You would be amazed how many people wind up dead to an arrow, after I make them armor that can stop any sword.

-Elric The Wonder, [Smithmaster] of the Kingdom.

....

Magic is dangerous.

The Empire is terrifying.

Sleep is optional.

These were the three important lessons I learned that night, as I was once again leaning with my back to the door. Only this time, I was fitfully trying not to nod off and stumble back into what might be the last dream I'd ever have.

Because the King had seen me.

I didn't understand much of what had transpired, but I knew that much for certain. My dream had been far too real for comfort, and I was convinced that it wasn't my imagination or fantasy, or any half-baked paranoid delusion, either.

The King had seen me.

He'd stared right at me, and known exactly who I was.

My fluke of an escape could have gone unnoticed by the Empire. Heck, considering how it happened, they might have honestly believed I was dead: but now that was over. My grace period for going under the radar was up, all because I'd foolishly played around with something I hadn't fully understood.

The Empire would know I was still alive. And from the way the King had stared at me, I felt like they might even know where to come looking.

None of these were pleasant thoughts.

Even worse, though, was the image that had adhered itself to my brain. Tied nicely with the feeling of dread creeping up my spine. Of the figure resting on that golden throne, of those eyes...

Of the terror who had brought me here, and had seen me off on this terrible journey.

It was too much.

I didn't sleep another wink.

Honestly, how could I rest after that? Just the fear of what might happen if I returned to that dream, that I might end up back in that terrible place, was enough to keep me from closing my eyes for more than an instant at a time.

I simply couldn't risk it. At least, not while I could still feel the touch of mana pulsing through my body. If magic was capable of an event such as traveling within a dream, surely magic might also be capable of far more sinister things. What I didn't understand was vast, and my ignorance had never seemed more dangerous.

So, I stayed awake.

Hour, after hour.

Too tired to will myself to do anything, but too frightened to relax and let my eyes closed. There, I sat in the dark. Filled with anger, frustration, and feelings of inadequacy. If only I was stronger, if only I could gather together some tiny, fragments of control, and use them to take my life back. Or, at least steer it away from approaching disasters...

It was a long, miserable, night.

Beautiful weather, though.

So far as silver-linings went, I staring outside for a long time. There, I could see the stars in the sky. I could see the clouds, peaceful and drifting, beyond a black and purpled hue. It was enough to make me stand, and watch from the window. And though it wasn't enough to take my thoughts entirely away from less pleasant things, it did calm me down.

Everything was alright.

The Empire was far, far, far, away. The only ways to get to me would be through an uncrossable forest, or a dangerous ocean, and I had my doubts I was worth the effort.

They summoned Heroes all the time. Why would they worry about me when they could just bring in replacements?

It felt like I was lying to myself, but it worked. By the time morning came around, sun cresting along the horizon, I had found my resolve once more. At the first echoing sound of others moving about the fort, I left my room to take to the yard. Gulping down breakfast and a half from a bowl fed by a glowing wooden spoon, before swinging a wooden practice spear about.

This would simply be another day to survive, I decided. I would continue to cope as I'd been doing: Working at things one day at a time, and growing stronger with each.

So it was, that I lost myself in the forms.

Spear humming about the air, even as the yard filled in around me, I didn't have to try and ignore the stares I was getting. Frankly speaking, I was too tired to care. As more people showed up, I barely noticed, content to continue through the motions I'd been taught, again and again. Beside me, I visualized Kepler as if he were present and providing instructions. I watched my spear as it failed and Kepler demanded I fix my mistakes.

Too slow, too inaccurate, always lacking...

Fighting the phantom of a memory, I pushed myself harder. To emulate what I'd been taught, all while trying to keep up.

Perhaps, it was a worthwhile endeavor.

Endurance +1

They could stare all they liked, I decided. I'd already earned more in one morning, than they might hope to earn in weeks. And as long as I kept at it, that was going to continue. Still, I was quickly growing tired. So, after finally earning the Attribute, I settled at slowing down and I let myself relax. Still practicing, of course, but not nearly as aggressively. I mostly waited for whatever signal decided the training in the yard was over.

