Update Finalizing

ETA: 1 day

Notice

Through studying Intelligence has increased.

+15 points to Intelligence.

Halfway through the night he found it. Wrapped within a maze of knowledge, deep within the pages of the Book of Infinite Knowledge, was the seed of knowledge he desired. Not in the section he had expected, infuriatingly, and yet to read the words he felt his foolishness become embarrassment.

DNA, the spiraling strands that were the framework of all life, was the obvious perpetrator. Yet DNA, in all its twisting glory, could not bring about such a sudden deterioration of the flesh. In days, unlikely. Weeks, possibly. But only if the changes were incorrect, which, as he delved over the theory once more, he was certain was not the case.

Rubbing his eyes, which were strained from staring at the bright blue screen before him, Alden guessed that he would need to continue his studying throughout the night. The idea, that in his search to alter DNA he had, unwittingly, pierced the cell walls with his mana in such a way as to bring about their destruction, was a simple one. Yet the act of correcting this mistake, of piercing the cell walls to alter what laid within without harming the cell itself, required a complex solution.

He took a sip from his cup, the cool water washing over his dried tongue. He had lost himself in studying and, as he delved back into the depths of infinite knowledge, lost himself once more.

Just before dawn his presence was needed, concerning a small dispute between two farmers, and when he was done he returned to his manor. Standing on the balcony of his manor, which faced east, Alden could see down the hill to the lakefront. Off to the south his newly built racetrack could be seen, already abuzz with visitors.

He saw Dayan roaming at the racetrack’s edge, a group of Bloody Grass warriors in tow. From the early hours, before the sun had even risen, Dayan tread from one end of the racetrack to the other, his attention fixated on the stables and, during a few rare moments, Alden’s manor. As hours passed and midday came, his pacing became more impatient, more impassioned. The time was almost upon them.

Alden left the manor and traipsed down the hill toward the racetrack feeling annoyed. He, too, was impatient. But while Dayan longed for the start of their match, Alden longed for its end. The result was already known, requiring only the simple tedious movements to bring it about. A hammer striking the nail.

As he walked down the hill, his feet plodding along the newly cobbled road, Alden focused his attention on his screen, feeling the least bit of uncertainty regarding the match. Though he had done nothing in particular, there was the unmistakable feeling of strength in his limbs, as if they were loaded springs waiting to be unleashed. He supposed he, too, was beginning to feel the excitement in the air.

At the racetrack's edge a crowd had gathered and a ruckus was already stirring.

“Things will be changing soon,” Bilge said to the crowd, his voice bellowing over the complaints of the others. “Dayan is greatest warrior of Bloody Grass. When he wins, barony shall be changed. No more fishing! No more buildings! We are not Ahngira. We do not rear sheep. We are warriors! We are conquerors!”

The crowd parted as Gosfrid pushed his way through. “You aren’t shit,” he said, approaching Bilge. Behind him were a number of his proteges, as well as Caldwell and Uhtric, all of them worried. Gosfrid was all tension, a coiled snake ready to bite, and when he stopped in front of Bilge there was but a few inches between them. Neither seemed likely to back down.

“I am a warrior,” Bilge yelled, spittle splashing against Gosfrid’s face. The archer wiped it awaym then he threw a punch that never landed; Caldwell and Uhtric saw the blow coming and wrapped their arms around him, pulling him away kicking and screaming from what would have been a dirty fight.

“Let me go!” Gosfrid yelled. Alden chuckled at his frustration and, hearing it, Bilge’s attention was suddenly turned to him.

“Welcomes to the current lord,” Bilge said, arms wide. “Dayan waits.”

“Fuck that,” Gosfrid said. Having escaped the grasp of his fellows, he trotted up to Bilge again, all anger. “Dayan wants to fight, he can damn well get over here and fight.”

“It doesn’t matter if I go to him or if he comes to me,” Alden said.

“Oh, but it damn well does, milord,” Gosfrid said. “This lot’s been too eager lately. Think the battle’s already won. Well, fuck that, I say. You’re the lord. They want to change that, they can come to you. Isn’t that right, Bilge?”

Bilge regarded him a moment, sizing him up. There was the expectation that he, much like Gosfrid, would respond with violence, or else stubbornness. Instead, Bilge nodded. “Fine,” he said.

Putting two fingers to his mouth, Bilge whistled a high, piercing sound. There was motion on the other side of the crowd, which peeled apart to reveal Dayan and the warriors that had been accompanying him since morning. The crowd parted easily for them; there was a hint of fear in the faces of the Drygallins, as well as unbridled fascination. As much as they might have disliked admitting it, they loved a good fight as much as the Chanat.

Dayan presented himself to the group with a flared chest and slightly upraised nose, such that he could, by trick of perspective, be looking down upon the others. When he came to look upon Alden, however, the trick failed him; as much as he might have appeared the regal warriors to the others, to Alden he was but another man, and Dayan knew it.

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“We will fight now,” Dayan said, loud enough for the entire crowd to hear him. The crowd retreated into a circle at his words, leaving Alden and Dayan completely surrounded by onlookers.

Gosfrid, however, remained within the circle with the pair, limbering up his arms and legs. “You’re skippin’ a step,” he said to Dayan.

“I have skipped nothing,” Dayan said back.

In his amused mood, Gosfrid smiled, turned his head to spit, then turned back. “Things are different in Drygallis than they are in the strait. Lord Alden’s a noble. Now, might be different with him, seein’ as he can fight his own battles, but most noble’s are entitled to protection. That means if you want to fight him, you need to fight his guard first.”

