No matter how much he stretched his body, the stiffness remained. He’d have been content with quietly suffering through it, if it was a result of having slept on the ground, but alas, it was not so. This was all mental, although perhaps his still-damaged soul played a part as well. And he wasn’t just thinking this, the pervasive grip that had a hold on his body had not let go since he returned from his mind back in the dungeon.
Still, he hadn’t wanted to write it off as yet another issue with himself. This one, he hoped, was just from sleeping on the ground, so, after he woke up, the first thing he tried was stretching. And then twisting. And then contorting. But nothing he tried worked, so he had come to resign himself to yet another shackle.
He had no desire to eat. Logically, he knew that he had to, food kept him alive, and the pangs of hunger had taken ahold of him, just as the stiffness had. And yet, there was not an ounce of desire in his mind or body to eat. Even so, he forced himself to eat.
His goal of defeating or escaping from the cult could not be completed while dying of starvation. There was also the matter of taking revenge on the goldfinger, but the easier task was his priority in the moment. Both tasks would likely require him to undergo arduous training, which, once again, looped back to his need to eat.
At least that took the decision out of his hands. Although, decisions like these were not the ones he thought would have been difficult after losing himself. That also begged the question, what other factors in his life influenced him greatly that he was not thinking of? He’d have to keep his eye out for things and try his best to compare what he felt now to how he was before the loss.
Of course, all of that came second to his primary goal at the moment, taking out or escaping from the cult. Some form of training, both for adapting to his body’s new circumstances as well as improving himself physically was in order. However, outside of that, what was he to do?
There was some opportunities for scouting and reconnaissance work, but his current capabilities and limitations vastly restricted what he could accomplish on that front. And to his current knowledge, the most he could do to interfere with the cult’s operations was petty things, like stealing their food.
Although, with those two ideas combined, he might have something to work with. If he found the main food storage for the cult, he could burn it down. Sure, it wouldn’t lead to starvation amongst their men, but their finances would definitely be affected. It was a good plan, if he could pull it off, which, unless the cult was stupid, he would not be able to do.
So, once again, his thoughts went back to training, and by extension, needing to eat. Though, saying that he was going to train and that everything would fall into place after that was not a solid plan. It lacked any of the depth and nuance a plan should have for a confrontation with a cult. Instead, it should be more like the legendary tales of past heroes.
If only he was one of those, he wouldn’t have been burned by the goldfinger, and he’d also have a genius strategist for a best friend to aid him in his endeavors. Instead, he could almost assume the opposite, the genius strategist, or perhaps just a normal one, was on the side of the cultists. Meanwhile, his best friend and maybe helper, maybe enemy, was essentially a talking disembodied voice that had nefarious goals in mind.
Did that mean that he was the villain in this story? Without any of the details, the cult was a gathering of friends trying to accomplish a shared goal, while he was an outside influence that was half-possessed by a psychopathic goldfinger. Even the fact that he referred to the goldfinger as a goldfinger, instead of as a spirit or evil spirit, was kind of suspicious.
Honestly though, did he care if he was the villain? The old him would have, but without most of his emotions, desires, and attachments, the new him could not care less. If he was to be a villain in the story of the cultists, that would only serve to bring a smile to his face. And those were hard to come by these days.
Returning to the topic at hand though, he had no clue how to train himself. He knew some basics, like running and lifting heavy things, but how does one learn to swing swords, dodge arrows, and chant spells by themselves? How does one learn to slink around in shadows and gather intel without others to practice on?
According to the orb’s test, he supposedly had some sort of talent suitable towards combat, one that garnered him enough attention that the state had sought to capture him, except he had not an inkling of what exactly he was suited for. Combat talent could be a variety of things, skill with a weapon, overwhelming strength, magical prowess, or even something like cunning. Not to mention the other, more sinister arts that could be used for combat, such as necromancy, assassination, or mind control.
Sure, some of those were not suitable for direct combat, but one could argue that killing your opponent in a split second while they were asleep would be quite a quick fight. That only left him with nigh infinite options, most of which he would not be able to teach himself unless his talent bordered on the realm of the gods. But if he was that talented, the kingdom never would have dropped him inside of this city unsupervised, much less the cult who had him in their hands at one point.
