In the end, it was somewhat shocking how fast Rhode picked up the trick of his new level. In an unpleasant turn of events, he’d needed the status bangle to do it, though. The spirit might have been as mad as a small-town strangler, but it was capable of unparalleled insights into the state of his levels. Several times, it warned him that he was about to develop some kind of thing called a ‘rune’. The spirit described it as [Strain], and knowing it existed helped Rhode sort of metaphorically steer around it.

Eloft did most of the work, displaying just how subtle and precise his control over the air could be. Rhode stifled little paroxysms of alarm as the healer could use his magic to reach into his lungs, manipulating the pressure there in rhythm with the homunculus’s breathing. As they worked, Eloft would make several remarks about Rhode’s mana. The word had come up several times before, and though he still needed to learn more, the earthling began to understand with relief that this intangible substance might provide him with some kind of protection against the supernatural.

The priest actually guided him through the process of lowering his own defenses, which was like a kind of zen meditation. Then he gave a kind of lecture about nature of the air, which sounded like a bunch of new-age mystical mumbo jumbo. But if there was anything which Rhode had learned in his life, it was patience. So he followed the exercises and mantras, and his chest rose and fell like it was supposed to.

It all continued until the mana which had been building up in his body came crashing inwards, like a river over a floodbreak and into a new stable shape. To his chagrin, Rhode got the nagging sense that he was somehow skipping quite a few steps. It only took a few hours in the end, but then the [Skill: Bellows] had become a part of Rhode. It worked in a way he still couldn’t understand, yet it still felt as natural to him as – well, as breathing.

The corridors of the palace stirred to life that night, like the cellars and basements themselves were alive. Like a heartbeat, or the tides, the sound echoed up the stairwells and started wild rumors amongst the servants about a terrible, carnivorous beast imprisoned below.

Rhode meanwhile, slumbered like the dead. He fell into rest that was so deep and so easy that he could barely remember a time since he’d had better. Even in his old life, sick as he’d been. Maybe only death itself had seemed so peaceful.

The homunculus shot awake, covered in a sudden sweat. His heartbeat stuttered and his eyes darted around the room as he threw off his blanket.

He was alive. He was still alive. He had to remember that.

The brawn hero could not tell the hour from his cell. He was sure it was located somewhere underground; there were no windows or hints of the time, anyway.

So even though he’d nearly given his shift healer a heart attack (Eloft hadn’t been awake), Rhode decided to declare ‘now’ as breakfast, and rose to his feet out of bed.

Whoa.

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Rhode’s knuckles had scraped the ceiling as he stretched, but that wasn’t what he’d noticed. He looked down at his hands and clenched them. He rolled atop the balls of his feet, and shifted his weight. A big, goofy grin split his face as he picked up one knee, then did the other. He hopped to either side, feeling the tightness ease in his calves. Then he looked over and saw the poor young man cowering in a corner. Rhode was overtaken by awareness of just how small the goblin really was, and the observation struck him with guilt.

“Hey, man. No worries. I’m just sort of excited. Feel a lot better, see?”

He swung his arms around in wide, lazy windmills. He smacked against shelves, and a potted plant, and the ceiling again, but it felt good. The little goblin stood up and lowered his hands from where he’d tried to shield himself, and then the two were able to wish each other a proper good morning.

“Three freaking days?!” Rhode choked. Egg yolk dribbled down his mouth onto his chin and he took the napkin that his healer handed to him reflexively. “I mean, no. I feel GREAT. I feel… I can’t even believe how good I feel.” He reached for some kind of starchy toasted fritter, and scarfed it down along with a double-dose of mana potion.

“We were almost starting to get worried,” Journeyman Scholar Yagget yawned. The goblin wore a sedate brown outfit that looked like it belonged on a horse jockey, along with a big puffy star-patterned ascot which ballooned out under his chin. Yagget was one of the senior members of Wavelton & Broox, advising the hero project in Sacred. As far as Rhode understood it, he was kind of like a University professor. But he wasn’t a leader in the political sense; in a way, Junior Scholar Tarrop actually sort of unofficially outranked him in that regard.

What Yagget had was expertise and respect. Oh, and one heck of a talent for mantras.

The scholar pointed a wrinkled finger lazily at his plate, and his mouth gaped open as he slurred his magic. “[Interface][Volume][Dissociate][Resonate][Flow]. [Appraise],” he yawned again. The slice of meat on his plate was distinctly ham-like. It started to sizzle and subtly darkened in color. “[Appraise],” he said again. He leaned his chin against his hand and slumped, waiting for his meat to cook further.

Rhode watched with fascination, his spoon hovering in front of his mouth. “Are you... microwaving your food with words?”

“Micro as in small?” The scholar leaned back in his chair and arched his spine until it yielded a gentle pop. But then Yagget jerked upright, and patted his wild grey hair down. His pupils darted in various directions, and his brows furrowed bushily together. “Wave as in, undulation? Goodman Irving, are you describing the energy of substance with this word?”

Rhode had his spoon hanging out of his lips, having taken the bite of porridge. “No?” He squeaked out of the corner of his mouth.

But the scholar had completely forgotten he was there. The older goblin leaned over his food with the intensity of an owl over a paraplegic squirrel. His hands curled into claws on either side of his plate, and his eyes bulged hideously.

“[Microwave],” Yagget commanded, and then his meat popped with an explosion of steam. The contents of his plate withered, crisped and almost caught fire before he dismissed his power. “I just leveled,” the old man murmured as smoke curled up from his ruined meal. A scullery maid ran into the room in a panic and began cleaning up the mess, as fast as if she’d had x-ray vision. Then again, Rhode admitted the meat-splosion had been kind of loud.

The scholar leaned back and opened his arms wide to allow the maid to dab little bits of food off of his fine clothes and hair. “I haven’t leveled for years now, young man. That was – well, I have to admit that was astounding.”

Rhode simply smiled and then stabbed himself under the table with a fork, hard enough that it hurt but not enough that it drew blood. “We all learn from each other. Community is the root of wisdom, that’s what I like to say.”

Even though it was the most banal thing he’d likely ever heard, Senior Yagget nodded momentously and stroked meaningfully on the tip of his nose. “Indeed,” he said.

Scarfing down the last dregs of his morning mush and bramblefruit, Rhode jumped up with the sound of his chair scraping across stone. “I actually thought I’d visit the training yard today,” he sputtered.

Thankfully, his evasion had the intended effect. Both his healer and planner started in surprise.

“Really?” The healer exclaimed. “Truly?” The scholar echoed. They shared a glance and shoved aside their plates.

Yagget fussed feverishly with his hair once more, and the healer started to pack what was basically a half-sized canvas duffel-bag. Almost before he knew it, the two of them rushed out the door.

Rhode didn’t know how it was possible, but a spindly middle-aged goblin woman with brightly dyed scarlet hair appeared at his door less than a minute later. Wordlessly she laid a flat, broad bundle on Rhode’s bed and then left.

The homunculus gingerly untied the wrapped garment and held it up. The good news? They had given him decent, comfortable clothing in his size! The bad news: everything was black and orange. A reminder of who he really owed his life to now: the Second Prince of Sacred and son of the gag-inducingly named house of Glinferno.