"I come from a world, where men have reached the sky and stars. Where whatever Gods might watch, do so in silence, and wars are waged by such horrific tools that you might never imagine the terror. So, curse me all you like. Break my foolish weapon, throw me in chains, and spit upon me as I breathe my last: but know! Know that for all the hate you hold, what I gave you was mercy."

- Final verse, as sung by the Bards of Illase, Ballad of The Stone Sword's Wrath

........

The next morning, I got up early.

Voices outside woke me, echoing beneath the door, but it was the bird song from the window that brought me back to reality. Groaning with exhaustion, I forced myself out of the narrow bunk, rolling my shoulders to stretch away the stiffness that came from sleeping on cloth-covered boards.

I had stayed up late.

Using mana seemed to leave a sense of... something odd.

Not quite a rush, or a high. Not quite so strong, but certainly a feeling similar to caffeine. More so, it was a feeling which seemed to scale with the amount of mana used. Quickening of thoughts, is the best I can describe it. Everything combines a bit, and becomes all melded together with layers of concepts that are not quite real. All while reality is sharpened.

Colors look deeper, the edges of surfaces seem crisp. Like they end with more defined features.

Using magic made my mind feel light and my sense of body feel distant, and that made it surprisingly easy to lose track of time. Combine this with the fact that, after the increase in my [Lesser Flame] skill, I'd found the spell had only become easier to manipulate... well, sleep had been put on hold.

There was a reasonable chance that dawn had come only a short hour or so after closing my eyes, and waking early afterwards had left me feeling quite tired.

I didn't regret anything, though.

Magic was at my fingertips. I could summon fire, even if there was only a little bit at a time. For the first time since arriving in this world, I felt I was really taking some power for myself. So much so, that there was still a strong motivation to keep practicing, the moment I got up. Even after an entire night of doing exactly that. Sleep was just something in my way.

As was the expectation I obeyed orders.

As I exhaustedly pulling on my boots, straightening my belt, checking for my dagger, I stretched again. Working out the stiffness from my muscles, I slowed by the room's entrance, considering how much time I had before I could be late.

I still felt an urge to continue drawing on the magic. Almost as if I were thirsty, and wished to drink, I still felt a need, mixed with a practical wanting. I wanted to call up the spell, to feel the pulse of mana running through my veins, just as much as I wanted to gather a solid foundation and understanding of how it all worked.

Curiously, I wondered if there was such a thing as "Spell addiction."

Maybe.

There was one more question, to drop onto the pile.

Mana was, logically, a resource. Either generated by one's own body, or absorbed and refined from the environment as a whole. I felt would get to the bottom of that puzzle sooner or later. But at the moment, I was more curious exactly how much mana could I safely spend? Were there consequences to using it? How quickly would it recover? Did it follow similar rules to Health, or Stamina?

/100

From my status, it seemed that my mana had recovered a little more than I'd guessed it would. Was that a result of my skill's level up, or was that some form of outside influence?

The temptation of these questions, turned out to be a bit too much.

I lifted a small fire form over my palm. In the morning light, it hardly seemed impressive, but I let it burn for a moment.

/100

An initial cost, followed by a dramatically lower upkeep. Same as before, nothing had changed, but I was content to know that the spell seemed stable. Perfect heat, rising up much like a small gas burner, with a slight shade of blue.

It wasn't much, but my control over the small fire had improved outside of the magic's own leveling. And, ignoring the sensation which came with the expenditure of mana in the first place, I felt fine. In fact, my thoughts felt as clear as polished glass.

/100

Interesting.

All this from a single night of effort.

The recovery of mana to be more variable than I'd expected. Was I really regaining mana faster, or was I just spending less of it? The smallest fraction wasted, and recovered...

I didn't have any immediate answers.

I also realized that I didn't have much more time to waste pondering them, either.

Letting out one last yawn, I decided it was lucky that sleep was something I already happened to be very used to giving up, long before coming into this world. While it was true, that modern day life might buffer a person from some harsh realities, it was also true that showing up to work on time was rarely optional.

So it was, dressed with the clothing I'd been provided, my armor fixed and tied down as best I could manage, my belt set with dagger and coin purse: I opened the door and made my way to my destination. One route of many that I'd already, somehow, hammered into memory.

Down the Northern hall, to the left. Then, a right turn, to take a small set of rounded-stairs, which led onto the ground level. From there, the fort opened up with a row of stone arches, merging the outside courtyard I'd been told to go, with something that resembled a lobby.

Much to my dismay, I found that I was late. I'd gotten up early, but without any real time-keeping signal, it was clear I would need to adjust in the future. There was a crowd of people, and loud noises, shouting, and conversation filled the air. There was activity everywhere I looked, as the morning seemed well underway.

