The battle lasted another couple hours, but the fortress was never in serious danger again. The centitaurs eventually came to the grapplers’ aid and drove off the high-level hero, but it was too late. The slingers could have battered Gloe if he had tried to put up a structure under fire, but they had real difficulty punching through his imbue and the thick carts.

They eventually smashed the jury-rigged defense, but until they did the centitaurs were driven off every time they tried to hit the gate. Stretching out the engagement gave the defenders time to pick off the slingers, and they did. One by one their numbers dwindled, until they no longer had the massed fire to inundate the wall above the gate reliably.

It was at that point that the craftsmen brought up hastily thrown-together mantlets. That more or less ended the centitaurs-as-battering rams gambit. The demonlings tried a few more assault waves, but eventually they fell back to the other side of the trench. There were howls and roars for a while, then they fell silent and retreated completely.

Gloe was glad to be alive, but he was also fairly disappointed. He’d spent most of the battle mucking about with inanimate objects. Not a lot of experience there.

And he clearly needed all he could get. Even his brief observation had told him the hero of that battle had to be at several times his level. If that was the caliber the duke could deploy Gloe was going to have to become much more powerful if he ever wanted to be able to escape.

“Greetings my friend.”

Gloe about jumped out of his skin. A moment ago there had been no one near him, as testified to by both his enhanced senses and the absence of close proximity sources of emotion to eat. That changed at the same time the stranger began to speak. How had he closed the distance so quickly?

“My apologies if I startled you.” His face showed only beneficent concern, but Gloe could taste deep if fleeting satisfaction. “My name is Marore, and as you have probably deduced I am a sojourner like you, albeit one with a far less tragic background.”

He was very controlled. Only little flickers of emotion threatened to unduly influence him, and those were right at the threshold of what Gloe could taste and consume. Made it hard to get a read on him. “Sorry, must have me confused with someone else. I’m not a sojourner.”

Marore smiled gently. “Please. I understand why you would be bitter regarding the subject, but let us not waste time on meaningless denials.” He pointed at his glowing eyes. “You cannot fool god-eyes. I can see the ki lines inside you, read them. No aberration has more than one ability, but neither of yours bear the marks of a divine boon. Yet their roots contain far more power than can be seen outside of the chosen or sojourners.”

“I know your life journey so far must have been painful. I can see traces of it. The arrival at the Divine Bazaar. The exciting anticipation of a new, blessed life. The terrible accident. Abilities twisted and warped, interface and infrastructure stripped away. Born in bleak circumstances, confused and lost, without guidance on how your abilities worked or how to grow. Slowly growing and figuring out things yourself, all while becoming bitter at the world and society that had abandoned you.”

Utilizing his full enhanced acting ability Gloe nodded attentively as if spellbound. Inside he was laughing. Completely wrong. What a windbag.

“But you grew. You persevered. The path may have been difficult and full of hardship and misunderstanding, but it brought you to our attention. I represent the Sophic Zephyr, one of the top eleven guilds in the duchy. We recognize your potential. I’m here to take you away from all this and sponsor you in the academy. When you graduate you’ll have a guaranteed spot with us.”

“If you do well enough we can probably even secure you an audience with a high-level cleric, one who can rebuild your UI. I can barely even detect your interface, so it must be a mess in there. It must be terrible not knowing how far you have to go to reach your next level, or exactly what your level-ups give you.”

Gloe painted a pained look on his face, then looked into the distance plaintively. “I think I’d rather just go back to the deep wyld. Things were simpler there.”

Marore nodded sympathetically, but Gloe tasted a growing trickle of superiority and contempt. “I can see why you would feel that way. This certainly did not turn out to be the grand adventure you hoped, but it can still turn around. This is your opportunity.”

“As a sojourner you are a major part, a major player in this world now. You cannot just turn your back on that, but if you learn how the system works you can thrive, and more. Sophic Zephyr is a power in the duchy, and we believe in rewarding achievements. If you perform well and rise in rank we can easily secure permits to hunt in the deep wyld. Beyond that though, you can be knighted and landed. An estate, servants, luxuries, but more than that, a place that belongs to you, and a place where you belong.”

Gloe couldn’t conclusively pinpoint why, but despite his self-proclaimed ‘god-eyes’ this pompous asshole was completely falling for his act. Because of that he’d let too much slip already. Gloe would be ‘given’ all sorts of benefits, he would be ‘permitted’ all sorts of freedoms, but only if he ‘performed.’ Gloe read that as ‘complied sycophantically.’

In his last life he’d noticed there seemed to be some finite sets of qualities required to thrive and advance in society. He couldn’t nail down what they all were, but he’d lived long enough to realize that whatever they were, he didn’t have them. No matter how well he did, how hard he worked, how long he tried it was never quite right. Never quite what society wanted.

There was no reason to believe that had changed. He had new abilities, enhancements to his previous ones, but he was still essentially the same person deep down. His heart was still that of an over-achieving loser: just a bit too intelligent and earnest to fit in, a tad too much of a romantic to give up completely, but an awkward over-thinker who would never really understand who or what he ought to be. At least, not without the benefit of hindsight.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

This was an aristocratic society too. It didn’t even pretend to be full of upward-mobility. If he’d struggled while free how was he going to rise from the rank of criminal and slave in a world ruled by class-conscious noblemen?

In the divine bazaar one of the first danger indicators had been the slight stress everyone had placed on the fact that all sojourners were born to noble families. He’d questioned why that mattered. Surely someone with these amazing abilities would excel regardless of their origin? Their vague answers had started his bullshit detector humming. His minimal interactions with nobility once he’d arrived here had vindicated that response.