This was all to say, that training himself was not feasible. There was the extra issue of him not knowing specifics about how to train his own body, but like he said earlier, he could run a lot and lift heavy things to start. Then, taking inspiration from various tales he’d heard about the origins of heroes, he would discover his talent in the heat of battle or die trying.
Honestly, it was the best plan he had. And of course, he did not actually plan on dying to reveal his talents, technically speaking. The dungeon revived him whenever he died, so, strictly speaking, that did not count as dying.
Not that the experience was any more pleasurable than actual death would probably be, but beggars can’t be choosers when you are this outclassed. Also, until he got his revenge, he’d take an awful, fake death over a real death any day of the week.
He’d been on too many tangents for what was supposed to be a simple goal establishment meeting with himself. The plan was to train physically during the day, fight horrible, nightmare creatures at night, and then eventually destroy the cult once he thought he was ready. End of discussion. But before training could begin, he figured he should acquire the essentials to fuel his body with, food and water.
Taking a moment to crawl back into his bush hideout to retrieve his water skin and take stock of what he had left for food, Edward found his stores sorely lacking. The workers in the canteen made it difficult to leave with too much food, so he hadn’t been able to grab a ton when he’d been there the day before.
Perhaps he would be better served by “commandeering” food directly from the attached storage facility. It’d also serve to train his skills in sneaking around and breaking into places, which would prove invaluable when infiltrating the cult’s core areas. He should also probably try to scrounge up a second water skin while he was at it, that way he would not have to go to get water every day.
Edward’s thoughts followed that line of thinking, even as he filled his water skin at the well, and still after he had started towards the canteen. It was risky of him to pilfer the storage rather than go through the canteen, as the cult might notice discrepancies in the logs, and start investigating. Or, even worse, they might lay a trap for him and catch him in the act.
As he got closer and closer to the location in question, his need to make a decision became more and more important. There was no question in his mind about lingering in a populated area, it was simply out of the question. So, he had to commit to one plan and run with it.
He got so caught up in his thoughts that he ran into someone. A man, slightly taller than himself, and much older. Not wanting to draw attention to himself, he quickly apologized, and tried to move past, only for his shoulder to be grabbed.
The man then spoke in a jovial and deep voice, “Ah, young man, it is quite alright. But say, this meeting of ours could be considered as fate, no? Someone your age, in this city, you must be a student at the local academy, if I’m not wrong. Would you perhaps be interested in hearing about sponsorship? Maybe over some cakes and tea? Or is there another type of food you might prefer?”
Edward, well equipped to deal with these types from his experience on the streets, quickly replied, “No, not interested in donating to your church or charity. I’m busy, please let me go.” Before pulling himself free of the man’s grip and continuing on towards an alleyway near the canteen.
Being stopped by the man had put him on edge, he’d never paid any attention to those stopped by solicitors in the past, but he did not know if the city’s culture would have those around him attracted to the conversation. Especially since the man had put a lot of emphasis on the part about the local academy and him being a student there. If that was important enough for the older man to stop a random, young strangers about, then who knows about how other locals may react to hearing about it.
As it turns out, his experience in avoiding the bastard trio and their servants was proving useful here. He knew exactly what to do to avoid any further trouble caused by the solicitor. It was best to not risk further exposure by getting off of the streets and out of the public’s eye. As the saying goes, “out of sight, out of mind.”
He, however, would not forget the experience, even with it now being out of his sight and behind him. The older man had given him some interesting information, students of the local academy were valued greatly, and there were some that were around his age. Potentially, he could pretend to be a student to get out of a sticky situation, or maybe into an otherwise restricted area.
It’d be difficult to pull it off properly if there was some sort of symbol that acted as identification for the students, as a smart person would ask to see his before accepting his requests. Nevertheless, it was still an idea with potential if used properly, especially on people like the man he’d just encountered.
That was enough of thinking about plans for the future though, as he had had arrived below a window that he guessed would lead to the canteen’s storage. Naturally, there was no certainty in his conjecture, as the guess was purely based off of his rough estimations of the building’s layout. The storage very well could have been on the opposite side of the building, which he hoped was not the case.
