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Chapter 112: One Page
🕑 Added 2023-04-10 23:30:25 +0000 UTCChapter 112: One Page
/All of you still alive? Good. You better be ready for some exercise, because we're talking about Moves today. No, not those kinds of moves, but Moves!
Yeah, that's fucking right. The stamina-equivalent of Spells. A very clear series of actions that is given enhanced power by some system shenanigans because it has been practiced endlessly. A goddamn Move. Maybe I'll mention Spells too, but we'll see about that.
Now, are Moves capitalized? I don't know. No one really does. I found it useful up until now to make the topic clear, but screw you, I won't anymore. Because they really piss me off, and quite frankly, I don't think they've earned their capital M.
Okay, shit, back on topic. Why do I dislike them so much? Well, firstly, I wish to compare them to spells. Both have similar acquisition difficulties, after all, moves need you to practice things a hundred times over, if you're incredibly talented. Otherwise, have fun doing that one action a thousand, or even ten thousand times.
I'm not even fucking exaggerating. It is completely and utterly stupid. The simplest moves you can get are things like specific punches, or dodges. For example, I got the <Duck> move, after dodging dozens of bottles thrown at me whenever I complain in public.
But the worst part is how slowly moves level up. Some people really struggle with that, because rather than properly gain experience for a move, why not just learn a new one that's a little more versatile, only to abandon it again. It really doesn't encourage mastery, if you aren't some complete psycho who only ever wishes to train.
Now, perhaps that is exactly why moves are much more popular in the east, under the name "Martial Arts". The monks there also have the additional system metric named Qi. Or Ki. Or Chi. Fuck's sake. Some of their moves use that ki to make effects like spells. Why aren't they spells? Who the fuck knows! Because the system said so.
But to get this all back on the floor, I think moves are a scam. Absolutely! They level up slowly, and they can be the absolute most basic fucking things. Some of them you can just activate, like some Skills, other can only passively boost certain actions. Where is the consistency? The rules?! The system has so many categorizations only to then kind of ignore them all over again! My gods!
Getting mad just thinking about this. I'm off to shout my anger on the streets, try and see if I can't get some <Duck> mastery. That means lowering my body, not the damn animal. If you thought that, I will find you, and I will make you pay.
Until then, you better don't croak. And keep reading my shit. Bye./
"Issue 10 of "This System Sucks!" by an anonymous, and maybe slightly unhinged, author, who some might consider a heretic and scoundrel? This dude's reputation is all over the place, like seriously. Can some other editor cross check this?" - Editor Mike, from 'The Daily', whose comment on the author was cross checked, and then simply approved and published as is by the head of writing.
- - - - - -
Mercury stared at the notification in front of his face for a little while. He paused, and then rubbed his eyes before doing a double-take. He admitted that maybe his first introduction to old Uunrahzil as "young Cat" wasn't exactly the most creative, but he had thought that old Dreamweaver would at least be a little metaphorical.
Apparently not. <Appraisal>, what the hell is a Dreamweave?
[The <Dreamweave> is what dreams are made from.]
That... didn't exactly tell him a whole lot once again.
[Additional information may be added to system storage upon fulfilling further (hidden) requirements, or by gaining more understanding of the matter oneself.]
Alright, fine, so he'd just have to figure it out himself. Somehow, it almost made him glad, since it would honestly be quite boring if the system were to explain everything to him. Still, sometimes it would be nice if it could extend more of a helping hand.
Oh well, whate
ver.
For now, Mercury really wanted to try out his new Skills, but even before that, there was something that took precedence over that. In fact, he felt somewhat... different from before. Of course, this happened every time that he learned a new ihn'ar, but this time felt especially strange.
Back when he learnt <Breath>, all he felt was stunned at this new world, and when he learned <Grass>, he felt welcomed with open arms, but the feeling he gained form <Nothingness> wasn't quite like that. Mercury tried to pinpoint it, but it almost felt as though it refused to be grasped any closer by him.
It was... strange, really. Everything around him looked more distinct, more graspable, almost... malleable? Like he could reach into the air and drag it closer to himself. No, not just the air, even space itself, at least in here. But when he tried to actually reach out, nothing ended up happening, like he was trying to hold onto a cloud, or a wisp of smoke.
Mercury sighed at that. Once again, he had found something strange. He understood instinctively what <Grass> and <Breath> let him do, yet with <Nothingness> such politeness was refused. Even now that he had it recorded as an ability, he didn't quite get what it was supposed to do.
A little ironic, wasn't it? The fact that <Nothingness>, even after acquiring it, didn't really have a purpose. The cat slowly shook his head. It still felt more than worth it, really. The sense of accomplishment this time was greater than anything he had before, and if it wasn't important, old Dreamweaver wouldn't have taught it to him.
Yeah, for now, he probably just had to trust in his teacher. He was sure that eventually, the seed he'd planted today would bloom, and the wisps of smoke he felt would become more tangible. For now, he had other things to focus on, such as levelling <Thread> and <Runecarving>, and finally breaking the constraints on his mana veins.
