An Adequately Interesting Journey

Eliot

  “Ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen… thirty eight, thirty nine, forty… seventy two, seventy three… one hundred fifteen, one hundred sixteen… one hundred fifty four… three hundred nineteen… five hundred sixty nine… seven hundred three… nine hundred eighty… one thousand!” Eliot counted over a forty minute period of doing push ups. “Gods, I finally finished,” he sighed as he lifted himself off the ground. He could do more, and wanted to do more, but Master Camble made it clear that it wasn’t about the physical exercise, it was for discipline. And he had to admit that it did challenge his self discipline.

  He was alone in the woods with no one around him for miles, it goes without saying that he entertained the idea of skipping his two hour, weekly exercise. After it was all said and done, though, he felt proud of himself for sticking through it all without Master Camble’s eyes boring into his back the entire time.

  As he undressed and neatly folded his clothes in preparation of bathing in the stream he made camp next to, he couldn’t help but reminisce. Back when he first started Master Camble’s training even ten pushups was daunting. Now, he was speeding towards the mortal limit, and it placed an uneasy pressure on Eliot’s brain. If he didn’t become a Demigod soon, his progress would stagnate.

  He shook the thought from his head and got on with the dull but unfortunately required self grooming every human took part in. In the morning, he consulted his map. The trip so far was dreadfully boring but the end was in sight. He was only two settlements away from the dungeon. He organized his meager essentials in his large pilgrim satchel and continued forward.

  He reached Porter City just before sunset. It was progressing nicely in replacing all the wooden infrastructure with stone and there were proportionally sized crowds of people milling about. It was getting dark and he’d already been wowed to numbness by the Metropolis’ features, so he made his way toward an inn.

  He grinned up at the inn’s hanging sheet depicting a bed in faded paint and was about to walk inside when his ears caught a whimper. The streets were loud with the rush of people returning from their jobs, travelers like him seeking bedding, and the constant trotting of horses lugging carriages and carts of goods, so he took a second to investigate the foreign sound.

  It didn’t take long at all. He spent all of ten seconds conscientiously placing his steps closer to whatever was making the whimper to see what was going on. It was happening in the alley directly right of the inn; three thuggish men were forcing a woman against a wall, covering her mouth as they pulled her clothing this way and that. The sun was just low enough and the surroundings structures were just high enough to provide them with the perfect cloak of darkness so that no one on the street with normal senses could see or hear them.

  Eliot walked back to the inn entrance and contemplated his predicament. On one hand, the area seemed to be frequented by delinquents and it didn’t have any guard presence. If he came in contact with said unsavories, it could make for a very annoying encounter. But, he was only staying the night. It might not be worth it to hunt for an entirely different inn. Chances are they would be far away from each other, or else they would fight over customers.

  “Unhand her, you base maggots!” a voice broke Eliot out of his musings. It came from the alley he was just in and it caused a small gathering of people to crescent around its entrance. A small grin surfaced on his face, finally something interesting was happening.

  He shoved his way through the thinly populated crowd and he saw who so narcissistically made himself out to be the hero. There were two new members of the frey. The one who shouted looked in his mid twenties and had healthy, groomed chestnut hair that every so slightly bounced and ruffled at the small movements of his head. He was wearing multiple layers of wool and leather despite the warming temperatures of a new summer and he was painfully handsome. Perfectly clear face, straight nose, pearly white teeth, and a jawline that would put any movie star’s to shame. Eliot definitely took time to admire the view, but in the end what drew his attention the most was the sword at the man’s hip. An extremely extravagant, marble white handle and carved pommel with no hilt of any kind stuck out of a pearl red scabbard with golden, purely decorative engravings on the side.

  The other new addition was a skeleton with jet black, shaggy hair that hung over the majority of his face. He was dressed with only a thin layer, but was carrying five satchels that wrapped around the front of his waist and had rolls of cloth along with a sixth bag strapped to his back. The boy that looked even younger than Eliot was hunched to an unhealthy degree and was nervously fidgeting, trying his hardest to melt into the wall behind him and disappear.

  The leader of the hoodlum trio stepped up to the older man and said, “You wanna start some shit, you bastard?” While he seemed unfazed by the looming audience, his accomplices were nervously whispering to each other and casting glances to their sealed escape routes, all the while still holding the woman as ordered.

