“Godtouched?” Talax inquired, puzzled. “You mean he has a wreath from a God?” As far as he knew, being Godtouched meant someone had a wreath gifted by a deity or possessed an artifact bearing a god's mark.

The boy in front of him, who kept muttering, “patch, patch, patch,” didn’t seem to exhibit any godly ability; instead, his behavior indicated a troubled mind and a lack of intelligence.

“Gods don’t only give gifts, Talax; you should know that. They can also bestow curses. I sense it on the boy. A God has touched him; he is cursed,” she said, her voice tinged with worry and bordering on horror. “I'm not sure it's wise to be around someone cursed by the Gods, we have our own problems.”

Talax pondered this, stealing a glance at the men beside him, who were engaged in good-natured bargaining. The boy appeared fascinated by Talax, tracking his every move despite seeming unaware of what was happening. A little drool trickled from his open mouth as he swayed back and forth, clutching something protectively in his hands.

Name: Patch

Health points: 150/150

Mana: 665/665

Level: 9

Race: Dwarf

Age: 18

Profession: None

Class: None

Dwarves are known for their resilience and expertise in craftsmanship. They hail from the deep, mountainous regions, mastering the arts of mining and forging. Their stoutness and durability make them excellent warriors and skilled artisans, often specializing in earth-based magic and combat. Though not as versatile as humans, their unwavering determination and affinity for the underground realms grant them a unique advantage in navigating subterranean landscapes and facing challenges below the surface.

“Um, Aria... The boy... Are you seeing this?” The boy possessed as much mana as him, and he had to use the mana heart found in the dungeon to double it. Yet here was this boy, barely an adult and not even at level 10, wielding the same amount of mana.

“Something's definitely amiss here, Talax. I don’t like it.” Talax had to agree; the boy was unsettling. “Also, did you notice his head? He has hair, clipped close to his scalp, but it’s there. Surface dwarf mothers mix a special elixir with their milk to prevent their babies from growing hair; it’s an unspoken rule. If the boy has hair, then…”

“...Then he is not a surface dwarf.” Talax concluded. He glanced at the older dwarf and found no other resemblances apart from their similar stature. “Could he even be his son?” he wondered.

“It’s hard to say. Perhaps an innocent affair between a surface and a deep dwarf resulted in the boy. But given the other peculiarities, it's unlikely.” Talax shared the same view.

His thoughts were interrupted by Qalo’s excited screams. “Talax, Talax! Look here! I can’t believe it!” Talax left the boy and hurried to find his friend, who was currently rolling on the ground, attempting to pet a strange beast.

It resembled an oversized pig with a mohawk. “What the hell?” He muttered. “It’s adorable, isn’t it?” Qalo asked with wide eyes, while the dwarf stood to the side, hands crossed, sporting a big, proud smile.

“Her name is Missy. She’s a trusty companion on all my travels.” Talax observed the peculiar pig and noticed two tusks protruding from its snout, one broken at the root, the other chipped and yellowed.

“It’s a war hog, Talax! I've wanted one since I was a kid! Can I have one? Please?” Qalo pleaded, and Talax looked at his large, fearsome friend, acting like a little kid.

“What am I, your mother?” Talax replied with a frown. “And no, you can't,” he added after some thought. The dwarf decided to chime in. “Master mage, I...” Talax interjected, not liking how he was addressed, “you can call me Talax.” The dwarf nodded in appreciation. “Master Talax...” He couldn’t help but roll his eyes but didn’t comment further. “I have connections with an excellent breeder. You can have a war hog at a very reasonable price. With my referral, you'll get a significant discount. Of course, I'll be compensated for my liaison, but that’s part of the course. You should know, most clans forbid selling war hogs to other races. It really is a bargain!”