Deeper into the fort, where the walls closed around a counter, several cooks handed out meals by the slop. Their ladles reached across to deliver gruel at a leisurely pace, dropping heavy lumps of some sort of oatmeal-like substance into the waiting wooden bowls. All the while, at the few tables present, men and women with [Guard] and [Swordsman] Classes ate in huddles. Some, even standing, as they dug into their meals like hungry dogs: rushing to finish whatever slop was before them, before heading to the field outside. Where, I recognized, the yard was filling up.

My first awkward moment of hesitation of the day, had arrived.

I was hungry. Though I had managed to get some bread and cheese during the Baron's tour around the fort, real meals hadn't been coming to me very often, and I was still feeling some of the effects of prolonged hunger. Even if the oatmeal mixture didn't seem particularly appealing, it was food, and probably more calorically dense than most anything I'd eaten in the past month.

Yet...

Glancing at the few people still eating, each wolfing down whatever they could before turning in their bowls, I decided that skipping breakfast was probably the safest way to avoid whatever trouble might come of being any later than I already was. My goal was to avoid attracting unwanted attention, and ease into whatever role the Baron had planned for me, and taking my sweet time on my first day... well, that seemed like a poor life choice. Besides, missing one meal wasn't going to kill me.

Probably.

So, with a pang of regret, and a rumble in my stomach, I went outside. Passing over breakfast, and heading beneath the nearest archway into open air.

It truly was reminiscent of the Golden Wing camp.

Weapons hummed through the air, skills glowing, and men in armor running through exercises. As morning light began creeping up over the fort walls. I could even see some people sparring towards the far end. There, heavy clashes rang out in regular patterns. With dulled metal and wood connecting to release sparks and pressure.

All that was missing, at this point, was Squad Leader Kepler barking out orders.

Nearby, a sparring match went wide. I watched as someone dashed back to intercept a heavy swing, and I felt a shiver run down my spine as the impact shook the air. Even standing off to the side, the force brought on by the hits were palpable. As were the rest from the mock battle, which followed after. Watching the collisions, I felt safe in my assumption that any of those strikes could probably break my arms, even without real weapons being involved.

It was a humbling start to the day.

Apart from my dagger, though, I was still unarmed. Swinging the small blade around, would probably look rather silly, so I opted for something else. Looking about the surroundings, I soon found a weapon rack. Plucking a well-used cloth tipped spear that hadn't been claimed, I took my first step onto the field.

And reach my second moment of hesistation.

How was I really going to approach this?

There didn't seem to be any strict routines. No one was directly supervising or barking orders.

Standing there, awkwardly, I felt very out of place. Clearly, it was expected that I go and join them. That would be the next part of this. But confidence, I've found, has roots in self-delusion. And I was having a great deal of trouble fooling myself into thinking it would work itself out without any trouble, for some reason.

Maybe, if this were something similar to the first day of school, or the first day working for a new company, I could cover doubt with a blanket statement of "there's nothing to worry about." And in doing so, I could just trick myself into thinking that all I really needed to do was walk out there and join them. Knowing, supposedly, that if a person presented a guise of confidence fitting for the situation, it was highly likely that no real harm could come from it.

The "fake it until I made it" approach, was a road well-traveled... But here, I felt that the stakes were a bit too much. To just waltz into things, seemed impossible.The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

Yet, inaction was action in its own sense, and I knew it was only a matter of time until someone wondered why there was a Summoned Hero lazing around by the weapon rack. I was honestly feeling rather surprised that no one had noticed me already, until, of course, I realized that was probably because [Hide Presence] had been activated.

I suppose, the sight of people who could potentially murder me, waving weapons around, was enough to trigger it. As if some sort of natural defense mechanism.

Or, maybe, I thought, there was a chance that I'd simply had it active all night. The ability it didn't seem to cost anything outside of a little bit of mental energy, and my last conversation with the Baron had been remarkably terrifying.

That too, was possible.

Unless I was specifically trying to keep it in mind, I had found that the skill (much like the ability it granted) had a subtle way of sneaking out of my attention.

But, none of this changed what I needed to do. In fact, just thinking about it was just one more form of procrastination, so I took another deep breath, and made my move. Keeping my head down, mindful to keep my distance from the majority, I stepped onto the field. With [Hide Presence] running, quite conciously, at full burn: I took my place along the far edge, opposite of the weapon rack.

Surprisingly, there was still no reaction.

Maybe it was parly due to the skill, but perhaps, I thought, it was a good thing I'd been a little late. Though it was unintended, everyone was already quite focused on their own tasks. If I'd been too early, there's no way I could have flew under the radar this long.

In truth, as much as I hadn't been expecting things to go my way in this, it seemed to work.

I'd stick to the back of the group, I decided. It wouldn't be too hard to follow the flock's morning routine. Keep the edges, and I might make it through the next few hours. Against my better judgement, I felt optimistic.

And no one noticed.

