Throughout the following day, Elian wondered what he would’ve done if the guards didn’t arrive in time. Sitting under a Creation Tree’s kaleidoscope umbrella of leaves, he kept replaying yesterday night’s events while molding Aether into various shapes.

They weren’t going well, both the pondering and the molding.

His gaze traveled from the wonky Aether blob, down his finger, to his bare arm. The few scratches from Naamon’s wind blade were almost invisible because of the ointment slathered on top. Those red robes weren’t fighters. They were Penitents fixated on surviving Tribulations, not on killing others. Still, if the magical fireball hit Elian, he’d be very toasty.

What’s the answer?

Elian was well aware of the concept of living to fight another day. He had done it many times—painful retreats he buried in the deep recesses of his memories, trying to forget the faces of those left behind, both fallen and alive. He needed to fight during the proverbial next day when the Giants would arrive. Naamon and Borlen’s quarrels were tiny green peas in comparison.

But Elian couldn’t and wouldn’t abandon others when the same situation would present itself. This second run was the time he was supposed to save people. He told himself that many times in his past life. Promised himself. Promised others. All those oaths kept him going and staved off the guilt and regret.

And he still couldn’t do it? Was this all a waste?

“Elian, how are you doing?” Varmisal shaded him from some of the Creation Tree’s light. “I sense chaos in your heart.”

Elian looked up. “You do?”

“I jest,” he said, lightly laughing as he knelt to Elian’s eye level. “I lack the powers to peer into the hearts of people. What I do have are eyes that can see your troubled expression, very wrinkled forehead and eyebrows trying to merge. And I also see your molding becoming unstable.”

“Some chaos inside me, yeah.” Elian sighed, dispersing the Aether on his finger. “Can I ask for guidance, Master Varmisal?” This was a fantasy magic school. Varmisal was a sort of old, but not very, wizard teacher. If this was a book, Varmisal would be the mentor dispensing advice that’d lead Elian to an epiphany. Nothing to lose by asking.

“I sense this isn’t related to Aether Magic,” Varmisal replied. “But if it’ll help unburden your mind so you can continue Aether molding, I’ll try my best. Though don’t let it be a love problem.”

“Master Varmisal, what if I want to protect someone from danger but I’m too weak?” Elian added in his head, And I can’t die because the fate of humanity literally rests on me. Varmisal didn’t need to know about that.

The teacher looked up at the dark ceiling—it was filled with clouds blocking the stars—and tapped his chin with his Aether-constructed finger. A few seconds of thinking passed, and he said, “We can look at Tribulations for the answer. I’m not saying it in a philosophizing sense given that you’re a Penitent. Sort of as an analogy.”

“Uh, sorry, I’m not following.”

“Protecting others, like defending against the Tribulation, is a challenge. You prepare to be sufficiently strong to overcome the Tribulation… the challenge. If you’re weak, inadequate, you work hard to be strong. It sounds like a simple answer, and it is. The most straightforward answer is most often simple… and obvious. Be strong to meet the challenge, Elian.”

Elian frowned. He could see what Varmisal was getting at but wasn’t with it. “With all due respect, master. When it comes to Tribulations, I can prepare and call it down when I’m ready. I don’t have any say when danger will come. Big chance it’ll come when I least expect it.”

“And so, you always expect it to come,” Varmisal patiently replied. “Prepare for it with all your might.”

Always expect it to come… Something clicked in Elian’s brain. That’s it!

Varmisal was right. This was like a Tribulation… but not the one from the Magistrate’s Boon.

It was the Cursed Tribulation that came daily. Yes, Elian could control when the Cursed Tribulation would descend within the day, but it would come even if he didn’t call for it. There was no rest. In the same vein, danger would always come. He didn’t know when, but it was out there somewhere, waiting for him to pass by. Or maybe, he’d pass by someone needing his help.

Just like the constant Tribulation, Elian’s only solution to protecting everyone from danger was to continually prepare. Build up his Magical Resilience too.

Do his best to keep his promise from his past life. No need for weighing morality and deep thinking.

Be hard… always.

To protect people. Not that other kind of hard.

“Your expression tells me you have solved your conundrum,” Varmisal said. “Always happy to help. Though there’s a possible follow-up question to this—what if your preparations aren’t enough?”

