wondering what could be the cause for such a magnanimous offer, I grabbed onto his coarse hand, then tried to catch the side of the wagon, which was moving at walking speed. Before I could fail many times over, the soldier yanked me easily off the road.

Not a moment passed before I was sitting on a bed of hay, and he was offering me a piece of bread overlaid with a chunk of yellow lard.

“Here, have a bite. Eating on the go ain’t the same thing.”

You couldn’t argue with the assertion, though I was quite bemused by Rycer’s unprecedented generosity. Until now, he hadn’t treated me with any such kindness or nobility. Hell, he hadn’t seemed to care about me at all. I had gotten food only twice so far: last night and this morning. Both times my meal amounted to crude porridge from the common pot. Thankfully, the cooks followed the traditional recipe that made it thick enough to cut with a knife. Lacking a plate or utensils, I could hold the lump in the palm of my hand, finishing my modest ration in the span of two minutes. For the first time in my second life, I had an appetite. And a beastly one at that. Nowhere near satisfied by the meager handouts, I was thinking about food nonstop. And so I would drink liters upon liters of water, tricking my body into feeling just a tad less ravenous.

Rycer hadn’t skimped on bread or lard. This was far better than the wooden gruel that obviously did not include ingredients like butter or meat. Here was my chance to finally satiate my hunger.

Studying me with his surviving eye, Rycer shook his head.

“You need a healer. The way you’re chowing down, there must be some kind of tape worm working your insides.”

“Thank you...” I muttered belatedly.

“Kashik has your money,” Rycer said.

I tensed up, but didn’t stop chewing.

The soldier continued.

“It was Atami who noticed you, lying in the grass, about fifty paces from the road. He and I carried you to the caravan. The grass under your body was badly crumpled—you must have been lying there a while, maybe even several days. You were lucky that no critters gnawed on your face. Kashik came over then and took your coin. You thought it was me and Krol, but we had nothing to do with it. Kashik said that dead men need no coin where they’re going.”

“But I didn’t die,” I tore away from the food for the first time in the conversation to voice the obvious truth.

Rycer nodded. “Indeed, you didn’t. I don’t know what sickness you had, but there’s not a trace of it now. Though you’re still weak, and most definitely odd. Your hands don’t look like peasant hands, and you don’t act like a common plowman. I can’t make heads or tails of you, boy. But you can forget about getting your coin from Kashik. He ain’t the sharing kind. Once he gets his paws on something, it’s gone forever. Now, you helped me, and I ain’t the kind of bastard to forget it. I don’t have money to give you, but I can share some of my grub. Enough to hold you over before we part ways. I can help with some advice, too, so remember everything I say, cause I won’t repeat myself. The fort is a wretched place. Remember the ruins in the meadow?”

“Yeah.”

“That was an outpost of it. To this day, no one knows what happened to it. It simply burned down, along with everything on the meadow. It hadn’t rained for a long time and the land dried up badly. We were lucky to have avoided a forest fire. No clear tracks were left, and some of the bodies looked awful, missing limbs and even a head here and there. No fire could have done that.”

“What, then, if not fire?” I asked.

“All we know is that it was someone, not something. These are the kinds of things that happen here, so my first advice to you is to keep close to the fort. It has lasted a whole decade, which is a damn long time for the Wild Wood. And with a little luck, it might last another one. The local beasts know to stay away, taught to fear by experience. And fear can be a better defense than even high walls. So make use of that.” Rycer paused for a moment, thinking. “My second piece of advice is going to be harder to pull off. Hold on to your freedom. You’re nobody to Kashik. We picked you up in a field, but that bloodsucker will try to make some coin off of you. Don’t let that happen. You ain’t in debt to no one, and a free man can’t just be sold into servitude. Still, he’s going to try and pull something, bloody cheat that he is. It’s a good thing you’re such a wretch to look at. Ain’t nobody going to offer any serious coin for you, so he might not bother over a pittance. So, I say your chances are decent. Finally, my third piece of advice, and the most important one. Find somebody powerful and win his interest. Show him you’re useful for something. Don’t let go of your freedom, but stay close to him. Do whatever you can to avail yourself of his protection. You’re too weak to survive in that rotten place on your own.”

“What about going back south with another caravan?” I thought to ask.

“It’s a long way. Long enough for Kashik to come up with a dozen ways to get his hooks into you. Even a couple of coins don’t grow on trees. Besides, life down south ain’t no picnic, believe you me. For someone like you, at least. Being a weakling sucks, wherever you are. You’re welcome to try, sure, but if I were you, I’d stay put. The Wild Wood is full of peril, but in some ways it’s fairer than other places. Life here is simpler than down south. That’s all I’ve got to say on the matter. The rest is up to you. Think long and hard what you’re going to do. In these parts, being stupid is even worse for your prospects than being weak.”

* * *

The caravan arrived at Blackriver just before sundown. The name could apply to the fort just as much as to the river it had been named after.

The landscape differed considerably from the nearly flat plain of the right bank. The last several hours saw the convoy traverse one series of hills after another. It was treacherous terrain, with clefts in the rock hidden amidst heaps of debris, and streams feeding into the river with precipitous falls high enough to spell death for a pure omega of the tenth degree of enlightenment.

You couldn’t guess the river’s proximity until the very end, despite the forest growing sparser, almost nonexistent on wide clearings. Blackriver opened before us suddenly, as if filling a moat, its right bank a sheer cliff one hundred feet high. And the cliff wasn’t even vertical, but worse—slanting forward, overhanging the dark waters.

As wide across as Redriver, it split up in two identical arms that hugged a rocky island. The section of it that was downstream was about the same height as the right bank, the two sides visible from here just as sheer. Up ahead, however, the terrain was relatively flat and spanned roughly two-three acres.

The lower part of the island was three times larger in territory, but almost completely lacking in flat sections of land. Nothing but fissures and ledges, like a broken staircase leading down to the water. The geographical jumble ended with a pebbly blanket that lined the shore, spanning some two hundred yards.

The fort was situated on the elevated section of the island, protected from its uneven part by a crude wall of mostly uncut large stones. Standing roughly fifteen feet tall behind a picket fence, the structure implied that caution on the approach was justified.

The other sides boasted a wall as well, but nearly half the height of this side, the residents ostensibly relying on the natural protection of precipitous cliffs. Only one other spot had something resembling a tower with a gated pass-through pathway.

A suspension bridge stretched between this tower and a similar one on the right bank, no longer than seventy-five yards. Two ropes serving as foundation, though quite thick, could be easily cut in the event of assault, forcing the attackers to storm the far more imposing section of wall in the lower part of the island. Getting there in the first place would be challenging.

The fort itself amounted to a tight cluster of wooden structures. Whatever reserves of stone the builders might have had access to had been spared. Most were low residential dwellings and service buildings, with only a single two-story mansion dominating in the central section.

The caravan had been spotted. A string of greeters stretched out along the undulating bridge, clustering together upon reaching the shore. Perhaps the arrival of guests was such a grand event for the locals that nearly all were expected to come out and welcome them. More likely, these people were lining up to start unloading the wagons, which were too large and too heavy to pass over the flimsy bridge. Even horses ought to be wary of stepping on it. Which meant that all the crates, boxes and barrels would be lugged into the fort manually.

“Look alive back there!” Kashik yelped, turning to the tail of the convoy. “Move those feet, slackers! You’re nearly home!”

Chapter 13

Human Commodity

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (60/888)

Attributes: none

Skills: none

States: none

“Foolish kid, I only want what’s best for you.”

Kashik’s voice sounded strange, leaving the impression that he really did wish me nothing but the best instead of trying to dodge unpleasant matters.

Which he had already dodged with flying colors, anyway. Rycer had been spot on with his warning. Before I could even bring up the issue of getting back my money, Kashik countered with an extensive bill for services rendered: rescue from animal fangs (that I hadn’t ordered), comfortable passage with the caravan (most of which I had walked on my own two feet), and, naturally, food costs, which, according to the caravan’s chief executive, included breakfast, lunch, dinner and an afternoon snack. And judging by said costs, he would have me believe the meals had consisted exclusively of delicacies flavored with high-end spices.

The short of it was that my debt was high enough that my money wouldn’t cover even half of it. Yet, the debt needed to be paid. And right away.

I shook my head stubbornly.

“That barley porridge isn’t even worth a single coin. Besides, I saved a sack of your spices from the river. For that alone you should give me back my money and pay me the same amount on top.”

At that, the caravanner scowled. That job doesn’t cost anything. Everyone had to pull their weight, including you. Where were you when my people were fighting off the bandits? If it weren’t for them, you’d be long dead. And now you demand payment for the sack? The stones on you, boy. You must have been spoiled as hell. Now quit being so mulish. Master Ash will take care of you. You’re weak and useless, no way you can survive on your own.”

I shook my head again.

“No. I am a free man. I have no master, and I never will.”

“So you want to die from cold and hunger? Weak as you are, you won’t last one winter.”

“Then I will die free.”

“What do you know of freedom? Foolish whelp! All right, the hell with you. Do what you want. But remember my words when you’re on the verge of a hungry death. Maybe then you’ll realize Kashik only wanted the best for you.”

The caravanner turned around, indicating an end to the conversation.

I was content with this. Sure, I didn’t recover my money, but at least I wasn’t sold into bondage to some Master Ash. Though he might have provided me with food and shelter, I would mean nothing but cheap labor to the unknown master, the kind that wasn’t worth much around here. You needn’t look further than yesterday for proof. Sending me on a suicide mission to recover spices from a ford teeming with kote had seemed a perfectly reasonable request to Kashik.

No master for me, thank you very much.

Serfs weren’t technically slaves. These were people who had partially lost their freedom, but had the opportunity to gain it back. Some fell into this state for a particular stretch of time, others potentially forever. But their freedom was always there for the buying, whether by a third party or by independently accumulating the required amount.

A master had no right to kill his bondservant or subject him to serious bodily punishment without valid cause. It was well within his power, however, to make the lives of his subjects unbearable. Or to set them up by sending them on deadly missions like the one I had miraculously survived. Besides, regulations outlining a master’s obligations toward his bondservants were like expiration dates—more suggestions than hard, enforceable laws. And the farther you were from civilization, the less weight they carried.

And you couldn’t get any farther from civilization than this dump. Here in the Wild Wood, a master could do whatever he wanted with his bondservant. Especially if the latter was weak and without protection. Like me.

Had I been given a choice, I would keep far away from this place. But I was without an alternative. I wouldn’t survive in the forest on my own, and persuading Kashik to take me back south was doubly risky. By the end of the trip he would stick me with a bill I’d have no chance of repaying, making bondage all but certain. Besides, I shouldn’t forget about the events at the homestead. The killers had come to put a bloody period in the annals of the Crow Clan, and for as long as I lived, their task remained unfulfilled. Chances were, the clan’s enemies were scouring the area thoroughly, and my return would not go unnoticed.

Kids my age weren’t in great supply, and especially those that looked like me. Moreover, wherever I went, I would be without friends or family, which would draw instant suspicion. Finally, as the amulet’s charge expired, I would become completely immobile, only adding to my infamy. The local world might be free of the Internet, but news of unusual developments spread quickly enough. It would be a toss up as to how I would die: a cripple unable to provide for his basic needs, or at the hands of those thirsting to finish the job by snuffing out the clan’s last scion.

After weighting all my options, the clear winner was to lie low in the boondocks somewhere. Practically speaking, that meant sticking to the fort.

So, my immediate objective would be to gain entry. As the caravanners and their loaned workers unloaded cargo before the bridge, all the bondservants and free men in search of work were herded off to the side. These were all the people intended to remain in the fort, and I was among them.

For the next half-hour, we were largely ignored as the caravanners and the locals were more concerned with the cargo. The latter were especially concerned with the fact that some of it was missing. In response, Kashik was putting on quite a show, yelling dramatically and flailing his arms as he relayed the story of a deadly sniper striking his targets in the eye from a distance of one hundred paces, the wagon stuck in the ford, and the pack of kote set upon the caravan by some wicked magic. Going by his gesticulating and the scraps of phrases I was hearing, we had been beset by none other than a pack of monsters from the movie Jaws, and fired at from the bushes by a special ops division of Robin Hoods and William Tells. And that if it hadn’t been for the incredible heroism of his right hand, Atami, the caravan would have suffered losses far greater than one sorry wagon. Besides, some of the valuable cargo from the wagon had, in fact, been recovered. (To no one’s surprise, my own role in making said recovery happen was omitted.)

Our collective neglect didn’t last overly long. Having disposed of the cargo, the movers and shakers of the local world turned and headed our way. There were three of them, not counting Kashik, and they all looked completely different. One was so tacky, it reminded me of a pimp wannabe. Despite the warm weather of a late spring evening, he wore an expensive fur coat and a big bushy hat heavy with massive gilded ornaments. And he might have had more rings and signets on his fingers than actual fingers.

This must have been Ash himself, the face of the Three Axes and the top dog in the Blackriver fort. Everything I had gleaned from conversations with Rycer and Krol on the way here suggested this walking fur store shop-window could be no other. The man flaunted everything he had with the fervor of a cheap whore turned runway model.

As for the other two, I had no idea. My former companions hadn’t been overly generous with information, assuming they even knew themselves. Being part of a caravan meant long stretches on the road and scant knowledge of the fort’s internal affairs. One thing was certain—these were people with authority. One was a hulk of a man, the other a plain-looking craftsman in his middle years. The former could be a bodyguard, but the latter? He didn’t look like a person with power. A closer inspection quickly changed my mind. The man had a heavy, intense stare that belied his nondescript appearance.

Looking at us the way one might look at the most revolting sight in the entire Universe, Kashik began to speak, scorn dripping from his voice.

“Listen up, worms. Your life of leisure is over. From now on you’re going to have to earn your keep. Ash is your new master. His every word is to be obeyed without question. If at any point you have a problem with Ash, your matter will be resolved by Ash himself. The gentleman to his side is Makyr. He is a master miner. Those of you who wish to pay off your debts quicker will have to show him that you’re worth something. His jobs pay best, but he won’t hire just anyone. And this is our local celebrity, Hugo the Ambidexter. He has garnered quite the reputation already, and I’m sure that some of you have heard about him. Mostly bad things, but I’m here to tell you not to believe the rumors. The truth is that he’s much worse than the rumors claim. Hugo’s job is to maintain order in the fort. Nothing happens here without his knowing and consent. Everyone got that?”

“Where are my bondservants?” Makyr asked impatiently.

Kashik gestured to a few peasant families standing to the side.

“Here are your spongers.”

“Why are two of them on the ground?” the miner inquired.

“Like I said, they’re spongers. Caught a few bites from the kote and are using it as an excuse to slack.”

“I don’t see a single healthy man among them. Nothing but women and snot-nosed kids. You can’t keep bringing us this crap, Kashik.” Ash groused.

The caravanner gave a noncommittal shrug.

“It’s not up to me, you know. I bring whoever I’m given. And I do it well. Besides, is it such a bad thing to get women without their men?”

Ash grimaced. “These women are either pregnant or uglier than Hugo. Bedding them is more of a chore than anything.”

“They won’t be pregnant forever,” Kashik reasoned. “And they’ll get prettier after popping out those kids. And I’m seeing some great asses. Cushion for the pushin’ and all. There are no more men in the village, and a widow on every corner. So they decided you can use some free women here.”

Ash gave a bitter chuckle.

“Free women are good and all, but there’s little use for them in Makyr’s mine. We’ve started a new drift, and we need manpower above all else. Makyr thinks the new vein will be richer than the last. But how can we test it without masters? Of all the people we’re getting, none of them have Mining skills. Even if we could train some of them, that takes time. Bloody lots of time. Which we don’t have. Our quotas are due now, not months from now. So what do you expect me to do?”

The caravanner shrugged again.

“This is your fort, not mine. I run the caravan. My job is transporting cargo, not giving out advice.”

“So you’ve got nothing to say, huh? Color me surprised. Whatever. I’ll write a letter for you to deliver personally. Count it among the cargo you so love to transport. What about the rest of these people?”

Kashik pointed to a large family standing to the side.

“These aren’t in debt, but serving a sentence of ten years. They were given the option of a shortened five-year sentence at the fort, and they agreed. The old man is a seasoned miner, and so is his son, that one over there. Not as experienced as his pops, but hardly useless.”

“Where did they learn their talents?” Ash asked.

“The old man swung his pickaxe in lots of places, and his son did some work in the Sathenar Quarries in the off-season.”

The fort commander frowned again. “Work in the quarries don’t mean squat. And the old man doesn’t impress me. Better than the rest of these dung beetles, but his old bones won’t last long in our mine... Who else?”

A well-built man in his early thirties stepped forward. Paying no mind to Kashik’s attempts to speak over him, the man introduced himself.

“Svent Dahar of the free Dahar family. I’ve got high-level talents for snares for small game and traps for large game. Also a unique talent for storing game. Advanced disguise on wooded terrain, decently leveled dressing, and I’m working on leveling up my spear and bow. The higher powers have taken my elder son from me, but the younger one is growing fast, and he’s got all the makings of a hunter. My wife is a herbalist, but the blight that took our son also deprived her of sight. She can only tell light from darkness. Our daughter is studying herbs as well, but her talent is as weak as she is. Still, she can be of assistance. I want to spend a few years here, enough to earn my hunter’s post. And, of course, our primary goal is restoring my wife’s eyesight. She’s a good herbalist and should be plenty busy here.”

Ash nodded approvingly.

“You won’t be lacking for work here. And if you do good, we can discuss a loan toward a guild healer. Now see, Kashik, here’s someone we’re happy to take. Bring as many of these guys as you can. Svent, meet Hugo. He’ll explain our distribution system and assign you to a team. Is that it, Kashik, or are you hiding a few elite masters in one of your wagons that can smelt superior ores?”

The caravanner looked behind him, as if ready to actually produce some high-level specialist. Alas, there were none. There was but one person that remained unaccounted for.

Kashik pointed at me.

“We picked up this one along the way.”

“Fugitive?” Ash asked non-threateningly.

“Says he’s an orphan from a free family. Lost everyone to the blight. It has wiped out lots of folks in the north.”

Ash shook his head.

“He doesn’t look like a northerner. Fine facial features, like an Imperial. And his eyes are almost blue. That’s a rare color even for an Imperial, but you’re never going to find it here.”

“Why do you care who he is or where he’s from?” Kashik said. “He’s just an ordinary kid. Two arms, two legs. He can work.”

Makyr shook his head.

“I don’t want him in my mine.”

“That’s not a surprise. Everyone knows you can’t stand Imperials,” the chief caravanner scoffed.

“You misunderstand. I don’t give a damn who shafted his mom and grandmas. Look at him. Skin and bones. The first draft in the mine is going to put him down. What need have I for such a comical worker?”

“Second degree only?” Ash squinted at me.

“Yes,” I replied bravely.

A free man ought to speak for himself, and not rely on thieving caravanners to do it for him.

Ash chuckled. “Some make it to fifth at your age. Not even a full omega, I’m guessing?”

“A future alpha,” I said in the same resolute tone, holding the gaze of the fort’s head honcho.

He laughed in response.

“The twerp is amusing. He’s got character, at least. Too bad he’s useless. If we hand him off to our Carps, they’ll eat him alive the moment he mouths off like that.”

“You could give him to Fatso Oren,” Hugo the Ambidexter said with an ominous smirk.

Ash shook his head contemplatively. “Not a free one, that would set a bad precedent. Besides, Fatso only likes a certain type of boys. Plump like him.”

Ash’s thoughts seemed to be far away from me. And he kept looking back, as if waiting for something.

It turned out to be not something, but someone.

Three more men traversed the suspension bridge. A couple of gorillas in light armor of leather and stone reed were dragging a scrawny older fellow, his face swollen from beatings and his beard caked with blood. Having made their way here, they forced him on his knees and froze on either side.

Gesturing at the three, Ash explained sternly.

“Mamouk stole property of the Blackriver Fort. For this, Mamouk will be punished. If you touch anything that belongs to the fort, you will suffer the same fate. If you can’t earn your keep, you will be punished. Everyone here works. Loafers don’t last long in our fort. Remember that! Now, let’s see what happens to those who violate the fort’s rules.”

“Mercy! Have mercy!” the beaten man shrieked, groveling on the manure-covered ground. “I won’t be able to work anymore! How will I repay my debt then?! I beg you to have mercy!”

Ignoring the yelling, the two thugs fell on top of Mamouk. In an instant, his right hand was fully extended. The next instant, a flat stone materialized as if out of thin air.

Moving unhurriedly, Hugo removed the axe from his waist, gave it a casual whirl, then crouched and dealt a devastating blow with the flat end of the weapon, trapping the man’s palm between the stone anvil and the heavy metal. Even from fifteen paces away I could clearly hear the ghastly crunch of bones being shattered.

Whether from pain or fear, but Mamouk didn’t even scream, his body quiet and limp in the arms of his tormentors. He was either passed out or dead, his heart having failed him.

It wasn’t the worst death, considering. Even with my lacking knowledge of medicine, it was clear that the hand was shattered beyond repair. Back on Earth, amputation would probably be the only option. And even if the doctors could save the hand somehow, it would never recover anywhere near full functionality. Here on Rock, Mamouk would need a healer with high-level medicinal talents. And he hardly looked like he had the kind of money such a healer was likely to command.

Turning my way for some reason, Ash asked in a nonchalant fashion.

“Well, boy? Are you happy to have made it to Blackriver?”

“I’m not sure yet,” I said honestly.

“Is there something that’s not to your liking?”

“You never did say where I should go. And since you’re in charge, I can’t make that decision without approval.”

“You are a curious one,” Ash mused approvingly. “Maybe you will survive here, after all. But I’m not going to hire you. You’re too small and weak to be of any use to me. That said, in our fort, anyone with a good work ethic can earn themselves a meal.”

He turned to Hugo and added with levity.

“Assign him to Brainless.”

“That describes most of our people,” the hulk chortled, fastening the axe to his belt.

“I’m talking about Beko.”

“The ghoul? He won’t last the night.”

“No one promised the lad an easy life. He’s got a good head on his shoulders, and Beko has got almost everything else. Between the two of them, maybe we’ll get one serviceable worker.” He turned back to Kashik. “Now, if that’s all for the human capital, follow me. I need to taste the wine you’ve brought. If it’s as bitter as last time, you will not leave here with all of your teeth.”

Chapter 14

Beko

No Stat Changes

I knew that something was off with Beko the moment his name was mentioned. Unfortunately, being in no position to pick and choose my assignments, I kept my mouth shout.

When, in response to my question where I might find Beko’s team, the first worker I came across didn’t answer but simply laughed, I surmised that the problem might be graver than I had thought.

There must be something seriously off with this Brainless fellow...

Having had his laugh, the man took pity on me at last.

“He’s not in a team, kid. You got pranked, is all. Your eyes are too blue, some folks around here will have a laugh at your expense.”

“In that case, Ash must be quite the prankster.”

“Wait, are you new?” the man’s mirth was gone in an instant.

“Yes. My name is Ged, and Master Ash assigned me to Brainless Beko’s team.”

“In that case, you’re screwed, kid. Seriously screwed.”

“Maybe so. But I would nonetheless appreciate some directions. It’s getting late, and this is my first time in your fort.”

“Beko has no team,” the man repeated. “Beko is a ghoul.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, puzzled.

“Exactly what I say. His mother sinned with a ghoul. Kept running off to the woods until her belly started showing. When the neighbors found out, they burned the entire farmstead. Only she got out, along with her freak of a child. Then she came to the fort and found work here. Heck, it’s not like anyone here gave a hoot who she did it with. Even found herself a man, a bad egg just like her. The two of them moved to the new outpost, which ended up burning down shortly after. No survivors except for Beko. The kid made it back to the fort at night, on his own, squealing at the bridge to let him in. Something shady happened there. They say the grownups sent all their kids out into the woods when it all began, but Beko was the only one to make it to Blackriver. That’s how the rumors started. What happened to all those other kids, eh? Ghouls are known to eat only human flesh, and children’s flesh... It doesn’t get any more tender than that.”

The man concluded by smacking his lips, giving me a start.

He grinned from ear to ear at my reaction, then gestured to his left.

“Oh, relax. Our ghoul chomps down on gruel like nobody’s business. Still... watch yourself around him. Best be on the safe side, you know? Now, go all the way to the end of the main wall and you’ll see a barn. That’s where Beko lives. The area is pretty empty—nobody wants a ghoul for a neighbor. We’re all kind of shocked that no one has bashed his head in yet. We don’t like ghouls around here. And for good reasons.”

I wasn’t an expert on ghouls by any means. And the little knowledge I did have naturally didn’t stem from my first life—I had simply picked the closest applicable term. The reputation of such creatures from the folk tales of my former world seemed to match the negative superstitions I heard in this one. Scary folk tales being super popular among commoners, the clan’s servants had been my main source of information. Yet, having been blessed with enough life experience and critical thinking to filter pure gibberish, I had come to an impression that the creatures weren’t nearly as scary as the folk tales would have you believe.

These weren’t vampires in the classic sense of humans “turned” by the bites of other vampires. Even when I was a child back on Earth, the mythology never really made sense to me. If this was the only way to produce vampires, where had the original vampire come from?

And the local vampires differed greatly from those back on Earth, even in mythology. Putting aside my overly simplistic analogy, the truth of it was that they were simply a different race. Stranger in appearance, sure, but not much stranger than putting a pygmy next to a full grown, pale-skinned Scandinavian and claiming they were of the same race. An ignorant person might not even believe them to be the same species.

Come to think of it, that had been the general consensus for the majority of human history. Skin color alone had been the determining factor in all manner of atrocities, from committing people to a life of slavery to displaying them in menageries like exotic animals. Here, in a world that in many ways resembled a Medieval Earth, it was only natural to observe similar tendencies. The Great Purge, referring to the grandiose slaughter that took place when the Southerners conquered the North, had led to, among other things, near total destruction of local ghoul enclaves. The indigenous tribes were eradicated for no other reason than their appearance. It wasn’t anything they could hide, so there was no salvation. Rumor had it that only a few escaped, having fled beyond Redriver alongside some of the surviving human tribes. True to their human character, the latter had a much easier time adapting to life with other races.

And now it appeared that I would need to find a way to adapt to working alongside the descendant of these very ghouls. I wanted to believe that our differences amounted to only race, and that rumors of the ghouls’ affinity for human flesh were greatly exaggerated.

Dusk was thickening quickly, but the fort wasn’t large, so it didn’t take me long to find the barn by the received verbal directions. But as I stood in front of it, a skeptic with plenty of life experience in a juvenile, sickly body, I couldn’t bring myself to move. My feet were rebelling against my brain—until the latter began to capitulate, submitting to seditious thoughts. Anything is possible in this crazy world. This isn’t Earth. What if the damned ghoul does eat me?

It wasn’t unreasonable to feel apprehensive about shacking up with someone with Beko’s unsavory reputation.

A bolt of lightning flashed down by the river, followed by a peal of thunder a few seconds later. A storm was brewing, the first raindrops already starting to drum on the shingled roofs.

If I didn’t get inside right now, I would be soaking wet. And this was fraught with serious complications for someone with my shaky health.

I pushed through the childish fears and rushed toward the barn. The miniature low structure with a lean-to roof was wedged between two of the fort’s walls. It seemed fitting to store firewood or maybe chickens, but certainly not people. Alas, my only alternative to this place was the outside.

In place of a door, the narrow aperture was screened by a mat of thick reeds. The cold raindrops were smacking my back with enough force that I didn’t need to muster up any additional courage. Pulling up the makeshift barrier, I stepped into the darkness that reigned within.

Something rushed at me from this darkness. Something revoltingly pale and scary, and most definitely not human. A strange breath wafted into my face, punctuated by hissing sounds that added into words.

“Don’t toooouch! It’sssss miiiiineeeee! Miiiiineeeee!”

More rolling thunder shook the ground underneath my feet, and the next flash of lightning illuminated the physical details of the creature that spoke to me.

At that point I let out a scream. A terrifying, bloodcurdling scream.

In unison with the ghoul. The creature screamed on top of his lungs, much like a human might, backing away until he stumbled and fell. When the next flash of lightning came, I glimpsed him scampering away on all fours to the far corner of the barn.

When darkness fell again, it was absolute. I had accidentally let go of the corner of the mat, which now blocked the doorway like a blackout shade, filtering almost all the light from subsequent flashes of lightning.

The next half-hour was probably the longest of my life. It wasn’t that I was terrified. If I was, the foul weather wouldn’t have stopped me—better to spend the night under pouring rain than next to an alien creature capable of sucking you dry.

My head was still with me, however. Recalling my previous reflections, I further reasoned that no one would keep an actual vampire in the fort. People liked to talk—that much was obvious—but the reality was that, despite Beko’s strange appearance, he did not feed on human flesh.

Furthermore, he seemed to be just as afraid of me as I was of him. If not more so. As I sat by the exit, glancing warily in his direction, he was curled up in a dark corner, squealing and sobbing through his fear. Unless those sounds were some kind of feature of his race, Beko was apparently weeping his eyes out, whereas I wasn’t even thinking of shedding a tear.

The claps of thunder softened right about the time water started dripping on top of my head. The roof was far from solid, it would seem, leaking in numerous places.

It took some effort to find a dry spot.

“You’re a real slacker, Beko. You could have fixed up your roof, at least.”

“It’s miiineee,” came the reply in an uncertain drawl.

“It’s yours, it’s yours. Don’t you worry. Whatever it is.”

“You won’t take away?” asked a suspicious voice from the corner.

“I told you, it’s yours. I have utmost respect for private property rights.”

“Mine. It’s mine. It’ll stay with me,” Beko concluded in a pitiable tone, then inquired about the most important matter. “Will you beat me hard?”

“Why would I beat you?”

“I don’t know. No one ever tells me why. They just beat me and take what’s mine. You want to do the same, don’t you?”

“Oh yeah, it’s my life’s dream. Calm down already, will you? I’m not here to fight. Ash assigned me to your team.”

“Ash?! Team?! There is no team! Ash doesn’t care about me! You’re lying!”

“I’m not. I arrived here with a caravan. Ash himself ordered me to join you.”

“I see,” a suddenly tense voice replied from the darkness. “Ash plans to take what’s mine. But no! I won’t allow it! It’s mine!”

I groaned. “Quit making things harder than they are. You’re right, Ash doesn’t care about you. Nor me. He called you a useless freak, and me a useless cripple. And that if we team up, we might become one serviceable worker. So you and I are to work together, got it? Maybe we’ll even build a career here. Get a promotion, become bigwigs, and move into a slightly larger barn. Now quit crying, eh? You and I are the same, so there’s no sense of being scared of each other.”

“You won’t take it away?” the voice from the darkness seemed only slightly more reassured.

The repetitive nature of our exchange was starting to grate on me. It was time to whip out heavy artillery so as to prove my intentions not to infringe on my new roommate’s property.

“No, I won’t. I’ll even share mine with you. Want some bread with lard?”

“Of course. But I don’t have any.”

“I do.”

“I know.”

“How do you know?”

“The smell told me.”

“So you’ve got a good sense of smell, huh?”

“The lard smells strong,” Beko replied. I could almost hear him salivating.

“Got a knife?” I asked.

“You’re thinking of gutting me, aren’t you?!” the ghoul was back to his wary self.

“Use your head! How am I supposed to share the lard with you? It’s a big chunk that needs to be cut.”

“You’re going to share the lard? With me?!” the voice exclaimed with a mix of suspicion and desperate hope.

“Yes, I am. And some bread, too. There’s not much of it, and it’s hard. But without mold.”

“Rhyne flour,” Beko declared expertly. “I don’t have a knife, but I’ve got a splinter. It’s pretty sharp, should have no problem cutting lard. The rind, too, if it’s not too tough.”

“Good idea. But it’ll be hard to do in this darkness.”

“It’s about to get light,” Beko made a mysterious promise.

The ghoul applied a standard solution to the lighting problem. Somewhere in his dark corner he stored a tiny straw cage that held several fat fireflies of the local variety. Krol had had a similar one. According to the coachman, if you fed these insects well, you could save a year’s worth of expenses on candles and torches.

The light-source wasn’t a 100 watt lamp or anything, but strong enough to disperse the total gloom of the barn. The scant light allowed me to get a better look at Beko. Indeed, the ghoul inspired tears more than he did fear.

Of the many things nature deprived me of, height wasn’t among them. I was as tall as most boys my age. My constitution was another story. My weak body couldn’t handle physical strain, and no attempts at nourishment helped to improve the condition. As a result, I looked perpetually sickly, as if suffering from an incurable terminal illness.

Which, to be fair, was an accurate diagnosis.

Looking at Beko, you couldn’t quite tell his age. His facial features did appear vampiric, and those creatures were ageless. But if you looked past the abnormally sharp lower jaw and the comical ears, his chalk-white skin tone would be the sole feature distinguishing him from a regular person. Aside from all that, he looked like a regular teenager, only shorter than usual and scrawny like me. His clothes amounted to a layered heap of rags, his hair a clumped mess, and his bare feet nearly black with dirt. Yet, the ghoul didn’t reek of unwashed filth, suggesting he was at least familiar with personal hygiene, even if they weren’t on particularly great terms.

The way Beko savored the lard, you would think he was dining at a 3-star Michelin restaurant. The stuff must have been an extraordinary luxury for him.

I couldn’t help but ask the nagging question.

“How long has it been since you ate lard?”

He thought about it for a moment, then replied uncertainly.

“I don’t remember eating lard. I remember the smell. They let me smell, but don’t let me eat.”

“Greedy bastards.”

“Greedy, yes,” Beko agreed. “And they take what’s mine, too. All the time.”

He gave me another askance look of suspicion.

I shook my head to assuage his recurring fears.

“You see that I’m not taking anything from you, right? In fact, I’m sharing with you the little lard that I have. Once the lard and the bread are gone, who’s going to feed me? You?”

“I would feed you because you’re kind. But I don’t have anything.”

“What do you eat, then?”

“They give me work every morning. If I do the work, they feed me. Not lard, but porridge.”

“Do they pay you for the work?”

“They give porridge. In the morning and in the evening. But not during the day.”

“I see.”

“But sometimes they don’t give porridge, and then I go to sleep hungry. Like today. I did the work, but they took it away. So I brought nothing back. And they say no work, no porridge. But now I’m full. Not a lot of lard, but it was tasty.” With that, Beko stared pointedly at the pouch that held the remaining chunk.

“We should save it,” I replied to his wordless suggestion. “If we don’t get any food tomorrow, we’ll end up hungry. Who took your food?”

“The Carps.”

I recalled the conversation with the fort’s management, but still thought to ask the foolish question.

“You were robbed by fish?”

“Not fish. They’re the local boys. Bad boys. Satat, Jakos and Tashi. Little Tatai has been hanging with them lately, too. They’re called the Carps because they clean the nets of grass and garbage. They dry the nets, too. Satat, Jakos, Tashi and little Tatai. They also clean the fish sometimes. But they don’t catch fish. The grownups do that. The grownups don’t hassle me. They can call me names and smack me around sometimes, but they don’t beat me like the Carps do. And when the Carps are pissed, they take everything.”

Beko pointed to his left eye. Swollen and black, it made for a vivid demonstration.

“What kind of work do they give you?” I kept questioning him.

“All kinds of work. Yesterday I was helping to water the gardens.”

“There are gardens here?”

“There are. If you go down, you’ll see beds of plants. Small beds. With stones around them.”

“I see. And they gave you porridge for that?”

“They did. And the day before yesterday, Old Megaera gave me an onion. Not very big, but juicy and almost free of rot. And today she said to pick wild leeks. I picked lots, but the Carps took my basket when I came back up.”

“Did you at least put up a fight?”

Beko lowered his head. “No. There are three of them—four now with Little Tatai. I’m lucky they didn’t beat me too bad.”

“What about running away or taking another road?”

“There’s only one path leading up. And I can’t run fast. Satat is almost at the sixth degree of enlightenment, no way I can escape him.”

“Any idea where they’ll send us tomorrow?”

“More wild leek picking, I guess,” Beko conjectured. “The caravan brought barrels of lard. And lard is tastier with leeks than without.”

“What’s the point taking the leeks from you?” I asked, puzzled. “You got the job, not them.”

“Old Megaera gives me the job. Or Rukko the Lame. But the Carps take the leeks to Fatso Oren at the inn. And he pays them with tasty food. Not porridge.”

“So they’re profiting from you while you go hungry?”

“Yes. They do it all the time now. Always taking what’s mine. Everyone wants to take what’s mine.” Beko glared at me yet again, but instantly averted his eyes, looking guiltily. He didn’t have a problem with me, but old habits die hard.

“And food at the inn is tasty, you say?”

“Smells soooo tasty...” Beko nearly sobbed. Fatso Oren is a bad man. But he’s got lots of food. And all of it tasty.”

“So, tomorrow we will both pick wild leek,” I declared.

“You’ll get beaten, too. We both will. And they’ll take everything again.”

“No, Beko, they won’t. Because now there are two of us.”

“So what? They can rob both of us as easily as one.”

“No, they can’t. You know how things work around here. Therein lies your strength. But my strength lies in keeping what I’ve earned.”

“They don’t ask for it or anything. They just take.”

“Even if they succeed, I’m going to put them on my blacklist.”

“What’s that?” Beko looked intrigued.

“Magic. My magic. My people’s magic. Everyone who gets on my blacklist dies. Sooner or later.”

“You’re a mage?” the ghoul inquired warily.

“Not quite. But my magic works. Don’t worry, it’ll be fine.”

I wasn’t going to clarify that, as of today, of all the people on my blacklist, death had only gotten to Treya.

Or that my so-called mother hadn’t died by my hand.

There was no reason for my modest army to be privy to such demoralizing details. Tomorrow we were going into battle, so it would behoove us to keep up morale.

“What is your degree of enlightenment, Beko?”

“Third.”

“And you’re an omega, I assume?”

“Yes. They say I’m a weak omega. I don’t understand what it is. Nobody wants to teach me.”

“It’s all right, I’ll teach you. How old are you?”

“I don’t know. This winter Megaera said that I must be over fifteen.”

“No kidding! You’re big, then.”

“Satat is bigger. He’s fifteen, too, but taller than me. And stronger.”

“That’s fine. The bigger they are, the harder they fall.”

“You think Satat will fall? Why? I’ve never even seen him stumble!”

“Uh, never mind. It’s just an expression where I come from. Anyway, let’s get to bed or we won’t be rested tomorrow.”

“Let’s. I wish I’d been asleep long ago. When you sleep, you don’t feel hungry.”

Chapter 15

Knife with a Surprise

No Stat Changes

Come morning, the only signs of the storm raging through the night were puddles of mud. The sky was blue and clear, the rising sun unblurred against the horizon.

We breakfasted on modest portions of bread and lard before setting out in search of work. Beko brought me to an elderly woman who issued us a basket, shaking her head as she informed us that the basket had been returned to her yesterday by Little Tatai, empty of everything but the scent of wild leeks. She had deduced the rest. Still, if we could try our best to make sure the spoils of the day end up with her and not with Fatso Oren, she would appreciate it, and so would the miners. Otherwise, they would be once again deprived of the tasty seasoning in their pottage.

Despite her namesake from my former life—a wicked fury from Greek myths—Megaera ended up being a kind and pleasant lady. So kind, in fact, that she gave us each a portion of yesterday’s barley porridge. It was revolting to the taste, but our team needed energy, so we thanked her profusely for her generosity.

Then Beko led me to the passage in the main wall. It was closed for the night by an iron lattice gate, but wide open in the light of day. Downhill, dozens of tiny vegetable gardens painted green every square foot of flat surface. And further down, at the foot of the mountain, a raised awning provided cover for drying nets. Seeing as the locals dealing with farming and fishing were constantly running inside and out, keeping a guard detail in charge of closing and opening the gate would be a waste of resources.

As we descended the meandering path, I tried to commit to memory every possible detail for analysis. The gardens were unimpressive, at least when compared to Teshimi’s handiwork. The Crow Clan’s late harvester would plan out every inch of soil, resulting in perfectly neat and delicate patches, whereas these were a mess of greenery and easy-to-grow tubers. Just about anyone could grow such plants, no special skills required. Heck, even I would manage it with some basic instruction. The gardens were tended to exclusively by women of varying ages. A pair of the younger ones passed by us, Dutch hoes at the ready.

Down below, a fishing boat was being pulled ashore as a couple of men were moving towards us, carrying a basket without visible effort.

As we passed by, I glanced inside. That explains it. I was disappointed to see maybe fifteen-twenty pounds of fish. The fort housed several hundred people, young and old—no way such hauls would be enough to feed them all.

Upon our arrived, a short sandy-haired fella turned away from the banked boat.

“Where are the Carps?”

“I don’t know...” Beko replied, his voice trembling.

The very mention of his nemeses had him reeling.

“Chaos take them!” the lad boomed, frowning. “The nets need cleaning. We’re catching nothing but weeds today, barely any fish.”

“Perhaps tomorrow there’ll be a better haul,” I suggested politely.

“Why would it be better? Ain’t nothing but juvenile kote swarming the waters. They avoid our nets and scare away all the regular fish. And you can’t even take a dip in the deeper parts cause of those beasts... Are you done wasting my time now or have you got more suggestions? Scram!”

I grumbled under my breath as we turned to go.

“Not the friendliest type.”

“That’s Romris. He’s always angry. And Satat’s cousin,” Beko explained warily. “If anyone hurts Satat, he runs and tattles to his cousin right away.”

“So if we give Satat a thrashing, we’ll have this shorty to deal with?”

“Uh-huh. They’ll take everything again. But I won’t let them! Not this time! It’s mine! Mine!”

“I’m starting to wonder what it is you’re hiding from them with such vigor,” I chuckled, but seeing Beko immediately tense up, rushed to reassure him. “Relax, I’m just kidding. Even if you’re hiding the emperor’s own crown in your trousers, that’s your business.”

“Are you sure you’re not trying to take mine in exchange for the lard?” Beko inquired, still wary.

“No. Whatever you’re hiding, it is clearly more valuable than my lard. But let’s get down to business.”

“What business?” the ghoul looked puzzled.

“Wild leek. Where is it?”

“It grows further down, where the ground is pebbled. It grows quickly. We need to pick young stalks only. The youngest. Those are soft. Old ones are tough and don’t smell as good. And the taste is so bitter, it hurts. Not even pigs eat them. The young ones are bitter, too, but you can chew them, at least. I snack on them while picking.”

“You use your bare hands?”

Beko opened his palms, streaked with cuts.

“That’s what wild leek does.”

“Why use your hands?” I asked, incredulous. “You should use a knife.”

“I should use a knife,” Beko agreed. “But I don’t have one.”

“You managed to slice lard at night without one. Couldn’t you think of something similar?”

“Splinters can’t cut leek. Even the young stalks are too tough for that. And the old ones you can use as hanging rope. Rogalos used one last year to hang himself, right from the fishing awning. Picked some wild leeks, made a noose, and strung himself up. They found him with a crow perched on his head. It was pretty.”

“You have an odd sense of beauty, bud. Why did he hang himself? Was he testing the strength of the stalks or something?”

“Why test? He knew it would hold him. Everyone knows. His wife had given birth to a redheaded baby with a square jaw. The same one as Fiery Pag. Rogalos went to beat up Pag, but Pag beat him up instead. So Rogalos came down the mountain and hanged himself. He was always strange.”

“Strange indeed,” I agreed, stopping and taking a seat on the ground, fatigue catching up to me.

“Why are you sitting?” Beko asked, surprised. “The wild leek is further ahead.”

“You said the ground gets pebbly there, right?”

“Right.”

“Well, I need big rocks. We need them.”

“Why do we need rocks.”

“To make knives out of them.”

“Knives? How can you make knives out of rock?”

“They won’t be top-notch by any means, but it beats cutting your hands on grass your cuckolds use to kill themselves. Look for rocks like this one.”

“Why like this?”

“Because it’s the right kind. Our ancestors used rocks very much like this one to fashion knives and axes.”

“Really? Nobody ever told me that,” Beko said, incredulous.

“There’s lots of stuff you weren’t told. Be happy that you’re on my team, now you’ll get to learn all sorts of interesting things. By the way, can you read?”

“Read?!” Beko exclaimed in a tone suggesting I had just asked him if he could fly to the Moon without a spaceship or a spacesuit.

I sighed. “Quite a severe case. Treatment will take a while.”

* * *

You have crafted a knife with a flint blade and a handle of interwoven wild leek stalks.

You receive:

Lesser Symbol of Chi x2

Personal Attribute Embodiment, Strength x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Stonecutter x1

I stared at the message from ORDER, befuddled, then looked back to the culprit of this new development.

Calling this wretchedness a knife would be as accurate as dubbing a ragged felt boot Cinderella’s glass slipper. The blade was more of a wedge, pricked out of flint with nothing short of monumental effort. Ugly as it was, it had taken smashing several blocks, the exertion pushing me to the brink of consciousness, resulting in only one fragment suitable for my plan. I chipped away at one end, shaping it into a handle, then wrapped it with knotted wild leek stalks. The plants resembled onion shoots, only bigger, some towering over three feet. And the older the shoot, the stronger the veins. Impossible to tear with bare hands, those had to be sawed with rocks.

And here was the end result. An absurd parody on a knife with a three-inch blade. The rock’s natural quality granted it decent sharpness, but hardly razor-like. Using it to cut old wild leek stalks wouldn’t be easy.

But it wasn’t the knife that was the cause of my befuddlement. It was the way the higher forces of Rock had reacted to this pitiful forgery.

They had bestowed upon me the honor of recognizing my mastery, deeming this travesty an act of craftsmanship. Renowned artisans received chi and other boons for crafting masterpieces, so how did I get several prizes for this wretched thing?

And what was I supposed to do now?

At least that much was clear: find more rocks to sculpt.

I handed the knife to Beko.

“Here.”

“For me?”

“For you. It’s your knife now, so take good care of it.”

The present literally vanished from my hand given the speed with which Beko snatched it from me.

Glancing behind him furtively, my companion declared in a tone of unctuous triumph.

“Mine!”

“It’s yours, it’s yours,” I assured him. “Start cutting stalks with it while I make another one like it for myself. Two knives for two workers.”

Armed with experience, I focused my attention on selecting the most irregularly shaped pieces of flint, as those had a higher probability of breaking into the shape of shard I needed. Finding the right combination of shape and size was a challenge, and it took another half-hour before I ended up with a workable billet. Not as good as the first, but not terrible, either. There wasn’t any time to spare on further experiments.

It took another half-hour to finish the job, and now my hand held a new knife. Perhaps a third of an inch shorter than Beko’s, but with a more comfortable grip and a better aesthetic. A troglodyte like myself crafting such an item ought to fetch a reward at least as good as the first iteration had merited.

Only the Order thoroughly ignored my feat of labor. No hint of a reward—not even an empty congratulatory message.

My swirling thoughts were starting to arrive at an ingenious answer, but I lacked evidence to be certain of it.

A glance toward Beko confirmed that he was wholly engrossed in the process of cutting down wild leek stalks. With one basket already full, he was working on the second. The ghoul was clearly enamored with the tool, and it would be cruel of me to deprive my colleague of his newfound joy.

My time would be better spent resuming my battles with flint.

This time I needed a special billet. A dozen blocks later, I still didn’t have the desired result.

Having given up, I selected five shards closest to the required shape, and tried to chip away at them with careful, precise strikes. The first three ended up breaking, but the fourth finally resulted in what I wanted.

By then, Beko had both baskets tightly packed with stalks. Returning back to me, he stared at the billet and shook his head with disappointment.

“That knife is dull. No good. Make another one.”

Studying the hefty wedge, I mused.

“This isn’t going to be a knife, but a pickaxe.”

“Why do we need a pickaxe? Nobody is sending us to the mine. And even if they did, we’d get an iron one. This one won’t work. It’ll break right away.”

“It’s not for the mine. This is going to be our weapon.”

“A weapon? What for? We’re not soldiers. Or hunters.”

“Do you plan on picking wild leeks for the rest of your life?” I asked, then gave an immediate answer, mostly for myself. “This is a job for losers who can’t do any better. It is not our path. We’re going to grow up strong and dangerous. And this scary stone pickaxe is going to play a vital role.”

“Then hurry up and finish it,” Beko begged anxiously, as if suddenly realizing that the pickaxe was all that stood between his presently wretched existence and a decent life.

The handle took even more time and effort. I suspected that a slipshod product wouldn’t be accepted by ORDER, which meant I had to approach the work with maximum earnestness.

Then I took a long stroll along the riverbank, littered with garbage washed ashore by the river. After finding a suitable snag, I used the flint shards to file it down before breaking it. All on my own, refusing Beko’s help, because I wanted to conduct a pure experiment.

It took another two hours with the stone knife to fashion a proper notch. Once done with that, I secured the flint beak in the wood, perpendicular to the shaft, then wrapped the joint tightly with interwoven wild leek stalks.

You have crafted a pickaxe with a flint wedge and a handle of mountain ash.

You receive:

Lesser Symbol of Chi x2

Personal Attribute Embodiment, Strength x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Stonecutter x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Carpenter x1

There it was, the missing piece of the puzzle. And the prizes from the Order were nothing to sneeze at.

Everything I knew about the subject matter suggested that my rewards for treating Rycer, wounding the kote, crafting the knife and the pickaxe were beyond generous. Given the insignificance of these feats, a few symbols of chi would be a commensurable reward. Anything beyond that, such as a personal mark to unlock a corresponding talent, let alone a personal attribute embodiment, would be truly great luck.

The kind of luck that happened once a year. If that.

My experience, however, flew in the face of all that knowledge. I had been raking in rewards well beyond the expected, and that was certainly strange considering the fact that, aside from the past few days, I hadn’t had luck on my side pretty much ever. Yet, here I was, hitting the jackpot again and again. The second knife had been an aberration, and I had an idea as to why. My creations were worthless. Lowest quality materials combined with amateur craftsmanship, without using any unlocked talents. The Order might reward such wretchedness as an incentive to encourage further growth, but only the first time around. Recreating the work in hopes of similar prizes would be a fool’s task.

And today, after working my hands nearly to the bone, I had earned, among other things, four small symbols of chi, bringing my in-progress zero-degree bar to a total of ninety units. If I managed to make something similar to a knife or a pickaxe, yet original enough to merit more rewards, I might compensate for my daily leakage.

The path was too tough and labor-intensive to be worth it long-term. How many unique creations could I fashion from the meager resources of this pebbled beach? A spear, a club, a spiked mace, a boomerang, a sling, a bow... A good plenty of things if I put my mind to it. Even a proper rope woven of old wild leek might fetch something.

But then what? Assuming that our daily task going forward would be picking plants or some other menial work, Beko would need to toil for the both of us while I strained my already wan physical abilities. All to cover the losses of my perpetually vanishing chi. I might prevent or at least delay nullification with such a strategy, but I wouldn’t progress in any meaningful way.

