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Fragmentum Mundi - Chapter 2
🕑 Added 2024-05-07 09:11:42 +0000 UTCThe crying of the neighborhood's rooster awakens me from my slumber. I swear to the Gods, one day I will turn that animal into soup, and then…
"Wait. That's not important," I say as I sit up in my bed with a lurch.
The light of the early morning shines through the single window of the small room, lacking any drapes or other luxuries. The air is a bit chilly and smells like earth and smoke. I could recognize this place any day of the week: it's the cheap room I rented while I was living in Wesropt. The one at the outskirts, right next to the potter.
Let's not jump to conclusions yet. First things first, I hop out of bed, and walk over to the washbasin. Local culture in the southern fringe of the Empire was always big on public baths, so cheap boarding houses like this not only weren't expected to have a bathroom, it wasn't even considered a big detriment. Anyhow, I lean over the water in the basing, and…
"Yup. That's fresh-faced, just-joined-the-Free-Workers-Guild me all right," I whisper as I behold the reflection of my mug. I look slightly less handsome than I remember. Or at least I'm fairly sure I looked better when I last looked at myself in a mirror, who knows how many years from now. I'm apparently the type who ages like fine wine. More importantly, "I thought I was skinnier back then… or rather, back now?"
"[That's most likely due to my influence. Also, good morning.]"
I freeze upon hearing the familiar, rumbling bass reverberating between my ears. I glance left, and then right, and there's nobody there. I quickly check the window, then the door, and both of them are locked. To be sure, I also look into the crude wardrobe in the corner of the room, and even peek under the bed.
"[What are you doing? Do you honestly think I would fit in there?]"
"No," I answer with a growl as I get back on my feet. "I'm checking to see if there's anyone else who could hear me, so that I don't look like some crazy person talking to himself."
"[Oh? That actually makes sense…]"
"More importantly," I raise my voice to interrupt the one ringing in my ears. "Care to explain what's going on? Kal?"
"[… Are you truly going to refer to me as such?]" I impatiently tap my foot against the floor, and the Demon King in my head lets out a sound that's somewhere between a sigh and a chuckle. "[I told you I gave you a small gift. It's a fragment of an ability inherent to my being, and thanks to that, I'm now able to share your senses and communicate with you.]"
"Ability? Like one of those boons from the Scroll?" My mouth was a bit ahead of my mind, and I snap my finger as a realization hits me. "Right. I should check the Scroll to see what I've got."
"[I believe I already told you that usage of the Scroll was restricted by the Gods, so you can't—]"
The voice of the Demon King falls silent the moment a familiar brown parchment materializes in front of me. I also remain silent, then raise both of my hands to aggressively gesture at the Scroll floating next to me.
"You. Were. Saying?"
"[… You're a bundle of anomalies already. I don't know why I would've expected anything less.]"
Meanwhile, I stop waving at the parchment and start poking it instead, scrolling through all the segments I've seen before.
"Attributes seem to be same as before… same for the aptitudes… Charisma is still dead wrong… Ah, here. 'Skills'." I pause, and lacking a face to look at, I just ask the ceiling, "Why are they called that?"
"[It's due to how one would normally acquire items that fit under that heading,]" the Demon King explains to me. He's suspiciously helpful, but hey, any water when one's in a desert, I suppose. "[Gaining an entry through the blessing of the Gods, or through sharing an ability like I did, is the exception, not the norm. Inspect your Skills; they should be organized based on their magnitude, so my gift shall be right below the boon you received.]"
Even while listening, my fingers don't stop, and I look at the short yet interesting list.
"I've got Crest of Control III at the top, and then there's Demon King's Constitution I. I guess this is the one that you gave me?"
"[Indeed. It is a small but not insignificant fraction of the power that defines my being. Through it, you shall gain an improved physique, some resistance to disease and harmful substances, and a significant reduction to any harm caused by both weapons and magic upon your body. Except for the Sacred Weapons, of course.]"
"And it comes with a freeloader in my head. What a bargain," I mutter as I take a closer look at the 'Skill'.