  “Yes, I do,” said the man. A flash of silver glinted in the sun and his sword was at the thug’s throat. Eliot did a double take: the man was almost too fast for him to keep track of. But his attention was plundered by the outlandish appearance of the sword. The blade was the same blade of an X-Acto knife, only stretched to one hundred fifty centimeters(around five feet) long and made out of a gleaming silver.

  Obviously outclassed, the thug immediately flipped his demeanor and said, “G-got the message, we’ll leave!” The man narrowed his eyes and motioned for them to get on with it. The crowd mocked and pushed them as they ran away and when they were gone, he stepped up to the collapsed woman and offered a hand. Eliot smirked, a fun idea forming in his brain.

  Before the woman could even look up, Eliot shoved himself between them and said, “How dare a charlatan such as yourself take advantage of this poor woman!” The man flinched at Eliot’s sudden intrusion, but Eliot already turned to address the crowd. “This cretin”- he pointed to the main with an accusatory finger- “Paid those men to attack this woman so he could heroically save her and falsely earn her good graces.” The crowd gasped at the twist and even the woman’s face contorted in anger.

  “I did no su-” the man attempted to defend himself.

  “He is not even a peasant!” Eliot cut him off and grabbed the man's wrist. He drew the sleeve back and lifted it in the air for all to see. He had multiple tan lines in the shape of jewelry that often adorned his hands. “Obvious tan lines show that he comes from wealth. I wager that he is some crystal-button, agatering, smooth-tongue, bastard, merchant son that intends to sully this woman’s innocence!” Without waiting for a reply, Eliot turned to the women and offered his own hand. He tilted his head the slightest degrees, gave a charming smile, and stood in the best lighting possible.

  “You don’t have to worry any longer, I will escort you to your abode,” he assured her. The woman blushed a dark red visible in the poor lighting and abashedly put her hand in his. As Eliot lifted the woman from the ground, he turned just enough for the man to see and winked at him before leading her away.

  Eliot couldn't wipe a smug grin from his face the entire night. He followed through with walking the woman to her house, but left immediately and slept in the inn from before. The inn keeper even gave him a discount for ‘looking after the locals’. Eliot had to suppress the urge to break out laughing there and then, but he managed to keep up the facade until he left the city.

  A pleasant surprise was waiting for him on the path leading out. The man from before was leaning against a tree with his companion sitting criss-cross and hunched over. Eliot pretended not to notice them and sauntered past the pair.

  “Halt,” said the man. But Eliot continued on. “Oh yes, there is a different word that commoners use, what is it, No Name?” the man muttered to his companion.

  “Wait?” provided No Name.

  “Wait!” the man called out. Eliot stopped walking and half turned toward him, a stony mask of disinterest on his face. Suddenly the man broke out into a giddy smile.

  “Where did you learn to do that?” he asked. “It was a breathtaking performance. You would make an excellent noble, you could have the crown in months.” Faced with his appreciation, Eliot’s face crumbled into a jubilant smile and he fully turned around.

  “I’m a natural,” he shrugged humbly.

  “The way you plundered their attention, the way you vilified me, you were radiating charisma!” extolled the man.

  “You speak too highly of me. Tricking a crowd of peasants is trivial, I bet you could have taken control of the situation if you so desired,” Eliot said.

  “But why would I wish to derail such a grandiose show?” laughed the man. Then he stuck out his hand and said, “I am Kyle.” Eliot shook his hand once.

  “I’m Eliot.”

  “I have already scouted a perfect clearing for our duel, three minutes south,” he said, rested his hand on the hilt of his sword.

  “You picked up on that?” Eliot asked him, genuinely surprised. He was half hoping Kyle would attack him in the alley.

  “I know the eyes of a challenger,” he said. “Come along, No Name.” His companion, No Name, jumped to his feet and rushed to Kyle’s side.

  “Who are you and why are you trying to blend in with peasants?” Eliot shot.

  “Well…” Kyle considered how much he should say, “I hail from the Kirlandhill Empire. I came to the Feral Continent to experience how life was like in the Crucible Empire and to see the famed Metropolis.”

