Another round of fireworks woke up Elian.

Again.

“Huh? What?” He rubbed his eyes. “Did I fall asleep? That’s twice now. Sorry. The trip is taking so long. Where are—? Woah…” He jolted at the view framed by the covered wagon’s opening. They had passed through colossal marble gates of elegant make that could rival any from the great cities of the Solvi Empire. “Are we in the Temples of Tribulation?”

“We’re in the territory of the Temple of the Path of Vigor,” Borlen said, looking pleased that Elian was impressed by the architecture.

“That’s a mouthful. Can I call it Vigor Town? Vigor Hill?”

Borlen smiled. “Some do call it Vigor Hill.”

“I’m guessing Penitent Tharguras is now meeting with the Magistrate?”

“Almost. The explosive festivities signaled his climb up the stairs of the main temple. I apologize for our pace but expect the same throughout the day. An hour or so until we reach the central hill. And after that…”

Elian made a face. “Is it alright if I stretch my legs and familiarize myself around town?” He stretched his back. “I don’t think I can get my Boon today since it’s busy-busy for everyone at the main temple. I’ll go there tomorrow.”

Borlen told Elian where they’d set up camp for tonight and gave him suggestions of places to visit. Elian alighted from the wagon and swam against the tide of people to escape the caravan. He dove into an empty alley to begin his exploration of Vigor Hill.

A sense of adventure he had missed for so long welled in his heart.

The first year of his first life on Fellenyr was difficult and exciting. Earth boasts of having the internet, fast food, air conditioning, all the works. But Fellenyr was straight out of a fantasy book. Elian could wield magic and fight monsters.

He could die a horrible death to monsters and there was no modern plumbing. But, hey, magic powers!

As time went on, he lost the childlike wonder at all things magical. His mission to gather information and plan for his second run took over. He bonded with many people and worked hard to save them with no thought about his return ticket to Earth. Sometimes, he was fine with staying on Fellenyr.

I’ll decide when the time comes. He was a long way away from defeating the Giants.

Elian emerged from the alley and stepped on a lively street lined with stalls of food and wares. Following the winding road downslope would lead him to the marketplace, Borlen had told him. He went in the opposite direction and climbed through the levels ringing Vigor Hill. Sitting on its flattened top was his destination—the Temple of the Path of Vigor.

Why were there so many people here? He thought everyone would flock to the Magistrate’s Temple and celebrate the new high score of Tharguras.

Pilgrims wearing garbs in all colors of the rainbow and presenting different symbols made him realize there were many other groups. Tharguras and Faridar might be on top of the leaderboards but there were many more Champion Penitents below them.

And it wasn’t only humans that were pilgrims. There were Dagalans, reptilian humanoids, wearing the red of Faridar. Wispy Sylphshades with green ribbons floated by. Not sure if they were supporting a Champion Penitent or if those ribbons were for fashion. A goatkin with a broken horn, lugging an overstuffed backpack twice his size, was probably here to sell items rather than worship.

A passing man wearing a blue coat with silver buttons down one side made Elian stop. Wasn’t that the uniform of the army of Sajilis Isles? Elian had stayed there for a year to find an item the Seventh Sister of Sorrow asked for.

He looked over his shoulder and spotted the familiar golden emblem of an anchor on the uniform’s back. Everything clicked. “This place is the schools of Raelyon they were talking about!”

People looked at him.

Elian waved at them. “Nice to meet you all. Let’s just move on with our lives. Thanks.”

Ambervale or Amberwynd, the City of Mists where Yanira came from, the Sabyn Mountains, the War Monastery, and the Temples of Tribulation—these were all located in Raelyon, a region with an absolute scrambled egg of political history, with this or that guy claiming to be the ruler only to be assassinated or toppled by another guy. Not one kingdom has ever completely claimed Raelyon and the various settlements simply went on with their own thing and settled in harmony.

While Elian was in the Sajilis Isles, he’d mingle with various people at the bar—their seasnail wine was garbage—and that included soldiers. Some soldiers told him they had attended the schools of Raelyon after he said he was from the region. He assumed they were talking about the War Monastery—it was sort of like a school—because they mentioned the Steelskin and Iron Constitution Forms.

It turned out that they came to Vigor Hill. There were many things Elian didn’t know about this part of Raelyon because he went south last time.

