Regaining my senses, the first things I felt were nausea and strong dizziness.
Sometimes after a deep sleep, it's hard to remember what preceded it. But now it was the opposite situation: I clearly remembered everything. Both how I entered the Arena and how I passed the qualifying stage. And how after the official part ended, I asked one of the alchemists to allocate a small room for me to rest, and when they brought me to such a place, I took a sleeping pill and lay down on the couch. The medicine I took worked almost immediately and knocked me out like a good dose of anesthesia.
I took a sleeping pill to wait out the recoil from the "Swamp Lily." In the last cycle, I already had to experience something similar, and I didn't want to do it a second time. A bout of causeless uncontrollable ultra-paranoia is definitely not something anyone would want to repeat. So I bought this pill in advance to sleep through this backlash.
The plan seemed well thought out to me, but judging by my current state, something went wrong with it. Most likely, the two alchemical drugs, the "Swamp Lily" and the sleeping pill based on mountain squill root, turned out to be poorly compatible with each other.
Before I even had time to open my eyes, I understood that I was going to vomit. Right here and now, it would turn me inside out. And this was highly undesirable, as I was not in my room, and to disgrace myself in public by vomiting right at the bedside meant to break the entire image earned so hard in the arena. Suddenly assuming a sitting position, I opened my eyes and immediately realized that such a quick movement was a mistake. Nausea intensified, and the small room with white brick walls went around before my eyes. My stomach jumped up sharply, right to my throat.
"Drink this. It will help," said someone sitting nearby, and a small bowl filled with some kind of liquid was literally put into my palm.
Despite the dizziness and blurry circles in front of my eyes, I made out that the person next to me was dressed in the colors of the Alchemists' Guild. I felt so bad at that moment that I spat on all precautions and quickly drank the slightly sweet drink, emptying the bowl in one gulp. Besides, I don't think that anyone from the alchemists would deliberately harm one of the participants of the tournament organized by them.
"Good," said someone I now saw as a blurry and indistinct shape, taking the empty bowl from my hand. The speaker had the calm voice of a confident person. "Now, lie back down; you shouldn't be getting up right now. Close your eyes."
I obeyed these instructions as if they were coming from my team physiotherapist.
"Take a deep breath." A stranger's cold finger touches the center of my forehead. "Focus your attention on this point. Mentally, count to ten, and then backward, where each count is one of your breaths."
Following the instructions, by the count of five, I already feel better. At nine, the dizziness subsides. And when the count starts to go backward, I feel how, with each breath, the cold lump in my stomach that's trying to burst out calms down. As soon as I mentally say "zero," the stranger's finger immediately stops pressing on my forehead. Without opening my eyes, I ran the focus of attention over my entire body. I don't know what I just drank from someone else's hands, but this "something" worked, removing the intoxication. Not completely, but to the level where I could control myself.
"You can open your eyes and sit up if you wish."
Actually, I would have preferred to lie down for another half an hour, but that would be extremely impolite to the person who is sitting next to me now and who has helped me a lot. Therefore, I slowly opened my eyes and then, unhurriedly and carefully, assumed a sitting position.
A man was sitting on a high stool half a meter from my cot. Unlike all the Alchemists' Guild members I had met in Tries before, he was dressed for a journey. A thin but visibly strong, clearly well-worn but still well-groomed gambeson, secured by a wide combat belt to which a plate armor skirt was attached. On his back, dual scabbards were fastened with leather straps, now empty. His guild affiliation was given away only by the colors of his gambeson and the guild emblem on the left part of his chest. An emblem, which was inlaid with opal, which according to local heraldry, should have shown the rank of its owner. Slightly taller than average, lean but muscular, like a twisted elm branch, he had an unmistakable Western appearance. Moreover, he was red-haired, which is quite rare in these places.
The person sitting opposite me could easily be mistaken for a guard or mercenary hired by the Guild. He was definitely more of a fighter than a scholarly alchemist. I probably would have thought so about him if not for one "but."
A big "but."
