Brin heard a loud rap on the door to his workshop. Bad timing, hopefully they would go away. He was making glass.

He waved his hand inside the glass oven to get a feel for the temperature before shutting the door. He still couldn't touch the molten glass without getting burned, but [Heat Resistance] was more than enough for protecting him against the heat of the oven in brief doses. The oven still wasn't quite hot enough. Sure, he could pour a ridiculous amount of mana into the glass in the oven to heat it that way, but he wanted the furnace to be able to do it. That was the whole point of the furnace. Ademir and then Ademsi had never had any trouble getting the furnace hot enough. What was he missing? He would try spying on the other [Glassers] in town, but they all had Skills for this. A complete waste, in his mind.

The knocking on his door came again, louder and more insistent. It was a bit of a surprise, because shouldn't his Invisible Eyes have warned him someone was nearby? With a mental slap to his forehead, he realized his Invisible Eyes probably had warned him. He'd turned off his notifications while he'd been concentrating on glassmaking.

In the five weeks they’d been in Blackcliff, he’d progressed in his Class by leaps and bounds. He hadn't actually leveled up, but he'd done very well on his Skills and attributes. His biggest leap had been Mental Control now that he had a boost for training it, but there were some other notable advancements.

Strength: 214 -> 216

Dexterity: 155 -> 156

Vitality: 187 -> 189

Magic: 196 -> 202

Mental Control: 224 -> 236

Will: 144 -> 147

Inspect: 37 -> 40

Hide Status: 15 -> 21

Athletic Training: 33 -> 35

Shape Glass: 34 -> 39

Summon Glass: 27 -> 28

Call Light through Glass: 38 -> 45

Call Sound through Glass: 34 -> 38

With [Multithreading] the number of things he could actually do with his illusion powers had increased exponentially, and that in turn had helped him gain levels in his Skills. He didn’t have a Lightmind yet, but he was well on his way to creating one himself.

He now always had several threads of thought working in the background, doing things like keeping watch with Invisible Eyes and logging everything in a shared storage created with [Memories in Glass]. But that only helped if he remembered to check the log now and again.

He pulled up his active log—a self-generated notification screen only visible to him now that Hogg had found the spell for it.

...

DT1: Two men approach the workshop on foot.

DT1: Two men arrive at the door of the workshop.

DT1: Two men have a conversation on the doorstep of the workshop. Conversation has been logged to “Log DT1 - Local”. Directed thread is unable to summarize conversation. Activate conscious thread?

DT1: Resource limit has not been reached. Activating conscious thread.

CT2: Oh, ok, this is Sion and a [Warrior] I don't recognize. The image is up on Screen 1 if you want to take a look, but it's probably safe to just open the door. Returning.

[Multithreading] could make two kinds of threads. Normal threads were just his regular mind, but there were also directed threads. DT1 thread was an example of those. Directed threads could run with extreme efficiency, but the trade-off was that they weren't able to do anything except a single focused task. If they ran into anything that actually required decision making or creativity, they’d fall apart unless a different thread could work out the issue for them.

Directed threads had been born of merging [Directed Meditation] into [Multithreading], but they didn’t work exactly like his mind had while using [Directed Meditation]. They were much more limited with creativity, but more flexible with the kind of instructions he could give them. He could tell them things like “Once per second, check the logs to see if there are any new instructions for you” and they’d be able to do it without losing much efficiency, while during [Directed Meditation] he’d never have been able to switch his focus back and forth like that.

DT1 hadn't been able to understand whatever Sion and the other guy behind the door were talking about, so it had created the other kind of thread. This one had his full intelligence, but it used up a lot more of his brain power. When one of those was running, it felt like time was speeding up, though the truth was a lot more complicated.

Now that CT2 had returned, he had the memories of spying on Sion and the [Warrior] as they argued. Sion wanted to try the door, but the other guy had insisted this must be the wrong address. Sion had gotten his way, and the other guy was knocking.

Brin caught his reflection in a mirror; there were lots of them around, and noted the black scorch marks on his face. He left it. He didn't want to dirty another rag.

He opened the door, and found that yes, this was a complete stranger. Of Prinnashian descent by the look of him, his straight black hair was cut short and he wore a smart uniform. Or maybe dress clothes designed to look like a uniform; there didn't seem to be any rank insignia.