“They have to be,” Elian said with a grin. “If they’re not, I’ll worry about that then. I can’t let it take up space in my brain. I don’t have the ability to see in the future and I can’t rewind time to change the past. All I can do is focus on the present.” He held up one finger in both hands and showed Varmisal he could gather Aether in two points.

“Splendid improvement, Elian.” Varmisal did his weird clapping. “Continue as you are.”

Before the class was dismissed for the week’s end—it was the Magistrate’s Sabbath tomorrow—Varmisal asked them to show their work. Jadewell could make more elaborate forms, like a groff figurine and a cube with holes in it. Thorren could make two Aether constructs of basic shapes, choosing to make plates to be like shields. Others have also progressed; the furthest one was the Sarhat lady showing off an Aether copy of a helmet that Varmisal brought in as a model, though a smaller version that couldn’t fit her head yet.

When it was Elian’s turn, he presented two intricate forms—thorny balls with spikes of uneven placement and length. It wasn’t as detailed as Jade’s work but making two of them drew oohs and aahs from other students. Jadewell stared intensely at Elian, probably surprised at how fast he improved.

“Well done, my students,” Varmisal said. “You’ve improved by leaps and bounds, a much faster rate than average. It warms my heart, rightly so. Your goal for next week is to mold a rudimentary form of covering for your body. From there, I’ll begin the lesson proper for making Manifested Armors.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

Manifested Armor—this was Elian’s target. Achieve this, even just a basic make, and he could move on to other things, perhaps travel to the Sabyn Mountain. Aether Constructs, unlike those generated from Energy, didn’t rely on his attributes. They were separate forms out of reach of the Elder Giant’s Curse. Through them, he’d have Magic Resilience without buying equipment.

“Elian, I was about to talk to you,” Thorren said when he saw Elian approach. “I’ll go to the Stage of Devotions with my cousins and use the Aether plates I can make. They are useless, of course. But it’s the start of my signature look. Are you free to accompany us?”

“Sorry, I have something to do later,” Elian replied. He planned to hunt in the forest before it got too dark. “I have a favor to ask from you.”

“I’ll do it if it’s within my abilities,” said Thorren. “You have my gratitude for repairing my uncle’s necklace.”

“Nah, I’m not holding that over you. I helped you with no strings attached. If you really want to repay me for that, just buy me food or something. I’m asking for your help as a friend. This involves danger and might take time so I understand if you refuse.”

“Danger is a common occurrence for us Penitents. Let’s hear it.”

Elian unwrapped the bandages on his right arm. Thorren grimaced, anticipating the gross sight of the Guardian Exactor Vine growing in human flesh, but didn’t retreat. Elian said, “This plant symbiont seed—well, I guess it’s considered a seedling now—isn’t growing well. The rewards from the Tribulation made me too tough for it to dig into—”

“No need to elaborate,” said Thorren. “How may I assist you? I hope it doesn’t involve touching that… thing.”

“No, no. That’s not it,” Elian said, laughing. He explained his task from Gideon and the location of the Spectral Fairy Azalea he needed to harvest.

“Isn’t that near the Forbidden Temple?” Thorren meant the ancient ruin about half a day’s hike from Forge Hill.

The Forbidden Temple was rumored to be the previous home of the Hundred-Armed Magistrate—to be more accurate, the home of the deity’s hand remaining on the mortal plane—before this whole Penitent religion thing started. Not only was the area out-of-bounds for religious reasons, always guarded by one of the seven priests, but there were also many dangerous monsters living around there.

Gideon explained this all to Elian a couple of days ago. “These powerful beasts are attracted by the residual energies left behind by the deity. They have been made powerful, mutated, and insatiable. The hunters here give it wide berth.”

“And you’re asking me to go to pass by that place?” Elian had asked.

“Not without preparation.”

The floramage provided Elian with maps with detailed safe routes to take, as well as information about possible monsters he’d encounter. Gideon bought and compiled the information from various hunters and adventurers.

“I now see the danger in your request,” said Thorren.

“I’m not heading to the Forbidden Temple itself,” Elian said. “We’ll get stopped by a priest if it’s true one is guarding it. My aim is a hill further on. But I’ve heard the creatures living in the Forbidden Temple venture out to hunt, so the danger is real.”

“If we leave early on the morrow, we might be able to return before our class the next day.”