I had seen this man's rank. And this rank did not match the opal on his emblem. His true level was Reardane! Just a step, one rung below Mithril. And such people don't work as simple guards. Most likely, the actual head of the Alchemists' Guild mission in Tries is sitting in front of me.
What's interesting is that he's about thirty, maybe even a little less. By local standards, he is very young for such a high rank.
A slight residual wave of nausea rolled to my throat just in time to hide the surprise that flashed in my eyes. Taking a long exhale through pursed lips, I lifted my gaze to my interlocutor and bowed briefly.
"Thank you, you've helped me a lot." These words of mine were not only a display of formal politeness; I really was grateful to this man for his help.
"Swamp lily and mountain squill root are at opposite ends of the Alchemical Sphere." The legendary-rank fighter, saying this, traced a circle in the air with his hands. "Taking them together was very reckless."
"I didn't know such subtleties." My answer is the absolute truth - I'm not very strong in alchemy.
"Like many others..." my interlocutor brushed off my words with a smile. "To understand such details, one needs to be an alchemist." Bright green eyes, akin to the purest emeralds, converged on my nose like the aim of a tank gun. "If you were versed in this truly fascinating art, you would not have made such a mistake..." The figure sitting in the chair fell silent and slightly tilted his head as if waiting for my response.
He's recruiting.
Phew...
And what should I do? Pretend that I don't understand? But on the other hand...
I have repeatedly thought that my initial plan to join the Tunnellers' Guild to facilitate "grinding" isn't so great. In this Cycle, I move up the ranks very quickly and will soon reach the Precious Coil, which will open the possibility for me to descend the Floors. And this, from the point of view of advancing through the ranks, is much more beneficial than cleaning out most dungeons.
The main attraction for me initially in the Tunnellers' Guild was the right to officially join any other group's expedition to a dungeon if there was a free spot in that group. And since most of those who clear dungeons in Ain are members of the Tunnellers' Guild, it opened almost all dungeons for me. But with each rank I pass, this initially so appealing possibility is increasingly losing its relevance. And the opportunities that open up when joining one of the other two Great Guilds, the Artifactors, and the Alchemists, are becoming more and more tempting. However, joining either of these is much harder than joining the Tunnellers.
But now, the alchemists are clearly inviting me to join their ranks. Initially, I didn't even consider joining the Alchemists' Guild, choosing between the Tunnellers and the Artifactors. Whereas now, sitting on this hard couch, I'm realizing more and more how beneficial this offer is for me. No matter what your rank is, there will always be an alchemical composition that will strengthen you or help solve a problem. And while basic alchemy is available to anyone with money, you won't find truly rare pills and compositions for sale.
And most importantly... membership in the Alchemists' Guild will open up new opportunities for me that I didn't try in the last Cycle.
The longer I think about it, the more attractive this option seems to me. What the Tunnellers can give me, I can take anyway. Not as quickly as with them, but I'll take it. But what the Alchemists can offer, I can't replace that easily.
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Damn! It's tempting. Very tempting.
The "past me" at the end of that Cycle would have immediately agreed to such an attractive proposition.
"Thank you." Bending as low as possible, I remained in this position for almost half a minute and, after maintaining this pause, raised my head again.
"Ha!" My interlocutor chuckled a little sadly. "As I thought, you understood me. This confirms that what you did today in the Arena was not a coincidence."
I shrug a little, neither confirming nor denying his words.
"And your answer is 'No'," the warrior-mage of Reardane continues as if thinking aloud.
"I'm sorry," but these words aren't enough; it's better to explain than to leave such an influential person dissatisfied, "but I gave my word. A word to the one I called my teacher, and a word that I gave voluntarily."
"To Ender of Unudo, if I remember correctly?" He asks with an overtly dismissive tone.
"Correct." I see no point in beating around the bush.
"Does it matter?" My interlocutor inquires as if swatting away a bothersome fly.
Lifting my eyes, for the first time during our conversation, I lock gazes with the warrior-mage of legendary rank. My voice is firm and cold, and I speak clearly and precisely:
"This. Is. My. Word."
