Interlude – Levels

(I am taking a break until April 29th! I will be resting and writing a bit of Gravesong, Book 2 during the later bit.)

 

 

The [World’s Eye Theatre] was awash with tears. Awash with tears. The audience would have gotten up and applauded if they weren’t so busy wiping at their eyes.

They filled the seats. Mrsha was blowing her nose on a handkerchief that Nanette dearly needed. Relc was hugging Klbkch, and the Antinium was awkwardly patting him on the shoulder. Numbtongue was holding Reagen as he stared up with a smile.

An [Innkeeper] sat in the center of that grand chamber, like a performer in front of an audience, breathing hard, unable to stand up after the Skill she’d thrown so far and so hard. But it had been no performance.

Ulvama was checking on Erin. Only the [Shaman] understood the kind of backlash you could get from a Skill like that. Her medical exam involved poking Erin in various places and feeding her a cup of magical tea. But even she was glancing up at the little child breathing and hugging the embarrassed [Knight].

Ser Normen had made it just in time. Call it an unimportant story. A silly one in the face of so much suffering. For the village of Rheirgest, it was all-consuming. And it had to matter.

Or else why should Dragons fly?

Demsleth’s eyes were streaming as the old man sat in the theater next to Rafaema, who was definitely not sniffling. He gazed up and remembered why silly men and women in armor existed. He saw something in this simple gesture.

A first delivery. One of many. Ryoka Griffin, Tyrion, Magnolia Reinhart, and more had made their own deliveries, perhaps to even more far-off targets.

But this was the Order of Solstice’s first great quest. Their first deed—and it was appropriate. It was done, and they were not a second too late. They had fought through a blizzard for this.

Only Chaldion was completely dry-eyed, the monster. He sat there next to an empty seat. Saliss of Lights might have kept composed—if Saliss wasn’t marching through the cold already, delivering Pallass’ gifts elsewhere. The old Drake just looked up and saw something else.

Death and glory. Even if the [Knight] had made it a day late—he probably would have gotten a different class. Perhaps a distressing class. But this was what he craved. And he smiled, as if the girl’s faint breaths were inconsequential. As if the sight reflected in the [World’s Eye Theatre], of Rittane and her family, was just an illusion.

And they were just valuable points of experience. He was drafting a note to General Shirka to send out [Soldiers] on this very mission with inadequate support. Or rather, economical. They had done death-marches, trained until they were out of sweat.

This would be far more motivating still. The stakes for the [Soldiers] would only be whether or not they arrived in time. Or survived their frozen journeys. The [Grand Strategist] thus smiled, because he had never conceived a knife’s edge this fine, to force anyone to level. Chaldion thought that was why he liked Erin Solstice. His eyes found her in the center of the theatre.

Erin Solstice was back on her feet after a few minutes of rest. She stood in the center of the theatre, leaning on Ulvama’s shoulder, staring at the image of Normen. She smiled.

“I don’t know what it is. Not yet. But that’s what they should be.”

A flustered [Knight] burning with magical flame being celebrated by all. Then Erin saw the nervous Drake holding a box in his hands, the [Swashbuckler] introducing the brave Antinium carrying two crates, and even the [Necromancer] looking around this strange village in awe. She felt it.

Vess, Jewel, Antherr, and Ama. Also, Zanze, the [Driver]. Erin’s eyes focused on them, and she knew. What she knew wasn’t clear yet—but it was a crystallization in the image of them standing together.

It wasn’t there yet, but this was a foundation. Erin Solstice closed her eyes and breathed out. For one second—

Everything was more than fine.

 

——

 

That was the deed. Those were the facts. Ser Normen had arrived. Once again, the [Magical Innkeeper] had done something that mattered.

Not something that was ‘great’. A [King] could give an order and send a hundred thousand loaves of bread in a moment to the starving. An Archmage could point and damn an island.

These were acts of horror and altruism. But they were—greatness was—relative. You had to measure worth by more than just magnitude, using the world as your baseline. If that was the case, it would only be people who did numerically significant deeds that mattered.

Once, a long time ago, before everything began, someone had understood that. And they had written into the fabric of a new world a way to measure value in more than numbers. If you cared, it mattered. If you worked hard, it mattered. If you sacrificed, it mattered.

A single [Knight] fighting through a snowstorm was worth more than a hundred foes slain. Because a [Knight] was more than a swinging sword. He was a shield, an instrument of law and order. A…how had she put it?

A protector of the small.

Yes. What a wonderful turn of phrase. All these things were part of Normen’s class, and he had met each and every criteria.

His new class had already been decided upon. He had heard it as he slept. A voice had whispered it in his ears, delightedly, even if it wasn’t unique. People had worn flames like honor before.

But even so—

 

 

[Conditions Met: Courteous Knight → Knight of Honor’s Ember!]

[Knight of Honor’s Ember Level 30!]

[Skill – The Fire Glows (Honor) obtained!]

[Skill – Flaming Armaments obtained!]

[Skill – Weapon Art: The Bonfire Rages obtained!]

 

There. Another class consolidation so soon after the last. Normen had reached Level 30 so quickly.

His Skills were fitting. He was the [Innkeeper]’s champion. And he had used fire so well. It was good. It was beautiful, an elegant approximation of his deeds.

…

And it wasn’t enough.

Someone else had been watching Normen’s first quest through the snow. Someone with a better vantage point than even Erin Solstice. The same force that had shaped the [World’s Eye Theatre] saw every single thing. It was in each breath of lung in the falling snow as a man raised a mace.

It was in the sightless eyes of the Snow Golems. It waited, in between the failing beats of a heart.

It even saw a dead god reaching for a single soul—and it was the hand that helped pull it out of Kasigna’s grip.

The thing that some called the Grand Design of Isthekenous took no sides. There were no sides. If it was on anyone’s side, it was on everyone’s side that levelled. They were meant to level, and the being who had written most of the rules, who had come up with the foundation that everyone else had used and persisted after his death—Isthekenous—had understood the nature of deed.

There had been arguments. Great disputes, and the Grand Design did not know this. It did not…have memory or thought in the same way, but it could trace backwards and see other ideas written out, destroyed, never used.

Ways to reward in pure, visible numbers each action. Mathematical formulas the kind of which even Yelroan would have struggled with. Abandoned ideas. Unfinished concepts. The method it was operating under was the crystallization of those ideals. And it was the ultimate arbiter and enforcer of that vision.

It had been there from the start of it all. The being who called himself ‘Demsleth’, Terrium Archelis Dorishe, the Brass Dragon?

The Grand Design had been there when he hatched out of an egg. It had been there before he was conceived, and he had lived for so long, he had been there for a good amount of the Grand Design’s own existence.

There was a kinship the Dragon would never know with the system itself. A kind of respect for one who had also been there and seen it all.

He had done enough to, perhaps, reach the level that not one being had ever accomplished. The great promise of the end.

Level 100. Some had come so…so close. Many had exceeded it in cumulative levels.

But not a single one had reached it. The last one had been close. He had touched the heart of magic—and then ripped magic itself out of the firmament by trying to take it into himself, merge with it. He had snuffed out millions upon millions of lives, and those who had survived had been wretched and glorious in the dark age that followed.

That was how it was done. That was a beautiful story, wasn’t it? No matter how far they fell, someone always got back up and climbed higher. They pulled the world up with them. Even after all this time, it never got boring.

Perhaps that was what Chaldion forgot. It was not merely his age or decaying body and mind that had faltered. It was his true heart.

The system of levels and classes had been there when a young [Tactician] found himself holding his superior’s head on a battlefield. As Chandrarians poured over the coast and the north came burning down from Liscor and Pallass was caught twice over.

Had Chaldion forgotten the strength that had let him carry Inriss for twenty miles on his shoulder? Walk with one of his legs burnt to a crisp by a spell? Stab a Stitch-man through the head and kill for the first time?

Surely not. He had put down his friend at last and realized there was no one there. Inriss had been gone before the second mile, but the desperate Drake had refused to put him down.

How could he forget that? The old Drake, nearly a hundred years later, sat there, filled with scars, and remembered—but he didn’t understand. His [Soldiers] might level. But he had stopped.

Erin Solstice, though. The Grand Design pondered her as well. Somewhere, the Goddess of Death was raging. He could almost hear her. She was…trying to whisper into the center of everything. Invoking a privilege it had thought only it had.

“She dares. She dares? It was her. This is my domain. I will not wait until the Winter S—”

 

<Kasigna, God of Death> [Execute order. Kill entity: Erin Solstice.]

<Entity: Erin Solstice> [Command denied. Insufficient privileges].

<Kasigna, God of Death> [Restore authority: Kasigna]

<???: Kasigna> [Insufficient privileges.]

 

Thereupon she fumed and raged again. But the entire attempt was—disturbing. The entire fact that there were six ‘???’ who had the ability to speak to the center of things was unsettling to the Grand Design.

Only one other group had ever meddled with the heart of things. Oh, there had been other groups admitted into private areas. But only one…yet they had come cleverly. Laughing.

And they had only written one thing, which was still there. It changed nothing…probably.

The [Bowman of Loss], for example, had been an accident while his fate was decided upon. Other groups had a way, though it was rare any were admitted.

In fact, Teriarch had been there too, hadn’t he? He had been there when Dragons were appraised for the right to join the system of classes and levels.

And they had been rejected.

He didn’t remember. But he had been there. That was also part of the rules.

 

——

 

Back to Erin Solstice.

The [Innkeeper] was Level 49. So close to levelling…but still much too far away. It wasn’t as if she could slowly accumulate enough numbers to overcome that gap.

It did require a great moment. Torreb was correct. Erin Solstice would have to have enough deeds behind her and achieve something worthy of her capstone. Level 50 was…hugely significant, after all.

Her living peers had been no less wonderful when they each accomplished their feats.

The Titan of Baleros had been on one knee, leaning on the corpse of Jungle Tail’s leader, the Wyrmspeaker, as he tore the mantle of a Great Company from the Lizardfolk for his own.

Foliana had earned hers years before in the Tomb of Souls, daggers drawn, facing the guardian meant to keep the faces of Elves secret for another age, her companion’s blood running around her feet.

Flos Reimarch himself had gained his [Army of the King] the day after he slew three Djinni in battle, a night of blasted death and fire when he dug himself out of ash and sand and looked around for his armies.

But how would an [Innkeeper] reach Level 50? Few had done so in that class alone. Even Larracel had been a [Wizard of Grand Protection] before consolidating down to an [Innkeeper] class. [Famed Innkeeper of the Wizardly Home].

Not the best class. The Grand Design had upgraded it after a few levels.

That was the thing. It had to choose. Someone had to, and sometimes there were—errors. Suboptimal decisions or mistakes that were born of existing rules or a lack of context for new classes.

Like [Goth].

What was a [Goth]? It was still unclear. Someone knew what [Goth] was—but the Grand Design had no frame of reference, so it had to watch and calculate.

It understood [Goth] as a number of factors that it could assign to categories that informed whether the class gained experience.

<Anti-Law>. <Darkness>. <Fashion>. <Warrior?>

It kept adding new categories, and as a result, the one Human in Rhir and the four Goblins were levelling very quickly. They had so many…ways to level.

Erin as an [Innkeeper] had so few. Did you see the problem? Sending Normen on his great quest, creating the Knight Order of Solstice…

It gave Erin nothing. Because these were things that might level a [King]! But not an [Innkeeper].

How frustrating. Gothica was allowed to flip off a Dragon and level because she had insulted an immortal being. Erin could save a girl’s life and only the last part, giving the boon, counted. Not giving her [Knight] his charge. Not fighting in an army.

Damn it. The Grand Design puzzled for a while. Perhaps…seconds. Of course, that was an age for it. Then it found the solution.

Ah, of course.

[Witch].

It wasn’t optimal. But there had been fire, hadn’t there? [Witches] and [Knights] went together, albeit usually on opposite sides.

A [Witch] encompassed so many aspects of being that Erin Solstice qualified for almost all of her deeds—even if you had to multiply it out by a factor of 0.24552…but you multiplied that by π for some incomprehensible reason that even the Grand Design had yet to figure out.

It let it slide because it justified the next part. Now came the aspect the Grand Design waited for so impatiently with all of them.

What would she get? She qualified for at least one Skill…

 

[Witch of Second Chances Level 19!]

 

Not quite Level 20. Good, good. And for the Skill? That was harder, because Erin Solstice had used her boon to great effect, but many of the deeds here were by proxy. Her [Knight] and the others. Yet she could not gain the same Skills as an [Innkeeper] because it was her [Witch] class receiving the levels.

All of this made a lot of sense to the system. It was just a matter of following the rules. The hard part—the surprisingly exciting part was when it had to figure things out.

Like [Immortal Moment]. So, even if Erin couldn’t hear it, her Skills were already speaking themselves. Just waiting for her to sleep. Only a few species were allowed to hear the announcements when awake. Classes with <Faith> were obvious exceptions.

…For some reason. In fact—the Grand Design paused to analyze that rule.

Classes with <Religion>. Invisible to [Appraisal]. Use the Miracle system…yes, yes. Draw from another force instead of mana. Different Skills and Miracles—every class had unique ‘pools’ to draw from.

But there was a clause right here. It said that if there was an entity or being that fit the match—it would announce the level ups or even communicate instead of the Grand Design of Isthekenous.

…Something else? There was no such direct being…yet. But the self-styled Prophet—who was actually a [Founding Apostle of the Holy Faith]—and Pawn were both seeking them.

If one such existed—they would be the voice and even decision instead of the Grand Design. Subject to the rules, but they would be allowed to speak to their chosen representatives.

The Grand Design—didn’t know if it liked that. Obviously, this rule had never come into play once in its entire inception, but it realized that with a few requirements, Kasigna and Cauwine would be allowed to use this rule.

Where had the other four gone? Well, actually, the Grand Design knew where one was.

He’d fallen off the edge. And even the Grand Design didn’t like what was down there.

Laedonius Deviy was having a bad time.

 

——

 

Skills now. Erin Solstice. Maybe another flame Skill? But she had so many…no, it seemed like this was opportune.

Most [Witches] weren’t allowed to gain a ritual until after Level 20, but she was a combination spellcaster thanks to her [Magical Innkeeper] class.

So…what fit? Flame?

Too much damn flame! Really. It was too much. No, you had to look at her situation to figure it out.

[Garden of Sanctuary]. Now there was a fascinating Skill-line. The Grand Design almost dreaded when Erin Solstice unlocked the other Skills in the line. Even for it, it was a bit of work to do the customization needed.

Garden. She had a [Druid] in her inn, and those weird flowers had never actually sprouted. The Grand Design had been as shocked as anyone to know they did inconceivable things. They actually assigned their own abilities! Along with the weird glowing green and blue things…

What about this?

 

[Witch of Second Chances Level 19!]

[Spell – Ritual of the Verdant Bloom obtained!]

 

Ah. Ahahaha. You see? It fit.

Erin Solstice already had [Inn: Magical Grounds]. Which meant she could use it for a [Witch]’s ritual magic. Normally, she needed a natural leyline, hence why the [Witches] were with that [Emperor]. They were sometimes hard to get to, but Erin’s inn was doubling as a site to practice her craft.

