This world is but a shadow! What it once was, can never repeat! For as long as time might stretch on, we will never again see such glorious heights! We will never again see the divine as they march among us!

Hear me, and know: This land is built upon the flesh of Giants! Those legends, slain to the very last in the war that ended the past Age! These mountains were raised by their fall, those islands scattered as continents were broken! As the past was swept away like dust in the storm! Wide as they are terrible, these great oceans we seek shelter from, are nothing but their tears!

And so we suffer! Waiting, like the loyal cur we are! Chains about our necks, longing for the memory of our lost masters! Chewing on the gifts they have left us like dry bones, as we toil in the ruins of our Ancestors! Do you not see the truth? Our Masters are dead! The flesh of Gods still soaks beneath our feet! Rivers of fire and divine, their curse is bleeding out of the soil! To see that wretched beasts crawl from the depths, should come as no surprise: For they are like maggots! Festering from these ancient corpses, bringing death to the world, and feasting for the end! The Age of Ruin is here! The Age of Men is here!

Of the Archives of the Kingdom

Inscribed as spoken. The final speech of a mad [Prophet]

....

Name: John

Title: Summoned Hero*

Class: None

General Skills:

> Language of men - Lvl 10 - Passive

>

> Identify - Lvl 5 - Active

>

> Inscription - Lvl 5 - Passive

Special Skills:

> Lesser Flame Lvl 4 - Active

>

> Hide Presence Lvl 4 - Active

>

> Void Walker Lvl 1 - Passive

>

> Blessing of Forgotten Gods Lvl 5 - Passive

Status:

> Vitality: 18

>

> Endurance: 26

>

> Strength: 22

>

> Dexterity: 22

>

> Intelligence: 45

>

> Wisdom: 52

Health: 50/50

Stamina: 14/20

Mana: 100/100

Over a week passed in the blink of an eye. Which was unsettling in a way. After clinging to moment after chaotic moment, I'd been tossed into the flow of a routine. Heck, I had a job to do, and it wasn't all that different from what office-life had been like.

Perhaps what was even stranger still, though: that entire week passed and nothing terrible happened.

Nothing at all.

I know.

The feeling of "What's the catch" didn't let up, but neither did the workload I was being pushed for, so I just accepted my new reality as best I could. Neriah, much to my surprise, had been good to his word. The result being that we had indeed covered the basics of the written language.

It was done with a limited approach, of course. Spoon-fed, as opposed to actually diving headfirst into the true meat of the subject. Comprised mainly of short lectures that made it very clear he was holding back. Which I felt was counter-productive for both of us, but the [Scribe] seemed very keen on having me make copies of paperwork for him, so I felt it was likely he had decided our relationship was mutually beneficial, and would be stretching out how long I needed to rely on him.

And I was alright with that, if only because he was actually teaching me.

The [Scribe] broke the script down into its basic components (which turned out to be far more variable than I'd initially believed) and followed the pattern of setting me to memorizing. Repeating whatever I could for an hour each morning until I could repeat them free-hand back. Then, after breakfast, he would put me back to work making copies of whatever documents he needed.

Typically, this meant eight to nine hours of sitting in one place, scribbling.

Mind-numbingly frustrating, especially after several days of this, but I couldn't deny it was working. The results were startling.

Inscription - Lvl 5 - Passive

I was naturally suited for this work, it seemed. And, although the week had almost come to a close without breaking through on the "reading front" I found that I was quickly working out a very rough idea of what the text he put in front of me meant.

In a very "Tarzan meet Jane" way, I suppose might be the best way of thinking about it.

I could piece together a few words or phrases. Then, I could do the same to another few words, somewhere further down the page. This was starting to fill in more and more, as Neriah had begun to selectively provide me with specific terms and combinations to memorize. I found that I was rapidly filling in the blanks as the days passed. Enough to then go about taking educated guesses at whatever was inbetween the words I didn't know.

Though, it was still rough going.

Even if there were many scripts and tomes I now recognized to some degree, I could truly only make out one word in ten. Not enough to read in any true sense, but reassuring in that I could indeed understand "something." This was more than rewarding enough to provide me with a sense of encouragement for my continued compliance with Neriah's increasingly difficult work assignments, most of the time.

