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Chapter 17. A Few Truths
🕑 Added 2025-03-23 15:17:01 +0000 UTCIt had all been real. This time when Rafe slept, he dreamt about it all. Not just his last few hours on earth, but his whole life, his family, his friends, and his old basketball team.
In his dreams, Rafael Kingsley thought about his two lives.
****
When he woke a second time, there was no banging in his head. The banging outside was still there though, and it was hot, and he opened his eyes to a yet groggy scene of a thin boy with wiry muscles lifting a blacksmith's hammer. He brought it down on red hot metal, and sparks flew. It was a relief to see a solid, natural-looking world.
Noid didn't show any hints he'd noticed his waking, only continuing to work away at his anvil. Rafe hadn't known him for a blacksmith, but then again, had he ever really known the walking enigma?
“You probably have a lot of questions,” Noid commented, stopping his work not at all.
That was an understatement. Rafe had so many questions they'd both grow grey before he'd even made a dent in them. But he had to start somewhere.
“What is this place? This world I've lived in for the last ten years of my life?”
Noid grunted but otherwise did not comment, playing so well into the gruff blacksmith's demeanor. He continued to hammer his piece of metal for a few moments, and just when Rafe was going to complain, he stopped his banging. He lifted the still red hot metal using a pair of gigantic tongs, and put it into a tub, cooling it off with an audible hiss. The product was something in the shape of a bastard sword.
It was great, large, black. It didn't look pretty, with the sharp edges uneven. What's more, it wasn't whole for more than a few heartbeats. He hit one of its edges with a tiny hammer, and like a piece of glass, the metal fell apart.
With a sigh Noid collected his metals, putting them all into a crucible and placing them into a roaring forge.
“I can answer all your questions, I assure you. Though the answers might disappoint. I'd rather I give you my question first before we begin. I need to make a decision and to do that, you'll need to decide first.”
Rafe was immediately on guard. He didn't know why, but this felt like some kind of test. As he lay there, under the most intense scrutiny Noid had ever subjected him to, he knew something was going to change today. And hadn't it already? He'd gotten his memories back, and perhaps this was the reason Noid had given them back to him. Swallowing, he nodded his head in acquiescence, wondering how his life would change after this day.
“You have your memories back. Do you still wish to pursue the path of the sword?”
Rafe breathed out in a slow, audible puff. He'd expected it, somehow he'd known he'd be expected to make a choice. He was scared. He'd killed people on this path. He'd chosen it to begin with, he remembered, right before his memory had abandoned him. And how had his memory abandoned him anyway? He would have preferred Noid answer his questions before he committed to following his instructions.
“You don't have to tell me now,” Noid said, turning away from him. “But bear in mind that I won't answer any of your no-doubt-burning questions until you make a decision.”
Even decisiveness was a factor being tested, Rafe realised abruptly. What would a warrior do in the case of an ambush? Would he give his opponents time to prepare even more? Would he turn his back and run? Rafe hesitated, trying to squirm his way out of the bed. He knocked something over, something cold and hard, and it fell with a clang to the floor next to his pallet.
He looked down at his swords, two of which were short and curved, almost just big knives. Twin swords shaped like fangs. He'd bought them because he thought they would fit his style, Orlandir's style, better than ordinary short swords. He looked at the forge, remembering the sword he'd been designing in his head for years now.
The sword he now knew had taken inspiration from the katana from his old world. He'd only seen one as a decoration in his father's house, and it had been fragile and beautiful and not a tool for war at all.
It was a decoration, but the one in his head wouldn't be. It would fit his slender build well, and it would incorporate all the techniques he'd learned so far. Even Orlandir's windmill style, although with Rafe's speed, he could turn it into a twister style or something of the sort.
It was only a fraction of a second Rafe spent in his thoughts, and before Noid had finished turning, Rafe had made his decision. He might not trust Noid, might not respect him as a mentor, but he could admit he'd seen multiple scenes of gods doing battle, and that simple swordsman had captured his attention.
“Wait!”
Noid turned to him with a raised brow, his sleeveless arms showing off long arms with wiry muscles.
“Teach me. I think I still want to follow this path to its end.”
“Really? Even after you killed those people?”
“It wasn't the sword's fault that I killed them. After all, in your vision, you didn't kill that man you fought with, nor did it look like you had any intention to.”
“You cannot always afford to spare your enemies. Especially when you're so weak.”
Rafe hesitated, but…
“Even so,” he spoke with determination.
“Mhmm,” Noid said, studying him intently. “Are you sure? If you choose to remain on the path, I will treat you as my apprentice, and I will only give you answers as they become pertinent. Some of your questions may never be answered.”
Rafe cursed internally. Was his learning swordplay more important than finding out about this system as soon as possible, finding out about how he could get home if he could get home? Finding his family? But then again, his family, home? What the hell was that place? He'd felt more welcomed by Jonathan Wilde and his family than his father. If anything, finding out about his current world was more important than finding out about eEarth And that thought disgusted him so much, that he couldn't even think about it anymore.
