by John Gold
“Oh, you want money for some candy?”
“Yup.”
What a great turn of events. The sweets they have in the orphanage aren’t anything like what they have here in Project Chrysalis.
“Here you go.”
Arman gave you: 10 silver coins
“Thanks.”
It’s a lot more money than I was expecting. There will even be some left over after I share with Rachel and treat the guys to something.
“Two conditions. First, you have to haggle for everything you buy and cut the price down by at least half. Second, you have to spend at least half the money on your education. There are a lot of teachers and masters here, so decide what you want to learn.”
“Thanks.”
Father spent the whole week making me swim, run, jump, and do push-ups. The pain I was in when I dropped below ten percent felt very real. Even my muscles were sore. Once, I even caught my hand in a trap. Father quickly depressed the spring, of course, but the sensation was enough to make me squeal. I could hear the dull crunch of a bone breaking, and I wouldn’t wish that on my worst enemy. The wounds healed, but I still have debuffs that keep me from full recovery. Every time I log out of the game, I sleep for two or three hours before heading to my studies.
My strength, agility, and stamina are all up to 20. My speed is 6, my athleticism is 3. I’m even looking different, not the same kid who couldn’t swim fifty meters. My neck is thicker, my entire body visibly stronger and more muscular. I even have a six-pack! Rachel always laughs when I flex and show them off.
Father told me that you can tell what someone’s developing just by looking at them. Intellect effects your facial features, wisdom turns your hair gray, agility makes you look wirier, stamina shows through in how balanced your muscles are in general. You can tell someone’s approximate level by the way they look, too. Just hearing everything father knows is painting a very strange picture of his past.
My intellect and wisdom haven’t grown at all. I don’t know how to make that happen. For the same reason, my morale has stayed the same, too. When father explained how you boost your survivability, I declined. Watching blood drip from a huge cut on your arm without a single healer nearby? No, thank you. The farther you go, the more wounds you have to get for your resilience to grow. Once you’re at 15, you have to stab yourself with a knife. Unbelievable…
Now, I’m proud I made it through all that.
Name: Sage
Level: 0
Experience: 0/100 (100 left until the next level)
Race: Human
Class: None selected
Basic attributes
Strength: 20
Agility: 20
Stamina: 20
Intellect: 1
Wisdom: 1
Available attribute points: 0
Additional attributes
Speed: 6
Athleticism: 3
Morale: 1
Survivability: 1
Derivative ratings
Physical damage: 10 (strength/2, but no less than 1)
Carrying capacity: 50 kg (strength*10/4)
Mana: 10 (wisdom*10)
Health: 200 (stamina*10)
Strength: 20 (stamina*10)
Health restoration: 200/minute (survivability*10)
Mana restoration: 10/minute (morale*10)
Strength restoration: 30/minute (athleticism*10)
Running speed: 6 km/h (1+speed/10)
Defense: 1
Resistance: 0
Skills
Cooking: 3
Trap setting and disarming: 8
Archery: 2
Swimming: 4
Breath-holding 5
Stealth: 3
Professions
Herbalist: 2
Fisherman: 16
Tailor: 2
Blacksmith: 1
Carpenter: 1
I stop and sit down on a bench. There’s no point running, since even the kids could rob me. First, I need to figure out why father gave me almost all of what he expects to earn. He taught me the skills I didn’t need a class for. But there are more I can get before I pick my class, and I have at least a couple more years to play with my kid account. I can’t ride horses, though the ability to tame animals might come in handy. I could pick up some recipes for the professions I know or learn new ones. Alternatively, I could buy some clothes that would boost my main attributes. That’s the only way to get past the 20-point limit you get for natural development. Father’s smart—he said I need to invest at least half the money in new skills. That means I could invest it all! Okay, the treats can wait. I’ll find money for them later, when it’s less important to make father proud. He’s a clever guy! That was a hint he gave me for a big trick I can pull. He’s a fisherman, but he knows a little magic, so that means I can learn some spells without being a mage.
The next two hours are spent looking for the local mage stand. As it turns out, there’s no such thing—they’re prohibited by the city council. You have to go to a special school if you want to learn magic, since that’s where the masters are. A trader with enchanted goods sang like a nightingale in praise of his goods, and I was able to pick up a lot from him without him even knowing.
“The mages all live in the city, in the local branch of the Academy of Magic. That’s where my supplies are all enchanted. I saw this one venerable mage today. He scornfully declined to buy anything I have! Can you believe what a fool he was?”
That was more than enough. There was a tiny chance I could pick up some spells, but how do you find a mage in a crowd of craftsmen? It’s simple. He was wearing a blue coat marked on the back with the glistening sun, and he was standing by an empty enclosure. There was no staff in his hand, though his gray hair and intelligent face told me that I was looking at a mage. Before I had the chance to get close to him, I realized that he was already staring at me.
“Hello there! I’m sorry to bother you, but it looks like you’re a mage. I’d like to learn some spells, and I’m prepared to pay.”
The mage doesn’t laugh; he snorts like a horse. Soon, nobody’s left around us. They’re afraid to even look in our direction.