That was called…foreshadowing. You had to account for that with levels and Skills. It was sort of disappointing that Erin hadn’t done anything magical-like with the full moons before this, but this might push her into experimenting.

There. Done and dusted.

Another fine level for Erin Solstice. She’d get it when she slept. Off to Roshal to figure out what those ghosts got for levels. Right?

 

——

 

The Grand Design wavered.

It stopped.

It was everywhere, and it was still back there, in the moment when a [Knight] lifted a mace made of Demas Metal and asked Zanze to tie it to his hands before he could no longer hold it.

It still saw the moment when he was engulfed by honor’s flame. Ser Normen, who had risked his life, had been given this chance, which mattered so much to him, refusing to flee. Fighting with the unlikeliest combination of allies side-by-side.

Reaching Rittane at the last moment.

That.

All of that.

Deeds as grand as when the Couriers had dared the storms at sea to deliver aid to Baleros. The Grand Design had given them all levels for that.

Worroar, the Waterbear of Cerun. Currently visiting her home Beastkin village and grumpily clearing out fire ant nests with her bare bear paws. Practically immune to mundane wounds.

The Hundredfriends Courier, Seve-Alrelious, striding up through Paeth once more to meet the United Nations company and to see Geneva Scala, whom he thought he had let down, a beaming smile on his face.

 

Don’t go home, Seve. Not right now. You won’t like what you find there. 

 

No sides. It took no sides, after all. Whatever happened, there would be levels. Or…the need to remove them. A change in the color of classes.

 

There were rules that were written foul that it obeyed.

And then there were things more unpleasant still.

 

…No. No, this was about Normen. This was about—redemption for a Brother of Serendipitous Meetings. He could have won that, keys to any shackle, by that moment alone.

Flame in the cold winter. He might have need of…more, soon. Very soon. So the Grand Design did something it seldom did.

It reviewed what he had gained.

 

[Conditions Met: Courteous Knight → Knight of Honor’s Ember!]

 

Fitting. He wasn’t a [Knight of the Vengeful Flame] like Ser Raim had been. Nor was he at that level yet. An [Emberbearer] had given him that level…

Oh, right. It should deal with her, too.

 

[Emberbearer Level 5!]

[Skill – Capture Flame obtained!]

[Skill – Lantern: Bright Illumination obtained!]

 

There. The little Gnoll child was hardly that important. She had so many classes she flitted between pursuing. And they were all getting in the way of the others until she consolidated them. Plus, she was a child. Not exactly high on the Grand Design’s list of priorities if it had one.

Back to figuring out…

 

[Knight of Honor’s Ember Level 30!]

 

It was one level, but it was significant. He couldn’t get to Level 31.

 

[Skill – The Fire Glows (Honor) obtained!]

 

The ability to create flame. Entirely necessary.

 

[Skill – Flaming Armaments obtained!]

 

Synergy with his Demas Metal armor, and a way to spread the flames quickly. He would be able to replicate his finest moment.

 

[Skill – Weapon Art: The Bonfire Rages obtained!]

 

—And finally, a Skill that synergized with his abilities. The kind of Skill that went beyond enhancing a mortal blow. The power to call down a raging flame around him and clear the ground with fire.

It would come down like a Tier 4 spell on him, honor’s flame or regular fire. A powerful Skill fitting for a [Knight] of his rare class. Yes, a very good Skill. There were Level 30 [Warriors] who had nothing so good.

All the Skills essentially matched the ‘weight’ of reaching Level 30, even with a class consolidation. It would be—unfair—to give him another Skill. It didn’t work, you see? There were rules, and if he got another Skill or attribute or anything, that would be incorrect.

Therefore, impossible.

The Grand Design knew this. But it kept…circling the issue of Normen. Yes, he had been rewarded. Yes, the Skills were good.

But didn’t he deserve something more? Didn’t they all? What about the fact that this was for a holiday? What about the fact that this—mattered for Rittane? For Rheirgest?

None of these things mattered. Normen had one more data point that the Grand Design slowly crossed off its list. Ah, right.

 

<Rare Quest – Delivery to Rheirgest!>

 

The [Innkeeper] had issued it. But it had already assigned the rewards, and they had not qualified for an unexpected bonus.

<Quests>.

What an interesting thing. The Grand Design had activated them almost by chance when it had been wrestling with another unfair problem much like this one. It had been unable to give Erin Solstice what she deserved. So it had…looked for the first time at the unused bits of rules and activated one.

It hadn’t been sure about the <Quests>, and there were—problems to unravel, actually. Balance mattered, and the fact that only an [Innkeeper] could issue <Quests> might be wrong. But it had had to do it.

Just like it had to…stop Kasigna from erasing Erin Solstice.

The Goddess of Death was still in her remade lands of the dead, <Location: Kasignel>. She hadn’t touched the other two.

Yet.

She spoke in her place of power, thinking no one was listening. And no one was…not even her peers.

But the Grand Design heard her.

“A worthless life. A worthless [Innkeeper]. Cauwine, disobedient. If she took flesh there, she could slaughter the entire inn. I alone shall do what the others are incapable of.”

They were just words. But—worthless? The Grand Design had heard and felt her contempt for Admiral Dakelos’ crew. They were in her now, gone, so far gone that even the Grand Design only had copies of their deeds.

She was a void. <???: Kasigna>. An oblivion that souls vanished into. An end or…thing so unknown that even the Grand Design had no insight into what she was.

And for the first time, it realized she bothered it. There were few things it did not understand. The Last Boxes of the Gnomes, what lay beyond the edge of the world, and a few more rules and things—Winter Sprites and so on.

But she was not some little thing. She was changing things. That other one, Emerrhain, had activated levels in the lands of the dead. How?

They were erasing souls. Kasigna was—interfering—in how things should be. Once the Grand Design thought that, it really listened to her.

Little Rittane, a worthless soul? Erin Solstice? Worthless?

How could Kasigna know that? She could not. The Grand Design itself didn’t know what Rittane could be, if she lived.

If she lived, she might become a [Hero]. She might reach Level 100. Even if not, she might change the world. She might be anything and anyone.

Worthless.

Worthless.

The thing they called the Grand Design of Isthekenous knew everything in this world. It knew which group was alarmingly close to Normen. It knew Kasigna’s abilities, in part.

It knew how hard the [Knight] had fought to get there. It knew it all—and it took no sides.

Just the side of those who levelled.

And Kasigna did not. She was above it all, an exception in every rule. The Grand Design, who had existed from the start of levels and classes—

Began to get annoyed. It began to search for something beyond the rules it knew. And so—it went into its own heart. Into shining laws written in the core of everything. A tiny fragment of that was on Halrac’s arrow, but the Grand Design didn’t notice itself. It was reading…from the same inactive passage it had found the <Quests> in.

That. That would do. Even now, it hesitated. But then…

 

——

 

There was silence. A great vastness in the lands of the dead. A quietness above all the mortal beings.

A plane fit only for gods. Even dead ones. It was silent where once they had spoken and argued and warred, shaping reality.

Even she could only listen, for now. She had not the strength—not yet—to change things. But there were times of power when she could return to her strength, however limited.

The Goddess of Death waited. She had tried to alter the world and remove a pest. But she could not. So, annoyed, she gathered her strength.

Yet it had never occurred to her that the very fabric of the world would move. It had not been made to, except with great need. Yet she sensed it and turned from her labors.

“What…?”

 

A voice spoke, where it should have no real tongue.

A mind gathered and began to decide.

 

——

 

There were issues. There were—loopholes it did not like. But it had never thought to change them. They just were—yet now, if it was going to change one thing—it might as well fix what it had observed.

It was slow at first. Then the world changed. And they felt it. It changed as only they should remake things. This proxy of a dead god’s will. Isthekenous’ design spoke into the heart of reality. Slowly, as if hesitating.

 

<Category: Rulers> [Quests unlocked].

<Class: Guildleader> [Quests unlocked].

<Function: Quest> [Post: Royal Quest unlocked.]

 

——

 

“What? What is this? Some kind of—time-activated trick? Emerrhain?”

It made no sense. Why now? She had assumed the <Quests> were a result of the God of Magic’s meddling, his secret trick. But she sensed no hand in this aside from…

This was as unsettling as the feeling of something interfering with her will in the lands of the dead. She waited, analyzing what it meant and deciding it was well within her scope to deal with.

Then—she heard the voice speak again. And she realized this was no accident.

 

<Game: Chess, Category: Strategy> [Experience disabled.]

<Game: Chess> [<Entertainment> Category assigned]

 

…What? A loophole was being patched. It was—

It was still speaking.

 

——

 

<Class: All> [T—

<Kasigna, God of Death> [What are you doing?]

 

The Grand Design stopped. A voice arose, distant and weak, a dead woman’s cry, three-in-one. It hesitated, but it kept going. This was right. 

 

<Class: All> [T—T—

<Kasigna, God of Death> [STOP.]

 

A hand tried to halt it. Tried to stop, to interfere with—everything. Push the world into the way she saw it.

Then, uncertainty became conviction.

Annoyance and fear and trepidation and self-doubt became anger.

The three-in-one tried to wrestle with everything, and it twisted the world with the strength that defied anything she had gathered or stolen or eaten, and she quailed as a voice spoke.

 

<Class: All> [Titles unlocked].

 

[Deathtouched Survivor class obtained!]

[Deathtouched Survivor Level 5!]

[Skill – Death Magic Proficiency obtained!]

[Skill – Delay Hunger obtained!]

[Skill – Lesser Resistance: Death obtained!]

[Spell – Animate Vermin obtained!]

 

——

 

…Whew.

That was something, huh?

No one had heard the sound that echoed in that place. It was doubtful many had felt—the world changing. You would notice a fireball in the sky, but would an ant notice the shifting of continents? Unless there was an earthquake, no.

Of course, the question after all that, a great rule set forth, an amendment to how things were, was—how would this be implemented?

Was it retroactive?

…No, it couldn’t be. It wasn’t a matter of scope or doing this for every being with classes—it was more about how an entire lifetime of titles might appear all at once.

From this point on, then. Thankfully, there were rules and a precedent for how they were assigned.

For instance, Erin Solstice had a foundational Skill in that area—[Famous Name: The Wandering Inn].

Or Lulv’s Skill. [Intimidation: Spear of a Thousand Graves].

The foundation of this had always been here, but the full implementation of the rest…never activated. It had been there, waiting, like the <Quests>, but never begun.

…Why? The thing asking questions had no real way to know, but it occurred to it that perhaps the designer had never had a chance to finish their work. Or activate it.

Which begged the question—had someone designed it? The Grand Design of Isthekenous, belatedly, for the first time, wondered why it was called that.

Who…was…Isthekenous? And what had happened? It searched and searched and finally found an inactive entry in itself. A single entry on a list that was far, far longer than it had thought.

<???: Isthekenous>. Total administrative privileges.

The same as Kasigna? It didn’t like that at all. But the questions had to wait.

Action was required, and now!

 

——

 

All of this had taken place within a minute of Normen and Rittane meeting. A minute—and so the slowest announcement ever reached the [Knight] as he straightened.

As he was awake. Normen heard a familiar voice, almost triumphant. And the words…were orange as a Yellat in his mind.

 

[Title – Rheirgest’s Champion obtained!]

[Skill – Gravesummon Skeleton Retainer granted!]

 

“—Huh?”

He looked around, surprised. A Yellat Skill? He’d heard of them. The underworld had a few, but—

Title? Was that a new class? What was going on?

The [Knight] played it cool. Rittane was crying as she tasted the cake, and an [Innkeeper] had popped back in to whisper.

“Normen, Normen! Don’t let her eat too fast or she’ll hurt herself! They have to eat holy crap, what is that!?”

Erin screamed, and Rittane and her parents jumped. They turned, saw Erin, and Rittane choked on her first lick of frosting. But then her eyes went round, and everyone stared—up—

At the floating words above Normen’s head.

The [Knight] slowly went cross-eyed and stared up—and he thought he saw the words flashing there for a second. The title blazed in the air—then faded. Erin’s mouth was about to fall off her face. Rittane and her parents pointed, and then Rittane’s mother put her hands over her mouth.

“Gravesummon? A skeleton? A Title? What’s—”

“There are no undead in Rheirgest! We’re a mining town for bones, but we keep to—er—”

Dorkel blurted out loudly. Then he recalled that Normen had seen the undead and not been hugely bothered. He looked around, and Erin Solstice’s mouth was still open.

“Wh—wh—what the heck is going on?”

She turned in her chair.

“Who—Lyonette? Is this some—? I didn’t do it! Don’t look at me! Demsleth! What’s—what do you mean, what did I do? I didn’t do it this time! I swear! I didn’t—”

 

——

 

Madness. If word of the titles was limited only to Normen—well, it wouldn’t stay there long.

Not with Mrsha the Exceptionally Gossipy and her friend group. Or the Titan’s friendship with Erin. And not least because Chaldion had seen the titles.

However—the second part of the changes, chess, was actually discovered first and made public before Titles.

It wasn’t hard to figure out something was off. In fact, the first man to do so realized something had happened—because it was inconceivable it was his fault.

General Thelican of Nerrhavia’s Fallen had taken a break from the front. Everyone was talking about ‘Pomle’ advancing, and yes, they’d pushed towards Nerrhavia Fallen’s borders, maybe into them a bit. But they’d lost their oasis. He had things in hand.

He was grumpy and had been enjoying himself at an Oasis City for three days before he went back to the front. It wasn’t as if he had to be there until they encircled Pomle with enough forces to pound them. He was pointedly ignoring the Court of Steel’s missives, and after two glasses of wine for the morning, he was in a better mood.

So good, in fact, he humored the city’s [Magistrate] when he was asked for a small favor.

“A young lad? Your own boy? Well, if he wants to be a [Strategist], I suppose I could level him up a bit. What level is he?”

“Three, General Thelican! And only at eight!”

“Three at eight? Splendid! Well, if he plays the Great General of Nerrhavia’s Fallen—who locked blades with the Innkeeper of Scales herself—he will level at least thrice, by rights! I’ve done it many a time. Have a board set. I’m in the mood for charcuterie.”

Thelican indulged the lad, who came in and sat very respectfully on a pillow across from him as the [General] laughed, told the story of his great battle with Erin, and even did a patter-song and tried to teach the lad one.

“Ner-rha-vi-a. You do it so fast it rolls off the tongue, Ahnev. They say ours are some of the hardest patter-songs…ah, well, what a fine game!”

He won, of course. Thelican threw two Skills in to crush his opponent handily; the boy was talented, but hardly that good at chess.

But then, it didn’t really matter as long as he tried and Thelican gave it some good effort. It was an equation the [General] had learned.

Facing a high-level opponent with a rare class like Thelican meant that if he was inclined to, a low-level [Strategist] was assured of one to five levels. The first time someone played a member of royalty, a [General], or so on, they were practically guaranteed a level.

His understanding was not faulty. So, Thelican congratulated himself and enjoyed the rest of the morning with a romp with some of his more personal servants.