They were his family, for crying out loud, his flesh and blood.
And the others, the ones who'd taken him in and shared moments of peace with him right after a brutal war. He couldn't decide. So maybe he was being a coward, but he let his sword decide for him, and it wanted to sing. Noid’s eyes widened, like he could see his thoughts written plain on his face.
“Your reason for choosing this shouldn't embarrass you, Rafael. If anything, it is very similar to my reason. I turned to the sword after my own family abandoned me. The sword is my family. But that is my truth, not yours, and the purpose of our coming here, of me returning your memories, of this whole challenge, was to help you find your truth.
“Now then, young master Kingsley, tell me, why do you fight? No don't answer that, your sword will.”
****
His system, his status, all the skills he had been looking forward to studying, everything was once again blocked off by Noid.
“The system is an important tool in the modern world,” Noid had informed him, “but it isn't important to you right here and now. Right now your skills would be nothing more than a distraction. You cannot pick a class yet, in any case.”
“Why not?” Rafe had demanded, especially after learning he could not level up, and therefore was only getting stronger at a tenth the speed he would have otherwise.
“You’ve done well enough without one so far. You need to hone what you already have, not get new responsibilities. Besides, your vessel is not ready. We are trying to provide the essence circulation the system does for Essence Deserts during tutorials, and until we've finished that, getting a class would be a waste of time. If we fail, which is unlikely, you’ll have to wait for your tutorial.”
That did tell him a few things, namely that whatever the tutorial was, it was yet to happen. Still, he'd been marked ten years in advance? That seemed irresponsible. Lots of people could die in ten years, and then what would be the use of the marking? Or maybe, just maybe, he hadn't been in this place for more than ten years. It was a stupid hope, but Rafe wanted to hope anyway.
“We are not here to learn about the system just now,” Noid said. “Ours is to start the journey of creating your concept.”
“My concept?”
“Yes. When you fought at that inn, Jonathan said something to me, something that got me excited. He said you let your sword think for you. Your sword wanted blood, and so it got blood.”
“Let my sword think for me? The sword, or swords I'd just bought because I desperately wanted revenge?” Rafe asked dubiously even as he used a stick to stir and remove ash from his furnace.
“Yes, and no. You have a sword in your soul. It is not the best path, to use a single tool to build your future around, but it worked for me. It won't make you super powerful, but it will be easy to develop. And it will make you my disciple.”
Rafe didn't know what the hell Noid was talking about, and he let his silence answer for him. The furnace had been going for most of two days, and Rafe intended to keep it burning a few hours longer. If he could make an alloy with the strange magical metal Noid had given him, maybe he could make his katana a little more durable.
“Yes, first you'll want to know what a concept is, I presume. It is just that, a concept, an idea which you believe with your very soul. Your concept is your truth or the first fraction of it.”
“You talked about truth before. Said it was why we were here?”
“Ah yes, the truth. Your very own piece of reality. Some people took to calling it the Dao for some reason, and some believe it is something we steal from the heavens. It is your very own way of inflicting your will on the universe, on reality.
“An attack made with a poison concept cannot be cured with a mundane healing spell, let alone health potions or pills. It can be directly combated by a purifying concept imbued spell. But in the right hands, even a sword concept should be able to fight off a poison concept.”
That example had come out of left field, and Rafe said as much. Noid didn't seem perturbed. He kept on telling him stories. Like how some people's races dictated the direction of their truths. For example, winter wolves will find themselves gravitating towards ice-related insights, and lava behemoths will find themselves comfortable with lava.
“In some schools of thought, truths are predetermined. Your truth will settle into your soul like it was made for you, and you for it. Of course, this is an absolute lie…”
He then went ahead to explain beliefs, about how the mind influenced the soul and so on.
“It therefore makes sense that a beast, with a very simple mind, born in lava, will see lava as the ultimate truth. Even their bloodlines are predicated toward lava. We more sapient species have a bit more wiggle room. A bit more freedom in our choices. And we tend to make better choices too. For example…”
A scene Rafe had seen before, the legacy of the sixth Skyholm returned.
He was in the expanse of space, and a man and bird exchanged deadly blows. As the man moved, a whole planet disappeared like it had never been, the side of the galaxy nearest him went dark, and with a punch to the bird more still disappeared. The woman healed in a burst of white flames, flames that spoke to Noid, spoke the secrets of the universe. And with a flex of her flaming robe, light returned to the galaxy.
It was only an instant, only two movements, but then Rafe was back under the open sky, sitting beside his furnace and watching Noid.
“I am not the best teacher, the best at explaining things. Still, I believe a visual aid was necessary. Did you see the pinnacle of destruction face off against the pinnacle of immortal fate?”
“So those were their truths then?”
“Yes, but don't go getting ideas. That is a few millennia out for you, at the very least. I just wanted you to see how far you could take what you learnt here.”
“That punch the demon god threw,” Rafe said. “It spoke a thousand words, a thousand tiny ideas. A black hole, chaos, the void, darkness eternal, the end of all life…”
Noid just nodded like this was all obvious, although Rafe didn't know what even he was talking about.