For nearly half a minute, we engage in a staring contest, and he is the first to yield. He closes his eyes; a somewhat regretful smile passes across his lips, and, tilting his head to the side, the one standing on the Reardane step says:
"My respect."
When his eyes open again, there's much more warmth in them than there was just a minute ago. I can't shake the feeling that I just made a big mistake by refusing this man. A very big one.
And the choice was simple. No one would have known that I broke my word. I did not swear to Ender that I would definitely join the Tunnellers' Guild. I just promised, in simple words, without invoking any gods and their Echoes. Simple scales, on one side of which lay an undeniable benefit, and on the opposite side, just some word, given to an old man I would likely never see again in my life. Last time in a similar situation, I chose the benefit, breaking my word. That was the first step toward my downfall. The outcome the "past me" arrived at.
I always, even in my life on Earth, lied or kept silent at times, but if I gave my word, I kept it, no matter what. In the situation that had developed in Ain, blinded by a thirst for revenge against the questers, I violated this principle of mine and ended up breaking myself as a person, turning myself into a machine of vengeance. Undoubtedly, an effective machine, but I do not want to repeat this path. And keeping your word, even if no one would know that you broke it, there's something profoundly right about it. Or so it seems to me...
And this ephemeral "seems" has now outweighed the undeniable benefits of joining the Alchemists' Guild, and not just joining, but through a personal invitation!
Maybe I made a mistake just now.
Maybe that's true.
But what my memory of the future has taught me is that our principles are our identity, and by breaking them, you destroy yourself.
And Ender did not deserve for me to ditch him with my promise. The sheriff of Unudo did a lot for me, and writing in the Tunnellers' Guild Book that he is my teacher is the least I can do to thank him. It is thanks to this man that the beginning of this Cycle was so easy for me. And let's not forget that he practically saved me after my venture into the Nend cave.
"Oh!" With a light tap on his forehead, my interlocutor tilts his head in a gesture of mild regret. "I forgot to introduce myself," and, placing his fist over his heart, he introduced himself, "Kiadi of Mundi, an officer of the Alchemists' Guild."
It was intriguing. He presented himself without a surname or clan, indicating he wasn't of noble birth. This made his high rank at such a young age even more surprising. It implied that he had achieved everything without the support of a family.
"Raven from Seattle," I understood that he was well aware of my "name," but such were the traditions.
Etiquette in Ain presents an interesting paradox. The higher a person's rank and the greater their power and influence, the more they observe manners and basic courtesy. An ordinary peasant or artisan could curse and send you to hell, but someone of a legendary rank with significant influence is likely to be extremely polite, even to those they despise. It seems to hinge on personal strength, where every wrong word could backfire so that you wouldn't be able to handle it, and no connections or relatives could help you sort out the mess your loose tongue has caused. Of course, there are exceptions to this rule, but the overall trend is quite clear.
"Seyetl…" The warrior-mage rolled the word around in his mouth, mangling it slightly.
Then he reached for his belt and pulled out an unusual weapon from behind his back. It was a hefty knuckleduster with a blade resembling a small axe at the top. This knuckleduster is called a daire, used exclusively by dwarves in the tight passages of mines, in narrow places where it is difficult to maneuver. In the hands of the mountain people, who are stronger than humans, it poses a great danger. I had never seen a human carry this weapon on their belt; it's not very convenient for us in terms of balance and weight.
As soon as I recognized the knuckleduster, I realized I had made a "slip-up." The daire is virtually unknown on Ain's surface; only someone who has been to the underground cities of the mountain people could identify it. I was unprepared for the provocation and failed to hide the flash of recognition in my eyes. This was confirmed by the slight smile that immediately appeared on Kiadi's face.
"You've come a long way from your homeland," said the alchemist, returning the knuckleduster to his belt nonchalantly, with a hint of sympathy in his voice. "After all, Daurn Peak is on the other side of the continent!"
What did he say? Daurn Peak? I was familiar with this name. It's a mountain under which one of the few remaining dwarf settlements on Ain is preserved. And... My memory suggested that at the foot of this peak, there is a small town named something starting with "S," possibly Seyetl. What should I do? Refute or confirm his "guess"? After some thought, I decided to take the simpler route and stay silent, slightly pursing my lips as if upset that someone had discovered something about me. My silent act seemed to hit the mark, judging by the slight relaxation in the shoulders of the Reardane warrior-mage.