More than that though, was my newly discovered [Inscription] Skill.

To the fifth level, already. Possibly, approaching a sixth, if I were to believe the itching sensation in the back of my skull. Which would be something I'd never managed to achieve on my own before.

I'd come to suspect that this Skill was Neriah's entire goal. [Inscription] had ticked upward at an abnormally rapid pace, to the point in which it was almost frightening. Just like [Lesser Flame] had been, improvement seemed too easy when compared to how much trouble I'd been having obtaining skills elsewhere. Spurred on, I suspected, by my affinity for the Intelligence attribute. While the assigned pages had began as tedious labors, these quickly had begun to blur. Turning into trivial moments of my attention as they passed me by. This was, of course, balanced by the increased work-load of Neriah's assignments.

A mixed blessing to be sure.

The scales seemed to be balanced between a sense of accomplishment: being thankful for the ability to curry some amount of favor with the man, and an unpleasant awareness of just how lop-sided the "give and take" agreement we'd unofficially reached seemed to be.

Each morning, after his short lecture, Neriah took to the habit of leaving me to "my" work. Always with a single drafted copy of whatever it was he needed, and enough paper to create the specific number of copies was required. And while, again, I still couldn't truly read anything, I strongly suspected he was using me to cut away at his backlog. By my best estimation, just based off what I'd seen him do, I was likely saving him weeks of trouble.

Which, made sense.

My "Summoned Hero*" title was supposedly used by the Empire to create impossibly powerful warriors. Neriah was just using me to become a suitable equivilant for paperwork. A warrior, not of the sword, but of the pen and ink.

While I had no intentions of becoming some strange form of "Heroic Scribe" I couldn't deny I was getting rather good at it. Comparatively, I might still have been chopped liver on the battlefield, but the [Inscription] Skill was opening a different set of opportunities. I clearly remembered the Empire playing favorites to any of my fellow "Heroes" who'd shown potential in aquiring a skill. The few who had manifested abilities early were immediately fast-tracked and prioritized, which I interpreted to mean that Skills of almost any sort were highly prized. This was an assumption that had only been reinforced, as I saw very few examples of any such abilities in use.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

In conclusion: If it took ordinary people years to perfect and improve these, the sensible method would to just focus on the few gathered naturally, and grind at them. But, due to my Title, chances were good that I could raise whatever I was lucky enough to aquire to competent levels in a fairly short period of time. Perhaps, not the skill of a master, but certainly enough to be a "Jack of All Trades" in some relative sense.

And I'd decided there was no better time to start.

Even if [Inscription] turned out to be a waste of time, so be it. I reasoned that at the very least, if I could ever find a way to hide my "Hero" status and escape from the Baron's service, I could use the Skill to find work.

Plus, I'd heard that the pen can be mightier than the sword, so I felt that I had that going for me.

In specific circumstances.

Probably.

I hoped.

Still: There's only so much a man can take.

My Endurance might honestly have been the only thing keeping me going, as those days slogged on. Sitting there, concentrating on the work at hand: beyond the study room, I saw little else of the fort. My life was spent at that table, in that study. My stamina slowly declined. Even after sleeping, not raising back to optimal levels.

Day after day.

From morning, until dusk.

Outside of visiting the kitchen for meals, I spoke with no one. As I was no longer expected to train in the field, or show up in the hall every morning, I had little excuse to, either.

All I did was study, eat, write, eat, write, and sleep. In that order.

I could see why the monks during medieval times were all known for drinking heavily. It was probably all that kept them sane. Squinting at pages in dim light, day after day, year after year... As much as I was encouraged by my growing knowledge and my recognition of the text taking form and providing a much clearly recognition of the information I was copying: I could feel the sense of stir-crazy approaching. Fatigue settling in and refusing to lift.

There, settling into my skull, I could feel the madness which comes with sitting at a table and writing for ten or more hours a day.

Slowly, it wore me down. Further and further- until those fateful words finally arrived.

"Today, is the day of rest."