Not even after I forced [Hide Presence] back down to as low a simmer as I was willing to go, testing my control over it. No one seemed to notice me. While the skill let me avoid attention, I wasn't sure if using a skill aggressively might backfire once I actually was noticed. Surely, there was some sort of taboo for such things. Yet, the practice around the yard continued, undisturbed. Everyone present was working towards whatever small attribute gains might be earned from daily exercise. Focused, and rightfully so, on their own improvement.

Very focused, in fact. I recognized that most were working themselves to their absolute limit.

After a moment of thought, running through my own motions and forms, I felt a strange epiphany dawn on me. Something I'd realized, but never quite put into words until just then.

Whatever these people gained, they kept.

Though they were living without a "cheat" title to help them along, their life would still hinge upon every tiny advantage they could gather. Any slacking, would cut away their potential, and to become truly powerful, and they would need years upon years of hard work to earn their Attributes, so it wouldn't take much to fall behind. If ordinary people were going to get anywhere, they needed to be as dedicated as possible. "Normal" people in this world needed to live every single day to the best of their abilitiy, all for the sake of prying free every tiny increase to their attributes. The system encouraged a strong work-ethic by default.

People would live or die, all by the habits they kept.

I found the concept fascinating.

It was so similar, but so very different, from Earth.

Work ethic on Earth may have been prized, but it wasn't always necessary. Life had more to do with money, than talent. Yet here, a person's true fortune had little to do with money at all. Certainly, I doubted it would hurt to be rich, but so far as I knew: money couldn't buy attributes. Or... well, I hoped it couldn't.

That was a terrifying concept to think about some other time, though.

Working through the spear forms, I considered it though. Even if someone was born into total poverty in this world, if they committed to improving themselves and obtained the right Class: chances were good in this world that they could carve their body into something amazing. If Gregory had been anything of an example: Even in old age, they could keep these talents. They could take them to the grave.

Back on earth, that wasn't even close to reality.

Work hard, every single day of your life, and it might not make a single bit of difference. The older you got, the weaker you became. Keeping a good routine and avoiding injuries could help, but it wasn't like Gregory would have been able to carry that boat up and down the cliffs if he had been on earth. Not to say he wouldn't have been strong in old-age, but his Strength had been bordering on supernatural, and far past what someone his age could have maintained on Earth.

Lost in my thoughts as I was, I failed to recognize that the later-arrivals had begun to trickle in. Those few remaining, who had been taking their time with the wooden bowls of gruel began to pile onto the field. Filling the space around me. Before I knew it, I'd been surrounded, and it wasn't long before the mood on the field began to shift with the pressure of a crowd, recognizing something isn't quite right. One by one, I felt the uncomfortable pressure of watching eyes. [Hide Presence] faltering beneath the combined lines of sight, settling on my shoulders.

All around me, I could feel them watching.

The sun continued its lazy rise into the sky, above the walls, and I willed it to hurry up. To end whatever hell I'd stumbled into, as I repeated the same motions, again and again. Desperate not to let weakness show, I continued to run through the forms that Kepler had drilled into me. Trying to focus on simple, but effective techniques.

Forward thrust, to diagonal lift.

Downward parry, then shift left into upward retreat.

Redirect from the right, to counter from the center.

Twist, to avoid death. Hit, to retaliate.

It was hardly the work of a master, but I'd been taught well enough to go into battle. Standing in a line, with spears covering from the second row: I could emulate my tiny portion of the deadly wall I was meant to fill. One tiny splinter, meant to join a thousand others. Pretending I was still beside mud-tent. That it wasn't strangers watching, just Kepler- and that he was just waiting for an excuse to shout.

No matter how hard I tried, though, I couldn't maintain the illusion.

I felt like a fool.

Rigid... stiff... defending my ground was how I'd been taught, but that was a far cry from the rest of the people in the yard. Their footwork was constantly shifting, weapons moving with flourish and spin. They were running through forms almost as though they were battling many, invisible, opponents. Turning and reacting, with styles or martial arts that, I assumed, had been created for individuals who were against many. Reactive, flowing from one attack, right into the next, not trapped in a line, waiting to be killed and replaced.

Compared to them, I felt very static, very dull, and very weak.

And vulnerable.

As the sun rose higher, a bell rang, and many began to turn in their weapons. I followed suit accordingly, waiting back to let the rest go ahead. Even so, I managed to receive a sudden hard shoulder.

"Move it." A familiar voice grunted, as Bruiser passed my by.

Catching my balance with a slight stumble, I held my temper as my mind corrected itself. No longer "Bruiser" but instead, "Roggar."

I was fairly certain I'd heard it said, yesterday. My memory was sharp enough these days to have held onto that. Although, I still felt that "Bruiser" fit him far better.