With more difficulty than he hoped to have had, he scaled the wall up to the window, and peered through. The room appeared to be empty of people at the moment—and absolutely loaded with food. Shimmying the window open, Edward proceeded to carefully squeeze his way in through the narrow gap that had been created.
Not wasting any time, he got to work searching for an empty sack or some other container that he could store his haul in. This task proved to be far easier than climbing the wall had been, as there were several empty sacks that had likely been containing some sort of vegetable. Once properly equipped, he went to work grabbing vegetables out of already opened sacks and containers, and he even scored some sausage links.
In total, he had grabbed enough food to last him the next three or four days, depending on how much he ate. Any more, and his bag would not fit through the window. Satisfied, he climbed up the side of a shelf near said window and unceremoniously pushed his bag through it, allowing it to freely drop to the ground below on the other side.
Before he could follow his bag, however, he heard talking and footsteps coming from the hallway. Instinctually, he dropped down to the floor, and without wasting a moment, crawled onto the bottom level of the shelf, behind several of the bags of vegetables. Just in time, too, as seconds after, he heard the door handle turn as someone entered the storeroom.
Fortunately, whoever it was did not bring a light with them, so the room remained relatively dark despite it being the middle of the day. As long as they did not dig too deeply into this bottom row, or question why the window up above was open, he would likely not be found.
Edward had, in his haste, chosen a rather awkward position to hold himself in, propped up sideways on one hand and knee, with his back to the wall. It was tiring, but he did not want to move for fear of revealing himself, despite the person taking their sweet time picking out the ingredients they were looking for.
It made him especially nervous when they stooped low to pick some from the bottom shelf he was on. At that point, he didn’t even dare to breathe. And then, after several minutes, the person finally left the room, leaving the door open behind them.
Not wanting to stay in this position for any further time, Edward cursorily scrambled from his hiding spot, and climbed back up the side of the shelf up to the window. And before anyone else could enter the room and catch him in the act, he climbed through, remembering to close it behind him on his way out.
Climbing down was always more difficult than climbing up, and with his hands as shaky as they were, Edward decided to take the ten-or-so foot plunge to the ground. Unlike how he’d almost died when doing a similar maneuver a couple of days ago, there was no interference to knock him of kilter this time around. Thus, the landing could not have been any smoother.
Safely out of the building and on the ground, Edward stooped down to grab his bag of food, and then made his way to the entrance of the alleyway. Remembering his experience with the older man, and not wanting to be exposed to that level of attention again, he peered out of the alleyway, looking for any other interlopers that might want to accost him.
The busy street seemed safe. People were coming and going with vigor in their steps. There seemed to be little chance of him drawing attention to himself as long as he did not bump into anyone like he had earlier.
Stolen content alert: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.
Unless, that is, there was a person who knew his face, and might be looking out for him. Like maybe, say, the older man he had bumped into before. The one he was only just thinking about. And also, it seemed, the one that was now waiting on the side of the busy street, on which he was the only person not moving.
It was definitely a bit strange; it had been tens of minutes since he’d talked to the man and all he’d done since, was move to the side of the road. On future trips to obtain food, he should try to approach from a different direction, and at a different time of day. People posted up in busy areas were not any friends of Edward, especially if they knew his face.
Still, if the man had further business with him, he would’ve already spotted him in the alleyway. That meant that it would be too late to turn back now, as doing so would be suspicious. It was better to take the busy, main road, and act like a normal, good, law-abiding citizen. Albeit, one that had a sack filled to the brim with stolen goods.
As such, he took to the streets, trying his best to act relaxed. Which was rather difficult, as his eyes naturally were drawn to the man to see if he was watching him. He wasn’t, much to Edward’s relief, and he found himself actually calming down. The rest of his trip back to his hideout was, fortunately, uneventful.
Interim
Blart was an experienced operative, skilled in tracking people through the busy streets of Corin. That, however, did not mean that he was incapable of feeling fatigue. He’d been tracking countless numbers of young people over the past week or two, oftentimes pulling twenty-or-so hour days. For some godsforsaken reason the upper levels had him covering both the early risers and the night owls by himself.