While I did this, I noticed that the others around me stayed at a polite distance. It seemed there was still a remarkably healthy buffer between the next closest [Guard] and myself. The Baron's previous announcement still seemed to be holding a significant effect on many of the other residents.

As such, there were no real problems that morning, but as the practice finally ended and people went to hang up their weapons, I found some interactions to be had.

"Tsh." Lip curled, Roggar made sure to spit in my direction.

It was borderline childish, a grown man spitting on the ground. Not entirely without purpose, I had to reason. It wasn't a very well put together plot, but perhaps the man was trying to bait me into something, or maybe he just wanted to be certain I knew his opinion hadn't change. Whatever his reasons were, Roggar glowered for a bit afterwards.

I didn't pay him much mind.

As I was tired to the point of being deliriously tired, I simply stood in the yard and waited him out. Which, clearly, wasn't what he'd been hoping for. This only made him glower a bit more as whatever half-formed crowd of interest dispersed without much to see or say. Most, in fact, walked rather quickly away from what I choose to interpret as the potential "line of fire."

Not that there was any fire.

I still couldn't quite figure it out. Best I could reason, Roggar had felt some sort of personal investment in disliking me, but I didn't feel too strongly one way or the other about him. A part of me wanted to set him on fire for beating and starving me, and another part felt it wouldn't be worth the effort or drama that might result in murder via magic. Surprising as it might sound, the whole display of his displeasure that I existed in relative proximity to him didn't bother me much. If anything, I actually felt a bit at ease by Roggar's behavior.

It was stupid, but it was consistent, and I could appreciate that at least the man had the common-decency to be straightforward about the nature of our relationship.

He didn't like me.

Simple.

I didn't like him much either. I was just less inclined to broadcast that fact that I had some loose plans to set him on fire, sooner or later.

When I felt the time was right, of course.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Fair is fair.

But, as often seemed to be the case: Roggar wasn't alone that morning. Unfortunately, beside him was another familiar face. And if there was anything at all which managed to get under my skin that morning, it was related to her.

Karen.

That woman was of a different sort.

Karen, Solas... whatever her name was. That I still thought of her as Karen seemed a testament to how little I appreciated her to begin with, but I've heard it said that learning to hate one's enemies is a process that takes time. Like a fine wine, the art of truly loathing someone needs to mature. And my feelings related to that woman were well along with this process.

I did not like her.

Not one bit.

It was the way she looked at me. Like I was beneath her presence. Like I wasn't even human. The kind of expression that could lock eyes with me, only to be looking at the wall in the yard fifty paces back, or at a worm squirming in the mud. She didn't make a public show of it like Roggar did, which I figured made her the more dangerous of the two.

That morning was no different.

As the crowd dispersed and Roggar realized I wasn't interested in dealing with him, Karen caught my eye.

It wasn't particularly difficult for her to do.

She wasn't exactly ugly, though I should clarify that between Gertrude and a few [Worker] Class women I'd spotted: her competition wasn't very steep. She also had the posture and confidence of someone who knew they held that exact sort of advantage. Compared to Mars, or any of the other women who had been my fellow residents in mud-tent, she wasn't beautiful by Earth standards, but she just seemed... strong.

There's a little bit of an appeal to that sort of look. Whether I liked to admit it or not, I could recognize when someone carried themselves in a certain way. Be it in their posture, or jus the way they walk. Their aura, maybe? Whatever it is I'm poorly defining, I know that it's almost impossible to fake.

Simply put, Karen had the appearance of someone who couldn't possibly be broken. It wasn't quite arrogance, or confidence, or sheer beauty, but it was something close to all three. Something that gave the impression that no matter what happened, she would always be able to turn heads.

The [Guard] I stubbornly thought of as Karen, had this appearance. Although, that morning, she had something else too. Something, that prompted her to tap something on her belt.

It was a simple motion.

She looked at me, and her hand drifted to her side.