  “No way,” Eliot said incredulously, “You’re the emperor of the Kirlandhil Empire?” Of course he knew that the young and war hungry emperor of the Kirlandhil Empire had suddenly disappeared under the pretense of going on a trip. He thought they were spreading mendacious propaganda, not that the emperor was actually going on a trip to tour the Crucible Empire.

  “Who can say?” he replied. Eliot cast a glance at No Name, who immediately looked away and blushed, then back to Kyle. What’s with me and running into royalty? he asked himself.

  They arrived at a small clearing six meters in diameter. No Name took a seat in the shade while Eliot and Kyle met in the middle. They shook hands then took twelve steps opposite each other.

  “S-start!” No Name announced shakily.

  The ever eager participants spun in place and exploded into action. Eliot felt chilly tingles glide down his spine and arms as Kyle unsheathed his blade. The silver bloomed as it caught the sunlight and his arm was impossibly steady as he lowered the blade in front of him. Eliot used form eight, a stance that compliments sudden bursts of speed, in other words a movement ability, and wooshed forward. Kyle’s blade was nothing more than a glint in Eliot’s vision as it cleaved through the superficial layer of his skin. He immediately bailed on the frontal assault and rolled past him, a giddy spasm working its way down his back, his strain of a cold sweat.

  He smoothly planted his feet and spun to face his opponent, who had an arrogant smirk on his face. There was a streak of red skin running up his right arm where Kyle’s sword scathed him, intentionally not drawing blood. Already Eliot knew he couldn’t win this duel, Kyle was on an entirely different plane of strength. He could think of a few possibilities with his magic, but obviously he couldn’t test them.

  Eliot burst into a brief fit of laughter. “You got your revenge,” he conceded. Kyle smugly sheathed his sword as he closed the distance between them.

  “I think we are both aware I want more than revenge,” he said suggestively, stepping past arm’s length. Eliot followed his flow and let himself be pressed against a tree by his presence. Kyle braced his left forearm next to Eliot’s head and leaned in close. His right hand found its way under Eliot’s neck, casually fingering his collar bone.

  Eliot knew he was probably letting it go a little too far, but he couldn’t help it when faced with the perfect ten. From his chest to his abdomen, Kyle’s body was one flat plane, and Eliot imagined how it would feel to explore the creases of his abs. His shoulders were broad and square, his forearms were thick with definition, and the knee of his long legs brushed against the front of Eliot’s thigh, sneaking its way towards the inside. Eliot thought of him as the mix of a more developed Cel fit with brooding, tanned skin and Henry’s face with shadowy hair that contrasted perfectly against Eliot’s bleached.

  He deeply considered it, there was no way Ellulia would ever know, after all. But in the end he remembered the pain and anger he felt whenever he thought of Ellulia with someone else. He took the opportunity to feel him up, just a bit, before he gripped his shoulders and pushed him away.

  “I’m betrothed to someone very special,” he said.

  Kyle considered the dark recesses of Eliot’s eyes for a moment before responding, “I see, she is a very lucky woman.” and putting more distance between them.

  “How did you know they were female?” Eliot asked him as he pushed off the tree and they started walking back.

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  “The Crucible Empire is, for the most part, lax. However, betrothal is controlled by the Church of Life. They would only ever join a man and a woman in matrimony,” he explained.

  “We don’t exactly approve of the church,” said Eliot. “It’s more of a promise to be married in the future.”

  “She is a member of nobility?” Kyle accurately guessed.

  “Who’s to say,” Eliot shrugged.

  They reached the path and Kyle turned towards Eliot. “May I make a request?” he asked. Eliot nodded. “Could you show me your portals?” Eliot was caught off guard by the question, Kyle seemed to be capable of reading everything about him.

  “Has my name really spread that much?” Eliot questioned. “Unfortunately, I’m under unique circumstances at the moment and can’t use my magic,” he apologized.

  “Then perhaps you could owe me a favor for besting you in combat?” he suggested. He has an entire empire under his complete control and he wants a favor from me?

  “I don’t see why not,” he ended up saying.

  “Brilliant!” He turned to No Name and stuck out his hand expectantly. No Name scrambled for a few seconds as he rummaged through their copious storage and eventually handed over a metallic idol. “Try to keep this on your person. I will use it to contact you when the time comes.”

  Eliot took a second to examine it before replaying, “Sure.” It looked like a double sided crest of some kind. It featured a turret with a crown instead of a spire in the middle of a metal cookie shaped like the top half of a star. The most impressive attribute was that the crowned turret was an engraving, a different spell on each side.