Talax sighed, listening to Gormak’s selling speech. Hope reignited in Qalo’s eyes as he looked at him with a pleading expression while he petted the war hog, which oinked every so often. “No!” He repeated a little more forcefully. “Who is going to clean, feed, and look after the pig? And more importantly, who is going to keep it alive? We barely manage it for ourselves!” Qalo pouted, but Gormak wasn’t about to let a potential buyer slip away so easily.

“War hogs are excellent battle companions. They are bred for that exact purpose, after all! Dwarves have used them as cavalry for centuries, focusing on expanding their health pool and strength attribute! This old lady has seen countless battles and has only recently retired after a warg took a big bite out of her and she was almost crippled.”

“My, my, that is one tenacious merchant,” Aria commented, impressed. “Shut him up, I am getting bored. Enough talking about pigs!” Talax chuckled internally, hearing Aria’s aggravated voice, but he had to agree with her; he had heard enough about pigs.

“The answer is still no. Qalo, you may play for a while longer with the pig while I talk with our new friend.” Gormak looked a little deflated by Talax’s refusal, but once he asked to see his wares, the greedy dwarf perked up. Talax had something specific in mind that he wanted to buy.

“I am not sure my wares will be sufficient for your demands. I mostly dabble with homeware, but I have some weapons you may find interesting,” the dwarf announced as he walked to the back of the wagon and started rifling through the crates.

“Oh, I am quite satisfied with my weapons. I was looking for something else. Food!” He exclaimed with desperation. If he could avoid Qalo’s cooking, he would be willing to part with any number of coins.

The dwarf stood up with a pleasant smile. “Of course, of course.” He changed route and went to one of the nearby barrels. “I think you will be delighted with my selection! I have smoked jerky, leaf wraps, flamefruit, salted karamaran...” The merchant kept ticking off names that Talax had never heard before. Uncertain whether the dwarf was trying to confuse him, Talax decided, “Give me a little of everything, so I can taste them. When we part ways, I will need more rations, and we’ll make a deal then.” After a bit of haggling, which Talax didn’t particularly care for, the dwarf conceded to ten silvers for about thirty meals.

The dwarf’s eyes gleamed like golden coins upon spotting Talax’s enchanted satchel, and he barely noticed when Talax handed over the silver. He was certain that any future deal they struck would come with a serious mark-up.

“Master Talax, you can ride along with us on the wagon, but I’m afraid we won’t be able to carry both you and our friend here,” he pointed at Qalo, who was completely engrossed with the hog.

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Qalo, are you okay with this?” Talax felt a tinge of guilt, but the prospect of resting his aching feet was appealing. Qalo made a dismissive gesture and went back to playing with the disgruntled hog.

Talax settled on the bench beside the merchant, and with a sharp whistle, the war hog began lumbering forward. The wagon creaked and bumped, starting its journey. But the ride wasn’t as smooth as expected. The noise was constant, they kept jolting over rocks and potholes, and the wooden wagon jostled so much that Talax had to clutch the bench to stay in his seat.

After a few minutes of relative silence, interrupted only by Qalo’s cooing, the dwarf turned to Talax. “My name is Gormak. It’s a pleasure meeting you, Master Talax. I hail from the Stonecleaver clan, and this is my son, Patch.” A small head appeared between them, and Talax felt the boy’s breath on his neck, sending a shiver down his spine. “Patch, patch, patch, patch!” The boy chanted.

“Patch, go back to your tinkering! You’re making Master Talax uncomfortable.” Surprisingly, the boy listened and clambered over the barrels, disappearing from sight.

“Sorry about that. He means well, but he has a simple mind and doesn’t understand boundaries,” Gormak explained. Talax grunted, casually asking, “Was he born this way?” Wanting to gauge the dwarf's response.

“Um, yes. His mama would confuse a gold coin for a rock, but the boy…” Gormak sighed despondently. “...the boy is much worse. Still, he’s my son, I couldn’t abandon him.” Talax nodded, his interrogation skill having already alerted him to the lie.

