For the second time that day, Grant was led through the town square. The rumors about a selection taking place had stormed through the city like an oil fire. A street pastor perched atop a wooden box preaching about the end of times, admonishing the townsfolk for turning their backs on the Goddess, spraying more spittle than sense. Those who stayed to listen seemed motivated more by morbid curiosity than anything else, but his shrill voice carried far, attracting interest from all over.
Under the darkening evening sky, Grant watched townsfolk hurrying through the city, clutching sacks of food to their chests. Noble homes in Iori had ways to preserve perishables for months, but judging by the people’s clothing, they couldn’t afford such luxuries. Why buy a bunch of food that’s going to spoil? Fools.
Mr. Nerelot seemed to have picked the thought from Grant’s mind. “Selections bring out the worst in people. They panic and grasp for something that they can control. Dukes raise taxes, mayors shut their city gates.” He gestured towards the townsfolk. “Even the powerless find something to do.”
The two men walked in silence for a moment. Grant eventually worked up the courage to ask.
“When are you going to tell Dan?”
Mr. Nerelot came to a sudden halt. He looked over his shoulder and his eyes slid down. “I’m sorry, son. There was no other way to get him to stay. I swear to tell him the second the Portal closes.”
Grant nodded, his next words confirming what he already knew. “There is no villa.”
“There is not.”
“There is no shipment.”
“There is not.”
“You’re taking me to the city gate.”
“I am.”
Despite already knowing, it felt like an anvil had fallen on Grant’s chest. Just moments before, he was savoring the first breaths of freedom he had taken in hours, and now he was drowning again. The look on Mr. Nerelot’s face left no question that the manacles had been clamped and locked. May as well have been welded shut.
Grant sighed as he gazed up at the clouds. “You’re right, you know. Even if you locked Dan in the deepest cell, he would have busted his way out with his thick skull.”
Mr. Nerelot did not smile. His hands landed on Grant’s shoulders. “I need you to know that I would have gotten you out. I wanted to get you out.” He worked his jaw. “But son, you have a Track Spell on you. No matter where I hid you, Captain Nickel could have found you, and he would have strung you up as an example to the other selected. I’m sorry.”
The man swung his satchel over his belly.
“I can’t get you out. But there is something else I can do.”
From the inside of the satchel, he pulled out a small black box. Its wood was engraved with intricate designs, like a long-lost language, and its glow made the letters blur together. Grant’s eyes glimmered as the Blacksmith opened it. On a pillow inside rested a short dagger, no longer than his middle finger, with a sharply curved blade and a ring at the end of its handle. Its color was black, but there was a dark crimson when it caught the moon’s light. Mr. Nerelot lifted it with care and handed it to Grant.
He rested his finger on the top and spoke. “Transfer Owner.” A chill passed over Grant.
Grant slid his fifth finger into the ring, rotating its blade, staring into the deep red edge. The unwrapped handle began to wriggle under his grip, and he nearly dropped it in surprise, only managing to hold on because his finger was hooked in. Its grip lengthened and narrowed, and when it stopped moving, it had melded itself to every tiny indent on his skin.
Mr. Nerelot put a hand on Grant’s shoulder. “This belongs to you now. Even in the event of your death, it will reject any other owner but me.” He nodded towards the dagger. “Identify it.”
Grant winced. “I can’t cast Identify even a single time without getting hit with a Mana Depletion Debuff.”
“That’s because your Wisdom is 3. The only way to grow it is to use Magic, and the only Magic you know is Identify. With your Intelligence and Perception, it’ll shoot up in no time. Identify it.”
He swallowed and braced himself. “Identify.”
[Identifying…]
[Name: Siphoning Fang]
[Age: 13 years]
[Rarity: Epic Bound]
[Current Owners: Grant Leeman, Edem Nerelot]
[Previous Owner: Isaac Leeman]
[Monetary Value: 300,000 gold]
[+2 to Dexterity, +2 to Wisdom]
[Critical Strikes with this weapon deal 400% additional damage]
[Life Leech, Dismiss and Resummon, Indestructible]
[Forged from the fang of Her Majesty, Queen Ya’eesh of the See’nah Colony and reinforced with Crimson Iron.]