  “Now, I think it time for us to be off,” Kyle said. “It was truly a pleasure to meet you, Eliot Relius.” I never told him my surname, Eliot noted.

  “Likewise, Kyle Kirlandhil,” he responded offhandedly, the creeping suspicion that their meeting wasn’t a coincidence nesting in the back of his mind. “You too, No Name,” he added with a smile in his direction before turning to walk away. No Name flushed a deep red and was too flustered to respond.

  “Come now, No Name,” Kyle said as he patted him in the head and started walking in the opposite direction.

  “R-right,” he stuttered as he started walking, casting one last glance back at Eliot’s swiftly receding form.

  His escapade left him farther behind than he predicted the previous morning and he decided he would hightail it to the next settlement, Yore Fortress, notwithstanding he was still ahead of the original schedule he made for himself before he set off in the first place.

  He made it to Yore Fortress before nightfall. He decided he had enough time to peruse the stew selection of a few of the culinary establishments before hitting the hay early. The Sahara Dungeon, as he came to hear it was called, was only an hour’s walk away from Yore Fortress and was well within its sphere of influence. The tourism, resource production and development, and finances of Yore Fortress is greatly bolstered by the Sahara Dungeon. Would be dungeon divers stay in Yore Fortress, sell all the unneeded drops and spend their money on gear and supplies. On the flip side, they cause some overcrowding and people who brave dungeons aren’t the most tempered, which causes problems for the guard. But the mayor promises all of their problems will go away once they develop further and everyone is inclined to believe her.

  Eliot woke up in a good mood. He felt right at home in the overflowing streets, not to mention he managed to find a dedicated stew stand the night before. He stuffed himself and secured a temporarily permanent place to sleep, he didn’t want to come back exhausted from the dungeon then have to hunt for an unoccupied inn, before he set off. He bubbled with anticipation as he walked the path towards the dungeon, shoulder to shoulder with like minded adventures. Then, he heard a cry for help.

  He stopped in his tracks, recognizing like a good pavlov’s dog the sound of food. His head swiveled to take in his surroundings. Either nobody else heard, or no one else cared. Wait, why do I care? he asked himself suddenly. He was about to enter the Sahara Dungeon, why would he care about some cry for help. Then he heard it again. His feet left the path of their volition and he told himself, I’ll just take a look.

  He came across another woman in trouble. She was being harassed more than attacked by a purple Cirrus Feline. They were large jaguar like beasts with tentacles protruding from random places on their body. They came in a variety of colors and they had different abilities based on said color. Purple Cirrus Feline were the least dangerous because their tentacles were the shortest and had no special attributes, they were normal tentacles. Basically purple Cirrus Felin were regarded as slightly larger cats with extra appendages, in fact Eliot remembered reading a passage that said it was an excellent choice for a beginner Beast Tamer’s first tame.

  The Cirrus Feline was on top of the woman, raking its claws into her skin and using its tentacles to probe her body. It was dangerously close to turning into a specific type of porn.

  Eliot wished the woman luck and turned back, trying to decide whether or not it would be an enjoyable experience. They do sort of resemble a man’s penis and there are more of them, some women like that, right?… I’ll have to ask Ellulia about it, he decided as he stepped back into the path. Except, when he stepped passed the threshold, the layer of vegetation that separated the forest and the rode, he found himself still in the forest. He furrowed his brow, he was in the same space of forest where the woman was being attacked. He turned back the way he came and ended up looking at the same space of forest from the other side. He was trapped.

  “You make me sick. I should kill you right now,” a woman’s voice sounded behind him. Eliot spun around to see a tall and slender woman with dull emerald eyes and wearing a light blue version of the same robes Master Camble wore. He stared at her for a few seconds in fascination. He had never seen a woman with a complete lack of hair, or eyebrows for that matter.

  “We agreed that he would get the chance to prove himself,” a different voice, a man’s voice, said. Eliot found the owner to be a slightly oval man, also bald but with fiery red, bushy eyebrows and mustache, brown eyes, and robes that matched the surrounding trees.

  “Is a helpless woman not proof enough?” she countered.

  “Personally, I think chivalry is overrated. Besides that woman wasn’t going to die, at most she would have an unpleasant experience,” Eliot chimed in.