"Good day. If I may introduce myself, I am Sir Rhun Charlik," the man said formally, and then when he took in Brin's shabby appearance and maybe used [Inspect] to find out his Class was Common [Glasser], his voice began to take on a sneering tone. "Step aside. I have business inside."

Brin shook his head, trying to shake away the lingering thoughts of glassmaking and focus on the oddity in front of him. "Sorry. Who are you?"

"I'm Sir Rhun Charlik, a [Warrior] of Prinnash and a true man. I must enter this workshop. Step aside."

Rhun tried to force the issue by walking through Brin, but Brin stood his ground. Rhun bounced off him like he'd hit a brick wall. Brin really hadn't skipped Strength training, but it looked like Rhun had. Was this guy really a [Warrior]? A quick [Inspect] revealed that Rhun was telling the truth.

Name: Rhun Charlik

Age: 16

Class: Warrior

Level: 23

Imagine having that much attitude at level 23. He was about to teach the idiot a lesson when he saw Sion the [Merchant] wincing at him apologetically from behind.

"Sion, what are you doing back there? Who is this clown?"

"Are you deaf?" Rhun asked.

Brin met his eyes, said nothing, and then looked back at Sion.

Sion winced again, and said, "This is my bodyguard."

Brin shrugged and stepped aside. "In that case, be my guest."

"If you would be so good, sir," said Sion.

Rhun scoffed, but stepped inside. "You may enter as well," he said to Sion, and Brin didn't like his tone.

"Thank you, sir," Sion said deferentially, and Brin definitely didn't like his tone, either.

As Sion entered, Brin clasped his wrist and pulled him into a hug. Then he remembered he was covered with soot and apologized.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

"No, no, my friend. It is I who impose on you. In all honesty, I had wondered if this was truly the correct place. Men of my... um, our standing do not usually patronize this part of town." Sion peered around Brin's workshop. "It's certainly... different."

The hesitance in Sion’s eyes and the sheer disgust on Rhun’s face told him how it must look to them, but to Brin this was his own personal paradise. Everything here was custom made with the express goal of plumbing the depths of his Class. For once, no one was hunting him, no [Witches] were killing people, and he’d had nothing but pleasant dreams. He finally had some time to devote towards long-term projects instead of constantly just trying to stay alive.

It had started as an empty warehouse, and it was still not completely clear of the chalk dust from the business that used to be here. He had a table for his experiments with lenses, one for mirrors and lasers if he ever got one working, and a nice comfortable parlor chair with a side table covered with glass rings–that one was for his practice with [Memories in Glass] and [Multithreading]. On the far end was the furnace for melting glass. Summoned glass was fine most of the time, but for high-quality equipment made to last, he couldn't summon anything as good as the glass he made the old fashioned way.

"It's perfect," said Brin. "Don't worry, the living spaces are much tidier. That old hotel in the upper city was too... busy. Here, there isn't someone underfoot at all hours of the day and night listening to my conversations and spreading rumors about all the [Witches] we killed. And the servants actually listen when I tell them not to clean my work spaces. Some of these things are very fragile and--don't touch that!"

Rhun had picked up one of his mirrors, messing up the alignment and probably smudging it with his fingers. Brin had done a lot of experimentation with light and glass, mostly messing with prisms and redoing a lot of experiments he remembered from high school physics. He hadn't really come up with anything practical for it, but the System had been extremely impressed. That alone had been responsible for five of the seven levels he’d gained in [Call Light through Glass].

That mirror had been placed perfectly to test out his laser, assuming he ever got it working. Realigning it would be a chore. He felt his eyebrow twitch. "Sion, who is this man?"

"I have said I am Rhun Charlik. Are you simple?"

Brin waited for Sion to answer. "This is Rhun."

Turning to Rhun, he addressed the [Warrior] for the first time. "Rhun. Can I ask you a question? Are you sure it's Sir Charlik? It's not My Lord Charlik?"

"Sir is the correct form of address," Sion said quickly.

"In that case, I'm curious. How dare you speak to me?"

