Jack picked up his smaller notebook and turned to a fresh page. It was time to record the fight with the rat-faced rogue. A few minutes later, the memory was etched in ink. Every misstep, every hesitation, every lucky stroke. Jack read over it, committing each detail to memory with his Perfect Recall skill, and marked the mistakes he’d made. Not to dwell on them, but to learn and improve.

  Next time, he told himself, I’ll do better.

  Unexpected Encounter with Six Adventurers

  Location: Forest clearing outside Lundun

  Duration: Under an hour

  Weapons: Dagger. White oak bow with quiver of ten cheap arrows

  Summary of Events:

  Failed to avoid a potential confrontation. Critical error.

  Surrendering the goblin’s ear and sword to the adventurers was the right choice.

  Choosing to run created the time needed to hide and plan. Absolutely the right move.

  Hiding in the root-ball hollow was a sound decision.

  Successfully used True Aim on the first shot despite difficulty breathing. Valuable skill in high-stress situations.

  Missed or fumbled two follow-up shots. Fear and breathlessness played a significant role.

  Switched from long-range to melee when the bow proved ineffective. Necessary, if risky.

  Became tangled in roots. Costly mistake that nearly resulted in death.

  Headbutting the rogue. Created a crucial opening.

  The dagger was decisive. Close combat ended the fight.

  The melee was brutal, chaotic, and terrifying.

  Did not hesitate to finish the rogue once the opportunity presented itself.

  Notable Factors:

  Luck significantly influenced the outcome:

  -Rogue froze after first hit; unexpected advantage.

  -Rogue flinched when loosing arrows; his accuracy decreased significantly.

  -Rogue’s arrows caused minimal damage; fortunate, given my lack of armour.

  -Ended up on top during the final clash; sheer chance.

  Returning to the root-ball hollow to avoid the remaining adventurers was the correct call.

  Observations and Lessons Learned:

  Should have hidden in the forest upon first hearing voices, my pride nearly got me killed.

  Life is more important than dignity.

  Though costly, carrying Chronos Sphere spell scrolls could have allowed a safer escape or battlefield advantage.

  Cardio endurance is poor. I struggled to breathe after a few minutes of running. I must begin physical training as soon as I’m healed.

  A dark cloak will improve concealment.

  Invest in high-quality armour as soon as funds allow.

  Consider acquiring stealth-based gear or scrolls for evasion.

  Continue practising with the dagger. Close-quarters combat is inevitable.

  Carry healing spell scrolls at all times. One good heal could be the difference between survival and death.

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck as the weight of his luck finally settled in. “So many things could’ve gone wrong,” he muttered, destroying the already memorised note with a sigh. Out of curiosity, he opened his status to check his Luck affinity, comparing it against what he’d recorded in his notepad a few days earlier.

  To his surprise, his Luck affinity had risen by one per cent, up to 14%.

  “That’s… unusual.” He frowned. It was rare for affinities to shift so quickly. A person of his age might, for instance, subject themselves to regular doses of poison and only see their Poison affinity rise by a single per cent over the course of a year. Even then, that was considered fast.

  Intrigued, Jack scanned through the rest of his affinity values and was startled to find additional changes. He grabbed his notebook and noted the discrepancies.

  Table of Affinities

  Affinity | Old Value | Increase

  Fate 71% +1%

  Earth 25% +1%

  Blood 18% +1%

  Luck 13% +1%

  Poison 10% +1%

  “That is so strange,” Jack murmured, scratching his head. “Five. Why?”

  He stared at the table, trying to make sense of it. Everything he’d ever read about affinities made one thing clear. They were slow to change. Years of dedicated training or repeated exposure to the appropriate elements were typically required to shift a value by even a single per cent. Significant changes tended to occur after major life events, such as nearly dying from poisoning or undergoing a magical transformation.

  A single affinity increase after a fight might be explainable, but five? That wasn’t how affinities worked. “Not unless…” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Something’s different about me.”

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  A chill ran down his spine. This wasn’t something he could risk anyone else discovering. Not the Inquisition, not the Guild, not even his own father. If someone learned that his affinities were shifting like this… well, it wouldn’t take much for the wrong sort of attention to find him.

  “Hmm… I should destroy any notes about my affinities.” He ripped the page out of his notebook and destroyed it. “I can’t let anyone see this information,” he whispered. “I’d better destroy anything that seems out of place as well.”