Dumbfounded, I had to resist going slack-jawed at Neriah's announcement. Doubly so, after he handed me a small purse with some heft to it.

"That concludes the lecture this morning. Within that cloth is your monthly pay, adjusted for your time here, as deemed fit by the [Lord]. Tomorrow, I must remind you that we will begin anew in our studies, but today I have nothing further for you."

Just like that, I found myself left with a jarring sense of freedom.

And silver.

God damn, that was quite a bit of silver.

....

Money, in an economic sense, is always going to vary in its uses depending on who recieves it.

From the perspective of a person in poverty, who has an outlook lacking in hope of ever improving their circumstances: it is reasonable to assume they might spend it all on one evening of entertainment. Spurred on by the simplist mindset to just enjoy it while it lasts, because there's no telling when- if ever, they will get another chance.

A rich individual might simply invest it, unconcerned as there's nothing they need immediately and even if they did, they have other money set aside for such trivial things. Saving is the sensible choice, of course, saying they have the stability to do so safely.

Then, there is the person caught between.

Not stricken by poverty, exactly. Not flush with wealth. They have immediate needs. They have longterm goals. Yet, neither are quite to the point of being within reach, and so the hard decisions need to be made.

This was where I felt that I stood.

I wasn't quite sure what to do.

Quite a bit of silver, to me, meant thirty silver coins. That was the full sum, when combined with what I'd already been given when entering the Baron's service. Ten silver from Neriah that morning, and twenty before. The sight of all that coin had my mind spinning in circles, caught flat-footed by the awareness that I would eventually be making money here, and not having considered what I'd actually be doing with it.

And then, logisitics.

Buying power.

How many pieces of bread was this? How many staple goods could I be expected to leverage this purse for? Was this truly a lot, or was it just a meager sum that seemed a fortune due to ignorance?

Assumptions being what they are, some guesswork was involved. Yet, I felt it safe to believe the coin purse was worth a decent amount. Certainly, more than what most people might make working in a field, at any rate.

When covering numbers, earlier in the week, Neriah had provided the basics. When using Kingdom currency, Ten Copper would match one Silver coin, and a hundred Silver would match a Gold coin. This seemed to be a relatively simple system, without much headache involved, but the numbers alone didn't mean much. Neriah had neglected to provide me with a going-rate of basic commodities, so I found the knowledge wasn't yet attached to much of use.

My memory of time spent in the Empire wasn't of much help, either.

The Golden Wing camp's prices were a poor reference, and the coins themselves had looked entirely different. I suspected they didn't follow a simple base ten variation, either. Plus, when trying to buy food with the others, at best we'd only ever managed a handful of silver between everyone in the tent. And most of those coins had the edges shaved off.

Which, I only knew about because I'd made it a habit of checking in an effort to improve [Identify].

Thankfully, none of the silver I had recently recieved had that problem, though.

[Identify]

> Kingdom Minted Silver Coin

>

> A silver coin minted by a press of the Kingdom, imprinted with sigil of the Royal house and the Lesser rune of [Resistance]. It has a slight scratch on the crest-side, but is in otherwise proper condition.

Very different, from the Empire.

I had many questions.

The Kingdom seemed to print their coin with runes, which I found both practical, and fascinating. Enough so, that I took a good ten minutes at breakfast to set the rune into memory.

Was it resource intensive to do this? Had they simply made some sort of process that was efficient enough so that the reources didn't matter?

Before I'd gotten the [Inscription] skill, I could appreciate the details of the original coins I'd been given, but it was very difficult to mentally hold onto them. Now though, I could visualize it easily in my mind. If I found a piece of paper, I knew it would be simple to replicate with ink. Which got me wondering if it could be applied to other things. Bricks, metal, clothing, for example... The possibilities seemed endless.

Why not stamp just this on everything?

"I don't suppose that's a tip for our wonderful service." Gretchen said dryly, plucking my empty bowl of oat-paste out from in front of me, adding it to a stack of others. "Eh, Hero?"

"Of course." I answered on a whim, setting the coin on the table as I took my leave. "In fact, I think that's exactly what it is."

The fine line between tipping, and bribery.