Reaching the top of the hill, he could see why the Sajilisan soldiers referred to the Temple of the Path of Vigor as a school. The not-really temple was several floors of pristine rooms and arching windows topped by a golden dome held up by towering columns, looking like the universities of Pundar Domains. Its gates were open and people freely came and went.

Elian entered the school grounds and toured the gardens, listening to thuds and explosions muffled by the high walls surrounding what he suspected to be a training arena beneath the center of the dome.

“Greetings, brother,” said a man in red and gold robes seemingly popping out of nowhere. “How may I help you?” The way he carried himself gave off the impression he was someone in charge of something. The Boon tattoos on his exposed arms showed that he was a Penitent of the Magistrate.

“I was just looking around.” Elian nodded at the man’s arms. “You’re not going to call down a Tribulation, are you?”

The man laughed. “No, no. We maintain manifesting the mark of the Hundred-Arms Magistrate as a show of devotion.” He gestured at the domed building. “I take it that you are interested in the Path of Vigor?”

“I very much am. But I also don’t have money to pay for training in the vigorous ways.”

“Material obstacles won’t be allowed to deter those who walk the Path of Vigor,” said the robed man, waving his hands. “The initial stages of your instruction are free. The Temples of Tribulation aids aspiring Penitents. Those committed to walking further need more… resources, let us say, for advancement.”

“That’s good to hear,” Elian said. The free basic lessons would be like advertising. Penitents aiming for a higher score would be willing to spend or find supporters for funding. Overall, a good business for the Six Paths.

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“The other Paths have the same policy,” the robed man said. “The Paths of the Forge, Construction, and Cauldron also offer the alternative of producing items to be sold as payment for higher education. But you need not worry. I assure you that you’ll find supporters when you take the Path of Vigor because you’ll progress faster through the Tribulations compared to other Paths. You only need to prove that you have passed one Tribulation and we can start with your instruction. Show me your Kymorathi—”

“I haven’t received the Magistrate’s Boon yet,” Elian said. “Should be today, but the temple is too crowded. I’ll return once I’ve met the requirements.”

From the very vigorous school, Elian descended the hill in the opposite direction and found another flat area cut into the slope. Borlen told him to visit this place to witness Penitents with lower numbers of passed Tribulations and gain donations from the audience. Borlen didn’t expressly say it, but Elian suspected he was getting told to earn money.

“I should buy the whole group food,” Elian said. “I’ve been leeching off of their kindness for a few days now. Very tasty kindness.”

The Stage of Devotion was a circular amphitheater, a few tiers of seating around an arena. It looked like a smaller Colosseum of Rome. And just like the Colosseum, people came here to watch the violence and possible deaths. Though bloodlust and entertainment weren’t the hook that drew crowds—it was religion.

Elian had read that top-performing gladiators could rake in coins back in ancient Rome. Penitents here could too.

“Pardon me, sir,” Elian said to a guard wearing a red surcoat emblazoned with the Path of Vigor symbol. The man raised his chin at being called ‘sir’. Elian even did a couple of bows. “I’m going to start my journey as a Penitent and am looking for support. I’ve been told to come here. How does this work?” he asked, though Borlen had explained it to him.

“You have to pass ten Tribulations to use the Stage of Devotion, brother,” said the guard. “Prove to the followers of the Magistrate that you are worthy of aid by beginning the journey on your lonesome. After which, we invite you to the fold. The Stage of Devotion has barriers to empower your defenses against the Tribulation while protecting the faithful watching. I encourage you to pass ten Tribulations soon and return here.”

“Thanks for your kind words,” Elian replied. With the Elder Giant’s Curse, he was confident he’d easily fulfill the requirement. He could even be a Champion Penitent given enough time and have his loyal band of followers.

He needed to reach level six fast to gain three more Favor Points and max out the Greater Curse of the Powerless Physical Immortal. How many more times would his Armor get multiplied then? He’d likely be the first person in the history of the Covenant to have two Greater Curses of the third tier while at such a low level. Given that level sixes would be children, his competition didn’t have a chance.

There was a very slight problem—leveling without any Attack or Magic Power was a challenge that became more difficult the higher his level would get.

In Elian’s previous life, he gained levels through training and defeating opponents, usually monsters. Sometimes a grateful god would level him up as a reward, but it was mostly those two methods. Between them, fighting and winning was vastly more effective.

While with Borlen’s group, Elian tried working out but didn’t even manage to level up once. He gained a few points of Attack Power which became more Armor, and nothing else. All too slow.