He waited a second, perhaps expecting a reaction, but when he didn't get one, he joined with several others. A group which consisted mostly of faces that I didn't recognize, one of which I did. "Karen" stood among them, wearing an expression which was exactly as I last remembered.

It wasn't a pleasant stare, to be sure.

None of them were, in fact, but I waited them out. Patient, as several eyes passed over the Baron's crest, blatantly displayed on my armor. The crest was plainly visible, and it seemed the recognizing it was enough for the group to start walking. Obviously people in the fort knew I existed, my presence was no surprise, and the Baron's "protection" was enough to keep people in line.

I resisted the urge to let out a small sigh of relief, at that. While I wasn't much appreciated, the people in the fort tolerating me wasn't a question for the time being. Although, I wasn't quite certain I wanted to test how far "tolerating" was going to get me. Not when I was worth a pretty bag of coins, if they could find a reasonable way to kill me and get away without the Baron realizing it.

As they walked on, I noticed that Roggar hadn't quite followed suit. Glaring at me for a few seconds long, he spit on the dirt, before finally stepping away.

The animosity as a whole, wasn't unexpected. Him, specifically, though... well, it sort of was.

It wasn't like I'd done anything to him.

I'd been the ideal captive, all things considered. Honestly, I hadn't tried to escape, or kill anyone- and it wasn't as though I'd done anything directly to him other than the several times I got in the way of his boot when he kicked me. While, it was possible that the man's attitude towards me was based on the grounds that I was from the "Empire" or something else of that nature, I was starting to wonder if it was really actually because he'd received some form of punishment for bringing me back in poor condition.

Which was unfortunate.

The last thing I wanted was more enemies.

I watched him go and rejoin the others, while I waited until they were far enough ahead there was no chance of another direct encounter. When they were completely out of the yard, I set my spear down on the rack, letting [Hide Presence] slip back up a notch.

I wondered, idly, if Roggar thought I was some sort of a pushover. No Class, no real fighting skills to speak of, just some basics meant for nameless peons to use in long lines on the battlefield...

From the looks they'd been giving me, maybe they all thought that.

That was fine, though.

I let my hand run against the phantom feeling of pain along my ribs, as the sensation of heat smoldered in my chest. Stronger than it had been yesterday, weaker than it would be tomorrow.

Rage smoldered, ever so quietly.

I hadn't forgotten my treatment under Roggar's care, but patience was a virtue.

And if I choose to act on that, it was going to be on my own terms.

.....

Following in the far back of the crowd, I observed.

As a whole, the guards and I were moving towards the center of the fort. That, in turn, meant the hall. Still, I noticed a select few who took other routes. Stepping off to stairwells, or into other rooms. Attending to other assignments, I had to imagine. Taking the places of whoever was watching in the towers, or standing at the gates, seemed most likely.

The fort wasn't all that large, though. Soon, the passage ended and the approaching the large wooden doors opened to whichever [Guard] had reached them first, propping them open.

I couldn't help but imagine those doors as ominous.

Beyond that threshold, I knew the Baron waited, and I was yet to decide if I had that man puzzled out. What, with his mood being as unpredictable as the weather, and his statements varying from an amused barbarian to a disturbingly keen intelligence.

Indeed, as I entered last, I found he was already acting outside of my expectations.

For a ruler, or a [Lord] as his Class indicated, the man was not seated.

No, far from it. Instead of looming from a throne on high, to issue orders at those who waited below: he was standing in the center of the great room. Around him, I followed the [Guard] members as they fell into position. Standing at attention, in neat rows of five. All facing ahead, as they waited for him toe pass judgement.

One by one, the Baron looked them over. His watchful eye, checking their armor, their weapons, as they stood at attention. Uncertain where I, specifically, should be standing, I settled in the far back. Ahead of me, there were already five in a line. So, I decided to fill in as "first" for for a final row of one, and hoped that wasn't a mistake.

There, I waited.

Or, I suppose, we waited.

Everyone was standing at attention as his gaze swept us over. The silence was such that I could have heard a pin drop.

The Baron started abruptly.

"Crows have arrived." He spoke, voice loud enough to fill the entire room with ease. "There are talks of another monster sighting. Inland, by the town of Fola. Details, as always, are lacking." He pointed. "You two, are going. I'll be meeting with the Guild after this. We'll discuss hiring a few of their [Hunter] Class to go and meet when you arrive."

"Sir."

"South road." He continued, immediately. "Another fucking murder happened. [Bandit] Class was spotted, and a Trader was robbed two nights ago. You, and you-" He pointed out another pair. "Get to it. Meet with Doland and the others. They should already be there. Kill the bastard, and post whatever pieces are left of him by the road as a warning."

"Sir." They shouted.

"Final crow... busy fucking week." The Baron spit loudly. On the floor. "There's talk of smuggling operation, running down by river from the next territory. Baron Tulter has requested our cooperation. You four are up. Head to the Vela port, they'll put you to it."