Point of View: Magnus Bridge

The sun was nearly setting when we arrived. I had spent most of the time rummaging through the memories of this vessel. There was an abundance of information and knowledge, much of which might take eons for the people of this world to achieve. While most of the memories revolved around money and wealth, there was still a significant amount of advanced knowledge.

In one memory, we were in what looked like a library. He was reading a book about something called "Chemistry," a science from a more advanced world. The people of that world had studied the essence of nearly everything that existed. Such knowledge could completely transform the continent of Valezion if it ever reached here.

The memories shifted again. This time, we were in a café. He was talking to a man about something related to financial investments. I couldn’t fully grasp what it was about.

Reality seemed to crack. Suddenly, the memory changed once more. We were back in the dungeon. My assistant was on the ground, bleeding. I couldn’t help but notice the resemblance between the two.

What a cruel joke...

The cracks intensified, and our consciousnesses began to merge. It was clear that this body would not withstand such pressure. But the worst part was the idea of losing my sense of self. I couldn’t let that happen.

With effort, I retreated into my own mind and visualized a massive wall rising between us. A solid barrier, separating what was me and what was Roosevelt. As I built it, it crumbled repeatedly, but after what felt like a hundred attempts, I managed to keep us partially separated.

Then, the world, which had been on the brink of collapse, finally calmed down...

‘Magnus...’ he called me again, pulling me out of my trance. It was starting to get irritating; I hated being interrupted when I was learning something new. ‘Magnus, why is everyone staring at me? Even the guards at the port entrance backed away when they saw me...’

Well, the truth was that the cloak he was wearing was a symbol of authority. Anyone on this continent would recognize it, especially in Calyndor, where I was born. But that’s not what I told him.

‘They’re staring at you because you’re incredibly ugly,’ I replied sarcastically. ‘In any case, take advantage of the situation. Someone weak carrying numerous treasures can be robbed at any moment. It’s good that they fear you.’ I could feel his irritation before he sighed in reluctant agreement.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

‘So, where should I go now? I need food, a place to sleep, and most importantly, money,’ he asked. The shared mind made me feel a bit of empathy. He was lost. ‘I’ll guide you to a blacksmith where you can sell the magical crystals and get some resources. But we won’t sell all of them; they might come in handy,’ I replied. It wasn’t a lie. To keep this body alive until I resolved the situation, we needed power. Even though he didn’t have magic, there were magical alternatives that could put him on par with a weaker mage.

As we walked, he looked around, attentive. The city was as lively as ever. The smell and noise of commerce mingled with the salty ocean breeze. Valdora was a good starting point because it was somewhat isolated from the capital, but we couldn’t stay here for long. The cloak we wore drew attention, and rumors spread quickly. We might have a few weeks to get organized.

Everything seemed to revolve around the port: fishing boats arriving with full nets, merchant ships unloading crates from distant lands, and sailors sharing tales that sounded more like legends.

The wooden and stone houses climbed the hills, offering views of the endless ocean. Taverns were lit and bustling with life. Merchants shouted their offers, while children ran between the stalls, laughing and hiding behind barrels.

‘Stop,’ I said abruptly. ‘Turn your body 90 degrees counterclockwise.’ Then, the blacksmith’s shop came into view. The best place to sell magical crystals was to a craftsman.

‘Is it there? What does the sign say?’ He was looking at a sign above the reddish wooden door. Through the windows, weapons reflecting the sunlight gave the shop a magical aura.

‘You can’t read?’ I questioned. That was odd. Summoned heroes received basic information about this world, such as languages and mathematics. Whatever brought this boy here did so with complete negligence and irresponsibility.

‘Magnus... shouldn’t there be some kind of automatic translation? How can I even understand you?’ As expected, this vessel was intelligent. If we couldn’t communicate, everything would be exponentially more difficult.

‘Intention. When we were in the dungeon, the intention behind my words went directly into your mind through magic. And, well, now that I’m inside your mind, there’s no need for magic for that,’ I paused. I could translate the information for him, but that would be a hassle. ‘Let’s do this: I’ll translate what people say to you and replicate the sounds you need to make so they understand you. After that, we’ll take a few weeks for you to learn the language used in Calyndor.’

‘And what exactly do I have to do in return?’ His mental question was filled with distrust. I found it strange; I was probably the most trustworthy person in this world. I took a deep breath—it’s not like I could punish him.

‘You’ll help me rid myself of your miserable existence. I need to find a vessel for myself. I don’t want to be stuck inside your worm-brained head,’ I replied, exchanging barbs as the only possible punishment for now.

‘That sounds fine to me, but I have one condition: the vessel must be someone rotten inside. I don’t want to punish an innocent person. As for the language, it seems completely different from my world. It’d be like learning Russian or Mandarin,’ he remarked. I searched his mind for information about what he just mentioned.