Evil cannot be vanquished by sword or stratagem until it is first purged from the soul. And a soul, bound in chains, can never be clean nor pure. True goodness, the kind that reshapes worlds, demands the freedom to choose—to walk the hard path or the easy one, to grasp the dagger or to stay the hand. Only then can the light of righteousness truly shine.
- From the Analects on Quassian Discourse.
As I ate my lunch of dried rice and oddly textured curried meat, I took stock of my situation. The curry had a deep, savory, earthy flavor that wasn’t bad, but the meat was inconsistent—chewy in some parts, tender in others, and occasionally bordering on gristle. Still, it was one of the better meals I’d eaten in this world.
I cursed at whoever had written this scenario. Companions who promised to be with until the end had disappeared to whoever knew where. The way things had lined had an artificial stink about it of a planned fate or story. Were Kidu and Elwin the initial companions that this game gave me to show me the ropes as it were? Was this finally the start of the main story?
My sudden boost in general power gave strength to this thought. Being the main character, I had always been stronger than those around me, but my recent growth made a mockery of the difficulty curve.
As for how I could grow, magic was indeed an option. I tried to get Larynda to explain to me how it worked, I sort of understood the theory of it, the general explanations, but putting the mumbo-jumbo into practice simply could not be done. At least for me. Not to mention that some part of my modern and civilized mind simply could not put aside its disbelief and railed against its very concept.
It was no big loss, however, as spells took an extremely long time to learn from concepts. The half-elven girl was, of course, an exception. From her, I even tried again to make Seals, but like last time without a point of reference for my magic, it was simply impossible. Also, the whole thing was a lot of song and dance and far too much hard work.
If I wanted to pursue magic through a more academic and conceptual approach, I would need a dedicated teacher. There was only so much you could learn on your own—or from a young girl who was still learning herself. That was of course if I could learn that way at all. A part of me knew that there was simply an incompatibility between my way of thinking and the way this world simply worked. I simple could not bring my mind to accept all the mysticism.
Therefore, I decided it would be best if I just muddled along as I had, through practice and trial and error. Learning from scrolls of magic too was probably out of the question. After all, the Water Witch had warned me of the danger of learning any more magic from them.
No matter which way my thoughts cut it, the situation I had found myself in was all so very strange and inconvenient. More annoying than anything else was that I had no choice but to play along, to dance to a scenario that was out of my control. Was this how the ancient heroes of antiquity felt when they railed against prophecy and the fates? Had I become the same as them?
No, I thought to myself, swallowing the last spoonful of my meal. I would not allow it to be so.
*****
I started back, alone, to the Vincenzio’s den under the Guild. I told Larynda not to come with me and to lie low for at least a day or two. It would not be the wisest of moves to travel together at the moment.
The sun-baked streets buzzed with rumors from the day before. Occasionally, I paused to eavesdrop on a particularly juicy one, pretending to browse a vendor's goods or peer through the cloudy glass of a shop window.
One rumor claimed that the Council had sent scores of Guards to drive the evil foreigners out of the city by force. Another, more troubling one, suggested that war with Aranthia was imminent—an impossibility, I believed, given Al-Lazar’s geographical position. The logistics alone made such an idea absurd, leading most to dismiss that source outright. Yet, another, more credible rumor struck closer to the truth. The Council had reportedly dispatched one of their agents, a Sleeper of the Dust, to "clean house." Sending a single Sleeper, according to the rumor monger, was a clear display of Al-Lazar’s might.
The Council, made up of Al-Lazar’s powerful Great Houses, was far from unified. Factions were everywhere, each more inclined to suspect one another than to consider outside threats. So far, through a stroke of luck and careful maneuvering, my deception was holding. Perhaps, with a bit more finesse, I could even implicate one of the Great Houses in the debacle. After all, those in power needed only the flimsiest excuse to unleash their long-held ambitions.