Or would I? Suppose I started unlocking attributes. What if they turned out to be OK, and wouldn’t be decreasing every day? Alas, even then I would need to spend chi to unlock them—one hundred units per attribute if memory served me right. An exorbitant price. Only the attributes bestowed at birth—your base Strength, Stamina and Agility—were exempt from this rule.

How unfortunate. I had to assume I’d need to be paying for everything. And I didn’t have enough chi for a test activation of even one of the three attributes in my possession. Nor was I likely to accumulate the required amount in my circumstances. I might delay my nullification by a good stretch by pouring everything into my hole-ridden bucket of a vessel, but in the end I would still collapse into the old wreck that I was when my amulet finally lost its charge.

And that would truly be the end.

The thought prevented my itching fingers from using the received four units right away. The step would be tactically sound, yet strategically foolish.

And I couldn’t afford such missteps, having only just gotten a taste for life. I felt as if all these years the blood in my veins had been running cold, like a dead man’s. And now, at long last, it frothed and boiled and urged me toward great, heroic feats. Absurd though it was, I felt powerful enough to turn the whole world upside down.

Then again, a cripple only yesterday didn’t need much to feel euphoric today.

But if I lost this, that would be the end. Whatever miracle may occur afterward, it wouldn’t be enough to raise me from the dust. It would break me beyond repair.

I was even more adamant on protecting my Order-endowed gains than whatever the ghoul was keeping up his sleeve.

I needed it to survive.

“Hey, Beko, are there any traders in the fort? Somebody who sells clothes, thread, stuff like that?”

“You can buy anything, as long as you have the money. But I don’t have anything. Nothing at all,” the ghoul grasped at his chest nervously, where he kept his mysterious treasure and his newly acquired knife.

I handed the pickaxe to Beko.

“Here. This one’s yours as well.”

“Mine?! Really, truly mine?!”

Oh, how little some of us need to be happy...

Chapter 16

The Art of War, Carps and Catfish

No Stat Changes

With each step taken, the degree of Beko’s resolve dropped. It had been close to zero already, so the moment we started our ascend up the path, it plummeted into the negative.

“Maybe we should wait until it gets dark?” the ghoul offered a timid suggestion. “We could hide in the driftwood where you got the handle for the pickaxe.”

“Hide? As I understand, you had already tried hiding, but that didn’t work out too well?”

“Well, yes. It’s not a good hiding place. They always find me. Those stinkers.”

“No, Beko, that won’t do. Did you forget? We’re strong and dangerous guys. And strong and dangerous guys don’t hide from small fry.”

“Carps can get pretty large,” the ghoul objected.

“Sure, they can get large and fat. That’s a good thing. I like myself a fat juicy carp. And you will, too. Besides, we must deliver the wild leek now if we want porridge for dinner.”

“We still have some bread and lard,” said Beko in a dreamy drawl. “We can finish it before they can it away. The Carps are there, past the second turn. They often play in that area while waiting for me.”

“Why there? Why don’t they come to you at the pebbled beach?”

“They would have to carry the baskets all the way from the beach, but this way I bring them nearly to the wall myself. It’s convenient.”

“We’re going to have a little fun with them,” I promised ominously. “Hold on to your pickaxe and look like you’ve got a thirst for blood that hasn’t been satisfied in a century. But you’re about to fix that.”

“But I don’t want to drink blood.”

“Pretend that you do. Like you’ve always wanted to. They want to take what’s yours, remember? Only they don’t know who they’re messing with. You want to bite into the throat of Little Tatai. That smooth, sweet throat of a child. And then break Satat’s skull with the pickaxe. You want to smash it hard enough for his eyes to pop out of their sockets and hang there by a thread. Another blow and Tashi goes down, his face bloodied as he howls with pain and collects his teeth from the ground. And there’s Jakos, looking at all this and feeling his pants become wet and heavy.”

“If I break Satat’s skull, he will die. And Ash will put me on a stake for murder. Or hang me under the bridge if he’s in a good mood.”

“Don’t kill anyone. Merely imagine that’s what’s going to happen. As you look out before you, that is the picture you need to see. You must believe that we can tear these Carps to pieces. And not even Ash is going to punish us.”

“Why wouldn’t he punish us?” Beko sounded doubtful.

“Because today he’s in the best possible mood.”

“That doesn’t sound like him.”

“Plus, he’ll be too scared to mess with me.”

“Why would he be scared?”

“Because I can read and write. And I have my clan magic, called the ‘blacklist.’ Whoever I put on it is going to die a long and painful death.”

“How?” the ghoul inquired fearfully.

“First, he’s going to start rotting. Cadaverous worms will come out and start devouring everything that sticks out of his body: fingers, nose, ears, hands, feet. Then—”

“Enough, I don’t want to know the rest,” Beko grew pale, something that I didn’t think his chalk-white skin could do.

The heartfelt conversation helped to while away the time as we walked. And as we finally rounded the corner, I saw the Carps—a group of teens playing some weird game, tossing short sticks over three longish ditches. The four of them were so engrossed in the process, they didn’t notice us right away. Maybe we make a run for it? We could be fifty feet up the path by the time they realize what happened.

No, that wouldn’t work. My Agility was well below Satat’s. If Beko had a hard time escaping him, I would be all too easy to catch.

Besides, you can’t win a war with perpetual retreats.

So I quickly dismissed the thought to either speed up or slow down, but kept the same pace as we approached the four teens. Taking advantage of their backs being turned to the path, I executed a cunning kick to the back of the knee of one of the older three. I added another one as he stumbled out of balance, right in the center of his gray-trousered behind.

The combo worked wonderfully as the teen flew face forward, smashing into the ground between the game ditches with a satisfying thump.

“What kind of idiotic games are you playing on my path?!” I growled, still advancing. “If I see you here one more time, it’ll be your funeral.”

The move was both bold and too primitive. But these were just peasant kids left to their own devices. Zero education and simple minds. People like that knew by the tone when being addressed by a lord, and not some ragamuffin. And my speech was properly sophisticated—I was, after all, a noble of this realm. The key was to press them right away and withdraw before they got a chance to recover. If they figured out the ruse before then, no amount of persuasion would save us.

In a fair fight, the two of us couldn’t handle the four of them. My body remained as gaunt as ever, and my joints ached as though they had been put through the rack—the consequence of a sharp bump in the amulet’s parameters. Whenever an attribute experienced rapid growth, the reservoir tried to adapt to it as quickly as possible, notwithstanding any negative sensations. So despite euphoria flooding my mind with grandiose possibilities, everything below my neck was woefully unequipped to back them up with actions.

The only scary thing about Beko was the pickaxe, which he was likely to dump so as to run faster than actually use for combat.

Our foes weren’t the sharpest tools in the shed. While the prostrated kid ate dirt, the others kept shifting their flabbergasted gazes from him to us and back again.

Finally, the smallest among them, presumably Little Tatai, squealed like a little girl.

“The freak! The freak is leaving! There he is!”

Naturally, he was pointing at Beko.

I turned back, pointed to my companion and added in the same tone of irrefutable superiority.

“Shut your trap. This one is with me.”

“Oh... I... I didn’t know...” Tatai babbled.

“Now you know,” I said dismissively as we kept moving up the path.

This was going to go one of two ways. Satat could analyze the situation quickly enough to try and stop us. I had a contingency plan in mind for this scenario, but I wasn’t eager to put it to use. So though I walked on with dignity, my pace wasn’t exactly slow.

The second scenario relied on Satat’s brain lacking sufficient operating efficiency to see through the ruse and overcome the shock of Beko’s new companion’s implausible bravado.

When we made it to the wall, I chuckled without turning around.

“He took the second scenario.”

“What are you saying?” Beko asked under his breath.

“I’m saying we’re strong and dangerous. Did you see how we trounced them back there?”

“Yeah! That was great, how you whacked Jakos. I was going to hit him, too, but then I felt sorry for him.”

Behold, the great power of fortress walls. As soon as Beko was safely behind them, his courage grew tenfold in an instant.

* * *

The merchant’s name was Guppy, which I found amusing following our recent victory over the Carps. Though I would have dubbed him ‘Catfish’ for his luxuriant mustache and portly frame.

The merchant wasn’t exceedingly welcoming.

Immediately upon sighting us on the doorstep of his warehouse slash trading post, the fat man barked irritatingly.

“Get lost, both of you, before I make you cry!”

“Master Guppy, we come to you to do business.”

“What business can you possibly have with me? Looking to nick something, I bet? Go ahead and try. I won’t even call Hugo’s boys—I’ll tear your hands off my own damn self.”

“We wish to buy something from you,” I kept my tone polite, though it was becoming increasingly difficult.

“Is that right? You’re here to buy? Ha! It’s my lucky day to entertain such esteemed customers. If only twerps like you had any money to pay with. Now scram before I lose my patience!”

“Do you not accept small symbols of chi as payment?”

The trader’s expression changed, betraying the slightest interest. My deductions had been correct. He was right that we didn’t have any money, but the Order was famously unpredictable in terms of how and to whom it awarded chi. Sometimes even a great feat would fetch a big fat nothing whereas some trifle would net a unit or two. Even the feeblest losers weren’t immune to earning some chi, and their gains were theirs to dispose of as they pleased. Some used them for self-development while others looked for a suitable trade opportunity.

It was breaking my heart to part with something I so badly needed. But this was an investment in my future, and perhaps the only thing that could help me escape the gloom of hopelessness.

With a little luck.

Guppy nodded slowly.

“I do, of course. But they’re not worth much, being only small symbols and all. Whaddya need?”

“Do you sell fishing hooks?”

“Of course. What kind?”

“Can I look at all your stock?”

“I don’t charge for looking, but don’t be putting your paws on anything without permission. So, you’re scheming to do some fishing?”

I nodded while examining the man’s wares.

“Yes, we’d like to try.”

“It’s pointless. There hasn’t been good fishing around the island for a good long while. Nothing but kote. They swarm from all over Blackriver—you can’t go near the water without wetting yourself. Their meat is tasty, no doubt, and their liver is a real delicacy, but they avoid the hook. You just can’t catch the bastards. Not with a hook, not with a net. The beasts are too bloody clever.”

I nodded again. “I know. You can’t even harpoon them from boats. A hunter shot one dead about a week ago. Sighted it from a cliff and hit it with an arrow. But the kote sank, so all he got was a small symbol of chi.”

“You’re new here, aren’t you? How are you so well-informed?” Guppy looked surprised.

“Oh, I suppose I know when to keep my ears open.”

“And where are you from?” the merchant pressed on. “An Imperial, I presume?”

“No. Born in the North, never set foot on Imperial land.”

“You look more like a ratwolf than a Northerner,” Guppy said suspiciously.

“And yet, I am a Northerner. I’d like to buy these two hooks.”

“What do you need such huge hooks for? I told you, there’s no normal fish left in these waters.”

“Those are the ones I need. And do you have spoons? Metal ones?”

“Metal, eh? Keen on playing the aristocrat?” Guppy chortled. “I’ve got a couple of copper ones.”

“I’ll take them.” I was glad to see the number of spoons matched that of the hooks I fancied. “But mind sawing the handles off?”

“How are you going to eat with them then?” the trader looked curious.

“I’ve got my ways. And can you make a hole here and here?”

“Then they won’t be spoons anymore. What exactly are you scheming?”

“You’re right, they won’t be spoons anymore. This would make them special amulets of my people, honoring the memory of our ancestors who were tortured to death in dank dungeons,” I lied without batting an eye.

“And what exactly did those ancestors do to get tortured to death? Were they murderers?”

“They were loyal to their lord until the bitter end. But, alas, his clan lost the war.”

“That’s sacred. Loyalty like that is to be revered, so good on you. Though we don’t require amulets for that, I suppose everyone’s got their customs.”

“I also need some thin wire. And that should be it. Can you find some among your wares?”

“Sure. It’ll cost you four small symbols for everything.”

The wonders of numerology continued—four symbols was exactly what I had to trade.

But I shook my head with a smile.

“You’ve got yourself a deal, but only if you add some food.”

“Food? You’ve got some nerve to haggle with me, boy. Fine, I’ll throw in a few crackers, but that’s it!”

Not much of a negotiator, Guppy was. And his prices were backbreaking.

Unfortunately, this wasn’t a case where I could simply stroll down to the next stall and compare prices. This was the only shopkeeper in the whole damn fort with the materials I needed. Negotiating with craftsmen would cost even more.

It was too bad Guppy was so unaccommodating to his customers.

* * *

I was in no hurry to return to the barn. Upon delivering the collected wild leeks, we were rewarded with a generous portion of porridge from Megaera. She was a kind woman, indeed. But she was also impressed with not only the quantity of the fragrant herb, but also the quality, as the ghoul was now able to bypass the tough base of the plant by cutting off only the upper section, which was juicier.

Then Beko and I climbed on top of the wall, which afforded a nice view of the river and the woods sprawling over the left bank. There we put away Megaera’s porridge and Guppy’s crackers, as well as most of the leftover lard, leaving only a bit for tomorrow so as to not start a new workday on an empty belly.

I had to do something about the food situation. And pronto. My organism was experiencing an unprecedented surge. My muscles had suddenly remembered that they wanted to grow. Similarly, all my other organs and subsystems demanded their fair share. Harmonious development necessitated a full set of “bricks” with which to build new layers and stories: proteins, fats, carbs, vitamins and various other nutrients. Last but not least, I needed Rock’s special spices, without which my inner parameters would remain far below their maximum values.

Although, considering the capacity of my chi reservoir, the Order seemed to have made an exception in this respect. And while that presented another hurdle for me, perhaps my abnormality also meant that my attributes might grow to their max values on their own.

Unlike talents, the concept of attributes got fairly complex. The number of attributes was just that—a number. A well-developed Agility attribute might require, say, forty units of minor essence of Agility, but only ten units at the early stages. Accordingly, one person may save on spices and pump Agility quickly, investing the bare minimum. While another may blow it up to the size of a blimp by spending four times the minimum amount. The first would have invested one hundred small essences, and the second four hundred. And if the two of them were to compete for something where pure Agility was the determining factor, with all else being equal, the first would end up the loser, every time.

That made nobles who didn’t want for anything more than just alphas. They were alphas with inflated attributes.

I didn’t know what I would become—if I became anything at all. But assuming I succeeded in raising my parameters, it would behoove me to do it right from the start, in a way befitting a noble.

My amulet was nothing but a stopgap. A temporary solution to the problem. It was entirely possible that its embedded attributes were working in overdrive, filled to the max or at least close to it. If I managed to quickly bring my body to a decent condition, I would look like a decent omega at a second degree of enlightenment.

And I would remain such for a bit under two months, at which point my life would be over.

Unless I found a way out to escape this jam between a rock and a hard place. Between the inexorable flow of time and the unrelenting leakage of chi.

* * *

The primary building material of nearly all of the fort’s structures was wood. Decorticated logs fitted together using just one tool: the axe. Decorticated trunks typically required lengthy drying, which wasn’t always possible. Moreover, fresh material was far easier to work with. As a result, most of the houses and other structures were raised with green wood.

The climate up north was just as raw as the material used, which soon presented the fort’s inhabitants with the problem of rot. The battle against such an enemy relied on traditional methods: waiting for a drought, then coating the logs with sourpiss.

I didn’t know the exact recipe of the stuff. Only that when you saw buckets with the oily mixture, you had better keep far away from them. The buckets were usually stored around some remote corner where nobody should go. And they would remain there for a period of one to two months—until the mixture ripened.

In the process, the mixture separated into several layers. The initial oily element rose to the top while a heavy fraction condensed in the center—tar-black with a slightly viscous, jelly-like consistency. It was this very substance—after disposing of the upper fraction—that was then used to coat the lower sections of wooden structures, extending their lifespan by a significant margin.

The workers tasked with performing the job would rush through it as fast as they could with minimum amount of breathing and maximum amount of cussing. That made the spectacle hard to ignore, and the inquisitive mind locked away in the enfeebled body quickly figured out the reasons for the shudras’ distaste for the job.

The issue was that the sourpiss’ lower layers stunk bad enough to make skunks question their place in the world, if not commit suicide altogether. The stench made the job less than prestigious—most people would prefer cleaning cesspools to it. The hapless victims—I mean workers—would wrap their faces with rags soaked with fragrant herbs and stuffed their nostrils with wax plugs, but with dubious effect.

“Gods Almighty!” Beko groaned, choking on his words. “It reeks so bad!”

“I warned you to pick up the bucket carefully. If you shake it, everything will get all mixed up.

“Why do we need this thing, Ged?!”

“We’re making soup,” I replied imperturbably.

“Soup?! Oh no, no, no! I’m not eating sourpiss soup!” the ghoul shouted, mortified.

“That’s too bad, cause it’s hearty. Relax, I’m just kidding. There’s nothing about it that’s hearty. Let me just grab one more bucket, and we will go.”

“One more bucket?!”

“There’s two of them here for a reason. They can’t bear to be apart. And besides, two buckets are better than one.”

“Can we just go home? Please, Ged? It’s really late, the Carps won’t be waiting for us at this hour.”

“Sun Tzu disagrees.”

“Who is that? I don’t know him. That means he doesn’t live in Blackriver.”

“They say he was a sage and a strategist. He said lots of smart things, and wrote down even more. Do you know what he said about the rules of waging war?”

“I don’t.”

“According to him, rule number one is to never rely on your enemy not showing up for battle. Instead, rely on what you have in your hands when he does.”

“So what do we have in our hands?”

“You can see clearly that we have buckets of sourpiss. Now let’s go before the Carps really do give up waiting for us. By the way, were you lying when you said you could see well in the darkness?”

“I’m a ghoul, aren’t I? I can see better than you, but not everything. Cats can see better than me. But I can also smell. Some things. For instance, I can smell that we’re going to get thrashed. And badly.”

“Have no fear, Beko. I am a general, and you are my one-man army. I must keep you safe, for what kind of general would I be without an army? We’re one step away from victory, I assure you. Help me secure this rope, and we shall soon be bathing in the tears of our enemies.”

* * *

The carefully transported bucket didn’t reek quite as badly as a gaping chasm filled with excrement, but being in its proximity was hardly pleasant. Alas, we had no choice but to carry on. Nature hadn’t endowed me with twilight vision, and to distance from my main weapon was to run the risk of not being able to utilize it at the right moment.

Instead, my one hand was ready to grab the bucket, and the other was gripping the corner of a ragged sack thrown over a huge cage of fireflies. It was supposed to hang on the corner of the fortress, but I thought that shifting it thirty feet or so to the side wouldn’t be so terrible. Besides, this was the time for the changing of the guard in the main tower, so any sharp-eyed sentries ought to be focused on that, and not on my tactical scheming. Finally, this section of the fort was situated in a partially dead zone. That was the biggest reason why I had decided to stage the battle with the Carps precisely here.

I couldn’t see our adversaries from our current position, but I had an inkling what they were up to. The four of them were probably hanging around the barn, squirming with impatience as they waited for us to muster up the courage and show ourselves. Their minds weren’t capable of devising anything beyond such a primitive ambush. And now that night had fallen, they were feeling cold and restless. The nagging thought to abandon the plan and hit the hay was growing louder and louder. And then, come morning, they would return and have their way with us scoundrels.

Sitting quietly in the dark wasn’t something they would be doing. They were killing time shooting the breeze, their attention on the conversation and not on the cunning enemy stalking up to them, unaffected by the darkness that handicapped them.

And carrying a terrible weapon.

The saboteur’s eyes easily identified the general of the hostile army. His steps became even lighter and more furtive. Within moments he was so close to his goal that the enemy troops began wrinkling their noses, not quite understanding that they were smelling their imminent defeat.

And then, out of the darkness came the staggering cloak-and-dagger blow.

Well, not quite a blow. Perhaps there was some actual physical impact, but that wouldn’t be intentional. The plan had been to avoid any serious physical trauma.

The injuries were meant to be of the moral variety.

I perked up at the sounds of a commotion ahead, further down the passage running along the wall. The battle had begun.

Then, an indescribable scream pierced the darkness. The mighty sound was a blend of mindless rage, shock, fear and unbearable disgust mixed with umbrage at the great injustices of life, the universe and everything. It was a wonder how much one had to express to the world after pulling off of his head a bucket of ripened sourpiss that had been placed there moments earlier by a sinister foe.

However, a neutralized general didn’t necessarily spell victory—not when his army was still intact. Untouched by the perfidious attack, the troops rushed after the operative, who was already darting through a passageway that just happened to be illuminated by the glow of some biological lanterns hanging on the wall directly above.

It was time to send in the cavalry. In other words—me.

I waited for Beko to dash past at middling speed. Then, trusting my ears more than my eyes, I waited for all three pursuers to crash to the ground. Unlike the ghoul, they hadn’t seen the trip-wire—nor been aware of its existence.

I pulled the rag off the cage of fireflies to spotlight the villainy that was about to take place here. A kick in the ribs reacquainted Jakos with my foot (lest he forget it!) and sent him flying into his two accomplices. Then I pulled on the rope and watched the trio become ensnared in the fishing net they had so graciously dried for us earlier.

The next step involved whipping the enemy troops with a tree branch, causing them to panic, fumble about and act erratically, which only aggravated their situation.

Finally, I returned to the lantern unhurriedly. After wrapping my hands with burdocks to keep them clean, I picked up the bucket.

I paused to aim, then splashed the contents over the three prisoners, making sure each got his fair share.

Little Tatai turned out to have quite the singing voice. It almost drowned out Satat’s unintelligible shouting and wolf-like howling—in between spitting in humiliated disgust. Torchlight flickered from the direction of the towers just as human shapes stirred from amid the houses. Fearful as these people were, no way such a commotion would be left unexamined.

Leaving the Carps to deal with their predicament on their own, I hurried down a previously marked escape route. Only once did I need to hide and let pass a guard carrying a torch overhead. Aside from that, there were no incidents. Even at the finish line, where I had expected to run into some difficulties, there was no one. Either Satat had himself moved down the passage or he had been led there, to the main scene. His familiar sonorous voice reverberated from that direction for all the fort residents to hear.

I found Beko in his usual spot, cowering in the dark corner of the barn, teeth chattering. The ghoul was likely overwhelmed with positive emotions.

Listening to the hubbub outside, I spoke in a contentedly weary voice.

“We have rebuffed the enemy away from our home. So, how did you like the battle?”

“They will see us dead for this! They will! If not today, then tomorrow!”

“You get put on a stake for murder.”

“And that’s exactly what Ash will do!” Beko persisted.

“Why would they kill us, anyway? We were simply doing our job. And doing it well. The Carps were getting in the way. So we had to explain to them that such behavior was unacceptable.”

“The Carps will kill us. Sure as the sun will rise, they will kill us. And they’ll bring Romris with them,” Beko added in a whisper. “They’ll catch us all together and kill us.”

“Don’t worry. They will spend all day tomorrow washing and scrubbing. Maybe more than a day. Sourpiss is no joke.”

I couldn’t hold back a fit of laughter.

Beko resisted for a few more seconds, then relented and joined in the mirth.

His laughter sounded more hysterical than joyous. It’s all right; a little more time with me will teach him to rejoice like a normal person.

There was much I still needed to teach him. And if ever I needed help, I could always lean on the Carps.

Chapter 17

Safari for the Unhinged

No Stat Changes

“Maybe I should start calling you the Shiteaters,” Ash said musingly. “It has a ring to it, and certainly fits you better than the Carps. Way better.”

Our four adversaries were trying to look anywhere but at the fort’s commander. At his last words, Tatai’s lower lip started quivering, the boy teetering on the brink of crying from the grave insult.

Ash turned toward me and Beko.

“Or should I reserve the name for the two of you?”

I shrugged.

“If Blackriver Fort is made stronger in any way from Beko and I being dubbed the Shiteaters, then let it be so. Then we all benefit.”

Ash gave me a long, strange stare.

“Who are you, really? Don’t give me any of that hogwash about running off from some farm. Sharp cheekbones, thin lips, blue eyes, self-assured manner. You’re no more a farmer than I am a strumpet.”

Infusing my voice with a dash of mystery, I explained.

“I am heir to the throne, traveling my lands incognito, forbidden from revealing my true identity. So, forgive me but I must plead the fifth.”

“Plead the what now? Oh, never mind. Strange as you are, boy, if there’s one thing I know it’s that you haven’t smelled manure even once in your life,” Ash stated with confidence. “And if you are a runaway, it wasn’t off a farm but from a traveling circus. I’d break your arms for all the ruckus you caused, but then what would you use to scoop shit out of our cesspits?”

“What if we avoid the scooping shit part altogether?” I inquired matter-of-factly.

“Oh nooo,” Ash said with a drawl. “You will be scooping shit, I assure you. With your bare hands. And your ghoul buddy will be scooping shit, too. And these Shiteaters here will help. All of you will have a chance to get to know one another better. Maybe you’ll even become friends and quit disturbing the sleep of honest folk. But I will have you fed for the entertainment you’ve provided. I haven’t laughed this hard since catching a jester show at a bazaar years ago. Quit spitting, Satat. I know that your mouth still remembers foul things, but enough already. Maybe this will teach you to keep your trap shut more often.”

“Beg pardon, but might we get on the cesspit cleaning in the second half of the day?” I inquired.

“What does it matter?” Ash asked, surprised. “The sooner you begin, the sooner you’ll finish. The stink doesn’t get better later in the day, you know.”

“Well, you see, I wanted to spend the first half of the day fishing. The fort’s supplies are low on fish, so I thought I’d catch a few kote. Of the fatter variety.”

Ash rolled his eyes.

“You really are a jester in training. You’ll make a great one, too—assuming you don’t get strung up for your jokes first... You know what, fine. I could use another good laugh. You have until noon. If you don’t catch any kote until then, you will switch over to shit-scooping duty, replacing the Shiteaters and filling out their quota in addition to yours. And then you’ll clean out my own private crapper while you’re at it. Without the Carps’ help—I’ll have them working on something else by then.”

“Understood,” I nodded calmly. “And what do we get if we bring back some kote?”

“The balls on this kid...” Hugo said with a shake of the first, his first contribution to the conversation.

“No kidding. As big as they come,” Ash concurred. “But I am a fair man. If you bring back even one kote, it is yours to do with as you please as you bless my generosity. And the Shiteaters will handle the cesspits on their own. If by some miracle you actually deliver, I won’t have good fishermen wasting their talents mucking about in shit.”

Though his last words dripped with mocking, I replied with a most serious nod.

“Thank you, Master Ash. The terms of our agreement are perfectly clear.”

“Clear, you say? Then get out of my sight. And don’t forget, by noon I expect to see all six of you in one pit. If you try any tricks, it’ll be my turn to play a trick on you, the kind that not even Hugo is going to laugh at. And Hugo is quite the jolly fellow. He laughed like mad when a swamp biter was gnawing on Vaegar’s balls. Note that Vaegar wasn’t laughing—and you won’t be laughing, either.”

* * *

“This is a good thing,” Beko said absently as we descended to the beach. “Now we’re going to clean the cesspits alone, without the Carps. I don’t want to do it with the Carps. It wouldn’t be good, being there with them. Sucks that it will be three pits, but better to clean three on our own than one with the Carps.”

“Their gang got a new name.” I reminded him. “They didn’t ask for it, but still.”

“I’m afraid to call them that,” Beko protested. “They’ll only beat us harder. And they will beat us, just you watch.”

“You said we were already dead, remember? Then why be scared of a few cuffs? And besides, I told you to forget about them. They are no longer a threat.”

“How can you be so sure?”

“Just trust me. They won’t be going near us, at least in the immediate future.”

“Why?!”

“Because! Did you see how pissed-off Ash was? He didn’t like being dragged into our little rivalry. It was unbecoming of a man of his stature.”

“That was because we made a ruckus at night. We broke a rule.”

“Still, he can’t be bothered resolving such quarrels. But he was glad to be entertained. He even christened the Carps with a new name as thanks.”

At that, Beko gave a spiteful chortle.

“Yes. That was rad. It will keep my spirits high when we’re cleaning out cesspits.”

“Let the Shiteaters clean out cesspits. Their new name is perfectly suitable for the job. You and I are going to be fishing for kote.”

“I thought you were joking about that.”

“Why would I be? Why do you think we bought all that stuff from Guppy yesterday? It was all in preparation to hunt kote.”

“Hunt kote?” Beko’s voice was full of skepticism. “With a couple of holed spoons, bronze hooks and some copper wire? How are those things going to help us hunt kote?”

“When it comes to hunting, it’s all about the hunter, and not his hunting tools,” I gestured to my head pointedly.

Beko sighed. “If we work quickly, it’ll take us four days to clean out all three cesspits. And they promised to feed us, too. I’m almost happy, all things considering. At least the Carps won’t bother taking shit duty from us.”

* * *

Kote were smart—as far as fish could be smart. A young specimen could do something stupid at times—or one that was deeply agitated, like my victim back at the crossing of Redriver. Like all other creatures of ORDER, kote amassed attributes and a certain set of talents. It was those talents that kept them out of fishing nets and traps, ignoring delicious baits concealing treacherous hooks. Coupled with an excellent scent for poisons, kote were a near-perfect blend of caution and aggression that made them dangerous yet damned difficult to kill.

My one encounter with kote had been an exception to the rule, as the group had swarmed the bloodied rags intended to entice them. Those had been an ineffective trap—merely sufficient to deal non-fatal damage to the mouth of one specimen. And it would have survived the big “splinter” if not for its numerous agitated brethren. It was still unclear how creatures that were solitary by nature had been driven there in such numbers. That could have contributed to their erratic behavior, resulting in the victim’s demise.

At any rate, ORDER had recognized my mite in the fish’s killing, netting the corresponding reward.

I had also taken note of how kote reacted to movement, which confirmed reports of their behavioral patterns.

I had also discussed the matter at length at the fort, primarily with Megaera. Strange as it was, she seemed to know a great deal about Blackriver and its wildlife. She had even recalled dropping a ring in the river once. The plain copper ring  should have been easily recoverable from shallow waters, but the river had other plans. A long shadow appeared out of nowhere and swallowed the ornament before it hit the river floor.

The story had helped me put all the pieces together.

A brightly polished spoon without a handle. One end tethered to a massive hook, the other to a ring of wire, tied to which was a thin string of frayed stalks of old wild leek, individually secured. Fresh stalks were strong enough to use as hanging rope, as poor old Rogalos could attest. Beko and I had tried pulling on them with all our might, but that had only made the knots stronger.

I tied the other end of the tackle around my waist to keep it secure. I had a backup kit just in case, but that would be the last one—we had no money to buy any more. And it would take additional time to prep, which we had little of. Noon would come sooner than expected, and cleaning out cesspits, especially with my bare hands, was an item I desperately wanted to remove from today’s agenda.

Watching me stray into the water, Beko asked in a crestfallen tone.

“Your plan is to hunt kote with that?”

“Got any other ideas?”

“Yes. Let’s go start cleaning latrines. Ash was right: the sooner we start, the sooner we finish.”

“Hunters don’t clean latrines. Watch, all these kote are going to be ours.”

My calculations were simple. In this area—and perhaps in all of Rock—trolling predatory fish wasn’t a thing. Float and ledger fishing were ubiquitous, but not trolling. Hooked bait fish was tried, but the clever kote avoided the cunning offering like the plague, while other prey that might normally jump on the tasty morsel avoided these waters for fear of themselves getting gobbled up by the river’s deadliest predators.

My first attempts at casting didn’t amount to anything. I wound the super-heavy spoonbait overhead, then sent it on its way, away from the bank. Alas, it wouldn’t fly as far out as I wanted it to,  nor did it submerge easily—all of which amounted to a waste of precious time.

It was time to shift tactics. We moved closer to the mountain, where the pebbled beach transitioned to clusters of boulders, some of them quite large. One such boulder with a relatively flat surface was peeking out of the water some twenty feet off the shore.

Placing the cord in a coil on the boulder’s surface, I began winding the line again. This time it moved to a decent distance, roughly thirty paces away. Drawing it back was easy enough; making it “frolic” as it did so to provoke a predator attack was the challenging part.

I spent the first hour on training alone. My efforts were improving, but said improvements applied merely to the theory of fishing. Practical results were still nonexistent—not one fish had taken the bait or even followed it to the rocks. I’d been changing positions after three-four fruitless attempts, but had nothing to show for my efforts so far.

What was the matter? Something off with the spoonbait, maybe? But the hungry kote had reacted to a plain copper ring dropped into the river. Could they be sensing the hook somehow? But how? This method of using a piece of metal was unknown in this world. So how could the fish know to stay away from the shiny gadget?!

My imagination was starting to draw ominous shadows of the three structures into which the fort’s residents relieved themselves. I even felt a twang of anger at the builders for not erecting latrines outside the walls of the fort. Why couldn’t they have built them over the river? There were near-vertical precipices on three of the four sides. Doing so would have avoided the issue of cesspits altogether.

I glanced up at the sun. The spoon-shaped luminary was itself trolling toward the zenith at alarming speed.

And when it got there, the latrines would cease to be mere shadows in my runaway imagination.

That would be bad.

Very bad.

The most epic of failures imaginable.

The line snapped, suddenly taut. Oh, screw you, fish! My anger swelled. This was yet another of the numerous times the spoonbait got caught in underwater rocks or driftwood. At first I had mistaken these for a predator taking the bait, but the differences were immediately apparent. My tackle remained idle instead of mimicking the hooked fish’s jerking movements.

So it was now. I pulled and pulled, but the spoonbait didn’t move an inch. It seemed stuck for good, probably buried in some drowned log. And if so, I would have no choice but to start working on a new tackle.

I shouldn’t have moved closer to the cliffs. This section of the water was filled with driftwood brought in by the current. And that was just the wood you could see from the surface.

I stepped back to the edge of the rock and pulled, putting all of my weight into it. The maneuver had worked to liberate a lodged spoonbait once before, so it was worth another try.

But it was no use. Though the line grew as taut as a string from some giant’s violin, the tackle just wouldn’t get dislodged.

What happened next caught me completely unprepared. Something on the other end of the line succeeded where I had failed. In other words, it pulled with such force that I lost my balance and went flying off of my isle of rock, submerging fully into the water.

Only yesterday I wondered idly if I knew how to swim. Well, now I could answer with certainty that I could at least float, if not swim. It seemed improper to claim I was swimming when, in fact, I was being pulled by some unseen force on the other end of the line.

So great was the force pulling that I would have thought I’d fished a nuclear submarine. But given that submarines were unknown technology in Rock, this couldn’t be it. It had to be a kote, naturally, only I had expected a far more modest haul, considering the reports that large predators weren’t known to come so close to the island.

Perhaps the locals preferred to understate rather than exaggerate. Weird how their cousins back on Earth did the exact opposite.

What a crazy world.

I could whip out a knife and cut the line, only rummaging in your pockets is rather inconvenient when all your energy is focused on not getting dragged down to the river floor. The kote was dragging me straight toward a tree sticking out of the water. That would be my chance to grab on to something and try to put up a fight.

I wasn’t going to abandon my seemingly only chance to avoid latrine duty.

Twisting like an Olympic gymnast at just the right moment, I grabbed onto a slender bough with both hands. It snapped instantly, plunging me back underwater. But I dove right out to bear-hug a different one with both arms and legs, taking full advantage of the few extra seconds of the line slackening as the fish began to round a large submerged boulder just up ahead.

Now I just needed to hold on. Nothing else, just hold on. I was done riding the monster fish like a jet ski.

Sans the ski.

My only chance was for the kote to exhaust itself and lose vigor. Perhaps then even my meager strength would be enough to drag it ashore. We’d been riding along the riverbank all this time—I needed to swim only a dozen yards before my feet should find bottom.

Breaking out into open water, the fish jerked violently forward, pressing me into the snag so tight, I could feel every bump and crack on the old wood with all of my body. Thankfully, the kote was trying to pull me through a barrier that not even a croc could break easily. Not in a million years would I have hung on with my own strength—it was only my position, securely behind the wide log, that made it possible. But I would take credit for recognizing my one chance and scrambling to take that position.

What is wrong with me? I was patting myself on the back for hanging on to life by a thread in a situation that only an imbecile would get himself into. A situation in which the apex of evolution was being drowned in a cold spring river by a primitive fish.

“Geeeeed!” the voice was coming from ashore.

I turned my head to see Beko, frozen at the edge of the water and staring at me with eyes round with horror.

“What?!” I wheezed, struggling to keep my position against the leg-locked log steady.

“I can’t swim, Ged!”

“Am I asking you to?”

“But Ged! It’s going to eat you!”

“No! We’re going to eat it! Get ready to help me pull it out!”

“Goodbye, Ged!” the ghoul kept spouting his nonsense in between sobs, either ignoring or failing to understand my words. “Do you want me to show you mine, Ged?! Before you die? You’re my friend, Ged, so I think I can show you! You won’t be able to tell anyone, anyway!”

I really was curious to see what it was Beko guarded with such dedication, stealing only occasional furtive glances at his treasure. Alas, the moment wasn’t disposed to curiosity. The fish finally stopped pulling stupidly in one direction; the line slacked again, its subtle movement indicative of the languid current instead of the kote swimming.

So where was it?!

I felt a pang of worry.

A breaker shot up right in front of me. Emerging from behind it, the enormous fish smashed into the tree log dead-on, jaws wide open. Upon impact, it fell back clumsily into its natural element and began to slowly sink, motionless.

It’s stunned, came the realization. The fish must have deemed the dry tree the culprit in its predicament, failing to see the tackle linking to the snag to which I was hanging on for dear life. And now it was dazed.

How long would its condition last? That wasn’t clear. But it was a chance.

Wasting no time, I pushed off the log and hurried toward the shore. What do you know? I can swim! And not all that badly! It took longer than anticipated to reach the bottom, however. It wasn’t until I was mere feet away from Beko that my feet found ground.

Once ashore, I began to hastily reel in the cord. The process was going quickly at first, as I was aiming for speed at the expense of neatness. The cord could form into a Gordian knot for all I cared, as long as I got the desired result, meaning the fish. The tackle could always be crafted anew.

There was enough wild leek on the pebbled beach to catch all of the river’s kote.

The cord grew taut again, making reeling difficult. Though the fish looked to weigh maybe thirty-five pounds, my arms insisted that the true weight was two hundred, at least.

The physical and mental fatigue was starting to get to me, as my hands started trembling. Still, I kept pulling and pulling while gasping for air and ignoring the burning sensation on my palms from the frayed cord.

Why would they call this river black when the water was crystal clear? The long ominous shadow creeping up on me gave me a start. It looked entirely too much like a crocodile stalking its prey.

The kote was still dazed, but that tail movement... It seemed to sway from more than just the current and my pulling efforts. Gathering whatever strength I had left, I held on to the cord with my left hand and reached into my pocket with the right.

Bloody hell! Where is it? The damned knife must have slipped out of my shallow pocket while the enraged fish dragged me across the river.

I turned to Beko, who was still standing there. His eyes were no longer round—they were bulging out of his sockets in defiance of physics.

“Give me your knife!” I yelled.

“It’s mine!” the ghoul replied fearfully.

“I said give it!!!” I bellowed so loudly that even the stunned kote jerked in response. Beko started, cowering for a moment, then rushed toward me.

Snatching the knife from him, I strained even harder to pull the fish’s head to the surface. It was starting to recover, and it wouldn’t be long until it took me on another jet ski adventure across Blackriver.

With a furious yelp, I brought down my right hand, burying the flint point into its head. The fish twisted violently, causing one of my feet to slip, but even as I fell into the water, I kept bashing its head again and again. I was lucky that the kote was still disoriented, its movements sluggish and thoughtless. It was merely delaying the inevitable rather than impeding me directly.

The second blow that struck the wound caused by the first made a crunching sound. The fish spasmed, throwing me on my back, but that was the end of its resistance. Only the tail kept quivering lightly—other bodily movements ceased being challenging to control.

I had reached the brain, it would appear.

But I wasn’t done yet. Pulling out the knife, I drove it back into the same wound, pressing as hard as I could. Then, grabbing the kote by the gill cover, I started dragging the prey ashore, but barely made it to the water line. Struggling to stay on my feet, I wheezed in a voice I no longer recognized.

“Pickaxe...”

Almost on autopilot, my grip closed on the proffered weapon’s wooden handle. The next moment, the stone beak smashed into the fish’s head.

And again.

And again for good measure.

The fourth blow wedged the pickaxe deep enough that I could no longer pull it out. It took all my remaining strength to drag the carcass ashore by the weapon’s handle and the cord, dumping it halfway on the pebbled beach, halfway in the water.

My feet buckled and I collapsed on my back, panting as I stared mindlessly at the clear sky—the perfect backdrop for taking in the long list of rewards ORDER was sending my way.

You have caught a kote using an unknown method. You have dealt significant damage to the kote. You have dealt fatal damage to the kote. The kote is dead. You have defeated the kote (4th Degree of Enlightenment).

You receive:

Unknown Method

Superior Symbol of Chi x3

Superior Universal Attribute Embodiment x1

Superior Standard Talent Mark x1

Superior Personal State Embodiment, Enhanced Enlightenment x1

Superior Standard Universal State x1

Kote Defeated!

Lesser Symbol of Chi x26

Personal Attribute Embodiment, Agility x4

Personal Attribute Embodiment, Stamina x7

Personal Attribute Embodiment, Strength x2

Lesser Standard Attribute Mark x1

Talent Mark, Scent of Blood x1

Talent Mark, Detect Poison x1

Talent Mark, Detect Traps x1

Lesser Standard Talent Mark x11

Personal Talent Mark, Angler x1

You have crafted an unknown item. You have used an unknown item. You have successfully used an unknown item. Achievement unlocked: unknown item.

Crafting an Unknown Item

Lesser Symbol of Chi x7

Personal Attribute Embodiment, Agility x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Jeweler x1

Successful Use of an Unknown Item

Greater Standard Talent Mark x1

Greater Standard Universal State x1

Discovery of an Unknown Item

Superior Symbol of Chi x3

Superior Universal Attribute Embodiment x1

Superior Standard Talent Mark x2

Superior State Embodiment, Equilibrium x1

Superior Standard Universal State x2

Superior Standard Attribute Mark x2

You may now name the unknown item

That was a lot of words. More words by an order of magnitude than I had seen from the Order since the day I had regained Rock’s inner sight.

But I wasn’t reading or studying any numbers. I simply lay there, waiting for my breath and my thoughts to stabilize. It wasn’t until Beko finally stopped his mad dashing between me and the kote and started dragging the fish ashore that I began to take stock of what had happened.

Scanning the numbers as I gasped for breath for entirely different reasons, I said wearily.

“Beko, do you know who we are?”

“I know who you are!” Beko jabbered excitedly. “You’re a madman. A full-on psycho!”

“You’re wrong. Well, you’re not entirely wrong. There’s some of that, too. But no. We are winners, Beko. We have won.”

You have given a name to the unknown item: spoonbait.

You have named a new item. You receive:

Superior Standard Talent Mark x3

So not only was I a winner, but also a pioneer.

I had discovered a previously unknown item.

Unknown in Rock, at least.

A simple spoonbait.

I may have had a ways to go to Christopher Columbus, but ORDER had apparently deemed the feat worthy just the same.

Chapter 18

A Mountain of Riches

No Stat Changes

Hugo squatted over the bloodied, sand-covered kote carcass. He stuck his fingers in the hole left by the pickaxe, poked around in there for some reason, then turned to Ash.

“I haven’t seen a kote this large since last year, the one Hegero had shot from Hawkstone. It was a clean headshot, lucky the beast didn’t drown right away. Our fishermen very rarely catch them. What the hell did you do, lads? Did you use that thing to kill it?” the hulk gestured at the pickaxe in Beko’s hand.

“We did,” I replied. “Why, is that bad?”

“That was stupid of you. You let out the brain. Kote brain makes a quality spice.”

“We didn’t know. Nobody told us about the brain.”

“Well, now you know.”

With a shrug, I made a pointed observation.

“We won’t be able to recover the brain now. Please accept our apologies.”

“Brain, liver, roe. All these are spices,” Hugo informed us graciously. “And the scales make good chicken feed. Makes them lay larger eggs.”

As he said this, Hugo turned toward Romris and two other fishermen who were barely teenagers. All three were huddled up under their awning, staring at the enormous kote with bulging eyes. The combined efforts of me and Beko had been sufficient merely to drag it to the spot, where we had been met by the top brass, already informed by onlookers that something unimaginable was happening down on the beach.

The fishermen dropped their eyes under management’s scrutinizing gaze. Hugo smirked.

“And what is your haul for the day? Same as always, I bet?”

“Well, uh, you can’t really use dragnet these days,” Satat offered the excuse weakly. “The kote scared away all the fish from the shallows, and the water is pretty cold.”

“Here is your kote,” Hugo pointed at the dead fish. “And your dragnet was put to good use just last night. It caught a few Carps, fat and juicy. Now take a good look at these boys and their haul as compared to yours. They can hardly believe it themselves, but they did it.”

Hugo was dead on about the disbelieving part. I still didn’t fully comprehend how it could have happened. This kote was like a living torpedo—strong enough to sink battleships. OK, maybe that was an exaggeration, but still. It was nearly my height, and weighed at least forty-five pounds, if not sixty-five.

A pity there wasn’t a scale around to commemorate the trophy.

Catching Ash’s gaze on me, I tried to assume a most imperturbable demeanor. It probably looked comical from the side, but I had to try to look serious if I wanted to be taken seriously.

Gesturing at the fish, I spoke with as much bombast as I could muster.

“We said that we would catch a kote, and we did. Now can we forget about last night’s incident?”

“I am not in favor of forgetting such things,” Ash said in an ominous tone. “When things are forgotten, they tend to repeat themselves. And I don’t want you engaging in such antics again. Pranks can be fun and all... But sometimes they can end badly. For all involved. Do I make myself clear?”

I nodded. “Crystal clear. But I was actually referring to something else.”

“I know exactly what you were referring to, boy. You must be putting your attribute marks into your silver tongue, smooth-talker that you are. My word is stronger than the stones upon which this fort was built. If I said that you’re free, then you’re free. And you may take your haul. Or you may not. I’m giving you a choice.”

Ash’s stare changed from heavy to assessing. And it was me he was assessing.

Was he putting me up on the market or something?

“What choice would that be?”

“You can take your fish and do with it what you please. Nobody’s going to force you to clean latrines. Or you can leave the fish for the fort. Our miners will be happy to dine on fried kote tonight—they don’t get it too often. And we can make good use of the spices from its liver. If you leave the fish, you’re not going to get anything for it. You will get porridge for dinner. But the Shiteaters will be pardoned, so they won’t need to clean out the cesspits as their punishment. Now decide who the fish belongs to: you or us?”

“The fish is yours,” I said without hesitation.

At those words, Beko stumbled, as if having been whacked on the head with a club, and mumbled something under his breath. Of all the things he’d said, the only distinct sound was “mine,” uttered through bitter tears.

Was it my imagination or did I see approval flicker in Ash’s eyes?

The fort commander gave a steady nod.

“That was the right choice. The rightest choice. I told myself that if you make this choice, I will make you a good offer in return. Though I should give you a good thrashing, I think you can be of use to the fort. So I will give your team the cellar in the corner depot. Ore used to be stored there—before we moved the furnace. It’s dry and warm, much better than your barn. And you’ll be fed breakfast and dinner. Porridge, bread and butter, cured meats, broth and fried squash from the garden. You’ll eat the same as the miners, hunters and other workers. In exchange, each day you will deliver one basket of kote meat. Standard size, but full. Just the meat. The fort will pay you separately for the liver and brain. And scales. That will be fair. All of our procurers of spices get paid. And you can keep the excess meat to do with as you please.”

Recalling the size of the basket from yesterday, I slowly shook my head.

“Master Ash, your offer is very generous, but kote are unpredictable creatures. Today we caught enough to fill three baskets, but tomorrow and the day after we might not catch any.”

“A fair point,” Ash agreed. “But on the days you get a lot of meat, you can turn in two or even three baskets. There are two of you, and the basket isn’t so large. If you put your minds to it, the basket will always be full. You will become people of the fort, and not some wretched drifters. Which means you will wear the fort’s badges. Here, hang them around your necks. Now others will know that you’re untouchable. Anyone who messes with you, messes with the Blackriver fort. And anyone who messes with the Blackriver fort gets their skull bashed in.”

Beko, who had been on the brink of fainting the entire time since my fallacious reply to Ash as to the fate of today’s haul, suddenly perked up, and was now looking at me with near endearment. Of course, he had to be ecstatic about securing protection from the Carps.

“And if we don’t hold up our end of the deal?” I asked.

“Then you will return to your barn. And I will be very displeased with you. Now, this fish,” Ash motioned toward the kote carcass, “will be counted as three days’ quota. Today you’ve managed to surprise and entertain me. So I don’t begrudge you everything you’re getting in return. But on the fourth day, you will need to bring in a new haul. Otherwise, you know what’s going to happen. You’re right: each day is different, and no one can guarantee a haul. So we can wait several days. But no more than that, so don’t drag it out.”

* * *

Watching a couple of burly guards whisk away our haul, tied to a pole with the very same wild leek, Beko let out a sob.

“We had a big fish. Now we have no fish at all.”

“Aren’t you happy to get a new home and two meals a day?”

“Right now, I’m ready to eat myself.”

“Speaking of, what time do miners get their dinner?”

“They end their shift after sunset. But dinner is served earlier than that.”

“How much earlier?”

“Not much.”

“Not for a while, then,” I deduced, looking up at the sun.

“We’ll need to chew leek again,” Beko sighed. “It’s bitter. I’m so sick of it.”

I shook my head with a grimace.

“No, we’re not going to chew that filth today. We’re going to buy decent food from Guppy.”

“You’ve got something to pay with?”

“Sure do. I said we’re going to buy, not steal, right? Come on.”

* * *

Guppy wasn’t at his post, the door to his shop closed shut. We decided not to look for the grumpy trader, opting instead for some downtime in the tavern. There, a couple of minor chi symbols bought us a king’s feast: each got a portion of yesterday’s wild boar stew, a hunk of bread, a large chunk of cheese, a couple of small slices of lard, a bundle of deer jerky sticks and even a thin slice of honey cake.

I hadn’t planned on making it rain, but my empty belly overruled my prudence. Gluttony took over—I wanted everything they had here, and then some. I was ready to eat in one sitting more than I used to eat in a week.

The floodgates had opened.

The sight of all this magnificence caused Beko, who had been subsisting on stale porridge and bitter wild leek, to lose the function of his vocal apparatus. The ghoul ate in silence, unable to utter so much as a word. I didn’t feel like talking, either. Chewing each bite unhurriedly, I was taking the time to look within and conduct some of the most complex calculations I’d ever done in my life.

I needed to decide what changes to make to the superstructure provided to the natives by ORDER. And how to make them.