Just like with the boons before, I have a basic, almost instinctive understanding of them just by glancing at the words on the parchment, so I can feel that the Demon King's description was accurate. However, there's one thing that I've yet to mention. Or rather, one Skill, wedged between my boon and his gift.
"What's a reincarnator?"
"[It means a person who is reborn in a different body. It's pretty common in stories in the Underworld,]" the voice in my head answers my rhetorical question like it was none of his problem. But then again, is he wrong about that?
I shake my head and take a closer look at the Skill in question. It's named Reincarnator I, and it… gives a stronger impression than even my boon, but I have a hard time understanding what it does. Something about retaining something after death? Logically speaking, it should have something to do with time being rewound and my consciousness getting placed inside my younger body, but I can't be sure.
For now, I ignore it and look lower. Beyond those three, there are two more Skills there: Weapon Mastery I, and Holy Resonance I, and… both of them are weird. The first one apparently allows me to use any weapon proficiently whether I have the 'required prerequisites', whatever the heck that means, while the latter makes me more compatible with holy relics and healing.
These… certainly suggest an answer to the question of how I was able to use the Sacred Sword to stab the Demon King in the back, but it's also way, way too convenient for my liking. Thinking back, I've always had a knack for using all kinds of arms, even as a child. It was half the reason why I decided to leave the barony and enlist as a Free Worker; to gain more experience and to make use of my talent. Of course, I didn't make it as big as I hoped, but that was not entirely my fault.
The second Skill also rings a bell. I could always get away with lower-quality potions in the past, and the local church of the Red God of Healing always told me I was easy to treat, but I thought it was because I had a great, heroic constitution. Not like those pansies who needed a full bottle for every paper-cut, yet… it was most likely the effect of this skill.
Combined, the two seem to be custom-designed to allow me to momentarily wield the Sacred Sword. That's… absolutely suspicious. Of course, there's always the chance that I'm just this darn special, but life had taught me that if something was too good to be true, you were either being scammed, or you were accidentally scamming someone else. Neither of those are good, though if I had to make a choice, I personally preferred option two. At least that only made me oblivious, instead of a moron.
While I'm pondering all of this, the Demon King lets out a hum.
"[Do you happen to have any other Skills? Even if you do not, don't worry. I won't judge you. Only a tiny fraction of humans possesses them from birth, and only the most outstanding ones may earn one through a lifetime of hard work. There's no shame in only possessing your boon and my gift.]"
Should I tell him about the rest, I wonder. It would be good for a laugh, but then again, this is the Demon King we're talking about. The monster who destroyed three kingdoms, massacred entire cities, and torched half the Empire, and from my perspective, I literally fought his army just the other day. Maybe keeping my cards closer to my chest is warranted.
I let out a huff, and then return to the top of the list. Crest of Control III. The rules of this Skill system are simple: the higher on the list, the more impressive the ability, and the more notches are behind the name, the more powerful it is. Combined, this should be one hell of a power, but at the moment, I can't figure out how to use it. I'll need a test subject for that, and those don't grow on trees.
"[So? What are you going to do now?]"
"The better question is, what are you going to do?"
"[I watch,]" the Demon King answers as if it was self-evident. "[It's awfully droll in the Underworld, and I'm curious to see the Overworld through your eyes.]"
"Without all the massacres and destruction," I say as I dismiss the Scroll, and he responds with a thoughtful hum.
"[Indeed. It's hard to take in the sights when the duty of bringing forth the next Cycle is pressing upon one's shoulders. Furthermore, I'm most interested in how you'll leverage your boon in the future.]"
"I'm not your dancing monkey…" I argue, but then stop and shrug. "But then again, you did grant me extra power, so I'm somewhat indebted to you. Just don't bother me too much."
"[You're quite flexible.]"
"Sure. I'm nothing but practical," I whisper as I slip into my boots and buckle my short sword to my belt.
That's all the equipment I have at the moment, which isn't surprising. I don't know the exact date, but when I lived here in the past, I was barely making ends meet. I didn't mind at the time, because father always used to say that hardship builds character, and starting from the bottom and pulling oneself up by one's bootstraps was a virtue, and I wholeheartedly believed it. It's bullshit, of course. Working on your character is what builds character, but it doesn't sound as snappy. As for virtues… well, I'm admittedly not an expert on those, but I'm willing to learn this time around.