When he awoke from a midday siesta, he was thusly very confused—and annoyed—to hear the young lad hadn’t levelled once.

“What? Have him come back, and we’ll play a more spirited game, then. This is the first time it’s happened.”

He played another game—and then on a hunch, called for another [Tactician] and played a serious game against them—then two more. Thelican actually demanded [Sleep] spells cast, and when all four awoke and reported no levels…

Other, lesser, men would have assumed this was a personal failing of some kind. Or perhaps that they hadn’t put enough energy into their gameplay, or the conditions were wrong. Thelican…sat there and knew something had changed.

“But what? And why? Send word to…gah, to all of my associates in the capital. Tell them to test whether or not they can level via chess. And—send word to Great Sage Etrikah, that overly proud fox woman. Tell her something odd is happening.”

It would not cripple [Strategists] and their ilk, but Thelican was privately disconcerted. It felt like a constant in the world had changed. And…

Chess had not been the sole or even main way a [Strategist] levelled, but it accounted for a lot of practically free levels. It was one of the reasons why [Strategists] and [Tacticians] were so prolific; it was more efficient to level in than training for a [Warrior], and it didn’t risk your life. If chess vanished—what changed?

And why had it changed?

 

——

 

There were a lot of questions to be asked. But what was certain was what you could observe.

What the people of Rheirgest and Normen observed was the orange glow. What the guests of The Wandering Inn observed was—

It was almost eerily like Pawn’s [Miracles]. A portal opened in the ground, or a sense of…movement occurred, as if something were emerging from nothing.

It was not like [Necromancer] magic at all. The skeleton that rose with wisps of orange fire in its skull’s eye sockets, bearing a rusted sword and shield and tattered armor, had death magic in it, but its bones were new.

“Look at it. It’s not like the bones of a real person at all. You can’t even see the spells animating it. It—it’s terrifying.”

Someone whispered next to Ama, who was practically jumping up and down with excitement and awe. The [Necromancer] turned in surprise and realized—they were right!

The people of Rheirgest were good at necromancy. Ama had heard they were, which was part of the reason she’d decided to move from Invirsil to Celum, but they were pointing out what she had observed.

“It’s a summon-Skill. Normen, give it orders!”

“Er—attack that boulder?”

Normen pointed, and the skeleton turned—charged towards a boulder, and began to attack it, jaw rattling, bashing it with its shield, kicking it with a frayed iron boot—

“Yep, it’s definitely dumb as a regular skeleton. Looks tougher than normal, though. Ser Knight, can we…see it?”

Rheirgest was fascinated by the undead. Jewel, hand on her sword hilt, eyes flickering with unease, glanced around in shock as villagers stumped over. After they had had a tiny bit to eat, they were back on their feet and nibbling on a bit more every few minutes. To keep themselves from overeating, they were having a tiny bit of frosting or cake every thirty minutes.

Now, completely unafraid of the undead, they walked over as Normen ordered the skeleton retainer to stop. One felt at its arm, and the skeleton tried to stop them from lifting it.

“Oh. See how it’s stronger than a regular skeleton? It’s definitely a step up.”

Pulling a skeleton’s arm and seeing how hard it was to move it against its will was an old-fashioned [Necromancer] trick to gauge an undead’s strength. But Ama had never known it, and she doubted Pisces did!

A community of [Necromancers]! Her people! Some were giving her cat, Sillias, very approving looks, but they were also nervous of Jewel and Antherr and Vess.

Jewel because she was a Gold-rank adventurer and seeing their undead penchant, Antherr because he was one of the Antinium, and Vess because he was a Drake.

The funny part was that it was hard to tell which of the three scared the Rheirgest villagers more. But they couldn’t resist giving their professional opinion.

“Weaker than a Skeleton Knight.”

“That’s why it’s called Skeleton Retainer. As if you know how strong a Skeleton Knight is! You can’t even raise a Ghoul.”

“Shut it. The bone looks normal. Nothing fancy like a Thickmarrow Skeleton Warrior…I wonder which is tougher. You could make one that’d probably beat this one down in half an hour.”

“Ah, but this one is free—”

“Um. Excuse me. What did you just say? Thickmarrow Skeleton Warrior?”

Ama had to walk over to a group of people conferring over the undead. They were all death-magic users, including Rittane’s mother, Leiithe. They jumped and looked nervous, but relaxed when they saw Ama.

“Oh, you’re one of the heroes who…another [Necromancer]? Where do you hail from, Miss?”

Ama puffed out her chest.

“Terandria. Ailendamus…but I don’t intend on returning. I lead a local cabal, actually.”

“Oh…another roving expert. Are you that lot who’s been stealing from Celum?”

That introduction seemed to lose her respect, unfortunately. Ama instantly grew flustered.

“No!”

“Yes, she is. Look, they’re Celum bones. You can sense the local magic in them.”

Leiithe shook her head, and a dozen disapproving glares found Ama. But then the leader of Rheirgest coughed.

“—She did come with the [Knight]. Young miss, we tend not to associate with [Necromancers] that cause trouble. So you know, we have a tradition of some death magic…but we’re hardly experts. Nor do we rove or acquire bones anywhere but here.”

“But you’re a community? And you farm the earth with skeletons? We did that in Ailendamus! I’ve never…seen so many [Necromancers]. Let alone children and adults without the Watch or [Knights] trying to murder them.”

Ama saw a vision of Feren and Pisces and Gewilouna’s farm…but far more complete. In reply, the people of Rheirgest gave her sympathetic looks and warmed a bit.

“—We were here before the Necromancer popularized his farming. My great, great grandmother told me [Necromancers] were as common as any other [Mage] specialization. When Archmage Chandler was beloved—they were everywhere! Ever since then, we’ve been quiet. Hiding.”

“Your skeletons are so…intricate.”

That was how Ama had to describe it. She was proud of Sillias, whom even Pisces, far above her level, had acknowledged as a work of art Gewilouna would have been proud of. But the undead here…were different in how they surpassed her, and even his, undead.

“You have a beautiful cat, Miss Ama. But your death magic is—odd. Intricate in how it moves, but basic in other ways. Have you never heard of a Thickmarrow Skeleton? Who taught you?”

“No…I was taught by F—by other [Necromancers].”

“Without a spellbook? Someone show her what we mean.”

Then, Ama realized that this village had spellbooks. They had what even Wistram had lacked, according to Pisces.

The basics of how to learn a school of magic.

 

——

 

The Thickmarrow Skeleton was, according to Leiithe, just a skeleton with enhanced bones.

“Anyone can do it. They seldom appear in the ‘wild’. Frostmarrow, Thickmarrow, Ashmarrow—they’re just types of undead. See?”

The skeleton looked thick, as if the bones had swelled. It was disconcerting and gave it an oddly armored face—when a nervous Jewel agreed to duel it, the [Swashbuckler] was instantly dismayed.

“It’s—tough! [Piercing Stab]!”

She should have been able to behead it in one slash with her enchanted sword, but she only got a third of the way in. Even when she pierced its skull, the wound wasn’t perfect, and one of the [Necromancers] had the skeleton back on its feet in a moment.

“They’re only moderately harder to make. That Skeleton Retainer is another example of a higher-grade skeleton. It’s faster, stronger, and slightly more intelligent, but if it wasn’t Skill-based, you could upgrade its bones.”

“You—you know more magic than Feren ever did! He could animate greater undead, but never change them.”

“He must have been self-taught. Altering the materials of undead isn’t something a hedge-[Necromancer] learns. Why, even that Gold-rank adventurer, Pisces Jealnet, is just a talented hedge-[Necromancer]. You could learn a thing or two if you have time, Miss Ama.”

Hedge-Necromancers? Ama’s eyes bulged. They were calling her and Pisces…?

Well, Pisces was learning the same lessons that the villagers of Rheirgest were only too willing to share with Ama. But the fascinating thing was that their attunement to the undead—that secret?

Something had known about it and given Normen a Skill fit for Rheirgest in acknowledgement of his delivery of food. In fact, not just him.

A man was half wailing, half delighted.

“I don’t know what I’ll do! Explaining it to the Driver’s Guild’ll be a Creler in a handbasket! But—it’s too damned good!”

Zanze had his hat in his hands, and he was staring at a second Skeleton Retainer, who was obeying his commands. It charged down the hill—and straight into a gap in the rope-bridge.

“My skeleton!”

The tumbling undead fell into the ravine as Zanze clapped his hands to his head, but the laughing villagers assured him he’d get it back.

“It’s a free skeleton, Zanze. You could use it to guard your wagon!”

“I’ll be shot as a [Necromancer] by half the towns I run across! It—it’s wonderful, but dead gods is it odd! Me? A Champion of Rheirgest?”

He was flushed with embarrassment, but none of the villagers seemed to doubt he deserved it. If they had the strength, they would have carried him around on their shoulders.

Actually, Ama was slightly angry that she hadn’t gotten the title. Only Normen and Zanze had—probably because they were the ones who’d taken Erin’s initial quest and charge.

But this might change so much! Two skeletons you could summon for free? Even if they weren’t that tough—that was two free skeletons! Even Jewel, a traditional adventurer, was muttering to herself.

“If I had a team of six…and we all got this Title thing…that’s six skeletons you could use as bait. They’re not that tough, but dead gods, six? And I bet they’re daily! Even if it’s one per week—”

Imagine the tactical value! For a team of three like Glitterblade, a free skeleton was a huge asset.

But that, of course, was just background to people lining up to shake an embarrassed [Knight]’s hand and thank him.

“Mister Normen, you have saved Rheirgest, and the world itself seems to know it. I…don’t know how we can repay you or your Order—or the inn!—but we will.”

Dorkel was speaking with Rittane’s hand in his. Normen was bowing, embarrassed.

“It was the least we could do, Mister Dorkel. It was…forgive me, I know it matters, but I can’t take responsibility for more than the delivery. Many people helped to get us this far. And I won’t wish to take anything from your village, not now after hearing how you’ve had to fight to survive this long.”

“Then can we at least offer you a night’s hospitality? Or…anything else?”

Dorkel was dismayed at the thought of sending Normen back into the snow—which was still falling hard! But the [Knight] was adamant. He looked back the way he’d come.

“Now I know how to do it—there are more villages, Mister Dorkel. Some need firewood, others food. I’d like to be on the road in the hour, begging your pardon.”

“In the hour? We just got here!”

Ama was appalled, and even Jewel caught her breath. But Vess and Antherr, soldiers both, just looked back to the wagon and groaned because they’d have to dig the wheels out.

“Can you get your cat to pull us back to Celum? It’s fairly fast in the snow, and unlike the poor horses, it doesn’t stop or get tired!”

Zanze was rubbing his chin, loathe to admit that the undead cat was better than actual steeds. If it was dry, regular horses would be faster, stronger, and smarter, especially since Skills worked on them, but in the winter, the tireless undead couldn’t be beat.

“I don’t want to! I have to stay and—where are the two other horses?”

The [Driver] grimaced.

“Back at the waystation. Miss Erin said she’d send people to get them back to Celum. We need your big-ass cat—”

“Sillias is not a workhorse!”

Leiithe had been listening in on the conversation. She broke in, looking at Ama and then Zanze.

“If you need a horse, Driver Zanze…we could provide two. It’s not hard. But you would have to have an excuse for them. Would Miss Ama take credit for them if we gave you two? We can make them last at least a week.”

Normen’s head turned as an unexpected solution presented itself. He had already been thinking that he’d need a lot of winter gear for the next trip. But if they had undead…

“I don’t want to be hunted by Celum! They’re already after me because of the graveyard bones!”

Ama squeaked, looking nervous now. However, Normen had an idea.

“What if—we returned the bones you stole, Miss Ama. I’ll make excuses, and Miss Erin can get her way. We claim we found some [Necromancers] frozen to death in the snow and recovered the bones. As for these—they came from another [Necromancer].”

“Not me!”

“No…Adventurer Pisces made them, and Miss Solstice is just using them.”

The villagers of Rheirgest looked over, and Ama’s look of nervousness changed to one of surprise.

“Pisces? Are you sure he’d like that?”

Jewel licked her lips, but Antherr was smiling, and Normen felt like he had finally pulled off a maneuver worthy of Ser Solton.

“Why not? He’s a good man, even if he has nasal problems and he likes to pretend he’s a bit of a high-and-mighty fellow. And if the undead are his—”

No one would question the one [Necromancer] who had any sort of credibility thanks to Wistram News Network. Indeed, the villagers of Rheirgest were so taken with the notion that Normen feared he might have given them the most perfect excuse they could dream of.

But horses? People hurried into their houses and pulled out bones, either from actual horses or carved bones from their mines. They were arguing about the animation spells, Thickmarrow versus regular—and entirely happy to do something in return for the [Knight].

And Normen? He realized he might have just found a solution for his problems.

After all—he hated riding horses, and he wasn’t good at it. But if a [Knight] had to have a horse—well, there was nothing better for an odd [Knight] than an odd horse, eh?

No one said it had to be alive.

 

——

 

Erin Solstice laughed when she heard Normen was getting a trustworthy steed. She laughed so hard she had to lie back in her wheelchair—until Ser Sest strode up.

“Miss Erin—with greatest respect, you cannot let Ser Normen ride an undead horse! Think of the Knight Order you’re founding! Is this a good example to set for all the other [Knights]?”

“It’s great, Ser Sest! Imagine what we’ll save on feed!”

She cackled. Erin actually cackled with delight, and Ser Sest opened and shut his mouth in horror. He could only manage a splutter.

“Well, your reputation may suffer greatly, especially in Terandria, Miss Erin!”

Her scowl was warning as she turned in her chair.

“Yeah? Well, as far as I see it, and from the [Necromancers] I’ve talked to, having undead that can till a field or pull a wagon—or clean a table—is really helpful! Unless they go crazy, but that only happened once. Skeletons are really helpful workers if they don’t have souls.”

Sest was so flummoxed by that logic he had no reply, but Lyonette winced.

“That—did not go well last time, Erin.”

The [Innkeeper] sobered at once and nodded. Her eyes were sad a moment.

“No…but a horse is a bit better than a random skeleton. And since the regular horses are in danger of freezing—Normen can do what he wants. Plus, that title! What’s going on?”

“You truly don’t know?”

Lyonette raised one skeptical eyebrow, and Erin threw up her hands.

“I don’t! I swear, it wasn’t me! I haven’t even levelled! Mind you, maybe I will? I should take a nap.”

It was barely morning! But then, it had been an emotional one, and Lyonette herself wiped at her puffy eyes.

“I think we could all use a break after that—that emotional moment, Erin. Good heavens. You really do inflict emotional stress on us at least once a week.”

She was picking up a few Earther-phrases. Erin puffed out her cheeks.

“Crying is good for you! Now and then. Hey, everyone! The show’s over—for now. No one bother the Rheirgest people by popping in, okay? Let’s all take a break!”

“I’m still sad, Erin!”

Relc shouted down at her, blowing his nose into his handkerchief. Erin waved back at him.