But before I could make any decisions, I needed to process today’s developments. In one day I had managed to achieve more than some people would in their entire life. Perhaps not from a quantitative standpoint, but in terms of quality? Most definitely.

For convenience’s sake, the composition of this Order superstructure could be broken down into four main blocks.

The first block was the degrees of enlightenment—Rock’s equivalent to character levels in a video game. These were simple enough to understand. They were basic vessels that were filled with chi. As soon as one was filled to the top, the overflow instantly resulted in a new degree.

The second block was the attributes. These were somewhat more complicated. Initially, each degree allowed one to obtain up to six attribute points. Each point was in itself like a chi reservoir, only instead of being filled with the universal energy, it needed attribute marks. Also, each attribute came with its own “record” of how many marks were spent on it, because all of the vessels included in the superstructure were malleable in the process of one’s development. It was possible, for instance, by eating spices and doing all the right things, to expand the initially issued ten units per attribute to as much as fifty. That was the maximum number that could be attained by standard methods, and reaching it was bloody difficult. Raising an attribute increased in difficulty the further it grew, but in return, a denizen of Rock with sky-high attributes could perform feats of wonder that would put comic book heroes to shame.

On any given degree, the attributes couldn’t be evenly distributed, so most commoners typically raised one attribute to one, another to two, and the third to three. But there were two other attributes that were rather difficult to get: Perception and Spirit. If you managed to unlock them, you faced the additional challenge of finding ways of expanding their limit as well. The only way to extract maximum value from a degree was to properly unlock all five attributes. This type of degree was called “alpha.”

The Perception attribute granted combat energy: a special type of resource required for the most effective combat talents. It was akin to mana, only for fighters. Whereas Spirit was that very same mana, utilized by mages. Both resources came with their own expendable bars. If you depleted it, you needed to wait for it to replenish before using any talents powered by the corresponding resource. Essentially, without unlocking and developing these attributes, you could never fully actualize yourself as a warrior or a mage.

Those that possessed both attributes were the elites of Rock. You couldn’t dream of a better lot. Over ninety percent of the population were simple omegas. Those with an average of four attribute points per degree were betas. The rest were alphas.

Attributes granted physical and magic power, deftness in combat and in everyday labor, and, of course, stamina, arguably the most essential element to any proper session of work or fisticuffs.

The third block was talents. Though somewhat simpler than attributes, it wasn’t without its nuances. Say you unlocked the Cold Arms talent. Developing it would make you more effective at fighting with clubs, daggers, swords and spears. The improvement was universal across all types of cold weapons—until you raised it to ten. From there, you could either stop or choose a specialization. You could, for instance, choose to specialize in the spear. But you might also earn the Spear talent in combat, without having to raise it from scratch. Such occurrences weren’t common, but not unheard of, either. And that threw the proverbial wrinkle into any planning efforts.

You could unlock any talents you wished—just as long as they met the requirements of your current attributes. And the number of talents could be anything, but no higher than the sum total of your completed attributes. In practical terms, that meant I couldn’t unlock any talents at all given that I had zero innate attributes, and the Order didn’t recognize the ones endowed by the amulet. There was no cheating the higher power of this world.

The fourth block dealt with states. These didn’t grant any direct bonuses, but acted more as modifiers of existing abilities. For most of Rock’s denizens, this block was empty on account of being bloody difficult to develop even for nobles. Acquiring even a starting state meant arranging for the completion of an achievement that would fetch a worthy reward, which was both risky and complicated. You couldn’t delay the attainment of degrees of enlightenment for too long by spending chi on unlocking available attributes and talents. Normal people didn’t have to deal with their reservoir leaking chi into the void; on the contrary, their chi gradually accumulated even when no effort was exerted. As a result, by my age you were almost guaranteed three-four degrees.

But again, that concerned normal teenagers, and I was anything but normal.

The state called Equilibrium was regarded as the most valuable. One completed point of Equilibrium allowed one to unlock an additional attribute point per degree of enlightenment. Meaning, a common peasant could develop not six, but seven points per degree. Though the values of attributes still couldn’t match—that rule was sacrosanct. So something like one to Agility, two to Strength, and four to Stamina. Seven points in all while adhering to the condition.

The Enhanced Enlightenment state was likewise highly prized. One point of the state translated to ten capacity points to your current and future chi reservoirs. The boon didn’t apply to any preceding ones, but the same was true of all other parameters. In other words, any blunder made early on would follow you to the grave, so great care should be taken to develop properly from the start.

Why bother raising one’s chi capacity to begin with? Because the total amount of accumulated primordial energy determined a great deal. For instance, the more of it you had, the better protected your mind was against mental attacks. Moreover, each person had what I would translate as “chi shadow.” It was a reflection of sorts of your current amount of chi, and this resource was used for numerous talents—primarily crafting ones, but some combat as well. Once it was partially or fully spent, you needed to wait for it to replenish, which happened automatically, albeit at a slow clip. A useful boon, all things considering. Certainly couldn’t hurt.

The Enhanced Perception state expedited the regeneration of energy used by fighters, just as mages needed Enhanced Spirit to bolster their regeneration of mana. And the Chi Shadow state accelerated the replenishment of consumed shadow chi.

And the last, most delicious state of all, was called Measure of Order. The higher the value, the more handsome the rewards, i.e. the trophies awarded by the Order. Leveling it was incredibly difficult, to the point that even the most accomplished nobles could only boast two-three points of the stat.

Such were the four blocks. One was utterly unavailable for all but a tiny fraction of Rock’s denizens, and the rest, though technically available, nearly impossible to develop properly for all but an even smaller fraction. It was no wonder that the nobles ruled this world by more than just birthright—they were orders of magnitude stronger than commoners. And their strength lay in more than just stats. It impacted their very structure, anchoring in their bodies. I suspected that, among other things, it also modified their DNA. Or influenced heredity in some other ways. That would explain a lot.

From generation to generation, the most gifted of the population gravitated toward one another, experimenting with talents and other things. They were born to powerful parents so that, when their own time came, they would give birth to just-as-powerful offspring. They did that by engaging in combat with demons and monsters so that, by defeating them, they would further modify their genetic material. Great feats were the surest way to cement great dynasties.

Such selection went on for millennia. In the end, the inner structures of noble clans differed significantly from those lacking any traces of “blue blood.” For instance, children born with four—sometimes even five—unlocked attributes were far from a rare occurrence. Moreover, right off the bat the attributes could be filled not to the minimum capacity, but closer to medium or even max values. Thus, a year-old noble tot could easily overpower a two-year-old peasant toddler, while an unarmed teenager could demolish a couple of armed grownups.

Naturally, such gifted children weren’t a given—exceptions weren’t exceptionally rare. In most cases, such blunders of nature were remedied in one way or another. For the rest, the child grew up a noble in name only—whereas true bluebloods regarded him with either pity or scorn.

I was the prime example of the above. The son of a mother from an ancient clan and a father who, though his identity was unknown, clearly hadn’t been a commoner. Going by Treya’s hints, he might have been even more powerful than her. Speaking of mother, she was actually on the inferior end in terms of talents. A typical case of being born second-rate and the weakening clan being unable to remedy her shortcomings early enough in life.

Just as my shortcomings hadn’t been remedied. Only I wasn’t second-rate, but completely dysfunctional. And that was a rare deviation from the norm, among commoners as well as among nobles. Typically, an infant without attributes and the first degree of enlightenment died within days of birth. Some could even hold out a month or longer, but the end was always the same.

I had lasted until thirteen years of age. According to Rock’s measurement scale, at least—I didn’t quite know how long it would be in Earth time. In many ways I was still an alien, still thinking in terms of pounds and seconds in a world that operated by entirely different standards.

Why me? Why had I survived where all the others had died? That was a whole other story, of which I only knew certain details for certain. And I might not ever find out all of it.

The only thing that mattered now was that today I was given a chance to become normal. Or at least come closer to it. After deliberating for what felt like a lifetime, I finally risked it and activated two personal embodiments of the Strength attribute. One of the six stars in my structure lit up dimly and counted up to the number two—the number of points earned. Now I just had to accumulate anywhere from ten to fifty to end up with one complete attribute.

Were the accumulated points going to leak like my chi? I didn’t know. This was an experiment.

Chi was leaking at a pace of five-seven units per day. If, upon waking tomorrow, I would discover both points were still there, I would allocate the rest of the points.

Carrying such treasures on my person made me uneasy. I was starting to understand Beko.

This was mine.

And I wasn’t going to give it up. To anyone.

Chapter 19

A Very Crucial Choice

No Stat Changes

At night, my dreams were nightmares. Something dark, faceless and impossibly terrifying was trying to break into the cellar assigned to us by Ash. His greedy hands were reaching for Beko, trying to take from him his most precious and mysterious treasure, then for me with the same criminal goal. I kept tossing and turning on the hard corduroy mat, raised slightly over the dirt floor. We had brought in some straw from our former home, but it wasn’t enough to sleep comfortably. And there wasn’t anywhere to get more—this wasn’t the season for it.

Somewhere up and down and south of Blackriver, there were a sort of subsidiaries of the fort. Nearly typical villages where farmers grew fine harvests, taking advantage of the fertile soil in these untamed lands. There would be plenty of straw left over from the winter crops, but we would need to wait for it first.

In the end, I woke up groggy and tired, but my sourness instantly evaporated at the realization that, despite the insinuation of my night terror, my two Strength points hadn’t gone anywhere.

I checked the chi level. Seventy-six points. Same pace of leakage—no changes there.

Well, time to take the next step. Not right away, of course, but over breakfast. While killing the leftovers of yesterday’s feast, I would stage a veritable inner revolution. For some reason I had found that my brain worked better over food, as if my stomach stimulated the thinking process. Oh, and the lovely vistas that opened from my beloved wall had a pleasant soothing effect, helping to thwart the temptation of rushing, which was fraught with mistakes.

Let’s start with the attributes.

Thanks to my modest reserves in the invisible pouch combined with the trophies earned from yesterday’s victory over the kote, I had plenty of material to work with. Typically, the Order granted a person minor essences of attributes, provided said attributes were already unlocked. If unlocked, you could get personal embodiments of attributes instead. Either way, the drops were limited to one unit at a time, and the embodiments could then be used for unlocking an attribute for the first time. Without that first action, the minor essences couldn’t be used. Also of note was that personal embodiments could only be used by the person who had gotten them—to everyone else, they were complete and utter garbage. For this reason, even affluent commoners weren’t able to unlock for their children an alpha set of attributes from birth, as those items of prime necessity weren’t available for sale at any price, but had to be obtained on one’s own, and that wasn’t easily accomplished by any stretch.

I had collected seven of these rudimentary items for the Agility attribute, nine for Stamina, and two more for Strength. Plus one additional general attribute mark that could be used on any unlocked attribute, adding one point to it.

These belonged to the ordinary, commonplace variety of loot.

The Greater General Attribute Mark, on the other hand, was absolutely elite. It added fifty points to an already unlocked attribute, and if used on the first attribute unlocked at any given degree, it raised the chances of expanding the capacity of this and the next attribute. For instance, if, say, one Strength attribute required fifteen points to complete, it could expand the capacity by an unknown amount—up to the standard maximum of fifty.

And I had two of these. A trophy of this caliber was both rare and extraordinarily valuable. It was also transferable, meaning I could sell one or both in exchange for a small fortune.

Or I could end up on the bottom of Blackriver.

With a slit throat.

That was all theory, anyway. I was not going to sell even one, let alone both.

Additionally, I had two other items so precious, I felt almost reverential awe at the mere thought of looking at them. Now these would fetch a veritable mountain of gold—if only they were transferable. But they weren’t, so the point was moot.

Greater Personal Universal Attribute Embodiment: 2 units

With this, I could instantly become like an alpha noble, that is unlock all five attributes. The small change was enough for Agility, Stamina and Strength, and these two beauties would cover the two elite attributes—Perception and Spirit. The qualities of these items also matched the greater general attribute marks, which meant I could try and bang out the maximum fifty capacity points.

All in all, using all of these trophies should allow me to raise four attributes to one. And this was where the Order’s principal rule presented a problem: the levels of attributes on any given degree couldn’t be equal. Only the first one would be activated—the rest would remain as dead weight until I managed to bring them up to two, one at a time. And all the while, the remaining attributes wouldn’t be of any help, their status displaying zero. Besides, I wouldn’t have enough chi. Leveling up each attribute required one hundred points of chi. Even with yesterday’s haul, I would only be able to raise one attribute to the minimum threshold.

Still, what would be the point of carrying such treasures on my person? Better to put them into the safest possible vault. That is, into me.

So I did.

My primary attribute would be Stamina. Given my physical condition, Strength and Agility would be of dubious use, but having more energy to delay fatigue—that should be valuable.

I threw several lesser personal essences into Stamina, unlocking the attribute. Then I added two lesser essences and one standard mark. Finally, with bated breath and eyes screwed shut, I used the Greater Standard Attribute Mark on the already decently glowing star of the attribute.

The star blazed with light as the Order informed me of a new achievement.

You have unlocked a new attribute: Stamina. Attribute level: 1. Maximum capacity: 60 points. Current capacity: 50 points.

One-time incentive: +15 points to the Stamina attribute (inactive)

What? A whopping sixty points had resulted in only one bloody attribute level?!

But as I studied the result a little longer, I relaxed and even smiled. What a beautiful number. My single level of Stamina contained the blessed fifty points. The very maximum—right from the get-go. And that capacity would carry over from one degree to the next, assuming no other unforeseen developments. Which may be assuming too much given that unforeseen developments had been happening to me on a near daily basis.

Now I just needed to get the missing twenty-five points to bring my Stamina to the second level.

I fought back the urge to use the second greater mark. Those didn’t grow on trees—who knew how long it would be until I lucked into another one? By using it on Stamina, I’d lose the chance to expand the capacity of another attribute.

Next, I selected Agility. When the attribute opened with the same prized fifty-point capacity, I wasn’t too surprised. Perhaps the Order had decided to pay restitution for all of my years of empty suffering—or maybe it was my zero degree that pulled in such valuable prizes. Whatever the reason, I was being given an excellent head start.

A pity it was so belated...

My reserves weren’t enough to pump Strength to the max, but both Perception and Spirit, unlocked by the greater universal attributes, had predictably opened up at fifty.

With the attributes done, it was time to deal with the talents.

All in all, I had obtained five varieties of personal talent marks on the labor front, plus three more for my victories on the battlefield against the kote. These were simpler to use than attributes. Whether bound to my person or easily transferable, the marks could unlock a talent from zero, then raise it from the first degree to the second by accumulating ten points, then another ten points to the third, and so on until the highest possible tenth degree. From there you would need to choose a specialization to keep developing.

I had only one attribute to my name, so I could choose only one talent. As to the pool of choices at my disposal, they were as follows: Scent of Blood, Detect Poison, Detect Traps, Angler, Novice Jeweler (who could have thought that the Order would attribute the crafting of spoonbait to this profession?), Novice Healer, Novice Stonecutter and Novice Carpenter.

This decision wasn’t a decision at all. The optimal choice was painfully obvious: Angler. After all, if I failed at supplying the fort with kote on the regular, Ash’s attitude towards me would sour, and I wanted desperately to avoid that.

After unlocking the talent, I further enhanced it with two of the four greater talent marks received yesterday. Each boosted it by fifty points, so one hundred in all, the maximum possible. The initial single point became redundant, but the Order compensated its disappearance with a single lesser symbol of chi.

That had unlocked specialization branches from which to select second-tier talents. Choosing any one of them would block the development of others, but not for good. I could always unlock the same talent again, pump it past the initial ten points, and then select another branch. The Order would then consider them separate talents, though each would still require one attribute level as foundation.

Though the selection was plentiful, the attribute requirements for these advanced talents were also more stringent, and my single point of Stamina made only a few of them accessible. After studying the general description of each branch, I settled on Fishing Instinct, which, upon proper development, promised to help identify places of concentration of fish, and even the location of specific types of fish, provided it met certain size requirements.

Just what the fisherman ordered. I boosted the unlocked second-tier talent with the remaining greater standard marks, raising my Fishing Instinct to ten, the tier’s maximum. To go further, I would need to choose from the third tier, but the attribute requirements were out of my reach. For example, I would have loved to double my chances of catching fish with a cast net, but that required having both Stamina and Strength at two at a minimum.

Raising a first-tier talent to the next tier required ten points of chi. And twenty at the second tier. All in all, the price for the progress made amounted to three hundred chi, but I now had sufficient confidence in my abilities to make these sacrifices without any emotional anguish or fear of depleting my reservoir. A daily loss of a few points was nothing compared to the world of possibilities opening up before me.

Now that the talents were done, only the “strategic dessert” was left. States.

I had acquired two greater embodiments: Equilibrium and Enhanced Enlightenment. Equilibrium was simple enough in that it modified the limit in number of attributes by one degree. What benefit did I stand to gain by expanding my reservoir capacity? That wasn’t so clear. Still, it didn’t cost anything to activate, so activate it I would.

I unlocked Enhanced Enlightenment, which opened at the expected fifty points and now displayed a 0.50 value—half of the minimum it required to function. And I was quite all right with that.

The rest went into Equilibrium. Three greater standard universal states, yielding one hundred fifty points total, one greater standard universal state for another twenty-five, plus eleven lesser essences of Equilibrium inherited from mother. Why she had kept these treasures, I would never know. As far as I knew, she hadn’t possessed Equilibrium herself. Could she have hoped to develop it in me? With her gone, I would never know...

With the starting fifty, the state’s value was now at 2.36, though only the integer mattered. There was no rounding or fractional benefits. The next upgrade would only manifest once the value reached 3.

But this was already enough to pump as much as eight attribute levels per degree instead of the standard six.

And in this respect, I surpassed the capabilities of even most nobles, and especially children and teenagers. For all of their normalcy, they couldn’t hold a candle to me, a zero-degree cripple.

Two greater symbols of chi, equating to one hundred points, went into a single attribute point. Twenty-five were spent on the leaking reservoir. And the last seven were kept as means of payment.

What remained of my treasures looked far less impressive than before.

Lesser Symbol of Chi x7

Lesser Essence of Melee Combat x10

Lesser Essence of Iron Skin x10

Greater Standard Talent Mark x1 (+25 to any talent)

Talent Mark, Scent of Blood x2

Talent Mark, Detect Poison x1

Talent Mark, Detect Traps x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Jeweler x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Healer x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Stonecutter x2

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Carpenter x1

Standard Talent Mark x11

Compared to this morning, I was a pauper. If only Beko had any clue as to the fortunes that were evaporating right in front of his nose as he chowed down, he would throw himself off the cliff thrice over.

But I wasn’t Beko. I was quite content with everything.

I had become stronger. In terms of immediate gains, the changes weren’t very drastic.

From a strategic standpoint, however, I had leaped a dozen steps on the staircase leading up to the local Olympus.

On that thought, the hunk of cheese fell out of my slackened hand as I grabbed on to Beko to keep from plummeting from the wall.

My vision had grown dark, and my ears had stopped detecting sounds.

Chapter 20

Fishless Fishing

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (101/888)

Shadow: 101

Attributes:

Stamina: level 1, 75 points

Strength: level 0, 4 points

Agility: level 0, 57 points

Perception: NA, 50 points

Spirit: NA, 50 points

Talents:

Fishing Instinct (tier 2): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (2.36): level 2

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.5): level 0

“Ged! What is wrong with you, Ged?!” Beko chirped in my ear.

My hearing was recovering faster than my sight. Craning my neck in a struggle to raise my head off my chest, I mumbled a response.

“I’m all right... I think... It got dark all of a sudden. And my hearing disappeared. Maybe the food was rotten...”

“No, the food isn’t to blame,” Beko protested. “You’re developing, but not getting any spices. I fall down like that, too, when my inner self is developing. Spices can help, but we don’t have any. They’re expensive. We can’t afford them.”

“We’ll get ourselves some spices,” I said with confidence, rubbing my face. “Maybe not right away, but soon.”

“They’re expensive,” Beko repeated.

“That’s all right, we’ll make it work. But we have a more pressing purchase to make first.”

“What?”

“A knife. A normal one.”

“I didn’t lose mine, like you did,” Beko said defensively. “It’s mine! Mine!”

“Relax, I’m not trying to take it from you. But dressing the kote with sharp stone is a pain like no other.”

“We don’t have a kote to dress.”

“Nor do we have a dressing knife, so let’s start with that. Getting a kote will be step two. Oh, and do you know if anyone in the fort can fashion a wooden block?”

“I don’t know anything about any block.”

“Never mind. I’ll be on the lookout for a craftsman.”

* * *

The knife ended up costing five lesser symbols of chi. Truthfully, it wasn’t worth half that. But it was the cheapest possible option in Guppy’s stock. He had asked for six symbols at first, but then relented and agreed to accept five on account of our continued patronage. A loyalty discount of sorts.

The remaining two symbols went to a woodworker who quickly fashioned a wooden block of the right size. Plus I promised him a chunk of kote if he added a groove for the cord. Old leek stalks may be tear resistant, but easily frayed with common rock. And I needed to minimize any risk of damage, lest we remained without tackle and without haul.

The feebleness that had overwhelmed me so cunningly during breakfast hadn’t fully abated. I felt like a vegetable that had been placed in a pot, then removed just as the water came to a boil, still undercooked. And I had to admit to myself that I wouldn’t be able to recreate yesterday’s fishing heroics, even with my upgraded Stamina and experience.

I just wasn’t in the condition to be grappling with Blackriver’s crocs.

Although, if my thinking was correct, I wouldn’t need to.

When we finally got down to the pebbled beach, the first thing I did was start working on fashioning a couple of clubs. My pickaxe experience still fresh in my mind, I wanted to avoid losing precious fish brains going forward.

It was slightly disappointing that the Order didn’t award me a damn thing for crafting the clubs. Apparently, the accomplishment was thoroughly insignificant.

Looking at the crudely fashioned sticks, I didn’t disagree. After that, I moved on to a new tackle, this time following a completely different blueprint. Rather than make another spoonbait, I tied to the cord a flat pebble with a hole in the middle, and secured a hook to it. Then I focused on the reeling mechanism. After securing the block to the loop affixed to a large bough with a sharpened point, I passed the end of the cord through it, then stepped back to assess my creation.

The craftsmanship was just as primitive as you might imagine. Good thing I cared nothing about the aesthetics, but only function.

And we were going to put function to the test.

* * *

Until now, I had been so busy with preparations that I hadn’t so much as shot a glance in the river’s direction. But now, as I looked this way and that, I didn’t see anything resembling a hint as to where to find schools of fish or solitary large specimen. Only the standard circles and splashes that indicated frolicking fry—the kind of stuff no special skills were needed to notice.

Where was my fishing instinct, then? Why wasn’t it pointing me in the right direction?

I didn’t doubt that it was working. Such was this world that doubting such fundamental principles would be tantamount to believing that the Earth was flat. And while those types of people did exist in my old world, they fell strictly into two categories: those with severe mental deficiencies, and those who sought to profit from the mental deficiencies of the first category.

And I was anything but mentally deficient. I knew that the talent was working. I just needed to figure out how.

That took about five minutes. As a result of my investigation, I learned that the talent had to be activated, whereupon it began to expend the aforementioned “shadow chi,” which then regenerated on its own.

That seemed clear enough, so without further hesitation, I went ahead and activated it.

And then my jaw dropped.

The river transformed, becoming translucent—both in the shallows and further out. The bottom was covered with a cobweb of ultra-thin threads, reflecting the relief that was hidden to the eye. And right over this surface, rainbow patches sparkled here and there. Most of them formed clusters, but there were also individual shapes, typically of a much larger variety. Some even seemed enormous, but it was hard to be certain given that their location and dimensions were constantly shifting, inflating and deflating like irregularly shaped balloons on a radar screen.

One of the nearest clusters whirled near the water line. Exactly where circles floated up to the surface, indicating the presence of fish.

Mouth still agape, I tried to remind myself that this wasn’t a museum exhibit for me to stupidly gawk at. And then, just as suddenly, the hazy picture exposing the secret world of the river faded. I tried to bring it back, but to no avail.

The cause of the malfunction became immediately apparent. Scatterbrain that I was, I’d forgotten that the talent didn’t run on good will. The minute-and-a-half of its operation had drained all of my shadow chi, and it would probably take a good while for it to regenerate.

That was some costly gawking. A squandered opportunity to master the talent.

But oh well. I had plenty else to do while my shadow chi regenerated.

Standing at my side, Beko sensed my disposition.

“Did we do something wrong?”

“No, everything is fine,” I said. “We’re about to start fishing kote.”

With those words, I began work on the second tackle. Having already staked the block to the pebble, I needed to wind the main part of the cord in a loop to prepare for casting.

At this point, even Beko realized that something was off.

He asked with hesitation.

“You’re going to fish with a pebble instead of a spoon?”

“Exactly right, Beko. A holed pebble.”

“And it’s going to bite?”

“Of course not. Kote aren’t stupid to pounce on a pebble. And even if they were, the river is already full of pebbles. Enough for them to feast for ages.”

“Why are you doing it, then?” the ghoul stared at me with a blank expression.

As I continued working on the useless tackle, I said quietly.

“See Satat’s brother over there?”

“Romris? Yeah, I do. He’s been sitting there this whole time.”

“What about the other kid? Who is he?”

“That’s Bargo. He’s Lame Chuggs’ son. The eldest one.”

“Tell me, Beko. Do you find it odd that two able-bodied males have spent the past several hours sitting there, watching us as we toil?”

“Maybe they’re bored...” the ghoul suggested without conviction.

“That’s a load of crap and you know it. There’s always work to be done in the fort. Ash himself had to mediate a conflict between a bunch of kids because it was disrupting regular operations. He wouldn’t stand for anyone slacking—even losers get loaded with work to keep them busy from dawn till dusk. And here we’ve got a couple of loiterers. Except they’re not really loiterers.”

“Who are they, then?” Beko still wasn’t following.

“They’re spies. They’re engaged in industrial espionage.”

“What? They aren’t spies at all! They’re Bargo and Romris.”

“And why couldn’t Bargo and Romris be spies? They’re out here looking to suss out our kote fishing method. Such knowledge is incredibly valuable, you see. And I have no intention of sharing it for free. Besides, there’s no point in creating competition for ourselves. We must remain the fort’s exclusive kote suppliers. Are you with me?”

“You think that if Bargo and Romris learn to fish kote, we might get banished from our cellar?”

I nodded. “Of course. They’re stronger than we are, with more degrees of enlightenment and attributes. Fishing comes easier to them than to us. Which is why we’re going to fish with the purpose of not catching anything.”

“You’re clever.”

“That I am.”

“But if we don’t catch anything, how are we going to fill our quota?”

“Eventually they’re going to get sick of watching us aimlessly. Once they leave, we’re going to get to some real fishing.”

“But if we start catching fish, they’ll come back to look.”

“And they’re going to watch me do the same thing: cast a pebble into the river. Don’t worry, Beko, I’m going to teach them not to spy on us. Time is too precious a commodity to waste it on useless endeavors.”

The visual memory of a person who had spent the past twelve years studying the world not with his feet but with his eyes, was naturally quite advanced. The spot I had picked wasn’t random. If I could trust the picture revealed to me by my fishing talent before my inexperience had wasted all of my shadow chi, this area shouldn’t have any drowned snags or large rocks. The pebbled beach sloped gently to near the middle of this branch of the river. There was virtually no fish at this spot, with only the occasional flickering of small fry.

It was exactly what I needed.

I cast the line, waited a few seconds and began dragging it along the floor, slowly and carefully, straining every so often to free the hook that kept catching on to small rocks. The rocks would turn over, and the dragging resumed.

On the second cast, Bargo and Romris couldn’t resist drawing closer for a better look. On the third cast, they were almost on top of me, photographing my every action with their eyes.

Needless to say, they paid the most attention to the tackle.

Finally, Bargo spoke.

“I’ve never seen anyone use a rock to fish.”

“It’s not an ordinary rock,” I replied mysteriously.

“I can see that. It’s got a hole in it. But it’s still a rock. And you’ve picked a bad spot to fish. There are no kote here. They tend to stick to areas with snags and boulders.”

With those words, Bargo moved back and began wandering the beach, bending down every so often. Romris followed his lead. Some ten minutes later, the latter darted toward the mountain with a big grin on his face, gripping something in his right hand. He returned quickly and started knitting a cord out of frayed stalks of wild leek.

Bargo walked over to him and the two had themselves a brief chat. After that, both men walked right past us and toward the fort, wearing enigmatic expressions.

As they passed, Romris remarked condescendingly.

“Stupid kids. You ain’t caught nothing and you ain’t gonna. But I will, and soon.”

“Best of luck to you,” I replied to the boor most sincerely.

He would need luck to catch kote, as those beasts weren’t so foolish as to pounce on rocks being dragged along the river floor.

Romris and Bargo situated themselves on a promising spot and began taking turns casting a copy of my fake line. They had decided to forgo a block, figuring that I was using it on account of my feebleness, and that they would have no problem handling the haul without it.

After their third cast, the “competition” rushed to move a bit further, drawn to a breaker amid some snags left by a decently sized fish, its red tail flashing for a brief moment above the water line. The color was typical of kote. So great was their excitement that Romris cast the line a good ten yards farther than necessary. Which got the tackle hopelessly stuck. After several powerful but futile yanks, the angler turned and tried an over-the-shoulder pull with anchored feet.

Wild leek stalks were sturdy material, but everything has its limits. The cord snapped, leaving the tackle in the snag.

The competition made their next attempt only about two hours later. Failing to find a proper stone, they somehow managed to make a hole in an ordinary flat pebble.

This tackle lasted longer. Armed with bitter experience, the fishermen steered clear of snags. Plus, they had enough sense to secure the hook to a not-quite-as-strong piece of stalk. That caused the hook to break off a few times, but replacing it with spare ones was a simple thing.

By evening, having run out of all their spare hooks, the pair scratched their heads for a minute, then headed back up the path. They didn’t come near us this time, sufficing with nasty looks that expressed everything they thought about our “innovative” technique of kote fishing.

After activating my Fishing Instinct for a few seconds, I shifted roughly thirty yards upstream, having spotted near a solitary boulder an elongated form that wasn’t quite as large as yesterday’s trophy. I set the block again, then secured a hook to a spoonbait, and cast the line.

Nine casts yielded no results. On the tenth, I considered my current reserves of shadow chi, then activated the talent just when, by my calculations, the spoonbait had to be close to the fish... Only there was not a trace of the kote anywhere. The predator—if it had been her—must have departed while we were relocating.

Beko was surprised that we were moving again, so I had to explain.

“There’s no fish here. I have this skill that allows me to determine that.”

“Then why did we move here?”

“It was here when I checked before moving. But fish don’t stay in one place. Let’s move over there, to the rocks. I see two fish in that area.”

At the new location, it took only two drags to get a bite. Only the hook didn’t set properly. The line tightened, but when I began reeling it in, it was empty.

That was encouraging, not disheartening. If one fish took the bait, another one should, too. Or, perhaps, the same one. Kote were still out feeding, and that was valuable knowledge.

I activated the talent for another half-second, instantly glimpsing a large fish no more than ten yards away. I cast the line right in that area, and before I could even begin the drag, there was a bite on the line.

Yank.

“Got a live one!” I hollered, fighting the resistance of the fish thrashing on the other end.

Hopping over to Beko, I barked the order.

“Hold the stick tight! Bring it in! Closer!”

Catching the end of the line thrown over the block, I wound the slack around it, then put my whole weight on it, forcing the fish closer to the shore. It was clearly smaller than yesterday’s, and so far my efforts were sufficient to be winning this tug-of-war.

Once at the shallows, the kote, in its desperation, put up a veritable storm. I began to grow concerned that the fish might come off the hook, so violent was the thrashing and leaping—sometimes as high as my head.

During one such leap, the predator ended up on land, where it began to thrash even more violently, entangling itself with the line.

I snatched my club, ran up to the fish and brought it down on its head. The second strike caused the fish to cease all movement.

You have caught a kote using a rare method. You have dealt significant damage to the kote. You have dealt fatal damage to the kote. The kote is dead. You have defeated the kote (2nd Degree of Enlightenment).

You receive:

Ultra-Rare Method

Greater Symbol of Chi x1

Greater Standard Talent Mark x1

Greater Standard Universal State x1

Kote Defeated!

Lesser Symbol of Chi x6

Lesser Attribute Mark, Agility x1

Lesser Attribute Mark, Stamina x1

Lesser Attribute Mark, Strength x1

Standard Attribute Mark x1

Talent Mark, Scent of Blood x1

Talent Mark, Detect Poison x1

Lesser Standard Talent Mark x2

Lesser Personal Talent Mark, Fishing Instinct x1

What was I to do with the Fishing Instinct mark? I had already raised the talent to the max. Further development would require choosing a new branch at level three, which I couldn’t do on account of my lacking attribute levels. Which meant the trophy was useless to me.

And I didn’t want to carry dead weight.

I recalled mentions that some of the Order’s gifts could be disassembled. Maybe even all of them. Doing so would result in a certain amount of chi, which could always be used or transferred to others. Perhaps my memory was wrong, but the matter should be clarified pronto.

Drawing close to me, Beko let out a sigh.

“Yesterday’s was larger.”

There was no arguing that. Compared to yesterday’s trophy, this one seemed like a string of snot next to a jellyfish. It couldn’t have weighed more than ten pounds. And the rewards were considerably lower, too. Then again, I really shouldn’t complain. A greater symbol of chi with its twenty-five points was enough to counteract four days’ worth of energy leakage. And the lesser ones meant more shopping power. I could especially use some gloves, as the rags wrapped around my hands were doing a piss-poor job of protecting my hands.

“It won’t be enough to fill the basket,” Beko kept lamenting.

“So what?” I protested. “We’re under no obligation to supply anything today or tomorrow. Did you forget what Ash said?”

“Then what are we going to do with this one?”

“Do you even have to ask? We’ll take it to the tavern, obviously. We’ll sell the meat and the scales, and eat the spices. You said yourself that we need them.”

“That’s true!” Beko said, suddenly happy. “We’ll have a tasty meal. And we won’t even need to dress the fish. We’ll deliver it whole.”

“Agreed,” I nodded. “And I wouldn’t mind running into Romris and Bargo along the way. The expressions on their faces would be the sweetest dessert.”

Chapter 21

Advanced Fishing

No Stat Changes

The Fishing Instinct talent mark netted two lesser symbols of chi. The process also taught me how to dismantle trophies, transferring everything into energy. And though I might criticize the Order for the somewhat inconvenient user interface, I couldn’t fault the conceptual simplicity of it all.

Simple enough for small children to master early in life.

I also learned the reverse process of turning chi into talents. Unfortunately, the math in this direction was truly usurious, as the Order considered these two actions too unequal in value.

The couple of extra chi came in handy when haggling with Guppy for a new knife. I had decided to invest in a better tool, as I shuddered to imagine having to dress the fish with the old one.

My new acquisition wasn’t that much different than the old. Unfortunately, metal things were quite valuable in the fort, so I had to part with all my symbols plus a fun little trinket received from the innkeeper: a double-squared piece of hard leather boasting a relief of the three sevens on one side and an oval seal on the other. The invention was meant to represent money, intended for settlement exclusively on the fort’s territory. Any worker leaving the fort could trade these for resources at the main warehouse. People in the fort rarely accepted any other currency, opting instead to use these, which they simply called “squares,” as means of payment.

On our way down, we passed by a couple of fishermen lugging a basket up towards the fort. Their haul was a modest one, and the two glowered at us as though we were the enemy of the working class. Not much happened in these parts, so the news of us catching yet another kote yesterday had spread like wildfire. And I could only imagine how these guys must feel to have a crippled teenager and a ghoul upstaging them, actual fishermen.

My plans for today were to seriously bolster their inferiority complex, but I had other business to attend to first.

Tossing the pole with the block into the bushes, I said.

“Get ready, Beko. We’re going to do some sports.”

“Some what?” my companion blinked.

“Sports. You know, some jogging, push-ups, jumping jacks. We’re being fed well, and our muscles need some action. We’ve winners, you and I. And winners ought to be strong.”

“We’re strong enough to catch kote,” Beko countered logically.

With the hearty dinner still warming his belly, the ghoul couldn’t stand the thought of physical activity. But I remembered what mother and Camai used to drill into me almost daily, that the body must develop harmoniously. The warrior had trained for hours each and every day, whenever time allowed, and Treya hadn’t been far behind.

So, despite my eagerness to get back into the action, I was resolved to dedicate half an hour to physical training. Nothing too intense—I could always go harder at night, before bed.

And I would still need my strength for the day of fishing ahead.

* * *

Without any spies around, we didn’t need to waste time on fooling around with a rock instead of a spoonbait, so the day began brilliantly. My shadow chi had recovered fully overnight, and I used it sparingly, activating Fishing Instinct for one-two seconds at a time.

We caught our first fish on the fourth drag. It ended up being roughly the same size as yesterday, but I wasn’t distressed by that at all, having deliberately chosen the prey due to its size. I wanted something I could handle without much difficulty. It would take more time, strength and experience to take a proper shot at the living torpedoes further out in the river.

The reward from ORDER was practically the same as yesterday. And though it was monstrously generous by Rock’s standards, I accepted it as a given.

I was as empty as empty could be. And emptiness ought to be filled to the brim. I was merely being compensated for thirteen years of total disability.

And I was content to let the higher powers continue doing just that.

It wasn’t even noon and I had already caught a total of six fish in the same size range. But then our streak of fortune ended sharply. The kote moved away from shore for some reason—I was seeing them swarm the middle of the river branch, terrorizing schools of smaller fish. Too far for the spoonbait to reach given the crude design of my tackle.

Oh, if only I had a spinning rod with a thin cord and a decent reel. I would be stacking these beasts up by the dozen.

Hang on just a second... Why not make a spinning rod?! Indeed, I knew the general mechanism, and had a decent grasp of construction. I could try and craft one, or at least inquire in the fort about the possibility of making the cord out of something other than wild leek, which was too fat and wavy, twisting way too easily. And not nearly durable enough—I’d been forced to knit a new one every day.

Done with the fishing, I forced myself and Beko into another session of low-intensity physical exercises, then challenged him to a wrestling match. The rules were simple: whoever ends up on his back, loses the match. And no striking—we lacked the proper equipment to do it without risk of injury.

In the ensuing two minutes, Beko put me on my back three times. This was especially insulting given that he was shorter and well below my weight class, and couldn’t have been that far ahead of me in terms of his attribute levels. Clearly, amulet-boosted attributes weren’t anywhere near as effective as “the real thing.” But the ghoul also pulled off a few nifty moves that suggested he wasn’t a stranger to the sport.

“Where did you learn all that?” I couldn’t resist asking him.

“This guy taught me a few things when I lived at the outpost,” Beko said. “My hand-to-hand combat is at six as a result, and yours probably isn’t even unlocked.”

“Sixth tier?!” I gasped.

“Of course not. Sixth level.”

“I see... And how did you unlock the talent? Where did you get the personal talent mark?”

“I earned it practicing with that man. When you do something long enough, you get a mark eventually. But it takes time and effort.”

Oh really? Intrigued by the news, I wrestled Beko a few more times with no result, but the third time proved the truth of his words.

You have earned a Personal Talent Mark, Hand-to-Hand Combat x1

There wasn’t much I could do with this now, but it should prove handy in the future. The talent was universally useful, especially for someone like me, as without it I would forever remain the weakest of the weak. Commoners were fond of fisticuffs, and I had no choice but to live among them. Even Beko was out of my league, and before my arrival he was the resident loser.

Wrestling was a highly intensive activity, and before long we were both gassed. We found respite from the sun in the shade of a giant boulder. The weather was hot for a spring day, and the pebbled beach lacked any large vegetation. We snacked on leftover porridge we had kept from breakfast. The food was hardly delicious, but we hadn’t had any money left for anything better. In theory, we could get back and bank today’s haul, but I was going to do that later tonight. There was no point in flashing our wealth in the fort any more than absolutely necessary. Having left us indigent this morning, Guppy might find it suspicious that we were rolling in dough again after a day’s work. And I wanted to avoid any extra scrutiny.

The kote returned to the shore closer to dusk, and I managed to catch three more before calling it a day. Then, leaving Beko to guard the haul, I headed up to the fort.

There, I picked up two more empty baskets from Megaera and borrowed a couple of ceramic saucers, promising to return them forthwith. Then I roamed around the settlement for a bit until I found the Carps. The boys were sitting on their butts in the carpenter’s shop, debarking thin long twigs of a plant I didn’t recognize. It looked sort of like the shoots of a willow, only larger.

I couldn’t say that they were happy to see me, but they were in no hurry to hurl insults or throw punches. I was no longer just a mysterious stranger, but a valuable worker in the eyes of Ash. Messing with me was fraught with all kinds of problems.

“Hello, fellas,” I extended a polite greeting, peering into Satat’s eyes—two oceans of poorly concealed hatred diluted with wariness.

Before they had a chance to reply, I continued.

“Care for some kote? This much,” I spread out my palms to indicate half an arm’s length. “If you do, come down in half an hour. If you help us carry our baskets to the inn, we’ll pay you in fish. If you don’t, I can find other helpers.”

I turned around and headed back to Beko who was dressing our haul. We had to hurry, as he was putting the meat, scales, brains and liver on burdocks, which wasn’t very convenient.

We urgently needed some better containers.

Among many other things.

Today’s haul amounted to ten kote. Each weighed between seven to fifteen pounds. Small by local standards, but still roughly one hundred pounds all together. Well beyond the carrying capacity of me and Beko. I had no doubt that the perpetually hungry Carps wouldn’t resist such a tempting offer.

Granted, I could have enlisted more capable helpers, but why? Business relationships helped to elevate the level of tolerance, if not friendship. And whatever the future held, it would behoove me to have fewer enemies. Besides, these kids never caused me any harm, so there was no sense in carrying on this state of war. Sure, Beko had his own reasons to dislike them, but that was him. I had to think about myself first.

As the ghoul dealt with the fish, I took a seat on the shore and began processing my personal trophies. Here, too, each individual catch yielded nothing of significance, but taken together, it looked pretty solid. ORDER had been continuing to dispense better prizes for using a rare fishing method. I assumed that this would continue until someone else discovered the art of the spoonbait.

My list of acquisitions was impressive.

Greater Symbol of Chi x10

Greater Standard Talent Mark x10

Greater Standard Universal State x10

Lesser Symbol of Chi x59

Lesser Attribute Mark, Agility x9

Lesser Attribute Mark, Stamina x11

Lesser Attribute Mark, Strength x8

Standard Attribute Mark x9

Talent Mark, Scent of Blood x6

Talent Mark, Detect Poison x4

Talent Mark, Detect Traps x5

Lesser Standard Talent Mark x17

Lesser Personal Talent Mark, Fishing Instinct x8

I used the chi symbols straight away. The more of those I had in my reservoir, the more peace of mind I felt. And I shouldn’t forget about shadow chi. As the parameter grew, it would enable me to use Fishing Instinct with greater frequency.

The total amount now surpassed four hundred, meaning I was nearly at the halfway point to filling the reservoir. That went a long way towards not stressing about my leakage of chi. At the current pace, I had amassed several months’ worth of living.

For each fish caught with the spoonbait, the basket of ORDER’s prizes included one greater standard universal state. Each of those, in turn, added a quarter-point to the value of Equilibrium, which now exceeded five as a result. This meant I could now unlock not two attributes above the standard limit, but a whopping five.

Unfortunately, the situation with the attributes themselves was far less stellar. My Stamina was at ninety-seven points, a measly three points short of one hundred, which would bring Stamina to level two. And then my currently inactive Agility would acquire its own, first level.

I was a hair’s breadth away from obtaining three native attribute levels. This would be a significant milestone. A few more milestones like it and my life would no longer be tied to the inexorably discharging amulet.

But level two Stamina would have to wait until tomorrow. All I could handle tonight was dinner followed by a furious bout of negotiations with the innkeeper and Old Shimi. I hadn’t dealt with the latter yet, but I knew he was the fort’s procurer of inexpensive spices.

Kote brains may not be sizable, but you couldn’t say the same about their livers. We had accumulated five-six pounds of it already, and though neither Beko nor I lacked for appetite, the supply nonetheless far exceeded demand. Besides, it wouldn’t be healthy to choke on one food type, no matter how nutrient dense. Variety was also important.

Perhaps I could trade Shimi some of our liver reserves for other spices. Our developing bodies could use a little bit of everything—even better, a lot of everything. And if the trade didn’t pan out, I’d swap the livers for some squares, and take those to the innkeeper. He had some spices for sale as well, so that would be my plan B.

And if I had any money left over, I would pay a visit to Guppy the following morning, which was becoming a kind of tradition. A part of my morning routine. I planned on asking him about a possible alternative to wild leek in relation to cord making. If the kote were to start ignoring the shore again, I’d need a lighter tackle that could be cast further.

I could also use a new spoonbait, one that was half the size of my current stock. I had observed an interesting phenomenon when smallish kote would notice the bait and follow it all the way to the shore, but wouldn’t bite. There were two possible explanations: either they suspected foul play, or the bait was too large for them. If the issue was indeed size, then solving it should drastically improve our success rate.

Chapter 22

Force Majeure

No Stat Changes

Morning greeted me with an unpleasant surprise. I had expected to wake up with four hundred twenty-two points of chi in my reservoir, or perhaps one point less. Instead, I was looking at four hundred nineteen.

This confirmed the glimmer of suspicion that had been gnawing at me since yesterday. Either my chi was starting to leak at a faster pace, or the pace of leakage hinged on the quantity of the chi. In other words, the more chi I had, the stronger the pressure on the reservoir, resulting in greater losses.

I wasn’t exactly one step from nullification, but the dynamic nature of the process was worrying. I decided not to use any chi symbols today. Plus, I had hoped to raise Agility and Stamina today, which would consume two hundred chi from my reservoir. I was curious to see if the sharp reduction would impact the pace of the leakage in any way.

Guppy left me without a lion’s share of my hard-earned squares. Instead, I had availed myself of a wooden roller with thread that was hard and smooth to the touch. Less than a millimeter thick, it was crafted from the web of some tropical spider, the cosmic price reflecting its durability and resistance to tears. Moreover, it wasn’t affected by dampness, and its light color made it inconspicuous in water. The thread was often used for surgery, jewel-crafting, shoemaking and other industries, including fishing. Specifically, it was considered the finest material with which to make fishing line, thanks to properties that didn’t scare away the sea dwellers. Most didn’t notice it at all, thinking that the bait was floating on its own.

In addition to the roller, I got a couple of thin strips of copper and bronze and then spent two hours fashioning one of them into  a primitive gyrating contraption with bent corners facing the opposite ways. Back in my first childhood, I had watched my grandfather pull in plenty of bass and pike with it, though all my efforts had usually yielded just weeds, or worse, branches of trees overhanging the river. In short, I was utterly terrible at it.

Then again, that river had been of middling fishing quality. Too much industry in the area, poor environmental conditions, and enough fishing enthusiasts to keep the supply of fish perpetually low. Granddad recalled better times, when none of those problems existed, and the pikes filling the river were large enough to scare away skinny-dippers, especially the male kind. And Blackriver had similar conditions, perhaps even better—at least for my purposes. I was set on redeeming my childhood failures.

I cracked a dry branch with a knife, then took one half and cut it into a winding board. Laying fishing line on it would certainly beat manually coiling it onto a small reel.

Oh, but I wish I had a spinning reel... Even the crudest, most basic one would do. Perhaps I could even manage to craft one someday, in the distant future, having availed myself of the right materials and skill. But today, I knew perfectly well that I couldn’t create anything even remotely decent that wouldn’t fall apart after a few casts or survive a duel against a ten-pound kote.

ORDER had rewarded all of my efforts with a personal talent mark, Novice Blacksmith. Evidently, it had finally caught on that the tackle had nothing to do with ornaments, so raising my Jeweler skill was an ill-fitting prize.

It was impressive how quickly it adapted and learned. Of course, a nitpicker might point out that blacksmithing still had little to do with the work I had been engaged in.

But I was content to let the matter rest. Another starting mark was a cause for joy, fair or not.

* * *

The fishing session began with a tangled cord. Thin as it was, I was unaccustomed to handling it. It took a lot of time—and even more effort to resist the temptation to cut it up into tiny little pieces.

The first trouble was quickly followed by the next. Upon using my fishing instinct to pick out a fish that seemed to be behaving like a kote, though on a smaller end, I cast the line. Before too long and after a bit of resistance, I pulled the prey onto the beach.

It was indeed small, barely over six-seven pounds. My tackle-changing tactic seemed to be working. Now, sure, smaller kote weren’t as lucrative as their larger brethren, but on the plus side, there were much more of them in the shallows, and they were easier to pull out. Case in point, I’d been able to drag this one out without even bothering with the block.

ORDER’S revised rewards, however, left much to be desired.

You have caught a kote using a rare method. You have dealt significant damage to the kote. You have dealt fatal damage to the kote. The kote is dead. You have defeated the kote (1st Degree Enlightenment).

You receive:

Rare Method

Medium Symbol of Chi x1

Medium Standard Talent Mark x1

Medium Standard Universal State x1

Kote Defeated!

Lesser Symbol of Chi x4

Lesser Attribute Mark, Agility x1

Lesser Attribute Mark, Strength x1

Talent Mark, Detect Traps x1

Lesser Standard Talent Mark x1

Personal Talent Mark, Fishing Instinct x1

The fact that a smaller kote earned fewer rewards was expected. But downgrading the method from ultra-rare to just rare was a surprise. And an unpleasant one at that, as the downgrade translated to serious inferior rewards.

Yesterday I had caught ten kote, and I couldn’t point to any significant changes from yesterday to today. Assuming that ORDER was keen on the decimal system, after fishing ten more, the rare method might become something even less prestigious, and so would the rewards. If there’ll be any rewards at all...

This sucks. I had been counting on quickly raising my states to cosmic heights. It had seemed so simple: fishing peacefully to my heart’s content, enjoying the fresh breeze while chewing on leak stalks, and piling up the strategic rewards.

On the other hand, talent marks were far more valuable to me at this time, and ORDER was still rather generous with those. What others earned for a full day of arduous labor, I was netting for each kote caught, no matter how small.

“Something the matter?” Beko asked.

“Why do you ask?” I wondered.

“You’re staring into the distance. As if you’re seeing something I’m not.”

“That is true. I see a great many things.”

“Tell me? I’m curious what’s there to be seen.”

“I see us catching around twenty kote like this one. Maybe even thirty.”

“This one is kind of small.”

“True, but they’re easy to pull ashore. And there’s going to be twenty of them. Maybe thirty. We can hand in enough baskets today to give us a week’s worth of leisure.”

“What’s a leisure?”

“You know, not having to do anything. Haven’t you ever just lazed around, doing nothing?”

“No. There was always something to do.”

