image [https://cdn.midjourney.com/78cef673-390d-42ce-9a34-3f61c1acd02b/0_1.png]
Vincent led the way out of town and then through the forest. They stopped for a minute at the low branch Irene used to climb into the tree, trying to repeat the same feat, but if Irene was weak, Bee was pathetic. He failed; even when Vincent took the youngster on his back and put him on the branch after climbing on it himself, Bee could not cling on.
"What's your Body stat?" Vincent asked.
"Err… four? Is it weak?"
"You could say that," Vincent sighed. "Let's continue."
The remaining three-quarters of the mile took an hour. Bee heaved, wobbled every other minute, and asked for pee breaks every other five. He was lying, using the pretense to hide behind trees and whizz, inhaling air like he had been starved from breathing for a year. When they reached the clearing, he fell on all fours.
"I… see… w-why military training is so… t-tough," Bee said. "I got a point in Body…"
Goodness! My sergeant would die of a heart attack seeing you… And he called ME a wimp… "Take five," Vincent patted Bee's back, which made the young man fall on his face on the grass. Leaving his trainee there, Vincent strode to the other side of the meadow. Behind the third row of trees, he found the tiger and his family in a nook formed by the canopy and tree roots. The animal frowned at him, letting out a half-growl, half-purring noise.
"Err… hi!" Vincent waved his hand. "I might look stupid talking like this to you, but I had the impression you understood me… can you shake your head if you understand?" The animal nodded. "Wow… never mind. I have a friend who's a little on the weak side… he could use some… manning up. Could you show up and scare him? Making him run and climb a tree?"
Giving Vincent a disdainful look—at least that was what the empathy skill conveyed—the tiger began to stroll lazily toward Bee. The young man struggled to do push-ups or maybe just to get back on his feet but was failing, flailing his hands and falling on his nose again.
"Bee, run! Run!" Vincent screamed, trying to sound convincing. "Monster!"
Looking up, Bee's eyes met the tiger's, two feet from his face. The beast roared. With a spastic movement, Bee shot his hand forward, grabbing White Roar's neck. Surprised, the large feline moved back, pulling the youngster up in the process.
"Thanks," Bee said, scratching the tiger between the ears.
"What are you doing? Run!" Vincent yelled.
"He's Irene's friend," Bee shouted back.
"How do you know?" Vincent asked, returning to his mentee.
"Long story or short story?"
"Short."
"The baby tiger's pattern matches this guy's fur," Bee stopped for a few seconds to move his scratching to the back of the beast's neck. "Thus, he's the cub's father and friendly. Helene told us the story."
"You can remember the cub's strip patterns?"
"She has sixty-eight stripes. I can draw the pattern with a tenth of a millimeter error."
"What's your mind stat, if you don't mind?" Vincent said, feeling dazed.
"Fifty," Bee sulked. "It's not fair; it should have been higher. I am a polymath, a—"
"It might be because your body is too weak. Maybe it doesn't have the power to process all your smartness."
"That's an interesting theory!" Bee widened his eyes.
"Let's raise that, OK? Run around the meadow… Running means getting your feet off the ground!" Vincent screamed after Bee because the nerd's idea of running was barely faster than walking.
All of a sudden, the nerd's speed increased dramatically. He was running so fast that Vincent couldn't believe his eyes. "Bee… Bee… Bee… Bee… Bee!" the youngster yelled with each exhale, trashing his hands and running toward Vincent for protection. He plunged to his knees and wrapped his arms around Vincent's feet. "Heeeeeeelp!" he bleated.
"Let me guess: you're allergic to bee stings?"
"Y-yes," Bee nodded, knocking his forehead against Vincent's knees.
"Relax, champion, there're no bees around; you imagined it," Vincent patted the younger man's head.
"I did not. I heard them buzz!" the youngster protested.
"They're gone now. Please train," Vincent begged. "Do you want to impress the girls or not? Imagine a girl seeing you doing a hundred… forget that… ten pushups… All those animalic, repressed instincts suddenly excited by seeing a real man in action—"
"OK, OK, I get it," Bee blurted, his face flushed. "Thank goodness, they're really gone," he scanned the surroundings… If I got stung, I triple in size… puss going out of my mouth, nose, everywhere… Trust me, you don't want to be near me when—"
This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it
"Train!" Vincent yelled, pushing the younger man up and moving just by the force of his voice. "So, mister, what about having a light spar together?" he then asked the tiger to make the best of his spare time on his hands. The tiger visibly shrugged, almost like a human, but did not move. "You're afraid you'll hurt me?"
White Roar nodded. A cluster of impressions and images washed over Vincent's mind… A code of honor? A principle: never hurt someone who spared your life… The defiling of the suitcase was petty revenge, but the tiger had never tried to attack Vincent or his group after the first day.
White Roar has used the skill of Mind Projection on you. From being exposed to such a spell for the first time, your Animal Empathy has leveled x 2. You have gained +1 in Spirit.
"You're smarter than some people I met back on Earth," Vincent complimented, receiving a snort in answer. "I'd really like to spar against a powerful opponent," he insisted. "I'm strong enough for iiiiiiiiit." The last word was screamed in the air as Vincent arched in a wide trajectory, projected thirty feet up by a paw strike.