I took my leave before there was time for any clever retort, certain that I heard laughter from behind the counters by the time I reached the stairs. It seemed a coin well spent, in any case. Lightly leaping the steps up to the hall above, I felt the weight of endless hours at a table, slipping off my shoulders, and commited to the decision that decided that I would likely be happy to repeat the generous donation every so often, so long as it meant I'd never have to go hungry again.

But, now was time to make more important decisions: An entire day ahead of me, and what I was going to do with it.

Heading back to my room, I organized my thoughts as I ran over my limited inventory. Between the small desk and the bunk, there wasn't much. My few spare changes of clothing were neatly folded. My bed, as simple as it was, had already been made and tucked free of wrinkles. My dagger, my coin pouch, my small bag meant for herbs... this was almost everything I owned, for the exception of the armor I'd been given, the clothes on my back, and a few choice sheets of paper I'd saved from Neriah's teachings to review.

But, I didn't feel as though I was lacking.

Food, shelter, income: I had the basics. Any further investment towards those beyond the bare minimum would likely turn out to be a waste. Especially considering my long-term goal was to try and leave. Saying, of course, I could find a safe method to do so. Gaining too many possessions was just going to slow me down when the time came.

I was remarkably disappointed by this conclusion. More so, as I tried to find my way around it, only to arrive at the same mental stopping point?

What was the point of having money, if there's was nothing useful you can do with it?

I could get something special to eat, maybe. Some sort of treat, perhaps?

But, I would have to risk going into town for that. The kitchens didn't do much in that respect. Maybe if I offered a few more silver?

I knew could go and visit the Fort's [Smith] and see about purchasing another weapon. I'd seen they had some odds and ends there... But did I really need one? I wasn't fit to fight anyone with a life-time of experience. Any of the [Guard] Class I'd seen could easily do me in, and a sword to go with my dagger wasn't going to change that any time soon.

The best I could come up with, was I could buy something I could use to improve my attributes. Perhaps, I could purchase a cheap bow and a quiver of arrows to practice with. Something that might earn me a new skill, if I kept at it for long enough. Maybe intead I could just look into buying a few herbs... or maybe some specialized tools...

My mind stalled out.

I'd been running full-speed ahead with my work for the [Scribe], to the point where I could recognize that I'd neglected thinking about anything else. As important as learning what Neriah could teach me, I knew this was causing me to deviate from my original goals. Above all, I needed to improve my Attributes, and I needed to learn how to properly use my Magic. I needed to get that [Mage] Class and take back some semblance of control over my life.

Everything else needed to wait.

That included money.

Oh, the disappointment this conclusion brought me.

The thought of taking a break was so tempting, but I couldn't justify wasting my day looking for something I might not even need to buy, much less have time to use. That was a dead-end. I knew this opportunity wasn't the time for fun, or wandering about: this was the time to get ahead. With the hours of daylight ahead of me, I had a solid chance to break through with [Lesser Flame] before nightfall. More specifically: time away from an environment that was filled with expensive, dusty, highly-flammable, books.

Perhaps, today would be the day...

With a sigh of regret and my mind made up, I set the purse down. Carefully, I tucked it away behind a loose board I'd found near the small desk for safe keeping, and steeled my mind: determined to make the best of it.

Steadying my breathing, I sat down on the floor and willed the magic into existence. The heightened feeling of Mana flooding through my mind, I let the pattern I'd memorized repeat. Quicker and quicker, until it was just a buzzing pulse that drew the power. One constant sensation in my skull.

This wasn't exciting.

I still felt a sense of fear, ever since that horrible dream. One that kept me on edge, even as the familiar fire lit above my palm: but I knew that if I wanted to get anywhere, I needed to stay dedicated. Above all, I knew that I needed to master how to properly use the magic I had, inside and out. To earn the [Mage] Class and gain enough power to break free of anyone trying to use me.

Of course, the knocking on my door was almost immediate.

"It's a fine day, isn't it? A fine day for a hunt!" The Baron's deep voice sounded loudly, hardly muffled at all by the several inches of thick wooden boards. "And what sort of [Lord] would I be, if I didn't bring my [Mage] along?"

Ah.

To best-laid plans.