“So you’re a workaholic, eh, Beko?”

“What’s a workaholic?”

“Mm-hmm, there are some serious gaps in your education, my friend. But fear not, I’m going to help you fill them. Go ahead and prep the baskets and the knife. We’re going to have a large haul, since the river is full of fish that are crazy for our new bait.”

* * *

The promised twenty were caught by lunchtime. I had also confirmed my assumption from before. The worst version of it, unfortunately: the ORDER had ceased to award rare-method bonuses after ten catches. I now had to content myself with the prizes awarded for fish alone, which, in all honesty, were still extraordinarily generous. Most people couldn’t dare think of earning such fortunes in their boldest dreams, but my beast had already grown accustomed to luxury, and this sudden shift was akin to downgrading from color television back to black-and-white.

Having quickly secured the three planned attribute gains, I now boasted two points in Agility and one in Stamina. This opened up the option to unlock a couple of new talents, but I was in no hurry to do so. This was a serious step that called for serious analysis before making any decisions.

For instance, in my utter ignorance, I had no idea whether these talents could be unlearned at any point in the future so as to make room for something better. Despite mother’s best efforts, my homeschooling had been rather deficient. Many topics had been left uncovered, or mentioned only passingly, without delving into details. Even crucial ones like the amulet, which remained to me a mystery wrapped in an enigma. Charging it even to comically low values cost an arm and a leg, and our family budget had been in a state of chronic corrosion as a result. But now, all of a sudden it had refilled itself for several months ahead, and with a powerful stat boost besides.

How could this happen? Who directed this process? If I remembered my lessons correctly, chi was a blind force. Its streams flowed along channels which could only be manipulated by the mind—or the animal instinct—of a creature of the ORDER.

I would have to wait until tomorrow. For now, spending 200 units to develop 2 attributes had decently reduced the chi in my reservoir. Now, I would watch to see if the leak slowed or not.

* * *

Disaster struck at the twenty-third fish. The first twenty-two had been a breeze to pull out, their seven-eight pounds of weight hardly an exertion even for me. Kote were powerful creatures, but when securely hooked, you needed no more than a few minutes to drag them ashore.

Everything was going fine at first. Upon feeling the bite, I pulled on the cord, puncturing the fish’s maw with the rough iron hook. Then, ignoring the disturbed kote’s protests, I began to spin right to left, winding the cord over my torso. It felt a bit silly impersonating a giant spool, but it kept my hands intact and the cord untangled.

A powerful force knocked me off my feet. I skidded forward a few yards, ending up in the cold water as I dug my heels instinctively into the sand. The braking effort worked, but it took all of my strength to resist the force from pulling me into the river. It was as though a tractor was dragging me forward. My feet were starting to unearth rocks, signaling that my “anchors” were operating on borrowed time.

What the hell?! This is a common kote, not a great white!

I activated Fishing Instinct for a few seconds, and almost cursed in a long-abandoned tongue from my first life.

The reason for my indignation was obvious: instead of a ten-pound kote, I had a veritable living log thrashing on the other end of the line, a monster no less than seven feet long. I recognized the creature right away. Aside from the cold water, it was these vile things that dissuaded the fort’s inhabitants from opening beach season.

The beast was significantly larger than the fish from which I had begun my angling career. Only where had it come from? I had been looking at the water just moments ago, and hadn’t noticed anything near its size.

But that was idle curiosity to be entertained later. For now, I had work to do.

The block wouldn’t be of any use. I had already wound the cord several times around my midriff, and besides, the stake wouldn’t hold. The fish was too huge, too strong. Even if the stake were firmly secured deep in the sand, it would rip it out with ease.

“Beko!!!” I bellowed.

“What?” the ghoul exclaimed.

“Hold on to me!”

“How?!”

“Literally hold me! It’s trying to pull me in!”

“Is it large?”

“Larger than the very first one!”

“Woot! Ged caught a big one!”

“It’s not so clear who’s caught whom yet!”

The fish pulled again, dragging me another yard into the water, my heels leaving large burrows in the sand. Beko followed, holding on to my shoulders with both hands.

This is going to end badly for us.

“Get on my feet!” I yelled.

“How?!”

“Literally,  stand on my feet and push them into the sand! Harder! I’m braking with my heels! Help me dig my heels in!”

I kept screaming, trying to express the same message in every way possible, until Beko finally grasped it. He climbed up on my shins with his bare feet, then crouched, holding on to the back of my head. There was nothing else to hold on to, and our balance wasn’t steady. We continued in this precarious position for several seconds.

“It can’t pull us now!” Beko exclaimed triumphantly, staring unblinkingly at the cord, taut like a cello string.

“You haven’t felt its true strength yet,” I said tensely.

I should have kept quiet. The next moment the fish jerked with such force that I nearly shrieked with pain, as the cord wrapped around my body dug into my flesh. I felt as though it was cutting me to pieces.

Thankfully, the cord slackened after several seconds, no longer pulled by anything.

Pushing Beko off of me unceremoniously, I scampered back to land and began pulling out the cord hastily, laying it out on the ground. I didn’t bother pulling out the dangling orphaned end of the cord, but began wriggling out of my wet clothes. The day was gloomy and the water wasn’t as warm as one might expect on a late spring day, as evidenced by my chattering teeth.

“Where is the fish?” Beko asked, baffled, as he followed my lead in removing his wet clothes.

“No fish for us,” I replied in a quivering voice, dancing a jig to warm myself up. “The damned thing ripped the cord.”

“We should have been using wild leek. It’s tougher. And free,” the ghoul sighed.

“It wouldn’t have helped. Not this time, anyway. This kote was much too big for us.”

I noticed Beko staring at something behind me, fear filling his eyes.

It all made sense when I turned around and saw the Carps, in full force. Even Romris was with them—the cousin of the leader of this band of ragamuffins.

The first thought that unwittingly came to mind was that, upon seeing us dancing buck-naked on the beach, the crew had decided to exact their vengeance on us at last, and that things were about to get hairy. But it soon became obvious that they meant no harm. Though not exactly beaming with warmth and friendliness, they showed no signs of aggression.

“Fishing?” Romris asked glumly.

I nodded, teeth still chattering.

“A huge kote bit. Ended up ripping our tackle.”

“Pray to ORDER that it chokes on your stone and croaks,” Romris declared mockingly, then spun around and made for the awning.

“Will you need help hauling baskets today?” Satat inquired warily.

I hadn’t felt this cold since... Well, ever. Yes, I’d never felt this kind of cold. So I half-spoke, half-howled my reply.

“Yes, we will. And if you get a fire going here soon, I’ll give you a whole kote, larger than my arm’s length. Two of them, even. But we need a big fire. And we need it right away. Like, as soon as yesterday. And we need to cook a pot of kote brain soup. The hotter, the better. And some tea.”

I was ready to jump into a pot of boiling water. At least the wind down here wasn’t strong, or I’d have frozen to death by now.

* * *

The impact of my development of not one, but two freshly unlocked attribute levels was manifest. My body’s reactions were much more sensitive to the changes of laws governed by ORDER. I felt a kind of drowsy stupefaction, my body shaking violently even after being wrapped with thick and grimy burlap graciously brought over by one of the Carps. I sat there, staring stupidly into the bonfire, eating when served roast fish on twig skewers, and drinking when served brain soup. Straight out of the bowl for want of spoons.

I had a vague memory of Romris coming by again, questioning me about my fishing methods, trying to suss out how we had managed to catch so many kote using only a stone with a hook. Me being in no condition to divert and deflect, it fell on Beko to carry the load. Not known for his eloquence and brilliance, the ghoul came up with some half-assed theory about my being a mage on account of knowing how to read and write. And that I had some secret talent that, when activated, compelled kote to obey me. Pure drivel, but it seemed to satisfy the seasoned angler, as the questions eventually stopped.

The tactical victory must have empowered Beko, for after Romris left, he went on the offensive against the Carps, recalling old grievances and insinuating that our nocturnal act of vengeance hadn’t sufficiently made up for them. All the while, he would grab his bundle of rags periodically and declare with spite that, lest anybody forget, it belonged to him.

In short, he was as Beko as Beko could be.

I didn’t recall how I’d ended up in the cellar. But it was only there, spread out on a thin sheet of hay laid out by Beko, that I came to terms with the unpleasantness of my situation.

It wasn’t the cold that had drained me of my strength. No, I had fallen sick. And that was serious. Very serious. In this world, individuals with my parameters died in infancy. And for those that didn’t, even a hint of the sniffles could kill them.

Spring water was a perfidious thing. And I had taken a dip in it twice over several days.

And that second dip was one too many.

Chapter 23

Minus One to Life and a Bad Raft

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (201/888)

Shadow: 201

Attributes:

Stamina: level 2, 112 points

Strength: level 0, 31 points

Agility: level 1, 83 points

Perception: NA, 50 points

Spirit: NA, 50 points

Talents:

Fishing Instinct (tier 2): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (6.31): level 6

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.5): level 0

My state of delirium persisted for two days. Most of the time I spent in dreamless sleep, and when I woke, it would take me some time to realize where I was. These stretches of slumber were interspersed with short bouts of manic activity. I would leap out of bed, gorge on food and drink, then rush to do this thing or that—until the kill switch struck again, taking me back out of commission.

On the evening of the third day, I opened my eyes and finally felt OK. Not at all like a beached jellyfish or a corpse being shocked with electricity by a team of paramedics who can’t help but laugh at its comical convulsions.

Though I was still far from perfect health, the sickness had clearly abated, leaving behind ordinary weakness that I welcomed almost with joy.

Indeed, the weakness had a pleasant feel to it. It was the weakness of an organism that had embarked on a path of recovery, aiming to remind its master not to interfere with the process.

The cellar had a single source of light: a tiny dormer window almost at the ground level. At night we covered it with a thick mat that Beko had woven out of stalks of wild leek, which filled the space with the plant’s acrid smell. Sort of similar to garlic, though not quite that.

The window was closed, the crude shutter clearly visible. But how? At this time of night, the cellar was steeped in darkness so thick, you could cut it with a knife. A cage of fireflies could disperse it, but its luminescence was cold and faint, not at all like this one.

I turned and saw the source of the unusual illumination. Hoisted atop a pine billet was a clay bowl filled with oil or some other burning substance. A tiny tongue of flame rose from the wick peeking out of the bowl. The light it was giving off, though modest, was sufficient to scatter the darkness to the corners of our equally modest dwelling.

Beko bent over me, extending a cup. “Drink, Ged. To the last drop. Don’t spill any, like last time. This cost a whole fifteen squares.”

“Fifteen squares?” I frowned. “Then this should be made of gold. Only it smells like manure.”

“It’s not made of manure. It’s made of special spices, roots and herbs. Bilessa brewed it especially for you. You must drink the whole thing.”

The potion tasted no better than it smelled. Still, fifteen squares was a small fortune, and there was no way I was going to let it go to waste. Grimacing and fighting back nausea, I drank it all down as ordered, to the last drop.

“Got any water?”

“Bilessa said not to give you water after the potion. Want some jerky instead?”

“Just help me get the taste of this shit out of my mouth. I don’t care what with.”

“That’s great! It means you’re hungry!” Beko said joyously. “When people are dying, they’re not hungry. So you’re not dying. I’m glad.”

“Not as glad as me, pal. But what happened to me? What kind of illness was it?” I asked, smacking my lips with avarice, as if I’d never seen food before in my life.

“The river is very cold. You’re very weak and shouldn’t get so cold. Bilessa says that when a weak person gets cold, that opens up invisible doors inside him for forces of evil to go through. They probably came with the demons during the invasion, and stayed. Some folks here said that you got pestilence, and refused to be anywhere near you. But when your skin didn’t develop sores, they calmed down.”

“Have I been lying here for three days?”

“Yes, today is the third.”

“That’s not good. Where did you get all those squares?”

“When I realized your bad condition, I gave all the fish to Megaera, and sold all the brains and livers. The squares went towards the drugs, and the fish bought us time. I was afraid we’d get sent back to the shed. It’s too cold and damp there, especially when it rains. It would complicate your recovery.”

“Thanks, Beko. You did all the right things. How many baskets did it come down to?”

“Seven. We’ve got four more days in reserve. I think.”

“You’re not sure?”

“I don’t do math very well,” Beko lowered his eyes.

“No worries, I’ll teach you.”

“Really? That would be great. When you do math well, you’re less likely to get duped. You’re the one doing the duping.”

“I don’t appreciate the generalizing. But your math is good—we do have four days in reserve.”

“Maybe even more. Now that you’re on your way to full recovery, I can leave your bedside and work. There’s no danger of your harming yourself while delirious.”

“More wild leek? Did you forget, Beko? You and I are winners, and winners can’t be bothered with wild leek.”

“Not wild leek, no. Hornflower is in bloom, and everyone is out gathering it. Even miners,” Beko said with casual conviction, as if fully expecting me to understand everything perfectly.

Naturally, my level of understanding was lacking.

“Hornflower? What are you talking about?”

“You don’t know?” Beko gasped, astonished. “Oh, right, you’ve only just arrived here. Hornflower is plentiful on the left bank of Blackriver, and it blooms in late spring. Only for several days, and that’s it. Flowers are a good spice. Expensive. Probably the most expensive spice that’s also easy to get, since anyone can pick them. So while hornflower is in bloom, all other work is put on hold. Even the mine isn’t operating—everyone is out picking hornflower. Even the patrols! Ash himself would be picking it if he could leave the fort unattended. It’s almost completely empty, all the people are on the left bank. That’s where I’m going, too. To pick hornflower. Nobody is going to tell us to fish. Fish can wait, but hornflower cannot. The fort has enough food reserves that people won’t go hungry.”

“Now I understand. It’s a seasonal gig, then. I’m not sure I’ll feel good enough tomorrow to join you.”

“Nobody expects you to. You need bed rest. You’re barely keeping your eyes open. Sleep. You need lots of sleep.”

* * *

I woke up again closer to afternoon. The bowl of oil wasn’t burning anymore, but the sunlight filtering through the mat’s hollows signaled that dawn had arrived long ago.

Only faint echoes remained of yesterday’s debility. Yet, even those were enough to make me realize that I ought not try to be a hero today.

I rummaged in the pouch hanging off the ceiling—the simplest method of securing our meager food reserves from the ubiquitous mice. Stale bread, fried fish, and a lump of cold porridge wrapped in a burdock leaf. A modest meal, but it gave me more pleasure than any in recent memory.

Leaving not a morsel of food uneaten, I decided that further bed rest in a dark and dusty cellar was a lousy idea. The weather outside was lovely, and I could use the sun and the fresh air. Besides, I could take the time to replace the lost tackle with another one, or maybe even several. The remaining copper plates should suffice, as long as I didn’t obsess over size.

And I wouldn’t. The larger the bait, the larger the predator it attracts. It wasn’t the tiny spoonbait that had enticed the giant kote responsible for knocking me out of commission. The beast had attacked one of its younger brethren that I was pulling to shore. A veritable croc like that would never pounce on a tiny piece of metal—the bite-sized morsel just wouldn’t be worth the effort.

My plans to come out to my favorite spot on the wall were shattered the moment I walked outside, nearly fainting from the sun’s rays. The weather was just about perfect, neither too hot nor too cold. With my feet working and my head clear, I didn’t need to be stuck here amid the fort’s cluttered structures. The ambiance wasn’t amazing, and instead of the fragrance of spring tickling the nostrils, I was smelling far less pleasant things, from chimney fumes to shit wafting in from the direction of the cesspit.

I took my time down to the path to the pebbled beach, discovering subtle changes once there. Drying in the fishing shed were the fort’s nets. All of them. I had never seen so many at once. Until now, all the nets had been set in shifts: some at night, some in the morning, some at noon. I didn’t know the logic behind such a system, having simply noted the facts on the ground.

I didn’t see the boats, either. There had been two in all: the small one had been regularly used for fishing, while the large one had been stored on the beach, overturned. Tracks of the vessel being dragged to the water were still clear on the beach.

So where were they now?

The missing boats weren’t in the channels hugging the island. Nor under the bluff on the right bank. It took quite a bit of head-swiveling as I traversed the beach to spot them. There, on my left, the two boats stood in a tiny bay, obscured by beds of short reeds, bows burrowed in the sand. I couldn’t spot anything else. No humans, no movement amid the reeds.

Recalling Beko’s words from earlier, I surmised that the boats had been utilized to transport folks to gather hornflower. And that the gatherers should be doing just that somewhere along the left bank. Same as my partner.

I didn’t know how to get there, but it wasn’t in my plans, anyway. Coming down the mountain had confirmed that my strength was returning, but it was too early to claim total victory over my illness. Instead, I should sit and rest while enjoying the sun and the fresh air, which should aid my recovery, and craft some tackle besides. The best I could hope for, after letting my feet rest, was to walk down to the end of the beach. The pebbles there were of the smaller, finer variety, and the water was almost entirely free of snags and large rocks. If I felt strong enough, I could even try and fish out a few smaller kote with minimal risk of stumbling onto a mature one.

I could go there now, actually. There, I could activate Fishing Instinct from time to time, while working on the tackle, and observe the lives of the river dwellers in precisely that location. It would be useful to confirm whether my conjectures were correct. Besides, the more I knew about Blackriver and its residents, the better.

* * *

I took my time crafting the first tackle. There was nothing to be gained by rushing—frail as I was, I needed to take it easy to avoid any setbacks in my recovery. So I worked on the tackle instead, chiseling the little jig and adorning it with filigree that would merit even grandpa’s approval. I could almost see the sparkling disk gyrating in the water, propeller-like, as I dragged it slowly across. The only thing it was missing was a treble hook. Guppy only had the basic single variety in stock, which resulted in too many missed bites. Good thing kote were a stubborn species. Once one set its sights on its prey, it didn’t let up until it was hooked.

The leisurely nature of the work allowed for distractions. I paused regularly, casting casual glances this way and that, occasionally activating the talent to note the creatures hiding below the water’s surface.

While I was polishing the tackle with small stones that crumbled under the thumb if you pressed too hard, something alien caught the corner of my eye.

I rose to get a better look. The visual was indeed unusual. Floating down Blackriver was a raft. A clumsy contraption of crags, flimsily held together with rope. Rising in the center was something resembling a soccer goal, each “goal post” held up by braces on either side. Or something else that served as structural support, for the crossbar was bearing a hefty load.

Two human bodies.

Already past its zenith, the sun perfectly illuminated every detail of the gruesome scene. Even as I wished that it didn’t.

The bodies looked to be in bad shape. All the signs pointed to posthumous torture or the kind of death you wouldn’t wish on your worst enemy. Fingers, ears and noses severed, eye-sockets empty and skulls bare, the skin missing from the heads and other body parts. Some spots had been flayed in large patches, others cut in narrow strips.

I had heard plenty of scary stories about the Wild Wood. Yet, aside from the momentous crossing that had taken place not even in the wood itself but at its border, nothing terrible had befallen me or anyone I knew. Life here, though not without its complications, simply wasn’t the nightmare that the folks outside advertised it to be.

At least that had been my thinking until I saw the raft and its passengers. A nightmare it was, indeed.

My nerves of steel kept me steady where others might have fainted at the ghastly sight. Instead, I focused on the raft’s movement, estimating its trajectory. The current should carry it down the right channel, no more than twenty yards from the beach. But it might as well be floating underneath the bluff all the way across—I wouldn’t have a shot at stopping it either way.

Yet, I had to try and stop it somehow. Ash would want to take a look at this spectacle, wicked and rare as it was. In all the days I had spent fishing in the river, I had never seen a craft crewed by disfigured corpses.

The were no boats on the beach, but even if there were, I couldn’t handle even a small one on my own. So I did the only thing I could do: I gunned toward the fort, waving my arms while hoping that the sudden physical exertion wouldn’t result in a setback. The bridge tower was always manned with a pair of guards that shouldn’t miss a solitary figure dashing frantically on an open beach.

I shouted, too. The day was practically windless, so they might actually hear me from here.

Was it my imagination or were they waving back at me? Indeed, they were.

I threw up my left hand overhead while pointing with the right to the boat, which had almost made it to the start of the beach. Assuming the guards on duty weren’t total morons, they should realize that something was amiss with the floating gallows. Myopia wasn’t common in Rock—they should be able to discern the bodies dangling off the crossbar.

A minute later, a small delegation emerged on the top of the path: Ash and a solitary guard, older and fatter than any I remembered seeing. Beko wasn’t kidding about the fort’s entire population leaving to harvest hornflower. The big man himself was coming, and essentially without reinforcements.

I waited for them to descend, then pointed again at the raft.

“Those are dead bodies.”

“And here we thought they were revelers,” Ash snapped without stopping, then turned to the guard. “Maddox, grab a fishing pole and get to Falcon’s Stone. Looks like the raft will either crash into it or pass right by. Try to intercept it. I’ll wait on the opposite side, to the right of the awning, in case it shifts direction.”

Rushing to keep up, I decided to intervene.

“No, the raft won’t come near the shore. There’s a stretch of underwater rocks that directs the current away. It’s heading right to where the big fish is splashing, see it? From there, it should crash into the base of the cliff. That’s the best spot to wait for it. If you can’t intercept it there, it’ll be gone.”

“Nonsense,” Maddox objected. “Falcon’s Stone is further into the river.”

“The boy knows the river,” Ash noted. “You go on to Falcon’s Stone, but I’ll set up at the base of the cliff, like he said. If the raft ends up floating past, he’s getting the lash as punishment. He badly needs it to reign in that loose tongue of his.”

Once again, initiative on my part was swiftly punished.

* * *

The raft worked out like a charm. Just as I had said it would. I had watched Blackriver day after day, and so could not help but notice the garbage carried downriver by the current. All pieces of trash, large and small, behaved in a predictable manner.

Ash snagged the raft with a wooden boat hook, pulling it towards the rocks before the current swept it under the massive vertical rock that served as the trading post’s foundation.

I pointed to the inscription adorning the crossbar. “‘All shall suffer, who come to the land of the Emperor of Pain.’ Looks to me like it’s written in blood.”

“You can read?” Ash narrowed his eyes.

“Nah, I just guessed what it said, because of the blood.”

“You certainly know how to beat around the bush. It’s distracting. Cut it out. Tell no one about anything you’ve seen here, understand?”

I nodded silently, but could not resist pressing. “What’s in their mouths?”

“What do you mean?”

I pointed at the nearest body. “They look gagged somehow, and something is jutting out of their mouths. I doubt it’s their tongues.”

Ash quietly moved to the raft, grabbed the support bar holding up the morbid crossbar with one hand and unsheathed his dagger with the other. Then, he used his blade to force the corpse’s mouth open. A revolting mass fell out, like a lump of insects held together by sappy mucus.

That instant, Maddox began to vomit and moan. “Chaos take me, what’s that in his mouth?”

Ash crouched down and examined the slimeball. His voice betrayed no passion. “They stuffed his mouth full of hornflowers.”

“That one on the right looks like Savi,” Max said tremulously. “I saw his hand all crooked like that, back when he was felling trees near Greenridge last year. He was saving up some money for a healer. Told me his thumb had trouble obeying him and that his wrist was in agony. Now, at least, the agony is gone...”

“He and Gamus set out just the day before yesterday,” Ash ruminated.

Maddox nodded. “Gamus told everyone that he knew where the best hornflower fields were located. And they told him not to be foolish. ‘Don’t go far from the water’s edge,’ they said, ‘especially not overnight.’ Gamus never was one to take advice. This might be him. But it’s too hard to tell for sure.”

“Whoever did this is still nearby,” I added, “and they did this so we would find them, in the clear of day.”

“What do you mean?” Ash asked without turning.

“These men have been dead for a long time now. Ten hours or more. Rigor mortis has set in. Wherever they were strung up like this, their bodies were still fresh. The killers stuffed flowers in their mouths and tied their jaws shut with something. Once the rigor mortis arrived, that something was removed. I don’t know why. Look, you can see the marks of the ropes here. Without them, their jaws wouldn’t be so tightly closed. Then, the raft was carefully pushed so that it would hit exactly this spot. Whoever did this knows this river well. They also knew, then, that they could not send the raft on its journey from too far away. So they pushed it off from somewhere close. There are no signs here of axes or saws; the raft is made of branches bound together. The kind of construction that doesn’t make much noise. I bet a quick search of the left bank would discover the place they build it.”

“Just speculation,” Ash murmured, “but it’s good thinking. Where did you learn to read?”

“Down south. I had a decent family.”

“You were no pauper, I can see that. But listen: not a word about any of this to anyone.”

“I understand. But all of our people are over there, along the river. Including Beko. They have no idea that—”

“They’ll find out soon enough, kid. This timing is quite unfortunate.”

“You’re telling me,” Maddox replied. “Hornflower season has just arrived. Our harvesters won’t be able to go anywhere without armed escort.”

“Keep an eye on the raft. I’m heading back up, and I’ll send Zeir your way, with burlap. Take the bodies down and wrap them up, then bring them back up. No one is to see this display. Once you’re done, push the raft off and let it float freely down, all the way to Redriver. Not a word to anyone, you understand? If our people start filling their ears with rumors about the emperor of pain and hornflower harvester hunters and whatnot, I’ll know whose tongue to come and cut out. Hey, Ged! Where are you off to?”

“I don’t have any orders, and we’ve still got time until evenfall. So I’m off to try and catch a few fat kotes.”

“You hear that, Maddox? He’s going to try catching a kote! You’ve got some bollocks, kid, fishing in waters bearing bad omens like this.”

I shrugged. “The dead don’t attack the living. The ones who killed them can’t reach us, either. They’d have to reach this sandbar somehow, so we’d see them in the water. Even when they come up on the sand, they’d be in plain sight. Unless they’re small enough to use the wild leek for cover.”

“You’re too smart for your own good.”

“Thanks. I always try to learn.”

“Then learn this: You’re not in the South anymore. This is Blackriver. They named this stretch of water Blackriver because it’s always full of black blood. Always. Also, the dead in this land are not always as peaceful as they are in the South. Anything can happen here. Everything is to be feared, unless you want to die young. Now head back up, right away, and down into your cellar. Keep out of sight until dinner. They say you’re sick—you’re not out harvesting hornflower, after all. So go and recover. I don’t want to see you down here again for the rest of the day.”

Chapter 24

Magical Skills and Sundries

No Stat Changes

Ash’s orders put me in a strange situation. There was plenty of time before dinner—and nothing for me to do. Yet I was not lazy. I absolutely had to occupy myself with something.

To start, I climbed up the northern wall, which gave me a wonderful view of the left riverbank. The bank to which most of the inhabitants of the trading post had gone.

No matter how much I looked, I didn’t see a single person. The forest was gloomy and dense on that side. Only in a few places was it interrupted by tiny elliptical floodplain lakes mostly covered with reeds and cattails. Even with good binoculars, I would have probably been unable to spot people through the dense thickets.

If they were even near the water. The terrain began to rise about half a mile inland. The rare deciduous trees and spruces gradually gave way to pines and cedars as the land climbed towards the sky. Low hills rose in the distance, checkered with large open spaces. Just below the horizon, the hills grew into the peaks of a mountain range running from east to west.

Beko and the others would not reach the ridge, of course. That would require a journey of several days, at least. However, the start of the hills was only an hour away. I had no idea what biomes hornflower preferred to inhabit. Perhaps it hated damp lowlands, and so the harvesters had to climb far away from the river.

None of them had any idea as of now that their numbers had been reduced. Two of them had perished, at the hand of a mighty and malicious enemy.

Was that enemy approaching the others now? I felt unsafe, even here, surrounded by walls. Ash had pushed for the maximum number of harvesters today, to take advantage of the advent of hornflower blooming season. Hardly anyone remained in the trading post. Even the raft bearing its bloated bodies had not been noticed immediately, despite the sentries’ duties of keeping watch on the river.

If the enemy assassins are strong enough in number, they could swim to the sandbar and charge up an entirely unprotected approach. They might not even be noticed until the end. From my vantage point, I could only see one watchman in the tower. The other had descended to help with the bodies. Any attackers might have been able to enter the trading post without any trouble.

Ash certainly understood this as well as I do—so he had ordered me to stay up here. Once the bodies were dealt with, the guards would close the main gate.

That thought settled my nerves. As long as the imaginary approaching force was a small band, not an army, they would be unable to overcome us.

Or at least that was what I wanted to believe. I did not entertain the thought that the villains might have warriors as strong as Camai. For men like Camai, a wall two human-heights tall was no real obstacle.

In the world of Rock, even a solitary warrior could accomplish much. As long as you sufficiently developed the gifts the ORDER gave you.

And so, those gifts would occupy my time now. I would figure out the state of things, what I needed to improve, and in what priority.

My base chi reservoir was at 888, with 3 attributes filled to the max, one talent, and 6 Equilibrium levels. Everything else was inactive and thus had no effect on me whatsoever.

The 888 units was excellent. Most of the natives only had a few hundred, and expanding that reservoir was very difficult—and for some, downright impossible. I didn’t have to worry about my chi reservoir.

The leakage, though, was a different story. The powers that be were stealing several points of chi from me every day. Was there any way for me to stop this drain? I only knew of one possible way, and I wasn’t sure that it would work in my case.

This way was to fill the reservoir to the max so that I could advance to the next degree. None of the natives experienced this leak. Their chi was always increasing, restored over time. If they avoided spending chi on attributes and talents, they could easily reach degree 7 or 8 by age 15. They would have a handicapped character, of course—but hypothetically, it was possible.

So, getting a complete set of chi was no problem. It was after this that problems could begin. Right now, I was a big fat zero, an empty void, which the ORDER was trying to fill. If I reached 1st Degree, it might begin to consider me a normal person—after which I would have to catch kotes for days just to earn a single +1 to an attribute. I would have to live the way that ordinary people did.

Worst of all, that might not stop the leak.

Meaning that I might lose my increased chi production without gaining any compensation. I would have to take steps, but not yet. Talents were not yet requiring this value to increase, and nor were my attributes.

I could shelve all Enlightenment progress, for now.

Now, three attribute levels was nothing impressive. Normal restrictions at 1st Degree allowed six. But my Equilibrium level doubled this maximum. At this pace, I would have to work for a long time in order to reach that maximum. Depending on what kind of rewards I got. Sadly the standard attribute marks—which could be used on any of the five attributes—did not drop very often.

Not that I had anything to complain about. If I had my prices right, one standard mark was worth enough to buy a cow or two. The natives hardly ever saw such trophies.

Stamina had a clear lead, for now. It kept receiving the biggest boosts. I saw no reason to hinder the growth of this attribute. It was useful for everything. The higher my Stamina, the stronger my Health was, and the better my general chances of survival.

Strong Health was never a bad thing. I would allow my Stamina to keep growing.

My States looked at once good and bad. An Equilibrium level of 6 was good. I doubted that Camai’s Equilibrium was any higher than 2 or 3—and by the standards of the North, Camai was considered a strong fighter. Plus, I had unlocked Enhanced Enlightenment, too. It still had not reached level 1, but I was in no rush for that. All that stat did, after all, was increase the capacity of my chi reservoir, and I did not need that. It would come in handy in the future. I would be happy to strengthen my Perception and Spirit, but for the time being, that was also unnecessary. Nor were Mana Regen and Combat Energy Regen important—I couldn’t use either of them yet.

I would be happy to advance my Chi Shadow number, though. The higher my Chi Shadow, the faster I would regenerate the energy needed for Fishing Instinct. Without that, though, a couple hundred points were good enough for a full day, if I used them wisely. And those points could regenerate fully during the night. Still, I could not deny that I’d like to stop needing to carefully conserve and calculate the exact values day in and day out. Using my ability more often might have allowed me to avoid the large kote attack.

A high Measure of Order state was the aim of everyone, commoners and nobles alike. The more I pumped that stat, the more rewards would drop when I was victorious. Currently, I had no Measure of Order, but of course I wanted to begin to remedy that. The more and the sooner, the better. Only then would it make sense for me to advance to degree 1. That way, my boosted Measure of Order would compensate for any loss of rewards from the ORDER.

Alright, so as far as states go, Measure of Order and Chi Shadow are the priorities. However, I could not unlock or improve either at this time. All of this thinking was theoretical. Just something to remember for the future.

Talents, however, were something I had available to me now. Each attribute I unlocked allowed me to learn a single talent. With three attributes, and with Fishing Instinct already purchased, I had two left.

Treya had left me 12 different items and trophies, each with a variety of potential talents. Some were unavailable to me. All in all, 9 different talents were ready to activate.

Personal Talent Mark, Scent of Blood x15

Personal Talent Mark, Detect Poison x11

Personal Talent Mark, Detect Traps x14

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Jeweler x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Healer x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Stonecutter x2

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Carpenter x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Blacksmith x2

Personal Talent Mark, Fishing Instinct x8

Personal Talent Mark, Hand-to-Hand Combat x1

Talent Mark, Hand-to-Hand Combat x10

Talent Mark, Iron Skin x10

There were also many standard talent marks I could gain and boost by a decent amount.

Greater Standard Talent Mark x12 (+25 progress to any talent)

Standard Talent Mark x10 (+12 progress to any talent)

Lesser Standard Talent Mark x42 (+1 progress to any talent)

I was satisfied. Boosting a rank 1 talent from level 0 to level 10 cost 100 units. A rank 2 talent took 200 units for the same. I could clearly see that I had enough units in reserve.

Which talents should I choose?

Scent of Blood was something kotes used to detect injured fish and other animals. Detect Poison sounded more interesting, but I couldn’t think of anyone who might try to poison me. Detect Traps was also irrelevant. The Jeweler’s profession was a fine one, but not a priority in my situation. Same with Stonecutter, Carpenter, and Blacksmith. The local area had enough of these specialists already. No one would be interested in my novice abilities. I wouldn’t be able to progress beyond a novice level, either, due to the Degrees of Enlightenment prerequisites for further advancement. Activating a profession would be a waste of trophies.

Hand-to-Hand Combat was more tempting. Even at low ranks, it was a good ability. Beko had easily defeated me without breaking a sweat. Who wouldn’t want to be able to handle themselves better in a fight? How often did I find myself in hand-to-hand situations here, though? So far, never. It was a necessary acquisition, though. Mother had reserved ten units for it for a reason. She had often forced me into ridiculous sparring bouts with weaklings, hoping that the ORDER would condescend to give me this ability—an important one for nobles, apparently. Even the universally despised ghoul had it.

It was shameful not to have it.

But I could easily live with that shame for months. I had managed this far.

I prioritized the Healer talent. Quite useful for someone recovering from an illness. At lower levels, the skill could only heal minor wounds and scratches, but as it became stronger, the possibilities for its use would grow. People would pay huge sums of money to those with a high-level Healer skill. Those who could ameliorate chronic ailments and resuscitate many who were unable to be brought back by normal means. The strongest could even regenerate lost body parts. For all of its backwards character, local civilization had medical powers much stronger than those of Earth.

So I would take Healer. Even at low levels, it was a useful perk. Perhaps I would select not just one Healer branch but several. Each would need an attribute point, but spending them would be worth it.

Healer was not an easy talent to unlock from the start since it required developed Stamina. I had developed Stamina.

Just as I was about to activate my new talent, I saw something in my peripheral vision. The ORDER menu had a hidden place where special virtual trophies could end up.

I just assumed these were very rare cases, which only appeared in the most unique sets of circumstances. The powers that be, when they were faced with non-standard situations, acted in non-standard ways.

My non-standard situation was standing in the epicenter of an explosion fueled by the chi accumulated by generations of the Crow Clan. This stream, passing through me, changed not only my inner essence, but also did something with the amulet. Since it had been around my neck at that moment, the ORDER had considered the act worthy of a special reward.

Hidden Personal Talent Mark, Artificer: 1 unit. Activation requirements: 2 Perception levels, 2 Spirit levels. Additional requirement: initial activation costs 600 chi. Rank 1, level 1 costs 100 chi.

Unique talent. In order to develop the branches of this talent, you must reset your initial personal talent marks.

The first thing I realized was that this was no ordinary talent. It was a magic talent. Getting such a talent was extraordinarily lucky. Magical workers such as artificers never went hungry, not even in the most desperate times. I recalled how much money my mother had spent in order to recharge my abilities.

Once this talent was unlocked, could I recharge it myself? The ORDER’s policy on giving helpful information was to avoid such giving at all costs.

This wonderful discovery was, however, useless for the time being. I didn’t have the attributes I needed to activate the talent. They were locked, and I didn’t have the requisite chi, anyway. Activation and development of this talent cost a lot of chi. It was magical, after all.

There was a reason that chi symbols were also currency. Natives generally had no problems filling their personal reservoirs, but developing attributes and talents—and in some cases even using talents—cost additional chi. The only alternative to spending that chi took great lengths of time.

I finally set to doing what I had planned before my surprise discovery of the virtual personal talent mark. I used all ten chi symbols that were at my disposal. That added 120 units to my reservoir. 80 more lesser symbols brought this total to 200.

Now for talents.

I pumped Healer to 10, giving me access to the talent’s level 2 progress tree. The choices were limited, and I could only afford one option, as it was the only to require 2 Stamina levels and 1 Dexterity level. I didn’t have the prerequisites for any of the others.

But this one was fine with me. Cure Moderate Wounds allowed me to heal medium wounds and quickly stop any bleeding. My healing abilities were no longer limited to scratches.

Among diseases and other non-wound afflictions, I could only heal sores, runny noses, acne, and other little things. In order to handle any serious diseases, I would need to reset the talent and develop the appropriate branch.

Whenever that was possible. Whenever I acquired the necessary attributes. If I ever did. Simple talents, thankfully, did not need more starting marks. Once a simple talent was unlocked, all of its branches could be developed. As long as you stayed within the quantity limit, you could make whatever choices you wanted.

I was done with talents. I could unlock another, yes, but I decided to do that another day. With the chi I had remaining, my new talent would be quite weak.

Dinner was still quite far away.

What would I do with myself in the meantime?

I began a daring blueprint project. If everything worked out, I might be able to unlock another state. Or get some other happy perk. The ORDER’s rewards were far from predictable, so I had no idea what this significant achievement might earn me.

The merchant was out of town; like everyone else, he was out picking hornflowers. It must have been unusual for him, getting exercise. How would he see the flowers from behind his prodigious folds? I had to figure out a way to get some paper. It wasn’t so easy to find in this world. Production was only in small quantities, and the resulting products highly valued.

I concluded that I had to use tree bark. There was some behind the carpentry workshop—where logs were carried in, either over a small suspension bridge or by a primitive crane, which picked up the logs from rafts carrying them in via the river.

The thought of rafts made me shudder once more. I was glad to see that the river was empty.

Chapter 25

Wild Tales of the Wild Wood

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (198/888)

Shadow: 198

Attributes:

Stamina: level 2, 112 points

Strength: level 0, 31 points

Agility: level 1, 83 points

Perception: NA, 50 points

Spirit: NA, 50 points

Talents:

Fishing Instinct (tier 2): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 2): (10/10)

States:

Equilibrium (6.31): level 6

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.5): level 0

Supper was dry rations only—crackers, corned beef, and a piece of salted fish resembling herring. The rush to harvest hornflower had crippled our culinary capabilities.. Beko glared and nearly growled at his portion. He had been quite busy today, by the look and sound of him. I had been, too. Eating felt like tossing food into a bottomless abyss, but I was glad to be ravenous, for an appetite is a sign of health.

We cleaned our plates as we sat in our favorite spot. The northern wall really did offer a spectacular view. If I’d had free reign over the place, I’d have planted a hut along its wide top so that we could sit inside as we admired the panorama through a large window.

Not a crumb remained on his plate when Beko downed the water from his birch bark mug. “Seventeen squares today.”

“Nice,” I smiled. “Is that how much you pull in every day?”

“Of course not. Only during hornflower season, and that only lasts a week. It’s too bad, really. Such easy work. Other spices come into season at other times, of course, but they don’t sell for nearly as much. I used to give my squares to the treasurer for safe keeping. Then, during the winter months, I’d live off them. And I’d have plenty to last until spring. During the spring, of course, you don’t need squares to live. Everything is blooming again. Is it true that you found Savi and Gamus?”

I choked. “Uh, that’s a secret that no one is supposed to know about.”

“No one? Everyone knows! When I was delivering my hornflower, the whole line was talking about nothing but the skinnings. It’s a shame. Gamus was a good man. You know, he brought me food one spring, when I lay ill. He liked to share these wild pears he would pick, too. No more pears for anyone now. Not every day you meet someone like that. Most people would never stoop to help a ghoul.”

I marveled at the inability of the locals to keep a secret. “What else are they saying?”

“That it’s too dangerous to disperse, to go off alone or to go far. That we all need to stick together. Safer that way. But that would severely limit our harvest. Some said they wouldn’t be going back out again because they’re too scared. It’s going to be a rough season. Our numbers won’t be very good this year.”

“I didn’t mean that. I mean—thank you, though. That’s interesting.”

“What did you mean, then?”

“About that thing I’m not supposed to speak of. Do we know who did it?”

“They say it was the Emperor of Pain.”

“Gruesome nickname.”

“It’s not a nickname.. It’s hereditary. It’s a post that someone fills. The leader of the Pentagon used to go by that name. Only a sorcerer could fill the role. He was here for ages upon ages, all the way up until the trading post. They drove him out once they established the trading post. Now, the post harvests spices here and mines the earth for ore,. Instead of the sorcerer doing it. He’s angry at that and wants to put everything back the way it was. Make everything his own once again.”

“A sorcerer... is that an omega or an alpha with magical talents?”

“Most likely,” Beko shrugged. “That’s what they say about the last Emperor of Pain—that he was a powerful sorcerer.”

“I’m not a big fan of rumors.”

“You think they’re fibbing?” the ghoul asked.

“Think about it. If he’s so mighty as all that, why is this trading post still intact? He lacks the strength to drive out a bunch of foragers and traders? Where’s his army? Ash has what, twenty-five guards? So the power here is Ash. He doesn’t even look that strong—neither do any of his guards.”

“Ash is a great warrior, they say.”

“I won’t argue that. But no matter how you frame it, the Emperor of Pain must be weaker.”

“He is not alone. Bandits report to him. All the scum of the region come and—”

“And are just as weak as he is,” I stabbed back.

“The Emperor of Pain doesn’t just kill someone. He destroys them.”

“What?”

Beko cautiously glanced across the river. “These people torment their victims. The more pain they suffer, the more blasphemous power the Emperor of Pain harvests from them. When he accrues enough of this power, he can raise the very dead and subjugate them to his will. The undead are very hard to kill. They are dead already, aren’t they? Without magic, I doubt Ash could ever get to him. And Ash has no magic.”

“Things that go bump in the night,” I shook my head. “If this legendary Lecter had undead underlings, they would overrun this trading post without a moment’s pause.”

“The undead cannot come to our shore,” Beko replied.

“What prevents them?”

“This is Wild Wood. A diverse place, with all sorts of wonders. Here, you find places where entry is categorically denied to certain kinds of beings. The undead of the Emperor of Pain cannot cross the river.”

“So why doesn’t he unleash his minions on the hornflower harvesters?” The question seemed reasonable to me. “If they truly have no way to fight the undead, the Emperor of Pain could slaughter them all. But they only killed two, not everyone.”

Beko shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know everything. There must be things besides the river which can stop them. Perhaps there are places even on the left bank which they cannot reach. Or, the Emperor of Pain may be bound by some oath. Some contract. Some condition outside of which he cannot inflict his evil. He needs to live like the rest of us do, after all. And provide for his own. Neither he nor they have the protection of the Pentagon. So he negotiates and makes deals. That’s why he calls himself the Emperor. An Emperor needs lands of his own, after all. This one has his lands—in which he lives.”

I blinked in bewilderment. “I don’t get it. An agreement? With who? What kind of agreement?”

“I don’t know. That’s what people say.”

“Just lay this out for me so I can understand it, Beko.”

“How? I don’t understand it all myself. Rumors vary. The ones telling them don’t understand either. And I don’t understand them. It’s a mess. But the forest definitely has powers who claim it as their own. Everyone knows that. These rulers of the forest must be feared. Even the Emperor of Pain must fear them. One time, I even heard that...”

Beko’s countenance grew dark, showing how much the topic affected him. But who else could I ask about this topic? Everyone else was barely willing to give me the time of day.

Still, I would avoid pressuring the ghoul too much. I stopped him. “Let’s leave this topic alone if you’re uncomfortable about it. I just find it fascinating. After all, I’m only here by accident. I don’t know anything about this place. So everything you tell me is very important to me.”

“How does someone get here ‘by accident’?” Beko asked.

After a moment, I decided to give him a dramatically truncated version of the events which had transpired. “Bandits attacked our home. All of my relatives were killed, but I managed to get away. As I fled, I got lost, and ended up sleeping under a bush on the cold earth. There, I was found by a cart carrying supplies to the trading post.”

“That’s strange,” Beko blinked. “We have similar stories.”

“You were brought here by a trade cart?”

“No, I lived at an outpost with my mother and her husband. He was a good man. He beat me sometimes, especially when drunk, but he fed me well. I don’t remember what happened very well after that,” Beko turned, moving closer and lowering his voice, “when they asked, I just said I didn’t know who it was that attacked the outpost. But I just didn’t know what to answer. What could I say? It was the forest itself that walked towards us. I don’t know how else to say it. And of course answering like that was no option then; they would’ve taken me for a fool. As if they hadn’t already. People like me are unloved in every corner of the world. They say the people down south burn ghouls at the stake, even. I’d rather be here, at this trading post. At least they don’t plan to burn me. To the contrary. They feed me. Also, the forest cannot come here. This island is special. Even the demons cannot make their way to it. The stone on which this trading post stands is enchanted by an ancient magic. As all of the nearby areas of the Wild Wood. Well—nearly all of them. This place is called the Pentagon. It is a place of peace.”

“What did that forest that attacked you look like?”

Beko shook his head. “It was very dark, and filled with the cries of suffering men and women. Mom told me to run into the forest. All of the kids ran that way. I had just been roused from bed, so my head was muddled. The moon shone in the sky, and something was burning behind me. I saw the forest, a wall of darkness, the children running towards it. And then—it seemed to step towards us. I don’t know how. Some kind of magic. But it looked just like that: the forest moved. Everyone kept running towards the trees, as if they hadn’t seen what I had. Perhaps they hadn’t. I could see better in the dark than they could. I knew I could not run that way. It was a trap, and they were all running straight into it. So I fled the other way—not directly back the way I had come, but up the side of a hill that was nearly devoid of trees. The isolated oaks and ashes could not be properly called a forest, and I wanted to stay away from anything properly called a forest. After all, the woods had changed somehow. I was the only one whom the people from the trading post found alive. The rest were dead. Or missing. The forest took the children. Every place in this land has its masters. Every place belongs to someone. Now, the Stone is an exception. This is a special island, they say. Whoever owns the right-hand shore decided to reclaim what was his. That was the end of my outpost. And my mother. And the man who had stood in for my father.”

“I’m sorry, Beko.”

“What for?”

“That I reminded you of all of this.”

“That’s not your fault. You need to know, and to know all of it. After all—you live here now.”

“So as I understand it, things like this don’t happen very often here. Two dead is a serious event. As you said, the people are worried.”

“Of course they are. No one is eager to lose their skin, so many are terrified. And to the masters of this part of the world, we are less significant than roaches in the basement. They might notice us, they might not. The roaches may not know about us, and we might not know about them. But they will realize our presence at some point. And we will learn of the masters of these lands at some point. Such as now, for example. Wild Wood is scary enough without masters. So many dangers dwell here. The neighbors had a baby that got eaten by ratwolves. They become deadly in the winter—even for adults, never mind babies. Another neighbor went out to check some traps and was never seen again. He just disappeared. We searched for him for many days, but found no trace. “The forest took him,” as they say. That kind of things happens in Wild Wood all the time. Even here, on the right bank of the Blackriver, terrors abound. Travelers in the forest can run into some of its many goblins. Or a troll. Or other things, worse things, things that must not be named. On the left bank, though, the situation is much worse. Death dwells there. There used to be villages over there, too. Even small towns, many years ago. None of those who lived across the river live anymore. Only here, near the Stone, is there some measure of peace and safety to be had. As long as you don’t venture too far north, away from it. Up there, everything is perilous. The Emperor of Pain is our enemy, yes, but he is our enemy. He is a foreigner to Wild Wood. When is the last time you saw roaches try to negotiate with the owners of their basement? They’re just roaches. Like us. And so, he also fears the forest, and wants to take the Stone for his own. This has long been a wood of war. I don’t even know when it started. But it will continue, tomorrow and beyond.”

“So what’s going to happen?”

“Did you hear the clang of metal from behind the central storehouse? That was Ash assembling his guards and his hunters. Tomorrow, they set out for the left bank. They’ll patrol around for a while and find no one, and then they’ll return here. This trading post doesn’t have the strength to actually catch any of our enemies. Even before—when we had more men—such an attempt wouldn’t have worked.”

“Why do we have fewer men now?” I wondered.

“Because this trading post doesn’t make much money. The merchants want more, and more, for the same price. So they’re trying to cut their costs and spend less on us—meaning they do not send new fighting forces our way. They send, instead, lousy workers. Lousy workers who do lousy work. That reduces the trading post’s output, of course. Yes, the land is wealthy here, with spices all around and in great quantities. But Ash only sends a few varieties of them down south. We lack workers with the necessary skills to acquire the rest.”

“Hmm. A vicious cycle of greed,” I agreed. “They cut labor costs, and then the cheap laborers produce much less. So they try to save more by sending cheaper workers still. A descending spiral.”

Beko nodded. “That’s why Ash is so harsh with everyone. The hands of thieves—those who take for themselves rather than for the trading post—must be broken if this place is to endure. Many of the workers sent our way are dishonest people. They’re given the option to either sign a work contract here or to go to jail. Those are the worst workers of all. Either they break contract, or they outright steal.”

“Our contract is a basket of fish per day,” I replied, “and they don’t pay us anything.”

“They give us a place to live,” Beko observed, “and the food is pretty good. We should be thankful.”

“I wonder how much they demand from everyone else?”

Beko shrugged. “Depends. They don’t rob us here, you know. We get paid. Anything more than the basket that’s in our contract earns us money.”

“Uh-huh, in squares, which aren’t real money.”

“Who cares, as long as they can buy anything that you can find here? If you head south, you can find a place to exchange them for ‘real’ coins. What’s that you’re drawing? I can’t make sense of it.”

“Blueprints.”

“What’s that?”

“A very accurate drawing of some project.”

“What’s the project?”

“Something fancy that’ll help us catch more fish. I need to go talk to the blacksmith and the carpenter to get the parts made. If we make some money tomorrow, it might be enough to pay them, but I really don’t know how much they’ll want.”

“I got some squares today. If you want them, they’re yours,” Beko offered.

I shook my head. “I don’t want you to go hungry come winter. You need to save up while you can.”

