The next night passed quickly without a visit from Aberfa, or so Brin thought at first. He double-checked by going through his stored memories of dreams, but they were regular dreams. Odd shapes and impressions, and remembered voices and images from his day, starting with his conversation with Hogg. They'd discussed everything Brin had learned, and he'd agreed to write it all down, and had even started. Pio had lent him a seat on his wagon and Brin had recorded everything and... there.

He never would've caught it if he hadn't been watching closely, but at one moment of his dream he'd felt a strong sense of irritation, and it hadn't come from him. Aberfa had been upset to learn that he was going to write everything down.

Was this how she was doing it? He'd sort of assumed that since she could invade his dreams that she could read his mind, but no, she was reading his dreams. She was guiding his dreams towards reliving his memories, and using that to check up on him.

Those months of nightmares had been her way of catching up. In a way, he was lucky she wasn't interested in his time as Mark. Or maybe she couldn't be interested. If the Wyrd worked like he thought it did, then it let her mess with him due to her role as his body's mother, but that had nothing to do with Mark. Could he use that somehow? He didn't know.

When he told his thoughts to Hogg, the older man said, "This is good news. We’re starting to find the limits of her power. You know what this means, though, right?"

"It means you have to cut me out of the loop. Anything you tell me goes straight to her. At least until I figure out how to control my dreams enough to stop her from snooping," said Brin.

"That only becomes an issue if I learn something you don't know. So far, you're our only link to her.”

He joined Davi in pulling a wagon again for half the day, but the System didn't see fit to give him another point in Vitality for it.

That night, in his dreams, Aberfa was ready and waiting for him.

They were back in Hammon's Bog, with Gill down it was his turn to duel Rodrige. The town surrounded them to cheer and heckle, and while in real life it had been a scattering of people showing polite interest, now it was a roaring crowd of dirty, sweaty farmers. Whether Aberfa was intentionally turning up the temperature of his dream, or if that's how she actually saw Common Classes, he didn't know.

"Can I ask you something before we start?" Brin asked. "Does the Wyrd also affect monsters?"

Aberfa tsked in irritation. "What a ridiculous question. It's as if you've forgotten everything we discussed the other day."

Her disapproval manifested itself as an ice-cold spike in his guts. He ignored it and said, "No, I've spent a lot of time thinking about everything you said. I even wrote it down so that I could study it better. That's what made me ask."

"Is that what you were doing?" Aberfa tapped her lips, and the pain faded. "Well, if you really were paying attention then you'd know that asking if the Wyrd affects monsters is like asking if oxygen affects plants. Monsters are Wyrd, because the Wyrd is the law that governs the natural world. The laws of the Wyrd permeate and engross them, and they in turn act out and enforce it."

"I'm not sure I understand. How does that help me beat them?"

Aberfa sighed. "Typical man. Why is the answer always violence? Come, look at this."

The dream changed to the woods outside of Hammon's Bog. He recognized this place immediately as what the [Hunter's] map had called the "Spinewolf Den". Brin still didn't know what a Spinewolf looked like; this was where he'd fought a Facaldagart.

It was there in front of him, looking how it had right after he'd stumbled upon it. A huge horse-sized lizard with a scorpion tail. Time was frozen, and Aberfa stepped over to the monster and stroked its back.

"Take this thing as an example. Look at the dull eyes, the lack of spark. This was never a dragon. It's a simple base lizard, with a primitive mind devoid of subtlety. Perhaps one of its ancestors was the pet of a [Witch] or a Commoner with a breeding or training Class; the large size and unusual tail seems to suggest that. But for our purposes it's an animal, and it will follow the laws of animals. So why did it attack you? You came to kill it, but it attacked you first."

"Maybe it was hungry."

"When animals kill for food they are usually much more cautious. They like to take you by surprise, pounce from hiding, wound you, and then wait for you to bleed and weaken before feasting."

Brin looked at the Facaldagart for a moment before answering. "It's alone. Solo predators are usually like that because they're insanely territorial."