  “You don’t get a say,” she snapped at him.

  “He is allowed to argue for his life, no matter how devious,” said the man, obviously the voice of reason.

  “You’re the head monks of the other monasteries,” Eliot said, putting the pieces together. He gestured at the woman and said, “Master Lavern.” Then he directed toward the man and said, “Master Polle.”

  Master Camble wouldn’t let Eliot be ignorant to the fact that the Crucible Empire’s monk population was split between three factions. They all believed in The Way of Enlightenment, but they disagree on how to progress on that way. Master Camble and Master Lavern were the extremes, one saying you need to conquer your emotions and separate yourself from the physical, while the other says you should be in touch with your emotions and realize your place among the physical. Master Polle’s stance was complicated. Master Camble told him that, put very basically and discerned through the eyes of a peasant, he believes you need to do some of both while putting others ahead of yourself.

  Monks that haven’t ascended to the level of Cloud Monk are still taught in the same place, but after they have reached that level is when they choose between the different monasteries, and by extension choose their desired master. Master Camble heads the Monastery of Clouds, Master Lavern heads the Monastery of Still Waters, and Master Polle heads the Monastery of Perpetual Mountains.

  “To what do I owe the pleasure,” Eliot asked them.

  “We are gathered here today to decide if you are the second coming of Kangan,” said Master Polle. Eliot struggled for a few seconds to remember where he heard that name before.

  “Why would I be the second coming of The Emperor of Death?” Eliot asked, thoroughly confused.

  The Emperor of Death, Kangan Dellam, was Master Camble’s previous discipulus. Story goes, he was an extremely talented peasant that became a monk at the age of twelve, when his family was slaughtered in a dragon attack. He achieved the status of Cloud Monk at fifteen, the youngest in history, and joined the Monastery of Clouds. He studied there for two years before becoming Master Camble’s discipulus and continued under his wing for another two and a half years before it all went wrong.

  He suddenly went insane and killed his sparring partner in front of the entire monastery then turning on everyone else. He was chased off by Master Camble, but not before he managed to kill ten monks and critically injure four others. He went on to slaughter entire settlements and single handedly bring the Crucible Empire to its knees. Only when he imprudently attacked Everveil was he finally slain. Even then, it took the combined efforts of the three head monks and the Seraphim, along with four of the Crucible Empire’s enlisted Demigods.

  “Don’t sound so surprised, it couldn’t be more obvious you’re his reincarnation,” said Master Lavern.

  “You don’t see me going around committing wonton murder,” said Eliot.

  “Unfortunately, sister Lavern is right. You share many similarities with an adolescent Kangan, from his talent down to his white hair,” said Master Polle. That definitely shut Eliot up. He was convinced that his peculiar hair wasn’t natural, it had to be the negative effect of something else. It probably wasn’t a coincidence he shared the trait with Kangan.

  “Then, if that illusion wasn’t the test, what is?”

  “The Pale Heart,” answered Master Polle as he produced an orb about the size of a three year old’s head. “It was created by Sandor Edison as requested by the king, Henry II, when he suspected the nobles of colluding with criminal organizations for a coup. It was gifted to the Monastery of Perpetual Mountains a hundred years ago in thanks for subjecting a violent dragon. When held, it is corrupted by any evil inside of the holder. A portion turns black depending on how much evil it senses,” he elucidated. Eliot noted how he was holding it with cloth, preventing it from touching skin.

  “It senses evil?” he snorted. “I think that’s the most naive thing I’ve ever heard. Good and Evil is nothing but the fabrication of humans, they don’t actually exist.”

  “You speak about things you couldn’t possibly understand,” deflected Lavern. Eliot glared at her.

  “Fine, let’s say they do exist. How does the thing decide what’s evil? Is it decided by what Sandor Edison thinks is evil? Because I guarantee you have different views,” he tried.

  “No,” said Polle. “It functions with the Law of Evil and the Law of Good.”

  “Again, good and evil is something humans made up,” Eliot stressed, “But even if they are laws, they were created by the Gods. You’re using their definition of what is good and what is evil, and literally the first things Master Camble taught me is that The Way of Enlightenment doesn’t pay credence to any particular god.”