Is he agreeing? Elian was wary of adventuring alone. He considered asking Borlen but knew that the old pilgrim would prefer staying at the camp, especially after what happened yesterday. Venturing far from the guards might attract the ire of angry red robes. And so, Elian thought of Thorren. The Rakhonite seemed experienced in hunting and survival skills. Elian would have someone who could attack, unrestricted by stupid Curses, and was tanky enough to not need babysitting. But there was a problem.

“Not early tomorrow, sorry,” Elian said. “I have to accompany my friends to the mass at the temple.”

Borlen and his group were going there. Elian would go with them for their security; he became a source of bragging rights for them and Naamon’s group thought he could tank anything they could throw. The temple hill would have guards but the path going there and back to the Cauldron provided plenty of opportunities for an attack.

“The mass, yes…” Thorren gazed in the direction of the main temple. “I’ve never attended any though I’m here longer than you, but I understand why you’d want to. Leaving midday, we’ll miss our class the following day.”

“Plus, the danger. A day of class isn’t that much—” Elian stopped as Jadewell jostled past. He didn’t realize she was behind them. “Well, missing class means we’ll get delayed catching up to her.”

“It’s not a worry, my friend,” said Thorren. “I was getting bored of sitting here the whole day. The light of these trees hurt my head. Let’s go find this flower of yours.”

Elian returned to the Cauldron in high spirits. Adventuring with a party just like in the old days that were yet to happen. That was the most enjoyable time Elian had during his previous life—making dumb mistakes with a group of friends, exploring the world while on the verge of poverty, and with no Giants yet to present an existential threat. He also needed to gather allies and Thorren appeared to be a good start. At least, he’d know for sure come tomorrow.

Instead of heading for the gate leading to Borlen’s camp, Elian went to a different one. The hunt begins.

“Finally, a slight variation to the forest environment,” he said, walking over ancient pavement partially covered with grass. This no-longer-used road led to a half-buried olden settlement of the race who used to worship the Magistrate’s hand, humanoid cats, judging by some of the statues still standing.

The Hundred-Armed Magistrate’s racket of making a religion out of his Boon was in place before humans arrived on Fellenyr. Elian passed open areas with craters in the form of giant hands, partly obscured by the forest that sought to reclaim the land over the years.

How many of the cat people died here? How many were injured?

Deities couldn’t be really considered good or evil, and that included the asshole of an Abyssal Eye. They have their agendas not constrained by the morality of humans or other races. Elian didn’t even know why the Timekeeper wanted to save humans. Time marched forward irrespective of which race survived on Fellenyr. And humans didn’t even know there was a Timekeeper.

If Elian were to list candidates for an evil deity, the Hundred-Armed Magistrate would be up there. The Magistrate wasn’t intentionally malicious, but its methods for feeding itself were. There was something sinister about the deity he couldn’t put his finger on.

“It’s not like I can just let the Giants take that hand,” Elian said. Attending the mass tomorrow might shed more light on what was going on here. For now, his focus was on the hunt.

After Gideon taught Elian how to get the Spectral Fairy Azalea, Elian asked for information about valuable animals around the hills. Gideon should know a lot since he needed an assortment of ingredients for his experiments. Elian didn’t take no for an answer and even threatened the floramage he’d pull the Guardian Exactor Vine out his arm. Elian wouldn’t go through with it, but he gambled that Gideon valued the plant symbiont more than he did.

And so, Gideon relented and shared his files on the creatures of the hills. Elian zeroed in on the Quillhusk as his target.

“It should be around here,” Elian said, passing a house-sized statue head of a feline.

Despite going deep into the forest, he still found remnants of the civilization that used to live there. The sun started to set, painting the sky with pink and orange. Would he find his target before night fell? Luck was on his side. When he stepped through a prickly thicket, he found a Quillhusk munching the branches of a short gelborn tree.

The Quillhusk was around half the size of a groff, the beast of burden preferred by human civilization. Not too big, but still fairly large. A thick exoskeleton protected it while it ambled around six stubby legs. It also had a mane of quills coated in toxins that it could shoot forward at any threat.

This time, the threat it faced was Elian. He chose to hunt the Quillhusk because its armor would prevent it from getting turned to paste by the Tribulation. He hoped the Tribulation would crack the exoskeleton so he could pick it off, dump the pieces into a bag, and sell them to the market.

Though money was his secondary goal. His true aim was to level up.

“I’m sorry, Quillhusk,” Elian said, walking up to the giant bug. “I’ll make sure to put the money I’ll earn from you to good use.”