"All animals are territorial, but you have the right of it. Only, notice the fish in the water. The birds in the trees. There's a snake over there. He doesn't kill everything that enters his territory."

Now that she mentioned them, Brin could see straight through the murky water to see the fish below, and the birds in the trees were now visible through the leaves. He didn't think the animals had been part of his original memory. She was adding them to illustrate a point.

"I'm bigger. He sees me as a threat," said Brin.

"When a bear enters his territory he lets it pass without struggle, and flees from it if it approaches. That's your last clue. I'm resuming the memory now."

The Facaldagart stepped forward just as it had in his memory, casually without hurry.

Brin realized all at once that he had no magic to call on; he would face this monster exactly as he had back then. At the time, Brin had spent hours psyching himself up for the fight of his life, but this time he was feeling desperately unprepared.

All at once it snapped forward with its jaws. Brin dodged and struck back with his sword, then tried to parry the tail, but it bowled through his defense with sheer power and struck him in the chest, knocking him onto his back, sending his sword spinning from his grasp.

He noticed that his sword dug much deeper than he'd expected it to. Right, this was the "glass cannon" sword. If he'd swung instead of parried, he probably would've taken the tail clean off. Now it was too late.

The Facaldagart lept onto him, pinning him to the ground and biting at him. It couldn't get through his leather armor right away, and latched onto him and spun its head like a dog, but the extra time gave Brin nothing but pain. He couldn't get out from under the enormous weight. He could do nothing but scream impotently as the monster gave up on chewing him and batted him again and again with its head, breaking ribs through the armor and pulverizing him.

When Brin started to wake himself up to escape the pain, Aberfa finally relented and reset the memory. The monster was in front of him again, staring at him with dull eyes.

"I'll give you a clue. He is very stupid. Try again," said Aberfa.

Brin dropped his sword and backed up. The Facaldagart paused in confusion, and Brin retreated backwards, hands outstretched. The monster watched him go, not pursuing him until he was out of sight.

Aberfa froze the memory again. "Correct, it was the sword. For whatever reason, that was enough to peg you as a rival."

"Usually animals have some sort of dominance display, but he's giving nothing away," said Brin.

"He's flashing ultraviolet light from his throat. It's quite the sight, for those with eyes to see it," said Aberfa. She smiled and crooked an eyebrow. "Actually, I still have friends who might be persuaded to correct that little defect. People see the modifications of [Witches] as something unnatural and scary when all they can think of are claws, bat-wings, or horns sprouting from their foreheads. But I think you'd be surprised to learn how many people you pass on the street have been altered in subtler ways. I myself had the procedure done. You can't imagine how beautiful the world can be when you finally see all the colors."This novel is published on a different platform. Support the original author by finding the official source.

"I'll... keep that in mind." Brin didn't want to admit it, but that was actually kind of tempting. But what would this "friend" want in return, and how could he make sure they didn't do more than he asked for?

"You know, an [Illusionist] who can't see all the ultra-violet--"

"I said I'll think about it," said Brin.

Aberfa smiled wickedly, as if she'd succeeded in something. "Very well, back to the lesson then. Animals flee from threats, eat prey, and fight with rivals, all to satisfy their primal instincts around survival and reproduction. Humans are no different, and though we like to hide our nature through layers of obfuscation, the end result is the same. Before we move on, would you like to fight him again?"

"Actually, yeah," said Brin.

"I knew you would. I called him stupid, but you're stupid, too. For whatever reason, you've also pegged him as a rival."

He hated to admit it, but she was absolutely right. He'd won this fight the first time around. If he left it here, it would be the same as admitting that he wasn't as good as the scrappy little fighter he'd been a year ago. His rival wasn't the Facaldagart, though, it was himself.

Time started and Brin wasn't caught off guard the second time. Instead of waiting for the Facaldagart to approach, he charged forward, sword out. If the Facaldagart saw his weapon as something comparable to its own stinger, he knew it wouldn't wait around to let it land. He was right, the thing dodged with its entire enormous weight, heaving itself awkwardly to the side.