“What an uppity little kid! You’re just going to traipse over and bother me while I’m busy? How did you even know that I’m a mage? And why aren’t you scared?” He’s standing just a meter and a half away from me.
“What’s there to be afraid of? You aren’t being aggressive, and the guards are right over there. I recognized your gray hair and the way your face looks.”
The mage is perking up. “Hm, you had a good teacher. Or are you from a family of assassins?”
“Neither. My father is a fisherman, and everything else comes with experience.”
“You don’t speak like a child.”
Suddenly, some hidden aggression does appear in the mage’s voice.
“You aren’t a normal mage.”
“Why do you say that?”
“You talk and react differently.”
“Again, very adult-like of you.” The mage takes a step back and holds his hands at his belt, almost as though there are two pistols there that he’s ready to draw. He’s on his guard.
“My age is just a number. Consciousness develops in step with life experience and your body only has a little to do with it.”
“Are you an illusion? Are you using longspeech, maybe?”
“If I kick you, will you believe that I’m a normal kid?” I flash an easy, childlike smile, and the mage relaxes.
“I believe you, no need for that. What do you want?”
“I want to learn magic. I mean, spells.”
“You’re no mage. They’ll only let you be one in…” He takes a closer look at me. “It’ll be at least a couple of years. If you were from a family of mages, they’d have taught you from when you were little. You really must be the son of a fisherman if you don’t know that—everybody knows that.”
I’m embarrassed by my stupidity and
by the way he’s treating me like dirt.
“You’re right, I’m from a village, but that doesn’t change the fact that I can learn spells now. My father is a fisherman, and he knows two!”
“Your father is an exception. A ve-e-ery rare exception—mages don’t teach spells to other classes. I’d imagine your old man helped somebody high up out and asked for them as a reward. He didn’t become a mage, and they couldn’t have taught him much without a class and skills anyway. Maybe arrow of fire, air fist, or something like that. Something easy. And that’s it.”
“I want to learn them. Could you help me? I can pay!”
“You little snot!” Suddenly, he looks threatening, his fingers covered in sparks. The air grows thick, and a wave of fear rushes through me. “Do you know how much it costs to teach a non-mage spells? You don’t see magic; you don’t know anything about it. At your level, they’re just teaching you how to use the power you have. You non-mages can’t even pour your mana into the spark to boost your damage. Take your ordinary wizard—they have no idea what they’re working with. And you don’t even know what spells look like! You want me to teach you?!” The mage’s eyes narrow, he peers at me. “Although, there is one way, and I’m prepared to use it, but I don’t care about your money.”
The mage looks over at the enclosure, where warriors are gathering.
“My name’s Bernard.”
The same appears above his head. Cool! Level 500.
“I came here to bet on the battle. It’s a folk fair, so they’re only allowed to use their fists. When you’ve lived as many centuries as I have, you start looking around for new ways to amuse yourself. Here are my conditions: for every battle you win, I’ll teach you a spell. If I have a good time watching, I’ll even tell you a few things about the life of a mage. You won’t get anything that complex, just easy things.”
“Agreed.”
Bernard sure can inspire terror. When you feel power so far beyond your own, fear courses through you and paralyseis your reason. I’ve only felt this once before, back when I came across a bloody man in the lower levels wielding a plasma knife. Bernard is a lot like that guy.
∞ ∞ ∞
I don’t even remember how I got back to the orphanage. It was only a month later that I could overcome my fear and go back down there. “Warriors up to Level 20 participate in the tournament. There’s one Level 16 friar, too, a wanderer like you.” The mage notices my wide eyes. “Oh, I know about your kind. There have been a lot of you this week, though that’s nothing new.”
“Are there a lot like me in the tournament?”
You need to know who your enemy is.
“There are three of you. One is a fifteen-year-old kid, the second is a friar, and you’re the third. There’s a total of sixty-four warriors,” he continues with a sly glance. “Why? Scared?”
“Nope.”
Okay, so I’m not going to get a second chance. I don’t know how father learned his spells, but I need them, too.
“I have a small request for you.”
“What? Scrolls, maybe, or mithril boots?”
Bernard’s joking, but his voice is still serious.
“Bet my ten silver coins on me.” I hand him the money. “Before every battle, I’ll tell you if you should bet on me or my opponent. I know my skills better than you do.”
“Okay. Go ahead, get over there and let them know you want to join.”
I sign up for the tournament and head over to my first battle, where my opponent turns out to be Grunt. Even though he’s taller, I’m stronger. Father’s been pushing me hard. I’ve been in a lot more fights back at the orphanage, too. It isn’t worth showing my whole hand, however, so I just shove him back onto the ground and beat away with my fists. Grunt breaks into tears and leaves the tournament.
The second battle goes much the same way as the first. My opponent is an eighteen-year-old at Level 15, and he tries to kick at me. All I have to do is pull out a trick—kicks to the knee hurt like hell. In his case, my strike turns out to be critical. The game is realistic, and he’s too badly hurt to walk away. I watch the healer patch him up as the argument turns in my favor. I didn’t break the rules.