Rhun sneered. "Tch. The arrogance. This is what's wrong with Frenaria. The Commoners have no--"

"That wasn't a rhetorical question. I really don't get it. Do you really have no idea who I am? You think because Sion is my friend, that somehow gives you the right to barge in here? Sion and I have fought and bled together. He's proven himself. But you? You're no one to me. I’m not going to be disrespected by some street tough with no name and no levels."

"[Warriors] gain levels from acts of courage. Not from puttering around with trinkets." Rhun finally put down the mirror, dismissively dropping it on its face.

"Get out of my workshop."

Sion hurried to stand between them and said to Rhun, "My apologies sir, but perhaps it would be best?"

To Brin's surprise, Rhun actually left after giving Brin one last surly glare.

After the door closed, Sion looked concerned. "My friend, are you quite alright?"

Brin ran his fingers through his hair and collapsed into his parlor chair. "I'm sorry! I don't know what came over me. I didn't think I was the arrogant young noble type, but it happened so fast! 'Do you know who I am?' I can't believe I actually said that!" He shot to his feet. "Oh, but where are my manners. Tea? I found someone that can make passable cookies; you've got to try this."

"Nothing for me, thanks," said Sion.

When Brin visited Sion at his uncle's place, Sion never took no for an answer so Brin fetched his tea pot, quickly bringing it to a boil by using his magic to heat a glass insert. He poured a couple glasses and set them on the worktable, fetched the cookies, and took a seat on a stool since there was only one parlor chair.

Sion sat next to him and hesitantly picked up a cookie. Brin picked one up as well and took a bite. It was perfect; crispy on the outside and just a bit gooey on the inside. He still hadn't found anything like chocolate, but there were chips of a frosting that tasted like white chocolate and he'd found an equivalent for Macadenia nuts. A nice little taste of home.

Sion obviously hated it. "It's quite good."

Brin laughed. "Aren't we past this?"

"No, my friend, don't misunderstand me. These are wonderful!"

It was delicate work to be friends with someone from Prinnash, he was learning. They were too enthusiastic by far. If Brin accidentally complimented Sion's shirt he would pull it off his back and give it to him. But Brin had figured out a few tricks to dealing with him. "Come on. Do you think Davi would be afraid to tell me if he didn't like something? Or Zilly?"

Sion grimaced. "You're right. But please don't misunderstand! I don't like anything. No tart, no sweet, no cake or pie exists that will tempt me. I hate it all."

"You're kidding," said Brin.

"It is the life I have lived that has poisoned them to me. When I work with my family I have twelve meetings a day where I must either display or receive hospitality. My entire life, I am ravenous for something substantial, but my stomach is too full of sweets to eat at all. When I visit among family or with others who know how it is, I am offered vegetables and fruit, but even that grows tiresome. If I truly lived the way I wished, it would be how things were on the road with the caravan. Two or three small and simple meals a day, with nothing in between."

Brin snatched the cookie out of Sion's fingers and took a bite. "I still like sweets, though."

"I know. And make no mistake, I will still make every effort to press them upon you."

"Can I make a confession, though? I still don't understand tea."

"You don't like tea?" Sion asked, surprised.

"No, it's... fine. I mean, I don't really get it. Hogg can talk about tea for hours, but I don't see what he sees. When I'm alone I just drink water."

"Truly?"

One of the biggest culture shocks coming to this world from earth was the way that people viewed water. They saw drinking plain water as risky or slovenly behavior, only for those who were too poor for beer and too lazy to boil it for tea. He kind of got that, since drinking the water here was a good way to give yourself a parasite, but he still missed it.

Brin stood and moved to his cooler and pulled out a pitcher of water. He poured two glasses and used tongs to drop in a few cubes of ice. One of the perks of living in the city was that there was always ice; he paid a [Waterer] a few coppers per week to keep his cooler stocked with clean ice and purified water.

He finished the drinks with wedges of a citrus fruit called gluon and straws. The straws were paper, but Skills meant that they actually worked as straws unlike the trash they use in California.

Sion took a sip and gazed at it thoughtfully. "This is most welcome, I must admit. A glass of water dressed up like a cocktail; I certainly never would have thought of this. I fear that if I served this to a guest of mine, they would spend the entire hour trying to suss out exactly what message I was trying to send them."

"The hidden meaning is that there's no hidden meaning. Ok, now tell me what the deal is with that Rhun guy?"

