After only just receiving and worrying over my new deadline, I was already filled with a passionate conviction I knew my intended publication deserving of accreditation. And why waste time? I began formulating my proposal in between my final clients of the day.
At least, I meant to limit myself to the short interval between clients, but I conceived of a particularly brilliant piece of wording and absolutely could not wait to Scribe this addition to my accumulating paper pile. Contrary to expectations, my client not only failed to berate me for my divided attention but became more nervous and serious still, evidently assuming everything I wrote must be related to our present discourse.
My remaining clients followed this pattern. Though I had only the small sample size, I observed my preoccupation with my papers seemed to produce a better impression, or anyway they sat up straighter and chose their words with more care. After, of course, I gave reassurances I wasn't copying down their Skill Sets or private information.
"I'm just taking notes," I would say vaguely. Perhaps I should continue this practice in future and bring folders full of papers as deliberate props.
After my successful first day as a Skill Advisor, I excitedly sought out my mentor -- savoring those two words with which I could continue to refer to him -- and presented the current draft of my accreditation proposal. In brief, I planned to submit two publications, a complete compilation tentatively titled The Big Book of Skills and its companion guidebook, The Adventurer's Path Guide to Skills, which should hopefully be useful for more than just adventurers seeking Skill advice. After considering and discarding a half-dozen categorization methods, I decided the former should simply be alphabetized. Then the latter would attempt to encapsulate my role as Skill Advisor.
"I'm not sure of the formatting," I said, "But what do you think of the idea? Are there sample accreditation proposals, by any chance?"
Senior Rubrik took his time perusing what I'd written while I hovered. At last, he said, "Your proposed project would likely be useful and favor your strengths."
I frowned, able to sense his reservations. "But?"
"But I believe there are issues you have not considered." He hesitated. "I do encourage you to submit your proposal, but I must caution you accreditation projects traditionally involve more research."
"Um... You mean my memory might count against me?"
"No," he said, "But merely reproducing, rewording, or reorganizing does not satisfy the criterion of investigating, experimenting, or analyzing."
"I will have plenty to research, though," I argued. "For the companion book. I simply happen to already be in a position to collect relevant data. This will be a difficult project, but I believe I am well suited for it."
His continued hesitation was obvious, but he said, "I do not question your project's difficulty, but I fear you underestimate the degree. As I find I cannot couch my criticism to be constructive, I prefer leaving Executive Clancy to do the honors. She can hopefully offer more helpful feedback."
That was not at all the ringing endorsement I was eager and expectant to hear, but I decided not to let it get to me. Until I heard a logical argument otherwise, I still thought this was an excellent choice of accreditation project and should enrich and elevate my experience as a Skill Advisor besides.
Also, Senior Rubrik's overall attitude remained encouraging. "Wait for a moment," he said before returning with some papers he handed to me. "A proposal template."
I quickly began another draft. Not only had my enthusiasm not dimmed, but I found renewed motivation sitting right there at the nearest table. I Scribed the final copy, stood, and turned it in with a tremendous sense of accomplishment and relief.
To think, I was still weeks away from my deadline! Sure, my proposal hadn't actually been accepted yet... but why wouldn't it be?
On my second day as a Skill Advisor, the kid gloves evidently came off, and I now received an eclectic assortment of adventurer clients. Whereas I'd whisked through them briskly and efficiently in the single previous day, my meetings today could drag on or even take the entire allotted hour.
Between the two days' worth of clients, I was surprised by how many faces I recognized. I supposed Wilton's Guildhall was a small world. The girl who'd once tried to recruit me for her team was considering a class change to ranger; I suggested she might use her new throwing Skill to eliminate enemies at range even as a warrior, and in fact I heartily recommended such tactics. The silver-haired adventurer who'd helped me in our exam wanted a more original Path, confessing he'd simply been following a standard fighter's build so far. After an unproductive discussion of his interests and experiences, we agreed he should try specializing in gear of a single elemental type, opening up more possibilities.
The self-proclaimed lover of runes and my erstwhile regular student inadvertently gave me advice, along with confirmation my disguise was working. His problem was the difficulty of actually utilizing his beloved hobby; the Runecaster Path was impossible for him, or so he said. Confused, I asked, "Why don't you use runic circles to grind out Skills?"
"It's slow and boring? I've always just spammed the same spell out of Scrolls until I feel able to approximate it on my own sometimes. Then I spam that, or try to, until I gain the Skill."
Huh. Now I was no longer broke, I might benefit from his example. Purchase multiple Scrolls of Entangling Vines, say.