“I’ll die here if I’m all alone,” the ghoul said somberly, “and you’re not like the others. You’re weak, but you’re smart. And you’re the only one who treats me well. No one else does. Even my mother always yelled at me. You don’t do that. Plus, you’ve spent a lot of money on my account already, so if you need these squares, take them. Both you and I need this fishing invention of yours.”

After a moment’s pause, I nodded. “Fine. But once this invention is complete, we’re going to buy you some decent clothes. You’re a winner, and no winner should have to walk around in rags like that.”

“No, they shouldn’t. I do need clothes, a set that’s truly my own. But your machine comes first.”

I wasn’t about to tell him that the invention was not entirely my own. To be precise, it wasn’t my own at all. But no one here would begrudge me the violation of intellectual property rights. I was certain the contraption would be a novelty here, in the world of Rock.

Plus, my blueprint drawing efforts—as I made and rejected one copy after another—had already earned me 9 personal talent marks as Novice Calligrapher. I doubted these were of much value, but I could always convert them into chi symbols later, if I desired.

By the end, I had drawings that looked enough like blueprints. I believed them sufficient for the artisans to make the parts I needed. As long as they had the necessary tools and materials. I’d seen how well the local blacksmith worked. He could make this with his eyes closed.

It was best to go put in the orders right now. Even if they named a high price, it wouldn’t necessarily delay me. Perhaps I could get them to agree to start for an advance. Between us, Beko and I had a decent handful of squares saved up.

Once darkness finally put an end to this day, I would set to teaching the ghoul reading, writing, and math. I had given my word, after all. Promises are sacred things.

Chapter 26

A Tale of Two Craftsmen

No Stat Changes

I loved the efficiency of the specialists in this world. As long as your specifications were given correctly and with local customs accounted for—and as long as you were working with genuine specialists, not scammers.

I knew how to draw up the blueprints correctly. I had to admit that the mother of this body which had become mine had indeed been a versatile individual. She had been capable in numerous fields. Sadly, there were some things she could never understand, and thus due to her aggressive despotism, we lost craftsmen of rare talent from our region.

Such as Teshimi.

Who could have thought that the peculiarities of constructing a mill, installing simple equipment meant to transfer torque to the millstone, would serve me so well years down the road? The blacksmith and carpenter chuckled at the scratches I had made on the scrap of bark with my sharp piece of flint. I quickly corrected each item they complained about. Then, the task was clear. Only details remained—including which materials to use.

Raw materials were a mess in the world of Rock. The periodic table was useless here. There were elements analogous to those from my past life, yes: copper, iron, gold, sulfur, and so on. But I wasn’t sure they actually had the same properties. There were many other materials here which I had never heard of before. Still others existed even though they were only discovered on Earth way past the medieval times.

Not that I was complaining. They would be very useful. Tempered steel able to smash rocks without losing its edge was always valuable. Many other unusual elements and compounds existed with remarkable properties—but when their prices were mentioned, my stomach turned.

Overpriced, to be sure.

“Yes, this gear’s teeth are ingeniously arranged, and it only weights a few grams—but 25 squares each?!” My negotiating tactics failed to dent the price. Still, that gear was exactly what I needed. Glitterbronze had the properties I required.

A composite stick of bamboo from the south reinforced with strong tape cost another 20. A small fortune. I thought I caught in the tone of the man, as he quoted this price, a small degree of astonishment at his own arrogance. Yet he held on to this price tighter than a drowning man grasping at flotsam.

More materials than these two were needed, of course. I needed miniature bearings, strong rings, screws and bolts with nuts, a handle, custom concave plates for the assembled body, and a small arch—all to specification. The arch had to be polished so thoroughly as to put mirror manufacturers to shame. Each part had to be able to support sufficient load without compromise.

Neither the blacksmith nor the carpenter understood what exactly I was trying to create. They were simply creating parts. This was excellent, as I did not want copies of my invention to proliferate across the land.

It became soon apparent that my design needed some modifications. The blacksmith was, alas, far from an omniscient metallurgist. Several delicate parts would benefit from a jeweler on the project, but no jeweler was present at the trading post. So I needed to increase the dimensions of certain parts so they were not too small for my team—which made them unable to fit together with others. By the end, I had to redraw every piece except the core part ordered from the carpenter. This gave me +2 personal talent marks as Calligrapher. After all of this, I went to bed—there was no time to study with Beko, as drafting and redrafting occupied me until the darkness in the sky was complete.

We made up for the lost time in the morning, after breakfast. I was determined to wait at the post until the order was completed. Also, I informed both craftsmen that the sooner they completed their tasks, the sooner they would receive the balance of payment. Thanks to my reputation as a matchless murderer of kotes, I managed to negotiate good payment terms by promising everyone involved a healthy bonus of fish. Yet still, none of them would take kindly to an extended delay in payment. Both the blacksmith and the carpenter desired to get their squares as quickly as possible.

Beko’s mind was exhausted as I persistently plunged knowledge into it. My mind turned towards the upcoming bouts of sparring. I felt wonderful, now. My disease had retreated into memory. A weakness still hindered my legs, but I doubted that it would last for long.

The tiny son of the blacksmith appeared at just the right moment, announcing that everything was ready. We would have to wait another day for Beko to pound me into the dirt over and over. The ghoul now realized that the thirst for knowledge was much more exciting than the actual process of obtaining it. I doubted he would spare me during our physical training.

His eyes glittered maliciously at me. Like all of the natives, he did have an intuitive understanding of the basics of mathematics. Without such an understanding, after all, one’s control over the numbers awarded by the ORDER was poor. Yet attempting to teach Beko anything beyond the basics felt like slamming my fist repeatedly into an impenetrable skull. Sometimes, I made rude comments to this effect.

I would have to acquire talents as a Teacher. Otherwise, I feared what might happen to me if Beko caught me alone. The man’s strange appearance could not be the only reason for the moniker of “ghoul.”

There was doubtless some more sinister reason, too.

After collecting the assortment of parts large and small, we set to work. We brought the baskets along, too. I still did not know for sure whether my idea would work. If it failed, I would have to fish using the old methods. We had a trading post quota to fill, and a significant debt to repay. I could repay it right now—but I would have to sell a bunch of ORDER items, which was undesirable.

Assembling the numerous parts took us half an hour. Everything fit and seemed to function—except that the line running to the handle didn’t have enough slack. After connecting the two completed halves of the device together, I secured them and began winding up the line. I didn’t have much to work with. A kote tore off a piece of line, and another portion, we had to cut up and discard when it became hopelessly entangled in the machine.

The ORDER made no reaction to my inventive activity. Creating something useless in the world of Rock was possible but was not rewarded. I had to prove that this contraption was not meaningless, and that I was not trying to cheat the system.

The best way to do that was to look for larger prey. I was not ready to go after the monstrous kotes yet. Only once I had developed my character more sufficiently would I attempt that again. My last swim and lost tackle in Blackriver had convinced me of that.

Reaching the tip of the sandbar, I used my talent several times to convince myself that no overly large kotes were nearby. I spent a good deal of Shadow doing so; I very much did not want to blow my first attempt.

How the ORDER would react to this event was unknown.

As I examined the water, I chose suitable quarry. A solitary fish had set an ambush, lying behind a small rock at the bottom of the river, about a hundred feet from shore. It was no small swimmer, but neither was it a monster. Twenty pounds, by my estimate. Earlier that morning, I would have been unable to reach it, but now I had some options.

The first cast failed. I felt like I was swinging not a fishing rod but a leaden shovel. The second cast also failed. The third hit home.

The spoonbait shuddered from the attack a mere second after it hit the water. The first pulled viciously, forcing me to step forward into the shallows, but its weight was not enough to defeat me.

Pulling it up to the surface was the hardest part. From experience, I knew that a hooked kote’s speed and struggle could drop markedly as soon as it hit the air. Unless it jumped out of the water on its own volition, its will to fight still strong.

I forced it to come up. This was easier now that I could wind the cord up, using the 5-foot reinforced fishing rod. It was rough and heavy, yes, but long and flexible enough to dramatically extend my own fishing capabilities.

And it didn’t mutilate my palms like the line had previously. Gloves had removed all feeling and feedback from the process, so we had needed to catch only the smallest specimens or risk ruined hands early in the day.

You have caught a kote by an unknown method, while making use of a known method. You have dealt significant damage to the kote. You have dealt fatal damage to the kote. The kote is dead. You have defeated the kote (2nd Degree).

You receive:

Unknown Method

Superior Symbol of Chi x5

Superior Standard Attribute Mark x2

Superior Standard Talent Mark x1

Superior Personal State Embodiment, Measure of Order x1

Superior Standard Universal State x2

Kote Defeated!

Lesser Symbol of Chi x15

Personal Attribute Mark, Agility x2

Personal Attribute Mark, Stamina x3

Personal Attribute Mark, Strength x2

Lesser Standard Attribute Mark x1

Talent Mark, Scent of Blood x1

Talent Mark, Detect Poison x1

Lesser Standard Talent Mark x5

Personal Talent Mark, Fishing Instinct x1

Unknown and known methods combined!

Greater Symbol of Chi x3

Greater Standard Attribute Mark x3

Greater Standard Talent Mark x3

You have crafted an unknown item. You have used an unknown item. You have successfully used an unknown item. You have earned an Invention: Unknown Item.

Crafting an Unknown Item

Lesser Symbol of Chi x13

Personal Attribute Mark, Agility x1

Personal Talent Mark, Novice Mechanic x1

Successful Use of an Unknown Item

Greater Standard Talent Mark x3

Greater Standard Universal State x2

Discovery of an Unknown Item

Superior Symbol of Chi x7

Superior Standard Attribute Mark x4

Superior Standard Talent Mark x2

Superior Personal State Embodiment, Chi Shadow x1

Superior Standard Universal State x3

You may now name your Unknown Item

You have discovered an unknown fishing talent. Talent Rank: 2. You must name the new talent.

Taking in each and every number awarded to me, I decided not to postpone the choices I had before me.

Two choices.

You are naming your unknown item: spinning rod with inertia-free reel.

You have named a new item. You receive:

Superior Standard Talent Mark x3

Superior Standard Universal State x1

You have given your unknown fishing talent a name: Trolling with Spinning Rod.

You have named your new talent.

You have acquired a free, unbound talent: Trolling with Spinning Rod. Talent Rank: 2. Talent Level: 10. Talent Requirements: Stamina level 2, Agility level 1. You are the discoverer of the skill. For you, this talent does not require any bound attributes. It is provided to you and fully learned at no cost. Learning further branches of this talent, once unlocked, will require attribute bindings.

Superior Standard Talent Mark x2

Even cursory calculations showed me that today would be profitable based on these rewards alone. For now, though, I had to catch more fish. The kotes moved away from the shore, but they often came within forty yards or so. With the help of my new spinning rod, casting the spoonbait at them was no great difficulty.

And perhaps no small difficulty, either. If I understand correctly the essence of life in the world of Rock, the talent I had just been awarded would allow me to fish with a spinning rod much more effectively. I didn’t even have to allocate any attribute levels to it. In other words, there was no reason to delete it in order to clear up space for a more useful talent. It was costing me nothing.

In addition, I didn’t have to pump it. The ORDER had generously given it to me at maximum value. It had no progress branch for me to pursue. This world simply didn’t know what else could be squeezed out of my discovery—no specializations existed yet.

I was sure I could think some up. This was how the world worked: discover something new, develop it, refine it and diversify it.

Perhaps I would pursue that someday. Later. For now, I needed to do one thing and one alone: fish. I should be better at it now. It was a low-ranking talent, but it was something. Now my spoonbait should fly further and more accurately. I would also get extra bonuses for the first 10 times I used the spinning rod and the new talent successfully. Perhaps I would hit the jackpot with these bonuses.

This invention had, after all, given me a lot more goodies than the invention of the spoonbait. That was logical, since the spinning rod was so much more complex. Would the ORDER continue rewarding me as fairness might suggest, then?

I wanted to use all of the rewards right now, as quickly as possible, but I was not as naive as I had been just a few days before. Developing one’s character could have negative effects. I might suffer weakness—and even faint. It would take hours for me to fully adapt to the new changes. Even a day later, the echoes would still reverberate through my bones.

I’ll do it this evening, then. Immediately after a thoroughly satisfying dinner. With spices, of course. The spices must flow. My rapidly developing flesh needed them desperately.

Chapter 27

Old Friend, New Art

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (192/888)

Shadow: 192

Attributes:

Stamina: level 2, 112 points

Strength: level 0, 31 points

Agility: level 1, 83 points

Perception: NA, 50 points

Spirit: NA, 50 points

Talents:

Fishing Instinct (tier 2): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 2): 10/10

Free Talents:

Trolling with Spinning Rod (tier 2): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (6.31): level 6

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.5): level 0

I continued terrorizing the kote community, even after the ORDER stopped giving me extra bonuses for doing so. As I expected, they had been dished out not only when I successfully used the spinning rod but also when I used my new fishing talent.

Its very first use had earned me the largest reward. This was comparable to what I had received for the manufacture of the invention and the first catch.

Few large kotes—five or six pounds—were to be found near the shore. The monster kotes had disappeared entirely, but this didn’t make me very happy, since the moderate kotes vanished, too.

I did catch more than forty smaller kotes, though—over two hundred pounds. An ordinary fisherman working with nets wouldn’t catch that many in a week.

It was enough fish that I could afford to spend part of the time strengthening my mutual understanding with Beko’s long-time enemies. Each of the Carps received a whole fish. There was a reason that the boys had become a veritable pack of wolves. Misfortune had taken their families’ breadwinners—and little Tatai had been left an orphan. He and his sister who was younger still had been sheltered by a distant relative—who had mouths enough to feed already. The trading post gave the kids menial jobs, but they paid menial sums, of course.

I had seen Tatai’s sister once. She was a mess. Thinner than some I had seen in wartime films from concentration camps. It was no surprise that the boys were cruel beyond their years. Not only were they chronically malnourished themselves; they also had to see the hunger of their loved ones. Once I saw this, I decided that I would help as much as I could from the next catch.

Even with the Carps’ help, we couldn’t bring the whole catch back to the trading post in one trip. Thankfully, Romris was down by the water, fiddling with his nets. And so, with his help, we made it up with all of the baskets. He didn’t even ask for payment. Not that the fisherman was suddenly taken with love for us. No, he was working for his own interests.

After all, along the way, I explained to him the gist of a task I had for him, for which I was more than willing to pay. I would even pay more than agreed if this task was completed by noon the next day.

Before we had finished with the fish, though, something occurred which we could not help but notice.

We had front row seats, after all.

* * *

Beko noticed it first. I was completely absorbed by the river, calculating my expenditure of each and every shadow point—and rejoicing that my new free talent did not require me to consume any. The spinning rod really did work at greater distances and accuracies, and for all of the idiosyncrasies of its construction, it no longer seemed rough to wield. I grew more and more comfortable with its use. It was much inferior to real spinning rods from my past life—but even in this form, it made me orders of magnitude better a fisherman.

Thirteen years had passed since I had held one in my hands, but I now recalled how light, responsive, and accurate they were. It looked nice, too.

I could have certainly afforded some better line to match.

Now I would spend lasciviously at any fishing store I encountered.

“Ged, look: the boats are returning!” the ghoul exclaimed, yanking me from my dream world, where I was looking into a shop window at coils of fishing line that were strong enough to raise a tank from a swamp.

Without comprehending, I instinctively turned to look the same way Beko was looking: towards the left bank of the river. Two boats emerged from the reeds, one after the other. Fifteen men and women sat within—and a leader, clearly stronger than the rest. Ash. Next to him, clad in dark leather armor, was Hugo the Ambidexter, the trading post’s enforcer.

“It’s our people, returning from their search for the Emperor of Pain and his crew.”

Beko nodded. “But something happened.”

“What?”

“I don’t know. They said that fifteen ventured out, though. I see fourteen. Can you count them too, Ged? I always try to count everything, just like you taught me, but sometimes I miscount.”

I was the one who had miscounted. I ran over the rowers and passengers and nodded. “Fourteen, just like you say. One is missing.”

“But people make mistakes. Maybe the people who told me their starting number were wrong. It could have been fourteen.”

I reeled in my line so that the others would not gape at our secret machines. “Let’s take a break. Go and see what news they bring back.”

The party rushed up with a stretcher bearing, we realized, the missing fifteenth man. His face was covered in dried blood and the flies it brought. The shaft of a broken arrow was protruding from his right eye socket. At a glance I could tell that my limited talents and recent experience in simple field surgery would not be sufficient here. Even a university-trained healer would be unable to help.

It was time for an undertaker.

“What happened to him?” Beko gasped.

“Caught a head cold, can’t you tell?” Hugo the Ambidexter replied lazily as he proceeded up the path.

“The hell are you staring at?” Ash snapped. “Beat it!”

It was unwise to disobey the leader of the trading post. We stepped aside without question. Beko whispered to me in agitation, “I’ve heard of this kind of thing before. There’s a bandit out there who always shoots his targets in the eye. Did you see that, Ged? He killed Zash!”

“Yes, I saw. I’ve seen him kill others, too. Some of the arrows whistled right by me.”

“What? When?”

“On the way here. The caravan was attacked.”

“Right. At the Redriver crossing—I heard about that, but forgot. It’s far from here, after all. So, Bloodshot Eye has drawn close to our post. That’s bad. He’s a dangerous bandit.”

“You call him ‘Bloodshot Eye’?”

“Sometimes. They say his real name is Atto. And that he is a deserter from the Emperor’s army. Or even, according to some reports, from his personal guard. I doubt those reports are true. Why would a guardsman desert? His accuracy is legendary, and he always puts his arrows right into his targets’ eyes. A gang of plunderers follows him. Last year, they nearly overwhelmed a village near Second Stone.”

“It sounds like this sniper is in league with the Emperor of Pain,” I remarked.

“What makes you think that?”

“Ash went out to catch the emperor’s henchmen. He returned with Zash, dead, shot in the eye. The Emperor of Pain arranged the events of yesterday in conjunction with this killing today, in order to intimidate the trading post. He knew Ash would launch a retaliation campaign. So, he set an ambush somewhere, along the tracks his own people had left from the day before. Either that, or the archer’s band is relocating here from Redriver, and the Emperor of Pain has nothing to do with this second killing. In that case, perhaps the boat was a copycat attack—an act of the band in imitation of the emperor’s style. An act to lure our people out. Something must have gone wrong, though. They only killed one. No matter who was behind it, they might have intended to inflict heavy losses. Or not. Perhaps one kill is more useful, as intimidation. One arrow, one corpse, and now our people will think twice, or thrice, before crossing the river again. We don’t have enough capable people to defend everyone. Not that it would help. This was a party of fifteen warriors and hunters, and they were thwarted by a single bandit. I believe this year’s hornflower season is now at an end. It was cut short, very intentionally, by our enemies.”

“I’m sorry to say it,” Beko shook his head, “but you’re right. The worst hornflower season in known memory.”

* * *

Jadiro the innkeeper paid for our catch without too much bargaining. We had done business with him before and so had an understanding. I hardly ever tried to weasel a little extra out of him, and vice versa. He was the most convenient buyer, too, since he would also purchase the spices dropped by the slain kotes. After the transaction was complete, Beko and I had only to take one basket to Megaera, and our fishing trip would be concluded.

It was a great catch. No one had ever caught close to this many fish. My spinning rod invention was worth it. However, it still had not paid for itself. Kote spices are of little value, especially in the smaller specimens. The fish themselves were worth even less. But as long as I caught an equal amount the following day, I would be able to repay the blacksmith and carpenter in full.

About three hundred and fifty people resided at the Blackriver trading station, nomads and visitors not included. If half of them were well fed by the town, times were relatively good. The rest were not in permanent employment and received, at most, a meager ration for services rendered such as wild leek harvesting. If I kept bringing in so much fish, though, there would be a surplus. The people ate more than just the gifts of the river, after all.

Jadiro had hinted at this as he counted out the money. However, he did not see it as too much of a problem. Some of the catch could be salted and smoked, and then sold to the residents of the free villages and outposts situated on the right bank of Blackriver. As long as the brains were suctioned out from a neat hole cut in the back of each fish’s head—and not using the crude manner in which we usually cleaned our catch.

I told him we would do exactly this. We wanted our catch to earn maximal profits. I even hinted that we might catch more the next day. Or the day after.

The innkeeper was so inspired by our success that he offered us a loan, in exchange for a percentage of the catch that he claimed was “fair.” He knew that I was in debt to a couple of craftsmen. I politely declined the financial assistance, but said that if I changed my mind, I would know who to turn to.

In actuality, the terms of the loan were sheer usury. The condescension of the man’s offer left me torn as to whether to laugh or to cry. Or to spit in his face. As contradictory as it might sound, in this world where numbers were all-important, mathematical literacy was rare. This fat man was likely certain I would put two and two together and make five, and that, consequently, he could rob me blind-minded. He had learned his multiplication and division to a fourth-grade level. Impressive, I thought, and I was serious: this was quite the accomplishment for a commoner here.

Beko and I ate so much that night that he asked to be excused from his lessons. The only thing he could manage to do well on a stomach that full, he claimed, was sleep until morning.

I eagerly assented. Swinging and flinging the weighty spinning rod around all day had tired me already, before the gluttony of the evening. I had other matters to attend to before bed, as well: distributing the rewards of the day. Any such changes in my ORDER numbers would cut down my strength significantly for a time. Utter relaxation during and after this process was strongly recommended.

My invention of the spinning rod, my discovery of the new talent, and the various associated achievements had earned me many valuable perks unknown during standard kote fishing. I could crush my way through several stages of progress in one fell swoop. Perhaps at the end I would match Beko—or even be stronger than him. Although I had never made such leaps before, I suspected this would have serious physical consequences.

Consequences that were at once terrific and terrifying.

First, I reclined as comfortably as possible. Calming my racing mind, I realized that with straw in short supply, I could make a softer bed for myself by drying some reeds. But with my stomach full, even the bed I had now was very pleasant to lie on.  But a comfort upgrade would go a long way.

As I slipped into a peaceful, detached state of mind, I began to make my changes.

First, I poured all 12 Greater Symbols of Chi into my leaking reservoir. I would need a lot of this pervasive energy source. Each of these contained 50 units.

My Dexterity points had reached 43, my Stamina 47, and my Strength 39. I did not touch my universal marks, which could be applied to any attribute. This brought my Stamina level to 3, my Agility to 2, and my Strength, at last, to 1. The 6 total points worked out perfectly, since the rule was to ensure that no two attributes were equal to each other.

It was a woefully inconvenient rule, but I supposed the ORDER had some good reason for it.

I had begun the day with only three attributes. Now, I had all six. Although the physical effects were noticeable, I did not faint. The back of my head tingled slightly, I heard a rustling in my ears, and my drowsiness increased. I wasn’t sure that the latter effect was from my changes. After all, I had spent most of the day fishing, and it was only yesterday that I had begun to recover from my illness.

I risked sitting up. A wave of mild dizziness came over me, pushing me to lean back against the cold wall. Two or three minutes passed before I lay back down and risked more changes.

I wasn’t about to touch my attributes any further. Let them cool off a little.

Nor did I touch my talents. My current talents were sufficient for now, so I could handle point distribution tomorrow, or even later. Depending on how I felt.

I moved on to states, of which there were also six. Two were currently unlocked, and I could unlock two more. The ORDER had provided me with a couple of trophy items to this effect: a personal greater embodiment of the Chi Shadow state and a personal greater embodiment of the Measure of Order state. The first would increase my Shadow; the second would increase the chances of the ORDER dropping me trophies, and the quantity dropped when it did. Both would be useful—and I would be able to improve my already-unlocked states. They could stand for a good deal of improvement.

I unlocked Chi Shadow and then Measure of Order. Paying attention to any sensations, I detected nothing suspicious, and so I poured five of my six superior standard universal states into Measure of Order. Now, it held 300 units, bumping it up to level 3.

I could have gone higher, since I had a decent number of greater and normal universal states. However, I didn’t know quite how well this new state worked. I wanted to observe first. Perhaps, in order to noticeably increase my loot, it needed to be pumped to level 20 or 30. But the trophies I needed most didn’t drop during the course of ordinary fishing. They dropped when I performed such feats as invent new items and use them successfully. Each new discovery was a well of rewards that quickly dried up.

So before I pumped my Measure of Order to the sky, I wanted to see how beneficial it was. I recorded the day’s kote count and resulting drops. I would compare tomorrow’s results with these.

My Equilibrium reached level 7 with the next boost. When I did that, my head became muddled for a few seconds, but it wasn’t too distressing.

That was a sure sign, though, that I needed to stop playing with my states for today.

I returned to attributes. Here, I spent all six superior standard marks. Two on Agility, two on Strength, and two on Stamina. Each of these marks gave +100 units, which was enough for +2 levels. I also used an additional 12 greater chi symbols to compensate for the energy lost.

Suddenly, a rising tide within swept me into a sea of cramps, and then swept consciousness away from me. I woke in the middle of the night, covered in a cold sweat, nauseous and numb, my legs and arms disobedient. The only presence of mind granted to me was enough to say “stop.”

I had developed my character too much, too fast. Mother had told me of tales where unusually fortunate natives hurried to use everything they had won too quickly. The tales were sad indeed.

I had come back to our cellar with my three familiar attribute levels. Now, I had twelve in total. That was a mighty leap forward. I had to stop.

Not that I could do much more. The attribute level limit for each stage was 6. With my Equilibrium at level 7, I could now add 7 more. 13 in total. With 12, I had nearly hit my ceiling.

I could, of course, raise my Equilibrium more. Much more. I had 23 greater standard universal states left, as well as 20 common ones. The greater ones would give me 0.25 each and the commons 0.12. Each whole point would add a level to any state. I could pump anything up to 8 immediately.

That would be unwise. I had already pushed my character too hard, and it was time to sleep.

Chapter 28

No Pain, No Gain

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (182/888)

Shadow: 182

Attributes:

Stamina: level 5, 259 points

Strength: level 3, 170 points

Agility: level 4, 225 points

Perception: NA, 50 points

Spirit: NA, 50 points

Talents:

Fishing Instinct (tier 2): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 2): 10/10

Free Talents:

Trolling with Spinning Rod (tier 2): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (7.06): level 7

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.50): level 0

Shadow of Chi (0.50): level 0

Measure of Order (3.00): level 3

I woke in agony due to my rapid advancements.

Vainly had I ignored the fables told by my mother. Going from 3 attribute levels to 12 at once was a quadruple move. At such low numbers, this kind of move was not too dangerous, but the ORDER never left haste unpunished.

I woke past noon, feeling as though I was exiting a meat grinder rather than my bed. Every part of me wanted to howl.

I barely chewed the breakfast Beko brought me. He had also brought some rich fish broth from the innkeeper—seasoned with expensive spices. In addition, he had a healing potion.

Fishing was unthinkable in such a state. Instead, I had to send Beko to inform the blacksmith and carpenter that they should not expect full repayment today. They could count on it tomorrow.

From now on, I would never forget that over-enthusiastic application of ORDER upgrades would result in the utter loss of a day.

At minimum.

When I went to sleep once more, I feared that they next day would be another waste. But as I opened my eyes the following dawn, I realized that I was once again a strong young man, not a dilapidated ruin as I had been the day before. It was time for more great achievements.

I leaped out of bed so enthusiastically that I slammed my head into the low ceiling. Hissing in pain and clutching at the growing bruise, I shouted at the gaping Beko. “Well, what are we standing around for.

Forward march!”

“March? Is there a battle?”

“Yes! Facing off against us is a sizable breakfast!”

“Are you sure you feel better? Maybe you had better lie down.”

“No, that breakfast isn’t about to eat itself!”

* * *

The amulet gave me eighteen various attributes. I assumed they were filled with energy at the minimum rate. That is, about ten per unit. This gave me a total of 180.

Due to my haste two days past, I had accumulated 12 “natural” attributes, upped to the max. Each contained 50 units, for a total of 600 attribute energy units.

In other words, I was full to bursting, like a balloon. I finished breakfast at a speed that would make the dogs jealous. Still hungry, I asked Beko to buy some more food from the innkeeper, “for lunch”. The trading post didn’t give a formal lunch to its workers. Miners were given the basics: salted lard, bread, cheese, and so on. Others received various grocery items a week at a time and stretched it to fit their needs. Still others bought food as needed. So my request did not seem odd—except for the sheer volume of lunch I requested, which was at least triple the usual number.

My body was demanding food in order to complete the personal development and energy production I had selected for it.

But an outlet for this energy was also required.

When Beko finally came down to the shore, he found me near the fishing shed doing push-ups, fists clenched, ignoring the pebbles painfully grinding their way into my knuckles.

“What’s the matter with you, Ged?” the ghoul asked hesitantly.

“I’m doing great!” I answered breathlessly. “Couldn’t be better! But where are the fishermen? Where are the boats? And where the hell is the work Romris was supposed to complete for us?”

“The fishermen started fishing on the other side of the Stone yesterday. Downstream. Ash was yelling at them, something about how few fish they were catching. So they struck out for more fruitful waters. That’s what they say, anyway: that there are more fish down there at the start of summer.”

“Summer is starting already?” I blinked.

“That’s right.”

“Wow. Time sure flies when you’re young. What about Romris?”

“For that, we need to head that way,” Beko said, pointing towards the very end of the spit.

“Well? Let’s go, then!”

I didn’t like Romris much, and neither did Beko. The ghoul’s feelings were easily justified: how could he have any love for a relative of the man who had done him the greatest ill of anyone here? Besides, Romris couldn’t resist jabbing at the trading post’s preeminent “freak” whenever he passed.

He didn’t mock me like that, and I had nothing personal against his cousin. Satat, ever since he took a sourpiss bath and then got to clean the cesspits, had been giving me mean looks, but never made any aggressive moves. Perhaps he had malicious thoughts. But he had not turned them into actions. He was a typical commoner, illiterate as a partridge, but he understood the difference between when he could pick on someone with impunity and when it would come back to hurt him.

That was a lesson that most here quickly learned.

No, I didn’t like Romris for other reasons. He was always trying to sniff out the secret behind our fishing success. Not ask directly. Not connive or cajole. Just sniff out. The way he looked at Beko—I imagined that was how rich Confederates had looked at their slaves, after the latter had escaped and been recaptured. He probably wouldn’t be past boxing the ghoul’s ears on occasion if I had not given him a stern look of warning. For some reason, I scared him, even though I was stuck in the skinny body of a weak teenager.

He had a shifty, indecent look about him, too. I was sure that there were many secret sins in his past.

But I had to admit that he had handled the assignment I gave him perfectly. I may have overpaid, of course. But it was worth it.

Romris had personally traveled to the right bank of the river and cut down eight cotton poplars. They were short trees which usually had trunks of ideal straightness. Lumberjacks disliked them—they rotted quickly, within a few years. I, to the contrary, was entirely unbothered by this characteristic. There was a whole forest of poplars across from the Stone, so selecting suitable ones was a straightforward task. Their wood was very light, too—about as dense as cork.

Romris used a winch up on a small cliff to lower the ready logs into the river. A platform lay below the winch, ready to help transport heavy loads up to the trading post.

Romris had tied a raft to this platform, and he now directed it towards me, to the tip of the sand spit.

It was a feast for the eyes. The logs fit together like the fingers of tightly clasped hands. Romris had planed them when necessary—you could drop a pile of coins right on the deck, and none would find a crack to slip through. They were stacked three layers tall, with a square platform at the top and in the center. Standing on this raised platform, one would be significantly above the water level—which was often important for spinning fishers. Mounted to the stern were latticework boxes suitable for storing baskets of fish. They would keep the baskets from sliding off into the water in case the raft made any sudden moves. As a bonus, on sun-scorched days the whole craft could be covered with a canopy of mats, which were both stowed in the boxes.

Romris even put a lunch cooking station in. He covered a small area near the bow with small pebbles and built a hearth of stones carefully selected to fit. Then came mounts for a spit, or for a pole holding a pot over the flame.

Sadly no pot had been included with the raft. I was just preparing for the future where I would be so rich I could afford buying cookware.

That was, hopefully, the very near future.

I examined the solitary oar and thought about making another, as well as a pair of oarlocks. I wasn’t sure that was necessary yet. After all, this raft would not be traveling far.

“How do you like our ship?” I asked with a smug smile.

“Raft,” Beko asked, skeptical. “I’ve heard talk of ships. They’re like boats, just very large. They can only travel Redriver, and only down towards its mouth. Some say that Redriver flows into an even larger waterway down that way. Gumis says it’s a sea. Like a lake, but so big you can’t see across it, and with salty water. Sounds like a lie to me.”

“Hey, don’t pick on our ship. It’s not much to look at, but you have to start somewhere. Real winners need to be able to win from the water, not just from the land. And you and I are real winners.”

“Who is there for us to win against on Blackriver?”

“Let’s start with the kotes.”

“Why do we need this raft then? Kotes are easy enough to catch from the shore. Romris took a whole pile of squares from us to build this thing. Squares we could have kept. Imagine how much yummy food we could have bought. Expensive food!”

“Yes, Beko, you’re right—we can catch kotes from the shore. But these fish are unpredictable, you know. Sometimes they go so far away from the shore that we can’t reach them, not even with my spinning rod. Then, we have to walk up and down the shore, looking for some small exception. Meaning we have to waste valuable time. And time, Beko, is worth more than squares of leather.”

“Oh, I’d sell my time for them,” Beko said dreamily. “But nobody is buying.”

“There’s more.” I pointed upstream. “See where the beach ends?”

“Of course. I’m dumb, not blind.”

“That’s not really where it ends. It continues underwater. I’m sure the visible sandbar becomes longer in the dry seasons, when the water level drops.”

“Right,” Beko confirmed.

“I’ve noticed that the smaller kotes like to swim around there, in the shallow areas above the submerged sandbar. I can quickly catch these fish. All the while salivating at how many there still are further away. That’s the best place for spinning fishing, after all. The water is fairly clear of large stones, and those that do exist are usually not close together. So there’s hardly any risk of my tackle getting stuck between them. We can push out from shore a ways, drop anchor, and fish for kotes in all directions! The current is not very strong, and the water is shallow enough that we don’t even need paddles—we can push ourselves around with poles. Easy come, easy fish, easy go.”

“How do we get the kotes up onto the raft?” Beko wondered. “They wriggle and flap up a tempest when they break the surface. Strongest just before they reach the shore. So we what, smash their heads with a club? That’ll knock them off the line entirely!”

Silently yet triumphantly I raised a huge scooping net, fixed at the end of a pole.

“Here you go.”

“So? What’s the net for?”

“To seal the deal. Once a fish is near the raft, we pull it up with this, and then stun it. Let’s give it a try.”

* * *

You have dealt significant damage to the kote. You have dealt fatal damage to the kote. The kote is dead. You have defeated the kote (1st Degree).
You receive:

Lesser Symbol of Chi x5

Lesser Attribute Mark, Stamina x1

Lesser Attribute Mark, Agility x1

Lesser Attribute Mark, Strength x2

Talent Mark, Scent of Blood x1

Lesser Standard Talent Mark x1

Talent Mark, Detect Poison x1

Lesser Personal Talent Mark, Fishing Instinct x1

That was our tenth catch off the raft. I paused to take stock.

The raft was holding up admirably. At first, it seemed too big, and thus hard to manage. However, its stability was excellent, so this disadvantage was quickly forgotten. The weight of the platform in the center of the raft, which included large stones in its construction, prevented any significant tilt no matter how much Beko and I walked, laden with things, around the raft’s sides.

In this, at least, I had no complaints against Romris. He had earned his pay.

Perhaps I had been wrong to doubt his shifty eyes.

I had hoped that the ORDER would have rewarded me for placing the order with him, but I received nothing.

However, the prizes for the kotes increased substantially. Just now I received four marks for various attributes—and this was the second instance of such a prize. All of the others dropped three, except for only a few who dropped two. The fish themselves were no different than before. They were perfect for my experiment. Nothing larger swam here, in the shallows above the submerged part of the sandbar.

Activating Fishing Instinct, I looked towards the left river bank. Then, to the right. The two sides were equivalent: about a dozen young kotes stayed close to large, isolated rocks underwater, or slowly patrolled back and forth, ambushing any smaller creatures drifting by. They were predators, and were actively feeding now—which meant they also threw themselves at my spoonbait like drunks at beer in a tavern. At this rate we would have the baskets full before long, and it would be time to start stringing them upon on a piece of cord. We would have hundreds of pounds of fish by evening. An amazing profit, especially since this counted as elite food and dropped two kinds of spices. Only rarely could a miner earn more in a day on his ore, and only when he located an unusually rich vein.

The amounts we were hauling in was already the talk of the town. I would be unable to put everything I earned to immediate use—my last round of self-improvement had shown me that. My body could not withstand such large leaps in strength and ability without equally large periods of rest. Perhaps these overloads might have longer-term effects, too. It was best not to risk it.

The gossip was turning to darker places, as well. Many were jealous of our success—after all, a cripple and a poor newcomer had struck it rich. The people might decide us unworthy. Why should a level 2 teenager and a ghoul make more than even the miners? Yes, we were legitimate trading post workers, but that didn’t mean that Ash and his people could or would protect us from everything. We were still expendable.

These thoughts did little to calm my avarice. I needed these fish. Lots of them. Today, I would deliver wheelbarrows upon wheelbarrows of them to the innkeeper. Tomorrow, perhaps I would consider holding back a little.

I activated my talent yet a third time, keeping it running for three whole seconds as I examined the center of the arm of the river running around the beach to the right. This was where the current was the strongest, so few fish swam there, as they were unable to deal with such strong waters. Those who were in the rush were struggling towards the shore or the sandbar, attempting to escape the current.

That was where the larger kotes were hanging out. Not as many fish as in the shallows, but quite bigger. Around twenty pounds on average, and sometimes a good bit more. I was ready to try my chances against them—after all, I was much stronger now.

Sometimes, even in the fastest stretches of the river, I saw swift shadows swim by. These resembled an elongated kote, but I doubted they were the same species. Kotes were always loners, unless the scent of blood or magic drew them together. These newcomers, however, swam in schools of five to seven. My eye was trained well enough now, too, to know which movements belonged to a kote and which did not.

It was likely another species. A predatory species. Fish which ate plants instead of other fish moved more slowly, feeding at a leisurely pace.

It was possible that these speedsters would like my tackle. I saw the dark swirls of eddies here and there. My anchor rope was only twenty-five feet long. If it did reach the river bottom, it would only barely. That was a poor idea, especially in a strong current.

“What do you think about sailing by that cliff?” I asked.

“I’m not in favor of that,” Beko replied. “We just hauled in whole pile of kotes. Why would we sail over there? There are plenty of fish here. Our fish!”

“And there are even more over there. Some of them larger.”

“I think it’s good enough here.”

“We should always be looking for better. But fine, we won’t rush it. This is a good place. How about we talk about this again after lunch?”

Chapter 29

The Treasures of Blackriver

No Stat Changes

It turned out I was right. We did not catch as many kotes in the new location, but those we did snag were noticeably larger in size. Meaning that they yielded more spices. Disproportionately more. A fish weighing double, twenty pounds instead of ten, yielded two and a half times as much spice. Or even three times as much. Most of our squares were in exchange for brains and livers.

One of these predatory fish was particularly perilous. It weighed at least thirty pounds. I sweat profusely as I fought with it. It was just the test I needed in order to be sure of the results of my experiment.

I defeated it, and with dignity. Only once was I scared, as the fish began to yank back, past the stern of the boat. If it passed close to the bottom of the river, after all, the line would become hopelessly entangled with the anchor rope—in which case I would almost certainly lose both my prey and my tackle.

Thankfully, that was avoided. The fish yanked mightily, but I still had plenty of strength left, and I heaved it into Beko’s net. Together, we dragged it on board and knocked it out with a couple of blows to the head.

I was delighted by the rewards this earned me. They exceeded the wealth of five small kotes. Not as rich as that first monster who had pulled me into the drink, but decent.

Beko hooted in glee. “I got an Agility mark!”

“Great!” I joined in his joy.

He only rarely got such rewards, even though he played a big part in catching large fish, clubbing them, and gutting and cleaning them. The ghoul was an ordinary native, after all, not a bottom-dweller like me, so the ORDER didn’t see fit to reward him too much. The whole of yesterday had earned him just a couple of lesser chi symbols—and he had been happy to tears. Beko claimed that sometimes, even though he kept himself busy with work, he did not earn so much in a whole month.

My rewards are like consolation prizes. They’re great because I suck, that’s all. Soon, I would have to face my inability to boost my useful talents higher than certain tiers—since I would have attribute level prerequisites to deal with. I hoped that would not be too soon. For now, I had to seize for myself as much advancement opportunity as possible, while this opportunity existed.

That would give me a chance to avoid groveling in poverty, as long as I worked hard on my Measure of Order. Raising that state to a high value would ensure decent trophies for me even down the road. It seemed to me that, the higher you climbed the Enlightenment ladder, the less the ORDER was inclined to spoil you. I planned to summit the thing, so I had to prepare.

Beko set to work gutting our catch, while I sat at the edge of the platform and started munching on a piece of cheese and a hunk of rye bread. No matter how much I ate, it was never enough for more than an hour. By the time that hour passed, I would be unable to think about anything other than food. I felt like a bottomless abyss had opened in my stomach.

“Want a bite?” I asked the ghoul.

He shook his head. “We need to collect all of the scales and spices. It’s all ours.”

“Keep at it, then,” I replied. “We have three baskets left. This monster will nearly fill two of them—we’ll have to lash any new ones to the raft.”

“We can do that with these wild leek stalks,” Beko replied. “Lots of fish is good. Our fish. Plenty for us to buy lots of delicious food!”

“And clothing and everything else,” I agreed. “First, though, we have to repay our debt. I do not wish to owe anyone. We can handle that today, once we sell this batch. We’ll have plenty left for food. Then, we can figure out how much some good clothing and shoes cost.” Beko was used to walking around barefoot, but that was no way for a winner to live.

And then what? Well, I would keep catching more and more fish, squeezing every bit out of this windfall that I could. The rewards the ORDER granted me were automatically stashed in the pouch I had received from mother. It was now bursting at the seams—I had to find somewhere to stash everything.

When the ORDER has nowhere to put something, it puts it right in the winner’s mouth. And since marks and symbols can be quite substantial, I had heard some stories about their recipients choking on them.

My case might prove much worse. A particularly successful catch would see the ORDER packing my mouth so full of goodies that it might break my jaw.

Or dislocate it, at least.

I did not want that. This evening, I would redistribute my loot into other containers. I did not want to take it out of the invisible pouch, of course—but there was nothing else I could do.

After finishing up the last bite of bread, I considered an additional raid on the supplies. Fifty yards upriver, a double splash punched into the air. This was one of the signs of a school of those mysterious fish I had wanted to get to know better.

Fishing Instinct convinced me I was right. Six agile silhouettes glided straight down the river, barely deviating from a perfect line, along a constant depth. The only exception in their steadfastness was an occasional rise to the top, producing the double splashes. They were only minor splashes, true, since the fish kept very close to the surface.

My spinning rod had not yet fought with this kind of fish.

I would rectify that shortcoming.

Standing, I activated Fishing Instinct again. Casting a line at these bolts of lightning was a real undertaking.

I had to aim and swing while keeping my talent active. All of that after allowing the school to come closer, of course—my spinning rod and tackle, though unique in the world of Rock, were still primitive and capable of little.

My cast was true: just ahead of the pack. After giving the spoonbait a moment to begin sinking, I hastily began tugging it. Normally, I would have given it more time, but the current was already pulling. Unless I moved quickly, my lure would simply float, exhibiting none of that sparkly rotation that attracted predators of all kinds.

The line tugged back. It was a single pull, sharp and powerful, nothing like the string of lesser tugs characteristic of the kotes. A surge of water erupted from the fish as it jumped clean out of the river. Its dark flesh flew into the air, as high as my eye level—it was not gigantic, but this leap proved that I was in for a fight that could not be matched by any kote.

The battle would be legendary. Once the remarkable fish reentered the water, it made straight for the bottom. For the first time in my fishing career, I had to release the spinner and give the fish some slack. I was not strong enough to hold my prey during this burst of energy.

But keeping it at a greater distance was actually what I wanted. This way, it would not encounter the anchor line. So, I gave the fish more and more slack, biding my time until it ran out of steam.

Even the most powerful creatures in Rock had limited Stamina, and this was not a powerful creature.

The fish’s efforts began to fail. Its pulls grew weaker and its jumps lower. Soon, it did not surge to the surface with enough force to fly out of the water, just to stand on its tail for a moment and then fall, allowing me to pull it another foot closer.

Once it was close enough to the boat, the net went in, the clubs went to work, and then the ORDER recognized the battle as over.

You have dealt significant damage to the garpike. You have dealt fatal damage to the garpike. The garpike is dead. You have defeated a garpike (4th Degree). This is your first victory over a garpike! You played a decisive role in its defeat.

You receive:

Garpike Defeated

Lesser Symbol of Chi x30

Attribute Mark, Agility x5

Attribute Mark, Stamina x10

Attribute Mark, Strength x7

Lesser Standard Attribute Mark x2

Personal Talent Mark, River Battler x1

Personal Talent Mark, Detect Traps x1

Personal Talent Mark, Natural Instinct x1

Personal Talent Mark, Orientation x1

Lesser Standard Talent Mark x14

Personal Talent Mark, Fishing Instinct x1

Personal Talent Mark, Trolling with Spinning Rod x1

First Victory: Garpike! (decisive role)

Medium Symbol of Chi x1

Medium Attribute Mark, Agility x1

The fish most resembled a sturgeon, and it weighed a little more than twenty-five pounds. Its nose was shaped differently, though, and it had plates protecting the carcass from all three sides—its white underbelly being the exception. Scales grew there, too, but they were underdeveloped, like rough warts.

It was a smaller fish, I thought, than that first monster kote I had landed—the one that nearly pulled me under. God only knows what would have happened had I not chanced upon that sunken snag. However, the ORDER told me this here was a level 4 creature, which would be a fair match to my first victory.

The rewards I received were much more generous than usual. Perhaps that was my Measure of Order state at work, or perhaps garpikes had some unique loot-boosting characteristics.

Even with its smallish size, the fish had been level 4, which was nothing to sneeze at. It was a good thing I had boosted some of my attributes.

I was no longer the weakling I had been.

“Look what we caught, Beko! It’s a garpike. No scales, so no need to clean it. Convenient, don’t you think?”

Something was wrong with my ghoul friend. For a moment, I was scared that the fish might have hit him with some deadly fighting talent just before the final club blow. Beko himself looked like a fish out of the water. He stared at the prize, without blinking, and made awkward bubbly movements with his mouth.

“What’s wrong with you?” I asked tensely, trying to remember the principles of CPR.

“It’s m— m— mine! It’s mine!” Beko screamed madly. Then he shook his head and calmed down a bit, but there was still something abnormal about his voice. “Ours. It’s ours! All ours!”

“What the hell is up with you?”

Beko turned towards me with a moan of excitement. “A garpike!”

“Right. That’s what I said. A garpike. What about it? You’re behaving like a man skewered by the emperor of pain’s speartree!”

Beko half jumped in the air, chortling deep in chilling glee as he slapped his knees with both hands. If I were responsible for casting a horror film, I would have hired him on the spot. Every audience to the film would have gone gray early.

There was a reason these people were called “ghouls,” after all.

Beko stopped laughing, and his voice was almost back to normal. “You know a lot of things, Ged, but not everything.”

“Right, so what don’t I know?”

“This is a garpike.”

“So?”

“So I’m very happy to see it here. We hardly ever catch garpikes. The whole last year, we caught twenty, and that was only at the end of summer. They’re unusual fish, spawning their eggs at the end of summer and the beginning of autumn, instead of in the spring. During that time, they become easier to catch. But not much easier. They’re like kotes, in a way: they avoid nets, they avoid hooks, and often they even avoid the surface. So we don’t catch many of them. Much, much fewer garpikes than kotes make it into our baskets, and like I said, those that do only come between summer and autumn.”

“Judging by your reaction, though, it’s not the garpike’s rarity that has you excited, but something else.”

Beko nodded. “Right. This isn’t a kote. It’s worth more. A lot more.” His eyes sparkled. “And it’s ours! All ours!”

I saw pure avarice overtake his eyes. It seemed like the garpike really was worth a pretty sum.

I tried to calm him down. “What’s so valuable about it?”

“Caviar,” Beko replied.

“What else?”

“At summer’s end, it starts to spawn caviar.”

“Right.”

“Well, that caviar is worth quite a lot.”

“I had guessed.”

“It’s not the most valuable spice in the world, but it’s up there. And it’s ours! All ours!”

“More valuable than kote brains?”

“Hah, kote brains is what we use to prank the Carps!” Beko snorted. “No, this stuff is rarest of the rare. Each egg is a square! And this is a female, which means it should have caviar. We can buy so much food now. The best food. We’re not going hungry this winter. We’re not going hungry ever again!”

“If caviar is really so valuable, we should catch as many of these garpikes as we can,” I murmured.

“What? What do you mean?” Beko blinked.

“I’ve seen schools of garpikes pass through here, where the current is strong. I saw them from shore—but I didn’t know what they were. Some sort of variant kote species, I thought.”

“You’ve seen more than this one?” the ghoul’s eyes widened in multiplying greed.

“I’ve seen them come through a dozen times, at least. Not that frequently, but every now and then. After all, I noticed this school from far away, and cast my lure right in front of it. If I see more, I’ll repeat the trick. If we’re lucky, we can catch five or so.”

“Five!?” Beko squeaked, and I was afraid he’d have a heart attack.

“I don’t think we’ll have enough time for more than that. The afternoon is growing late, and they don’t swim through that often. You can help me, you know. I’ll show you what their splashes look like, and you can keep an eye out for them.”

“Even if you just catch one more, just one single garpike more, I will be truly happy. We. We will be truly happy.”

Chapter 30

Stubs the Stern

No Stat Changes

I didn’t manage to catch five of the rare fish. Only three—plus one that got away just before I got him to the raft, which dramatically plunged Beko from his ninth cloud down into utter depression. The sun was threatening to set, but the ghoul demanded we keep fishing. “One more cast,” he said. Again and again. I feared we would be spending the night out on the raft.

I was steeling myself to deny him when, suddenly, a shout rang out from the shore. “You two! On the raft! Come here, and bring that raft with you!”

I turned to see a strange man waiting on the beach. I was sure I had never seen him before. Either he was very good at hiding, or he was not a permanent resident of the trading post.

His form was stocky, nearly rectangular, and was protected by dark chain mail running nearly down to his knees. Judging by his musculature, I imagined him capable of forging metal with his bare hands. No hammer required. A massive egg-shaped helmet covered his head, exposing nothing but his face to the world. It was rough—as though a novice carpenter had carved it out of discarded wood, and with a rusting ax. His beard reached nearly all the way to his wide belt, which was chaotically covered with crooked ovals of bronze.