But speaking of my father, I wonder if this is before or after I was disowned. Not that it matters, as I have no plans to return to the barony any time soon. I have too much to do. The world is my oyster, and I'm its sea otter.
I walk out into the long hallway of the boarding house and lock the door behind me. Everything is still familiar, even though it's been ages since the last time I've been here. I have no time for nostalgia though, so I head downstairs and hand my key over to the old lady at the receptionist desk. She's a greasy old crone, the wife of the man who owns this whole building, and a money-hungry, conniving harpy if there ever was one. I like her.
"Good morning, handsome," she greets me with a grin.
"Morning, madam," I greet her back, and after she puts away the key, she turns a pair of droopy eyes at me when I don't leave right away. "This may sound strange, but can you tell me the date?"
"It's the seventh of The Green."
Which means we're at the very beginning of the warm season. No wonder the air felt a bit cold.
"And the year?"
The crone eyes me for a second, then answers, "Two-seventy-two of Brightland."
"[Brightland?]"
I ignore the Demon King's question and nod. That means that I have just turned twenty. I left home at nineteen, so this must be not long after I settled down in Wesropt. The timeline adds up.
"Thank you. I just wanted to make sure," I tell the woman, forcing a friendly smile onto my face, yet she looks at me suspiciously. If my memory serves right, I used to be a bit more brooding and standoffish around this time, but I'm not going to impersonate myself. It was a phase, and it bloody well stays in the past.
I nod and leave the boarding house, heading to the Free Workers Guild right away, while being pestered every step of the way.
"[Human? Can you explain to me what those terms meant?]"
I resist the urge to roll my eyes and pick some less frequented alleys on my way. I know this town like the back of my hand, as I lived here for almost a decade before moving to the capital. These old, foul-smelling backstreets are as much my hometown as the barony's estate ever was.
"The Empire calendar uses historical eras for counting the years," I whisper once I'm sure nobody is paying me any attention. "And yes, all of them have silly names like that. Prosperall, Hopefuture, those kinds of things. Each corresponds to a dynasty, and there's a lot of nuance here that I can't be bothered to explain."
"[Ah? What a fascinating custom,]" the voice in my ears murmurs. At first, I think that's the end of it, as he remains silent for a solid minute, but then the Demon King speaks up again. "[Please excuse my tardiness. I had to look for pen and paper. I feel I should document these things.]"
"You're really enjoying this, aren't you?"
"[Tremendously,]" he tells me, and try as I might, I can't shake the image of the humongous beast of a man sitting in front of a small desk, with a tiny spectacle on his nose and an oversized quill between his fingers. "[Where was I? Oh, I remember. Could you tell me why the lady of advanced age referred to the Green God back then.]"
Whispering to myself like this still feels uncomfortable, but in for a copper, in for a gold, I guess.
"Eight Gods, Eight Colors, Eight Months. That's the Empire's calendar for you, and she was referring to the current month." I pause for a breath, just realizing that I had to explain something so basic, and ask with just the right amount of utter incredulity, "Shouldn't you be aware of something like this? This should be the commonest of all common sense."
"[I would like to remind you that I only spend a few short months on the Overworld each Cycle. My role is to drive the Hero of the era into a corner, to ensure he amasses as much power as possible for the successful completion of the Cycle. I rarely had the time and opportunity to involve myself with the culture of the Overworld, so I'm going to write down everything you see and tell me.]"
"If you publish that book, I want royalties," I half-jest.
"[Shouldn't you also write things down?]"
"What things?" I murmur, genuinely unsure what he means by that.
"[The future. Shouldn't you write down all you know about the years to come?]"
"That would be pointless," I scoff as I weave between the shady people using the same alleyways, giving me odd looks from time to time. It's probably not just because of the whispering, but it surely doesn't help. "I'm planning to change the future, so it would all become useless soon anyway."
"[Do you at least have a plan?]"