Right, back to advising him. I did give his dilemma due consideration and sympathy; imagine loving something without the ability to channel that passion anywhere productive. Since he seemed stubbornly set against casting from circles in battle, I suggested he might study runes instead with the goal of countering them, not only those actively used by opposing mages but also in artifacts, wards, etcetera. This was far from a perfect solution, a Skill that might solve all his problems, but he walked away more thoughtful than frustrated.
Unfortunately, I could not help everyone. Worst of all were those who had no notion what they wanted, reminding me of my short stint as a Path Advisor. I supposed in theory I had an advantage as an Empath, but in practice my client's conflicted confusion was no clearer to me as an outside observer.
Personally, I could feel pulled in too many directions at once, especially as of late. But I couldn't help feeling fortunate when I saw those seeking any direction at all.
Though such meetings tended to be time-consuming and unproductive, I reminded myself these people were also part of my potential reader base. Perhaps I should include a tour of Paths, so they might flip through and find inspiration? Or at least eliminate some options?
I returned to the library buzzing with anticipation... but I had yet to hear back regarding my proposal. Senior Rubrik assured me this was a good thing. "If they planned to outright reject it, they would have done so already. This means it is under consideration."
He seemed vaguely surprised. Had he expected a quick refusal?
Rather than stew over events out of my control, I gave more consideration to my companion guidebook. I was beginning to think I should split this into a series, at least one for each primary adventuring class. For example, A Rogue's Path Guide to Skills could describe all the known rogue-related Paths -- typically with a base Path and variations along a similar theme -- including a list of Skills and their respective page numbers in the Big Book compilation.
But would this be enough to act as a Skill Advisor? I doubted most adventurers would spare the time for a thick tome... all right, I was thinking of my friends here. They hadn't even bothered to read through a magical contract before signing it! I'd like to believe adventurers would be logically willing to devote a few days to deciding the Path for their whole future, but experience sadly suggested otherwise.
Nor did such a simple publication seem worthy of accreditation. But I couldn't think of a better form for a guidebook. Was I overthinking this? Somehow I'd acquired the notion a project on Skills perfectly suited me, and thus, it should be easy. I almost felt like I was back to attempting to write a Book... no, that was even worse.
Wow, succeeding as a Scholar was surprisingly, miserably hard.
I browsed through various unrelated guidebooks before bed without making any headway. The next morning at least put my problems into perspective. My first client was strangely reluctant and resentful; a little coaxing revealed he didn't really want or care about anything and was only here at his aunt's behest, with said aunt rather high up in the organization.
His attitude toward adventuring was much the same, leaving me unsurprised his progress had stalled. Breakthroughs tended to take much more spirit than he had shown so far; he did not need to be passionate, persistent, or otherwise particularly virtuous, but he did need to be capable of touching transcendence, however briefly and barely.
I ended up recommending he see a Mind Healer, perhaps inspired by my own advice I'd received and had yet to follow. "I'm no loony!" he snapped.
"Mind Healers help more than the mentally unsound," I responded, my mild tone likely lost in the mask's filtration.
I was feeling less enthused about my job by the minute, but this also made me only more determined to create a workable substitute. Thankfully, Executive Clancy was waiting when I returned. My initial surge of excitement was dampened considerably by her mood, which was... I couldn't tell what, exactly, though it seemed serious.
"Let us review your proposal," she said once we were alone. "First, 'The Big Book of Skills.' Do you know why we pay so little per book copy?"
"Um. Because you sell in bulk?"
"Because the bulk of the profit goes to the original author, as it should be. We cannot regulate all instances of copying, of course, but we do seek to protect authors' rights."
"I know the guild's rules on copying," I said. "I am allowed so long as I give credit on each copied page, pay a corresponding share of profits, and either obtain the author's permission or do not copy over a third of any given book. I can seek permission, but it's also a rare Skill I haven't seen repeated in at least four or five different books, so it shouldn't be an issue."
She paused. Clearly she'd planned to scare me a little before explaining those same rules I'd already memorized. "You realize this is a publication that only makes sense for seeking accreditation? Since your compilation will consist entirely of other people's work, you could sell any number of copies without ever seeing a single copper."
"A good thing my goal is accreditation, then," I said dryly.
"Yes..." She cleared her throat. "But it isn't enough. If you independently researched Skills and wrote an original book, such an undertaking should qualify. As is, you could publish a dozen compilations without reaching Learned. So we come to the second half of your proposal. What is your precise plan for this 'guidebook'?"