“The demon god did not build his truth himself. In a way, it was predetermined, but it would still have been impossible to merge all those ideas without the help of his mantle of desolation. You can also see from this battle, the disadvantage of having such a vague idea as destruction for a truth. It can be interpreted in so many ways, and the demon god incorporated them all. That would have been downright impossible without the mantle.
“Even my little sister is little better. Immortal fate? Fate practitioners are the worst, in my humble opinion. So full of themselves. Strong too, but you get what I'm saying. A sword, made of metal, sharpened and maintained regularly, sharp, heavy, simple. It might not offer the outright destructive power those examples have, but it's simpler to follow, easier to know. So, what do you think? Still interested in a simple truth, or do you want to sell your soul for power?”
He said the last part with a scoff.
Rafe grinned. “So, how do I start? How do I make my concept?”
“I love the enthusiasm kid. But listen, a concept isn't the first step to a truth. It is the first fraction, but that is only because below the concept you get barely tangible power from your insights. Insights are the first step of truths, seeds that will build your concept. You should have as many insights as possible, cultivate them to their peak before you combine them into concepts.”
“Wait! You can have more than one concept?”
“Some people can. You're not one of them. As it is, I want you to experience hundreds of concepts and insights, but I want you to hold off on making your own for now.”
Rafe frowned. His master was actively barring him from power at this point. It didn't make sense.
“But why?”
“Multiple reasons. First, you are in the void. We don't know how that will affect your nascent insights and we don't want to find out. Second, we cannot be sure what effects temporal magic has on nascent insights because people as low-rank as you normally just can't be in a time-dilation chamber for more than a few months at most.
“Third, your vessel is still weak. Your body is not used to the essence. Even if you got your class and started leveling up now, you'd hit a bottleneck simply because you are not ready. The essence of newly integrated worlds is different. It allows you to slowly acclimate to it as it increases in quality over time. We are trying to reproduce that effect so you'll be able to grow your vessel once you're out of here.”
Rafe was quiet for a long time, trying to parse what Rafe was saying.
“And my vessel is…”
“Your body.”
Rafe wanted to ask, dearly wanted to ask, but he'd learned what Noid meant about being his apprentice. He'd only get answers if and when Noid deemed it necessary. Still, he had to ask. Had to know.
“The void? Come to think of it, my skill description did mention something about time dilation…”
Noid scoffed. “I'll let Enith tell you about that one. If I've got half a brain as I used to when I lived, I'd bet that's the main reason she's gotten this interested.”
“The enchantress? Do I still get to meet the other gods of Skyholm even though I chose your trial?”
“Focus on forging your blade, child. I want you out of here anon. All these swordsmen I put in my head. All the energy it takes to maintain them.”
And that was another thing Noid had told him about. This world wasn't real. It was a mental construct, mostly from memories but also imagination. Most of the people here, like Jonathan and his family, were based on people Noid had known. Even the Ellan family and his history with them. The war Rafe had taken part in though, was just a part of the test Noid had invented. Most challengers hardly ever got past that step.
The other races like Jasmine’s and Rhea’s were ones Noid had only come across after leaving his planet behind to travel the cosmos.
There were other races still, in this mind construct, that Rafe had yet to run into. Orlandir was based on a real person Noid knew once, and apparently, his end in reality had been far less brutal than in the trial. There was only one conclusion Rafe could draw from all this: his fault. It was his fault Orlandir had died.
And if this world wasn't real, then what did it make all his memories of them? Were they nothing? Were they just delusions?
Rafe groaned. Thinking so much was a pain. Things would work themselves out, in the end, or they wouldn't. Nothing to do except finish his damn blade.
He broke the furnace with a pick axe, the still burning coal forcing him to take a few steps back. He held onto the blobs of red-hot solids with a pair of tongs and dunked them in a pre-prepared bucket of water. With a hiss, the metal cooled to reveal a blob of black slog. He hit it with a normal-sized hammer, and like an egg, the shell broke apart to reveal iron-grey metal with white veins slithering through it.
“Yes!” Rafe shouted.
That was step one done, just a few hundred more, and he'd have a new blade.
As he banged down his mostly rightly shaped piece of alloy the following day, Rafe remembered what Noid had told him. It wasn't Noid's fault he'd lost his memories. It was his own. It was his subconscious way of protecting his half-destroyed brain. Noid had taken it in stride because it meant for a trial taker who knew nothing. Like a babe being taught everything from scratch.
And then his subconscious had developed that damned skill, somehow. The skill that had been active for ten years and counting, protecting him from his memories as it protected him from the dissonance of the trial itself. No wonder he'd lived in such a state of perpetual pain for ten years. The adamance of the blade…
When he'd finished cooling off the metal, he got the small hammer to test it out, but before he'd even started, the blade curled into itself like a drying leaf, losing the vibrance of the white veins through it.
“I told you to start with basics,” Noid said from outside the house.
Right, always start with the basics. No point in skipping steps.