However, I would need the Necromancer’s advice on how to proceed. As much as I loathed the idea—and with my trust in him rapidly dwindling—I had no other point of reference for navigating this game, which was far beyond my depth. If the challenge were something I could overcome with a strike of my hammer or a clenched fist, I’d be ready. But here, in this strange land, I was playing a game whose rules I didn’t even begin to understand.
It was a good thing to admit one’s weakness, I noted to myself. An objective analysis of one’s situation was important for self-improvement.
I needed to lie low, but on the way to the Guild I could not help but indulge myself. Sometimes you just needed to cut loose. The Necromancer could abide a while longer. Last night had emboldened me, and reminded me that I was a powerful man, and the morning after double so. My new powers need testing, namely my new spell ‘Entropic Strike.’
Cutting into a side street I went to look for trouble.
Quiet. Quiet. Nothing.
The ancient wisdom was correct, trouble only found you when you were not looking for it. That was the nature of things, or so it seemed.
Just as I was about to give up, I turned a corner and saw five youths in the shadow of an old dilapidated building. They were surrounding a boy curled up on the ground and taking turns kicking him.
“Khalid, what you mean you forgot to bring the money?!” one of them snarled, a big guy with the first signs of a fuzzy beard.
The boy on the ground—Khalid, I assumed—just squirmed, trying to shield himself from their blows.
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Bullies I noted.
“You’re pathetic, Khal! Your dad’s some big-shot adventurer, and you’re this weak? Were you adopted or something?” another one taunted, his pudgy face twisted with cruelty.
A skinny one delivered a particularly nasty kick to Khalid’s side. “C’mon, fight back! Didn’t you wanna be an adventurer too? Don’t you have it in you to stand up for yourself?”
“Nah, he just all empty words!” another one of them laughed and was soon joined by the others.
Scanning the area, I saw that no one else was in this particular quiet place. Perfect. It was time to introduce myself.
Without my armor, I found that I could walk surprisingly quietly despite my low-level Stealth skill.
“Who are you then?” one of them asked rudely as I walked up to the group. I noticed that they were not much younger than me.
Ignoring him completely, I drew the dark forces of the universe into me, a dark song which I only knew a few notes of. Still, it would be more than enough than enough.
I knelt as if to give aid to their victim. Khalid looked up at me with an almost sickening, defeated but hopeful expression. So lost, it all but begged me to end his existence. I will avenge you Khalid, I will give your pathetic life some meaning.
I struck downwards towards the pathetic heap of flesh that was whimpering on the ground, the so-called son of an adventurer. Raw entropy covered my hand as it shot out towards his skull, the physical force almost shattering it in a visceral explosion of blood, bone, and grey matter. I was lucky not to get any on me.
You have slain a human 5 experience gained.
"Only five experience points?" I muttered to myself.
Putting that aside, I discovered, more importantly, that Entropic Strike cost a single point of Mana and required ten points of Stamina to use. Intriguing, but what were its other effects?
As I watched, a black coloration began to creep over Khalid’s corpse, sinking into the rotting flesh. It seemed likely to trigger a damage-over-time effect on the target.
Instead of the expected screams from the bullies, there was silence. They were tougher than I’d anticipated; I’ll give them that.
“You… you killed him,” one of them stammered, his voice shaky as he collapsed onto the floor, his legs giving out in horror.
I stood slowly and wiped my hands on Khalid’s clothes. Looking down at the trembling boy, I smiled coldly. “No, you did. All of you. You killed Khalid in this building. What motive would I have for killing him? But you? You were probably well-known for bullying him. Maybe he took his own life, or maybe you had a direct hand in it. Who knows? That’s what others will believe. Of that, I’m certain,” I said sternly with an evil grin, savoring their terror. I felt powerful. “As for me, consider me a sort of angel—a servant of the Goddess, delivering the knife of mercy.”
My words hung in the air like a specter, and animal fear its shadow.
To add my lie that would soon become the enshrined truth, I cast Decay on the body. The Entropic magic intertwined, twisting and writhing as it reduced the corpse to a bubbling mess of goo. Soon, Khalid’s corpse would be nothing but dust.