“Something’s fishy here,” he thought to Aria. “It is, but do we really have to care? Soon, we’ll part ways, and we won’t see them again,” Aria reasoned. Talax shrugged; she probably had a point.

“My boy might be simple, but he’s a master at patching up armor and clothes. I think he has the repair skill, and it must be pretty high, judging by his work.” “Patch!” The boy exclaimed from somewhere behind them.

"Your armor is in good condition, but your friend’s equipment needs some care." Talax surveyed Qalo and noticed the merchant was right. Qalo’s shirt had been wrecked in the dungeon, and he now wore a vest, his pants and boots looking ready to fall off. He lacked proper armor, with only two belts crisscrossing his torso, carrying his hammer on his back and Eward’s pouch swaying at his waist.

“Master Orc, I have armor in your size if you're interested. It’s exceptionally crafted by dwarven artisans; I'm certain you'll be satisfied with my items!” Qalo seemed thoughtful but eventually shook his head. “Thank you, but no. My natural defense skill has advanced, and if I wear armor it won’t work. Some of us struggle to level up our skills!” He cast an accusing glance at Talax before returning to cooing at the hog.

“What was that about?” Talax asked Aria, perplexed. “You must have noticed how rapidly you’re growing. A month or so ago, you were level 0 with no skills or abilities. Now you match the strength of companions who’ve had a lifetime to train and advance their skills.”

Talax’s eyes widened in realization. He hadn’t considered how swiftly he had risen to Qalo’s level and beyond since their meeting. When they first met, Talax was a meager level 2, but now he could stand toe to toe with the formidable orc. He had attributed it to constant battles and dangers that pushed his skills and levels to rise swiftly.

His fortunate encounters had gifted him a wide array of spells and skills he hadn’t appreciated as rare. His Voidborn nature allowed him to learn any kind of magic he encountered, a feat others struggled with.

“This is why we were so feared in the past. Our void magic is insatiable, always craving more mana. It unknowingly siphons mana, causing us to level up faster than others. What would take a lifetime for a determined warrior or mage is child's play for a Voidtouched.”

He grappled with conflicting emotions. He had believed his rapid growth was his own accomplishment, but if what Aria said was true, then luck in being a Voidborn had propelled him. His advancement owed much to his nature rather than his efforts.

“I can sense your trouble. What’s wrong?” Aria asked, her voice serious. “It feels like my successes were robbed. My rapid rise owes everything to void magic, not my effort or work.”

“You can’t think like that. Void magic is part of yourself. It’s akin to what happens with dwarves and their enhanced constitution and resilience or elves and their affinity for magic and strong willpower. Every race has its advantages and disadvantages. Do you know how many would envy you for your ability to learn faster? Voidtouched have the advantage of advancing faster than most and the disadvantage of going crazy while doing it. You know, it’s a mixed bag!”

Talax chuckled. Viewing it from Aria’s perspective made sense. Each individual possessed strengths and weaknesses. Some were good at athletics and physical activities, while others were better suited to study and use their mind to solve their problems. Being a Voidborn meant he was better than most at advancing his skills, but it didn’t mean that others weren’t better at other things.

“You’ve been silent for a while, Master Talax. Are you alright?” the dwarf asked, sending him a concerned glance. Talax gave him a reassuring smile and nodded, refraining from mentioning his intense conversation with the ghost in his head.

“So, where did you say you were going?” Talax attempted small talk, hoping for some information about the world at large.

“We’re headed to Old Foxly, though I heard it has a new name now. The old mayor handed the town to the council of mages, but if you ask me, they forced him into it. The council’s been running the town for years, they just made it official.”

Talax nodded, though he didn’t fully grasp the man’s words. “Aria, any clue about what he’s talking about?” The usually knowledgeable spirit seemed stumped. “No, during my time, there weren’t any towns around here. That’s why Ha’arun chose this place. There was only a small village by the cloud monasteries, mainly merchants selling wares to young adventurers, nothing more.”