"Um, that depends," I said vaguely. "I was hoping to gain a clearer idea from my work this week."
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
She pinned me with a skeptical gaze. "You've already had three days on the job. Surely you have some thoughts."
"I... well..." Finally, reluctantly, I outlined the class-specific series of books I'd devised. "But I am still working on it."
"Your stated goal is to create a workable substitute for a Skill Advisor." I looked down and nodded. "I understand you normally ask for a client's current Skill Set to offer personalized suggestions on future Skills. Do you believe such a service can be translated into a book or book series?"
Oh, there was a thought! Even an adventurer should be willing to flip pages in search of their own Skill combination and to read through the corresponding suggestions.
But no sooner had my heart lifted than it sank even further. I knew of over twenty-eight thousand Skills, and that wasn't even including their upgrades. If three Skills could be combined four different ways (including the possibility of having all three), then four Skills could be combined... eleven ways... five Skills twenty-six...
My math wasn't the best, but I thought it fair to assume attempting to account for every combination of even just one thousand Skills would produce a doorstopper of over a million pages. Somehow I did not think my potential readership would appreciate this fact, either.
Of course, I didn't need to include every combination. But it bore repeating: I knew nearly thirty thousand first-tier Skills! Even if I trimmed them down to the common ones... I thought of Tom's [Cooking], Hannah's blacksmithing Skills, Blake's specific Set. But they were unusual multi-class exceptions, right? No, was I already trying to cut corners?
My mentor's gentle doubts hadn't shaken my confidence, but it was well and truly shattered now. As my face crumpled, Executive Clancy nodded. "Ideas are easy. Implementation is where the real work begins. I trust you agree you lack the ability to implement your proposed project yourself?"
"Yes," I said. I felt near tears.
"Chin up," she said, studying me. "It's only your first proposal."
"I know that! It's just, I was really hoping... never mind."
"No, go on."
"I thought I could help all those adventurers around the world trying to find their Paths. And not only adventurers."
Her lips twitched. "Overburdened with responsibility, are we? At your ripe old age of seventeen?"
I frowned. "I'm turning eighteen next month."
"Well," she said, "You're in luck. As it happens, we have a plan to turn your proposal into reality."
I blinked. My hopes, which had just crashed and burned, stirred in the dying flames of the wreckage. But no matter how my mind raced, I couldn't think how to salvage the situation. "You do?"
"We were quite fortunate to interest someone in your project. Well, more precisely, we persuaded him you can assist him with his. We expect you'll only receive minor credit corresponding to your contribution, but even that should be enough participation in research to qualify for accreditation."
I nodded impatiently. Even I had heard of vicious disputes arising out of name placements, but as with my nonprofit publication I wasn't particularly interested in that. No, what I wanted to know was: "But how can he help? And who is he?"
Executive Clancy's face split into a wide, toothy grin. Coupled with her orange hair, she looked the picture of mischief. "You shall see, and... a Master Scholar."
I gaped at her.
----------------------------------------
"Junior Loress? Rowena?"
I hadn't fainted or anything so dramatic. No, my mind just... blanked for a moment there.
I considered this a perfectly normal response to her dropped bombshell.
I mean, a Master Scholar? Wasn't that major overkill for a little project such as mine? I felt like I'd made a few suggestions to a library assistant about ordering more books only to be introduced to the library director overseeing the construction of a whole new state-of-the-art library. How could I possibly assist him? This... this had to be a joke, right?
"You know, perhaps it's a good thing we are meeting him now," Executive Clancy said. I stared at her -- again -- too stunned for words. "Come on, girl. Wasn't your grandmother a Master Scholar?"
That successfully kicked me out of my stupor. I swallowed. "We're meeting him today? Now?"
"He isn't known for patience." Her lips twitched. "Have you used a portal before?"
Together we walked to the Adventurer's Guildhall, except we took a different entrance that was much more heavily warded and guarded. The colorful interior decorating was the same, though, with added signs reminding us not to carry a variety of items that would likely be damaged in transit.
As we apparently had an appointment, the entire affair was briskly conducted: we passed through the security checkpoints, including a quick truth test, and then continued on to our designated room. Dominating the center was effectively a hole in the fabric of reality through which I could see a similar room, the walls even the same cheery red, except the viewpoint was at just a slightly different angle. If not for the bright blue glow outlining the portal or the intensity of the area's mana disruption, the portal might have seemed more like a gigantic lens.