It stabbed forward with its own stinger, but it aimed at Brin's sword, trying to clash blades the way that bucks would clash horns. Brin stretched his arm all the way to the side, only bringing it in at the last second, and the Facaldagart's strike hit only air.

Brin might not have his Class and levels, but he still had his hundreds of hours of training. He whipped himself out of the beast's way, stepped forward, and swung the sword. The glass cannon sword sliced straight through the creature's neck and through its spine. The monster spun, smashing into him with its enormous bulk, and he rolled with it, gaining distance. The Facaldagart charged at him again, but it was already over. By the third step, it started to lag, and at five steps collapsed to the ground, bleeding out. Less than a minute after that, it was dead.

"Do you feel better now?" Aberfa asked.

"A little, yeah," said Brin.

She shook her head. "Boys."

"Can I ask what the point of this is? We’re not even talking about the Wyrd, we’re talking about the behavior of animals. I learned a little about that, I guess, but it's nothing a [Hunter] or [Beast Master] couldn't tell me," said Brin.

"Don’t you see? This is the Wyrd. This is what it’s about, where it starts. Of course [Hunters] and [Beast Masters] could tell you much; they also must act within the framework of the [Wyrd], as well as every other Class. [Witches] are not apart from the Common Classes. We are their completion. Tell me, though. Did you pit your argument against his when you battled with him, sword against claw?"

"Not really, no," said Brin.

"Wrong. You did. Your arguments were evenly matched. He had a right to defend his territory just as you had a right to invade it. This is all so natural that it's difficult to even notice it," said Aberfa.

"Then what was the point?"

Aberfa glared at him, sending hot spikes of pain into his eyes. "Fix your attitude or our lesson ends here."

"I'm sorry, ma'am," said Brin through gritted teeth. "I apologize for my slow uptake. Please help me to understand the purpose of this exercise."

She smiled and the pain fled. "Of course. It was to give you a counterpoint for the next example. Now, you haven't faced many real monsters that weren't undead, but I still found the perfect specimen. Here."

The dream shifted into a nightmare. The smell of rotting meat hit first, making him gag, and then he got a vision of molding, rotting meat on dirty display counters, buzzing with flies and dripping with the juices of decomposition. Mad Bianca stood before him, holding a cleaver, and behind him was her familiar. As bad as the rotting meat looked, he didn’t want to turn around and face her familiar.

“This isn’t a good memory for me,” Brin said evenly.

“Why not? This is the scene of one of your greatest triumphs! Now, I don’t think we can do things in quite the same way as it really happened. If memory serves, you wisely saw Bianca here as the greater threat and left her familiar to distract itself by feasting upon the weak Commoners outside until you were ready to face it.”

“That’s not how it happened,” said Brin.

“This time, you’ll leave Bianca alone and fight the familiar first. We’ll remove her knife, but not the plague, I don’t think, so you’ll need to hurry. Now, what is her argument here?”

“She’ll say I violated hospitality here, so she has power over me. I don’t remember what I did because she messed with my memories, but I’m sure she tricked me into it. She’ll say that this is her home and her store so she has the right to do what she wants here, and since I ate her food I’ve submitted to her.”

Aberfa smiled. “Very good. You have a knack for this. Now what’s your argument?”

Now that he was concentrating on it, he could feel the force of her argument as something nearly tangible. This was her right. He’d violated her hospitality here, in her home. This home was hers. The food was hers. He was hers.

Even frozen in time, he saw the black boils on his skin growing in size as the curse she’d put on him worsened. The black lumps seemed to whisper with her power. You deserve this.

“No,” Brin said, not bothering to hide the hatred in his voice. “No. You had no right. You tricked me into violating hospitality in order to gain power over me. You had no right to treat a guest that way. And look at this place! Disgusting! The town trusts you to feed them good food, and you give them rot. You disguised the store to look clean, but this place is crawling with disease. That familiar should not exist. It’s horrible; it can’t live here. I have the right to destroy this evil. I have the duty.”

