Chapter Six

“I do?” I asked, I could feel my tails dancing behind me, and even though it still stung a little, I didn’t care. I waited for the receptionist to tell me, but instead my tails seemed to get her attention. She pointed at them and began to count.

“One…two…three…” All the way until she said, “nine? You have nine tails.” She looked me in the face, “Where’s your mana siphon? In Kuduru’s name you’re going to kill us all if you don’t put one of those on!” She snapped.

“My what? Why? How?” I asked, I was dumbfounded, but I heard the sliding of tables behind me as the listening mob pulled farther away.

“A nine tailed kitsune is a considerably powerful being, your body produces magic almost constantly and if you don’t use it or store it, then it will come out on its own in unexpected ways. Savvy, bucko?” She asked and then got down off of her chair and went deeper into the closed off area where she worked. She came back a moment later with a pair of blue little tubes. “Here. Wrap these so that they’re under your eyes.”

“Why?” I asked, but I was already doing it while I asked, I’d rather not be yelled at again by the little firebrand after all.

She pushed up her glasses against her face. “That’s a mana siphon, they’re free of charge to kitsune and a handful of other magic beings. You have to have one if you’re going to walk around populated areas. Whenever you leave a city, just drain the mana into a collection point, that’ll cover the cost of making these things and repairing the damage for those who screw up and don’t wear them.”

“Oh.” I answered, I wasn’t quite sure how to think about that. Like I was being slightly exploited, but then again on the other hand if my just being there would put people at risk, I supposed that contributing to the city as a whole was a small price to pay.

“I’ll do that.” I answered. “Now, about this ability?” I asked.

“Right, insightful inventor.” She said and turned my slate around. She pointed to a spot. “Tap that with your finger.” She said, and when I did, a tree opened up of many branching little rectangles with words written in them. “Draw on your inner mana, focus on it, and you should feel a kind of ‘quantity’ like how you can instantly count at a glance how many items are on my counter.”

I did as she said, and continued to listen, like how some games forced you to meditate to find out how close you were to gaining a level, while others you had to visit a shrine or even check a particular screen, at least this made some sort of sense. “Pick the number you want to apply and tap something here. Insightful Inventor lets you put points into fixing things and repairing them, the more points, the better you are. See,” she pointed out a glowing box, “you have ten points in carpentry. I guess that’s how you fixed the table so easy.”

“Is ten a lot?” I asked.

She shrugged. “You won’t be building a house with it, but a table is easy. Different things require different numbers of points, and even I don’t know all of em. Like, carpentry I think maxes out at fifty. But mechs are like a thousand. A few hundred just to kind of pilot one a little bit ‘thout blowin your fool self up.”

There was a thought. “Course, that won’t apply to you, kitsune can’t pilot mechs.” She said.

My thoughts screeched to a halt. “What?!” I exclaimed, my tails bristled and my ears went down, “What kind of law is that?!”

“The natural sort.” She said and pointed to the little blue manasiphons. You got too much magic. It interferes with the magicores used to create the steam to pilot the things, you try to get in one, you’ll get a lump of magic ore up yer bum so far you’ll look like a ten tailed kitsune, bucko.”

I felt my ass tighten up at the idea. That… wasn’t good. Still, I had to wonder if there was some way to fix that. Deplete my mana, change form, what have you. But if there were, she wouldn’t have said it the way she did. Not unless there were and she didn’t know it.

But the fact that nobody contradicted her, and I could still feel curious eyes our way, meant that it was probably commonly accepted as a reality of this world. But even so, that didn’t mean I couldn’t look for an answer.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“You get more points by doing quests. Once you’re ‘exposed’ to basic tasks in some way, add your internal total to that and then just ‘practice’. But,” she paused and tapped on my slate a few times, taking me away from that screen, “guild quests are good moneymakers, and you may build up your numbers, but just how much so is never guaranteed. I’ve seen folk go out on an easy quest and come back with a boatload of treasure and experience, while others go after dragons and if they come back at all, it’s with little to show for it. How you do things, matters. Savvy?” She asked.