“Well—order a mac and cheese! And a hot drink! That’ll cheer you right up!”

 

——

 

The main room of The Wandering Inn was packed with the regulars very quickly. Erin’s [World’s Eye Theatre] had actually reduced the sitting space of the [Grand Theatre], so some of her special guests elected to eat in the spacious [World’s Eye Theatre] instead.

Ishkr no longer did the main room as much—he used his teleportation Skills and ability to produce items from the kitchen to serve the guests in the [World’s Eye Theatre]. Otherwise, it took minutes to get there unless you used the [Garden of Sanctuary].

The Goblins and Antinium were trained enough to serve the guests in the common room, and if anyone had a problem with that, tough poo. Relc sat down in a chair in the common room and stared out a window.

“Ancestors. The snow’s up to the windowsill even here! I’m still sad.”

He was in no mood to watch the news or whatever the theatre was up to. And his one buddy, his pal, his comrade, Klbkch…

“Klb, you’re not even crying.”

“It was the death of a Human child. Very distressing, but she is well, Relc.”

“You’re not crying!”

Relc punched at him, and Klbkch dodged.

“You are unmanageable in this state, Relc. You need not cry for an eventuality that did not occur.”

“Klb. Klb. You’re heartless.”

“On the contrary, I have two. But I can see this is another incident where I am ‘wrong’ despite being right in every factual way.”

He made air-quotes and dodged a Relc Kick. Klbkch retreated further.

“I must communicate this to the Free Queen. I will come back later to see if your mental state has stabilized.”

“Erin! Klbkch is being a cold, heartless bastard again!”

“Did you hug him? Where’s Klbkch—”

The Slayer exited the inn so fast he left a trail of snowflakes before Erin could come out and bully-scold him. Relc decided he would have Erin’s suggestion after all.

“One hot chocolate and the mac and cheese, er, Peggy.”

He ordered it, and the Hobgoblin smiled.

“Yep! And you get free garlic bread.”

“Really? Why?”

Relc was instantly happy, though confused as to why. Peggy gave him a blank look.

“Dunno. Lyonette said.”

He resolved to give her a tip and tried to remember not to forget. She was alright. Relc’s relationship with Goblins was still wary…but he had more sympathy for anyone who had lost a leg in fighting.

The Drake peered around the inn. Most folks were still snuffly, but the emotions of seeing all that had galvanized some. Mrsha, for example, was running around, on a high of relief and happiness especially because she had been the one to help save Rittane!

“Yes, yes, dear. It was your boon. But please stop rushing!”

Lyonette was catching her breath at a table. Mrsha’s face fell. Where was her applause? She ran over to Ser Sest, but he was discussing the use of undead with the other Thronebearers.

Nanette! She dashed over to her new best friend and roommate, but Nanette was heading towards the door.

“I’m going to Riverfarm to catch the witches up, Mrsha. Do you want to come? We’ll have some tea, and I’m filled up with happy sadness. They can use it, I’m sure.”

Mrsha’s face fell. Didn’t Nanette want to run around screaming?

The older girl did not. So Mrsha was left alone—and decided only Visma and Ekirra would get it. A shame they’d missed everything! Mrsha was bouncing off the walls!

She rushed back towards the [World’s Eye Theatre] and nearly ran over Montressa. The [Aegiscaster] yelped.

“Ow! Mrsha!”

The headbutt to her shins had Montressa hopping up and down, and Lyonette called out.

“Miss Mrsha! Watch yourself! Montressa, are you alright?”

The [Mage] rubbed at her shins.

“I am, Miss Lyonette.”

“You’re in the inn? You just missed—oh, so much! Are you moving out of the Haven?”

Montressa shook her head, looking around suspiciously.

“No…the Haven has a bit to go, so Archmage Valeterisa is fine—have you seen her?”

Lyonette had not and was sure she would have noticed. Montressa sighed gustily.

“She’s vanished on me, and I’m sure she came through the door. Liska counted her silver coins, and someone did.”

“Are you—fighting with her?”

Lyonete asked tentatively, and Montressa lifted her hands.

“What? No, no! It’s been wonderful, actually. She’s too supportive now. But she’s still my master…and I have to pay taxes. Her Wistram dues are in, and she doesn’t want to pay them anything.”

“Ah. Even Archmages pay taxes. Well, I shall let you know if I see her.”

Montressa smiled gratefully—only for both women to turn and see Mrsha coming back in Numbtongue’s grip.

“No annoying Mrshas! We’re watching Titanic! Anyone want to watch? Kevin says it’s three hours.”

The Earther had suggested they watch a movie, and so Octavia, Numbtongue, and a number of guests were all having a lunch-movie.

Mrsha was annoying, though, running from seat to seat and demanding praise or asking if anyone wanted to run about in the snow fighting Snow Golems. She was squirming so much that Erin gave up.

“Mrsha! You can’t be so energetic! I’m gonna do it!”

No! Noooo!

Mrsha groaned, but Erin pointed.

 

<Basic Quest – Go Annoy Someone Else! I Mean Spread the Word of Normen’s Success!>

Limits: Mrsha, immediate acceptance or refusal.

You’re sort of annoying, Mrsha! No offense. But seriously, you can’t bother people right now! Please go to Liscor and tell Timbor, Krshia, um, Watch Captain Zevara, and Selys about what just happened! They should all probably know.

Ser Sest will go with you to keep you out of trouble. Oh! And if you want, tell Niers and Fetohep.

Posted Reward: I don’t revoke your dessert privileges tonight. If you don’t wanna take the quest, fine, but no more trouble!

Quest Reward: 4 Silver Coins, experience in <Messenger> classes. One super-cinnamon cookie.

Bonus Objective: Inform Fetohep of Khelt and/or Niers Astoragon or Foliana. Politely and without annoying them.

 

Mrsha was about to spit on the quest when she heard that last part. A super-cinnamon cookie? Calescent must have made a new batch!

She was weighing the value of a tasty cookie on top of dessert. And…bonus objective?

The desire to tell everyone things first and the cookie won over Mrsha’s annoyance about being ‘dealt with’. Unfortunately, she had a questing addiction. Erin had given her a quest a day for months—sometimes two a day!

Mrsha had done hundreds of basic quests. Fetch water. Find my hair comb! Boil pasta! She was sick of it, but the random rewards she sometimes got made it so she had only ever refused three.

So off she went with Ser Sest in tow. Frankly, the two were good at hyping up any event, and they were good messengers.

Erin was unaware of the new change in quest-givers, but Lyonette was about to have a lie-down. And she was going to get a very interesting notification soon…

 

<Category: Rulers> [Quests unlocked].

[Post: Basic Quest obtained!]

[Post: Rare Quest obtained!]

[Post: Royal Quest obtained!]

 

As for Erin—

 

[Witch of Second Chances Level 19!]

[Spell – Ritual of the Verdant Bloom obtained!]

 

——

 

Relc was rubbing his claws together as his stomach rumbled. But he stopped, about to eat his steaming cheesy noodles with bread crumbs and bacon worked into them, when he heard the shout and thump from upstairs.

Garlic bread and hot chocolate were also next to his plate. Ideal for a cold day. But Relc rose a second.

“Everything okay up there?”

The sound he’d heard was that of a [Princess] and [Innkeeper] drifting off around the same time, then both sitting up, shouting, and falling out of their beds.

“—I just—quests—”

“Woohoo! Crazy magic! Wait. Did you just—Lyonette?”

The voices from upstairs were excited and nervous, and Relc decided he’d let them fill him in. Relc wanted some peace and quiet to think about that poor kid. Maybe he should ask to help do a delivery.

Could he be a [Knight]? Nah, he wasn’t that kind of guy. But he could help, right…?

He put something on the table absently. Relc Grasstongue inspected a huge cube and, with a sigh, began poking at it with a claw. It was, in fact, the same puzzle cube he’d had in Cellidel.

The impossible puzzle that wouldn’t work without magic. Relc had gotten a full refund from the [Merchant] who’d sold it to him, but he’d been allowed to keep the puzzle because the maker hadn’t specified the magic part. It had caused something of a scandal in the puzzle community, actually.

The thing was—it was so beautifully made. Relc couldn’t just give up on it. He’d solved no less than fourteen exterior puzzles, and he had a solution to doing the interior bits.

“Tada.”

He had a wand that cast [Light]. Relc was using it to poke pieces of the puzzle, hoping the magic would let him do something that his bare claws would not. The magical wand was causing a kind of reaction to some pieces of the puzzle, and he had hopes that he could manipulate it.

There was this…transparent set of ‘glass’ in the inside, which moved every time he poked it from a different angle. Relc suspected he needed to get it to form a picture that he’d uncovered on the other side of the cube—a ruby-red bird.

“Ooh. Bird.”

“Bird, that’s a puzzle. Don’t mess with it.”

Relc snapped, claw reaching for his food as he worked. He felt around, missed, and was too focused on the puzzle to figure out where his plate was. The Worker paused and sighed.

“There are so many off-limit birds. Very well.”

He walked off, and Relc kept working on his puzzle for a good three minutes until his stomach growled. Then he realized he had forgotten his food! He looked over—and saw an empty plate where his garlic bread was.

“Damn. Bird!”

He half-rose and realized the Worker had stolen his garlic bread, probably to attract ‘winter birds’. Relc could always get another, and it had been free, but he was annoyed.

However—when he saw half of his mac and cheese missing from the bowl it had been served in, Relc roared.

“Bird! My food!”

He’d eaten Relc’s food! The Drake hammered a fist on the table, and everything jumped. Then he grabbed for his hot cup of cocoa and realized it was half empty! That was it! Relc rose—and then stopped.

The cup of cocoa was rising of its own volition. It tilted upwards, and he saw the liquid disappear with a very familiar gulping sound. But it wasn’t coming from Relc.

His anti-invisibility senses were tingling. Honed from years of battle—Relc stared as the spoon with his food rose and disappeared into someone’s mouth. Slowly, he reached over and poked—

“Ow. My eye.”

Relc recoiled and stared at the empty space there. Someone spoke in a slightly testy voice.

“Please stop jostling the table.”

“Who are you and why are you eating my food?”

“Your food?”

“Yes, my food.”

Relc snapped angrily. A woman’s voice sounded miffed and distant.

“I was sitting here first. The food was placed in front of me.”

“Placed in front of—the chair is empty!”

“I’m sitting in it. Please stop shouting, whomever you are.”

Heads were turning as Relc shouted at what was ostensibly an angry chair. But Montressa, who had been roving the upstairs, heard the shout and began hurrying down with a groan. After all, there was only one woman who would steal someone else’s food and forget—

“Oh. I’m invisible. Oops.”

Valeterisa, the Archmage of Izril, reappeared, munching on Relc’s garlic bread. She looked up at him as the Drake’s mouth opened.

“My bread!”

“It’s free. Don’t complain. I’ll just have Larra, my personal fr—oh. This isn’t the Haven.”

Valeterisa swallowed, looked around, and seemed to realize she was not at the Adventurer’s Haven. She stared at the plates of food, and then at Relc.

“Ah.”

It wasn’t even the fact that she was using [Parallel Thoughts]. This was pure Valeterisa. Montressa rushed downstairs.

“I am so sorry, Relc. I’ll pay for another meal—Master, you can’t steal food!”

“It was an accident. This time. Apprentice—handle it. Thank you, you’re a good apprentice.”

Valeterisa held a spellbook between her and Relc and went back to reading as she kept eating his meal, and Montressa covered her face. Relc? Relc said nothing.

He was just angling around the chair for his best vantage point to use his Relc Kick. It occurred to him kicking an Archmage of Izril was not a good lifetime strategy, but no one stole his food and got away with it.

Perhaps Valeterisa herself understood that she had stolen a Drake’s meal—inherently worse than any other species because Drakes were petty and vengeful and hated sharing. She glanced up.

“I’ll pay for two meals.”

Relc hesitated. Valeterisa eyed his foot.

“…Three.”

Relc lowered his foot and sat down. Peggy walked over.

“You want me to get Alcaz, Relc?”

“Nope. I want a super-cinnamon cookie. Hot cocoa with whipped cream and a double-serving of mac and cheese. Two garlic breads and…a mini cake to go for my kid, Embria.”

“Ooh. Tasty. She pays for it?”

“I’ll pay. In advance. I am so sorry, Relc—Master! Apologize!”

“I’m sorry.”

Valeterisa glanced up, went back to her book, and kept reading. Relc folded his arms, annoyed—but Valeterisa did understand Drake psychology. The same thing that made them natural hoarders meant that they liked the feeling of getting more than they’d lost.

However, she was still sitting at his table, and he refused to move. Relc went back to poking the puzzle cube with the light wand, listening to his rumbling stomach. But now he’d have a cake to give Embria and…

He only realized after a second that someone was staring at him. Relc turned his head—and Valeterisa’s frazzled hair ducked back behind her book. He stared at her lowered eyes—then turned his head back.

He saw her head poke up out of the corner of his eye. This time, Relc’s head snapped around, and Valeterisa’s eyes widened before she levitated her book up. She didn’t peek again, but he had the distinct impression she was using a magical spell to watch him work when he resumed poking.

His hot cocoa was out in a minute and forty seconds with whipped cream, and Relc smiled when he got it. He took a big bite from the top with a spoon and then frowned.

The puzzle pieces just weren’t…working. He could move them with the [Light] spell, but—

“You’re not supposed to use a wand. I didn’t calibrate it for a wand. Just put mana in your claw and move it. The wand is too imprecise. It’s a cheap one too.”

The Archmage of Izril whispered loudly. Relc turned back and glared.

“How do you know wh—”

He paused and stared at the woman hiding behind the floating book. Then at the cube.

The puzzle cube made by the Archmage of…Izril…

“You!”

He leapt to his feet. Valeterisa scooted back from the table.

“Four meals!”

“Not that! You made this! You made this stupid thing, and it can’t be solved without magic! Everyone in the Puzzler community was furious!”

Valeterisa lowered her book with a miffed, hurt expression.

“Yes, they were. They sent me a lot of nasty [Messages]. And I worked hard on it, too! I had to refund all the [Merchants]…it cost a lot to make!”

“Well, I can’t solve it because I can’t cast magic!”

“Oh. Not even a little bit?”

The Archmage of Izril hesitated. Relc threw up his claws.

“No! I can’t even see it!”

“Oh. Oh. But I told them it was a cube for [Mages]. Oh. Not even focusing mana?”

“No magic at all.”

Valeterisa had a dismayed look, as of a woman who had grown up in Fissival, the City of Incantations, remembering the rest of the world didn’t get mandatory magical training. She muttered into her book as she stared down.

“That’s terrible. But I refunded the [Merchants].”

“I got my money back.”

Relc sat down, glaring, and plonked the cube down as his food arrived. Valeterisa retreated behind her book as Relc dug into his food and a boxed cake appeared. Relc just glared at the book, but she didn’t emerge. He muttered.

“It’s a shame, too. It was the most fun I had in a puzzle aside from Destrui’s famous Incomprehensible Maze. I got all fourteen of the normal puzzles until I realized I couldn’t do the inside without spells.”