And the worst part about it, was that if he and his partner messed up even slightly, it could mean that as many as ten students would not be investigated properly. Usually that was never an issue, but if those particular targets proved to be important later on, say if they displayed high levels of potential, the leadership would come to them looking for relevant information. Which, reasonably, they would not have.
But that sort of logic did not enter into the minds of those terrible people, so they’d been in for a nice session of being chewed out. He’d be able to tolerate it once in a while if their division was properly staffed, then they’d have no good excuse for not doing their jobs. After all, with that many people, it would be a breeze.
The budget constraints, however, meant that the entire information gathering division was composed of only him and his partner! He could almost scream! And in the midst of all of this, the leaders had some sort of “big plan” in the works, that they weren’t privy to. Which, of course, meant that they were that much bigger of an ass to the two of them about any tiny, little gap in information.
Their job would be so much easier if the “big plan” was delayed for a couple of weeks, so they had time to process the new influx of first years at the academy. Instead, a job that for two people would normally take two or three months was now being compressed into a single one. And he couldn’t ever get it out of his mind that the leaders were still being hard asses despite all of this.
His partner, Paul, bless his heart, was the most talented man he’d ever met. The dude could disguise himself as a man of practically any age, and oftentimes made his life way easier, by somehow convincing some students to do interviews with him. Every time Paul pulled it off, he couldn’t help but sigh in relief, as it was yet another kid full of energy that he would not have to track for ages through the city. In fact, it was such an outstanding gesture from his partner that Blart had started to note down the number of times that it had happened, planning on paying him back one day for the help.
But the best way to do that, until the day he could truly, properly pay him back, was by excelling at his job in spite of the fatigue that had been accumulating in his body. The kid he was to follow right now had entered the dead-end alleyway near one of the canteens that served students of the academy while they were out and about in the city. It was a common hunting ground for their work, so this was just business as usual.
That is, business as usual, outside of the kid hanging out in the alleyway for some reason. It’d been something like seventeen minutes before he finally caught sight of the kid again. And somehow, he who had entered with only a waterskin hanging at his side, had returned with a sack that looked laden with whatever it had inside.
Blart could not care less about the sack, where the kid got it from, or what was in it. That was not the type of information that he, or the higher ups, for that matter, were interested in. But before he followed after the kid, he made sure to take a glance at Paul, to see if he was doing one of their pre-established signals. Those were another ingenious idea that the guy had come up with and could save him from a lot of grief.
Two fingers held up on top of a fist with the palm facing downwards. If he remembered right, that meant that the boy lingered somewhere for two minutes before emerging from the alleyway. Since Paul had deemed it important enough to sign to him about, that meant that there was something about the kid he should look out for.
In their profession, that was almost always one thing, people who were being cautious, sometimes suspiciously so. That would mean that the signal should be interpreted as the kid having stayed near the entrance of the alleyway, investigating the street for two minutes before he had actually emerged.
That was good information to add to the dossier on the kid later, but immediately, it could mean that the kid was cautious due to the contents of the sack he had mysteriously obtained. Not that he would rely on the deduction, as there very well could be a fallacy that he had missed out on in his logic. It was just good practice to constantly be thinking about and analyzing the situation at all times. Which, coincidentally, was another tip that he had gotten from Paul.
Like right now, the kid was gradually making his way towards the more unpopulated portions of the city. He was also walking with not quite a limp, but his gait was all sorts of incorrect. These were two massive red flags in Blart’s mind. The Combat School’s dorms were not in that direction, nothing was, outside of some trees and bushes and other such plants. And the way his walked did not scream “combat talent,” it quietly spoke “diseased and dying.”
It was a bit too early for him to make a judgment, but subconsciously, he was already writing the kid off as a fraud, a fake student using tricks to obtain favors and goods for free. He’d follow him a little bit more, but if his act did not straighten out, that would confirm his suspicions, and back to his partner, Paul, he would go.
Interim
The sack of food and his water skin had been put away upon his return, during which time, he realized that he had completely forgotten to search for a second water skin while he was in the canteen’s storage room. Thus, that task was unfortunately scheduled for the next food run.
In the meantime, he’d have to hope that he didn’t die from falling out of the trees that he was climbing. You see, Edward’s brilliant mind came up with an amazing training regime from what little information he knew regarding the topic. That led him to the outstanding conclusion he’d come to, to train through actions he was already familiar with.
