“I…don’t…want…to give you my money.” It was one of the hardest sentences I’d ever had to say.
Ilia patted my arm. “You need to remember that you are rather susceptible to musical beauty. You don’t seem to be quite so bad with physical.”
“With the number of times you’ve had to tell me to stop ogling, I feel like I should disagree.”
“No, trust me. If you were as susceptible to physical beauty as you are to musical you would have attacked Cassandra when she first walked into the music hall.”
“You were watching me?”
“Yes. The way you looked at her was how most look at me when they hear me sing for the first time. They are enraptured and confused. Many burst into tears.”
“That makes me sort of uncomfortable.”
“It’s a perfectly natural reaction and nothing compared to the worship you displayed when you heard me sing. If I had seen that when you looked at the girl, I would have compelled you to close your eyes for her safety.”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean, you would have tried to rape her or at the very least kidnap her so you could lock her away like a painting, gazing at her until you passed out from exhaustion only to wake up and begin again.”
I gagged, feeling utter revulsion.
“I see your cringing, but if you had tried, you would not have been in command of your mind. That poor girl must travel with high-level guards due to the effect her beauty can unexpectedly have on others. And it isn’t only men she must fear. Many women would have the same reaction, though half would try to kill her out of blind jealousy.”
I shook my head in disgust. “Why would anyone give that much charisma to a child?”
“No one did. Cassandra is blessed. Her beauty is naturally unnatural.”
“Huh?”
“A blessed child is born with one of their natural attributes mimicking the combined total of their parents. Cassandra’s charisma is only ten, but her natural charisma is that of someone with more than three hundred. Thankfully it was not strength or her mother would never have survived the pregnancy.”
“So no one did that to her?”
“No, even nobles would not be that cruel. She is simply unluckily lucky.”
“So, I need to stop thinking poorly of her parents.”
“Yes, in this case, they are blameless…you are ogling again.”
I forced myself to turn away from the incredibly handsome man. I really wish I could say it was easier than with the women, but when someone was that attractive, sex didn’t seem to matter so much.
“Thank you.”
“You are welcome…oh look, canapés.”
We’d been standing near the service door for this exact reason, and like country folk at a fancy occasion, neither of us had any qualms about stripping the passing trays before they could reach anyone else. Ilia continued to help me work on my self-control to overcome her charm while we chatted and snacked. Because I was so charmed by her, she was apparently the perfect teacher to help me harden my will against her to fight off the effect.
Over time, the crowd grew denser as hundreds of guests began to migrate in. Soon, people were standing shoulder to shoulder. The lights in the room dimmed. The crowd hushed. A spotlight fell on the double doors on the level above.
A man in the most elaborate suit and robe I had ever seen stepped forward. It was like someone had artfully vomited a peacock over him. “Let the court stand at attention. Today your number grows by one. Let the burden of nobility be shared as you struggle for the growth and prosperity of the people in your care. Nobles of Radian, I present Noblewoman Emily.”
The double doors opened.
Emily stood in the middle, poised like a queen. She wore a dress fashioned from royal blue satin, cut to fit her form precisely. Her dark hair was done up in elaborate ringlets that I didn’t have the skill or fashion sense to explain, but it was brilliant. The girl had been attractive before, but now she was stunning. However, even though she was stunning, she was far from the most attractive woman in the room. She wasn’t even in the upper half for noblewoman, and here that mattered.
She glided toward the banister, each step perfectly smooth. Every eye followed her movements, gazes focused on the large silver crystal of experience in her right hand.
Then to the crowd’s surprise, Emily began to sing.
The words to "I Dreamed a Dream” flowed across the room untempered and raw, without charismatic enhancement.
I’d dated a girl for a while who had a thing for the movie Les Misérables. We must have watched that movie a dozen times in the three months we were together. Anne Hathaway tore us both apart with this song every time it came on the screen. It wasn’t that she sang it flawlessly—far from it. She sang with emotion, from the place where her character existed at that moment. It was horrible, but within that horror, there was a sad beauty.
My whole plan involved capturing that with Emily.
Emily wasn’t in anywhere near the same situation as Fantine. But her future had been bleak, almost dashed away. Now here was an opportunity for a life she never dared dream of, and she knew she was most likely going to squander it, waste this ascension ball. She had the right emotion to make this work. She just had to dig down into the pain and express that to everyone.
“You’re doing good,” Ilia whispered to herself, eyes locked above. “Keep it slow, soft, share the pain. Don’t rush to make it easier for yourself. Embrace it the way I showed you. Good girl, you’re through the first verse. Now it’s time for power…get it out there…not that strong, but it’s okay, you’ve got them. Keep them enchanted. Yes, build up happiness, but keep the dark edge. It can’t last. They need to know it’s going to leave you.”
Emily began to make her way to the staircase, tears trickled down her cheeks, and her voice shook with emotion. Every pair of eyes watched, unable to turn away from what they were seeing.