Fortunately, this was not my first time, and I followed Executive Clancy through easily. The air seemed to briefly constrict, but other than that twinge in the moment of passing, it rather felt like I'd just stepped over a threshold into another room. Yes, that was the exact same shade of red, no doubt to help alleviate disorientation.
However, when we emerged from the room and Guildhall, we were in the city of Numbra. Our small steps had taken us halfway across the continent.
I looked around with slight curiosity at first while following the Executive, but from my perspective it was one more city like them all, and then we were approaching an even more familiar and welcome sight: the library. I couldn't help but goggle as we entered, turning in place to take it all in.
"It's larger on the inside! This is... this must be twice the size of Wilton's!" I hissed, keeping my voice low in respect. Then again, our branch lacked a resident Master Scholar. I suddenly felt shortchanged, though I wasn't sure if my feelings were on my own or my library's behalf. "I didn't know Numbra was such a significant city."
"It isn't," Executive Clancy said, "But it is in the Solarian Empire, and the Emperor is a significant patron of our guild. You should see the Guildhall in the capital. The only one larger is our headquarters." Wherever that was. "Come, no doubt he's waiting impatiently for us."
I gulped -- no, that was a good sign, right? -- and followed closely as she led me past rows and rows of gleaming shelves to the private rooms. At least the layout appeared essentially the same as Wilton's. She marched directly to an unassuming door, knocked on it, and entered.
The three occupants inside gave me a slight pause. I was fairly sure the closest and only one standing was an Executive; he was wearing the same black robes as Executive Clancy. The other two were in Scholars' robes. (So was I, as I didn't dare risk my Empathy-suppressing mage robes in the portal.) One, a scruffy bearded man, was hunched over, the better to squint through a lens at a mana-infused but currently inert artifact. I would've taken him for the Master Scholar, except when Executive Clancy said, "Master Thorne," he didn't react at all.
Rather, the third and final person looked up. I was... surprised? First, I would've justifiably assumed he was a woman but for the prior pronoun use. He had delicate features -- I wondered if he didn't have a little elfin blood in him -- glossy black hair longer than mine, and glasses lit with mana. Also, he didn't seem much older than me. But he was a Master Scholar. He couldn't have achieved his rank without incredible talent, luck, and effort... the last of which took more years than we'd had. Right?
He was just a lot younger and... prettier... than I was expecting. Also friendlier: he positively beamed at us. "You're here! Do you have a personal orb?"
Realizing he was speaking to me, I managed to say, "No."
"Shame, I might've slipped you some free add-ons. The rich get all the riches, don't we? Here, watch this." He spoke in a rapid-fire voice and without pausing waved around his own orb, which sent out a quick pulse of mana.
I found myself staring at my projected image. A voice said: "HUMAN. ESTIMATED SIXTEEN YEARS OF AGE. IDENTITY UNKNOWN."
"Update file," he said. "Subject is named Rowena Loress. Junior Scholar."
There was a pause, then: "CONFIRMED."
He scanned a long-suffering Executive Clancy next. "KNOWN ENTITY. SARAH CLANCY. EXECUTIVE SCHOLAR."
My jaw dropped. I couldn't believe such a tiny artifact was capable of so much! Just how small did the runes need to be? Looking around at the materials strewn across the table, I realized even my [Advanced Appraisal] wasn't enough to inspect the individual components. The purpose and necessity of the Master's glasses suddenly became more clear.
Speaking of whom, he scanned himself with a smile, saying, "Fair turnabout."
"KNOWN ENTITY. JESSIE THORNE. MASTER SCHOLAR."
"Super, right?" the Master said, grinning proudly. (And could I just mention here how amazing it was he was this genuine and affable?) "A collaboration with Inova. They're businesspeople but still good people. Anyway, this is only a fraction of the OmniOrb's working functions. We've been trying to make it recognize everything: human, object, plant, monster... Imagine the possibilities!"
I did. I couldn't help myself, asking, "It can scan and identify monsters?"
"Sure. And before you ask, yes, it then spits out warnings, weaknesses, anything worth harvesting... It's basically an interactive baby bestiary."
"That's amazing! This OmniOrb is a new invention?" I should've heard of it years ago otherwise.
"Well, it's been successfully created but not mass replicated... mind, only on our side. But not like we can ask dungeons to pretty please borrow their tech. Oh I just love Inova's ridiculous rivalry with those golems! Sadly our little OmniOrb isn't omni-anything at this point. Still can't identify a monster by just its trail or droppings or pieces of the body. Admittedly, part of the trouble is fitting so much information into something pocket-sized. Everybody who can afford one of these should have a storage item, but no, they--"
"Master Thorne."