There he stood, clad like a knight-errant. Except for his legs. They were ridiculously thick and short. As if nature had wanted to create a giant-dwarf hybrid and had given up on how to merge them together. But this flaw did not give him the appearance of an invalid. It was funny, yes. And I doubted very much that it interfered with his agility. Even from out in the river, I could tell he would not be an easy man to defeat in a fight.

He stood more firmly than some statues I had seen.

“We have to go back right now,” Beko said unquestioningly.

“Who is that?” I began to pull up the rope attached to the huge triangular stone and toothed metal bar that together served as our anchor.

“Stubs,” Beko replied as he rushed to help.

“Never heard of him. Who is he? Important man at the trading post?”

“He’s not from the trading post at all.”

“So why do we have to obey him?”

“Otherwise he’ll take our ears. Then later, he’ll tell us we don’t need them, since we obviously never listened with them anyway.”

“So he’s a strict man.”

“What, does he look kind to you?”

“Not at all,” I admitted.

“He’s the best tracker in the Wild Wood. Gurro Stubs, they call him. After his stubby limbs. You just call him Master Gurro, okay? Otherwise he’ll... uh...”

“I get it, I get it. Otherwise he’ll take my tongue out and tell me I didn’t need that, either.”

“Exactly. Once, a dire ratwolf jumped him. Gurro just saddled the beast and rode him off. The people who saw this thought that Gurro would never return, of course —ratwolves don’t take kindly to riders. The rest of the pack was following close behind, too. So they assumed Stubs was dead. They even put together a service of some kind. People here love to do that. But then, the following morning, Gurro returned. Right here, to the First Stone. He went right to the tavern, tossed the ratwolf onto the floor, its jaw torn clean off, and asked for a glass of the strongest drink the keeper had. They gave him some of that stuff the convoys bring in. The stuff they give a teaspoonful of to cows to break up gallstones. Two spoons of that and the cows’ hooves fall off. Gurro downed the whole glass and told the innkeeper to cook up the ratwolf’s liver and other innards. As they cut up the carcass in the kitchen, they noticed that the beast had no heart. They informed Gurro that this organ would be missing from his meal. He said he knew that already. Because he had eaten the heart the day before. Eaten it raw, as he watched the life fade from the ratwolf’s eyes and the frightened pack scatter to the four corners of the earth.”

“Whoa. Tough guy indeed.”

“He does not belong to the trading post. He is his own man. But when he comes here, he has the rights to anything and everything that a local does. We need him. He’s the only man around who can walk the left shore for a week and come back undamaged—and with loot, too. The Emperor of Pain has wanted slips posted up everywhere, offering good money for Gurro’s head.”

I was so taken by this conversation that I was surprised to see the raft was nearly at its destination. A couple of good pushes off the bottom with our poles, and we were there.

We pulled the anchor ashore and approached Stubs, greeting him in unison. “Hello, Master Gurro.”

He kept his voice grim. “Hello to you, too. Which one of you is Ged, and which is the ghoul?”

“He’s Ged,” Beko replied, pointing at me—but surprised that the great tracker was unable to, or declined to, tell a ghoul by sight.

“Ah, so you think I’m dumb enough to not notice the difference between a ghoul and a weakling?” Gurro barked. “Are you patronizing me, kid? Is your tongue just as malformed as the rest of you?”

“N-n-no.”

Gurro stared at him for a moment, then clapped his shoulder. “Oh come on, I’m kidding. Don’t look so sour. I’m not here for you—you can go wherever you want. I need you,” Gurro pointed at Ged. “We have important things to discuss.”

“Alright,” I nodded. “Beko, while Master Gurro and I are talking, you get the Carps and Romris. We need to bring the catch in before dark.”

The ghoul took off, at the speed of a motorcyclist. He clearly did not enjoy the company of the tracker.

Stubs pointed at our raft. “Did you make that yourselves?”

“No, Romris made it.”

“Since when did Romris do another man a favor?”

“He didn’t. I paid him, in squares.”

“So you’re rich.”

“Not yet, but we’re on our way.”

The man chuckled. “When did you get this raft?”

“Just yesterday. Today was our first try fishing from it.”

“I see you caught a lot.”

“It’s been a good day, yes.”

“Now, that raft with the dead men—you found it?”

I shook my head. “Not quite found. Noticed.”

“What’s the difference?”

“I saw it when it was floating down the river.”

“Pushed towards the shore?”

I shook my head again. “No, someone set it sailing in the middle of the river. The currents here run in such a way that the raft was pulled to the right. It would have passed the Stone right there,” I pointed.

“So you know how the river’s currents work.”

“It’s not that difficult.”

“Please do share. Tell me how the raft was launched and what happened after you found—that is, noticed it. Plus any other suspicions or observations you might have.”

“I don’t know how it was launched. I suspect that whoever did that had a boat. Maybe the kind of lightweight boat that is often manufactured of treebark out past Redriver. I also think they released the boat about a mile away from here. Beyond that, I’ve seen a couple of places where eddies snag driftwood, driving it into the left bank or down the left river fork. Down where the river takes a serious bend. Whoever launched this raft knew these things. They figured that, if they released the raft further downriver, it would float down the middle of the river, unhindered by eddies. But they actually don’t know the river very well. This sandbar continues underwater here, covered by shallow water. It sits in the current like a knife left in a kill. In fact, it cuts in so hard that it sends everything sprawling. If you examine the very end of the beach here, you can see there is no garbage, no tree branches, no stray roots or plants floating about. All of it is directed out from there, in random directions.”

“What makes you think this sandbar continues underwater?”

“I’ve been fishing there, and the water is crystal clear. You can see far down. And when the waters run low, as I’ve been told, part of that underwater stretch becomes exposed to the air. I have fishing talents, too. They help me understand what’s happening in the river.”

“Talents? You don’t look like a fisherman. You do look like an imperial, though.”

“Can imperials not be fishermen?”

“I suppose. They’re all sharks. It’s rare to see a man with eyes as bright as yours who’s not a shark.”

“I was born in the north. I’ve always said that. I’ve lived here all my life.”

“Uh-huh. So you’ve been trained in fishing.”

“A little.”

“But you’re not stupid. Fishermen are, in general, simple people. Not the smartest. When life is so easy, our brains get used to not thinking. But you must always keep thinking, or your mind will wither. Yours has not withered yet. Still, the look of you... you’re too well groomed. If we were near the border, the guards would take you for an imperial spy and hang you. You don’t look like a local.”

“I just know how to take care of myself, and I’m naturally intelligent. And handsome,” I answered modestly.

Gurro chuckled. “I think you mean impudent. That pale-face told you a dozen nasty things about me, I’m sure. Yet you have the balls to joke.”

“He didn’t say anything nasty. All good things.”

“Such as?”

“He said you were quite kind to the ratwolves. Killed one with your bare hands, just so he wouldn’t feel too much pain. Tore off his jaw and pulled out his heart. His pack retreated at the sight of your merciful action, tails respectfully drooped between their legs.”

Stubs shook his head. “You speak well enough. I suppose you can keep your tongue. Did he tell you my nickname?”

“Would you have, in his place?”

Gurro frowned. “You’re right. I wouldn’t have kept it to myself. Alright, so you think that the people who did this don’t know the river very well.”

“Right. But they did want to keep their distance. They did not want to be seen by the guards.”

“Why do you think that is?”

“It would have been an unnecessary complication. Otherwise, they could have simply hooked their boat to the raft, dragged it here, right up to the shore, and sailed safely back. Of course, perhaps they only had a tiny raft or something similar, and not a boat at all. Or, they could have taken the raft out themselves and then swam back to shore. I doubt that, however. Too many kotes in these waters during this time of year, and the bigger ones can bite right through to the bone.”

“That’s true. Any swim in the river is a scary prospect.”

“Anyway, anyone could have done this, especially one of our own, and then blame the Emperor of Pain.”

Gurro gave me a strange look, then turned and roared as he left. “Keep a lid on it, kid. And grow an eye in the back of your head, or at least look over your shoulder regularly. Otherwise, you’ll take an arrow to the back before long.”

As he left, I pondered. The man clearly knew more about this place than just his tracking arts. There were things that happened here, in the trading post and nearby it, that could pose dangers to me. I had to find out what. But how, when I inhabited the body of a child? Only Beko would share any information with me. I thought that it would probably not be too hard to bring people like the Carps into my circle. But what use would they be? Adults would not communicate with me as equals.

The age of majority here was about sixteen. That was the age of full inheritance, the age of marriage, and so on, everywhere across the North. I still had a long way to go, not that I was in a hurry.

Three years is a lot of time for someone who can, in a few days, accomplish as much as a normal native can do in a month. I was growing fast. I would emerge from these years a predator the likes of which the world had never seen. If I was allowed to do it.

If those years were quiet enough. So Gurro’s hints about something amiss in the trading post and the surrounding territory were alarming. He had not been the first to drop such hints.

Chapter 31

Ash Warms Up

No Stat Changes

The innkeeper stared at the fish thoughtfully. “A garpike.”

“Right,” I agreed. “We didn’t clean them, since we don’t know how that’s done. They carry valuable caviar inside—perhaps there’s some trick to cleaning them so as not to ruin it. We’re willing to do it, but we need somebody to show us how. Who knows how?”

“Them?” asked Jadiro.

“What?”

“You said you ‘didn’t clean them.’ That means you have more than one,” the innkeeper explained calmly and patiently.

“Right. We caught three. Should I get the other two? Beko’s got them, out on the porch.”

Jadiro turned and barked, “Tarko! The boys have brought us some fish, out on the porch. Help bring them in, quick! And you—” he turned to me—”you wait here. I’ll take care of this, and you can watch.”

Jadiro cut and cleaned the fish right in the main dining hall, as several lovers of beer who were somehow already back from the mine watched with interest. I didn’t see anything too complicated about the process. As long as you held the knife by the blade, firmly and close to its tip. The fish’s belly was malleable, and positioning your fingers allowed you to cut to an exact depth. Its dissected flesh split apart and revealed its insides, undamaged by the cut. Then, its large gallbladder and two sacs of caviar were easy to separate out. Both were valuable, but the innkeeper’s treatment of them showed that, yes, the caviar was much more so. He seized them greedily, yet cautiously. After depositing the goods into bowls, he asked, “Can I have the fish carcasses?”

“Are they valuable?”

“They’re just regular fish, but they are tastier than kote. Almost like beef, but without the fat.”

“Okay, take them. But give us a solid portion of the fish to try for dinner tonight.”

“I’ll do that. We need to wait to deal with the caviar. I’m sending Tarko to get the treasurer—I don’t handle this sort of thing on my own.”

That was the moment when I realized that we had something genuinely special. No matter how many kotes we dragged in, there was no such fuss made about them.

I had only seen the treasurer, never spoken to him. He had no reason to speak to an urchin like me—well, not until that day. In five minutes, Mr. Kucho arrived at the inn, and full of interest. He had even brought his very own scale, with which to weigh the goods.

Ignoring the gallbladders, he weighed the caviar sacs one at a time, weighed them together, and then declared, “Five guild pounds, six ounces, and eight grams. A total of two thousand, one hundred, and eighty-eight grams. Intact sacs, and so valued at full price. That is, one Blackriver treasury instrument per five grams. In total, 437 instruments.” Kucho turned to the innkeeper. “Salt the sacs in rags—you know the procedure. And you—” he turned to me. “You may collect the treasury instruments from me for the caviar. Everything else, you may collect from Jadiro.”

As I watched the treasurer, I ran calculations in my head. Sadly the going price was less than one square per caviar egg, but it was still a good sum. Nearly 450 squares from these three fish. Plus the carcasses and the gallbladder would fetch something. A small portion of this payday would repay my debts. The rest would not only afford Beko and me some clothes, but much more besides.

We could move to a new standard of living, above our current place in a dusty basement. I saw the miners’ eyes bulging. We had just earned more than they could on a hard day. Hell, we had earned more than they could dream of on a hard day. They were the local elites. For hours, miners disappeared into the darkness to mine ore, risking cave-ins and encounters with monsters who were unable to digest ore, but very able to digest miners. Others roamed the forests, placing traps throughout in order to catch beasts filled with spices. Being outdoors was better than being underground, all else being equal—but this was the Wild Wood. All else was not equal. It was rare to see any of these workers die a natural death.

Thanks to the rod and the lure, I had it made. Perhaps, within three years, I could build up a decent fortune here. If nothing stood in my way.

Including, in particular, the strangling grasp of these miners. The gaze of one burned into me, as though smoke was about to pour out of his ears. When a universally despised ghoul and a juvenile pipsqueak of imperial origin were the ones who surpassed you...

I was hesitant to keep any caviar eggs. But if they were worth so much, I wanted to try one.

However, not a single square had come my way yet. Hopefully the treasurer would still be around to sort it out after I had eaten dinner. Otherwise, I would catch him in the morning.

* * *

I found the man in his office after the meal. However, instead of paying us right away, he barked a warning at Beko. “Out of here, you filthy ghoul!

And you, follow me,” he said as he directed a twisted finger my way.

Kucho led me to the back door of his office, which brought us to a narrow maze of passages running through the lower level of the trading post’s main administrative building. Here there were storerooms holding valuable items, besides the offices for the treasurer and other officials. The big cheese himself lived up on the top floor.

That was where Kucho dragged me. It was a large room, illuminated by a single oil lamp hanging from a massive ceiling beam. The floor was covered with the skins of different animals, carefully placed so as to mimic a single, unbroken carpet. I saw animal fur resembling that of a bear, a wolf, and a giant cat—and one pelt that looked like nothing I had ever seen before. Not that I was any master trapper. It might have been some common animal.

Their owner himself was sitting at a massive table. A whole ballet troupe could dance atop it, and it would barely shudder when they leaped. Ash, leader of the trading post, was eating dinner. Before him was a dish featuring some sort of large, roasted bird. It was no domesticated duck or chicken, but obviously some sort of game bird. I hadn’t seen one like that before, either. As he chewed the last slice and used a big knife to cut off the next, Ash spoke out of half of his mouth. “Well, tell me how.”

“How what?”

The man raised his eyes and locked them with mine. His voice was tired. “How you slept. How you ate. How you shit, and how you picked your nose on the way out. But most importantly: tell me about the garpikes. I wish to know everything about them that you do.”

“Well, they live in the river,” I hedged.

Ash, picked up a piece of roasted skin with the tip of his knife and nimbly tossed it into his mouth, nodding approvingly as he mumbled, “Observant lad. Keep going.”

“They’re predators, like the kotes. However, they’re less numerous, and they never stay in a single spot for long. I’ve only seen them in the fastest part of the stream, chasing the current. Each school has only a few fish. We parked our raft next to the current, and I caught three of them.”

“With what?”

“I have a special fishing rod, and a talent that helps me catch fish with it.”

“What other talents do you have?”

I shook my head. “Paragraph two of my employment agreement stipulates that a freelance employee has the right not to disclose work or combat talents, attributes, and other ORDER parameters.”

Ash looked up from the meat, his jaw pausing its chewing. “What?”

“Paragraph two of the employment agreement. I can cite it in more detail, if you’d like.”

“Who told you that nonsense?”

“It’s written on the paper hanging on the inside of the door at the inn.”

“Ah, right. Literate. I forgot. So you have talents which allow you to catch garpikes. Where did you learn these talents?”

“At home.”

“Where is that?”

“South of here.”

“Praise the gods, boy, I thought you came from up north. You know, every moron knows that it’s easier to find an honest girl in a southern port brothel than it is to find a garpike in the river. Lying is an acquired skill, Ged. You have your tricks, yes, but not the experience and nerve necessary to live here. But that’s your business. I don’t even care if you’re an imperial, or a fugitive. I don’t care if the demons themselves taught you how to fish. But the fish themselves—that, I do care about. As the only authorized emissary of the Three Sevens in the lands of the Pentagon, I am in charge of all collection of spices, ores, and minerals. None of it is to escape my notice. Everything must go to the Treasury of the Three Sevens, in exchange for compensation. Representatives of the Treasury exist not only at the Stone but also in all trading posts, and in some villages.”

“I turned all three of them in,” I protested. “Did I do something wrong?”

“No, no, Ged. But I’m sure you’ve heard that catching garpikes is a rare event.”

“I heard that mentioned here and there.”

“I would understand if you just caught one. Anyone can get lucky. Even a boy like you. Two? Well, perhaps that could happen, as well. Sometimes, a person does get very lucky indeed. But three? That’s not luck. You do in fact have talents which allow you to catch garpikes. Do you know how many we caught last year?”

“Twenty?”

“Twenty-four. They were a little bigger than yours, perhaps—but twenty-four is still only twenty-four. That was during the entirety of garpike season, which is three weeks long. During that time, they migrate up the river, every year. When they come back down, their caviar sacs are empty. During those three weeks, we caught a measly twenty-four of them. And here, you caught three in a day, two and a half months before garpike season even begins. It is my job to understand people. Which things about them are useful, and which things are dangerous. You are hard to read, Ged. You seemed to have potential, but a dubious potential. Those were the thoughts I had about you the day that the wagon arrived. Now, though, my thoughts have changed. You are useful. Very useful. We need workers just like you. Will you be able to catch more?”

I shrugged. “Fish are unpredictable creatures. I may not see any tomorrow. Or, perhaps they will learn to avoid the method I use to catch them.”

“Do whatever you can to get more garpikes. We need them immensely: they drop a very rare kind of spices. The very spices for which we continue to defend the Stone. The guild’s management expected excellent produce from us, but we have had three difficult years, one after the other. Bad luck with the weather. Bad luck with disease. Bad luck with everything. Our incoming supplies have been cut, and now we have fewer workers. Most of the good guards are gone—I don’t even have anyone capable of keeping the local rabble away from the hornflower fields. This whole hornflower season has been lost. We must find our produce somewhere else. Garpikes are a good solution. They drop very rare spices. Some recipes require their caviar, with no alternatives available. Their bile is not only a spice but also a valuable alchemical ingredient. Not as valuable, of course, but still worth something. However, twenty-four garpikes is nothing special. That doesn’t even merit a mention in my report to the guild board each year. Two hundred garpikes, though? That would be something. We have the whole summer ahead. Nearly three months. If you catch three a day, we can hit two hundred. And the run is the strongest towards the end of the season. So many garpikes come through during that time that even those vagabonds of mine managed to catch some. Do you understand?”

“As I said, fish are unpredictable.”

“Nineteen out of twenty people here can’t even pronounce the word ‘unpredictable’. Damn hicks is what they are. I’m counting on you, kid. You’re good at catching my meaning, and you’re good at catching fish. Catch a lot of them. I don’t want you to be distracted, either. Guppy and Jadiro will offer you credit. Take whatever you need. All you’ll have to do is sign. They’ll get what they need from Kucho. If you need money, you can go to Kucho, too—we’ll open an account for you. You shouldn’t be walking around with a bag of cash. Everyone with money relies on credit here. If you get sick again, we’ll get a local squaw for you. But she is just a medicine woman, not a real healer, so it’s better not to get sick. Is there anything else you need?”

“I’d like a better place to live, and a softer place to sleep,” I replied cautiously.

“I’ll tell Kucho to find you a good place. If you need anything else, you go to him, or even to me. Just remember: we need to catch as many garpikes as possible. If the board is disappointed by our report this year, we’ll take an even greater hit in the supply department. We’re barely stringing this operation along as it is. The merchants do not understand the Far North. They have no idea what doing business here is like—they think we are on beds of roses here, enjoying the handouts they send us. But the Three Sevens isn’t the only guild. Others are climbing the ladder in the Pentagon. I am certain that one of these is working against our operation here. The forest folk around here don’t have any reason to attack us. So why did they? Someone is paying them. Or holds some other kind of sway over them, other than money. I don’t like any of this. But the South doesn’t give a damn about my complaints and concerns. That is, until my report pleases those fat hogs taking up the seats around the board’s table. Then they’ll care. Your fish could be an impressive line in that report, and your name will be listed. That could do you a lot of good. Right now, you’re a nobody. Homeless. Family-less. A tramp. All you have in the world is your name—and some skills that the guild may find useful. If they do, they’ll give you a home and a good family. Remember that. Alright, you can head off to bed now.”

“I’ll remember,” I nodded. “Could I ask you a question? I think you are the best to answer it.”

“Shoot.”

“Can talents be deleted?”

“Of course. But why would you do that?”

“I don’t mean my fishing talents. I mean other talents.”

“Sure, any talent can be deleted. But in order to do that, you have to spend just as many talent marks as you expended to develop the talent. You’ll have to spend the chi, too.”

I nodded. “Thanks.”

I didn’t need to delete any talents—I had room enough to learn a dozen more without trouble. But this was useful information which had been excluded from Mom’s training.

Plus, why not give Ash a chance to show off a little intellectual superiority? It was a small moment, of course, but such things could have a very beneficial effect on a boss-underling relationship.

Plus, any conversation at all was bonding time, right?

* * *

Ash was no aristocrat, but he had learned from that class at some point. His speech had unnecessarily many words and much pathos.

I had, however, detected something interesting in what he said. Ash suspected that other guilds were involved in plots against the Three Sevens. Since the board considered his trading post’s future a hopeless one, this thought bothered none but him alone. Therefore, he was trying to distinguish himself as much as possible. He figured that once he got the goods he wanted, financial assistance would flow north to the post in waves.

How naive. The Stone had not been developed so that the South could pour more and more money into it, year after year. Rather the opposite. They would be happy to see some increased output, of course. Yet this would not cause them to send so much as an extra penny. After all, they could conclude that their current strategy was working fine.

Most corporate structures suffered from slow response time to varying circumstances and, similarly, mistaken assessments of what was happening “on the ground.” In this world, instant communication and travel was not available, not even to the imperial family, so logistics became much more complex.

I would reach adulthood before the guild moved to make any changes. In any case, I also suspected that my garpikes were hardly enough to sway any outcome. Ash would have to squeeze as much as possible out of as many areas of production as possible.

He would push everyone to their maximum. After all, he had just put his faith in an unknown vagabond. Heck, he’d be happy to engage with devil himself for a little extra payoff.

* * *

Despite my improving fortunes, I went to bed anxious. It was time for my next experiment with the parameters of the ORDER. My last try had taken me out of active life for twenty-four whole hours.

I had to keep from overdoing it. A few minor tweaks, here and there.

I began with my chi, as usual. I would need a lot of it, so I poured in all the lesser symbols I had, 660 in all. They had taken up a lot of space in my purse and my bag. I had spent my time with the treasurer trembling with fear that someone would find it, hidden under the raft platform.

I needed to boost Perception and Spirit by two levels each. However, that would run in violation of the awkward law of no equal numbers. No two attributes were allowed to hold the same value. Nor could I raise one to level 2 and the other to level 3—my Strength was at level 3. And bumping up my Strength would cause it to conflict with Agility, which was level 4.

All in all, I would have to increase the levels of three other attributes first, before turning my eye on Perception and Spirit: Strength, Agility, and Stamina. Once I handled all five, I would finally be able to learn my Artificer talent. There was another obstacle. My current attribute level limit was 13. I already had 12 levels active.

What I wanted to do was simply impossible.

So, I would first boost my Equilibrium. I used all of the standard universal states in my possession to this purpose. I had 20, and each one gave me 0.2. So, a total of 2.4. This raised my limit by two, as partial numbers did not count until completed. Thus, I could now have 15 attribute levels.

That was enough for what I wanted to do tonight.

I spent one minute using attribute marks, and then I had 15.

For twenty minutes I waited, paying attention to how I felt. My stomach had been fed well and supplied with various spices and grumbled softly, but there was no sign of any trouble. But I was hesitant to continue my work with states and attributes.

I moved to chi symbols. Burning twenty-one of these gave me a boost of 252 units.

I decided to risk boosting Fishing Instinct and Trolling with Spinning Rod. That took 600 chi and a bunch of talent marks. I had plenty of those. What I didn’t have lots of were universal states. These were awarded for deeds more impressive than, well, fishing. That was the only item I had trouble obtaining.

Now, I had obtained Fishing Connoisseur and Spinning Rod Master. The first talent allowed me to clearly see species of fish already known to me—not just blurred silhouettes. In addition, it significantly reduced my chances of frightening my quarry with my actions. The second talent simply improved my use of my spinning rod in general: allowing me to cast further and more accurately, reducing the chance of my line breaking, and reducing the resistance it incurred when rubbing against objects in the water, scales and fins, and parts of the rod and spinner. My bonuses from the level 1 and 2 talents still remained. In fact, they all changed for the better.

240 lesser talent marks which I had earned from the fish caught were swapped into lesser chi symbols and sent to my reservoir. More chi would cause more leakage, but I would manage somehow. My increase in Shadow would be very useful, as searching for the garpikes consumed a good deal.

I felt no convulsions, and indeed no other negative feelings, but I declined to continue. Already I had boosted one state by 2 levels, increased 3 attributes, and brought two level 2 talents up to level 3, maxing them out there.

Tomorrow, I would see how I felt.

Chapter 32

The Spoils

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (426/888)

Shadow: 426

Attributes:

Stamina: level 6, 300 points

Strength: level 4, 200 points

Agility: level 5, 250 points

Perception: NA, 50 points

Spirit: NA, 50 points

Talents:

Fishing Connoisseur (tier 3): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 2): 10/10

Free Talents:

Spinning Rod Master (tier 3): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (9.46): level 9

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.50): level 0

Shadow of Chi (0.50): level 0

Measure of Order (3.00): level 3

I felt great. Less than two minutes at breakfast, and I was staring at an empty bowl. I was famished.

A beastly appetite was a sign of good health.

Improving my mood even more was the excellent weather. No one enjoyed spending all day on a raft under a cold rain or beset by piercing winds.

The ever-unpleasant merchant failed to spoil my disposition. He even improved it. The man had suddenly become friendly. Ash’s words about credit had opened some magical door for me into the grumpy fat man’s heart—or at least his good graces, for now.

Today, I was going to undertake a shopping trip of unprecedented magnitude. Starting with the clothes Beko had wanted for so long.

Guppy had plenty of ready to wear garments, but most of them were in adult sizes. Thankfully, the trading post had a good number of experienced tailors who could stitch the apparel down to teenager size. Shoes were harder to so modify, and I couldn’t find anything of suitable size. So the merchant sent Beko off to a cobbler. The man took the ghoul’s measurements and assured him that some light summer footwear would be ready the next day.

I let them measure my feet, too. My clothes were richer in origin than most people’s, but my active lifestyle and wretched home had worn them down to threads. And I had nothing suitable for inclement weather. Once I had chosen all of the desired items, they went off to tailoring.

Next, I wanted some kitchenware. Bowls, spoons, and mugs—and at last a handy pot with a lid. Now we could make a hot lunch right on our raft, and even brew some herbal tea, mixing in spices to potently recharge our strength A large waterproof tarpaulin took its place in the basket storage area. We could use it to take cover during cloudbursts.

I also acquired two pricey hunting knives crafted of exquisite steel, one for myself and one for Beko. The sight of the valuable blade nearly drove him mad. Two axes were purchased, too. I gave a craftsman designs for a backpack, a small belt-strapped bag and a protective sleeve for my spinning rod. After all, I had to keep my primary tools safe. I wanted to purchase a bow, but there were none to be found at the merchant’s.

He offered the obligatory alternative, of course. “It won’t take long to get one. Explain what you need and I’ll take care of it. Or take a look at this set of throwing knives.”

“Tell me about them.”

“They’re excellent knives, the best you’ll find here. Six in total, set in sheathes of lizard skin. Their balance is ideal, and their steel tip is forge-hardened. This knife will not break or lose its bite, not even if you hurl it into a boulder. But don’t get carried away. It’s just regular metal, after all, and will see some wear if you continue to repeat the boulder target practice.”

“Why hasn’t anyone bought them yet if they’re so good?”

“No one wants to spend that much money. They’re an expensive acquisition. Our hunters prefer bows, and our guards crossbows. Throwing knives isn’t for everyone. What would you use them for, Ged? Who’s the target?”

“We’re living in tough times. Some bandit is out there shooting people in the eye. Another is leaving people without their skin. A man should have a way to defend himself.”

“Do you know how to use these?”

“I’ll learn.”

“It’s not easy. You’ll have to practice a lot.”

“I’m a capable student. Alright. I’ll take all six, with the sheath belt. But let’s talk about the price. I’m sure you would accept, say, half?”

* * *

It was not the knives’ beauty which captivated me, but their practicality. The former did sweeten the deal, of course. The predatory outlines of the patterned steel, together with the black handles skillfully wrapped in impossibly thin strips of leather. As I wrapped my palm around the handle of one, I felt the threatening weight of the piece, and my blood rose, ready for a fight.

No. I must learn to use these without emotion.

I had not forgotten the lessons of my mother. Once, while she was describing to me various ways of unlocking skills, she mentioned an interesting fact. The basic Melee Weaponry talent was obtainable by using throwing knives, ninja stars, and other small, sharp objects. The ORDER considered all other melee mastery to spring from this source, from two-handed fencing to jousting on horseback. These talents required the appropriate branches, of course, and developing them was long and tedious, but this was the first step.

At some point sooner or later, I would find myself in a fight. That was the simple reality of this world. The sooner I began preparing for battle, the more ready I would be.

And the more likely I would be to avoid a fight in which the only blood spilt was my own.

When we reached the sandbar, we proudly marched past Romris’s group. Despite their new location, their catch so far left much to be desired. We checked our raft and loaded empty baskets into the cargo area. Instead of pushing off immediately, though, I had saved time for an hour of training, first.

Exercising, sparring with Beko, and throwing knives into a branch I dragged out of the shallow water. Most of the time, my blades flew past—or fell short—but sometimes I succeeded. For every ten successes or so, the ORDER gave me a starting talent mark for Melee Weaponry.

I felt great, so I activated it and pushed its value up to 10. That was the maximum before tier 2, where I would need to select a specialization. I wouldn’t do that now. I didn’t want to suddenly feel worse and yearn for a nap. I had fish to catch, not sheep to count. Hours of work lay ahead, and I had to be in the best shape I could be.

We raised anchor, and now, with our first day of experience behind us, we quickly arrived at the ideal location. It was a simple route: push out over the shallows of the sandbar, and continue until the poles stopped reaching the bottom. Then, the current brought us a bit downstream, near the end of the fastest stretch of water in the area. The bottom was conveniently sloped here, making a fortuitous anchor point for us. Coming back would only require a little work with the oars before returning to the poles.

* * *

The day was a routine one. Kotes, kotes, and more kotes. Then, I would hear the splashes made by the garpikes. Activating my talent, I would aim and cast and begin fighting the fish.

Over and over again this happened.

Either I was getting the hang of this or my nocturnal boost of three attributes was paying off, but my quarry’s resistance never lasted long. I even went for a kote weighing nearly 40 pounds—and it barely made me sweat. It took me a long time to work the fish to exhaustion, yes. Once or twice, I started to fear for my spinning rod’s survival, but all for naught. Just a few days ago, a giant like that could have easily yanked me into the water.

Just before lunch, we returned to land and completed another training session. Romris came to watch and called us a pair of pregnant dwarfs—then observed with interest as we moved towards our fishing spot. He very much liked to keep an eye on how we did what we did.

After a satisfying lunch, we lay on the raft for a time, sunbathing. I poured half of the rewards I had left into Equilibrium. The other half would be spent that night. This would boost my Equilibrium to 15—allowing me 6 more attribute levels. Five would go to Perception and to Spirit, and one to Stamina. The mismatch rule prevented me from spending any more on them.

That rule was pissing me off more and more with each hour that passed. I wanted to develop my Strength more—it was clearly insufficient. But before that, I would have to boost my Stamina, and so on. This limit could only be removed by transitioning to the next stage of Enlightenment, and that was the change which most risked my losing this favor of the ORDER. My rewards might revert to normal. I could push my Equilibrium to stratospheric levels. But not soon. My rewards remaining would be gone after this evening’s expenditure.

There was nowhere to buy such trophies at the trading post. Even in the South, such goods were rarely seen for sale, and when they were, they were obscenely priced. Today would be the last of my prizes, all spent on myself.

I regretted nothing. Even at my low state, my degree zero character, I looked pretty good. I had fifteen base attribute levels. Usually, that was only reached by the second or third degree if you were a commoner. Such folks would also have absolute point values far below maximum, but I had put 50 into each.

There were ways to push these even further. But that was a fantasy even for nobles, since obtaining such trophies was only possible by defeating hordes of opponents with Chaos coursing through their veins. Such creatures could be found in the North—if they didn’t find you first. But trophy drop rates were low. You might slay a small army and not find what you wanted.

Prizes in the world of Rock were distributed according to a simple rule: whatever the enemy you killed had plenty of, you received. But only a small portion—usually one unit. And even that, not always. The stronger the enemy, the higher the chances you would be satisfied with the drop. A starter talent mark, a state piece, a chi symbol, or some attribute levels. Battles were very profitable affairs—for the side which didn’t lose.

We ended our fishing day early. Seven garpikes were obtained, more than double the three Ash had repeatedly insisted on. We had so many kotes that I had lost count.

The innkeeper would add them up. He was meticulous.

We did not head up to the post immediately—I organized another training session, to Beko’s amazement. My irrepressible energy was leading him to suspect not all was well with me.

Before dinner, I visited the carpenter and the blacksmith once again. I was requesting a new set of spinning rod parts. I had made some adjustments to remedy the quirks I had experienced the past couple of days. I needed a new rod for myself so I could give mine to Beko. That would significantly increase our chances of bagging more garpikes. Most were too quick and would simply sneak by us. The ghoul was nimble enough, and I’d already let him try. By the end, he had pulled a small kote out of the water with little help from me. After a day or two more of practice, he would obtain the skill. I would help him push to level 3 and life would become easier for both of us. Our catch would grow even larger, and we would have more free time during the day.

In theory.

* * *

I had something else to get at the blacksmith’s, too. After settling the matter of the new blueprints, I pointed to the wall—a spear was hanging there, the one I had noticed on my first visit. The wood was carved with intricate notches. I wanted to hold it. Its head was exorbitantly long, somewhat curved, and sharpened not just at the point but also along the outside of the curve. No, it did not bear much resemblance to my mother’s naginata, but the main principle was similar. Both could be used to stab, to slice, or to chop. It was an excellent weapon against both man and beast.

“How much are you selling that for?” I asked.

“Selling what?”

“The spear on the wall. How much does it cost?”

“That’s not a spear. It’s an ari.”

“The ari on the wall, then. How much?”

“It’s not for sale,” the man smiled. “My son is about to turn two years old. I made it for him. And let me tell you: I poured my soul into this ari. It’s the best craftsmanship I have ever produced.”

“I don’t think your son will be big enough for that weapon anytime soon, but I’m big enough. And I’ll pay for the craftsmanship. And the soul you poured into it. How much will that be?”

* * *

Ash’s word was law here, and executed quickly. Beko and I now had a place in the residential quarter, just behind the bathhouse. It was no villa, but being close to a good bath was a solid perk.

It was furnished only with a table made of split logs and two beds of the same material, with a pair of hay mattresses. A single, semi-translucent window lit the place. The mica obscuring the view was uncommon in the South, but all over up here. A rich vein had been discovered at the mine not too long ago, and so the trading post buildings used the material liberally.

As I visited the craftsmen, Beko moved all of our possessions to our new residence. He was startled to see me carrying the spear. It was such a beautiful weapon indeed.

“What do you need that for, Ged? That looks expensive.”

“Very,” I agreed. “Oro also promised me a crossbow and a quiver of bolts tomorrow. For you.”

“A crossbow? For me? It’ll be mine?!”

“Yes, yours.”

“Are we going to become hunters?”

“Why would we do that?”

“Well, otherwise why do we need so many weapons?”

“Because we’re winners, Beko! Were you planning to kill your enemies with spitballs and insults?”

“I understand, we need a way to protect ourselves. But this is a lot of weapons. Weapons cost a lot of money. You must have spent all the money.”

“That’s no problem—tomorrow we’ll make more. Ah, and you’re getting the spinning rod tomorrow!”

“Honestly?”

“Why would I lie to you? You’ve been doing well with it. I’ll give it to you when I get my new one. We’ll catch garpikes at twice the speed! We’ll have so much money we could paper the walls with squares.”

“Don’t paper the walls! We can put it in pots and bury them. That’s what one of the people here did, they say. Then the man got killed in the mine. Haven’t you seen Romris wandering the hill with a shovel sometimes? He’s been looking for the money.”

As Beko mumbled on about lost treasure, his voice slowly trailing off, I spent 500 chi to boost Perception to 3 and Spirit to 2. I moved to activate, at last, the Artificer talent, but then nearly scolded myself, and then nearly descended into laughter.

At myself and my own stupidity.

In the euphoria of the spinning and shopping today, I had miscalculated. In order to activate this difficult talent, I needed 600 chi. I could scrape that together, sure, but that was just the start. Every talent boost cost a hundred more. To develop this new talent, I would need another 1000.

I didn’t have anything close to that—and an undeveloped talent was barely worth anything, in practice. Investing so much without any hope for a quick return did not align with my growth strategy.

Haste almost made waste. From now on, I would be more precise. Thankfully, the error was not a critical one. Perception and Spirit would be useful. I would have needed to boost them eventually, anyway.

I used the chi elsewhere, boosting Stamina by one point.

Now, it was time to sleep.

Chapter 33

A Truly Terrible Man

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (321/888)

Shadow: 321

Attributes:

Stamina: level 7, 350 points

Strength: level 4, 200 points

Agility: level 5, 250 points

Perception: level 3, 150 points

Spirit: level 2, 100 points

Energy:

Warrior Energy: 150 points

Mage Energy: 100 points

Talents:

Fishing Connoisseur (tier 3): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 2): 10/10

Melee Weaponry (tier 1): 10/10

Free Talents:

Spinning Rod Master (tier 3): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (15.21): level 15

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.50): level 0

Shadow of Chi (0.50): level 0

Measure of Order (3.00): level 3

The next day was entirely routine, except for my retrieval of the crossbow, the quiver of bolts, the parts for my new spinner and rod, and the protective sleeves, all of which I picked up after our second training session, just before lunch. The sleeves would help conceal our tools of the trade, so we would probably encounter fewer looks of envy.

Beko and I were becoming famous far too quickly. It was indeed suspicious: the worthless teenagers of yesterday somehow now procuring an endless supply of garpikes. Many wished their fortunes were half as good. I hoped to somehow mitigate the envy of the people. That was one reason why we spent a good deal of time training, rather than fishing as much as possible. It wasn’t just to become better fighters; it was to dampen our prosperity. Perhaps we could find a better fishing spot, but why would we bother? We had more than enough here, even with time left for training and development.

I had not learned Hand-to-Hand Combat, but that didn’t stop me from beating Beko eight out of ten times. My boosted attributes were starting to make their presence known. Yes, my comrade’s Enlightenment was higher, but he was clearly behind in other numbers. Plus, as I mentioned, a talent which had not been fully developed gave only a negligible advantage.

The ghoul had been observing my progress and now began complaining that he was of little use. He said I should find a better, more experienced teacher. I could pay for excellent hand-to-hand training. This would also give me talent marks more often—the higher your opponent’s level, the greater your chances of having such treasures drop.

We ate lunch on the shore. It was a marvelous meal—something we rapidly got used to. I began to feel sleepy afterwards, but there was no time for a nap. Midges of some kind flew over in a mob, enticed by the smell of the fish. They did not bite much, but it was a nuisance regardless.

We retreated to the very end of the sandbar. Small sun-warmed stones lined the beach underneath us, and soon we ourselves were sun-warmed.

Normally, I wouldn’t have been so sleepy. But boosting my ORDER parameters so quickly had that effect. Twenty-one maxed-out attribute levels in a couple of weeks was incredible development speed. Even a noble with access to the richest sources of marks and levels couldn’t gain such growth in months. But I was still far behind in my overall development. I had to make progress at maximum speed. So I had to eat enough for two full-grown men—and sleep enough for both, too.

But I couldn’t sleep until evening. A half hour later, we returned to the raft and pushed off.

The route from the day before was repeated. We barely paid attention as we pushed off with our poles and directed our craft to the middle of the current. Inertia took it from there.

“Look! What are they doing?” Beko asked, watching the shore.

I turned to see two people rushing away from the fishing shed. It was Tatai, one of the Carps, and Romris himself—cousin of the Carps chief. The latter was clearly chasing the former, who was dodging and bolting, waving his hands wildly for some reason.

“I think he’s trying to tell us something,” I wondered.

At those words, Beko tossed the anchor into the water, and it uncoiled its rope and found its place quickly.

Romris had just caught up with Tatai and grabbed him, hauling him up from the ground—then, he froze, staring at us maliciously. I had never liked the way he looked at us. Now, that disgust was amplified by an order of magnitude.

He grabbed Tatai’s neck and squeezed, beginning to chock the boy. Even from such a distance, I could all but see the boy’s eyes bulging from their sockets.

“Bastard! What are you doing?” I yelled.

Romris showed his teeth and continued his abuse of the child.

Boiling over with anger, I seized the anchor rope. “Help me, Beko. It’s time to take that monster down!”

“Let them sort it out,” the ghoul responded, clearly reluctant to engage with his nemesis.

“Do what I say, or he’s going to kill the boy! He’s gone mad!”

The rope came up far too easily. No anchor was attached. Only then did I realize that we had not in fact stopped—the current continued to bring us along down the sandbar.

I seized the pole, but it failed to reach the bottom, as the river here was deep. Beko understood what we needed to do and grabbed the oar, shoving it into the water.

With a crunch, the blade of the oar snapped off and began floating away. I tried in vain to reach it. “Genius, Beko. Genius!”

“I... I don’t know what happened,” Beko blinked. “It just broke on its own, before I knew what was happened.”

Romris continued strangling Tatai’s crumpled body with one hand—and waving goodbye with the other. Once more, my hatred multiplied.

“We have to get off of this!”

We were only fifteen yards from the rock atop which the trading post was built—but that distance might as well have been a hundred yards. The river was too strong here, and too deep. I could jump—abandoning all of the goods on the raft, and the raft itself, to the mercy of fate, and risking getting attacked by a swarm of the kotes with which the waters teemed in early summer.

Beko sat down gloomily. “The rope was cut.”

“I figured. That bastard broke our oar, too. But why? If he has killed Tatai, everything is over for him. He’ll be lucky if all they do is break both his arms.”

“Yes,” Beko said, an evil joy in his voice. “We’ll be back before long and tell Hugo everything. They’ll break his arms right then and there. And maybe they’ll hang him!”

I looked downriver and shook my head. “This will take us a while. The right bank here is a cliff too tall for us to climb. And we’re far from the left. The river is deep. Also, there’s no bridge from the other side—we’ll have to shout and wave our hands in order to get those blind tower sentinels to notice us.”

“Blind?” Beko blinked.

“They never seem to notice anything. They didn’t see what just happened. Unless... Maybe Romris somehow knew that they wouldn’t see it.”

“How could he know that?”

“I have no idea. He was so sure of himself, attacking Tatai out in the open like that. He’s never behaved like that before, has he? I don’t know what’s happening here, but one thing I do know: Romris never struck me as crazy.”

“You don’t know him at all!” Beko said, as if offended. “He’s always been a nasty man. Always.”

As we continued to float downriver, the right shore continued to offer us no opportunity to ascend it. Vertical rock, plunging from high above us deep down into the water. My fishing talents showed me that our poles were useless here. Not that we could climb well, anyway.

“Unless we get to shore fast, Beko, we’re going to have to spend the night on the raft.”

“No,” the ghoul answered calmly, “see that turn up ahead?”

“Of course.”

“Around the bend, we can climb up the right bank. There’s one place where a creek has cut through the cliff, all the way down to the water. In the spring, it brings rocks with it. In the summer, it brings sand. And so there is a sandbar that stretches out, nearly to the middle of Blackriver. Everything floating down the right side runs over it. One time, our fishermen were out here drunk. They set out the nets and took a nap. They ended up hitting the sandbar, and so will we. Then, we’ll head up the creek. There’s a trail leading from there.”

I grabbed the scooping net and started rowing.

“What are you doing?” Beko cocked his head. “Just sit and relax. Soon we’ll be ashore, and we’ll walk up to the bridge. We’ll tell them everything about Romris.”

“We can’t let ourselves be stuck on that sandbar.”

The ghoul was taken aback. “Why not?”

“They’ll be waiting for us.”

“Who?”

“I don’t know who, but I do know they won’t be waiting with floral wreaths. Don’t you see? Romris was one hundred percent sure we would be unable to ruin him. They intend to catch us. This was all planned out. I bet that Tatai found out about their evil plan and ran to warn us, but he was too late.”

“Who’s waiting for us?” Beko insisted.

“Someone looking to rob us, kill us, enslave us, I don’t know. I just know that we must not end up on that sandbar. Help me row.”

“With what?”

“With your ears, if you have to. Quickly!”

* * *

They were indeed waiting for us.

Three men stood on the sandbar, which was clear on one side and swamped with debris on the other. In the darkening twilight, it was difficult to discern any details, but they seemed to be adult men, clad in discreet apparel. One had something that looked very much like a large bow.

The rope had been severed very close to the anchor itself. Thanks to that, we had a lot of rope left, and we used that to wrap the net and turn the scooping net into little less than a full-fledged paddle. No matter how strongly the current fought against us, we resisted, working in shifts, and thus we managed to draw the raft away from the right bank and into the middle of the river. Now, we would pass about 40 yards away from the tip of the sandbar.

A bow, in capable hands, could shoot a good deal farther than that. I had heard stories of archers with astronomical numbers behind their shots. Able to skewer you through the heart from hundreds of yards away. Those were only archers of vanishingly rare skill, of course—but far be it from me to presume on the weakness of my enemies.

I turned to Beko. “Row us around so that the stern points towards the sandbar. I’m going to move the baskets.”

“Why?”

“They might be able to protect us from any arrows. The sky is growing dark quickly, but we are moving quickly, too. It won’t be dark enough to cover us entirely.”

Twelve baskets were filled to the brim, and two others partly filled. With the containers so packed full of fish, I doubted an arrow could punch through. Especially with the archer dozens of yards away—with each yard, the arrow’s penetration power would decrease.

Never before had I moved heavy objects so quickly. Adrenaline was pumping through my veins. I moved those baskets as speedily as I would have if they had been empty. Mercilessly I shoved them together, allowing no gaps for death to reach between. Once I was done with this task, I ripped the topmost layer from the center of the platform and put it up as an additional obstacle.

I was just in the nick of time.

As soon as we took refuge behind our cover, screams rang out from the sandbar.

“There they are!”

“Chaos take them, why aren’t they near the sandbar?”

I could not help myself from responding, “Because we know this river, unlike you worthless idiots!”

“Biqo, step aside. Aside, I said! I’ll show those street rats who’s worthless!”

A nasty twang rang out, and our basket barrier took a hit so solid it splashed us with fish innards.

“Hey, boy! How’d that feel? Well?”

We weren’t about to provide them the satisfaction of a reply. We both knew that it was dark enough now that the archer was unable to discern our position on the blackening surface of the river. He hoped to pinpoint us by the sounds we made.

We showed no further desire to communicate, despite this provocation. The archer began to fire blindly.

One arrow hit, then another—and then one whizzed past my hair and buried itself in the deck, which a second ago had seemed impossible.

Before, I had cursed our speed. Now, I called hellfire upon our slowness. A dozen more times the archer fired, and finally hit.

Beko screamed after a projectile punched through the barricade, and then started whimpering.

A cheer came from the shore. “I got one!”

“Nail the other to the deck!”

“I can’t see shit now. We have to make our way downriver and cut them off.”

“We’ll never beat them. The river will take them to the Grove in no time.”

“To Chaos with them, then. That’s where they’ll die.”

“What’s wrong, Beko?” I asked quietly. “Sit up—they can’t hit us anymore.”

“My... my... my eye.”

“Your eye? He shot you in the eye?”

Thankfully, Beko’s words were founded only on pure panic. A wide-tipped arrow had punched throw the barrier and grazed the poor boy’s cheekbone. It had lost most of its power by then, but blood still sprayed from the wound like water from a hose. Most leaked through the gaps between the logs of the raft, dripping into the water and frenzying the nearby kotes. Their splashes intensified.

I made my friend pull his hand away from the wound, and I put my palm there instead. Activating my healing talent, I watched my chi shadow drain rapidly.

Then, I moved my hand away. “Done. You can stop shaking now, Beko. Your eye is OK—he just slashed your cheek. I just healed it.”

“H... healed? You’re a healer?”

“Not a very good one, but yes, I am. I can only deal with scratches and close up small wounds while they’re still fresh. You’ll probably have a scar.”

Beko cheered up and started washing his face. “I don’t mind a scar.”

You have treated a wounded person. Wound healed!

You receive: Lesser Symbol of Chi x1

Huh, I even got a reward from the ORDER. What a lucky day. Hurray.

“Those monsters wanted to move downriver and catch us, but then one of them said we’re going to die in some grove anyway.”

Beko nodded. “If he’s talking about the Black Grove, then yes, we will die there. Even Stubs doesn’t go there. It’s a very bad place.”

“Then we have to get this raft to shore. But how? Before the darkness really settled in, I saw a cliff just beginning opposite the sandbar. It didn’t look very high, but I’m not sure we can climb it.”

“No way. That’s clay, which no one can climb. This is a tough stretch. Maybe there are some promising places, but I don’t know about them. From here on, the river becomes a death trap.”

“You do realize what just happened, don’t you?”

“What?”

“That archer who shoots people in the eye was attacking us.”

Beko looked up. “What? How do you know that?”

“He almost hit you right in the eye. I had an arrow whiz right past my skull. Even when he shot through those baskets of fish, he somehow knew where our eyes were. A mighty marksman, for sure.”

“Wow, that was really him!” the ghoul exclaimed. “And we’re alive. Our eyes are fine. All of our eyes!”

“I’m glad you’re happy, but...”

“Why shouldn’t I be?”

“It’s dark, and the river is sweeping us away. We can’t even see where we’re going. And you just told me that the Black Grove is up ahead—and that not even Stubs goes there. He’s a million times stronger than us.”

“A million? How many is that?”

“We could spend all week counting, Beko, day and night, and we wouldn’t reach a million.”

Chapter 34

On the Blackriver

No Stat Changes

Blackriver was a wild, fast waterway. Its shores were cluttered with vegetation, and sometimes large trees piled up to block parts of the river. Even during the day, navigating it could be perilous. Nighttime river trips were utterly foolhardy.

We had no choice, of course. Somehow we continued to pass by every obstacle, running into nothing. Keeping the raft pointed forward did little but waste our strength. It was a precaution, in case of collision. Any dry trees would crush our fish barrels before they could strike our bodies. This barrier had already saved us once today, and we hoped it might again.