I made my exit, feeling the boys’ eyes boring into my back, their terror palpable. They knew the truth in my words, and it was good they didn’t follow me. Had they done so, I would have killed them. On an instinctual level, I’m sure they knew that too.
For the rest of their lives, they would question their own weakness and their hand in Khalid’s death.
*****
Cleaning my hands at a quiet water fountain, I washed away the last evidence of my little interlude. With a skip to my step, I made the rest of the way to the Guild.
Just inside the reception area, I caught sight of a familiar face working behind one of the counters. My mind raced to recall her name—Aldina, yes, that was it.
The Guild was, as expected, bustling at this hour, with a steady flow of adventurers and petitioners coming and going. Aldina was occupied with a short fellow who was yelling at her at the top of his lungs. She maintained a fixed, polite expression, and I noticed that the years had treated her kindly. Only a slight tightness around her eyes and a hint of sternness in her polite smile revealed time’s inevitable passage. The once-mousy woman had weathered it well, even gaining a touch of confidence in her demeanor.
I would reacquaint myself with her at some other time. For now, it was time to meet with the Necromancer.
*****
By now, in this new world, I had probably drunk enough tea to fill a small lake. It seemed to be the drink of choice in polite company, offered at all hours of the day. Still, I missed the dark delight of coffee and found myself craving variety. This world had many parallels to my old one, but I had yet to discover an equivalent to coffee.
“You have the mark of fresh tormented death about you. I can sense it upon you,” Vincenzio remarked in observation.
I settled into a comfortable chair at a round dark wood table, sipping a herbal infusion as I considered the Necromancer’s words. My next words had to be chosen carefully.
“Al-Lazar has become a more cruel place,” was my blunt non-answer.
He nodded, taking in my words at face value.
"Word has it that your recent escapades, whether by design or sheer luck, have shifted most of the blame onto House Alim, the most powerful House in Al-Lazar," Vincenzio remarked, his voice laced with dry amusement. "Those who stand opposed to Alim have been particularly vocal in their complaints about its independent heavy-handedness."
I set my cup down on the table. "And remind me, why should this be a problem? Doesn't this play into our hands?"
"One could argue both sides," he responded, a hint of optimism in his tone. "Personally, one would say it does. But with the Houses at each other's throats, it's bad news for the common folk. If things boil over, we could see blood in the streets—that's just one concern. Still, it's a small price to pay for our greater objective." He shrugged, but there was an undeniable intensity in his ancient eyes. "This could also be an opportunity for you to ingratiate yourself with one of the Houses. My initial plan was for you to do so after making a good impression at the Festival, but events have a way of twisting in unexpected directions."
"I assume our timeline has been moved up?" I asked.
"Precisely," he replied swiftly. "I have business with Salahaem tomorrow. It will be the perfect opportunity for you to make your introduction."
The response was too quick, too rehearsed, as if Vincenzio had been waiting for just the right moment. My instincts told me there was more to this than he was letting on.
"Who or what is Salahaem?" I probed, seeking a deeper truth.
"One forgets that, in effect, you have spent only a little time in this city. They were once a major House and held several seats on the Council. Since Alim has risen in power, Salahaem has, in turn, diminished," he replied, seemingly without hesitation.
"And, out of curiosity, how does one gain seats on the Council, anyway?" I inquired, watching his expression closely for any hint of deceit.
The pale man rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "It's quite simple, really. The number of seats a House can gain on the Council is directly tied to its wealth. The more a House donates to the upkeep and order of the city, the more seats it is granted. A simple but effective system."
Simple and effective, perhaps, but also likely mired in corruption. The gnawing unease in my gut grew stronger. It was time to confront the issue head-on.
"Why the Salahaem?" I demanded, my voice firm. "Speak plainly, without obfuscation or deception. Do not test my patience, Vincenzio. You are hiding something, and you owe me the truth."