  He destroyed almost everything he’d written in his notebook since waking up in his teenage body. He had them memorised, so he could recreate them at any time. But for now, they were better forgotten.

  Having no answers, Jack finished reviewing his notes to help cement the fight in memory, then turned to a task he genuinely enjoyed. Crafting spell scrolls.

  After completing a chronos sphere spell scroll, he stood, stretched his stiff legs, and hobbled downstairs to the kitchen in search of a snack. “Hey, Mom,” he called out, “any chance of a bite to eat?”

  “Good timing,” his mom replied as he stepped into the kitchen. “Zia’s first attempt at buttermilk biscuits is nearly ready.”

  “Hi, Zia,” Jack greeted as he settled at the table, still feeling the soreness from the previous day’s battles. He couldn’t help but let out a soft groan as he found his seat.

  Zia offered a timid smile. “Hey, Jack,” she replied in a nervous tone.

  Hard to believe she’s the same street kid who tried to pinch my coin purse, Jack thought, noting the flour smeared across her cheek and the tip of her nose. “Working hard, huh? I hope my mom hasn’t got you doing all the cooking now?” he teased.

  The girl shook her head. “No, no. Your mom’s great…” she trailed off, her cheeks flushing pink with embarrassment. “She’s really, really nice,” she added in a whisper, her eyes lowering to the floor.

  His mother patted Zia on the head. “You’ve been a delightful companion for this old lady. Unlike my troublesome son and daughter, who only show up when they smell food,” she added with a theatrical sigh, just as she opened the oven and pulled out a tray of freshly baked biscuits.

  “They smell amazing,” Jack said. “Did you make them?” he asked Zia.

  She nodded and fiddled with the end of the blue ribbon tied through her silver hair, a bashful smile forming as she watched the biscuits cool on the rack.

  “It’s her very first attempt at baking,” his mom explained with a smile, placing the steaming biscuits onto a cooling rack. “Now we get to sample them.” She shot Jack a look that said, ‘You are going to like them!’

  Moments later, the three of them were biting into warm, fresh-baked buttermilk biscuits.

  Jack’s biscuit was a little misshapen, but still a biscuit. With a careful bite, he was rewarded with the delicate crunch of the crust, giving way to a soft, pillowy interior that melted on his tongue. “Hmm, that’s nice,” he murmured.

  The tangy sweetness of the buttermilk, balanced by a buttery richness, made him want more. For a few blissful moments, the aches and bruises from the previous day’s battles faded, replaced by the simple, comforting pleasure of a warm, imperfect biscuit.

  “They’re really good, Zia,” he said, offering the little girl a thumbs-up before devouring another, this one shaped more like a squashed, lopsided slug than a proper biscuit. Then another, and another… “Are there any more?”

  His mother laughed. “Nope, that’s it.”

  Zia smiled as she nibbled on her last biscuit like a little mouse. “My mommy makes me these,” she said in a hushed voice, a tremor of sorrow threading through her words. “I miss her.” Tears welled in her eyes.

  Moved, Jack’s mother knelt and pulled the girl into a hug. “It’s all right, dear. I know she’d be glad you’re safe now.”

  Jack felt a knot of emotion rise in his chest. He knew that pain; he’d lived with it for decades. Though his eyes brimmed with tears, he blinked them back, calling on the quiet stoicism his father had always shown. He still didn’t know any of the details of how Zia came to be alone, but her panicked reaction at the mere mention of goblins hinted at a dark, traumatic past. Something he wasn’t sure she was ready to talk about.

  After the comforting, misshapen snacks, Jack returned to his room, determined to craft more spell scrolls and channel his focus into work he loved.

  Jack crafted a handful of spell scrolls, allowing the rhythm of the pen and the familiar smell of ink and parchment to calm his thoughts. When his mom left to run errands in the city, he took full advantage of the opportunity.

  His mom’s sleuth-like instincts for uncovering secrets were inconvenient at the best of times, especially when said secrets involved the bloodstained possessions of a now-dead, rat-faced rogue.

  The rogue’s pack was retrieved from the courtyard and smuggled back inside. The remaining items within reeked of dried blood and unwashed leather; they needed to be taken to the washhouse before they began to attract flies or questions.

  What he was going to do with the rogue’s bow and shortsword—still hidden behind the shed—was a future Jack problem.

  Stuffing his pack full of bloody items, he slung it over his shoulder, wrinkled his nose at the stench, and braced himself to head back into the city.