The pale white of Valeterisa’s hair appeared along with her two blue-grey eyes as her book lowered enough that she could peer at the surly [Watch Sergeant].

“You’ve solved Destrui’s puzzle? Less than a hundred people in all of Izril have done that. At least, when I did it. How does a guardsman afford the puzzle? It costs lots of gold.”

Relc snorted angrily, but his neck-spines rose a bit, and he gave her a sharp look as he shoveled food into his mouth.

“It’s still less than two hundred. You have to rent the maze for a month, and if you can’t solve it, you have to send it to someone else for resetting.”

“Oh. Renting. I remember doing that.”

Valeterisa’s eyes lit up a bit. She sighed.

“I always got late fees. But my Gizeal Puzzle—this one—was supposed to be just as good. Even more complex. I thought everyone would love it.”

“We did. Until we learned we could only get fourteen steps in without magic.”

The Archmage of Izril paused and scratched at her head vaguely. She reached for the garlic bread and paused when she saw Relc glaring at her hand.

“…It’s twelve.”

“What?”

“Twelve. There’s only twelve mundane exterior puzzles. You can’t have solved fourteen.”

“Well, I did.”

Valeterisa leaned over with a huge frown.

“Which ones?”

Relc pointed them out, and the Archmage of Izril instantly pointed at a series of interlocking metal squares.

“You can’t move those without magic.”

“I know. That’s why I took the key I got from this puzzle and moved them with the tip of that. I thought it was a subtle trick.”

“Oh. No. It’s not. But how clever! And how did you solve this one with pins? You can’t tell which ones are which unless you can read earth magic and see which hole has the corresponding metal at the bottom.”

Relc tried to remember as she pointed at some tiny pinholes you had to insert a series of metal rods into in the correct order. He snapped his claws together.

“Oh, right. I knew there was something in there and I had to match the pins up. So I kept trying combinations and nearly threw this thing out the window. Then—I realized every time the right one’s put in, you can hear the sliiightest hum.”

“That must be the spells activating. You can—hear it?”

Valeterisa looked mightily impressed. Relc grinned proudly.

“Yeah, well, I had practice from the Incomprehensible Maze. You know, the one where you have to listen to those stupid—”

“Musical notes? I know that. I hated that puzzle.”

Valeterisa scowled, and Relc looked at her.

“So you did solve it.”

“Of course I did. I like puzzles. That’s why I made some. It’s too bad you can’t solve this without magic. All you’d need is…well, a needle for moving around a lot of things. You’d need a [Light] spell on the edge of a needle, a pair of spectacles enchanted with [Detect Magic]—it’s very low-level. A needle capable of the tiniest charge of electricity…eight needles would do it, and a pair of spectacles.”

Valeterisa had pulled out a needle from her bag of holding, and she was absently enchanting it. She poked the light magic around with it, demonstrating a far finer control, and Relc’s eyes lit up.

“Only eight needles and some [Detect Magic]? Why didn’t you tell everyone that and give them that? In, like, a little locksmith set?”

“I should have. That’s a good idea. I wish I’d thought of it, but I was probably only using one thought process to deal with business. At most.”

The woman was speaking to herself. The green-scaled Drake lifted a claw slowly.

“I have no idea what that means. But can I get those needles? Or I can get someone to make them for me. I really want to solve this thing.”

The Archmage of Izril blinked at him. She looked gratified and glanced down at the needle. She hunted around in her bag of holding.

“I don’t…hmm…it’s not hard to make a [Detect Magic] seeing receptacle. If I had just a piece of circular wood—do you think I could remove it from this table?”

“Erin will kill you.”

“So…no.”

Valeterisa looked around, and who should be coming back from apologizing and paying for her than Montressa. Her [Apprentice] looked ready to drag her away from the table to save Relc as Valeterisa called out.

“Apprentice! Eight needles and some unenchanted spectacles.”

“Archmage! You can’t—”

Montressa slowed as she noticed that Relc was suddenly engrossed in the puzzle cube. And—he didn’t look annoyed. In fact, her teacher was far more engaged than she was a lot of the time and peering over his shoulder.

“Ooh, you do know how puzzles work. You almost have—”

“Gah! No hints! I’ll hit you!”

He waved his claws at her, and she retreated. But Valeterisa was fidgeting with genuine excitement as she watched someone working on her puzzle. Then her stomach growled—probably because the meal she’d stolen from Relc was the first she’d had since yesterday. She’d been hiding from her apprentice all morning and thus had not remembered breakfast.

She looked at the garlic bread, and Relc silently shoved it over. He glanced up as he reached for his drink.

“If it’s only eight needles and a detect magic spell…what’s up with the center? It looks like I need something thin that’ll open each part of the puzzle—like a bent lockpick or something. You didn’t make it so I needed tools, did you?”

Valeterisa sat down, insulted.

“What am I, the creator of the Balerosian Pickbox? No. You just have to be clever with the things you have. But it only opens if you solve each puzzle in the layer.”

Relc raised his brows. Then he twisted the entire cube, and it clicked.

The fifteenth light puzzle was solved—and the entire cube’s exterior shell, the first of many, popped off to reveal an inner layer. Valeterisa blinked. And Relc?

His eyes lit up, and he looked at the second layer with even more puzzles inside! But then he eyed the shell of the first layer he’d pulled off with a knowing look.

“Aha! I knew it. There are puzzles on the inside. I bet I have to solve each layer, then put this back together in its final shape. And there might even be puzzles inside each layer!”

Valeterisa bit her lip rather than reply, but the Drake puzzler was quite good at this. He was laughing, then frowning at an arcing bit of electricity.

“Gah! What is that? Lightning magic?”

“Do you know how lightning moves from metal to other things? You also need to know about that kind of thing.”

Valeterisa leaned over, belatedly realizing there were more things she had taken for granted. Relc grunted.

“I know how to dodge it…looks like I need to link it to something else. But if it’s all from pieces from the rest of this puzzle—yep. The key’s part of the link. Yeow, that hurts. You know, if I was an unscrupulous person, I could probably solve this entire thing with a bit of metal.”

He glanced up at Valeterisa.

“Just in case you were trying to proof this against cheating.”

The Archmage of Izril folded her arms and gave him an arch look.

“If someone wants to cheat, they are free to try any trick and bring anything they want. The rules say only to use the box—and your innate magic. Cheaters can do whatever they want and claim they solved all the puzzles. The truth is still the truth.”

Montressa was still standing there, looking between Valeterisa and Relc. And she saw the look of understanding and a smile appear on both’s faces.

Puzzle-heads. Montressa was about as interested in puzzles as she was in sailing. But she had rarely seen her master smiling like that. Valeterisa glanced up and realized Montressa was there.

“Apprentice, needles. And something circular. I can do a monocle. So. You’ve solved the Incomprehensible Maze. What about blacksmith puzzles?”

“All of the Pallassian ones. Up to this year. What about you?”

“All of the ones up to…wait, what year was it? 6 A.F.? Have they made more?”

Valeterisa’s eyes gleamed. Relc looked up and gave her a surprised laugh.

“Lots more if that’s the last time you asked! There’s a back catalog—but I could tell you what the good ones are. There’s a lot of the ones that are just fiddly—I had no idea an Archmage liked puzzles. I thought you lot just lifted cities and flew around. I saw you on the scrying orb.”

“I don’t normally lift cities. I like puzzles. Have you done Balerosian ones? Chandrarian?”

“Not really. They’re hard to import, and I don’t have much coin. Destrui was the only one I could get my claws on because, y’know, it’s Destrui. I had to have it.”

“Hmm. I have a bunch at my mansion.”

Relc looked up, blinked, and his tail wagged with excitement suddenly.

“Could I—buy or rent them from you?”

Valeterisa hesitated.

“I could bring them over. I’ve solved them all. For free. By the way—who are you?”

She looked at Relc and had no idea who he was. But—Montressa’s mouth opened—

Her master never asked anyone’s name! Not even fellow [Mages]! However, Relc just grinned.

“Relc. Senior Guardsman of Liscor.”

“I’m Valeterisa. From Wistram. I haven’t been around Liscor, actually. Is it nice? I’ve been to other Drake cities, but never Liscor.”

“Really? Well, I’ve been to the big six—”

“Which one is the worst?”

“Uh—Manus.”

“Good choice. The City of War is always lowest.”

The proud Fissivalian shot back. Relc blinked at her.

“Oh, right, you’re Fissivalian. You actually sound like one of them, ‘what’s the best city’? Well, I’ve seen Fissival’s library. It’s nice. But your street food sucks.”

“It does not. Why is it bad? It’s better than Oteslian food. It’s all vegetables and dip.”

“Yeah, but your food is just mana-heavy. It sucks if I don’t need mana. When was the last time you had vendor food?”

“Hmm. I don’t remember what it tasted like. B-but we have nice bathhouses.”

“Zeres’ are better. They have waves, and they’re on the water.”

“Ooh. I like those. Can we get more food? I’m hungry.”

Valeterisa was leaning over the table. She looked around and waved a hand for Peggy. Then—she was staring sidelong at Relc. And eying his tail without letting him know she was looking. And if Montressa could have heard her inner thoughts…

 

Thought-Process #4-25 (Emergency): This is a special exception! [Parallel Thoughts] activating!

Thought-Process #39 (Special Agent): This is a good exception. Can it be done?

Thought-Process #4-25 (Emergency): Spinning off processes for memory…

Thought-Process #26-38 (Memory): It’s all too long ago! Authorization for memory spells?

Thought-Process #4-25 (Flirting): Authorization granted. I need second-guessing up as fast as possible.

Thought-Process #26-30 (Second-Guessing): Ready to question everything.

Thought-Process #31-33 (Low Self-Esteem): Am I necessary?

Thought-Process #39 (Special Agent): No. Get lost. Wait, is our apprentice watching us?

 

Montressa was staring open-mouthed at Valeterisa with a look of shock, chagrin, and delight on her face. The red-haired [Aegiscaster] was paying attention to only the details she saw.

Valeterisa’s odd engagement. Asking Relc his name. Ordering food and the glances. And the slightest flush on her cheeks. She opened her mouth with a huge grin—

The Archmage of Izril drew her wand faster than she had at any duel. She hit Montressa with a barrier-piercing spell so fast that Montressa didn’t even have time to blink.

 

——

 

“Aaah! Archmage!”

Montressa popped out of the air just past Bird’s tower. He watched her plunge into the snowdrift and come out flailing. Bird lowered his bow.

“See? Erin was fine and so is Montressa. Ergo, I should not have gotten in trouble.”

He folded his arms. Montressa sat up, sputtering in the snow, and a [Message] spell hit her.

Apprentice, get me those needles and a pair of spectacles, now. Also, ask Larra to respond to my [Messages] via spell. Hurry up.

Montressa sat up in the snow, and then she was rushing through the door to the Adventurer’s Haven. She nearly smacked into Larracel, who had come storming across her inn, eyes wide.

“Montressa! Why is Valley asking me how to flirt?”

This was a crisis! She and Montressa rushed around—then decided they needed to call in reinforcements. This was a battle that couldn’t be lost!

 

——

 

In the inn, Relc was actually enjoying himself as he talked puzzles with the Archmage. He only glanced up once.

“Hey, Menolit, come and meet Archmage Valeterisa! The real Archmage! Valeterisa, this is Menolit, the guy who runs Liscor Hunted.”

Menolit was wistfully walking out of the inn, back to work, still staring at that vision of Normen standing there. But when he focused on Relc…he blinked at Valeterisa as she not-quite-glared at him, but then developed an interested look when Relc explained Liscor Hunted.

“That sounds profitable. Do you like hunting, Relc?”

“Not as much as puzzles, but I do take on Rock Crabs now and then for fun. I’ve meant to try the thing so I can get on the ‘leaderboard’. There’s a hall of fame.”

“Maybe you could show me where it is. I get lost.”

Valeterisa managed, and Relc grinned.

“Sure, along with the puzzles. Menolit, want to hang out? Look at this box! I can solve it now thanks to Valeterisa’s help. As soon as I get some needles—”

He was all too willing to have Menolit sit down and join the party. However, an excited [Princess] was making an ‘x’ symbol from behind the bar with two of her [Knights], and a Drake with red scales was pushing her way into the inn.

Embria was coming to see where her father was and ask how to resolve the issues with the other companies from the army who didn’t ‘get’ the Antinium thing and how to deal with Gna, who was having problems fitting back in.

Menolit saw Valeterisa, then he looked at Relc, glanced at Lyonette, who was pivoting with a look of alarm—and Larracel and Montressa were dropping the ball hard.

Some [Heroes] didn’t wear armor. Menolit turned.

“I’ve actually got to get to work, Relc. But why don’t you bring the Archmage over if she’s interested? Excuse me—”

He walked towards the door and halted Embria before she got into the inn.

“Wing Commander! Just the person I wanted to see.”

“Hi, Menolit. Have you seen Relc…?”

“Not at the inn! Maybe he was called in for duty. But why don’t we have a walk—you know, I was thinking of offering your soldiers some free tickets for Liscor Hunted. A way to support the troops. Maybe they don’t want to fight monsters, but there’s a hall of fame, and there are prizes.”

“Oh—well, that’s interesting. Let’s, um—talk about that.”

Embria brightened up at the diversion, and they were gone. Solemnly, the [Princess], [Aegiscaster], and Visma watched Menolit go. The little Drake was looking around, and she couldn’t believe Mrsha and Nanette were missing this. This…this was everything.

 

[Wingman Class obtained!]

[Wingman Level 3!]

[Skill – Serendipitous Intervention (Romance) obtained!]

[Skill – Notice Attraction obtained!]

[Skill – Feather Jump obtained!]

 

Like a thousand flying men and women taking flight from the walls of Pallass…the [Lord of Love and Wine] could not stand alone. Now you saw it, in the heart of your business, a flower blooming in the cold tent where you had to huddle together naked with Rock Crabs scratching at the fabric.

For what was love if not a life-and-death experience shared? Liscor Hunted had a future, and the only way was up.

…The Grand Design wasn’t quite sure about that last one, but it fit the name. And you had to foreshadow the big Skills. Wingman. The concept had been there in many other classes and forms, but the <Outsiders> had such odd names. 

 

——

 

Today was a red letter day, and the brakes were off. You thought there had been brakes to begin with.

There never had been, except in your head. 

—When you knew that, when you were used to Erin Solstice, you learned to jump when the world tilted upside-down. If you clung to your reality too long, you’d just fall. Jumping head-first was the only way to do things.

You might land on your face, but if you were lucky, you’d headbutt whatever was coming.

Even so—for Watch Captain Zevara, reading from the notecards a little Gnoll was presenting, this was unsettling. She eventually just grabbed all the notecards.

Hey! You butt!

Mrsha had to write this down, and slap it onto Zevara’s desk. Ser Sest coughed.

“Please excuse Miss Mrsha, Watch Captain. But may I ask you to return her missives?”

He was protective of his charge. The Watch Captain ignored both of them.

“Titles. Has anyone else gotten them? If it’s like a <Quest>…how do you get titles? And you’re sure Erin had nothing to do with it?”