  “The Gods created everything. You need to accept the guidance of more knowledgeable beings from time to time if you ever hope to transcend,” said Master Lavern. Damn, Eliot mentally cursed. He failed to convince them and now he has to pass some bull shit test or else they’ll kill him. And he learned from the eye opening experience with Kyle that he was still at the bottom of the food chain.

  “Fine,” grunted Eliot, “Let’s get this over with.” They stayed more than three meters away from him and tossed the orb. The orb was heavier than it looked, weighing down his arm and almost making him drop it. Then, he felt something. An invasive feeling washed over him and he shuddered on reflex.

  The orb pulsated in his hands, sending muscle debilitating shockwaves bouncing around in his skeleton, and it started glowing. Eliot was slack jawed as he took in the light. It was like nothing he had ever seen before. After progressing enough in his understanding, he discovered that light and shadow, similar to the color of Equilibrium, radiated with a faint trace to its law. According to Master Camble, most things did this, you just have to learn to recognize said laws. But the light in front of him didn’t have any traces of law whatsoever. It was purely and utterly neutral light.

  Suddenly, the orb lurched to a stop and simultaneously the light was divided with the finality of an executioner's blade. Along with his divide, Eliot felt like the entire world dropped and perfectly split the light horizontally down the middle. Seconds later, everything within a three meter radius in front of him withered and disintegrated into languish, leaving a wasteland of death. At the same time, life overflowed from behind him, the dirt became richer, the plants bloomed with vigor and the trees reached towards heaven to touch their goddess.

  Depending on your perspective, either the malicious blanket of death was repelled by some invisible wall of life, or the ravening overgrowth of the vegetation was kept in check by the boundary of decay. And, directly in the thick of it, Eliot was left untouched in a small bubble of normalcy, holding the now calm archaic orb.

  “I-I’ve never witnessed the Pale Heart have such an intense reaction before,” gasped Master Polle.

  “It’s beautiful…” breathed Master Lavern. They remained starstruck, mumbling how marvelous the sight was until Eliot broke them out of their stupor.

  “So, is anyone going to tell me what this means?” Their eyes ripped from the space in proximity to him and finally acknowledged that he existed.

  “This… well, we don’t know for sure,” admitted Master Polle.

  “What Brother Polle means,” butted in Master Lavern as she regained her wits, “is that it can be interpreted in two ways.”

  “I uh, dragomere faldin postulated-” started Master Polle.

  “Please, spare us the lecture for now,” interrupted Master Lavern.

  He took a deep breath, “Right,” he breathed out. “For thousands of years monks have pondered what it would mean for someone to be balanced between good and evil. The first hypothesis is that it is impossible to achieve that level of balance without being a transcendent, someone who has surpassed The Way of Enlightenment all together.”

  “Or, the much more believable hypothesis is that the balance is only temporary and shows that the holder has the potential to be both truly just and truly devious. Only time will tell,” finished Master Lavern. Eliot looked down at the slumbering orb. Now that it finished judging him, it had the dullness of a plastic bead painted half black and half white. He decided that he liked Master Lavern’s iteration better. The struggle was half the fun, just being born as a transcendent didn’t sit right with him, not to mention it sounded narcissistic. And he liked the idea of having the power to choose his own fate. The way he saw it, he could either be the world’s destruction or the world’s salvation.

  “Does this mean that I passed the test?”

  “Yes,” said Master Lavern.

  “No,” said Master Polle at the same time. They locked eyes for a split second.

  “I suppose it would only be prudent to test you against some time in the future, but for now you are free to go,” Master Lavern clarified. Eliot caught the slightest change in opinion buried in Master Lavern’s gaze. He tossed the orb at Master Polle, who trapped it in a quilt like some feral beast lunging for a chunk of meat, and started walking back.

  “What happened to wanting to kill him?” Master Polle asked when he thought Eliot was out of ear shot.

  “That boy has the potential to be a driving force of good in the world,” she said.

  “And the potential to be a warlord of death. He could wipe out entire generations and raze settlements on a whim. He’s already reached the mortal limit, an entire year earlier than Kangan,” argued Master Polle.

  “Brother Camble saw that in him long before we did. Especially after Kangan… I have faith that Brother Camble will guide him down the right path,” she said.

  “Is it fair to let Brother Camble carry this burden alone?”

  “No.”