"You must have a fascinating story?" hinted the warrior-mage, leaning forward slightly on his stool, pretending not to insist on hearing it.
In principle, I could ignore him or defiantly pretend that I don't understand his interest. I don't owe him anything particular, it seems, and I would be within my rights. But do I want to annoy someone standing at the Reardane rank? Nevertheless, I had a universal excuse that had worked several times before, and I voiced it again:
"Portal magic sometimes malfunctions..." On the one hand, I didn't lie because portals indeed can malfunction, but the fact that this statement has no relation to my situation is for him to figure out.
"That's true…" The alchemist grimaced as if recalling something not very pleasant.
Judging by his reaction, he believed my excuse. And that's good, less stress for me. His interest in me is quite disturbing. I certainly put on a memorable performance today at the Arena, no one can deny that, but this visit is still a bit unsettling. More so because my interlocutor is pretending to be someone weaker, not revealing his true power, yet visiting and assisting one of the tournament participants. Could his youth be making him so unreserved that he decided to take a closer look at the one who staged such an unusual spectacle at the qualifying stage?
"How are you feeling? Better?" The alchemist asked, looking at the empty flask.
Tricky.
He's good! He set a verbal trap for me. If I say "no," I will lie and do so blatantly, realizing I'm lying and that he can see through this lie. It will be a clear sign of hostility. If I say "yes," it will be the truth, but it will make me indebted to him. Because I accepted his help. West of the Great Ridge, such things mean little, but Eastern decorum, with its nuances and hidden meanings, is much more complex. But thanks to Aun's endless chatter, my understanding of this etiquette is probably no worse than that of the locals.
"I extend my sincere gratitude to you." Having said this, I rose slightly and bowed deeply, after which I straightened up and sat back down on the couch. "I am indeed feeling better."
The point of my action is that such an overt display of gratitude and respect sort of pay for the service provided, and the alchemist can no longer press me through this service. For about ten seconds, he looks at me with mild confusion, then it seems to dawn on him, and he raises his palms up as if admitting his defeat.
I hate intelligent interlocutors whose motives I don't understand. They're dangerous. Damn dangerous! Besides, I'm feeling quite exhausted, and all these insinuations are starting to irritate me. Two weeks in the company of Larindel was enough for a year! Moreover, I have already started forming my outward image, and I have to live up to it.
Leaning forward, I focused my gaze on the alchemist's nose, imagining that I was looking through the scope of a large-caliber sniper rifle, and spoke in a slightly irritated tone:
"Tries is an Eastern city, yes, but we were not born here, so perhaps we could get down to business without these local frills?"
Mirroring my gesture, the warrior-mage leaned forward on his stool, bringing our faces just ten centimeters apart. My first instinct was to recoil, but I managed to keep still, not moving an inch.
"What are you talking about?" feigning misunderstanding, my interlocutor asked.
Our noses were almost touching, but my voice was steady, without a hint of trembling. I had taken the stage at a stadium filled with thousands of people when I was not even fifteen, so violating my personal space wouldn't unnerve me.
"Kiadi of Mundi, what do you want from me?"
"Just like that? I ask, and you answer?"
"Yes, just like that." I would have nodded, but our faces were so close we would have bumped foreheads. So I remained still, like a stone statue.
"Fine!"
The tone of my conversation partner instantly changes, becoming dry and business-like. The alchemist's facial expression also alters, taking on a certain formality, and he leans back, his back straightens, and he declares as if reading from some official document:
"Raven from Seyetl, the Alchemists' Guild has an official question for you. This question is sanctioned by the authorities of the city of Tries, and refusal to answer is unacceptable." Saying this, he slowly and demonstratively put a daire knuckleduster on his fist.
Damn! Damn! Damn!
What have I gotten myself into?!
The worst part is that I don't have the faintest idea of what question I'll have to answer about.