“That would be you?” Dayan asked. By his tone he was unconcerned by the idea.

“That’s right,” Gosfrid said.

“Then, since I shall be the lord after my victory, I think it only fair that you fight my guard as well,” Dayan said. The crowd complained loudly enough, but did nothing to stop Bilge from entering the circle. Of size with Dayan, Bilge was much older, the creases of age plain on his face, yet his movements foretold the experience he possessed.

“Hah! We fight after all,” he said with an amiable grin.

Gosfrid, as amused with the circumstances as Bilge, returned the grin. Turning to Alden, he said: “Ready to see a fight, milord?”

Having many complaints, none of which would have changed the outcome, Alden felt weary, his prior excitement now extinguished. “Is this all really necessary?”

Gosfrid shrugged. “Suppose not. But if fightin’s to be done, I’d rather not miss it.”

Supposing that there was little he could do to stop the fight, Alden resigned himself to the crowd, where he stood in the far back. Inside the circle, Bilge and Gosfrid squared up with one another, exchanging bravado by way of snarls and the subtle movement of limbs as they inspected the other’s defenses.

Gosfrid struck first, driving forward with a jab that pushed Bilge off balance. Falling back, Bilge twisted himself, catching his balance, then threw a haymaker with deceptive speed. The blow landed, sending Gosfrid reeling back a step, then another. Bilge lunged after him, delivering another blow to the face, then another. A stream of blood poured down from Gosfrid’s nose, and his eyes seemed to follow nothing at all.

So much for being my guard. Knowing as much from the System’s ability to see his subject’s Stats, Alden still had to admit his disappointment. Bilge was the stronger and quicker of the two, and possessed the Unarmed Fighting Skill at Rank C, which even Alden did not possess. Even still, he had hoped, illogically, that Gosfrid might still prevail.

When the next punch came for him Gosfrid fell, Bilge’s fist narrowly passing by his head. Then, awakened from his stupor, Gosfrid punched up, catching Bilge in the jaw and sending the older man stumbling back.

The crowd was in full roar at the upset, and their shouts seemed to feed the archer. Stepping forward, Gosfrid lashed out with his right fist, but Bilge, expecting the blow, put his arms up to block. Gosfrid hit him again with his left, then right, then left again, pounding away at Bilge’s bare arms. Blood streaked down his forearms in thin lines.

Grabbing Bilge’s arms, Gosfrid pulled them apart and brought his head down hard. Their heads smashed together with a sickening crack; Bilge hit the ground, his body thrashing violently about, and the crowd’s cheers died.

Bilge

Health: 10/1650

Status: Fractured skull, brain hemorrhage, seizures.

Alden pushed his way into the circle then, a mixture of pride and rage swelling together in his chest. “What did I say?” he asked Gosfrid. The archer gave him an angry look. Then he looked down at Bilge, and the anger slipped away.

As Alden crouched beside the Chanat warrior and began to heal him with magic another screen appeared.

Notice

Gosfrid has leveled up!

Class Change is now available.

Available Classes:

Deadeye

Ranger

Stalker

Unable to control the smile that spread across his lips, he must have seemed a lunatic. Still, the benefits from the situation, especially one he’d have much rather avoided, were plain, and the damage to Bilge, as horrifying as it might have seemed, was well within his abilities to heal. In moments the bulk of the damage was done away with, and in a few more Bilge was able to sit upright unassisted.

“What happened?” he asked, looking dizzily about himself. Alden grabbed him by the chin to hold him still, and with his other hand opened the warrior’s right eye. The black pupil within contracted as sunlight hit it, and Bilge struggled pitifully against his grip. Releasing him, Alden scanned him again with his magic and, satisfied with the results, pat Bilge on the shoulder.

“You lost,” he said simply. Lifted to his feet by his fellow warriors, Bilge was unusually chipper concerning the news.

“Not so bad, after all,” he said as he walked away, helped along by his people.

Bilge’s chipper mood was not shared by Gosfrid who, despite winning and having only shortly ago feared he had killed his opponent, was brewing with anger once more.

“It was close,” he said. The words had a bitter sound to them. “Too damn close.”

“You still going to fight Dayan?” Alden asked.

“Of course,” Gosfrid said.

“You’ll lose.”

“I know.”

Gosfrid’s bravery, at least, deserved no admonishment, assuming that it was in fact bravery and not foolishness. Still, it was soon time, Alden thought, to bring Gosfrid into the loop regarding his ability. At the very least he would offer to advance his abilities, even if the details would have to wait.

“I won’t do it,” Gosfrid said, before Alden could offer. “I know what’s happened. I can feel it. Same fuckin’ thing that happened with Dayan. And Aerin, too, way back when. ‘Cept it ain’t happened yet, has it?”

“Not yet,” Alden said.

“Well, fuckin’ don’t. Milord. Not yet. Not until after.”

“You might win if I change you,” Alden said.

Gosfrid spat. “What’d I say? I’m sorry, milord, but please. Not yet. That fucker Bilge was gettin’ the best of me. Losing… I’m a poor fuckin’ loser, did I ever tell you that?”

“Not that I recall.”

“Well I am. But a loss means something. Means I have to get better. And I think this loss I’m about to face’ll teach me something. What, I don’t know. But if you change me, and I win, I won’t learn a damned thing.”

“I see you’re meaning,” Alden said. Then, after a pause, “I’ll wait.”

“Thanks.”

Dayan was in the ring now, striding back and forth in wait, the very image of a predator. The crowd sensed it, fed off of it. They were even louder than before, now.

Steeling himself, Gosfrid stepped toward defeat.