The boils on his skin retracted, shrinking down into small red pock-marks. Bianca in front of him was still frozen in time, but seemed to wilt in fear.

“Go,” whispered Aberfa.

Brin whirled, calling on his magic. It didn’t respond with the same power; he’d been much lower level than now, but between the Language and all his practice, he was still much faster than he’d been. “<Cutting Blade, Gnashing Retribution. Cut!>”

The knife was still growing in his hand as he charged the abomination. The random limbs of a dozen different animals flinched in surprise, and awful mouths screamed in surprise and shock. The monster drew back, and he bore down on it.

The knife only finished summoning as he was ready to stab, and he pushed all the mana he could muster into it. He felt it press against the [Witch’s] Wyrd and rebuff it. He had the greater claim here; victory was his.

His knife clove through a goat leg, into the writhing mass of the creature's body. He scraped and tore, digging into the struggling creature, carving it to pieces. A horse-leg kicked him, taking the wind out of him and possibly doing a lot of internal damage to his stomach, but it didn’t take him off his feet so it didn’t matter. He kept stabbing and cutting until the monster was in pieces, just another pile of meat in the dirty store.

Still full of rage, he turned back around and threw his knife, pumping every bit of mana he had left into it. It shot like it had been propelled from a cannon and hit Bianca right above the heart, blowing a hole into her chest.

She’d die from that wound, he was sure, but he could still make it quicker. He stepped forward, and then collapsed to his knees. The kick to his stomach had been worse than he thought and–

The dream stopped, and the pain disappeared.

“That’s the danger.” Aberfa stepped out of the shadow, eyes twinkling in obvious pleasure at Brin’s pain. “You got so wrapped up in your own argument that you forgot everything else. You don’t fight like that normally, do you? Not since you left the [Scarred One]. You usually try to get some space, assess the situation, come up with a strategy. Don’t get so wrapped up in your own righteousness that you forget practicality. More than one [Witch] has met her end that way. Bianca here is an example.”

Brin opened his mouth to respond, but felt a wave of nausea. He thought this was his own, too, and not Aberfa messing with him, because it came with a wave of guilt. This was the first time he’d killed a person. He knew it was self-defense and that he was more than justified, but in the silent hours of the night he couldn’t always convince himself of that. He still killed a person, and he couldn’t help but wonder if there’d been another way.

Now he’d gotten another chance, after a manner of speaking, and he hadn’t even considered sparing her. A stupid thing to worry about, but he couldn’t convince his brain of that.

He shook his head, trying to think of something else. If Aberfa got wind of how he was feeling, she’d just find a way to use it against him.

“I learned something else, too. I used the Language and the Wyrd together. I wouldn’t have been able to summon the knife that quickly without the Language, and I also put some words into it to make it sharper. The knife was still super sharp when I was empowering it with Wyrd as well.”

Aberfa shook her head. “You still hang onto that [Mage] nonsense, despite all reason. Don’t you see? You could have used intent to summon the knife more quickly, you could’ve used intent to make it sharper, and to kill the beast. Your argument was very strong, so why not use it?”

“Because the Language does what I tell it to every time. I don’t need my emotions to be in the right place.”

“Then learn to control your emotions! Your nutty wordplay is only slowing you down. No, in fact, I forbid it. You are not to use the Language during our lessons again. You’ll do magic through natural casting or not at all.”

Brin shrugged. He’d already learned what he needed to from that. “Very well, ma’am.”

Aberfa frowned. “That’s all for tonight. Go… write everything down again, if you must. Integrate what you’ve learned. You’ve faced two enemies tonight, one wild and one Wyrd, but I borrowed from your memories and in neither of those memories did you have your lovely little Skill, [Know What’s Wyrd]. Tomorrow we’ll correct that. Tomorrow, we’ll find out what it can really do.”