The darkness became complete. Clouds blotted out the moon and the stars. I had trouble seeing my hand in front of my face, and I was unable to activate my fishing talent. Not because it was dark—it still worked in the dark, if poorly. No, it was because I barely had any chi shadow left. I had spent so much fishing, and then nearly all of the rest healing Beko. It was recovering slowly, and I decided to save whatever I could regain for emergencies.

My ears picked up the characteristic murmuring of river water encountering an obstacle in its way.

“I hear something,” Beko said, tense.

“So do I, but I can’t see anything.”

“Neither can I.”

“You’re not a very good ghoul, then, if you can’t see in the dark.”

“I know that,” Beko agreed. “Ged, listen. What’s that humming up ahead?”

I concentrated, trying to discern the same sound beyond the burbling river.

A few seconds later I replied, but I was not sure of myself. “You’re right, there’s something I don’t recognize.”

“We must have reached the Stone Shelf Rapids. That must be what’s humming.”

“Rapids? Can we get through them?”

“I’ve heard of a boat getting through, when the water was high. But this is no boat, and it’s nighttime. The raft might be smashed to bits on the rocks. This is bad. Worst of all, there’s nothing we can do about it. Except maybe start paddling blindly, but why? That might bring us to shore, but it might push us into the very rocks, or into a barrier made of fallen trees. A river teeming with kotes is not the best place for a swim.”

The noise was growing rapidly louder, and Beko was most likely right. I had no desire to encounter such a massive challenge in the darkness. I tried to steer the raft blindly, focusing on nothing but the sounds of fast-flowing water.

After a few minutes of work with the makeshift oar, it hit something solid. I hardly saw anything, but I reached out to feel cold stone.

“The cliff!” Beko exclaimed as he also reached out. “We’re at the cliff!”

“But we can’t disembark here,” I said with annoyance.

As we were floating along the cliffside, though, the water was rather deep here. Any vegetation, rocks, and other obstacles were far enough below so as not to concern us. Even experienced alpinists be fools to try to climb the slippery cliff blindly, in utter darkness.

“I’m beginning to see things,” Beko said. “Dawn is coming.”

“It’s still too dark,” I mumbled back. “If we hit the rapids while the sky is like this, we’ll come closer to drowning than ever before.”

The raft hit the cliff again—and once again, we were unable to grab hold of anything. Hopefully the current was weaker here, and we should try to stick close.

For several hours we rowed backwards, keeping to the cliff face. At the end of this, we were so exhausted that we could barely stand. Sunrise was still distant when we hit the rapids. It was just bright enough to see how hopeless our situation was. Here, the river narrowed to two hundred yards across. Both sides were sheer cliffs without so much as a hint of a way up. Only a well-equipped climber could tackle them. They were a hundred feet tall at their shortest points, and generally devoid of cracks and ledges.

The roar of the water ahead of us was growing to a deafening volume. I would have thought it was a waterfall, but I believed Beko. It was just a riffle, a shallow stretch of river—with some resultingly violent water. The sound was amplified by the canyon walls. If any boats could get through, our lightweight raft might, too. Still, I decided to maximize our chances.

I activated my fishing talent and saw that the waters were packed full of kotes. Most were tiny, gathering at the start of the shelf and not daring to proceed any farther, where even such nimble predators as they would have trouble. The rapids were a barrier to the fishes’ migration. I had never seen so many fish in one place before.

Without hesitation, I grabbed my oar and tried to cheer Beko up. He was shaking in terror. “Calm down. We’re getting off here.”

“How? These is no shore here. Only cliffs.”

“We don’t need a shore.”

Perhaps there was once a large rock in the middle of the river here, like the one our trading post sat on top of. But, as time has passed, the water has had its way with it. Now, it’s just a flooded shelf, covered in rocks and debris. There is, however, something like our old sandbar, reaching out thirty yards into the water. At its widest point, it’s hardly ten steps across. The approaches to this area were shielded by huge boulders which dwarfed our raft.

I led us between two such behemoths, and we gently bumped into a bottom of pebbles.

We tied ourselves down with what was left of our anchor rope. Beko looked around. “This is not dry land. As soon as it rains somewhere upriver, we’ll be swept away. We have to get ashore somehow.”

I shook my head. “The current is too strong here for us to row against it. Besides, look that way. The cliffs just continue. We’ll never have the strength to get far enough, rowing against the current. And it is too deep there for the poles to be of use. We cannot return upriver. I see no way for us to survive but to cross the rapids of the shelf.”

“Then what are we waiting for?”

“I want us to be ready. To that end, I have an important question for you.”

“Which is?”

“I know it’s not polite to ask about your ORDER parameters. But I have to know what you’re capable of, Beko. If I do, I might be able to help you become stronger. We will need to be strong in order to get across the shelf. So, tell me everything about you. Attribute, talents, degrees, all of it.

* * *

I could have guessed that Beko was far from an alpha. But I would not have been able to tell anything more. In order to discern information about a character’s ORDER parameters, you needed special talents of observation. Unless your Degree of Enlightenment exceeded the degree of the target by orders of magnitude. In both cases, you would still be unlikely to access more than a partial set of numbers.

The ghoul didn’t even ask why I needed his information. His trust in me was nearly absolute. After all, I had not just treated him as an equal, I had provided the poor boy with a life more fulfilling than he had ever dreamed of. By this point, what I said, he did.

He was level four. In other words, using ORDER parlance, he had reached the Fourth Degree of Enlightenment. In infancy and early childhood, his mother had made sure that he developed all three of the attributes which common people could access. She had chosen a different focus for the first and second degrees. Apparently, she had been trying to achieve roughly uniform development for her boy. In addition, she had fed him the commonly available spices. Each attribute had absorbed between 20 and 30 units of energy, which was quite good for the average person.

The third degree, however, was a mess. Beko had developed all six attributes there—but each had received fewer than 15 units. It was these that made you stronger, smarter, and possessing of more stamina. He had accumulated a decent number of attribute levels, but there was little point to it when he did not use them to unlock high-level skills.

Beko had just begun developing his fourth degree, and so far had only scored one Stamina level. Strength and Agility were still in progress. Despite my position at degree zero, I was noticeably superior to the ghoul in absolute terms, as far as these three core attributes were concerned. Only in attribute levels was I inferior, and that currently mattered little to me. I really am a freak, I thought to myself.

Beko’s talents were terrible. He had pumped Herbalism from level 0 to level 2 three times, choosing different branches each time. I knew why. It was so he would not starve during the non-work season. But in our current situation, the ability to pick and prepare healthy plants was unlikely to be very helpful.

Hand-to-Hand Combat was in the same boat. As was Carpentry. Romris had been a scoundrel, yes—but he had made the raft well. It did not need any repairs yet. The level 3 Trapmaster talent surprised me—I had not expected to encounter a hunting talent in Beko’s book of tricks, much less a highly-developed one. But right now, it was just as useless as everything else.

For the hellish night during which we had managed to escape from the sandbar with ourselves and our raft intact, to survive the arrows of the infamous archer, and to blindly paddle as we tried to find a shore, the ORDER had awarded me 7 personal talent marks for the Boatman talent. I was not about to protest that I should have received Raftman marks, instead.

The talent’s name and description made it clear that it would greatly improve my ability to work with small watercraft. This was, in the current situation, a very valuable upgrade. Sadly, starting talents could not be transferred to another person. You had to kick off a new talent with a trophy you had received from the ORDER—not one you had traded for. Marks would work, but only after you used a starting mark you yourself had obtained.

Thankfully, Beko had also received one such mark. I immediately ordered him to activate it, and then gave the ghoul 100 lesser chi symbols and 4 greater universal talent marks. “Here, take these. This will be enough for you to maximize that talent on level one. And here’s the same amount again. Activate your fishing talent and develop it just as much.”

Beko’s face was indescribable. “Ged, where did you get all of this? This is a fortune! How?”

I winked mysteriously. “I am able to quickly win a large number of drops from the ORDER. Now, let’s get some rest, but not for too long. We’ll be spending all day here. And probably all day tomorrow. This place is full of kotes, and I’ve been seeing a lot of garpike splashes. We’ll feed you a bunch of caviar and boost your talents and attributes. When we leave here, you’ll be at degree five. I think we’ll be able to get you at least 30 attribute levels, too. Garpike spices are valued for more than their taste, you know.”

“We could sell them,” Beko said in avaricious regret. “And I could eat kote brains instead. And liver. Those aren’t as expensive.”

I chuckled and gestured to the surrounding area. “Where’s the nearest merchant, then? Does your ghoul vision let you see one that I cannot? Who do we sell our catch to, then? That’s right—there’s no one here. Everything we caught yesterday will have to be thrown away as soon as it starts to go bad. The only reason for us to catch new fish today is to get the drops. We will have plenty to eat.”

“Two days isn’t a long time to boost your parameters,” Beko noted.

“It is with me. We’ll bring our boating talents up to a fully-developed level 2 or even 3. Maybe we can even start a second branch. We’ll see what’s on offer then. Also, we’ll increase your attributes. Then, we head for the shelf.”

“We won’t have time,” the ghoul continued with his doubts. “We’ll need so much chi and so many marks...”

“We have enough of both. Trust me.”

Chapter 35

Water, Water Everywhere

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (449/888)

Shadow: 449

Attributes:

Stamina: level 7, 350 points

Strength: level 4, 200 points

Agility: level 5, 250 points

Perception: level 3, 150 points

Spirit: level 2, 100 points

Energy:

Warrior Energy: 150 points

Mage Energy: 100 points

Talents:

Extreme Boatman (tier 3): 10/10

Fishing Connoisseur (tier 3): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 3): 10/10

Throwing Knives (tier 3): 10/10

Free Talents:

Spinning Rod Master (tier 3): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (15.21): level 15

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.50): level 0

Shadow of Chi (0.50): level 0

Measure of Order (3.00): level 3

Everything worked out just as I had predicted. We fished all day, slept, and gobbled up the invaluable caviar from the garpikes, in addition to the spices from the kotes. Variety was a good thing, for our purposes.

The next day, we repeated the same. Instead of further improving talents, though, I moved to attributes. Beko’s, of course. I could not develop my own any further. I had 21 attribute levels now. That was my original limit of 6, plus my 15 Equilibrium. I had no way to push these further, so I had to accept the impossibility for now.

I would not be able to obtain enough chi within such a short time. That first day, Beko boosted his spinning rod talent as much as he could. I myself reached tier 3 Boatman. That talent was excellent for navigating extreme conditions. Which was what we were preparing to do.

I also took Melee Weaponry up to level 3, selecting the Throwing Knives specialization as I did. Beko pumped the Crossbow talent to level 3, as well. Even the grittiest bandits feared to brave this stretch of the river. I wanted us to be ready for anything. If we ended up in melee, we would almost certainly be disabled or killed. Keeping our distance would be the optimal option. So, we focused on ranged fighting talents.

I was sorry not to reach tier 4 for Throwing Knives. Yes, a fully-developed tier 4 skill would cost 400 chi. That wasn’t the obstacle. I could scrape that together somehow. And we were well-fed out here, and not under attack. We could have stayed here as long as we liked, until the fish decided to flee.

But above tier 3, other requirements came into play. I had to reach Degree 1 Enlightenment, for example, in order to push the talent’s branch further. Meaning that tier 3 was, for me, the ceiling.

I did consider pushing out of degree 0. Cool talents were something I yearned for. But not at the price of a potential nerfing of my drop rates. Even if my greed in this matter led me to an early grave, I would hold onto it. The mountains of treasure which fell at my feet were my one chance at escaping the very bottom of this society.

With rewards like this, I could practically purchase eternal life. No health problems. No financial problems.

Why would anyone risk such an opportunity?

We completed Beko’s final attribute level on the evening of the second day. He would feel his normal self by morning, and we could set off.

As I had promised, these attributes had been developed to the max. We pushed this last one to a record 37 units. Even a nobleman would sit back in satisfaction at such a result. Assuming he was, of course, only a modest nobleman.

But for a commoner, such growth was jaw-dropping.

The spices helped, along with the valuable attribute-pumping trophies consumed at the right moments. I tried to repeat the same processes which had pushed my attributes up so high. The results were less impressive this time, but Beko was ecstatic.

And, I began to think, a little scared of me.

He was a greedy creature, and here he saw all of this wealth evaporating before his very eyes. The fact that the results were being applied to him evoked within him powerful emotions bordering on terror.

And here’s the thing: despite all my efforts, Beko’s math skills still left much to be desired.. But as soon as it came to the distribution of parameter points and units, mathematical abilities emerged.

I was certain that this was some kind of a native instinct. Otherwise, how could illiterate creatures develop their ORDER parameters at all? They had to make choices and keep track of things.

Or was the distribution made automatically? It reminded me of a friend I once had at school. His math skills were terrible, but as soon as real money was involved, he could run formulas like a grad student.

Perhaps this was similar.

* * *

I stretched my hands over the smoldering coals. “Summer is here, and yet it’s still freezing out.”

“At least it’s not raining.”

“Yeah, it was drizzling all night. Good thing we have that tarp. Well, are you ready?”

“I don’t know. Aren’t you scared?” Beko worried.

“Winners don’t get scared. But yeah—it is a little scary. If anything crazy happens, we’ll regroup on the left bank, remember?”

“If our raft splinters on the rocks, no one will be making it to the left bank,” Beko sighed. “Why don’t we stay one more day? There are lots of fish. We could get a bunch of good stuff and cook it up.”

“We’re out of salt.”

“Fish still tastes good without it. Plus, you can salt it with ashes. I’ll teach you how.”

I shook my head firmly. “No. Winners do not avoid what must be done. And that rain was not encouraging. If it moves upriver, the water level may start rising, like you said. That sandbar doesn’t have any wild leeks growing on it—do you know what that means?”

Beko nodded. “It’s almost always underwater. Lousy sandbar.”

“Right. We were lucky to arrive here with water levels low. The water might go up at any time. So far, it hasn’t. It’s even dropped a little. But that is no reason for us to delay. Things can change rapidly.”

We had to heave the raft from the rocks with brute force and a deadwood lever. Once we were out on the water, we picked up an uncomfortable amount of speed. This was just the beginning of the shelf. Perhaps it was not quite an area deserving of the name. Not yet. The water was moving fast, but the loud noise we had grown accustomed to was still up ahead. There, the canyon walls pressed their embrace of the river even tighter. Even from here, we could see foam spraying into the sky.

Perhaps splinters of our raft would join the foam in not too long.

We surged right into the corridor between boulders which I had targeted in advance.

The final few yards of water before the foamy rush began to slow, it seemed. As if even it was terrified of what lay beyond. It slowed and rose, our raft with it, as everyone prepared for the main event.

Then, it cast us down, into the roaring, foamy maw of hell.

I screamed with all the force my lungs could muster. Beko’s mouth was open, too. But neither of us could hear the other.

Here, our voices meant nothing. A yelling man was as loud as a mute. One sound ruled all. The sound of rushing water.

The sound of rushing death. A sound with no hesitation about shattering the raft, and us with it.

* * *

I don’t think the adventure lasted very long. The entire stretch of rapids probably took us about three minutes to clear. But every second in those three minutes felt like an hour.

When it was over, I didn’t even realize it right away.

Over for now, at least.

Our raft was moving quickly again, but it was just a strong river current bearing us along, not another deadly micro-waterfall trying to throw us into a boulder. The water was obscured by an impenetrable layer of foam. The whitish gray  swirled as though hordes of krakens and crocodiles roamed beneath, ready to break out upon us at any instant. But there was no nightmare causing this foam but the one we had already passed through.

We.

I turned—and smiled wearily to see Beko in place. Pole at the ready. His eyes had widened to the size of record pinecones. I was sure that mine had, too.

Beko was also realizing I was alive—but he looked in horror at the place where, a few minutes ago, the empty baskets had been stored. It was gone. He pushed his pole into the water and began to pull the tarp back on board.

Shouting over the water in a voice that was almost sane, he said, “Good thing we didn’t lose this. It might rain again.”

We were, of course, drenched more than any rain could make us, but neither of us mentioned that. We would dry our clothes and the tarpaulin, and it would indeed come in handy if we encountered bad weather. Everything but the cargo area could be restored to normal quickly.

Perhaps even our shattered nerves. Beko roaring in my face, without me hearing a bit of it. Our solid poles bending nearly into horseshoe shape as we feverishly used them to ward off the massive, stationary bringers of death.

I’ll never be doing that again.

Not for anything in this world.

If I found myself back on that stony sandbar before it all began, I would stay there.

All my life long, until old age took me.

What’s that? The water level you say? Pfft! I’ll climb atop the boulder and wait it out. After all, the largest rock jutted at least ten feet above the water’s surface.

It would have been a happy life, full of fish and friendship and fearlessness. Much better than rushing down a rain drainage pipe in the middle of a tropical storm.

As my mind recovered its ability to perceive the world, I realized with some horror that our torment had not yet concluded. The river was still squeezed tightly by the walls on either side, and somewhere further downriver, the water once again roared.

This roar was louder than before. I knew that what we had just experienced had only been a warmup.

We rounded a corner, and my heart skipped a beat. A waterfall descended from the vertical cliff lining the right bank. It was the rumble of its meeting the river that had so terrified me.

We were heading straight for the waterfall. No paddles remained to us to stop this movement. Our makeshift scooping net oar had been swept away.

Halfway, though, the currents of the river took pity on us and pushed us away from the plummeting torrent. Then, in an instant, we were shrouded in fog. We could see only a few feet ahead of us, and all sounds were fatally distorted. Or perhaps the waterfall had us spinning so quickly that they seemed to be coming from all directions at once.

“You didn’t mention that, Beko,” I complained.

“Mention what?”

“The waterfall.”

“Oh, I forgot. It’s not even called the waterfall. It’s called Shelves’ End.”

“So that’s the end of the rapids?”

“Should be. That means we’re past it.”

“Great. But in fog this thick, we’ll be all the way to Redriver before we can get our bearings.”

Beko shook his head. “This isn’t fog. This is bad. We’ve arrived in the swampways.”

“Swampways?”

“I don’t know, I’ve never been here. I’ve only heard about it. The waterfall dumps into the river and runs to another big waterfall. That second fall, of course, is on Blackriver itself. There’s no way past it except to go ashore and carry the boats. From the first waterfall, you have to keep to the right. If you go left, you encounter the swampways. A labyrinth of them. I don’t know whether getting out of the swampways is hard or not.”

This prospect of a maze of waterways didn’t scare me. “Let’s find the shore. Is there a decent shore along these ‘swampways’?”

“The shore is right there,” Beko pointed to the left.

I could barely make out an outline through the white mists.

It was of a huge, flat-topped stone covered in rich moss. Attempting to mount it on foot plunged our legs into sticky mud, nearly to our knees. Thankfully, we were barefoot and had rolled up our pant legs.

We parked the raft in the shallows, collected our scarce belongings, and attempted to find a decent stretch of land.

Wherever we went, we encountered only puddles and mud. The mossy mounds were the only islands of dry. But they could not hold our weight—immediately giving way, they plunged us back into the muck.

There were no landmarks to help us orient ourselves. The fog was a little thinner, but there was still no way of seeing beyond twenty paces. Trying to move with the waterfall’s sound at our back was unproductive. Here, sound bounced around and was absorbed in odd patterns, and we could once again hear everything from all directions at once. No acoustic beacon would come to our rescue.

In the end, we returned to the raft. That familiar flat stone was the only solid object here in the kingdom of mud, moss, and muck. We were glad to see it at first, but immediately saddened by the realization that we had just wasted hours wandering in circles.

Not to mention the energy we had burned.

Beko sat on the edge of the raft and stared up in melancholy. “I doubt we’ll ever see the sun here. This is an evil fog. Unnatural. It smells something like the slag in a forge.”

“You’re right. Have you heard anything about this swamp before?”

The ghoul shook his head. “Here, the Grove runs on the left bank, and on the right bank, too. It runs all the way to the big waterfall. The land beyond is dangerous, too. If we survive this swamp, we’ll be eaten further down.”

“Eaten? By whom?”

“I don’t know. This is the Grove. There’s always someone here waiting to eat you.”

“I’d like to see them try. We’re the winners here, after all.”

“Ged, we cannot find our way out of this swamp. We’re not winners. We’re lost.”

“Lost? We’ll see about that.”

“How?”

“I bet you I can get us out of here right now.”

“How?”

“I have an idea. I hope it works.”

Chapter 36

The Breath of Chaos

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (347/888)

Shadow: 347

Attributes:

Stamina: level 7, 350 points

Strength: level 4, 200 points

Agility: level 5, 250 points

Perception: level 3, 150 points

Spirit: level 2, 100 points

Energy:

Warrior Energy: 150 points

Mage Energy: 100 points

Talents:

Extreme Boatman (tier 3): 10/10

Fishing Connoisseur (tier 3): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 3): 10/10

Throwing Knives (tier 3): 10/10

Apprentice Navigator (tier 3): 10/10

Free Talents:

Spinning Rod Master (tier 3): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (15.21): level 15

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.50): level 0

Shadow of Chi (0.50): level 0

Measure of Order (3.00): level 3

I was wrong to doubt my idea. It worked even better than I had hoped. Or at least I thought so at first.

A vague memory from eons back, in my past life, reminded me of a way to make a compass in the wild. A steel hand from a watch, or a paper clip, or a nail was enough to pull it off. After gently placing the item on a leaf that was floating on the water, you could watch it spin—and then align with the Earth’s magnetic field. One point should be magnetic north, the other magnetic south.

I was only a child then, and I remember asking how to distinguish the north from the south, if there was no information available other than the nail. The adults I asked had been confused, unable to answer.

I was not about to waste time making a water compass. After all, this world might not have even had a magnetic field.

Perhaps it wasn’t even a planet, in the usual meaning. My mother, a very educated woman here, had never mentioned anything about the world being spherical in shape. I did know that it was considered gigantic—and not hanging in space, but anchored to some axis that the higher powers held in place in the great void. That’s all I remembered from her lessons.

I would try the compass another time. Perhaps I’d make a great navigational discovery that would be rewarded by the ORDER.

This time, though, I asked for the ORDER’s help directly. I activated all of the talent marks for Orientation and used reward drops to boost it to levels 2 and 3. To achieve the chi necessary, I had to melt down some attribute marks, which was of course regrettable. But worth it.

The third specialization level of the Orientation talent was Apprentice Navigator. Now, I could find my way in the world without a compass, and even call up a very rough map of the places I had visited since I activated the talent. I could even pin up to ten markers to this map. At any time, I could determine which direction they were in. That was a useful function, and it was unfortunate that no more pins could be added.

Now, this swamp would no longer keep us lost. Yet when I tried, I realized that the talent worked poorly, or was affected by the fog.

I told Beko about this. “This is the Grove,” he said.

“Chaos itself once passed through here. This may not even be fog, but the very breath of Chaos himself. That can have a powerful negative effect on the ORDER. Your pathfinding skill is from the ORDER, you know, so it is also affect—wait, look! Dry land! A solid plot of it!”

“You call that solid?”

“At least it’s not filled with water,” the ghoul replied, realizing that his rejoicing had been premature.

It was, indeed, land. Damp, but without any puddles or mud pits. There, our feet finally found some support. I even found it odd, having grown accustomed to the ground attempting to swallow my leg.

The ground was an unnatural shade of red. As if spray-painted. There was no vegetation—even the omnipresent moss had no desire to settle such soil.

Something else was here, though.

I didn’t even know what to call it. They looked like hollow columns, with walls of thin, flexible, translucent plastic. Inside, suspended in muddy liquid, we could see complicated, branching structures among which ghastly blobs glided. The pillars ranged in diameter from one to five feet, and they were either vertical or slightly slanted. They rose to vanish into the fog, their upper ends invisible. This meant they were at least seventy feet tall.

“Those aren’t trees,” I said anxiously.

My instinct said that anything living in such a place must be carnivorous and dangerous.

“Those must be cystos,” Beko wavered.

“Cystos?”

“I’ve only heard of them. See those blobs inside? They burn your skin if you touch them. The liquid inside makes the soil red. Like this.”

“What is holding those pillars up?”

“I don’t know. Something in the fog, I guess,” the ghoul answered.

“Can we walk through there?”

“Yes, but it’s dangerous. Where the cystos live, so do the wisps.”

“Another nonsense word. Wisps?”

“They’re the spawn of Chaos and ORDER both. But more of Chaos. Small, malicious creatures who could kill us easily. It’s best if we don’t go that way.”

“Alright,” I agreed without a hint of protest.

* * *

All attempts to skirt around the disgusting forest failed. To the left, we stumbled into a quagmire which we barely escaped and which left us caked in mud from head to toe. To the right, we made good progress at first, but then ran into an impassible cliff. It ran south to the river, becoming there the precipitous bank. If you followed it north, it took you to the cystos.

There was no safe passage. Either we had to try moving through the red lands, or we had to return to Blackriver and embrace our admittedly unknown prospects of finding a better place to land. My attempts to ascertain from Beko whether or not there were good landings further downriver had led to no success. He kept repeating that no one ever said anything good about the riverlands beyond the shelf.

We had little choice. The red lands were the last place on Rock that we wanted to be, but they were our best option. Beko had remembered that cystos only grew in barren, foggy lowlands. If we could ascend, we would find lands without them.

I tried studying the cliff from every angle, aiming to somehow ascend it without needing to enter the red lands. But it was a smooth wall of granite, sixty or more feet tall. The only way up for us would be to build stairs or a ladder. Not that we had any materials. There were no decent trees in this biome, and river-rotted deadwood was not the best building material. And what would we use to hold such a tall structure together, anyway? I discarded the option.

We had to go directly north. I hoped that was the shortest path out of the red swamp. It couldn’t continue forever. We rested and ate the last of our fish before moving out, so we were still fresh.

Thankfully the ground was solid enough to allow a good speed. It was dry and tamped, like a well-trodden path. Walking it was almost a pleasure.

We’d clear a mile in twenty minutes at this pace No shrubs, no underbrush, and not a single fallen tree impeded our progress. The slimy columns were not numerous enough to interfere, either.

I felt the difficulty of the walk increase. We were beginning to ascend. Soon, we would rise above the level of the fog, and hopefully bid it farewell forever.

* * *

Beko stopped abruptly, as if he had run headlong into a wall.

His voice was tense. “Can you hear that?”

Despite the plethora of noises around us, I knew what he meant. “Yeah, I do. Sounds like buzzing. It’s stronger to our left, and weaker to our right. Hard to tell whether it’s directly ahead of us or not. Are those the wisps?”

“I don’t know. It’s not like I’ve seen them before.”

“But you’ve heard of them.”

“Just a little bit. Hunters tell a lot of stupid stories. O, Chaos! Ged! They’re coming!”

“Hide,” I ordered, crouching down behind the nearest cystos.

The blobs flowing inside the column grouped together on one side, right in front of me. As if they were watching me—and with nasty intentions. I tried not to think about them.

This place was bad enough without tiny amoebic spies.

As usual, we could hardly perceive anything. I estimated the time at noon, but the farthest I could see was about 25 yards. And that was only in tiny places where the fog thinned out.

I saw the wisp at the very last moment. It nearly crashed into me.

I realized Beko knew nothing about these creatures.

Wisps didn’t walk, they flew.

Nor did they glow; this one looked like an all-black soccer ball, hastily patched together from cheap materials. Someone had glued a dozen tiny eyes, borrowed from dolls of various sizes, atop the front of the ball. Underneath them were two spider-like legs hanging towards the ground, and to top it all off, an appendage of a poisonous orange color and the shape of a scorpion’s tail. The creature was kept aloft by a pair of rapidly fluttering bumblebee wings.

Of course, I had never seen a bumblebee grow to such a size.

The creature surged out of the mist, right between me and Beko, at about the speed of a bicycle. Then, it stopped and turned.

It had clearly noticed us but been unable to slow down immediately.

I acted without thinking. My hand plunged into my sheath belt, pulled out the topmost knife, and threw it. As fast as I was, the wisp wasn’t waiting around. It took off straight at me. That was better, though. My target’s speed was added to the speed of my weapon, and with it coming right towards me I did not have to lead the target.

The knife hit right in the center of the eyes, down to the hilt.

The wisp whistled like a punctured tire. It tried to corkscrew down to the ground, but it wasn’t high enough to complete even one turn. It skittered along the red earth and came to a halt. The creature really was like a soccer ball, adorned with cheap accessories.

You have dealt significant damage to the wisp. You have dealt fatal damage to the wisp. The wisp is dead. You have defeated the wisp. This creature is part Chaos (Chaos Power 3).

You receive:

Lesser Chaos mark x7

Lesser Attribute Power x1

Lesser Concentrated Warrior Energy x1

Personal Chaos Talent Mark: Monster Connoisseur x1

Lesser Universal Chaos Talent Mark x1

Lesser Enhanced Enlightenment State x1

Lesser Primal Essence x1

Lesser Standard Universal State x1

The wisp is a part Chaos creature.

You receive Emblem of Valor x1

I had never seen such odd trophies before. Many of them I hadn’t even known existed. But the situation was not conducive to contemplation: more buzzing was growing louder in our ears.

“Beko, crossbow!” I whispered loudly to warn the ghoul.

He was clearly panicking at the idea of fighting a pack of wisps. The ghoul had listened to hordes of haunted tales from hunters and was scared nearly to the point of passing out. For some reason, he had sat down and put his palms on the ground. As if he was collecting something. But when I spoke, he jumped into action, hurrying to prepare his crossbow for battle. It was a primitive weapon, not suitable against armored opponents. But buzzing balls were excellent targets. They could be deflated with a single hit of a throwing knife.

A second wisp flew out of the mist. It was obviously excited—jerking and spinning every which way—and so my first throw missed. But that gave up my location, coaxing the creature to come straight at me.

And straight at my knife.

A third wisp appeared.

Beko shot like an idiot. He didn’t appear to even aim, and so he missed. I did not fuss at him. The greatest source of surprise I felt was how calm and collected I remained. It was not every day you fought flying balls of courage. They confidently threw themselves at prey ten times their size, so they must have some dangerous abilities. I should have been terrified. But my hand stayed firm, and despite the uncomfortable lay of the battlefield, my next throw struck true.

“Reload!” I shouted, going for another knife.

A dark blob appeared in the fog. It grew rapidly, honing in on its target.

Then, it collapsed to the ground as a knife cut through its side and flew beyond. The wisp had lost its ability to fly, but it wasn’t giving up. It moved along on its grotesque arachnoid legs, like the latest postmodern mockery of the art of ballet.

I watched the tail coil, its stinger ready to strike, and realized I did not have time for another knife throw. So I stabbed the creature with the spear I had been clutching in my left hand for the whole battle.

My mind was a computer calculating every possibility and outcome.

But as I heard another growing buzz and saw Beko bring the crossbow up, I knew I could not delay. I had only one throwing knife left, and they had proven to be my most effective weapon.

So I rushed towards the nearest dead wisp. I yanked my knife from its carcass and went for another.

Just then, two more of the creatures flew out of the fog. These acted strategically, not hurling themselves at a single target. I met mine with a chop of the ari, casting the pest aside like a tennis ball. The second one was too far for me to reach in time, but Beko dealt it a solid blow with his ax.

Just as I was smiling at my comrade’s success, I saw another wisp emerge from the fog behind him.

Beko managed to react in time—but not very effectively. Hardly even looking, he turned and swung his ax, but only hit it with a glancing blow that cut off one of its legs. It turned sharply, struck with its tail, and then rushed away.

The ghoul fell with a thin scream, and before the wisp could make it much farther, it met its death at the end of my spear.

I crouched down to hurriedly grab a third knife and place it back in its sheath, then anxiously moved to Beko. All humming noises now were in the distance, but at the speed those creatures moved, that could change rapidly.

The ghoul was alive, but his face was whiter than ever. He lay on the ground, clasping at a bleeding wound in his left shoulder.

“Let me,” I commanded, placing my hand on it.

“Kill the wisp!” Beko started. “Kill it. The one who stung me. Otherwise we’ll both die!”

“Calm down. You didn’t see me kill it immediately?”

My talent stopped the bleeding, but Beko groaned, his voice quavering as he asked, “Can you remove the poison?”

“Poison!?” I thought through what I knew about my talent.

I didn’t think I could.

The ghoul understood the look on my face. “You have to run. I can’t. You go.”

“Why can’t you?”

“My legs are all locked up. This is wisp poison we’re talking about.”

“Are your legs the only thing it paralyzes?”

“That’s what they say. Wisps want their prey alive but immobilized.”

“To hell—er, to Chaos with them. We’re not prey. We’re winners! Oof, Beko, you need to start eating a little less!”

I had trouble carrying my comrade. Not just because he was heavy, but because I had to stay alert in case any new wisps arrived. It seemed like we had killed the entire swarm that attacked us. The humming of others was heard in the distance, but it was fading.

I didn’t realize immediately that we had broken through. Adrenaline continued to push me mindlessly forward until I felt puddles under my feet. Then, I kicked the pace down a notch. I had to; running in mud quickly is dangerous.

After a few minutes, the outline of the same large, flat stone appeared. I had no idea how I had ended up in the swamp again—why hadn’t we broken out?—but all I hoped for now was that the wisps wouldn’t chase us this far.

We needed to rest.

Chapter 37

Talents of Chaos, Talents of ORDER

No Stat Changes

Despite the poisoned stab he had endured, Beko was not going to die. I had a rough idea of how much poison could have been delivered.

The ghoul also recovered his spirits, realizing that the threat of the wisps was gone. In fact, he was almost having fun. Though still pale and immobile, he did not have the look of a man with one foot in the grave.

“No one dies of wisp poison, Ged. I don’t think so, anyway. But it can lay you flat for a day or two.”

“That’s all? Alright, well, rest up then.”

“This place could be dangerous. Everywhere is dangerous out here.”

“I didn’t see any other tracks in the swamp, just ours. And in all of our time scouting this area, I heard none of that buzzing. It looks like the shore is cut off from the Grove by the wisps. They don’t let anyone this way—but neither do they come here themselves.”

“The waterfall might be keeping you from hearing them. It’s not that far.”

“Beko, you yourself told me that wisps only fly where cystos grow. They won’t come after us here. Relax. Now, I’m going to make us some moss beds on this rock and put the tarp over them. We’ll make camp. I don’t think it’s safe to build a fire, sadly, so we’ll have to eat raw fish. I’ll catch some from the raft.”

“Why don’t we just camp on the raft?” Beko suggested. “We can push off a ways from the shore and wait there.”

“No anchor.”

“Chaos! How could I forget that?”

“No worries. We could try to lodge the raft in some driftwood on the river, but I don’t see much point to that. Are you sure that poison isn’t fatal?”

“They say that everyone the wisps sting survives, as long as you get them away from the wisps quickly. Otherwise there will be nothing left of the man stung. Sometimes even experienced hunters die this way.”

“Why do they even go into those places, then?”

Beko smiled nervously and raised a shaking hand. He unclenched his fist to reveal two ugly mushrooms. Their stems were corkscrew-shaped, and their conical caps were red with black dots. The fungi looked terrifically poisonous to me. I wouldn’t even so much as avert my foot to avoid squashing one. But the ghoul had, apparently, been collecting them when the wisps came our way.

For Beko, greed was a force stronger than fear.

“What’s that for? Finishing yourself off before the wisps could?”

“No, these are hups. Not the beer flavor stuff. Magical mushrooms that bring hunters from all around to the realms of the cystos.”

“So they’re valuable,” I concluded.

“More valuable than garpike caviar,” Beko said as the madness grew in his eyes. “And they’re mine! Mine!” Then, looking at me greedily, he corrected himself: “Ours. There were more there. I saw them. A whole field of the mushrooms, a king’s ransom. We have to get them.”

“Let me look at one,” I asked.

I rolled the mushroom around in my fingers. Despite its unsightly appearance, it smelled nice. “Can you eat these raw?”

“Yes. Or dried. Or cooked or fried. It’s a rich spice, after all.”

“Perfect,” I said as I tossed the whole hup into my mouth.

It was pretty small. Easy to swallow whole, if I wanted.

Beko’s eyes blew up like balloons. I had not thought it possible for his face to become more pale, but it did. “You ate a hup! Ate it whole!”

I began to morally prepare myself for an emergency stomach purge, but first clarified. “What, can you not eat them whole? Are they poisonous?”

“Poisonous? Hah! Do you know how much those are worth? We could eat for a whole winter on those! Two winters! But you ate it. That was my... that was ours!”

I raised my hands in a calming gesture. “You eat the other one. If they’re so valuable, it means that they give us useful perks. Maybe your legs will heal up faster.”

“Eat this hup?”

“Right. Enjoy. Well? What are you waiting for? It didn’t poison me, so it won’t poison you. We’re stuck here, Beko. I don’t know how long we’ll be here. The river dragged us along all night, meaning we have a long way to go back to the trading post. We haven’t even started, and already we’re running into... adventures. With only one small backpack to our name, there is no way we could carry a bunch of mushrooms. They’re useless extra weight.”

“Useless?” Beko screamed. “It was only two mushrooms! If we dry them, they’ll weigh next to nothing, and take up next to no space. They become little tiny withered things. Things worth a winter of feasting!”

“How do we dry them, then? In this fog? They’ll just rot!”

“No, these are hups. Look—see how they’re getting wrinkly already? They dry out fast, no matter where they are.”

I watched as Beko practically kissed his last remaining mushroom and shrugged. I had more important things to do than convince Captain Avarice that we didn’t need a little extra weight. I did a mental inventory. Backpack, pot, two spoons, two axes, ari, crossbow, two hunting knives, and three throwing knives—all I had been able to recover. My new navigation talent would easily allow me to find where the other three were located. Was it worth going back? Perhaps, but it definitely wasn’t worth rushing.

My ghoul friend was no help setting up camp, of course. The moss I had laid down on the stone was so damp, I could feel it squishing beneath the tarp. I took the raft back out into the river, keeping away from the waterfall and moving among the deadwood, in slow water, until I found a fresh pine tree. It must have fallen down from up high and got carried here by the current. Still, there were enough dry twigs sticking out above the water and I broke off a bunch of them to use as bedding for the both of us.

Camp was done in short order, and I followed up with a short rest during which I examined what the killing of the wisps had earned me.

I only recognized two of the prizes. First, the lesser standard universal state. I liked these very much, as they could add 0.01 to any state. Picking up 100 of these would level up a state. For example, I could boost my Equilibrium by 1 and then unlock another attribute level.

Enhanced Enlightenment was also clear. It wasn’t as versatile, since it could only boost one specific state: my chi reservoir total. I considered this less important than most other parameters. But it might matter.

All of the other parameters were dependent on total chi in my reservoir, after all. Eventually I would hit the upper limit and become unable to boost or unlock anything until I increased the capacity of my reservoir.

When I would reach that limit, though, was entirely unclear. I knew that developing Enhanced Enlightenment could postpone that moment, whenever it was destined to come.

All of the other prizes I knew nothing about.

There were several forms of life that coexisted here in the world of Rock. Many of them were not purely of one kind or another. There were even hybrids so bizarre that they defied classification even with caveats.

Natives, along with most of the creatures they lived near, were from ORDER. Their nemeses, the creatures of Chaos, resided in places like the Dead Archipelago and the Far North. With millennia of interaction between these two groups, some mixed creatures had emerged.

I understood trophies dropped by ORDER creatures. Enough had passed through my hands and my mouth that, even if I had been an idiot, I would by now have complete mastery over what they did. Besides, the schooling I had received during the first few years of my new life had directly answered such questions, numerous times.

I knew that chaosites and hybrids were very different creatures. But I didn’t know the details. I had never needed to deal with items like this before. Meaning I had never seen them, held them, or received them from mother.

Perhaps she would have wanted to experiment with them—but they must be worth a fortune. Chaos creatures only rarely wandered into our parts of the world, the chances of them dropping prizes were small, and they  were quite expensive.

I had been lucky to survive my battle with them today. My degree 0 condition had functioned to boost their drops just as it did on creatures of the ORDER. Plus, the more outnumbered a fighter was by his opponents, and the more superior such opponents, the higher his chances of a solid reward. Since even the weakest creature was infinitely stronger than I was—dividing by my big fat zero—I always earned maximum loot.

Division by zero was dangerous business, but so far it had only worked in my favor.

I did not necessarily understand the purpose of all these items immediately.

The Chaos marks seemed straightforward enough. They must be analogous, though antagonistic, to chi symbols. In other words, they provided the energy of Chaos, not of ORDER. This could be used to develop Chaos attributes and connected Chaos talents. Perhaps it had other uses, too, which I was unaware of.

“Lesser attribute powers” was harder to comprehend. I vaguely remembered hearing of some way to double the energy of an individual attribute by using special Chaos trophy drops. But this was only a guess.

I would have to become a guinea pig in order to find out. My inventory held 5 units of lesser power, one for each wisp I had killed. Strength was the weakest of my main three attributes, so I decided to try an attribute power on that.

It worked like a charm. The last unlocked Strength attribute level now contained 55 units rather than 50—giving me a Strength total of 205, instead of the former 200. In theory, I was now 2.5% stronger. In practice, though, calculating physical strength was not so straightforward, but there was definitely a difference.

The five units of warrior energy boosted the expected parameter, Warrior Energy—but they only gave a boost of 0.05. I had no way to evaluate the importance of this increase, since I didn’t have a single talent that used this energy.

The Monster Connoisseur talent mark was clear enough. It would unlock a new skill, tier 1, with that same name. I did not use it at this time, since that would require a large number of lesser marks of Chaos. Just as ORDER talents required chi. I had only 7 of these lesser marks, and I needed 10 in order to complete the first tier.

Now, I had heard that Chaos talents were very rare and usually valuable. I wasn’t sure about the latter point, but the former was confirmed by the fact that only one had dropped for me, even though I had killed five creatures. The kotes had given me an average very close to one per fish. My magically pathetic fingers found drops a thousand times more often than those of a typical native.

Running a little math made me realize that a skilled hunter would have to kill about 5,000 wisps in order to obtain such a talent mark. I was raking in trophies a thousand times faster.

Did the trading post workers often send parties to hunt wisps? Judging by the fact that Beko didn’t even know they could fly, I doubted it. So, it was possible that the whole region did not contain a single living native with a Chaos talent. Perhaps even the whole world. That didn’t mean the talent would be incredibly useful, but I definitely wanted to test it out.

At some point. For now, I had nothing to unlock or develop it with. Into the bag it went.

The lesser primal essences were beyond my understanding, as was the emblem of valor. I did know for sure that certain items related to working with artifacts only dropped from Chaos creatures. As well as items that could improve certain raw materials and ingredients. Such as steel which yielded blades of unmatched sharpness and fabled strength.

But did my loot have anything to do with these activities? I didn’t know. There was still so much I didn’t know. So, I would hold onto these prizes, hoping that they were not just garbage.

I did know that improved metal weaponry was extraordinarily expensive, and so I surmised that the raw materials which made it must be worth a fortune.

I could find that out later. For now, the Chaos talent interested me the most. Its name suggested to me that I could use it to get information about creatures such as the wisps. Given that those buzzers were blocking our only exit from this foggy lowland, I wanted to know as much about them as possible.

Simple plans for the immediate future began to form in my head. I would catch kotes and garpikes, taking an occasional foray into the red lands. The creatures’ buzzing sounds would guide my step. Perhaps I could find a way to take them out one by one without risking getting attacked by a swarm.

Handling one wisp was easy enough. I would not attack two. Perhaps with Beko at my side, but he could not yet even stand.

“Beko, how are you feeling?”

“I don’t know. I’m sleepy, but I can’t go to sleep.”

“Just don’t die, OK?”

“No one dies of wisp poison.”

“Why did you yell at me to kill the one that stung you, then? Revenge?”

“Revenge? Why would anyone take revenge on a wisp? It’s not a person. It’s not a thinking being.”

“Then why did we have to kill it?”

“Wisps don’t work on their own. They paralyze anyone who walks among the cystos. Once the wisp stings the hunter, it goes to tell its master that the prey is ready. The master comes and claims it.”

“Master?”

“A beast called a rukh.”

“A strong beast?”

“Of course.”

“What kind of beast?”

“I don’t know. No one has ever told stories about the rukh, because no one has ever seen one. Those who have—well, they don’t tell any more stories ever again. Not even Degree 20 Enlightenment can save you from a rukh.”

“What about degree 40?”

“Why would someone with degree 40 hunt the land of the cystos? The rukh would never come for such a man, because that man would easily kill all its wisps. They would be unable to paralyze him. The rukh only comes for the paralyzed.”

“Maybe he’s not that strong, then, if all he can catch are invalids?”

Beko turned his head to look at me, fear in his eyes. “Ged, don’t even think like that. Chaos has passed through these very lands. I know we’re winners and all that, but this is a rukh we’re talking about. A rukh!”

Chapter 38

The Wisdom of Chaos

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (337/888)

Shadow: 337

Attributes:

Stamina: level 7, 350 points

Strength: level 4, 200 points

Agility: level 5, 250 points

Perception: level 3, 150 points

Spirit: level 2, 100 points

Energy:

Warrior Energy: 150 points (+4.89)

Mage Energy: 100 points

Talents:

Extreme Boatman (tier 3): 10/10

Fishing Connoisseur (tier 3): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 3): 10/10

Throwing Knives (tier 3): 10/10

Apprentice Navigator (tier 3): 10/10

Free Talents:

Spinning Rod Master (tier 3): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (15.44): level 15

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.79): level 0

Shadow of Chi (0.69): level 0

Measure of Order (3.28): level 3

The dark shape of another wisp appeared in the fog. Like the others, it approached me at a relatively slow speed, moving in a straight line.

I gave the wheel ten more turns, and the ridiculous creature continued as if hypnotized, a dozen paces away from me.

I stopped turning the wheel and pushed the rod out to the left as my right hand drew a knife. I threw, ready to grab the spear I had stuck into the ground in case I missed.

You are using cunning to attract the wisp’s attention. You have tricked the wisp. You have dealt significant damage to the wisp. You have dealt fatal damage to the wisp. The wisp is dead. You have defeated the wisp. This creature is part Chaos (Chaos Power 5).

You receive:

Lesser Chaos Mark x12

Lesser Attribute Power x1

Lesser Concentrated Warrior Energy x1

Lesser Universal Chaos Talent Mark x2

Lesser Enhanced Shadow of Chi State x1

Lesser Enhanced Measure of Order State x1

Lesser Primal Essence x1

Lesser Standard Universal State x1

The wisp is a part Chaos creature.

You receive Emblem of Valor x1

What was that, the 70th wisp I had killed? The 80th? Something like that. What mattered was that my method was nearly perfect.

I was an intelligent opponent, after all. The first thing I had considered was how it was that wisps noticed their prey. Vision was not much use in a fog so thick, but still, they could notice you from a distance. Did the balls of poison have some kind of talent that let them see through the mist? Or was their sense of hearing just that good?

I suspected the latter immediately. After all, the first five wisps had not dropped me a talent mark related to finding prey in fog. Of course, since Chaos skills were so rare, this was not incontrovertible evidence. The creatures’ behavior and body structure was suspicious. A flying, buzzing, hollow ball with strange, perforated appendages on its sides and front. They literally deflated when punctured.

Also, their flying was awkward, at best. Their lift was fine, but their acceleration, stopping, and yawing from side to side looked like a blind man groping for a stair rail.

I decided to test their hearing.

How? Not by approaching them and shouting, of course.

That would have been great if I was looking to encounter a swarm of wisps, personal paralysis, and then an audience with the rukh himself.

That would make for a great story. A great, untold story.

Taking stock of what we had available, I soon devised a simple and reasonably safe way to lure the creatures. Fishing was my primary specialty. I put a bunch of lures at the end of my line, with no hooks attached. It came down to a weighty enough load, which tinkled when it moved. I could cast it far enough and make a lot of noise, which was exactly what I wanted.

Then, I wandered the edge of the red lands for a long time, listening for the buzzing of the wisps. I noticed no patterns in these sounds—the concentration of the creatures varied greatly from place to place and from time to time.

I began to select the places and times where the wisps showed minimal activity. I would make a rapid push forward of about fifty yards, swing the spinning, sending the clanking bundle flying—and then retreat to my start position, unwinding the line behind me.

Then, I would start jerking the line a little bit, creating some noise at the other end. Sometimes, the wisps would ignore this, and I would have to start all over. Other times, numbers of them would fly over, and I would hear two or more creatures buzzing. When this happened, I stopped jiggling the rod and waited for the creatures to calm down.

I wanted to lure only one at a time so that I could deal with it easily. When I did draw them in, they moved as if hypnotized. Even as close as ten feet from me, the wisp would continue to putter along, staring at the source of the jingling noise. I probably didn’t even need the throwing knives—the spear would have been enough.

But I used the knives. There was no sense taking unnecessary chances.

And so, for two days straight now, I had been massacring wisps. Never did I come under attack from more than one. There was too little space inside the creatures for a decent brain, especially with all the air they had to hold in there. If the local hunters had rods and wits like mine, they could have generated a business from these beasts.

Beko had claimed that the drops were miserly, though. The only thing that could be extracted from them was their poison glands—and that was a risky and unprofitable business. The glands were not a spice, just an ingredient for low-value potions and weak ointments for joint pain. And there was always a risk of encountering the wisps’ master. What if people’s conclusions were wrong, and he sometimes attacked not just the paralyzed but also the whole? Perhaps no one had ever tried to develop a method like mine.

I did not kill wisps everywhere—only near the place we had encountered them the day before yesterday. I wanted to inspect the battlefield and recover my lost knives.

The buzzing had been reduced significantly, but still I decided not to venture further inward. I took a few hours the next morning to fish. There were plenty of kotes here, under the shelf, but most were medium size or larger. I had to pay attention in order to avoid hooking a torpedo-sized fish that could tear my tackle clean off or even pull me off the raft. All the while, of course, I kept an eye out for garpikes.

The fishing trip was rather uneventful. It got us some food and got me some more chi, which I hoped to spend soon on the Artificer talent. My instincts told me that would be a useful addition, and one that I should not delay—since the amulet’s charge would not last forever. I wanted to somehow be able to work with it right now, not after it ran out.

Still, that Chaos talent was the most intriguing for the short term. At last I had enough marks to get it.

You are about to learn the talent Monster Connoisseur. This is a Chaos talent, but it can be learned by your species. The consequences of learning Chaos talents are unpredictable. In order to reduce the likelihood of failure, make sure you eat well over the next few days. Use the strongest spices you can obtain.

This was the first such warning I had ever seen the ORDER provide. Chaos talents must have been rare and protected indeed. I had to follow this advice.

We were too fearful to light a fire, so I had to make do with raw fish. There were gobs of fish, of course, so we could pick the best parts. It wasn’t exactly luxury food, but I wouldn’t go hungry. So I was good on that part.