And what did that look like outside of running around? Why, of course, climbing! Barely being able to scale a wall ten feet up to a window hadn’t dissuaded him in the least, and after that challenge, the trees around his base looked mighty easy to climb. Of course, he had forgotten to consider the fact that he had never been tired before in his current state, and he had no clue what effects that might have on his abilities.
Or, at least, he didn’t know, until suddenly, his arms started to shake so badly, that his grip on the branches of the tree he was climbing failed him and left him plummeting to the forest floor. This was an incident that completely halted all plans in his mind of doing further climbing practice, which instead meant that he had to run.
Which is where he was now, running around the forest like a madman. In theory, a simple exercise, elegant in that all one had to do was increase the length of time that they did it for, thereby raising the difficulty. For Edward, who now possessed two left feet, this proved to be a rather arduous task, as it seemed like the tree roots and branches were coming alive to trip him.
As such, despite the fall from the tree being objectively a greater cause of injury, practically, tripping twenty times resulted in more injuries. Vaguely, he got the impression that he was tripping less often, but the difference between tripping every minute and tripping every fifty-nine seconds, was rather negligible and hard to notice.
None of this meant that he would stop though, as his skill and speed when running was a subject of pride for him before his fall, and the anger he felt from the state he was in would not let him stop until he showed some real degree of improvement.
“Boy! Why did you not notify me about your recovery? Instead, you chose to cover yourself with all these scrapes and bruises. Did you not listen to my words when I told you that full recovery would not happen in an instant?’
Damn! The goldfinger had noticed far earlier than he was hoping it would. Continued training would have to wait, or it would start talking his ear off and overall, generally be annoying. At the very least, he would still get a little more practice in, as there was no good reason not to run back to his hideout.
On the way, he tried his best to tune out the voice of the goldfinger. Once again, he was left thinking about the good times, the times in which his mind was peaceful, and most importantly, quiet. It had been easy to ignore Gerald’s voice, when all it was doing was repeating the same couple of sentences over and over again, but with new content spewing out of its mouth, that was no longer an option. It did not help that hearing new words from it made it so he could no longer pretend it was some sort of background noise. Now, on a subconscious level, the goldfinger was reviving his anger.
Once back to his bush, he wasted no time diving beneath its branches and leaves. Inside, he did not even bother to crawl down into his hidey-hole, instead opting to immediately enter into his mindscape.
The destroyed remains of his ego were becoming somewhat familiar to him now, which was unusual considering that it was only his second time seeing it. Maybe there was some sort of inherent understanding that was slowly leaking into his mind now that he had experienced it before? It was his mind, after all, so it would not be strange for him to naturally understand parts of it.
In any case, the scenery was not entirely familiar. The ruins that dotted the landscape were now accompanied by piles of sand, none of which were too large, perhaps coming up to his knees, but it was a change, nonetheless. It was certainly a phenomenon that he would have to keep his eyes on, there was no telling what effects it would have on him.
Why was his life becoming a never-ending series of new things to discover that might impact his life negatively? He’d blame the goldfinger for this, or maybe the cult, if not for the fact that it had truly started from the moment he took the orb’s test. That was not a thought trail he wanted to follow, however, as that would be a quick, surefire path to having an irrational hatred towards spheres. Especially since a rock spell, shaped like a sphere, was what almost killed him and allowed the cult to put the goldfinger inside of him.
Edward felt anger rising up within him, only for the emotion to leave him as soon as it came. He hadn’t noticed, but the cloak of flames had returned to him, and was now resting on his shoulders. It seemed like it would absorb all of his anger, or, at least, his anger while he was in his mindscape.
A feature that could prove useful if he ever felt that anger was clouding his judgment. Just pop in for a quick moment, sort out your thoughts, and pop back out. Not that it would be easy to ignore his displeasure in the moment and have the clarity of thought to enter his mindscape. Speaking of which, he probably shouldn’t ignore his reason for entering his mindscape to begin with, Gerald.
Edward didn’t feel any of the disgust or resentment that he normally felt towards the goldfinger, which he attributed to the powers of his cloak. However, the distrust he had towards the entity was still there in full.