It was the kind of thing I would have normally been happy to ignore and disregard as completely unimportant. But she stared at me just a little too long. Again, with that blank expression. As if she was waiting for something to crawl out of the mud.

So, I looked back.

I looked to the belt.

Then back at her.

I'll say this: Roggar was toward the top of a long list of people I'd met, that I didn't much like. I'd been wronged by a lot of people, but very few of them had starved and beaten me. Yet, I felt that Roggar did things the proper way.

Hatred is best kept out in the open. If you don't like someone, let them know. If it comes to blows- both parties willing, let it come to blows. But, like I said before: Karen was a different sort.

Something in me, snapped.

It came on much too quick. In that exact moment, my quiet simmer of control I'd begun to take for granted, was lost. In its place, came a festering, rage. One, which quickly started to boil over and move towards the point of no return.

The magic in my chest burned, and it was all I could do not to let it run free as I went from calm, to a mere second away from taking all of my anger, my mana, my magic, and channeling everything I had in her direction. Until she burned to ashes. Until those ashes were dust, Until that dust was nothing more than ions that had been lost in the wind, and every trace of her existence was stripped from reality as if it had never been.

But I didn't.

By some miracle, I held it in. Held back the stupid, violent, reckless force of magic that was boiling in my chest, as I waited. Waited until she had left my sight. Until everyone else had as well, and I was alone in the yard beside the weapon rack.

Then, I set down my practice spear's smoldering form, letting the weapon settle back among its kin- uniquely marked by a deep and blackened handprint.

And I let out a long, painful, breath.

Then another, for good measure.

She had been told to give back my dagger, but she still had Gregory's knife.

And she'd wanted me to know.

....

I'd like to believe that I had my rage well-enough contained by the time I arrived.

Of course, I still smelled charcoal on every inhale, and cinder on every exhale- but nothing was actually on fire, and that was a small blessing in itself.

My arrival was dead-last, of course. I'd wasted far too much time in the yard, and I settled in to join the very back of the lines, to stand and await the coming orders.

In this, I found that the assembly in the hall was much the same as the first day. Everyone standing, waiting, doing nothing in particular. Almost in a meditative, or prayer-like state. An odd gathering of individuals, all standing in total silence.

This morning, though, there were no orders to be recieved.

The Baron wasn't there.

Which, I found was something of a relief, but also a little worrisome. Looking around though, no one else seemed to be visibly concerned, so I decided it was probably fine and waited silently for something to chance.

Only to find that nothing did until a long-bearded man came out from the back hall. Old, withered, and in poor health, the man walked the rows of us for a brief moment before he croaked out some feeble excuse for a dismissal.

Lord's Writ

Scribe

?????

I waited as the rest filtered out to their duties, but the Baron never showed himself. Perhaps, I reasoned, he was still returning from his venture to speak with the "Guild" as it happened to be called. That independent organization, which was apparently intended to hunt monsters.

I was a little curious in the academic sort of way. Questions like "What Classes would relate to such activites" and "What logisitics would be required to keep an organization like that running" and others of that sort were bubbling up in my mind. Yet, after my wonderful encounter with a hungry Fernwolf, I also had to assume the Guild consisted entirely of lunatics. Which, in turn, meant that I wanted nothing to do with them.

And also meant that the Baron probably got on great with them.

These were the kinds of thoughts I used to distract myself as the rest of the crowd left the hall, and I intentionally avoided looking in their direction. I had a strong suspicion that if I saw Karen a second time, smoke might start leaking out my nostrils.

Which wasn't ideal.

"Do not let it consume you."

The strange warning that had come with [Lesser Flame] hadn't been for nothing, it seemed, and I felt I understood myself well enough to objectively consider why I was being so heavily swayed by emotion. Obviously, I knew was going to have to find a way to keep a lid on it, but magic and anger being tied together seemed a particularly dangerous brew.

With that in mind, maybe I was smoking a bit afterall, because the [Scribe] had also been waiting in the hall- but he made a sudden change in this behavior after glancing in my direction. It was then, I suppose, that he must have realized he wasn't alone, and had less than favorable company, because he was soon hobbling away as quickly as he could. The sound of silver chains clinking over robes signaled a swift exit. Not interested in affliating with the newly acquired "Mage" that his Baron had found.