Spices, though? We had already grown weary of munching on kote brains and livers flavored with precious garpike caviar and hups, the fungi worth more than gold. Many a noble would envy us if they knew our diet here. For breakfast today, I had consumed as much spice wealth as my mother’s entire estate had earned in a year. She had not been the richest noble, of course, but a few dozen peasant families had worked for those left in the Crow Clan by the end.

I made no hesitation to activate the talent mark.

Thankfully, I did so sitting down, or I would have collapsed.

My vision went dark, and my legs felt like strange mounds of wadding. I nearly fell over on to my side. The sounds of the surrounding world had vanished, muffled by the thundering of my heart, which had decided it should make all attempt to jump out of my chest.

This was certainly a unique item.

For a few minutes, I became helpless. All I could do was mentally curse my own stupidity. I should have left the red lands before I began. So what if there were no wisps here, near the outskirts? I didn’t know the complete behavior profiles of these creatures. What if they arranged a massive assault right now?

My death would be swift and stupid. I’d wake up in the digestive tract of this mysterious rukh, and no one would ever even know how I died. Just that the river swept Beko and me away. The ghoul wouldn’t survive without me. We would both die.

Thankfully, none of the buzzing balloons approached my limp body. A half hour passed before the negative effects subsided. Only a slight nausea and weakness remained, and my hands trembled.

Monster Connoisseur talent learned! It has adapted itself ideally to your specie’s capabilities. This is a rare characteristic for Chaos talents. Now, you can develop it, choose various talent branches, and duplicate it. This should not cause any significant negative consequences.

The ORDER was being very sociable today. It was congratulating me on my success. There was even that unambiguous indication that my well-being would not suffer in the future.

Still, I rose and limped back to the swamp. I sat down at the very edge of the red land—any further, and I would have to sit in a puddle—and began to boost my new talent.

Only once I reached level 10 of the 1st tier did I actually investigate my new abilities. They were unclear at first. The user interface ran into all kinds of bugs, glitches, and delays when trying to manage a Chaos talent. But I was a stubborn boy, and undoubtedly clever despite my many mistakes, so within a half hour I knew what I wanted to know.

The talent seemed like a real gem.

I rushed back to the place I had last hunted the wisps in order to confirm my suspicions. Crouching down above the carcass of one, I touched its broken wing with my finger, which looked huge against the bug’s deflated body.

Then, I checked the interface again and involuntarily smiled.

There it is! An encyclopedia with information on a multitude of creatures from the world of Rock was now available to me.

The wisp was included. Whether the ORDER or Chaos itself had composed the writeup that followed I did not know. But it was protracted, and included information known neither to me nor to Beko.

It even mentioned the rukh.

Including information so valuable I wanted to jump for joy.

Wisp carcass. No potential artifacts. No signs of life. No signs of undead life. Danger: This creature’s stinger can cause its poisonous effects for days after the creature’s death.

The wisp cannot see stationary objects well, but it notices the slightest movement. Like its master, the wisp has a poor sense of smell. However, its hearing is excellent, able to perceive the slightest vibrations in the soil (when in walking mode, without the energy of its master).

The wisp is a creature of both ORDER and Chaos, but more of Chaos. Wisps have been encountered ranging from the 1st to the 9th degrees of Chaos. The common range is 2nd to 6th degree. This small creature lives in the lowlands, where cystos grow. It only ventures outside of these regions rarely, and only together with its master. This happens only in dry weather, since liquid water is a powerful poison for the wisps’ master, able to cause significant damage on contact.

Wisps are bound firmly to their master. Adult wisps cannot change masters. They choose their master during the larval stage of their development.

Wisps are able to walk across the red soil on their legs, which are also sensitive organs that  detect the slightest vibrations in the soil. Once they do detect any, wisps  begin to panic and signal their master. The master will transmit special energy to all panicking individuals, lightening their weight for a time. With this reduced weight, wisps are able to fly at low altitudes for a limited time. But without their master’s energy, the wisp’s small wings cannot lift it, and only help them balance and move on their vibration-sensing legs.

Wisps are not carnivorous. They primarily feed on rukh excrement. Each rukh rules a swarm of several dozen wisps. In rare cases, when a very old rukh is involved, a swarm can grow to a hundred or more individuals.

Wisps are aggressive. Their primary prey is cystos pollinators, which they hunt during mating migration seasons. Once they smell their prey, the wisps rush towards it and sting, injecting a strong paralyzing poison. After stinging, the wisp immediately goes to the center of the swarm, where the rukh is located, and signals the position of its prey with special buzzing patterns. This brings the rukh out of meditation and causes him to move towards the prey, traveling along the ceiling of the cystos structure. Once he reaches the indicated position, he leaps down on the prey, landing precisely and crushing its bones or shell with his immense weight. Then, the rukh swallows his prey entirely. It can even digest teeth or wool. Then, the wisps wait to digest the rukh excrement.

When their master dies, wisps lose their aggression and enter a state of total apathy. They gather by their rukh’s carcass, without responding to any stimulus whatsoever, until they perish of hunger or inactivity.

This description pleased me so much that I barely had the willpower to force myself back to the swamp. I wanted to keep pumping this talent, right here and right now.

But I remembered what had occurred when I activated it. Don’t take unnecessary chances.

None of the specialization choices struck me as particularly attractive. The best I found was Monster Instinct. It allowed me to determine the probability that Chaos creatures were near. But this only worked if the creature’s power level did not exceed the enlightenment degree of the talent user. And as long as the distance wasn’t too great.

For tier 3, I selected Mark Monster. If the description rang true, I could use this talent to mark a chosen creature. It would remain in my field of vision even if there were obstacles between us. The description specified that this was “for a time,” but I didn’t know whether that was seconds, minutes, or hours. Distance limitations were also unclear. It was obvious, though, that the maximum distance grew with talent tier, and that everything depended on the power level of the monster targeted. This talent didn’t just work on Chaos creatures but on ORDER creatures as well. It might even work on humans—though I wasn’t sure about that.

Of course, I could try it out on Beko.

But first I would stay here just a little longer. I wanted to figure out my way around the marker system. Being able to mark monsters and map points was obviously a useful perk—but I wasn’t at all accustomed to it yet.

If I could indeed track the movement of individual wisps, that would provide me important information. Information I needed to finally get out of these foggy lowlands.

Chapter 39

Winning Plans

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (335/888)

Shadow: 335

Attributes:

Stamina: level 7, 350 points

Strength: level 4, 200 points (200+50)

Agility: level 5, 250 points (250+26)

Perception: level 3, 150 points

Spirit: level 2, 100 points

Energy:

Warrior Energy: 150 points (+4.89)

Mage Energy: 100 points

ORDER Talents:

Extreme Boatman (tier 3): 10/10

Fishing Connoisseur (tier 3): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 3): 10/10

Throwing Knives (tier 3): 10/10

Apprentice Navigator (tier 3): 10/10

Chaos Talents:

Mark Monster (tier 3): 10/10

Free Talents:

Spinning Rod Master (tier 3): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (15.44): level 15

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.79): level 0

Shadow of Chi (0.69): level 0

Measure of Order (3.28): level 3

This kote was not a common fish. I had selected a larger lure and aimed for the middle specimen. It had weighed 25 pounds, give or take. Slowly the fish had made its way past a large underwater rock. That had been my target—but then this alligator-sized fish had leaped out of nowhere to seize my lure. My intended fish had correctly evaluated the situation and escaped.

I had already lost one of my beloved shiny lures less than an hour before. Some unknown beast had torn it off, along with a decent length of line. I could not let myself lose this one too. There were no traders in this region. I had to rely on the stock of hooks and lures that we had brought with us.

Few remained.

Had a fishing encounter like this one happened some 15 days ago or so, I would have ended fighting for my life in the water. The monster would pose a serious challenge even to an adult. Now, thanks to both the ORDER and Chaos, I had four Strength attribute levels, comprising 250 absolute units of Strength. Not counting my amulet, whose exact parameters were still a mystery. So that particular attribute was about as high as the Strength of a well-developed commoner at 4th Degree Enlightenment. That wasn’t incredible, but it was enough to fight this river giant on equal terms. Thankfully, the strength of my line and ruggedness of my spinning reel allowed me to maintain the upper hand.

There was one important nuance though. The raft was not anchored, so the fish dragged it along, gradually exhausting itself. I only had to keep it from snapping the line with a desperate jerk—or unreeling it too quickly. The boat’s mass helped cushion the strongest maneuvers, making the fight much easier.

Our old fish scoop had been lost in the shelf rapids. I had made a new one quickly, out of the top of a tree in the river and a homemade net of repurposed lengths of anchor rope. The result was too rough and too small, especially for prey like this. Thankfully, I had a sharpened stake at the ready. I just had to get the kote close enough.

Once I did, I jabbed and heaved the fish up so powerfully that I cut deep into its side. Pulling my prey up to the raft almost caused my hands to get dislocated. Holding the crazed predator on the platform, I stabbed it through the head.

I knew that the brains were best treated gently, yes. But there wasn’t anyone to sell them to. I wouldn’t mind if they were lost entirely.

My activities had gone far beyond poaching now—I was destroying the riches of the river. One fish would have been enough food for us both. A small garpike had yielded enough sustenance and spice for us for two days. Today, I had killed and then tossed back dozens of medium- and large-sized fish.

To be sure, I was all for the conservation of nature. But first and foremost, I was for the conservation of myself. And I sure as hell needed all kinds of rewards from the ORDER to get to the next part of my plan: a talent that let me work with artifacts. Time was running out. Soon, the Claw would lose its charge, and I had to learn how to sustain the enchantment’s effect by then.

I did not want to lose so many attribute levels, even if they were poorly developed.

Activating the Artificer talent would cost 600 chi. Raising the 1st tier of the talent to level 10 would take another 1000. That was the point at which a new talent blossomed with possibility. 1600 chi was several times more than I had ever used. Thus the wanton destruction of the river biome.

Now, if I used all of the chi symbols I had and melted down all of the other reward items, I would have enough. Perhaps the full 1st tier wouldn’t help me out much, but I had to start somewhere. I would not have the patience needed to accumulate enough chi for the standard goal of 3rd tier. That would cost an additional 2000, after all.

A colossal sum, one I could hardly wrap my head around. My mother could never have dreamed of such wealth. Come to think of it, less than a month ago, ten marks of chi had seemed like a fortune.

Now, I was operating with thousands.

Ah, the price of progress.

Unlocking the talent and pushing it to level 10 caused me no ill effects. My body was used to such dramatic changes—only the Chaos element in the last talent acquisition had managed to put me under.

As I examined the talent, my feelings were conflicted. There were both good sides and bad.

Worst of all, it didn’t help my situation. There was no way to bolster my amulet with this new knowledge. In this regard, I might as well have thrown all of that loot into an abyss.

One plus, though, was that at level 10 I could fully discern the effects an artifact had—and also notice items which could be imbued with magical effects. This did not cost any Shadow of Chi. It was like a second sight.

Noticing active or potential artifacts was valuable in general but utterly unhelpful in my position. But discerning all of the attributes of my amulet? That alone might render the chi cost worth it.

Black Claw on a String A body part of an unknown creature of Chaos. Amulet. A chi vessel which has absorbed part of the power of Clan Crow.

Active Effects:

Caster: unknown caster. Powerful chi surge.

Provisional Enlightenment Degrees +2 (with your current talents, this has one effect: others may conclude that your Degree of Enlightenment rank is 2 higher than its actual value)

Stamina: +9 attribute levels, +90 absolute Stamina points (days remaining: 35)

Agility: +6 attribute levels, +60 absolute Agility points (days remaining: 35)

Strength: +3 attribute levels, +30 absolute Strength points (days remaining: 35)

Effect from the shadow talent of the Enlightened Treya of Clan Crow: this amulet is invisible to others (days remaining: 35)

Due to your extended use of this amulet, and your experience of the chi surge, you have bonded with this item. Even if you take it off, its effects will continue to apply to you for a time. However, the amulet must remain close to you. Conversely, no other person who puts your amulet on will immediately receive its effects.

The description was much more detailed now. At last I knew how much the amulet added to my attributes, in absolute terms.

I nearly burst into tears. My worst fears had been realized. The Claw’s attributes were at their lowest possible values. Each attribute level gave me only +10 absolute attribute points. With a Strength level of 3, for example, I had a miserable 30 Strength.

Chaos take this amulet! Only 18 attribute levels.

No wonder that, before I had managed to boost my “native” parameters, I had been afraid of a stiff breeze.

Encountering one might have killed me!

However, the amulet’s paltry boosts had allowed me to survive my first, most difficult days here. It was thanks to them that I had become the first alpha zero in the history of Rock. I had consumed more treasure in this one “degree” than most nobles ate in the course of their lives. Some managed to match me, but only in adulthood, at the cost of great deeds and great expenses, poured into boosting their Equilibrium.

And so, I did not want to give the amulet up—not even now. However, this talent at tier 1 did not allow me to recharge an artifact—and I didn’t have any chi to even get started towards tier 2. Collecting enough would take several days of fishing.

As sick and tired as I was of catching kotes and garpikes, I had no other choice. After all, I had seen one very promising option in the development path. Boosting tier 2 to level 10 would unlock a bonus: the ability to use amulet properties that increased states and Degrees of Enlightenment.

Meaning that my provisional +2 would do more for me than just let me mess with people’s heads. The ORDER would allow me to boost talent tiers that required 1st or 2nd Degree Enlightenment. Currently, tier 3 was the ceiling for all of my talents. I could not go beyond that unless I upped my talent levels.

But unlocking this amulet property would let me develop my talents further without ending the good times. Or so I assumed. I could even boost my healing talent high enough to handle serious wounds. Or, I could choose a branch that healed poisons, preventing Beko’s prolonged paralysis from recurring.

I began to wonder what Tier 3 Artificer would give me. I couldn’t figure that out, but I could dream.

Now, do I really have to spend two more days decimating the local aquatic populations? At this rate, I risked bringing ecological disaster to the whole of Blackriver. Kotes and garpikes alike hurled themselves at my shiny lure. They had no defense against my fishing methods, and they might never acquire one at all.

Perhaps I could come up with a better plan. We did hope to get out of this area as quickly as possible, after all. Extending my time meant nothing if it was just burned away in a swamp filled with monsters.

* * *

From atop the flat rock, Beko watched me start a fire in the raft’s hearth. “No, Ged, don’t. The monsters will smell the smoke. Put it out, quick!”

“Hush,” I reassured him, “they won’t. They have a terrible sense of smell. But they have excellent hearing, so I wouldn’t yell if I were you.”

“I wasn’t yelling, but how do you know that?”

“I’ve been thinking a lot. And I’ve killed a lot of them. Along the way, I learned some new things—you know how it goes. Well, today is full stomach day!”

“What?”

“We’re going to have a hot meal. Water and fish! No salt, no breading, not even wild leeks. But it’s the best fish you can catch in all of Blackriver, let me tell you. Rich garpike bellies! I’m tired of eating raw, aren’t you? It’s time to eat like decent people. Almost, anyway.”

“Are you sure they won’t smell our fire?” Beko worried.

“I’m sure that the wisps and rukhs won’t. They won’t let anything else through their land. This is like a safe little island! Probably.”

“Probably?!”

“I don’t know everything, you know. Nobody knows everything. There are always risks. But this is just a tiny little fire. I have here the thinnest branches from the driest trees. They haven’t been so much as splashed on. There will hardly be any smoke or smell.”

“Did you find your knives?”

“No. But I know where they are—I’ll get them later.”

“I’m glad you didn’t go back there. I was worried.”

“Don’t worry about me, Beko. We’re going back there, for certain. Together.”

“You think I want that, do you?”

“I doubt it. But I wasn’t asking, in case you didn’t notice. Sometimes, my friend, life makes us do things we don’t want to do. We can’t go up the river. We can’t go down the river, unless we want to face a whole new class of rapids. Or even the waterfall. You don’t know how to avoid it for sure, do you? So we have two options: either we live here, waiting for someone to decide to come this far down the Blackriver, or we cross the lowlands infested with wisps.”

Beko shook his head. “No one’s coming down. There was just that one time. Merchants of the Sevens hired the best rivermen. They wanted to see the whole of Blackriver. Of the three boats they took, only one reached Redriver. Nine of the twelve perished. After that, no one attempted it again. Plus, they saw nothing of interest down there.”

“See? You just admitted that we have only one option.”

“The wisps will kill us,” Beko muttered.

I gave him a sinister smile. “I’ve already killed about a hundred of them, if you are counting the ones we killed together.”

“You’re lying!”

“Now why would I do that? I’m going to kill more. And so will you. I have a plan. It’s a good plan, a plan for winners like us.”

“What kind of plan?”

I suspended the pot over the fire before climbing up onto the rock and arranging pieces of moss into two intersecting circles on the tarp. “See these circles, Beko?”

“I see you getting the tarp dirty. Also, the circles.”

“I’ve been watching the wisps. Plus, I found out a few things about them. That led me to realize something. This—” I pointed in the center of the circle on the left—“is where the rukh resides. Like an emperor on his throne. He only leaves for the most important of campaigns. The wisps he commands scout the territory around him. Some stay closer to their master, others venture farther away. They listen, and they feel vibrations in the soil. If they detect anything, they quickly fly in and paralyze it—leaving it there for their masters. It is very difficult to pass these small creatures without being noticed. Here,” I pointed to the center of the other circle, “is another rukh. The neighbor of the first. He has his own wisps in circles all around him, too. You and I were lucky to enter here,” I said as I pointed to a place barely inside the circles. “We heard a strong buzz to our left, to our right, and in front, but we were not attacked immediately. When we encountered the wisps, there were not many of them. The farthest wisps found us—the ones who take a long time to complete their circle. Those at the center didn’t know we were there. Do you follow so far?”

“Follow what, that you’re going to kill wisps? I didn’t need the drawings to know that. You love killing. You’re always killing. Are you evil?”

“Not always,” I objected, “remember when you and I settled things peacefully, using just a couple of pails?”

Beko smiled cheerlessly. “Right. You were just afraid that Ash would get mad. You’re not afraid of the wisps. You want to kill them all so that we can get out of the lowlands. But you’re forgetting something important, Ged.”

“Which is?”

“If everything really is arranged the way you say, we have no idea what the ‘emperor’ in the center of the circle will do. I doubt he will be fine with you killing all of his wisps. Nobody likes it when useful allies are slain. So take this massacre out of your plans, OK?”

I returned a carefree smile. “Don’t worry about the rukh. We’ll kill him first of all.”

Beko’s face twisted darkly. I thought it was a wonderful plan.

Apparently, he didn’t agree.

Chapter 40

Beko’s Secret

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (337/888)

Shadow: 337

Attributes:

Stamina: level 7, 350 points

Strength: level 4, 200 points (200+50)

Agility: level 5, 250 points (250+26)

Perception: level 3, 150 points

Spirit: level 2, 100 points

Energy:

Warrior Energy: 150 points (+6.48)

Mage Energy: 100 points

ORDER Talents:

Extreme Boatman (tier 3): 10/10

Fishing Connoisseur (tier 3): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 3): 10/10

Antidote (tier 3): 10/10

Throwing Knives (tier 3): 10/10

Apprentice Navigator (tier 3): 10/10

Artificer (tier 1): 10/10

Chaos Talents:

Mark Monster (tier 3): 10/10

Free Talents:

Spinning Rod Master (tier 3): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (15.76): level 15

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.98): level 0

Shadow of Chi (0.84): level 0

Measure of Order (3.49): level 3

The evening of the third day after our memorable conversation, I returned to the camp. I managed to get back on my own two legs. I couldn’t crawl through the swamp, so I had to somehow find the strength to reach Beko and the dinner he had ready. I was exhausted. Horses after a full week of plowing could not be as tired as I was.

I had been busy every minute from sunrise to sunset. Wisps dropped by the dozen, so their presence on the outer circle was now a minimum. After returning to the raft, I exterminated the kotes and garpikes with equal barbarism, greedily grabbing those talent-pumping trophies.

Mostly, though, I dug. I dug like a miner on a massive payroll. I dug so hard that the powers that be noticed. I received a couple of dozen talent marks for the Digger talent and one for Miner. The last was awarded when I pulled some kind of ugly rock out of the red soil. The ORDER was feeling kind enough to count this as the extraction of a mineral, so I was immediately compensated.

The new calluses on my palms were open and sore. Thankfully, I could heal my own minor wounds and abrasions. My primary tool was my ax, my secondary, my spear. At first, I worked on a pit about five cubic yards in size.

I quickly realized that I had woefully overestimated my capabilities. Even with Beko’s help, doing what I intended to would take at least a week. I wasn’t sure enough in my plan to throw so much time into the pit.

So I cut down my initial size intentions to one-third. Both total area and depth. Thankfully the reddish soil was easy to dig away. The occasional rocks were small and offered no real resistance.

My work was not limited to digging. I also dragged over piles of soil from deep layers of the marsh. When dried, this mass formed a dense crust that was quite resistant to water. That was precisely the property I needed.

Using this mud, I carefully covered the bottom of the pit, and then applied another coat once the first had dried. Then, I used my ari to punch holes in the bottom, throughout the whole pit.

I staggered back to camp.

My work was done, and Beko had been productive, as well.

He had used a knife to whittle twelve of the strongest branches I had retrieved from the river into sharp stakes. Their ends were serrated and deadly. These were harpoons, as thick as a grown man’s arm.

It may have seemed like Beko’s work was much easier than mine, but this wood was strong and very dry, and he only had a knife to work with. The ax was, sadly, too noisy for the circumstances. We did not know how the wisps’ excellent hearing might react to continual chopping sounds. They did not come to the swamp on their own, it seemed—but the description of the rukh indicated he might travel anywhere. Thus we knew they were not bound exclusively to the red dirt.

Tiring of yet another meal of fish, I tested the sharpness of the nearest stake. Beko had done an excellent job. Would it be enough, though, for my plan to work? I had no idea. My plan was a blind one, based on some encyclopedia entry and not any experience whatsoever.

Our preparations, such as they were, were now complete. One final touch remained. In order to achieve it, I had to eat a full meal and get an excellent night’s sleep.

Beko watched as I ate. “So you haven’t changed your mind.”

I shook my head in silence.

The ghoul nodded. “I knew it. You’re always like that. You never change your mind. I’m going with you.”

I shook my head again. “Thank you, Beko. But don’t worry about me. I’ve got everything planned out, and I can do it on my own. I could use some help—but you won’t have to take too much of a risk.”

“I’ll fight alongside you.”

I chuckled. “You won’t have to fight. But you may have to take one sting from a wisp.”

“You call that not fighting?”

“The wisp will not be unable to paralyze you for long.”

“Why?”

“Because yesterday I developed my Healing talent a second time. I now have the Antidote branch. So, now I have two Healing talents: Cure Wounds and Antidote. Both are tier 3. Now, I’ll take Antidote to tier 4 and pump that to level 10. At tier 4, I’ll be able to remove paralysis effects applied by opponents with an Enlightenment Degree of 5 or below. The wisps have no Degrees of Enlightenment; they have Power of Chaos. But the numbers work out the same.”

“You pumped a talent to tier 4 in 2 days, just to get a rukh,” Beko murmured thoughtfully. “You really do never change your mind.”

“I haven’t reached tier 4 yet, but I will once we’re done eating.”

“It sounds like I need a good night’s sleep, too,” the ghoul replied as he reclined on the tarp.

I had fudged the numbers a little. I wasn’t able to raise a talent to tier 4 yet. Not without adding one Degree of Enlightenment.

Or, without a workaround.

I had been wrong about my Artificer skill. Ordinary talents required 10 chi to boost tier 1 by a single level. This talent required 100. As I was calculating its development, I had somehow missed the conclusion that future costs would be similarly higher. Ordinary talents took 20 chi per level at tier 2, 30 at tier 3, and so on.

So the Artificer talent took 200 per level at the 2nd tier. The full 10 levels cost 2000. The 3rd tier’s 10 levels would cost 3000. In total, that meant I needed 5000.

It wasn’t a hopelessly large number, but it was a multiple of my original expectation.

Forgive me, kotes.

I have wiped you out with such cruelty that fishing has become much harder here. I imagined that  scavengers downriver were praising their fortunes, unaware that I was their benefactor.

But I had saved up enough chi for both Antidote and Artificer. It would cost nearly everything I had, but I would get the latter to a full tier 2 and the former to a full tier 4.

I would activate these now—and then, I would sleep.

Artificer was such a difficult talent that I felt nauseous and lost the ability to move for fifteen minutes after levelling it up. Apparently, there was a good reason it took so much chi—but it was worth it.

As I was lying there, I explored the newly available talent branches. I yearned so badly to acquire several of them right then and there.

But no, I didn’t have the chi.

For now.

At this point, Antidote was my focus.

Leveling it up took very little time. Now, I did not have to be scared of wisp stings.

Or at least not as scared. I didn’t know how fast Antidote worked. What if it took 10 to 15 minutes to take effect? While paralyzed, my arms would be barely able to move. Crawling around with them would not be possible.

I had to hope that Beko was serious. It was nasty of me to manipulate my companion like that, but without his help, I would be truly risking my life.

* * *

Come morning, Beko was shocked by my method of preparing for battle. It seemed he thought that we would pray to a higher power and then die with our souls pure. Instead, our preparation was purely physical.

We dragged the stakes to the pit and stuck them into the holes I had prepared the day before. We then smeared the bases of these stakes with mud, in two coats—the same way I had sealed the pit.

As we waited for the mud to dry, we listened to the buzzing of the wisps. I whispered to Beko that I had marked them from a distance and was now watching their paths, ensuring they were really moving in the expected circles. I also told him about how difficult it was to use my navigation talent and Monster Connoisseur talent in conjunction. That had taken me many tries.

Only once the mud had dried did we begin the trickiest part of the plan. We converted the tarp into a large water carrier hanging from a large branch, filled it with muddy marsh water, and carried it to the pit on our shoulders—much like hunters carried carcasses of large game.

Each trip gave us about ten gallons of water. That was a decent haul for our relatively weak attributes and scrawny bodies.

We made numerous trips, back and forth. I counted our steps on one of the trips: 670 in all, which took about ten minutes. The sun was well past its zenith for the day when I finally decided we were done.

Wiping sweat from my forehead, I gazed into the pit. The murky filling resembled the sad product of diarrhea more than water, and filled the pit less than halfway up. Would that be enough? I certainly didn’t feel like diving into that. The rukh would, I was sure, agree with me on that point, after he experienced it himself.

Perhaps we needed more water.

The coats of swamp mud were working poorly, and the water was slowly seeping into the soil. The sooner we made our move, the better. We could continue carting water until the evening, until we were exhausted.

But we were already weary. Making that weariness worse was not a good option. The most dangerous piece of this whole plan was next. It was time.

“Are you hungry, Beko?”

The ghoul was also considering the pit. “For some reason, no. That’s weird. I’m always hungry. Why did we make this, Ged?”

“The rukh lives there—” I pointed up—”hiding somewhere in the fog. The wisps are his eyes and ears, directing him to food. They seek food and paralyze it, and then report back to their master. Afterwards, the rukh drops in from above. He falls right onto the point the stinging wisp indicates to him. As the hunters know, you cannot let the wisp who stung you get away alive. Unless you want to deal with its master. The rukh will land right here—” I pointed to the pit—”where the stakes should kill him. If they do not, the water will do the job. To a rukh, water is a deadly poison. It eats away at his flesh. Here, it will die.”

Beko shook his head. “You can’t kill a rukh with dirty water and sharpened sticks. I don’t know who told you all that, but that man was lying.”

“It wasn’t a man. Nor a woman.”

“Who then?” Beko blinked.

“It was Chaos itself.”

“Quit joking like that. You shouldn’t joke about Chaos.”

“What makes you think I’m joking? I’m dead serious. No, Chaos does not communicate with me, but I learn from it.”

“No, that’s not possible.”

“You must know by now that there’s something different about me. Why did I dig this pit? That took a lot of work. I could have done something useful with all that time and effort, right? No. You know that I never do anything for nothing. We’re ready, and we’re going to pull this off, because we’re winners.”

“How are you going to lure the rukh into the pit?”

“Simple. I’ll let one of the wisps sting me.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“Not even close. The wisp will rush off to tell the rukh about my location. In the meantime, I will cure myself with my tier 4 talent and leave the area.”

“Have you tested this talent? What if it doesn’t work so well? The healing could take a long time.”

“I thought about that. I could test it, but that would take most of my shadow chi. It would not recover by sundown—we’d have to come back in the morning. The water level will drop significantly during that time. This is a pit, after all—not a barrel. That would lose so much time that I’d rather take my chances.”

“What if this doesn’t work?”

“Then we’ll go—or you’ll carry me—to the raft.”

“Why the raft?”

“Because the rukh might chase us. If it does, our only hope is hiding out on the river. He won’t be able to go in the water.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes. Chaos cannot lie.”

“Then let the wisp sting me, not you.”

I had been planning on this, but I didn’t want it to be my suggestion. “Why you?”

“Because I’ve already been stung once. I know that it’s not as bad as I thought. Plus, you’re stronger than me, and smarter. If something goes wrong, I’d rather have your legs working than mine. And even if I die, that’s not too bad. Without me, you’ll be able to get out of here. Probably. But without you, I’ll have to live here forever. You’re a strange person, Ged. But you’re a good person. You’ve done a lot for me, so let me do this for you.”

“You’ve done a lot for me, too.”

Beko shook his head. “There’s no comparison. Don’t argue with me. Plus, me taking the risk instead of you is good for us both.”

“Even if I can’t get you to the raft in time?”

“You can,” Beko said assertively. “I might not be able to, but I know you will. You always succeed. Yes, you take risks, but they’re the right risks. And here—I want you to see this.”

Beko pulled out a round ceramic item bearing a poorly-made representation of a woman’s head. “See this, Ged?” the ghoul said solemnly.

“What’s that?”

“What do you mean?” Beko jumped back, and just like that, the item was hidden again. “It’s mine. Mine!”

“Ah, so that’s what it is. And here I am, thinking you have a gold brick there. What’s so valuable about it? Why do you hide it?”

“It’s an agate. A carved agate. They would take it away from me, but it’s mine!”

“When we get back to the trading post, we can buy ten agates like that for you. Or twenty, or a hundred. You can learn to count with them.”

“No, we can’t buy an agate like this,” Beko said grimly.

“Why not?”

“Because this agate was my mother’s. There’s not another agate like it in the world.” Beko’s voice trailed off.

I didn’t know what to say. I patted my friend on the shoulder. “Thanks for telling me your secret. I’ve always wanted to hear it, and you’ve trusted me. Let me tell you my secret.”

“I know your secret,” Beko replied calmly.

“What do you mean?”

“When you were sick, delusional, you took something off from around your neck. Something invisible. You’re a zero, Ged. You have no Degrees of Enlightenment. None. Yet somehow you’re alive, and you act like a normal person. That shouldn’t be possible, yet here you are. You hide it somehow. But you cannot hide it from the higher powers. They perceive that you are empty, and as they say, the ORDER abhors a vacuum. So the ORDER gives you lots of valuable things. That’s how you reached a 4th tier talent in just a few days. You’re even willing to spend valuable items on me. You’re like that legendary hero who always has everything he needs. Lots of expensive things. That’s why you’re always so sure of yourself. But don’t you think that will save you here, Ged. This is a rukh, and even excellent hunters cannot kill a rukh. We are not excellent hunters. We are nobodies. You’re a degree zero, and I’m a weak ghoul. Today, we die. But it will be a good death. I’m dying with someone I can trust.”

I shook my head at how perceptive Beko was. But he was wrong about one thing. “Yes, Beko, someone’s going to die today—but not us.”

Chapter 41

Wood and Water

Degrees of Enlightenment: 0 (341/888)

Shadow: 341

Attributes:

Stamina: level 7, 350 points

Strength: level 4, 200 points (+50)

Agility: level 5, 250 points (+26)

Perception: level 3, 150 points

Spirit: level 2, 100 points

Energy:

Warrior Energy: 150 points (+6.48)

Mage Energy: 100 points

ORDER Talents:

Extreme Boatman (tier 3): 10/10

Fishing Connoisseur (tier 3): 10/10

Cure Wounds (tier 3): 10/10

Disperse Poison (tier 4): 10/10

Throwing Knives (tier 3): 10/10

Apprentice Navigator (tier 3): 10/10

Artificer (tier 2): 10/10

Chaos Talents:

Mark Monster (tier 3): 10/10

Free Talents:

Spinning Rod Master (tier 3): 10/10

States:

Equilibrium (15.76): level 15

Enhanced Enlightenment (0.98): level 0

Shadow of Chi (0.84): level 0

Measure of Order (3.49): level 3

I had to lure six wisps to death by knife throw before I judged the outer circle of flyers to be reduced to a safe level for us to move ahead. I had killed many in days prior, but their numbers recovered overnight.

They would be unable to recover today.

My lure flew into the mist, but not far enough. It plinked off a cystos column. I didn’t mind this—it had happened to me before. But Beko’s face was growing gloomier and gloomier. The natives were superstitious. He considered my miss to be a bad omen.

I wasn’t concerned. My hands were twitching a little, but not because of the bad luck on my first toss. It was just psychologically daunting, despite my own confidence, to be attempting something that even the best hunters of the trading post considered impossible.

Pfft. “Hunters.” They were just common laborers, here to make money. Camai could have wiped out all of this fog and every rukh within without breaking a sweat. Commoners looking for gain were no equals to real warriors.

I could do this. I was no peasant. I was last in the line of an ancient clan. My blood ran bluer than the summer sky, and my essence was ten times more dangerous than Camai’s, at least.

Prepare to die, rukh.

The second toss hit the mark. It took most of my line with it and landed about thirty paces from another wisp taking another lap around the circle. The lure fell with a resounding and alluring clink on the dry soil.

The bug’s buzzing changed tone instantly. It had detected the noise source and quickly obtained energy from its master, allowing it to take flight. This disconnected its “seismic sensors” from the ground.

Now, I could just reel in the line. No matter how fast I did so, the wisp would follow the clinking, clanking bait. Still, I tried to keep it slow, so that no others would detect the noise.

Something grew visible in the fog. A circular shape. Within seconds, the details became visible. It was not a stronger wisp—its Chaos Power was most likely 2 or 3. If my talent’s description was accurate, I should be able to neutralize its poison.

The wisp drew closer and closer. It was a mere five steps from the pit. Beko stood in the center of that pit and began squirming nervously. No matter how brave he was, no matter how much he claimed that the sting did not hurt much, he did not like the prospect of the approaching stinger.

Meanwhile, the wisp was paying him no attention. It pursued the lure, its feeble mind trying to figure out what to do.

With a short jerk, I made the bait land in the mud at Beko’s feet. It plunged deep, disappearing from view. The wisp froze, confused.

I was unable to predict what it would do next, but Beko took the situation into his own hands.

He looked at the buzzing ball, nearly on top of him, and stated, “Someone’s going to die today, and that someone’s not us. That’s what Ged says. And what Ged says, goes.”

The confidence in his voice decreased noticeably the longer he spoke. His hopes in our success were clearly weak. The wisp reacted, surging towards him. Beko barely had time to cover his eyes before the stinger jabbed into his forearm.

Stuttering in pain, the ghoul wavered as the wisp turned and flew away with a satisfied buzzing.

The flying ball had played its part. Now, it could go, back to the center of its circle.

I tossed the spinning rod aside and jumped into the mud. Beko had not fallen down into the pit—we had suspended him by a rope. After all, he didn’t want to drop into a trap of spikes and water when the paralyzing poison was injected into his veins.

I jumped over and wasted no time carefully freeing my companion. First, I put my palm on his arm and activated my talent. Then, I cut down the rope and caught him. “Are you all right, Beko?”

The ghoul moaned indistinctly.

Either my talent hadn’t worked as expected, or something else was wrong, but it was obvious that Beko couldn’t walk. He expected me to get him to the raft before the rukh got there, so there was no point in waiting.

I hauled him up over my shoulders and ran.

Even with my strength, I was a lousy porter, yet my beanpole teenage body managed.

Then, my speed magically tripled. I was spurred on by a sound from behind. It defies description in words. It sounded like steam from the spout of a kettle, like the crunching of a glass cutting machine, and like the gurgle of huge tar pit bubbles, all at once. A perplexing cacophony.

But despite my brain’s inability to process it, my legs knew quite well what it was.

The awakening of something mighty and terrifying. A stubborn and ravenous monster set on enjoying a meal.

Beko understood, too. He twitched and rolled off of my shoulders, landed on his feet, and surged forward. And then just collapsed. But he jumped up, grabbing my outstretched hand. “Run!”

“We are running. On my shoulders, quick!”

“No, Ged. He’ll catch us if we do that. I can do it on my own!”

Beko glanced back and blanched with comingled joy and horror. The latter was understandable, but it took me a split second to understand the former: he had a few of his prized mushrooms clutched in his hand.

How had he managed to notice and pluck them while he was rolling on the ground?

What a weirdo.

I was not about to argue with his greed, but I very much wanted to vacate the area. I seized Beko under the arm, and so we pressed forward together. We were hardly any faster this way, but it was probably comforting for the ghoul.

How could he do nothing with such mortifying sounds just behind him?

The cystos columns trembled as some horrific beast moved along somewhere up above. I had no idea what the area up there looked like. The fog had never allowed me so much as a glimpse. But it was clearly something like a giant, solid umbrella. The rain which had poured into the swamp yesterday had not reached the ground here. This ground remained as dry as ever.

The sound grew rapidly, and pushed us forward better than any drug. Something new joined the mix. A rapid, pounding beat with which the cystos rocked in rhythm. Our imaginations painted a picture of a terrifying, many-legged monster bull-rushing us.

Beko pushed away from me and increased his speed. He was stumbling, but he was moving on his own. The talent worked well—just not quite instantly.

I’m sure the adrenaline played a part, too. Now, I could barely keep up with him.

The giant’s sound slowed and then began to fade. A massive crash ensued, along with the sound of a falling gargantuan—followed by a blast of an all-out roar. Only this time, it was more of a piercing whistle of terrible pain and anger. It was clearly upset and trapped, furiously trying to escape by pounding its limbs against anything it could.

Beko was far ahead of me now. Since when did he become so quick? I kept my pace, trying to pay attention to the interface without crashing into any of the columns. I was waiting for a long message of accomplishments, delivered by the ORDER upon our victory.

As the seconds passed, though, nothing of the sort happened. It was then I knew that the trap had failed.

That realization gave me such a boost that I nearly caught up with Beko in a matter of seconds. I almost shouted with joy when the ORDER finally made itself heard.

Until I read the message.

As you fled from a perilous creature, you have shown unusual running qualities for your level of development.

You receive:

Lesser Symbol of Chi x1

Personal Talent Mark, Runner x1

I nearly screamed in displeasure. The powers that be were mocking me.

Were they laughing at my exertion? I was moving at world record speeds.

We charged all the way to the swamp, where our speed immediately dropped. It was simply not possible to run full out through puddles and mud. The ground sucked our legs in to the ankle with every step.

Unless the rukh suffered a similar problem, we were done.

Damned swamp! I shouldn’t have rushed. I should have dug that pit for a week. Two weeks. A month! Dug it so deep that a herd of elephants would perish inside! I could have dug a canal from the swamp to the pit so that it was filled to the brim with water. And we could have upgraded the spikes in width and sharpness. Tree-sized spikes! Whichever way we could have gotten them there.

Now, I was going to die, thanks to my greed and laziness. I had been too lazy to “waste time.”

Beko tried to maintain his speed through the swamp and, predictably, crashed face-first.

He pulled himself up, sobbing. “We’re going to die!”

I stopped abruptly and dropped to my knees, realizing that my energy was gone.

We could not run any longer.

Nor did we have to.

You have created a two-part trap. You are the first to create such a trap. You lured the rukh into a trap. Both components of the trap worked as planned. You have dealt significant damage to the rukh. You have dealt fatal damage to the rukh. The rukh is dead. You have defeated the rukh using an unknown method. This creature is part Chaos (Chaos Power 26).

You receive:

Unknown Method

Greater Chaos Mark x5

Random Greater Personal Chaos Attribute Embodiment x1

Greater Standard Talent Mark x2

Greater Attribute Power x1

Random Greater Personal Chaos State Embodiment x1

Greater Standard Universal Chaos State x2

Greater Primal Essence x1

Greater Star of Transformation x1

Victory over the Rukh (a worthy victory, over an opponent orders of magnitude stronger than you)

Medium Chaos Mark x14

Medium Attribute Power x2

Medium Concentrated Warrior Energy x2

Medium Universal Chaos Talent Mark x3

Medium Equilibrium State x1

Medium Enhanced Shadow of Chi State x1

Medium Enhanced Measure of Order State x1

Medium Primal Essence x2

Medium Standard Universal State x2

Medium Chaos Refill x2

The Rukh is a part Chaos creature.

You receive Emblem of Valor x7

Creating a New Trap

Lesser Chaos Mark x12

Personal Chaos Attribute Embodiment, Shrewdness x1

Personal Chaos Talent Mark, Shadow Chaser x1

Lesser Chaos Refill x8

Successfully Using a New Trap

Greater Standard Chaos Talent Mark x2

Greater Standard Universal State x2

Greater Chaos Transformation Star x1

Inventing an Unknown Trap

Greater Chaos Mark x3

Greater Universal Chaos Attribute Embodiment x1

Greater Standard Chaos Talent Mark x2

Greater Personal State Embodiment, Measure of Order x1

Superior Standard Universal State x2

Greater Standard Attribute Mark x2

Greater Essence of Artificers x1

You may now name your Unknown Trap

All I read was the first line. Then, I noticed the length of the message. Only one thing could explain so much text.

We had done it! “Beko, stop!” I yelled at my companion, who was still fleeing.

He turned and moved towards me, clearly intending to pull me out of the swamp and carry me, though that would clearly reduce his already poor chances at escape.

When he saw my stupid smile, though, Beko slowed down. Then, he stopped, and his eyes lost their focus.

He saw the message.

The ORDER would be awarding him prizes, too. Natives had long ago calculated that the rewards earned from the ORDER depended, among other things, on the difference in Degrees of Enlightenment (or Chaos Power) between the victor and the opponent. If you were a 5th Degree character, for example, and you defeated an enemy that was 20th Degree, you were entitled to quadruple the loot.

What level had the rukh been? I was too exhausted to bother checking. But Beko was at least a few times lower in level than the monster.

I didn’t count, of course. I was a level 0, and you can’t divide by zero. Well, you could, actually—as long as you didn’t mind getting infinity, every single time. The ORDER could hardly follow such math, since my killing a single kote would fill the entire world with loot then—whatever universe this world was in. Still, it did give me drops that one-of-a-kind warriors who had pumped their Measure of Order a dozen levels higher couldn’t dream of.

You have named your unknown trap “Sticks-n-Shit

You have named a new trap

Greater Standard Chaos Talent Mark x3

Greater Primal Essence x1

Greater Chaos Refill x1

I didn’t care much for the name. It just described what the trap was made out of. But I was not in any state to think of a more eloquent moniker for my invention. Other thoughts filled my head.

It was time to get a look at the beast who had made us run twice as fast as we had ever run before.

* * *

When the shape in the pit became visible through the fog, Beko started fleeing again. I almost followed him.

It was terrifying.

We couldn’t even see the pit. Only the trail of mud that dripped as we had carried it in indicated where the trap was. The entire excavation area was covered with the carcass of the rukh. I had never seen anything like it before—not even on the old pictures my mother used to draw for me on sheets of rice paper. It had something like a flattened spider body, with two rows of elongated legs. They were reminiscent of the stilts the wisps used to walk around on and to sense vibrations. In enormous dimensions, of course. Three times my height in length, and as thick as a grown man’s thigh. The beast’s eyes also looked something like those of the wisps. Similar shape, but not a similar arrangement: They were present on all sides, rather than only on one.

Even though the beast’s body was flattened in shape, the spikes had been unable to pierce it all the way through. The description from the Chaos encyclopedia had been entirely correct. The creature had launched itself from a point positioned exactly above the center of the pit. It had slammed down with all of its weight. That alone may not have killed the rukh, but it had been unable to get out quickly enough to survive. Perhaps it was confused, or in shock, or even stuck on the spikes that pierced its body. In the end, either its wounds or the water did it in. It lay with its paws pointing in all directions, like the death dance of a disgusting, demonic daisy.

Wisps had gathered around. There were some seven dozen of them, at least. They formed a tight ring and stood, their thin legs stuck in the red soil. They did not buzz, move, or otherwise react to our presence. Not even my shout to the fleeing Beko caused a response.

The ghoul came back, albeit reluctantly, and joined me in staring at the pit. “What’s wrong with the wisps?”

“Their master is dead. Without him, they too will die.”

“But they’re still alive. Seems like, anyway.”

“For now. They will die later. Wait—no we have to kill them now! Otherwise we won’t get a reward from the ORDER for them.”

At these words, Beko pressed his hand to his chest with a triumphant frown. “I got my rewards already. And they’re mine. Mine! I ain’t giving them to nobody!”

“Yes, yes, they’re yours,” I sighed, “but you’ll get even more for the wisps.”

I threw a knife into the clump of bugs. One took the hit, deflated, and fell. “See, Beko? They don’t even react. Let’s go!”

The ghoul took a step back and shook his head.

“What are you doing?” I blinked. “They’re just target practice now.”

“I understand. I’m not scared of them. But you should be the one to kill them. You’ll get a lot of rewards for that, but I’ll get next to nothing. You get rich. Not me. You’re the one who needs to kill them.”

I nodded. He was right, after all. I moved towards the wisps, regretting my decision to leave my spear on the raft. Its long-handled stab would have come in quite handy here. Now, I needed to attack with the ax, getting myself sprayed from head to toe with bug innards.

Not to mention that, despite their newfound complete apathy, I didn’t want to get so close to them.

But I did what had to be done. At the end of it all, I even began to feel some regret.

I had come to this land. I had invaded their home. I killed their master, and without him, their lives were meaningless. And then, I had wiped them out, one after the other.

They were peaceful, making not even the least attempt to resist or to flee. I was merciless...

As I had to be. The laws of Rock were cruel.

I stared at my hands and found it suddenly hard to breathe. Beko approached and placed a hand on my shoulder. “It’s alright, Ged. We won. Just like you said we would.”

I nodded. “Right. We’re winners. Legendary winners. We just took out a rukh.”

“No one at the trading post will believe us,” Beko complained. “But I doubt we’ll ever see that place again.”

“You still doubt our strength?” I wondered as I wiped the sweat from my brow.

“We haven’t even started our journey yet, and already we’ve killed a rukh. I bet there are scarier things to come.”

“There’s another rukh, at the least.”

“What!?” Beko exclaimed.

“Calm down. We killed one, and we can kill another. And perhaps a third. No matter how many are in our way, we’ll get through.”

“Then what? What if things get worse after that?”

“Then we’ll kill anyone who stands in our way. We’re the winners here, after all. We’ll line the road from here to the post with corpses, if we have too. It’ll be okay, Beko.”

“You really think that lining the road with corpses is OK?”

“If they’re the corpses of our enemies.”

Without taking my eyes off the scene of the battle, I thought about the tasks awaiting us in the future, near and far. My mind cleared, and I gazed years ahead.

First, I needed to examine the corpse. Perhaps it held something of value. Then, we would have to rest—we were both badly shaken.

There was still a lot of work to be done. Sometimes it would be boring, monotonous. Other times, it would be exciting, invigorating.

At some point, I would reach the goal which seemed most important of all to me.

I mentally crossed Treya out of my mind. She was gone. In the past. The first name on my blacklist had been struck.

How I might find the rest, I had no idea.

Epilogue

The human body decomposes rapidly. It takes a lot of work to make it last a long time. There are hundreds of types of embalming, including the most complex, which can preserve a corpse for millennia. The best masters can even make a dead body look like it’s practically alive.

There are other options too. One can, for example, burn the body to ashes and use special magic abilities to convert those ashes to crystals. If this is done by a specialist with enough skill and the help of some expensive materials, an amulet can even be created containing a particle of the ancestor who has passed on. But especially perceptive experts will still be able to determine that they are viewing not just a powerful item but one made of your ancestor’s ashes.

Such perceptive experts were now halfway to Crow Estate. Once they arrived, they would dig everywhere, three feet deep, looking for any remains of the last clan member.

A man is a filthy creature. He leaves all kinds of traces behind. The people send there by Lord Resai would be able to find much. Nails, hair, feces, and even the skin cells lost over the course of life.

But they would not find the most important thing: the body itself. Nor evidence that it was destroyed.

Master Pence was sure of that. He also knew that looking for these remains outside of the estate would be a pointless exercise. They would not be found, not in this world nor in any other.

They were nowhere.

His confidence was not unfounded. Pence had a method of determining whether all of the Crows were dead or someone were left. Once, when he had come to visit, covered by the dark wing of night, he had seen that there were exactly two remaining.

Treya and her bastard.

Now, the mother of the Last Crow was dead. He had no doubt in this. The master had killed her himself, ensuring that death did not take her too quickly.

But there was a good deal of confusion regarding the Last Crow.

There was, however, one point that was crystal clear: the little monster was still alive. For thirteen years, with the help of his mother and her shudras, he had cheated the ORDER. Now, he continued that practice.

Once Lord Resai found this out, he and Master Pence would need to have quite a difficult conversation.

The latter would be very lucky to even have an audience with Resai himself.

There was only one way to avoid this unpleasant conversation, be it with Resai or a minion of his. He had to finish the job. Then, he could honestly look into the eyes of the man who had given the order—and nod quietly. A humble gesture that was more than sufficient, coming from a man bound by so many vows. They would believe him—and the storm would pass. He would not have to writhe his way out of trouble by means of ambiguous answers. Resai was not a very trusting man, and those above him were even less so.

Those people were above many others, not just Lord Resai. They had reached a level of power that was nearly beyond deception. Only Chaos itself would be able to trick them, and not even on the first attempt.

He had to find the boy himself. Pence was already looking.

And the longer it was until he found something, the more annoyed he became.

Reality was clearly different than the picture he had painted in his mind.

The degree zero boy should have perished upon birth. Or, at least, during the first few days of his worthless life. Yet he had lasted thirteen years.

Thirteen whole years!

Not only that—this bastard had survived in a place where shadows could not. A place where some of the world’s most dangerous killers had perished. Not long ago, they had earned infamy for taking the rebel castle in the Northern Baronies without losing a single man. This last task was a hundred times easier. Perhaps a thousand. Yet they had all died.

All except this bastard—and he had done more than just survive. He had managed to hide, taking advantage of the fact that Pence had to immediately return to his personal binding stone before making his way back to the estate. And he had done more than just hide. He had hidden without leaving any clues behind. Pence’s men slaughtered one northerner after another, beating all of the information they could out of each, and none had given them anything helpful.

Something was off about this boy. So, the picture which had been in Pence’s mind was not entirely true. He would have to begin again.

End of Book One.

Many thanks to my readers!

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