That was surprising, actually. Given how easy it had been to expand his mana veins up until now, he was definitely expecting for them to have a breakthrough before understanding the ihn'ar of <Nothingness>. Well, nothing much he could do about that. Rather than worry, Mercury just laid himself down on the soft grass, listening to the quiet sounds around him as he set upon grinding away at his mana veins.
It was tedious work, but he knew his patience would be rewarded eventually. His title and growth-related Skills assured him of that, after all.
- - -
The next few days passed in a very similar manner, he and Ryuutesai-sensei would travel during the day. During the breaks, he'd try and figure out how to swing a hammer. Mercury had also used one of his breaks to experiment with <Thread>, and while it was a very good Skill to set things up, he couldn't control it in mid air or after deployment, so it wasn't exactly suitable for swinging a hammer.
Sometimes, the assignment frustrated him, but if Ryuutesai-sensei and old Uunrahzil had one thing in common, it was that they preached patience. If he wanted to do things right, he'd have to take his time and learn how to swing a damn hammer first of all.
Unfortunately for the cat, while his newest teacher was very patient, he also shared the stubbornness of his first teacher, Yvette. Yasashiku never once relented on the assignment, and only ever gave him tiny hints, most of them in between being almost obvious, to so cryptic Mercury couldn't really use them.
Of course he imagined the hammer in detail, he had it right in front of him, after all. But what the fuck did "compress your mind to a point, then flatten that point and swing it" mean? Of course, he understood the words, and he knew he could somewhat manipulate his mind, after all, he was able to split it, and form it into sub-constructs. Zeyjn, and Ystir. But what the heck did compressing it mean?
Once again, Mercury found himself in front of a wall, with nowhere to go but through it, and this time, he was absolutely forbidden from brute forcing it. While his newest teacher did provide a helmet, he'd have to make the hammer to smash through himself.
However, while Mercury did seem to get closer bit by bit, creating a full imagine of the hammer Ryuutesai-sensei had given him in his head, every nick in its metal, the rings of age on the wood, he still couldn't get it to swing by the time they arrived at the workshop. And what a workshop it was.
Mercury was quite surprised at first, since the living space really wasn't very big. It seemed very typically Japanese to Mercury, having a single story, the wooden floor partially covered in mats around a table in the middle of the room. It had sliding doors with paper, and the beams of the roof extended out a little, where paper lanterns gave a soft glow to the area.
He liked it. He actually liked it a lot. The wood was soft, and the lacquer on it was worn enough for his feet to find good grip, and the mats around the living and sleeping areas were more than comfortable to lie on, while not giving too much either. But it appeared Yasashiku had genuinely created a little hamlet for himself.
Right in front of the house, there was a small pond, with a river from higher up the mountain feeding it. Mercury saw fish in there, but he was fairly sure his new teacher kept them there himself, so he refrained from eating them. There was a garden with quite a few plants around it, some parts of the lake covered with lily pads, and the occasional frog jumping around.
The area was beautiful, and serene to Mercury, and he genuinely really liked it. But of course, the most important part was the forge. It had its own dedicated building, using much more stone than the main house, with chimneys to let the smoke escape. Strangely, its inside felt quite a bit bigger than the outside, with tools being housed in every corner, and most of the walls fully engraved with runes. They were especially concentrated on all the tools, the anvil, and the forge itself, where metal would be heated and then hammered.
It looked so clearly magical to him, that Mercury couldn't help but wonder how much time and effort had gone into just creating a space that was suitable for creating... well, largely anything one could imagine coming form metal. The room was so clean, and well kempt, yet showed such clear signs of usage as well, every tool worn but maintained to perfection.
Every single bit of the area seemed to almost want to yell how much mastery there laid in it, and Mercury was nothing but excited to see how exactly he would be using it in the future.
Then, after a quick tour, Yasashiku brought him outside and spoke again. "No entering the forge until you can swing a hammer."
For a little while, Mercury looked at him quietly, then at the forge, then at his teacher once again. He scowled. "Fine."
Ryuutesai-sensei nodded at that. He then turned to look another way, a little to the side of the forge, where there was an outdoor area. The floor there was stone, and the grass around it had been cleared away so it wouldn't be set on fire by flying sparks. In the middle of the stone platform stood a single anvil. Nothing more than that, except for a door to the inside of the forge.
"You're allowed to use this, and watch me work there when I do. I won't tell you when that is, so listen for hammering, or don't. It is your decision how much time you want to dedicate on meditating and watching. Make good choices, and I will give you more advice, Starlight-kun," Yasashiku explained.
"So I have to earn your approval to be taught, sensei?" Mercury asked.
The old man nodded again in reply. "Indeed. Now then, it is late today. We shall eat, and then you are free to do whatever you wish until the evening."
"Yes, sensei," Mercury simply replied.
- - - - - -
Zyl was in pain. There was little new about that, he had been in pain for the last handful of days, but he was getting to the stage where the pain was changing.
For the most part, these last few days had been a slow, pulsating, and pulling pain, like someone was trying to drag him somewhere a little too forcefully. Most of it had been in his chest. But now that the goal of this whole operation was getting closer to the surface, the pain's quality was changing.