“Okay, Gerald, I am able to talk now, so let’s have us a nice and short conversation.”
“At long last, you respond to me. Could you answer my questions from earlier? If you’ve forgotten, I wish to know why you did not inform me of your recovery. The second question was rhetorical in nature, so I don’t suppose that needs an answer.”
How should he answer this question? However he responded, he would have to continue with that persona going forward. And although his hatred was being restrained, that did nothing to mitigate the distrust he felt towards Gerald.
If he told it his actual reason, would it be put on guard? Would it be offended? Or should he make something up? Tell a lie? Only, there were no good lies he could tell in this situation. There had been an ample amount of time for him to do so whilst in the dungeon, so he’d have to make up another lie for why he hadn’t done it then.
The thread might run even deeper than that, and surely the goldfinger, as experienced as it was, would quickly pluck that loose thread and pull his whole lie apart. It pained the parts of him that distrusted the goldfinger, but the best play in this situation was to tell it the truth of the matter.
Sitting down now, as he did not want to have to focus on standing while in a battle of wits with the possibly ancient entity, Edward calmly replied, “Not informing you of my recovery was punishment for your actions relating to the eruption.”
Perhaps saying so was a gamble, the goldfinger was rather unstable, and its response, was thus, unpredictable. He hoped that the whimsical nature that it seemed to possess would override any thoughts of hostility that would flare up from the accusation.
“Oh? That is quite reasonable as a large amount of blame can be placed on me for what occurred. I can only apologize for the outcome, as the lack of preventative measures on my part allowed it all to happen the way it did. Still, you have my sincerest apologies for all of that which I am guilty for in the matter.”
Wait a minute, did the goldfinger just admit to having attacked him? Without an ounce of hesitation? Where had its cavalier attitude of dancing around the subject go? Or it acting as if it was a random accident that had happened to him, and not a premeditated assault? Heck, it had even pretended that they were in this together. But just like that, it calmly admitted that it had tried and failed to kill him.
It was also strangely apologizing for not properly killing him, if he understood its words correctly. In any case, Edward did not get what its game was in doing this, and he probably never would. The best course of action, in his confused opinion, was to move past this point in the conversation. Something else, anything else, would be a better topic than whatever this was.
“Cannot say I forgive you, but I understand you, and what you are saying. Let’s move on past this topic, as it is rather dark. Instead, how about I answer that rhetorical question of yours?”
Clearing his throat, Edward took a breath, and continued talking, before the goldfinger could interrupt him.
“I am fully aware that my full recovery will take some time. But that is time I do not have, for my life is in great danger. As such, I saw it prudent to begin training right away, so as to both adapt to the difficulties of my body as well as strengthen it. It is still not easy, even after a day’s worth of experience, but I hope that in the coming weeks, I will be able to recover enough to move with some degree of fluidity.”
“A most excellent endeavor. My own recommendations for your recovery include a certain amount of training as well. It is good to see that we are on the same page on that front. And while I do have many tips in that regard, first there is a new question I must have your answer to. What exactly do you mean by your life being in great danger? Is it not safe for you in the great city of Corin, home to the Helwitian Combat Academy? After all, outside of a few key areas, this is the safest location in the kingdom.”
Edward felt as if his mind was contorting into another shape. Every conversation with the goldfinger practically gave him whiplash, as it was always focused on weird details or trying to trick him into liking it. And now, for some reason, it was trying to play it off as if it weren’t aware of the cult’s existence that put it inside of him. Which was certainly a possibility; the goldfinger could have been sealed away in something prior to its implantation into him.
Or it was probing him for information. Trying to see whether or not he was truly aware of the dangerous cult that was present and roaming the streets of this prison city. They might even rule this city, for all he knew, as their open actions certainly suggested as much.
He, however, was not going to let the goldfinger play coy. It was going to have to have a direct confrontation with the information, whether or not it was actually aware of it. One could say that the theatrical gloves were coming off for what Edward was about to say.
“Uh, were you not there when a cult almost killed me? Since apparently you aren’t aware, let me make it very clear, some members of a cult wearing symbols of a gang tried to do me in. This was only like, what, two days ago now. Why did you think I’ve been living in the hole? For fun?”