The alarms were going off once again. Gloe would never rise to the top of Sophic Zephyr. He might be knighted someday if he was a good little soldier and did what he was told, but he’d always be a middle-ranker, a back-bencher, a mob character. If he ever did anything to stand out he’d be pruned back, if he was lucky.

So the answer was not only no, but hell no. If Gloe was going to make it in this world he was going to have to find a new way. If he couldn’t at least he could go out somewhat on his own terms. Besides, he hadn’t given up on his dream. Not yet, not entirely.

This dipshit didn’t need to know all that though. “It sounds nice, but I don’t want to pretend to be a sojourner.”

Now a spike of irritation flared from Marore. “This charade has gone on long enough. Aberrations don’t have multiple abilities, so you must be either a chosen or a sojourner. You don’t speak like a nobleman or a commoner, ipso facto you are a sojourner. I do not know what precisely happened to foul up your arrival, and I understand that it must have made you bitter. However there is no point in pouting childishly. It is time to cease wallowing in misfortune and make something of yourself. We will examine and question you, ascertain what happened, and remedy what we can.”

Riiiiight. It occurred belatedly to Gloe that part of Marore’s motivation might be nailing down the source of the ‘accident.’ They had no way of knowing Gloe’s journey had been deliberate. If the ‘misfortune’ began happening to more sojourners it could introduce a destabilizing element.

“Sorry, but I’m not a sojourner. When I was a child I was imprisoned with a sojourner. I was lonely so I picked up some of his mannerisms.” Gloe shrugged.

“Nonsense.” The voice was very certain, but doubt crept into his eyes. “Sojourners are almost never imprisoned. Certainly not with commoners.”

“The demons don’t care.” Gloe laughed. “I was at Wiitsboro.”

Marore paused in thought. “I have no way to verify that. Records from the early parts of that campaign are scanty at best.”

Gloe laughed again. “That’s not my problem.”

Another long pause. “No. No. My eyes cannot be fooled. You must be a sojourner. You can’t be an aberration.”

Gloe stared off into the distance again, theatrically this time. “You know, no one ever believes me when I say that. I wonder why? It must be my burden in life.”

“Enough. Come back with me. We will conclusively determine precisely what you are. Once we prove you are a sojourner everything will improve for you.”

“Wow you’re stubborn. I would know if I was a sojourner, wouldn’t I? I’m not going back with you. Last time they found out I wasn’t a sojourner they got really mad, and I don’t think their temperament will improve from repetition.”

It was barely noticeable, but Marore’s eyes flicked off to the east, just for a moment. The sudden outpouring of fear was far from subtle though. “It will not go well for you if you remain here.” There was an oddly muted, almost choked quality to his voice.

Gloe smiled. “It never does. I’ll take my chances.”

“I cannot allow such a waste. You will thank me someday.” Marore took one step, and suddenly he was behind his target. Too fast. Almost no time to react. Gloe barely managed to detach before the blow fell, and darkness with it.

...

Without sensory data it was almost impossible to gauge the passage of time while detached. But since his ability had improved he was able to use that. He couldn’t access any information about his body directly, but he could see when the draw for regeneration faded. Presumably that meant he was more or less healed. Or something was interfering somehow. Or he was dying. Or there wasn’t enough of his body left to regenerate.

Hopefully he was recovered. He dithered for a few timeless moments, then returned. Phew.

He felt mostly intact, but he feigned unconsciousness while he regained his planar equilibrium. Smelled like Tranche. Felt like he was still on the ground. He didn’t feel any manacles or bindings. Slight sounds of someone stirring slightly from high above. He’d been near one of the watchtowers, so perhaps he hadn’t moved very far.

No sign of Marore, but that wasn’t dispositive. Still, he had to take a chance. He made one last attempt to detect anything amiss, then he made his move.

He held off opening his eyes until he was in motion, rolling up and onto his hands, then pushing himself off into the air. As his vision returned Marore flashed into view and struck. His jab effortlessly penetrated Gloe’s shroud and slipped in towards the throat. Too fast and precise to parry, it was perfectly calculated to avoid all plausible defenses. So Gloe twitched and took the blow in the eye.

It cost him the entire eye and some of the nerves behind, but bought him a few seconds. His handspring ended with a feet-first impact into the watchtower, and he immediately began running up it. Didn’t stop until he was perched atop the flagpole. An old trick, but one that had done him a lot of good in the past. And truthfully, if this didn’t work, he didn’t have a lot of options. Marore was way too fast and powerful.

But a sojourner, and Gloe’s theory was that sojourners tended to be min/maxers. Specialists who were extremely good at a limited number of things. Gloe had only minimal information on Marore’s abilities, but climbing was a bit situational. Perhaps Marore had foregone it.

Judging by the frustration that was leaking out, such was the case. Marore looked up for a while, his eyes glowing subtly. After a few minutes he opened his mouth to say something, then apparently thought better of it. A quick glance to the east yielded more fear. Then he turned and gracefully glided away without another word.

Gloe watched his departure from the tower. Didn’t come down until the kavars had faded into the distance. Then he let himself down slowly, still alert, but also pensive. Four kavars seemed a little excessive. Marore had made no effort to recruit anyone else, so he must have brought remounts. Combine that with the fear he’d leaked…

After a few minutes contemplation Gloe drifted to the wall. Nothing visible to the east. Yet. He wandered a bit farther, popped up atop a watchtower. Sat there in silence for a while.

“I see that guild rep has left” the voice came casually from below.

“Yeah. In quite a hurry too.”

“Heard he came pretty far” Oresus supplied. “Odd he wasn’t more persistent.”

“Yeah.” Gloe lowered his voice. “He was keeping a pretty close god-eye on the east.”

“Oh.” There was a long silence. “I guess we’d better maintain a good watch then.”

“Yeah.”