“That’s my girl,” Ilia continued to whisper. “You’re through the second verse—now take away the happiness, show the sorrow, the loss of hope, and the dream that can never come true. Make them pity you, fill them with anguish, wrap their hearts in a knot and twist it until they aren’t sure where they are. Then hit them with the outro.”
As Emily sang the last line, her tone lost all hope, all chance at a future, a fate to be pitied. No one in the room had ever heard this song except Ilia, myself, Cassandra, and her two guards. This was new to everyone. They didn’t know how to react to something so sad that had come out of nowhere.
A mantle of despair fell, settling over the crowd’s shoulders as the last word faded, only to burst apart in a torrent of light as Emily absorbed 24, maybe 25 levels worth of experience. I hadn’t seen Jeric to ask if he had managed to get the plan to work, so didn’t know if this performance was just a chance for her to impress everyone or a chance to get through her threshold.
The despair settling over the room immediately reversed with the burst of light. The emotions they had felt weren’t real. Emily wasn’t this wretch with no future. She wasn’t about to lose everything. She might have been at one time like many of them might have been, but here and now, that horrible future was gone, replaced by hope and possibilities that most of them could only dream of. In this moment, they couldn’t feel jealousy. She was the underdog. The poor lost soul, and instead of wretchedness, she had hope, joy, and happiness.
Smiles exploded and the crowd began to applaud. Here and there, in places, even nobles cheered, but the necessity of decorum quickly quashed those cheers. Those who weren’t nobles continued to cheer without reservation, losing themselves to happiness. Going down that low then coming up sharply had thrown them off, leaving them euphoric. The room was left raw by the feelings within them.
I wiped a tear from my cheek, happy for her, and happy for her parents, but mostly moved by the song.
She’d done a good job.
And this song always hit me hard.
Ilia sq
ueezed my arm. “Arnold,” she said excitedly. “I’ve increased my fame.” I could hear the smile and joy in her voice.
I blindly patted her hand, trying to be supportive.
What the hell was fame?
Chapter Twenty-Eight
THE WOMAN WHO WOULD BE KING
It turned out that fame was a mark. Unsurprisingly, you got it for being famous. That was all I was able to gather before Ilia disappeared into her logs, trying to discover the reason for the sudden increase. She knew it had something to do with the fact that Emily shouldn’t have been able to impress everyone so much with her capabilities, but couldn’t say exactly what had caused the change to her mark. She’d done things like this before with little effect.
Emily’s entrance signalled the official start of the ascension ball. She curtsied to the crowd and turned and led a procession of the rich and powerful into the great hall.
As the room emptied of the most powerful guests—basically anyone who had enough standing to dine with the regent—a series of glowing red hazard overlays began to fill the entrance. The remaining guests stepped back or left the room, moving outside the hazard zones. The moment a highlighted area emptied, there was a flash of light and a white marble table with chairs appeared. More flashes occurred as each zone emptied. Through the nearby window, I could see the same occurrence happening outside.
A highlighted green path appeared on the ground before me, leading toward the back of the room near the entrance, where a table materialized. Ilia looked up for half a second and then started walking, following the same path.
The crowd continued to disperse, most heading outside through the main entrance. A few had already made their way to the table and taken a seat.
With so many people moving, it was impossible to hold a conversation. Ilia pointed and then led me straight to the seat highlighted by a green overlay and waited. The chair next to my green one began to sparkle. I looked at it, confused for several seconds, before realising that I was being prompted to pull out her chair. I grabbed the back. The sparkle disappeared as I pulled it out. Ilia stepped around and I pushed it into where the prompt indicated as she sat down.
Okay, whatever this was, it was handy. A couple of weddings I had been to came to mind. That awkward process of trying to find your seat would easily be solved with this.
I pulled out my chair and sat.
It was immediately obvious to me that no one at our table was a noble. I didn’t even have to analyse them. They didn’t have the reserved dignified nature of the nobles I’d seen.
General information began appearing above everyone. Name, classes, titles, all the usual information, except now, I could see where people were from and whether or not they were higher or lower in social standing than I was. Everyone was higher. I could also see if they were seated where they were supposed to be. They were.
I felt kind of out of place.
Everyone at the table had high attributes. They all looked like they belonged on the covers of fitness or fashion magazines, some looked like they belonged on both. Luckily, they were all within the more reasonable range for these higher attributes, because there were none present who Ilia had to stop me from ogling.
The chair across from me was pulled out by a man who was half a foot taller than me. He had strong shoulders and a large powerful chest. His light brown hair was cut short in what I would call a military fashion and he was clean-shaven. He wore a black suit that was more uniform than anything.
Captain Wolfkin, Level 74, Sharpshooter
He sat and held out his hand. “Captain Wolfkin, a pleasure to meet you.”
Taking his hand was like gripping steel. There wasn’t an ounce of give. “Arnold—nice to meet you, too.”
Wolfkin smiled and greeted everyone else before returning to me. “Sir, you do realise it’s rude to hide your information at a formal occasion without a proper reason?”
“He’s incarnate,” Ilia whispered without looking over.