Rather than feeling a pull, Zyl felt like he was being burnt. From the middle of his chest, where his heart was, waves of heat roiled through his body, shaking him. Steam rose as his sweat disappeared, and if his clothes hadn't been made specially, they would have gone up in flames.
He grit his teeth. If it was this much, he could still endure it, and drag the time out for longer. He had to drag it out for as long as he could, after all. Berthorn had many flaws, but Zyl knew that at the very least, he was patient. One of his few virtues, which is exactly why Zyl usually minded it.
The man he had once considered his brother was a schemer through and through. Endlessly patient when waiting for a plan to bear fruit, and always having multiple going at a time. He wasn't pressured, after all, he had an entire lifetime to spend on making Zyl's life even just a little less bearable with all his vices. With his avarice and his jealousy, always craving whatever Zyl held.
Once again, the dragon in human flesh let a sigh escape his mouth. He had been doing so a lot recently, and really, this one turned more into a moan of pain by the time his lips parted. Speech was becoming harder as the minutes ticked on, and he could barely get a sentence together at this point, and yet he sighed.
Perhaps, if he let some of his pain out, he could stall a little longer...
Just as Zyl thought so, the door to his meditation hall opened. He sat facing it, so he could see who was stepping inside, and of course it was one of the least pleasant people he could hope to find.
Berthorn.
Zyl didn't speak. He couldn't muster the energy, all of it focused on containing and moving the heat burning his body from the inside out. He felt less like a noble dragon, and more like a fish in an oven, except the oven was inside of him.
"Hello, brother," Berthorn said with a wide smile.
In response, Zyl attempted a growl, but he could not do so. His lips remained sealed, and the vibrations died in his chest, burned to ashes by the fire.
"Spare me your complaints," the sleezebag in front of Zyl replied, leaning against the doorframe. "You should instead focus on yourself. This looks quite painful, after all."
Once again, Zyl wanted to growl, but killed the urge within himself. He slumped down his shoulders, giving up on the proud posture he had maintain, and even hung his head a little. His anger was not helping the pain, and neither was his pride. Rather, if he wished to buy time, he had to seem submissive, even if every fibre of his body despised the notion of it.
"The process seems tougher on you than I thought," Berthorn mutteres just loudly enough for Zyl to still hear. The man, putting his slick hair behind one ear, was staring at Zyl's chest, the origin of his pain, where the orange heat radiated strongly enough to shine even through his clothes. Then, Berthorn shrugged again. "Not that I mind, really. You did this to yourself."
Zyl flinched. Not with fear, pain, or submission, but with wrath. He wanted to jump up, to grab his enemy by the throat and do what dragons did best: kill. The urge was almost overwhelming, burning so hot in his chest he thought it would eclipse the pain, and it would have, if Zyl wasn't kind.
He thought, once again, of why he was doing this. Of his comrade he had dragged into this without any permission. This suffering was his cross to bear as well, and so was this humiliation.
Now, this certainly was not enough to smother his anger, but it was enough to restrain it. To chain it down, and add it to the ocean of rage he felt at the comment he had just heard. One day. One day he would get Berthorn for this, but that day would not come yet.
Sadly, throughout all this, the man in front of him just smiled. He took a step into the room, towards Zyl, and then a second. His coat, made from entirely regular fabric, caught flame then, but it seemed like the man almost didn't mind.
"Poor brother," he said, reaching out, his hand hovering only a slight distance from Zyl. "So... furious, at such a slight comment. To think that the great guardian has words that cut him so deep..." Berthorn paused, clicked his tongue, and turned around on his heel.
"Well, whether the words hurt or not matters little. After all, you will be suffering for quite a while longer, won't you?" he asked, again smiling now. "To think that the betrayer now stands betrayed, oh, how unexpected!"
The man's smile turned into a grin, his eyes gleaming with malintent. "You know, I almost want for you to stop. To give in to anger. To kill me where I stand. You wanna know why? Because I would be free," he hissed, "and you would be chained. No more freedom for the great Zylnareth! Chained to a country of worthless cattle, of livestock you keep for fun. Of your little pets. And any pet of yours that leaves, we would kill."
"I almost wish that," he said, his grin now vanishing and turning into a frown. "But I am dutiful, sadly," he added, then took a deep breath full of even more scorching heat.
"Brother, you know better than most that I am patient. I will wait, for quite some time. But I will not wait forever, because if there is something I want as much as that spark of yours, it's your suffering. You will not be the one to determine the length of this process, because I will." At that, Berthorn smiled once again, as he looked down on Zyl, who was now staring back at him with his teeth bared.
The chained dragon wanted to hiss, to scream, and to breathe fire. There were so many provocations, so much rage, and yet, he did not. He simply glared, and expressed his displeasure. Because even with everything, Zyl remained silent.
This put a small frown on Berthorn's face. "Fine then. You shall have one more page. If you are not done by midnight of next weddan, the mopaaw dies. That is all."
And with that, Zyl was left alone again, to suffer in silence. Well, as long as he didn't have to see that backstabber's face, at least he would suffer a little less.