Sion set his glass down and sighed. "You understand the way of things in Prinnash, yes?"

"I've heard that you have a very martial culture. Combat Classes are respected the most, to the point that [Warriors] are automatically considered part of the lower nobility, kind of like if a commoner becomes a [Knight] here in Frenaria."

"Yes, but it's more than that." Sion glanced at his hands. "In Prinnash, the work of [Merchants] is seen as dishonest. After all, we create nothing ourselves, so all our wealth must have been stolen off the plates of honest men. A true man takes what he wants through conquest, not trickery. For this reason, [Merchants] are illegal and trade is outlawed."

"What? No it's not."

"It is! With some exceptions, of course," Sion said with a wry smile. "If you are a [Warrior] then you are a true man, and so you have the right to do as you please. A true man could never indulge in trade himself, of course, but if he has wealth then it is natural that he obtains the service of someone to manage his affairs. He could hire a [Merchant] to do those things that are beneath his dignity, like buying and selling. Trade."

“Hm,” said Brin. He idly toyed with a spyglass on a table nearby while he processed that.

“That's a nice one,” said Sion.

Brin shrugged. “It's a failure. I can't get the threading right.”

“I don't think people like the screw type anyway. The collapsible spy glasses are much more popular; I've sold out all that you made for me. You have a nice stipend coming for that, by the way. May I?” Sion pointed at another of the spy glasses on the table.

“Sure,” said Brin, gesturing at the whole table. He didn't like random [Warrior] thugs touching his things, or even [Maids], but Sion was different. A [Merchant] would break his own fingers before damaging the merchandise. "So how does that [Warriors]-only rule work with a huge group like the Wogan Merchant Group? You'd need a patsy of some sort. A figurehead, maybe?"

Sion looked at him through the spyglass, making his eye appear extra large. "Yes, exactly. Technically, the Wogan Merchant Group is headed by High Lord Damisco."

"Hm, Damisco is a Frenarian name," mused Brin.

"It is."

"And the only thing I've heard about High Lords is that they're worse than low Lords."

"They are those who are granted a title due to an extraordinary service to the crown or an exemplary act of bravery. They are high placed in the social hierarchy, but generally own no land and the title is not inheritable. A low lord with extra steps," Sion explained. He put the spyglass down, then looked around as if trying to find something else.

"The perfect person to be your useless figurehead. You don't have to worry about him trying to grant your company to his heirs."

"Exactly. Damisco works for my grandfather though officially it's the other way around. And in order to prevent any one noble house from wresting the company away from us, we make it a habit for each of us to attach ourselves to a different lord."

"Oh. So Rhun...?"

"Is a bodyguard," Sion finished. "Perhaps we may come to an understanding, but for now he's simply that. Though even as a bodyguard he's my superior and I must defer to him socially."

"That sucks."

Sion shrugged. "It's the way of Prinnash."

"Did I make trouble for you just now?"

"Think nothing of it. Rhun will act as a fool, but he does as he is told."

"Zilly is going to love him."

Sion barked a laugh, then glanced at the door guiltily. "I can hardly wait. Oh, but you've distracted me. I came for a different reason. Your letter arrived.”

Sion pulled a paper envelope from his pocket, sealed with Lumina's crest. The paper of the envelope was heavy and stiff, and heavily enchanted. He could only feel the light and sound parts of the enchantment, but it was so disconnected and confusing that he knew there must be several other branches of magic involved.

He broke the seal and opened it, excited for word from his adoptive mother. Instead, there was just a single piece of paper covered front and back with writing in the Language. It was a spell for an [Illusionist]. He had no idea what it was at first glance. As much as he wanted to see what it did, he'd wait for Hogg before he cast it.

He put it back in the envelope and tucked it into his pocket.

“Thanks for doing this. Using your family's [Messengers] helps me fly under the radar a little, and I'm not sure what my political situation is right now. Lumina's letters have been vague. I was hoping this one would be more clear, but...”

“Say no more, I am most pleased to do it!” Sion said. He cast his eyes around the workshop, looking for something. “May I ask? Where is your most charismatic companion? I had hoped to see Marksi here.”

Maybe the best thing about [Multithreading] was that now he always had an answer to that question. He checked the screen that was keeping an eye on the little guy and grinned. “He's out hunting.”