“Yes.” I praised the gods of weebdom that I recognized that principle from my tabletop role playing days.

“Only the gods can give you those rewards, and they’re not only sometimes fickle, they can be downright assholes. Like that one’s goddess.” She pointed past me toward Loysa who sat smugly with her arms crossed in front of her chest.

“Just because your god didn’t make you taller don’t go complaining about mine, Sami” Loysa retorted, and the receptionist turned bright red in the face.

She didn’t bite back though, instead saying, “A priest in your party can help guide you on ‘life ambitions’ and help you find the best ways to complete quests. They also have some moderate healing abilities and some other skills usually come from their god or goddess. But you can just as easily,” she took a deep breath and said as loudly as she could, “replace the whole lot of them with a handful of cheap potions and a few coins in temple donations!”

Loysa glared daggers at the receptionist’s obvious dig, and the gnome woman settled back down in her chair, much happier again. “Listen, jokes aside, kid, priests are useful, so get yourself a few party members, take an easy quest to learn more about how this world works, and take off from there to do your own thing. Guild halls everywhere will acknowledge your membership and you won’t have a problem with the borders.”

“Wait, really?” I asked.

She nodded. “Adventurers are people of no nation, regardless of their citizenship, they wander everywhere there’s work to be done, and nobody gets in their way because everybody needs them sooner or later. If a Kingdom decided they had to pay to come in, or couldn’t leave, no adventurers would go, and then the first big crisis, that Kingdom would be destroyed. So they are exempt from most things ordinary folk have got to do.”

“Good to know.” I answered.

I wasn’t sure what else to say, but evidently the brusque receptionist wasn’t done. “Loysa,” she snapped, and the smug looking priestess got up from her table, when she approached, the receptionist said, “you know the deal. And you don’t have a party. Do me a favor and take this one out on a local quest. Somethin easy like, what won’t be a big deal.”

“Why should I do that?” She asked with a little frown.

“Because you want your card back, ace.” I said. And she frowned deeper.

“Fine.” She answered. “But just us. Nobody else for now.”

“Why?” I asked.

“Because guild rules stipulate an equal party split. That’s why parties are only made up of four people, anything less than a quarter and it’s not generally worth it.” Loysa explained like I was a child, and in a way, maybe I was, I was brand new to the world, which is what children are when they’re growing up and getting out there.

“Alright, fine. As long as it’s not too much of a problem.” I answered. I had a distinct feeling that, even if the two seemed to be rivals of a sort, that ‘Sami’ as I now knew her name to be, wouldn’t have lashed me to this one unless she were competent and useful. “So where do we go?” I asked and looked at the myriad of yellowed papers on the board.

Loysa ignored me and went to the board, she looked back at me and continued muttering something that might have been to me, or to herself, or who knew what. Then finally she reached up and snatched a paper off the wall then went to the desk and slammed it down. “To get you some gear. Then we’ll go do this one.”

She held out her slate, and I held out mine. The receptionist collected them, stacked them on top of hers, then placed the paper on top of that. There was a brief green glow, and then she set the paper into a small bin by her left hand. The paper now had our names on it. “Alright,” she handed our slates back, “the guild acknowledges the quest is yours, try not to die until after you’ve finished it, okay?” She prompted with a wicked little smile, then picked up her book and began flipping through pages.

Now that she was ignoring us, I headed for the exit, hastening myself the last few steps, as did Loysa, when we heard her shriek, “You made me lose my page!”

I was exceedingly glad that the door shut behind us, and our first quest was underway.

It seemed like the guild receptionist was more dangerous than whatever I might face. And when I said as much, Loysa snorted.

“You have no idea, and I should know, I used to work with her.” And with that bit of news dropped, Loysa hastened down the stairs and away from the cursing we could still hear inside.

Naturally, it seemed a good idea to rush to catch up, but even if it hadn’t, it was my first adventure.

I didn’t want to miss a moment.