Grant clenched his teeth, waiting for the inevitable wave of dizziness, but several seconds later, he felt nothing. “Why don’t I feel dizz—wait, this is worth 300,000 gold?”
Now he felt dizzy. 300,000 gold was a staggering amount of coin—enough to buy Mr. Fletcher’s inn, the surrounding houses, the alley they were in, and still have enough left over to pay the old man to massage his feet every day for the next 20 years. His hand quivered as he stared down at the incomprehensible fortune in his hand.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Mr. Nerelot shrugged like they were talking about a couple of silver. “More. 300,000 gold would be the cost of the materials alone, not even including the fang I forged it from. Bound Items are rare, even beyond the Portal. They can’t be lost, stolen, or broken. You can Dismiss and Resummon it at will, no matter where you lose it. I'd give you a full set of Epic Items if I could, but only Bound Items can be taken through the Portal, and every Campaigner can only take one.” He beckoned Grant, and they began walking together.
“Now, I need you to listen to me carefully, because what I’m about to tell you is not common knowledge.” Townsfolk who recognized Mr. Nerelot nodded with respect and watched with curiosity as he walked with Grant. The Blacksmith returned their gestures with nods of his own. The two men stopped as a line of carriages passed.
“Your low Wisdom is going to get you killed. Even if you don’t use Magic, Wisdom affects your resilience to Elemental Magic, Soul Magic, Mind Magic, Curses, Poisons, and Diseases. If you went into the Portal how you are now, you’d probably wander into a bog, inhale the air, and choke to death in your sleep.” Grant tugged at his collar nervously. “For the next month, I need you to be using your Identify spell every time you have the Mana for it. You have 5 now, right?
Grant checked his Interface. His Mana sat at 2/5. “Yes. It’s at 2/5.”
“Everyone without an Inherited Class starts with low Wisdom. And the assholes in the capital aren’t going to give you a lick of information about how to increase it. They’re going to tell you to find a Class on the Store or take that bird-shit Body Enhancement Skill.” His lip curled with disgust.
“Classes give a large early boost, but they become obsolete fast. You’d be lucky if a Common Class got you past the Second, let alone all the way to the Third. They also block further progression. When you go through the Portal, the first thing you need to do is buy the most expensive Spell you can afford. I don’t care much about what it is—with your Intelligence, any Magic will work. Even if you were an Anomaly, you’d probably only be able to afford an Uncommon Class. Maybe up to a Rare one. But a Spell or a Skill of the same rank can earn you a Rare or Epic Class.”
“Why wouldn’t they tell us this?” Grant asked, bewildered that they would mislead countless young men and women.
Mr. Nerelot’s eyes twinkled. “What, and let you come back out more powerful than the nobles? Every war needs its pawns, son.” He jabbed Grant in the chest with a thick finger. “And that’s what they think of you.” The jovial man from earlier had disappeared before his eyes. In his place stood a mentor.
He jabbed Grant again. “Identify your knife.” Grant did so, and his Mana dropped back to 1.
[Wisdom has increased to 4!]
“My Wisdom just increased to four!” Grant shouted with an excited squeal. Mr. Nerelot shushed him, eyes darting around. “Don’t tell anyone what you’re doing. And don’t say ‘Identify.’ Only morons and braggarts shout the names of the Spells they cast. But I gave you that knife for two reasons. The first is that it’ll carve through a sleeping man’s neck like a headsman’s axe through a melon.”
Grant chuckled nervously, searching for humor in the man’s face. There was none.
“The second is that there’s a loophole in the Identify spell. The higher the Rarity of the item you Identify,” he said, turning one hand palm-up, “the more Experience you receive toward the next increase,” he continued, turning the other. He pointed at the dagger. “It would take thousands of casts on a Common item to get a single point of Wisdom, but you just got one in two casts on that Epic dagger.”