This was where the Magistrate’s Boon came in. Surviving a Tribulation would help him level up, he was certain of it. Defeating a monster using the same Tribulation also would progress the unseen experience bar. Killing two birds with one stone. Or as the poster at the grocery told him before he left Earth, “Buy one milk cartoon, get one free.”

“Sometimes, I still get amazed by my genius,” Elian mumbled, stroking his chin. “Just sometimes. Saving Fellenyr is back on track.”

But he couldn’t completely rely on the Elder Giant’s Curse to save him from getting squished by the Tribulation. The Curse multiplied his Armor attribute. He needed Armor for it to multiply.

Continuing his tour of Vigor Hill, Elian swung by the equipment section of the marketplace. He found the vendor with the cheapest prices and browsed his goods for sale.

“Good day to you, fine gentleman,” the vendor said, doing an elaborate bow. “Are you looking for your first armor to meet the Tribulations of the Hundred-Armed Magistrate? You’ve come to the right place! Let my steep discounts be my contribution to your journey.”

“Is this Enchanted?” Elian nudged his head at a layered leather vest with overlapping metal plates sewn on. It pulsed with a faint yellow light.

“A good eye you have, sir.” The vendor unhooked the vest from the wall and laid it on the table. “An Enchanter with a Boon from the Protector Konshari improved this item. See for yourself.”

Glowing green Kymorathi writings that Elian couldn’t read emerged from the leather vest and floated above it. He touched the words and it changed into the language he understood the most. During his first few years on Fellenyr, Enchantments would appear as English to him. Eventually, they became Angloise. This one read:

Konshari’s Protection for the Brave:

Stand your ground and not one step back. Your bravery earns you the blessing of ten percent more Armor so long as you stay in place.

“That’s a nice boost for Tribulations,” Elian said, eyeing the dangling tag. It had a very reasonable price but buying it would put a sizeable dent on his meager budget. “Are you sure this isn’t fake? Why is this so cheap for such a useful Enchantment?”

“Simple, my good sir. It is on a leather vest. The Enchanter I bought it from told me he was drunk when he enchanted this item. Someone with more money would rather buy a steel breastplate with a Konshari Enchantment than waste a single glance at this leather vest. I keep my prices honest.”

“Yeah, I’ve heard around here that you’re the most reasonable man in this marketplace,” Elian said. The vendor stood a little taller after hearing that. Elian moved to the weapons side of the story. “But I’m not planning to call a Tribulation soon. Still preparing for it. I’m actually looking for a weapon. A cheap one for personal defense. I know these hills are mostly safe, but you never know.”

“Take a look at these daggers, fine sir. Easily hidden in your cloak. The metal isn’t high-quality, I admit that. You get what you pay for. But it’ll do its job in a pickle unless you’re going to stab this leather vest.”

“Did your Enchanter friend mistakenly cast his blessings on another cheap blade? I’d buy it off of you.”

“As a matter of fact, he did.” The vendor rummaged beneath and pulled out a small chest. Inside was a cleaver faintly oozing black smoke.

“That’s a knife for cooking,” Elian said. “Or butchering. Hardly for personal defense.”

“But it’s cheap,” the vendor said as he took the cleaver from its container. “And it packs quite a punch with this Enchantment from the Self-Flagellant Elashor.”

Elashor’s Payment in Blood

Lose a percent of your Health each second you hold this weapon, earning the right to increased violence of an additional three hundred Attack Power.

“That Enchantment…” Elian slowly said, grimacing. He had to make the vendor think he didn’t want this.

But this was exactly what he wanted. Any Attack Power he’d obtain would be multiplied by eight by the Abyssal Eye’s Curse before conversion into Armor. In terms of raw Armor attribute, it was better to use weapons than wear armor. Of course, Enchanted armor would have powerful effects he’d need, but that was for the future.

“How much for this?” Elian asked. The vendor quoted something within his budget, but he tried to haggle a bit and eventually bought it. “Let me see…”

Elian Ward | Human | Level:3

Health: 265/265

Energy: 70/70

ATTRIBUTES:

Attack Power: 0

Magic Power: 0

Armor: 5,808  

Magic Resilience: 0

Burning pizza from outer space! The cleaver’s own Attack Power and the Enchantment added nearly two thousand Armor. Elian kept his expression neutral.

“I pray you are satisfied with your purchase, good sir,” the vendor said.

“I’m going to buy some meat and test this,” Elian said. “I’ll cook for a lot of people tonight. May the Magistrate bless your business.”