Bernard bet on me both times, though my next opponent is a tough one: the very same Level 16 friar. There’s the height difference, not to mention his class skills and equipment. If you add up my attributes, I’m about Level 12, meaning that he has more stamina and strength, too.
“Only bet my money on me.”
Bernard is an inveterate gambler. He puts his money on me, too. Really, it’s the intrigue that gets him going more than the winnings.
“What are you going to use on him?”
“Some things only adult wanderers know.”
There’s no point telling him ahead of time.
Galboa told me that I always need to have an advantage. And if I don’t have one, I need to create one. The guy uses all his class skills, unleashing a barrage of blows in my direction. But what he forgot is that his class skills burn strength, and that I can dodge or parry them. Only a psychopath would try to block his blows. Finx showed me how to do that, though I haven’t been able to practice what he taught me on my own, just with him down at the docks. It’s tough to use things like that in a fight.
Settling into a defensive stance, I start ducking away from everything he throws at me. It’s a good thing he doesn’t use his legs—I wouldn’t be able to dodge them. In the end, he expends all his stamina, giving me an opening to rush in and start laying into his head.
The difference in levels comes into play, though. Even in his condition, he’s strong enough to get my health into the red sector. This time, the judges check to see if I have any buffs. I don’t, of course—I don’t even know how to get them. The friar, on the other hand, is compromised: he used a potion and the blessing of a goddess, so his reputation drops precipitously, and the guards lead him away.
“Sagie, you surprise me! What else don’t I know about you?”
Bernard is practically dancing for joy.
“Quite a bit, but why spoil the prize?”
“Because your opponent took second place last year. I remember him. He’s fast and strong. The last champion isn’t here today since he’s fighting in the next tournament, the one for Levels 20 to 40.”
Bernard suddenly calms back down, a turn of events that unnerves me. Either he’s good at controlling his emotions or he’s a sociopath.
“Got it. Bet my money on me.”
“Once again, strange behavior for a kid.”
“Just imagine what I’d be like if I grew up in a family of bandits. A family where everyone wants to kill you…just because. Would I have grown up to be a normal kid? Nope.”
There’s no point waiting for an answer. The battle is already beginning. My opponent is definitely a robber or an assassin. It’s the way he fights: he wants to finish this with just a few quick strikes, so he’s going to unleash and back off. I know what to do with that. When your opponent has longer arms, you use that against him. Finx was all about that, using your opponent’s strengths against him. And that’s what I’m going to do right now.
I turn slightly, my left arm for defense and my right arm poised to attack. My legs are a bit apart to make sure I can hurl my center of gravity forward when needed. And that’s how it happens: my opponent quickly closes the distance. I cock my right arm as he moves, the fact that I’m left-handed turning out to be one more advantage for me. I dodge his swing, move forward, and level a jab at his chin, putting everything I have into it. My opponent is stunned, leaving him open for a quick succession of blows aimed at the same spot. His health hovers right at 1.
Then, other battles begin. Bernard walks over to me.
“You aren’t from a bandit family; your father really is a fisherman.”
As soon as I turn to him, he continues.
“He’s standing over there with your mother. It looks like they’re very worried.”
It’s tr
ue. Father is holding mama close, and she’s crying. I wasn’t trying to upset her! Without listening to anything else Bernard says, I run over. Father frowns.
“Why’s mama crying?” They can see my childlike look and sincere wish to share her pain.
“What do you think? How did you think she was going to feel when she saw her son getting beaten up by some people trying to kill him?”
Mama sobs even harder. Tears well up in my eyes, too.
“Sagie, when you’re done, you’re getting a whipping and another punishment. Don’t say another word. I imagine, you blew all your money on treats, and now you’re trying to win it back in the tournament?”
“What money?”
“Yup… We’ll be waiting for you at the stand—your mother shouldn’t have to see this. I’m going to double the whipping, and you’re going to get thrashed every day this week.”
It doesn’t look like the surprise on my face means anything to him. He takes my crying mother by the shoulders and walks away.
When I get back, Bernard gives me such a cuff that I see stars. My health drops into the red zone.
“Pull yourself together—you have a battle coming up. The odds are twenty to one against you.”
I go over to the healer, Bernard calling after me.
“Nobody’s been able to touch your opponent yet. They’re already calling him the champion.”
“I’m betting on myself.”
The battle is just as serious as the previous two. All anyone’s been able to see is the height difference, which is why they’ve tried to kick me or finish me off with a quick attack. The only problem is that this last opponent really is strong. He’s a friar, too, with the benefit of experience, but he also knows how to counter what I have. I end up having to use everything I know: I parry his blows, aim for his vulnerabilities, stay aware of my surroundings, use his strength against him. For a friar, he has as much health as a tank, and his defense is so good that my hits barely do anything. After the battle, I realize that that was the best experience I could have had. Where did he pick up his skills? I certainly wouldn’t mind having his health. We bow to each other, signaling our mutual respect, and a wave of applause breaks over us.