His mouth watered at the possibilities. He had abandoned the idea of ever using Magic, but the door had been flung wide open.
“And there’s no penalty for repeat casts on the same item. You’ll get the same Experience the thousandth time as you did the first. It’s boring work, but with enough discipline, you’ll be entering the Portal with a Wisdom score beyond the nobles’.”
Grant trembled, barely containing his smile.
Mr. Nerelot’s heavy hands pushed down on his shoulders again.
“As a selected, they’re going to make you go through mind-numbing drills. The command ‘Thrust!’ is going to wear on your patience until you want to fall on your own spear. It’s all a waste of time. It’s designed to make you strong, but not powerful. It’s designed to make you durable, but not unbreakable. Dismiss the dagger, and every time your Mana ticks up to four, Resummon it to cast Identify. Be subtle, but be consistent.
“If you wake up in the middle of the night to take a piss? Identify.” He thought for a second. “Actually, set your Interface to wake you up after four hours of sleep. More time to Identify. During meal time? Identify. If you meet a pretty girl and you’re lying in bed, lost in her sparkling green eyes, talking about names for your future kids? Your arm had better be draped over her back with your dagger out, and you had better be casting Identify.”
Grant looked down at his dagger thoughtfully. “How did you figure this all out?”
“I didn’t. Your dad did. Smartest guy I ever knew.”
He worded a silent prayer to the Goddess for his father.
“There were 18 possible default Spells or Skills you could have gotten. Minor Illusion, Force Shield, Fire Bolt, Ice Spear, Block, and so on. None even begin to compare to Identify. All serious Campaigners get it as soon as they can buy it from the Store, but it’s never as good as the Default Spell.”
Grant would have once fantasized about casting a Fire Bolt, but he recognized the wisdom in the words. Information was power, and Identify could tell him what water was safe to drink, what food was safe to eat, and what foes should be avoided.
He vaguely remembered an old parable. Two bucks fought for days, intertwining their horns so deeply that they could not break free. They collapsed from exhaustion and starved to death. A small buck who watched their battle from afar ruled the territory they left open for years.
“Isn’t there something you should be doing right now?”
Grant startled. He looked intently at his dagger, drowning out all distractions. Identify, he thought, and his Mana dropped back to one.
Mr. Nerelot nodded with approval. “We’re out of time. Come.”
If crowds were a river that flowed around Captain Nickel, the river split down its very center for Mr. Nerelot. Grant had long become adept at squeezing through the smallest gaps in the least traversed of Iori’s streets, avoiding most of the townspeople. Those he was used to seeing in such alleys were couriers, messenger boys, and former orphans like Grant who knew the same shortcuts. But Mr. Nerelot took the most direct route to their destination, letting his size and authority pave their path. With only seconds to spare, they arrived in front of Captain Nickel.
The short man raised an eyebrow as he looked over Grant. “Private Leeman. Cutting it close, I see.” Grant opened his mouth to apologize, but Mr. Nerelot stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “You gave him a time. He was here at that time.” The two stared each other down for several long seconds, until Captain Nickel broke first with a scoff, scowling back up at Grant like a hair in his tea. “Private Leeman, say your goodbyes and board the third cart from the back.”
He had decided what he wanted to say when they were still in his office. He felt like he had every right to be furious, but he was old enough to know that good lies were vastly better than bad truths. His words came out choked. “Please tell Dan that I don’t blame you. Tell him that I said you were right, and that any other father would have done the same in your position.”
He stuck his hand out for a shake, but Mr. Nerelot pulled him into a hug. “Remember what I told you.”
The men separated, and Grant walked to his cart with new determination.
Edem stayed and watched until the last cart disappeared into the mountains.
“I’m sorry, Isaac,” he whispered. “I'm sorry I failed you, failed your son since he was a boy. He looks just like you. When I saw him, all I could..." He swallowed a painful lump and shook his head. "I hope you’ll understand someday.”