Which was something of a shame, because even tired as I happened to be, I did have some questions for him. As a [Scribe] was liable to know all sorts of things, and far less likely to be able to lop of my head or break me in two than most other people I might speak with.

Unfortunately, it appeared that the man's hobbling could greatly increase in speed once they were out of sight. Following them out the rear entrance of the hall after the dismissal, I found that they had managed to disappear entirely. Shut away, no doubt, behind one of the many doors in the hallway. None of which, I was keen on opening without a justifiable reason.

Randomly going into rooms I had no business in, was a great way to stir up trouble I didn't want or need. So, instead of lingering, I returned to the kitchen to politely beg Gertrude for a second breakfast, before heading back to my room to practice.

Magic.

I suppose the phrase which comes to mind would be "Risk versus reward."

It had shown itself to be a dangerous thing to pursue, but that didn't mean I would give up entirely. I'd already made it my mission to claim this power for my own. If there was risk involved, that was nothing new. There was already risk in every other facet of my life.

My compromise, was that I would try to abstain from practicing after sundown. Perhaps, I reasoned, there was always going to be some form of danger which came from using mana. Certainly, sleeping might be troublesome, but I didn't have to use magic while sleep was approaching. I could still make progress during the waking hours of the day, and with the Baron not yet returned, I felt could afford press myself.

And I did.

For the entire afternoon, I spent magic with the utmost frugality. Keeping a single flame alight as I manuvered it about my palm.

Shifting it from finger to finger. Then, from hand to hand...

Just as before, though: my mana and my determination remained unbound to one another.

/100

As if trapped in a trance, I looked up to find the entire day had passed me by. The sun was setting, both lunch and dinner were long gone- Yet, just as [Identify] had been, the fifth level of [Lesser Flame] seemed far more difficult to break through. Even after all the progress the day before, I'd hit something similar to a wall. Or, maybe a very steep hill, if such a metaphor holds meaning.

I felt a vague sense that it might be slow going, unless I did something exceptional. But, that was alright. If the Baron tested me with another torch, at least I knew I would pass with flying colors.

As my stomach grumbled, and I tore into the stale bread Gertrude had given me the day before, I considered my next best method of improvement. What I might be able to gain in skill or Attribute, before sleep.

Truth be told, things were starting to get more difficult across the board. Skill, Attributes: these were much the same in the sense that those in the early stages came with a relatively swift ease, compared to those which came after. As many of my attributes had passed the threshold of twenty, I knew further advancements were becoming more difficult to pry free.

Not anywhere near impossible, but still. I knew I couldn't count on multiple improvements a day like I had early on unless I developed a decent system. Perhaps, focusing on methods to hit several Attributes in such a way, that while I might not rank one multiple times, I could rank several at a steady pace.

Not that night, though.

In an effort to run myself empty, I practiced with my dagger for a time. Quick cuts, swift stabs- draws from the belt, from behind the back... It had me fascinated, just how quickly I was able to move. Compared to what I'd been- not even a year ago, I almost felt super-human.

But, try as I might: the mana in my veins wouldn't settle.

It was still there, humming in the back of my skull, thumping in my chest. With it, I felt the urge to move. Heady, almost giddy, it pushed me: to go somewhere, anywhere.

The dagger in my hands, spun. Quick as silver as the weight of it balanced on my palm, then my finger. The steel almost seemed to glow as it lifted to the air, and I let it spin down to the stone- catching it just before the tip might impact stone. Plucking it from the fall, to return the blade to my belt.

My thoughts drifted.

Back to the knife. Gregory's knife, resting there on Karen's belt.

The look she'd given me when she saw recognition dawning on my face. That expression of smug satisfaction, content in knowing there was no way in hell I'd be able to take it back from her.

It was then, I think. Right then.

That was the exact instant, in which I decided to go and do something very, very, stupid.