I jolted as I was abruptly reminded we weren't alone in the room. However, as my gaze darted to the Executive who'd spoken and then the other silent Scholar in the room, neither of them seemed to pay me the least attention.
Instead, the addressed Master visibly refocused. "Right, so why you're here. We have considered pivoting away from visual recognition and interpretation to strictly word-based inputs. For example, right now this won't scan other artifacts at all due to mana disruption. But if the user instead directly inputs their own observations of the artifact in question, they could narrow down the list of possibilities and then use the process of elimination."
"Oh," I said, as understanding dawned. "You plan to include Skills in the OmniOrb. And... have it give Skill Advice?" I added this last hopefully.
"Yes" -- my heart leapt -- "but we'll have to rename it." He put down the personal orb and picked up a... personal book? Regarding it, he sighed. "OmniBook just doesn't have the same ring as OmniOrb. Well, let's get started already."
First I was to Scribe every single Skill I knew with as much detail as possible into the pages. Any page would do, and the words were absorbed along with the information. "If the user can just write on the first page," I asked, "Why do we need a whole book?"
"We don't," Master Thorne answered. "That's just aesthetics and marketing. People have been primed by books, Skill Books, and grimoires to see book-shaped objects as valuable sources of information and magic. A magical sheet of paper doesn't have the same appeal... and would actually be so much harder to make or proof against damage, so you would think it would be more valuable..."
I listened with more than half an ear as I continued Scribing. Conveniently, my time spent here doubled as contributions toward my compilation, as he'd assured me the ultra-expensive artifact was fully capable of reproducing my inputted Skills, alphabetically sorted.
"Can it scan a whole book?" I asked.
"No," he said, "Only one page at a time. An oversight I will correct... right now."
He wasn't joking. The Master started to dismantle the OmniOrb as I watched, explaining information collected from one could be transferred to the other. After a moment, I Scribed a book. I'd needed a preexisting blank book before my upgrade; would I ever stop thrilling over [Enhanced Scribe]?
"Oh, you have [Perfect Recall]?"
I glanced up from inspecting my softcover creation and flushed. "No."
"Huh. Probably better that way; you know immortals tend to go batty? You might be the beneficiary of Skill seepage. Do you have family with [Perfect Recall]?"
"Um. I don't know."
In the moment, I was feeling terribly awed and humbled. He was tinkering with microscopic runes while chatting with me! I only needed to scan pages and flip, scan more pages and flip, and yet I felt contrastingly tongue-tied. Just when he'd lulled me in with his friendly nature, he reminded me of the vast gulf between us.
But he was just so friendly! "Well, can you talk now...? Super. I haven't yet explained how the OmniBook -- ugh -- will work. I want your help designing and testing an interactive questionnaire. The user writes, or maybe they'll be able to voice their answers, and this goes on until finally they receive personalized advice. You're a Path Advisor, right?"
"Yes," I said, not bothering to correct him.
"I want you to bring the OmniBook... BetaBook? PathBook? Inova will try to call it the InovaBook if I let them... anyway, bring it into work tomorrow and try using it. Or do you think that will interfere with your job?"
I stared. "Um. You expect to finish this prototype tonight?"
I knew he was a Master Scholar and all, but I couldn't help a bit of skepticism. However, I sensed nothing but pure confidence and energy from him. "When else? Oh, do you still sleep regular hours? Such a waste of time, that's how many hours lost... Here."
He tossed something at me. I only had enough time to blink in shock before Executive Clancy nimbly plucked it from the air. "Really, Master Thorne."
"Whoops, my bad! You should drink that now."
I Appraised his gift with gratified curiosity. I wasn't that familiar with potions, sadly, but just judging from the bottle... "Is this your own brew?"
"Of course. What self-respecting Alchemist would use someone else's?"
He was an Alchemist on top of a Master Scholar? Ah... Maybe he used potions to keep himself looking young?
"Anyway, my potions work best on myself, fortunately and unfortunately. You should still feel like you're missing an hour or two of sleep after our all-nighter, but you can catch up tomorrow night. Or after this week. It's not only substitute sleep either! Should give you a bit of a buzz, stop you from falling asleep physically or mentally, basically."
I didn't tell him so, but I thought I hardly needed an energy drink so long as I was with him. I was positively thrumming with it already. Nor did I mind pulling an all-nighter, and not only thanks to his assist.
Rather, today had been more than a good day. I felt more certain than ever of reaching Learned in an amazingly short time, but even better... I felt inspired.