The Free Workers Guild building is just around the corner, so I tell him, "Of course I do. I've had the whole plan worked out the moment I found that boon and it's why I'm on the move. I don't have time to waste."
With that, I consider the topic concluded, and I'm just about to leave the alley when I notice someone hurriedly walking towards me.
It's a short, squirrely-looking fella with an unkempt tuft of hair on his chin that, with lots of benefit of the doubt, you could technically call a beard. His dirty cape billows as he pushes it aside, and just as he stops before me, light glints off the short blade of a knife in his hand.
"Hey, you! Hand over yer money, if ya don't want trouble."
I… just stare. In awe of this man's balls. Or lack of brains. I mean, what else can I do in this situation?
"Seriously?" I ask in a strained voice, barely holding back the urge to laugh. I glance down at the potato-peeler in his hand next. "Are you shitting me right now?" I look him in the eyes again, and his bloodshot gaze tells me he's both desperate and, potentially, as drunk as a moose on a tree. "Oh my Gods, you're actually serious!"
"S-Shaddap! Gib me your money! Where's the mo—?"
"I have a better question," I cut in and point at the sky. "Look, I see that you're not exactly the prime cut fillet mignon of our species, but even you should see that thing up there, right? Big, bright ball? Called the Sun?" I let the words sink in, and then point at the sword hanging from my side. "You, are currently trying to rob and armed man, in broad daylight! So let me ask you again: Are. You. Serious?"
The man's eyes shake, but he stands his ground. Welp. I've definitely fulfilled my obligations. I warned him, repeatedly, about just how monumental of a mistake he just made, so after this point, I wash my hands of all responsibility. Before he can act, I lash out with my left hand and grab his wrist. I might've only made it to a Silver Ranker, but I still have decades of experience under my belt, dammit. Something like this is child's play to me.
The unfortunate daylight robber yelps and tries to free his hand, but with a sharp twist, I put pressure on his wrist and the knife slips through his fingers. I grab it with my free hand without hesitation and smash it against the nearby wall. It's a cheap-ass knife all right, and instead of snapping like good steel would, it bends at a right angle where the blade and grip meet.
I throw it over my shoulder, and while the panicking assailant is still focuses on his trapped wrist, I swing my arm and give him a smarting slap right across the face. He stumbles, but doesn't fall, so I repeat the process a few more times, and then let go of him. Realizing that he regained his freedom, he lets out a terrified cry and rushes down the alley like a whole pack of demon dogs are at his heels. Our little encounter drew some attention from the street outside, but I just pretend that there's nothing out of the ordinary, pocket my hands, and continue walking towards the guild building.
"[What was that about?]"
"Just some drunk fool looking for funds to buy another shot at the wrong place," I whisper, but the Demon King doesn't seem satisfied.
"[If I didn't know better, I would think it's the Hero's Destiny in motion.]"
The word 'destiny' immediately puts me on guard, and I nearly stumble.
"The what now? Is that a thing?"
"[Not formally,]" my inner companion admits between thoughtful hums. "[But isn't it common that Heroes would encounter odd and remarkably unlikely situations that would somehow tie into the problems faced by the locals?]"
"You talk about strange notions like this as if they were obvious, but you don't know about the Imperial Calendar?"
"[It is my duty to the World to know as much as possible about Heroes and how they operate, and I tell you it's a pattern.]"
"Yeah. Because Heroes are nosy goodie-two-shoes types who can't keep their heroic hands to themselves," I scoff and enter the Guild building.
The first step in my grand plan begins here, with a man I knew all too well. Whether he would cooperate or not will be the deciding factor on how smoothly everything would work out, so I put on my best smile, and walk up to the counter at the back of the commons room.
"Morning, Samuel," I greet the tall, balding receptionist sitting on the other side like an old friend, though truth be told, we were never that close. Not that it matters, as before he has the chance to respond, I lock eyes with him. "I'd like to meet the Guild Meister. Please arrange it. It's urgent."
Comments
thaughton2
"Because Heroes are nosy goodie-two-shoes types who can't keep their heroic hands to themselves" Something tells me this will be a hilarious statement to make later.