I frowned at Ilia.
Wolfkin nodded his head. “Ah, yes, that sort of thing does tend to draw an annoying amount of attention. I apologise for my intrusion into your privacy and will refrain from asking the sort of questions you are trying to avoid.”
I glanced at Wolfkin. “Thank you.” Then I turned to Ilia. “How did you know I was incarnate? My information is supposed to be hidden.”
Ilia smiled. “The songs.”
“Which songs?”
“The songs you were playing in the music hall. They were all considered to be original compositions, so either you are the most skilled unknown minstrel I have ever met or you are incarnate. Even if your name was not hidden from me, I still would have guessed incarnate. The likelihood of the other option is almost zero.”
That made sense.
Again, I was overwhelmed by Ilia’s talent. She was intelligent, musically gifted, beautiful, and utterly amazing in every way.
Ilia turned away and went back to staring at the table, looking through her logs.
Seeing she didn’t want to be disturbed, I turned back to Wolfkin since none of our other seating neighbours had arrived. “This is going to sound ignorant, but what exactly is a sharpshooter?”
Wolfkin chuckled. “It’s a specialisation in the crossbowmen class. It focuses on accuracy over rate of fire. The archer equivalent is a marksman.” Wolfkin then went into more specifics, explaining his class in detail.
“So you’re in the military. What’s that like?”
“It’s a lot of training followed by short periods of terror. At the moment, we are training. Our scouts have been tracking the three new orc hordes that have been consolidating in their southern continent. Two of them are expected to clash within the month, and their leaders will compete for dominance. The third will be engulfed by the others shortly after, until only a single horde remains. They’ll grind their way through the desert on their way north, clearing the monsters and dungeons, and be at our border within a year.”
“You don’t sound too worried…”
Wolfkin shrugged. “You don’t know much about orcs, do you?”
“Next to nothing.”
“Ah, then the idea of facing a horde of several million would seem like a terrifying situation.”
“Did you say million?”
He nodded. “Yes, a typical horde on any given year consists of around five million with an average level of less than 15. They aren’t as intelligent as your average human until they are around level 50, at which point they have the mental faculties to control their natural aggression. The starving horde will grind itself into dust against one of the southern border cities fighting and dying until less than 10% are left. The survivors will return through the desert, killing monsters, until they reach level 50, at which point they will break off from the horde and head for the cities. Those that don’t make it that high will return to their breeding swamps and lead the next generation north the following year.”
Huh?
“I thought we were worried about there being another war with the orcs? You make it sound like there is nothing to be concerned about.”
Wolfkin chuckled and then quickly threw his hand over his mouth to stifle it. “I’m sorry for laughing, but usually I would only have to explain this to children. The annual horde is made up of simple orcs, not orc warriors. Their weapons are mostly sharpened bone or heavy wooden clubs. Those that reach level 50 leave those hordes and join orc society. Once there, they will level until they reach level 100 and become orc warriors. Unlike their stupid brethren, these orcs are actually dangerous. Their society is militaristic, well-armed, and highly disciplined. Going to war with them can lose us entire cities.”
This was pretty interesting. “Why do we go to war with them then?”
“It’s not by choice. Their prodigious breeding rate causes their cities to occasionally grow at speeds that are unsustainable. When minor food shortages occur, they begin raiding border villages for cattle. When major shorta
ges occur, they turn to all-out war hoping to kill off enough of their population or gain enough cattle or long pig to see them through.”
“Long pig—you mean people, right?”
“Yes. They consider us a food source when they are desperate which is one reason it is so hard to deal with their society in a civilised manner.”
“Couldn’t we sell them food?”
“We do. And sometimes it works, but it is usually only a delaying tactic.”
“I have so many questions.”
“I’m happy to answer.”
We changed topics a dozen times, switching from military actions, to trade, to orc society. The captain was required to understand his enemy and had an extremely firm grasp of their behaviours and society. When I had run out of questions on orcs, I asked him about some of the tasks I hadn’t managed to get done in Weldon, seeing if he knew of anywhere in Melgrim that I could go to get those problems sorted. Wolfkin went into a shorter lecture about where to go and whom to ask and why.
He was more than accommodating.
Almost an hour passed in conversation. We ate between words, enjoying each utterly delectable course as it arrived. There was this fish chowder that redefined my understanding of “melt in your mouth,” teaching me there was a level beyond. It was so delicate it began melting the moment my spoon touched it.
I would have kept talking to Wolfkin all night, but Ilia suddenly said, “Ah, so that’s what happened.”
The comment surprised us and we turned to stare.
Ilia’s incredibly handsome, much younger husband Jeremby, who’d appeared while I was talking to Wolfkin, and was now sitting on her other side, replied, “What’s happened, dear?”
“Oh, my fame increased after the performance and I’ve just worked out why,” she said, smiling at him.
Wolfkin grinned. “You were responsible for that moving performance by the noble girl?” The nearby guests all turned to listen.
Oh Great! I was Reincarnated as a Farmer Page 31