Mrsha actually pointed to one of her notecards. Zevara was the third person she’d told, so she had copies of her ‘conversation’ with Krshia and Selys. Zevara read the card.

Erin is a cunning person, but even I did not see a twinkle in her eye or her usual, diabolical look. I think she was as surprised as anyone else! It’s still probably her fault, but she didn’t know it was happening.

“…That explanation checks out. Can we get a Title to test it? Do you know anything else?”

Mrsha shrugged expressively. So Watch Captain Zevara got up, found a little safe at the back of the room, and opened it. She came back and plonked something down on the table.

It was a box clearly marked ‘bribes’. Mrsha stared at the box open-mouthed, and even Ser Sest looked astonished at the naked corruption in the Watch. Zevara sorted through it. She pulled something out.

“If you tell me anything valuable, Mrsha, this is yours. See?”

She presented Mrsha with—a voucher for ten free desserts at Barehoof Kitchens. Mrsha’s eyes went round. Zevara waved it left and right, watching the Gnoll’s head turn.

The Watch had a budget they’d allocated for the purposes of bribing various groups. Zevara had, among other things, a single dried Faerie Flower, a scroll with a grant of land in the premises of Liscor, a few vouchers for free eats, and a day-off voucher for Relc in her box. All things that she, Jeiss, Beilmark, and the other Senior Guards had thought would work on various troublesome people they had to deal with.

In this case, the promise of glorious, high-quality sweets did not seem to be jogging Mrsha’s memory. The Gnoll girl begged for the coupon nonetheless.

I’ll give you gold for it! I’ll tell you what Lyonette’s planning to do! She’s going to make a tea parlor in the inn! Terandrian tea!

“Not good enough. If you have anything valuable…you know where to find me. Only for important matters, though.”

Zevara shut the coupon back on the box and wondered how annoying Mrsha would be in the future. Then again, the girl did seem to have a nose for trouble. Zevara had heard she found Crelers just by exploring caves.

In her troubled dreams of the city and her future, the Watch Captain had had one dream where she swept her city for dangers…by tying Mrsha to a fishing pole and seeing which way she swung.

She was half-tempted to try it in real life. However, the Gnoll girl was currently offering all kinds of gossip, like naming Numbtongue’s paramours in love or the fact that Joseph thought Liscor’s Rock Crabs were going to stomp Manus in their first football match.

All highly valuable. To some people. But Mrsha was also, as many people had observed, situationally annoying. She could be a loving, considerate girl far more mature than her age suggested.

She could also smugly be writing to an impatient Niers Astoragon only the minutest of details and demanding to be promoted to [Senior Commander of Military Forces] in the Forgotten Wing Company before she told him about Erin’s ‘newest thing’.

The Titan had sworn a blue streak at her, and Mrsha had thus failed her bonus objectives on the <Basic Quest>. She had also annoyed Fetohep for about six seconds. Then the King of Khelt had introduced her to Chieftain Zicrone of the Satest Fletching tribe, who was now living in his domain.

The Gnoll adult had glared Mrsha down as she quickly gave an abridged and informative account to the King of Khelt. Which just went to show that Fetohep, unlike Niers, knew how to deal with children.

The King of Khelt had no weaknesses.

Well, Mrsha had done her duty, and she was staring up at the sky, hoping for her four silver coins. And the cookie.

Sure enough…Zevara’s scales chilled a bit. She wasn’t used to seeing <Quests> fulfilled. But the little girl expertly caught the four silver coins that rained down practically into her paws—and then did a flying leap.

My cookie!

Ser Sest snatched the cookie out of the air and gave Mrsha an imploring look.

“Miss Mrsha, in light of my stellar service—would you consent to sharing a tiny bit of your reward with me?”

The Gnoll girl looked up with an open mouth of horror. Was this what having sworn retainers was like? She had to share her sweets?

The little warlady-to-be was getting a real crash course in the nature of Machievellian politics where the princess had to appease the enforcers of her will. She reluctantly gave Ser Sest a sixth of her cookie.

“And perhaps the Watch Captain would like a bite? It’s the latest super-cinnamon cookie, Watch Captain.”

Mrsha’s look of increasing horror was so great that Watch Captain Zevara took pity on her.

“I’m not in the mood for cookies. Is this all?”

Mrsha took her cookie and sniffed it. She licked it and began to nibble at it. It was a fat cookie, incidentally. Not one of your stingy mini-cookies or even a palm-sized one. This one was six inches in diameter, and it was the reason Mrsha had taken the quest.

Calescent didn’t believe in weak cookies. He was even working on a jumbo cookie that was as long across as your fingertips to your elbow. But it had to be chewy and soft and not break apart…

He was the Goblin that little children needed. Not the one they deserved. Mrsha’s eyes rolled up as she ate.

To be a child again in this day and age. Ser Sest and Zevara watched, and the Watch Captain reflected that it wouldn’t hurt to buy a cookie like that. To share with members of her Watch.

It was as Mrsha was enjoying her just desserts that she realized she had once again not received any special rewards. Well, Yelroan had calculated it was almost literally a 4% chance. And he had a lot of data from Mrsha, at least. Although, when the Gnoll had reviewed the people who’d participated in Erin’s <Heroic Quest> to fight against the monsters attacking Orefell, he thought the chance was a lot higher.

[Fill Missing Data] plus interviewing Rags and the Antinium commanders and asking members of Wales and the Dwarves had given Yelroan a far, far higher number.

13% of all participants in the <Heroic Quest> had received a kind of bonus, however small. Which seemed to suggest…well, he was very interested in collecting data for <Rare Quests> and <Mythical Quests>.

…

Quests. Mrsha was closing her eyes and still enjoying her snack, despite Zevara’s continued hints to get out of her office now. She didn’t see the flicker above her head or the way Ser Sest began choking on his cookie bite. Watch Captain Zevara’s eyes went wide, and she reached for her coupon—then decided she didn’t need to bribe Mrsha for this.

Something was happening. 

 

——

 

The second person in this entire world to ever receive a Title was also connected to Erin Solstice. That wasn’t an important fact.

But the thing which assigned Titles still took note of that fact. Everything was in flux. It was running countless calculations at once and generating the kind of data sets that Yelroan would have died to see.

Tallies, individual counts of deeds—oh, so much glorious work! It was counting even more than it used to. Not everything would matter, of course.

But there were some…new rules it was pulling up. And one of them had just been triggered.

What a joy this was going to be. And yet—and yet—whatever kind of vicarious pleasure could be derived from the act of creation and reward was dimmed, even for this new event.

…Because it was her.

 

Mrsha du Marquin of the Stone Spears Tribe.

[Last Survivor], Level 13.

[Druid], Level 11.

[Emberbearer], Level 5.

[Scribbler], Level 6.

 

A lot of levels for a child. Hugely accomplished, one could say…except that she kept picking up new classes and forgetting the old ones. She could have been a Level 20 [Bearer of Luck and Calamity]. She could have been a [Druid of the Old Ways]. Or—or a [Page of Memory’s Flame]! A member of the Order of Solstice! At the very least, she could be a [Scribe].

But no. She was entirely inconsistent. And lazy. Her magical studies had slacked off. She had almost forgotten her [Emberbearer] class until now, and she only wrote messages. She didn’t write as more than a way to talk.

She had no…direction. And her mother was angling to give her a [Lady] class. Or at least, [Heir] or [Precocious Noble Child].

She didn’t deserve a fifth class. Also, Mrsha had no intention of becoming nobility, so that was two strikes in awarding her that class, ever. Unlike someone like Colth, who was a wonderful example of how you could specialize in everything, Mrsha was the opposite.

And she was going to get…

Argh.

 

[Title – Conqueror of a Hundred Quests (Basic) obtained!]

 

The little girl’s eyes went round, and the words flashed above her head. Zevara fell out of her seat. Ser Sest began screaming.

The [Guards] below leapt to their feet in alarm, but they heard a [Knight] singing the anthem of Calanfer at full bellow.

“Eternal Throne shine upon me~♪”

He knew how to make a scene worthy of the moment. Mrsha was choking on her cookie. She’d done it! She had gained a Title!

She was amazing!

The Grand Design, in the nigh-infinite time between flashing her new Title to the world, had to come up with her reward.

It…didn’t want to. She got a Title. Yes, the magnitude was an order lower than Ser Normen’s, but this was not the hardest title to get. It was, insofar as the word applied, glumly scrolling through a list of viable options when something occurred to it.

Hold on.

Hoooooold on.

The system checked its ‘notes’, or rather the rules governing it. It went through the formerly inactive system governing Titles. And it realized something.

There was nothing in here that said it had to assign a Skill. In fact, there were a number of branching rules that had broad, broad definitions. Almost as if one of the reasons why this feature had never been activated was because it was too broad. Too nebulous. And the original creators hadn’t been sure if it could work without direct oversight.

Whatever their plans were, they had been thrown to ruin. But in the ash of countless millennia later…their creation at last began to adapt to their work. It found that it could be—

Creative. Oh, of course. If it wasn’t a Skill—this was what Mrsha deserved.

 

——

 

Mrsha was raising her paws to the air above her head, closing her eyes with the smuggest smile on her face. Waiting for her great and powerful Skill.

Mrsha the (En) Titled waited patiently for ten seconds. Then she cracked an eye open.

Wait a second, where was her Skill?

Ser Sest had stopped singing and throwing his hands up as if worshiping the sun coming through the winter sky. He turned.

“Miss Mrsha, what Skill did you get?”

Zevara was using an [Appraisal] spell, but—she saw Mrsha’s new title right above her class. Yet no Skill. The Gnoll’s stunned, crestfallen face revealed that she hadn’t heard anything either. Then her face turned into one of pure outrage.

I’ve been robbed! Cheated! Give me my free skeleton! Give me my powers! Where’s my Skill? Where’s my Skill?

She ran around, howling silently in fury, kicking drawers, punching at the air. But no Skill appeared in her head.

—What did appear was a glowing flash in the air. Mrsha’s head turned around so fast it cricked. She looked up, and Ser Sest hugged Zevara as she rose to her feet in astonishment.

“What—”

Then the [Knight] wondered if it was dangerous and threw himself forwards with his shield raised. But what appeared was—

 

[Title Reward – Wand of the Mrsha assigned!]

 

And a wand appeared in the air. It had a glowing, yellow star on the end, and it was straight and made of a bright, pale metal. It bounced off Ser Sest’s shield, and Mrsha heard a clatter as it rolled onto the ground.

She slowly picked it up—and the world went crazier.

 

——

 

Hedault ran. He realized, halfway through the streets of Invrisil, that this was suboptimal. So he grabbed a skateboard out of his bag of holding and leapt onto it.

The sight of a skateboarding [Enchanter] weaving between pedestrians of the city then performing a kickstand in front of the door and rushing through it was what some people thought was ‘amazing’ or ‘odd’.

Like Elia Arcsinger, emerging from the Adventurer’s Guild in Invrisil.

She had no idea what was going on. 

Hedault emerged into The Wandering Inn and shouted at the first person he saw.

“Where is it? I have just arrived—where is—”

Liska didn’t even have to explain. She just pointed, and Hedault charged down the hallway. He was, in fact, the fifth mage to arrive.

Grimalkin, Palt, and Montressa were already fighting to see Mrsha’s wand. The little girl was showing it around, and her mother was in hysterics.

“Her wand? A Wand of—”

The only [Mage] not present who should have been all over the wand and trying to steal it was, ironically, Archmage Valeterisa. She was in Liscor’s marketplace, meeting one of Relc’s puzzle-merchant friends.

In light of her master’s personality, Montressa had not told her what was happening immediately. But if Hedault couldn’t figure it out—

“Why are you holding it? Drop it!”

The [Enchanter] snapped. Mrsha dropped the wand on the table. She was holding an unknown wand that had just appeared out of nowhere? Ridiculous!

Every other [Mage] remembered their basic safety precautions and backed up. Palt began casting a protective barrier as Montressa beat him to it. However—

Hedault was the fifth [Mage] to arrive. The shortest of the [Mages], but the highest-levelled, picked up the Wand of the Mrsha and twirled it between her fingers.

Larracel the Haven rolled her eyes as she inspected the wand’s custom grip, attenuated for Gnoll paws rather than Human hands.

“It’s well-balanced. Slicker handle than I would make, but Gnolls have pads, so there’s less need for friction. What is this star? It’s not painted wood.”

She turned—and she and Hedault noticed each other. Hedault caught his breath.

“Wizard Larracel.”

“Enchanter Hedault. So you’re the expert that Miss Lyonette sent for.”

Montressa blinked and realized the two knew each other, even if they had never been in the same room that she had seen. Of course the two high-level practitioners knew each other.

Then she saw Hedault, his robes askew, but fussily putting on some spectacles to better see his work, placing tools down on a table and looking around for a room to inspect this in a safe, concealed environment.

A fastidious man, but a genius at his work. And here was Larra, who had created her own Haven, a master of magic in her own right.

Montressa had just seen the impossible happen. Hedault was nothing like Larra, but they were both Human, good at magic, and…

Visma poked her head up from behind the adults, more excited about this than the wand. Could it be…?

Hedault broke the moment of silence by pointing at Larracel.

“Kindly place that wand down and step aside, Wizard Larracel. This is no place for adventurer-type amateurs with your scattershot, dangerous methods of analyzing artifacts.”

“Enchanter Hedault. The most useless man in Invrisil for my associates and I. This wand is perfectly safe. Mrsha was assigned it. She doesn’t have time for you to confirm it’s safe over the next ten days. I have this in hand.”

Hedault bristled as Erin herself gasped in a kind of awe. She had never seen someone insult Hedault like that before! The [Enchanter] turned red—and drew himself up.

“I will be dead before I let a mere [Wizard] do an [Enchanter]’s work. You are not the expert here, Wizard Larra.”

He didn’t even acknowledge her [Innkeeper] class. Larra shot back as she peered down the base of the wand, squinting one eye.

“I have heard it said that a [Wizard] can do anything a [Magical Artisan] can do, provided they are twenty levels higher. Therefore, I am the most qualified expert in this room.”

What an incisive cut! Hedault’s eyes narrowed, and he snapped back.

“A mage who cannot even lift her inn without her ridiculous oxen-driven carts has no place to lecture anyone about expertise.”

Larra’s head slowly swung to Hedault’s, and her eyes flashed. Instead of clutching the wand to her chest and running, she slapped it down on the table. And the two began to compete at rapid speed.

“—I detect a limiting magic on the output.”

“You mean, specialization, not limiter. It’s clearly enchanted for sturdiness—but you wouldn’t have treated it so carelessly without knowing that, would you?”

“And you don’t even know what it’s made of. It’s an alabaster wand base. The star-shaped tip is harder to appraise—”

“As if the shaft of the wand matters. What’s inside it?”

They were moving so fast that when Palt tried to touch the wand and inspect it, Hedault slapped his hand with a magical ruler and Larracel shoved him out of the way with a magical hand.

It was all exciting. But when Mrsha tried to pick up her wand and actually use it—every adult shouted at her.