----------------------------------------
The way back to the town has been the opposite of their arrival. Vincent limped behind, dragging his bruised ego, while Bee trotted giddily ahead. The genius had reached eight in Body from different light exercises Vincent put him through. And also a level.
On the other hand, the spar showed Vincent the true difference between the strength of a tiger and a human's. His stats, three times higher than a normal person, were still too weak to beat or even stand toe to toe with the beast in a fair fight. Yet, he had gained a point in Body and two levels in Battle Instinct and Mentor.
They arrived in town in the early evening. A big commotion waited for them in the in. The servants were busying to unload merchandise from a carriage and led five horses into the stables. In front of the freight, a middle-aged man with pale hair was talking with the mayor and the priest. Behind, four guards stood at attention. Inspect showed they were in the upper thirties, as level, and of uncommon tier. A bit stronger than the city's militia, but not by much.
"Look, there's the Guild Master," the priest pointed at Vincent.
"So happy to meet you!" The middle-aged man rushed to shake Vincent's hand.
"He's the hero who was summoned here before you," the mayor said.
"Really? Where were you from?" Vincent asked.
"Chicago. I arrived here during the prohibition and never looked back. Come, we have much to talk about," the man slapped Vincent's shoulder, following the priest and the mayor inside.
All the group was in the dining hall, with Irene finishing a sort of announcement, ending it with a gesture toward their host, who waved and introduced himself. His name was Joe something—the noise made Vincent miss the later part—and he had a traveling emporium.
When Joe's summoning happened, a plague was decimating the Kingdom of Beauhemia, which he solved by reinventing plumbing and sewage, using enchanted bamboo shafts as pipes. Only the big cities could afford them because bringing them from Asia was expensive. Nevertheless, the invention brought a constant royalties revenue, which the man supplanted with a thriving business, a traveling emporium. Applauses rewarded his expose.
The mayor initiated a toasting spree, and then Joe started to call names, distributing parcels to the brainiacs, which resulted in much joy vividly expressed. Vincent concluded that kindergarten children or nerds behaved the same way.
He had his own questions for Joe but let them go for later. Inspecting the merchant gave Vincent a bland result: Merchant, Level 79. Even after a hundred years, a Summoned was below cap level. The highest levels in town were thirty-nine: the Mayor, Priest, and Thomas. This could only mean that leveling was hard or that there were no incentives to gain XP after a while. It made sense. Combat was supposed to grant the most experience, but fighting was not for everyone. People wanted to get on with their lives, make an honest living, raise a family, and not put their lives on the line daily.
Meanwhile, dinner started, this tie with the servants bringing plates to everyone instead of a buffet. At some point, Jong and the woman with the hinting gun from the first day of the Isekai—whose name and profession Vincent never asked for—arrived at his table.
"Is it right you have one of the highest Inspect levels in town?" Jon asked.
"What?" Vincent furrowed his brows
"You told Thomas your it's twenty-five."
"Yeah, that's it."
"Dude, it's huge!" Jong sighed. "You can make a buck by identifying stuff, increasing your skill level in the process."
"What have you done in your real life to earn this?" the woman asked.
"I guess it's both from my mountaineering and my time in the army. You have always to be careful where you put your feet, dangers—"
"I get it. What arms, more specifically?"
"Recon. A little short of eight years, from nineteen to twenty-six. But I was a trainer for mountain-related stuff for the last two."
"Nice," the woman nodded. "I was US Secret Service."
Vincent choked on his food. "R-really? I thought you were some clay pigeon shooting champ..." The woman's mood lowered. An involuntary jerk of her feet hit the table's foot.
"She's—"Jong started.
"I am Irene's bodyguard," the woman interjected. "Her parents hired me."
"Do you mind if I ask why you chose that weapon?"
"Because of your stupid European laws. A hunting gun was all I could get. How come you have a real weapon?"
"Technically, I'm still an army consultant," Vincent said. "A friend procured a permit for me… You know, around here… sorry, there, connections are important."
"I asked my former employers to put a good word for me, but they refused… assholes,” the woman complained. “Anyway… Should we buy these?" she put two magnifying glasses on the table. The objects had no handles but were enclosed in a gold or brass frame—Vincent couldn't tell— with a pair of what appeared to be small metal hands on one side. "They're worth a lot of money. Money we don't have yet. We have to take a loan with ten percent interest."
"We want you to check if what Joe told us about the items is true," Jong added.
"Sure, give me a moment…" After concentrating on the two lenses for a good minute to ensure nothing escaped his attention, Vincent told them his findings. "Range finder and aim assistant, taking the distance and the wind into account. Works up to half a mile. Rare quality. The metal is gold. It will attach itself to any weapon. Looks pretty neat to me. What's the price?"
"A hundred gold each," Jong said. "A year's salary for Thomas if you need to put it into perspective."
"Go for it. I'll cover the costs when I get my money from the suitcase. It's for the guild's benefit."
"Geez, thanks, man!" Jong exclaimed. The woman nodded, displaying a wide grin. Vincent would have taken such an artifact for himself, too, but it would have been too unwieldy for the pistol. When the two returned to Joe, he got up the stairs. He felt tired; it had been a hard day on all accounts. His sleep was so deep that logs could be envious.
A couple of hours before dawn, a strange sensation began to nag him, and he woke all in sweat. Somewhere, the tiger cub's mind was screaming for help.