“Is it concerning that the town is now under mage rule?” Talax queried curiously. The old dwarf shrugged, “Doesn’t affect me much. Might pay a few more coins in taxes, but they won’t bother with me. However, with monsters in the forest and the mages taking control, things don’t bode well for these parts.” Gromak seemed momentarily lost, then turned to check on Patch.

“I'll need to sell my stock soon and head home. Won’t be traversing the Greenwood Forest again, no way. I'll go through the Rolling Rivers, though it’ll take twice as long, at least we’ll be safe.” The merchant looked worried, repeatedly rubbing his tattoo, catching Talax’s eye.

“Is your home far?” he inquired. The dwarf scoffed, “I’m a travelin’ merchant; my wagon is my home. But aye, Stonehaven Perch, where my clan stays, is far. We won’t be back before winter. If Kadmus blesses us, I'll take my son back to the stone’s warm embrace before the snow strands us away from home.”

“Who’s Kadmus?” Talax asked, and the dwarf reacted as though he'd just claimed the war hog was his spouse. “The protector of merchants! The God of wealth and commerce! His golden hands turn rocks into gold and shit into copper!” The dwarf burst into laughter, while Talax felt a cold sweat forming. It was the God he'd first encountered when he woke in the temple, the one who had attempted to kill him. Wonderful. He was traveling alongside a devotee of the very God who'd tried to end him.

Attempting to change the subject, he inquired, “Is Old Foxly a big town?” Gromak extracted something that looked like an onion from a burlap sack at his feet and tossed it to the hog, which devoured it in one gulp without missing a step.

“Good Missy! I'm not sure. I haven’t been there in years. A friend told me that more and more people are fleeing there. Mostly mages. The new King of Altia is a fool, in my opinion. His strict laws are driving away his mages. My friend…” He leaned in and whispered to Talax, “…is a mage. Whenever he needs extra coins, he sells me magical ingredients from the royal apothecary. He mentioned that they're now carving runes on new mages' flesh to control and track them so they can't escape. Many deserted. Most fled to Old Foxly, given that most of the mage council are former deserters from Altia themselves. The king’s patience won’t last though. He could raze the town in a day if he wanted, and the council couldn’t stop him.”

Talax absorbed the intricate dynamics between neighboring cities and felt relief for not staying in Altia after the incident with Bene. Had he remained and his magic surfaced, even if he hadn't been revealed as a Voidborn, he might have been trapped as a mage for the crown, just as he'd feared.

“Why don’t you join us at the cloud monasteries?” Talax suggested, thinking it could benefit both of them. However, Gormak seemed uninterested. “What would I do there?” he scoffed. “There's only a small settlement at the mountain's base, that barely has any people. My wares would be worthless. Why even go there? Adventurers prefer going to different training spots nowadays, like the crystal colosseum or the Argynian battlegrounds. Who visits the cloud monasteries besides monks and reclusive hermits?”

As the sun began to set and Qalo grumbled about feeling tired, before Talax could reply, Aria’s voice resonated in his mind. “Ask the dwarf if there’s a shaman in the monasteries; he might know.”

“I’m not heading there for training. I’m looking for a shaman. Have you heard anything about one?” Talax inquired. The dwarf pondered for a moment, scratching his head. “I’m not entirely sure, but I think there might be one. If not, Old Foxly might be your next best bet; it’s known for have everything magic related.”

“At least we’ve got a backup plan,” Aria mused, seemingly to herself more than addressing Talax directly.

“I’m tired! When are we stopping?” Qalo grumbled. “Oi, don’t worry, Master Orc. We’re almost at the Sticks, a small hamlet with friendly folk, we could…”

The dwarf’s words were abruptly cut off by a piercing howl that reverberated around them, causing the massive mushroom to emit an alarmed whistle, sending everyone into a flurry of movement.

“We have company,” Gromak declared as he readied his crossbow.