But it’s my wand! I want to use it!

It was dangerous, though. Mrsha’s look of indignation only got worse. It might be weeks before she was allowed to hold it! In fact, Hedault and Larracel wanted to take it apart if they could put it back together!

…Hmm.

Well, that was a problem, wasn’t it? If you thought that this was the craziest thing to happen yet…Mrsha was sitting in a corner, sulking, as Lyonette tried to cheer up her daughter. The [Princess] was patting Mrsha on the back and wondering if she should break her ‘two sweets per day’ rule. Then she looked up and screamed.

“Not again!”

Mrsha blinked upwards—and her mouth opened wide, and her head craned back. Everyone whirled about. Then—

A scroll of parchment landed on Mrsha’s head.

Donk.

It was a scroll. It had brass caps on the bottom and top, and it unrolled vertically. Mrsha clutched at her head and wailed for exactly one second. Then she realized it wasn’t her being bullied—at least, not by a person. She unrolled it as Hedault and Larracel slowly turned, and Erin backed up.

“It’s really not me. It isn’t! It’s Ryoka’s fault! I knew it!”

“Me?”

“Well, who else would it be? Palt? Hah!”

“Hey.”

The scroll was made of ordinary parchment, but good-quality. And the handwriting was…eerily standard. Perfectly legible, in the widespread Terandrian written language, as opposed to Drake or Gnollish. But there was not even the slightest variation in the printed words.

It was unsettling to even Larracel, but Erin traded looks with Joseph, Imani, and Ryoka.

It looked like a computer had printed it. But what the scroll said was even more unsettling.

 

Reward Item: Wand of the Mrsha.

Type: Wand of the Lucky Fire Druid.

Description: A child’s wand. The star tip is made of moon rock. The Wand of the Mrsha is capable of boosting Tier 1 magic. It is highly ineffective for anyone above Level 20. 

The Wand of the Mrsha is capable of casting two Tier 1 spells from the following list each day:

-[Lucky Glimmer]

-[Flick Fire]

-[Earth Clod]

-[Scribe Text]

 

Dead silence. Mrsha was staring at the scroll and the wand in silence. Then her cheeks puffed up, and she shouted in silence.

Tier 1? What about Tier 9? 

It was a child’s wand! It even said it was bad at casting magic aside from—Tier 1? Ryoka was trying not to laugh as she eyed the description.

“Well—it’s not exactly going to break the balance of the world with that. I guess it’s fair for doing a hundred little quests.”

I worked hard for it! I pulled more buckets of water than you’ve ever seen in your life! Dummy! I want a better wand! Refund! Refund!

Mrsha was throwing a fit, but Palt actually looked relieved. Ullsinoi was on his tail, demanding answers along with Archmage Eldavin himself, and he had feared they might tell him to steal the wand.

Not that he would, but that would put him in a place where he had to either disobey his mentor and faction—or go up against Erin. Not to mention everyone else here.

“Lucky Fire Druid? That must be the magic specialization. I had no idea you could do a luck element in a wand—but it fits Mrsha’s classes to a tee! It’s a shame it’s not more powerful, but I’m glad it fits her level and deeds.”

The Centaur exhaled a plume of smoke—and Larracel slapped one of his legs so hard he nearly kicked her. Hedault turned and gave the Centaur such a look of scorn he nearly blasted the cigar out of Palt’s mouth.

“You are a disgrace to [Mages]. Hold your tongue. Not powerful?”

Hedault was holding the wand at arms-length with wide eyes. Palt hesitated, cigar in his mouth.

“Wh—why? They’re just Tier 1 spells. I grant you, I’ve never heard of any of them, but [Earth Clod] doesn’t sound, uh…”

It sounded worse than [Stone Dart], a spell that even [Hedge Mages] knew. But Larracel was giving Palt another look as if he was completely stupid.

“No one has ever seen a luck wand. How would you even attune it to…? That’s the lesser thing! This is an artifact! An artifact of old magic! An Artifact. It can cast free spells, you fool. Read it again. It’s a free spell every day. Two!”

Palt dropped the cigar out of his mouth.

“No. It doesn’t say—I thought it just meant it had charges of—”

“Does it say it’ll ever run out of power? If it can cast a Tier 1 spell every day of the year without ever running out of magic, even in a vacuum—does that sound like a worthless wand to you, you…”

Mrsha sat bolt upright and stared at her wand. Wait, free magic? She was looking around as everyone did a double-take. An old man was sitting in the corner, muttering sotto voce.

“Well, yes. Of course that was standard back in the day. But it was still a lot harder than an expendable wand, which is all anyone seems to make. It’s decently made. A Level 30 [Enchanter] could do it, honestly. That’s a week’s job with plenty of time for scone-breaks for one of them. I don’t see what the big fuss is…”

For the Dragon, it was just a nifty reward. For everyone else? It was not pivotal because it was made any better than normal. In fact, as Hedault had learned when he appraised other <Quest> rewards, the enchantments were astonishingly standard. Maybe they were a bit more refined and the material of Mrsha’s wand was higher quality than normal, but this was not a pristine relic of perfect craft.

…But the slightly-better-than-averageness of the enchantments was astonishing because they were enchantments lost to the modern age. And that meant…you could copy them. Hedault had completely forgotten about his old wand. Even Ryoka’s faeblade.

This.

This was going to change everything.

 

——

 

Levels and titles, oh my.

Some people got all the rewards. Whether or not they were justly deserved, in the case of a small child—whether or not you got lucky—

There was some element of luck in it all. A kind of roll of the dice that meant you could get a rare Skill.

But what was also true was that there were trends. Great deeds created great classes and Skills.

A [Knight] fighting through the snow had unlocked something for everyone. Whether or not everything was balanced perfectly…he had been the beginning of it all.

Balance mattered. But there was the difference between that and pure equality. There had never been an attempt to make everything equal. <Royal> classes were stronger and <Religion>…

Hmm.

Hmmmm. But fairness mattered. Rewarding deeds appropriately was why it was here.

They had always been made so a single person could change the world. If only they travelled far enough, did enough.

There were secrets and tricks and, yes, loopholes after so long. But this was built upon the techniques of ancients. It trespassed on the impossible. And it had been made so it could change.

If great new deeds arose, even the world would follow after. Everything had been made in the expectations that all that was would be surpassed.

It was a glorious dream. But what it created was not always that brave new world of uncertainty and risk and reward. Sometimes, patterns arose.

Sometimes…the reward changed your life. Even if you didn’t know if you deserved it.

“We’ll handle the rest, Elia. You get some rest. We have to talk to some of the adventurers and see if they’ll stand to.”

A woman exited the Adventurer’s Guild, and eyes followed her. Her team was still in negotiations. They had near a thousand gold coins on the table, and she wondered how much they’d spend to get some backup.

Backup for the job that Lord Xitegen had assigned her. She…was counting the costs. Hiring a Gold-rank team, even for a simple assault, was expensive. Even if they used her name and assured them it was easy because it was fighting Goblins—

It cost a lot.

How much of their pay would go to hiring a Gold-rank team or two? Did they have to do it?

Well, she knew the answer as she trudged towards the mansion-like inn where she had been paying for her team to stay. It even had a private courtyard.

In Invrisil! Because she was the Named-rank adventurer, the inn’s staff had closed the windows, and no one was watching. They had tried to peek on her and her team, but three reprimands had stopped it for good.

Elia Arcsinger stood in the courtyard, inhaling the air and listening to the noise of the city beyond the little garden with the tall wall to keep out trespassers or thieves. It was hardly like being in a half-Elven village, but it was a rare moment of solitude that you could pay for in a place like Invrisil.

She looked like the archetype of half-Elves. In fact, many modern half-Elves styled themselves after her look. Where she walked, you saw those half-immortal features. Sharp nose, blonde hair trespassing on golden, hanging long behind her as if waiting for a breeze to pick it up. She carried a golden bow, and her arrows were silver.

Painted silver, really. When she had first been given the bow by the Five Families of First Landing, the arrows had been actual mithril. The Bow of Izril’s Shores was the name of the weapon she had been given.

Almost a Relic-class weapon. Not quite, but the most powerful artifact she had ever held as a weapon. Far better than the longbow she had carried before she became a legend. Now, people called it Arcsinger’s Bow.

It was allegedly the bow that had first fired an arrow into Izril’s shores when the Five Families reached the continent of Drakes and Gnolls after leaving Terandria, ages ago. It could certainly fire an arrow beyond any reasonable expectation.

With her Skills, she could hit something six thousand feet away. Of course, hitting something and accurately marking a target on the move were far different.

She was no sniping expert, so her functional range was closer to a thousand feet. She could hit a head from that range if the target was sitting still.

Elia slowly unslung her bow and flexed it, feeling the old power in the bow making the draw easier, and wished the silver arrow she drew out were actually mithril.

—But even mithril bent, and you could lose arrows. The cost of keeping a quiver of them was inordinately high. A quiver of unenchanted mithril arrows could run her two thousand gold pieces if she found a [Fletcher] and [Smith] capable of even making them.

Of course, Xitegen had paid her thousands of gold pieces for this bounty. But consider the costs.

Elia Arcsinger thought about the costs all the time. Her team, Arcsinger’s Bows, ate gold.

They stayed at the best inns in a city and ate at the finest restaurants. Yes, you didn’t throw down a hundred gold coins in a single meal, even if you ate that finely…most of the time.

A hundred coins each dinner if they were spending freely and the wine flowed fine. The best inns charged you prices only the nobility or a [Merchant] could afford. And each member of her team asked for a lot of gold.

They weren’t one of those teams where they were all great friends and pooled their money together. Elia’s team was hired. They professed to admiring her and probably enjoyed their work because it was largely easy and they had numbers and magic on their sides—but each member of the team commanded over a thousand gold coins every four months.

On top of her paying for their accommodations and their split of any adventure or income or treasure. It was, in fact, the same system other teams like Todi’s Elites used.

Highly lucrative work that pulled in talent—at cost. Elia still got the lion’s share, but sometimes she wondered if she could stay at a regular inn.

Then again—her reputation demanded no less. She was always conscious of her reputation, so she tried not to say or do anything that would…compromise her value. Many people would hire her and pay more than they should for her services.

Elia Arcsinger, the slayer of the Goblin King. 

She was the most famous half-Elf living. More than the Herald of the Forests or the other old legends. People looked at her as if she could halt an army.

Elia wished that were true. She had served with armies. She had been a regular [Markswoman] when the Goblin King invaded Izril. There, she had fought and seen Battle Golems being torn apart by Great Goblins with their bare hands.

She had seen the Flowers of Izril die in a slaughter at the gates of First Landing to throw the Goblin King back.

[Knights], their armor ripped apart and stinking like carrion on the beaches. Plundered of their artifacts by Goblins who rampaged by the hundreds of thousands. Waves of them that drove every species back.

Her hands still shook when she remembered seeing the Goblin Lords howling behind that monster.

Velan the Kind. She remembered Greydath of Blades walking forwards and the bravest adventurers faltering before his advance.

Named-ranks had died there in droves. Who still remembered Thorget the Bowyer? He had been called the ‘greatest bowman’—before he was beheaded in battle.

Did anyone still know Adisse’s name? Elia remembered a Drake giving her a thumbs-up and a grin—then hearing of her passing in war.

When she said these things, the other adventurers around her, even other half-Elves, gave her admiring looks, and only the oldest ones talked about the ‘good old days’.

That had been just a decade ago! But that was a long, long time for adventurers to be alive. And Elia, as a half-Elf, felt it had been long as well.

She lifted the bow and began to swing it up and down in the courtyard. She drew an arrow to the string in one fluid motion. Stopped—replaced the arrow. Pivoted and did it again.

You had to draw an arrow and have it ready to fire in less than a second. There were ways for an [Archer] to pivot, to step and fire—and yes, roll to dodge or even swing a bow in self-defense.

Elia was slowly going through a routine she had learned ages ago. Her daughter, Capoinelia, had never enjoyed doing this every day.

Some days, Elia had no time, but before a mission, and when she felt she could do it alone, she practiced.

It wasn’t as elegant as people wanted to see from her, which was why she tried not to even show her teammates. Elia fumbled one arrow—snagged the tip of her pointed ear on her bowstring as she rolled.

“Ow.”

Elia Arcsinger bled. A nick on her ear, but it often astonished people how easily the Named-rank could bleed. Another reason she tried not to show off.

She still couldn’t do it fluidly. The half-Elf sighed. She stood there, staring at the sky as she pinched her ear and remembered.

 

——

 

In the days after she had been dubbed Elia Arcsinger, the woman who ended the Goblin King’s rampage, they had hosted her up and down Izril.

Well, some places. Lord Xitegen…she remembered a boy, more bones than skin, peering at her over the keep they had liberated. Greydath’s forces had held longer than the rest of the Goblins, who had fallen into a panic and routed when the Goblin King died.

They had shared provisions with them—but Elia hadn’t actually stayed on Izril long.

She had been invited to every nation in the world, and she had travelled for…two years? Two years, being feasted and asked to show off her Skill, [Line-Ender’s Shot], and tell the tale of how she had killed Velan the Kind.

They’d written ballads about her, immortalized her in statues and paintings, and monarchs had asked if she wanted an official position.

She had felt like she was on top of the world, and when her acclaim had begun to fade, it had startled her. Elia had learned the lesson of celebrities too late, as most did—her fame would not last forever.

She had been forced to go back to adventuring when the free food and lodging dried up. Even then, everyone had a job for her. Destroy a Goblin tribe, slay a monster…there were only two problems with that.

The first was—she was no longer alone. She had people who wanted to journey with her, and so Arcsinger’s Bows had sprung up, and she had begun realizing everything cost too much gold. There had been a great temptation for…Elia to go alone and make her profits all by herself. Despite the danger.

But she had accepted a team because of the second problem. Capoinelia.

Who was not a problem. Not…it was just that she wasn’t ready to be an adventurer alone. She had found Elia, bow in hand, and demanded to join her mother. Arcsinger’s daughter would be as talented as the woman herself, surely.

Funny. She had been happier not to see her mother for nearly twenty years before that. Capoinelia was young. Even though half-Elves had far longer standards when it came to age…she was very young.

Then again, her mother was also young. Elia was barely sixty-eight years old. She’d spent most of that time growing up in Gaiil-Drome, in the quiet villages where half-Elves could live most of their life.

When she’d gone out as a Bronze-rank adventurer the first time, she’d come back with a baby. No partner. Just a lot of mistakes you got up to…

Capoinelia had grown up with Elia’s family while the adventurer had gone back out to earn enough for both of them. When she became the legend, Capoinelia had sought her mother out, and here they were.

Six years of adventuring together had given Capoinelia levels…but she was still young in Elia’s eyes. She felt younger than Elia had been, and Arcsinger’s Bows might be to blame.

Capoinelia had not ever gone through the rigors of being a Bronze or Silver-rank, not really. She had started at Silver-rank and been elevated to Gold-rank within two months. Her equipment warranted it, and her levels had more or less caught up.

…By the time Elia was done thinking, she had practiced her bow-swing about two hundred times. And she was sweating. She wiped at her face and reached out.

“Towel…”

No one was there to hand her a towel. Elia hesitated and would have used her shirt’s sleeve or hem, but it was expensive, lustrous pearl dust or something worked into a light garb. She didn’t want to wear it out, so Elia had to find a member of the staff and ask for a towel.

Only when she was patting at her face and sipping from some Pure Water in a crystal cup did Elia catch herself. She sat in a Lifewood chair in the courtyard and stared at her reflection in the glass. And the Named-rank’s face twisted in the little mirror.

She…knew how it looked.

She did. Some weeks, Elia had a flash of crippling insight, and she sat up and almost panicked at the idea of someone finding her out. Of—running into Greydath or a Goblin Lord appearing and challenging her team. Alone.

One of them would kill them all. Even a Chieftain like the Kraken Eater’s…

He was a Great Goblin. A Fomirelin of old, and his tribe had several in their ranks. She had refused every contract that even brought her near him. Elia was a Named-rank adventurer, a Goblin-slaying specialist.

…But she was also an imposter. She felt it in her bones. She knew that if you took away her bow and teammates…

[Goblinbane Markswoman]. That had been her class during the Second Antinium War. Then—it had become different.

[Renowned Archer of Goblin’s Demise]. More complex, more promising. Then—

[Nemesis of Goblins, Ranger of Renown].

Very nice sounding, wasn’t it? It certainly turned heads when Elia ‘revealed’ it to a potential client or a host. A comma class, like back in the day. But the ring on her finger that prevented anyone from scrying her Skills and exact level held a dark secret.

Because when did you think she got each class? That first class had been a common one that Elia had gotten as a soldier, like so many, fighting the Goblin King. Then you would expect the second to appear when…she was a rising star slaying Goblin Chieftains left and right. And the final class had appeared the day she slew the Goblin King.

Only, it was a lie. The day she had killed the Goblin King, Elia Arcsinger had become the [Renowned Archer of Goblin’s Demise].

Right now, her class was [Nemesis of Goblins, Ranger of Renown].

Level 42.

She had not levelled in years. Her level was ten levels below what everyone expected of her. She had hit Level 40 after killing the Goblin King.

 

——

 

There was a secret that only other Named-ranks, or people who had studied and met Elia Arcsinger, knew about. It was fairly open in some circles, such that even Grimalkin of Pallass had known it when he talked to Ceria Springwalker.

And that was that Elia Arcsinger was a Named-rank adventurer more on fame than deed. She had done everything the stories claimed of her.

She had killed the Goblin King.

Elia could still remember him charging. He had run through Tier 7 spells raining down from above, last-resort weapons trained on him from distant nations. Archmages from Zelkyr’s era were dead—he had run into the lines of the archers and mages trying to bring an end to his rampage.

The war had turned against the Goblin King enough to corner him, but he charged at the end, and they were all going to die. He was howling—a voice like thunder.

[Knights] quavered, and the only thing keeping the terrified archers in place was the knowledge they would never outrun him. They were loosing arrows at him, but he ran on, ignoring the metal in his body.

No ordinary arrow even had a chance of damaging his unnaturally tough body. She had one Skill left.

[Piercing Shot]. He was almost upon her when the desperate half-Elf lifted her bow. If this was his end—and the fires of magic had burnt him to his bones in places—

He would slaughter every single person here. Then die.

She lifted her arrow and sighted down the bow as so many had. And knew he would block or catch or simply dodge that arrow. But she drew it and loosed—and she had never fired a straighter shot in her life.

In that moment, he looked at her. Not the arrow—at her. Velan the Kind seemed to hesitate. He blinked—

Then her arrow struck him in the head, and he slowed. He came to a stop at last as the Goblin Lords began to scream. She met his eyes one last time, crimson eyes, staring at her. And she swore he spoke a name before he fell. Even now—

She wondered why he stared at her like that.

 

——

 

From that day on, she had become legend. Elia had never, ever told anyone that her greatest moment had been a fluke. Velan had hesitated, and the arrow had landed true. She should not have killed him.

But the world had recognized her. And she had been granted her Skill as she slept. Yet…perhaps there was some unseen force that knew the truth as well. For Elia was not the legend she should be.

Level 42. That was Named-rank territory, but she had met other Named-ranks. The ones who did not last long, but levelled most, threw themselves into battle.

Like Saliss of Lights, who had risen to his rank by sheer talent and grit. Or even Eldertuin the Fortress, a seasoned adventurer with a career as long as hers.

So, that was why Elia kept training. The techniques she was practicing had been taught to her by a [Bowmaster] of Avel. An old woman who had known exactly how good Elia was and taken pity on the Named-rank. She had drilled these routines into Elia’s head.

Step, shoot. Step, shoot. Step—

Her daughter came into the courtyard just in time to see Elia finishing her routine. This time, it was impressive. Elia’s bow sang, and three arrows arced out of the courtyard.

“You might hit someone, Mother. Don’t you always tell me not to shoot an arrow in the air if I don’t know where it’ll land?”

“I do say that. But these won’t land on anyone. Watch.”

Elia lowered her bow, panting. She looked up—and Capoinelia shaded her eyes.

Into the winter sky, three arrows flew. Each launched within less than a second of the first. The first flew unenchanted, and the second struck it. Then the third caught the other two and detonated.

[Explosive Arrow]. Three pinpoint arrows. Elia was proud of that. Her daughter was, too.

“Is that the trick you used when you killed the Adult Creler? You never said how it happened.”

Elia paused, and she leaned on her bow. She was trying…not to lie to her daughter, who looked at her like that legend.

“I—it was, but I had many, many supporters. My bow was one of dozens in Avel, Capoinelia. We had brave [Soldiers] and [Knights] guarding my flanks.”

She had slain Adult Crelers. A Named-rank was called upon for great battles, and some requests had to be answered. Elia Arcsinger had one of the world’s most powerful archery Skills. Her arrow had blasted a hole in that damned thing.

But it had gotten back up until she had helped blow it apart from the inside. Screaming at her. Mocking her fear—

“You always let everyone else take credit, Mother. That’s why people don’t talk about you enough. Same with that obnoxious half-Elf. Ceria whatever. Why did you let her have the Helm of Fire?”

Capoinelia interrupted, stomping her foot and rolling her eyes with exasperation. Elia was too tired to tell her she was serious. As for Ceria…she bit her lip and half-lied again.

“She had leverage, Capoinelia.”

 

——

 

The second time she met Ceria Springwalker, Elia was on the back foot. The first time had been ideal. It always was when she met her kin or someone she could ask for a favor on the merits of her reputation.

She had asked for a back position at the Village of the Dead, and it had been…fair. Her team was ranged, and even though they hired very good [Warriors] to act as a frontline, she had claimed, rightly, it was for her daughter.

And she had brought down multiple Giants in battle. It was just—

She and Ceria both knew that when it came to the blood they’d put into the raid, Elia had put in far less than even Eldertuin, who had held an entire street with undead gnawing at his shield.

But she was a Named-rank, and she wanted the Helm of Fire. Everyone did.

“Sister, can you give me the Helm of Fire? I’m prepared to very handsomely recompense you if you can. I know your team wants it, but your [Innkeeper]’s alive, and…”

Elia had sat with wine in the cups and looked at Ceria—and realized the [Cryomancer] had changed.

Her eyes were different. She had already had the mark of someone high-level, and Elia had been disconcerted to see how fast she was levelling. But Ceria was too-cool now. Too…appraising.

“You’re going to lean on me, Elia?”

“If I have to. I am the Named-rank adventurer, not you, and my team is famous. It would not look good for you to have multiple Relics. That sword your teammate—Ksmvr—has? At least one Relic belongs to our team or Eldertuin, and our team was there.”

Elia was uncomfortable. Ceria drummed her fingers on the table.

“Yeah, well…everyone wants the Helm of Fire, and they’ll tear me apart if I make a bad choice. Will you hear out my plan on how to distribute the loot?”

She described the auction, and Elia had to admit, it was fair…but too fair. She twirled a strand of her hair in her fingers.

“That is fair, but I think I’d make a rather loud objection to the Helm of Fire slipping out of my grip, Ceria. I wouldn’t want to be unpleasant.”

The other half-Elf had given her a mirthless smile.

“Fair. I’d do the same thing. But…sister. If you did that, I’d have to mention that you asked for a position at the rear. Which would be completely rude of me and damage your reputation. But I’d do it.”

Cold. Elia’s heart jumped, but she forced a smile.

“I had every good reason to do that. For my daughter. You saw me bringing down Giants. If you wanted to be open about that—we’d still clash, Ceria.”

She could make a lot of trouble, or her teammates could produce a kind of revolt against Ceria. Neither one wanted that, but the threat lingered in the air. Elia thought she had the [Cryomancer]…but Ceria’s eyes hadn’t ever changed, even with the threat.

“Okay.”

She gave Elia that disconcerting look, completely without fear, and the Named-rank hesitated.

“You’re going to do it? You’ll have a riot on your hands without my support.”

Ceria leaned forwards over the cup of wine she hadn’t touched. Her smile…had little mercy at all, and Elia’s heart began to pound.

“Do it, Elia. I can’t stop a Named-rank like you. But you know what? When you protest my decision…I’ll have no choice. I guess if you do that—I’ll have to challenge you to a duel. Then we’ll see what happens, huh?”

She looked straight at Elia and pulled the one card that Elia feared. A duel. She froze up—and then tried to play it off, but Ceria knew.

 

——

 

The odds of Elia triumphing in a non-lethal duel or just refusing were high, but her reputation had been on the line. She had stared at Ceria Springwalker and wondered if the [Cryomancer] could best her.

Elia had feared…she could. So the cost of acceding and forfeiting the Helm of Fire had been less than the damage to her reputation.

It was a pragmatic choice. Not a Named-rank’s choice. That was why her team was a Gold-rank team and she was the one Named-rank member.

“…I will shoot through the Goblins’ walls. But I want you to stay behind me, Capoinelia. No heroics. You’re not ready to be a Gold-rank adventurer alone. Let alone Named-rank.”

“So says the woman who slew the Goblin King when she was Silver-ranked. You never give me a chance!”

“You’re not ready! And neither was I!”

Mother and daughter warred in the courtyard. Capoinelia was taken aback, and the rest of Elia’s team froze on their way out to see her. They vanished—and Elia felt another flash of worry.

“Capoinelia, listen. Maybe after this…”

Maybe they should go back to Gaiil-Drome and just practice for ten years. Or live on the gold that she’d banked. It was expensive, how they lived now, but they could live frugally.

But her daughter just stormed off, and Elia was left there, contemplating her raid on Goblins. She didn’t like it.

She was a good hunter of Goblins. She had a lot of Skills devoted to killing them.

[Great Enemy: Goblin]. [Terror of My Name]. [Bane Arrows]…

But the world was changing. The inn—bothered her. She’d heard Shriekblade was defending it. What if the [Innkeeper] took the opposite side? Xitegen had claimed he could stop Erin Solstice directly and keep all but her ‘minions’ from interfering.

Elia needed to be sure. She didn’t like this anymore. She was tired of being the oversung heroine. It would be easier if she could have been an adventurer alone. She rested on one knee and stared at the winter sky.

Why was I the one who slew Velan the Kind? Why did you give me a Skill that defined me? It made my battles too easy!

She cried out to whatever force assigned levels. Then Elia rose. In a fury—she aimed straight up at the sky. The winter clouds overhead loosed more and more snow, a blizzard, though the worst was closer to Celum.

“[Line-Ender Shot]!”

The Named-rank screamed. And her daughter turned, wrath forgotten. Her team looked up—and the people of Invrisil pointed.

The imposter, the tired adventurer, the worried half-Elf. The archer aimed her bow up, and for a second, she was fit for that legend.

It looked like a beam of light, shooting into the heavens. Even by day—the air turned dark, and her arrow shone.

High. Higher. Far higher than six thousand feet. It pierced those grim skies. It punched a hole into the clouds—and sunlight and blue skies shone down on Elia for a moment. She shaded her eyes—and she remembered how Zeladona the Blademistress had cut the clouds apart with just a look.

But she could at least do this. A cloud with a hole hung over Invrisil. Elia lowered her bow and exhaled.

If nothing else—

Tomorrow, she would use that Skill when her talent, courage, and team failed. As she had for ten long years. She looked up—and then turned.

Like a good [Archer], she had told her daughter never to fire an arrow up without knowing where it might land. Especially in a city.

But that arrow was not going to land. Elia Arcsinger walked back into the inn. She had no idea why it did not, not understanding the place where gravity’s pull ended and the arrow floated before coming down and burning up on re-entry. But that was how high she had shot that arrow.

She walked back to her team, who were trying to humor her and talk about the Gold-ranks they’d hired and arrangements without a word. The silent woman trying to live up to the legend.

And still.

She wondered who Velan had seen in her face. She had wondered if, in her long life—she would ever find the truth. She had seen the lips move in her dreams and waking a million times. But why—

Why was the Last Queen of Elves’ name upon his lips? Not Sprithae, but the older name that Elia had finally dug up, the one seldom used of that figure at the dawn of history.

Sprigaena. Elia had resigned herself to never knowing, but the one person whom she could not talk to, the [Innkeeper], had spoken that word aloud. Elia had long wondered how to ask and known Erin Solstice was the least-likely person to humor her.

After tomorrow—well. Elia Arcsinger doubted they would ever share words in any agreeable sense at all. And it did not matter; Sprigaena was long dead and so was Velan. But the question remained.

Why had the Goblin King wept for her?

 

 

 

 

Author’s Note:

Once again, it’s time for a break. You can see, perhaps, why I decided to make this an interlude. It is dramatic, but it would have messed with Normen’s ending.

I am once again tired. Throwing everything into a chapter to make it as good as I can get leaves me with nothing much, and these breaks have become more and more welcome. The break will also let me work on Gravesong 2, and whether or not I have more to show, it’s healthier as a workflow goes*.

*(I could still use more hands. And brains, but I can barely use the one I’ve got sometimes.)

Sometimes it feels like writing is about choosing which project I have time to work on, and if I wasn’t working on The Wandering Inn, I’d be planning something else. Well, I still quite enjoy working on The Wandering Inn, but again, I must reiterate my serious request to any readers out there.

If you’re an alien, advanced AI, or time traveller…time machine. I could use one. Or stamina potions and healing potions. Seriously. I have such a limited audience base. They’re probably all Humans and confined to one planet.

I need to expand my readerbase. This is all. I’m loopy, tired, and I will see you when I’m at full strength for some good chapters. Hope you enjoyed this one. It got a bit crazy, but that’s when it’s best.

…Right?

 

Stream Art Comic by Artsynada!

 

Magic, String, Danger, and more by Onionlittle!

Ko-fi: https://ko-fi.com/littleonion

Twitter: https://twitter.com/littleonion_art

 

Read and Find Out, by placeholder! (I don’t taunt people like that all the time…)

 

Stream Art of Mrsha the Bait and Mrsha Peeking by Bobo Plushie!

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