– Era of the Wastes, Cycle 220, Season of the Rising Sun, Day 48 –

  “Suck it up, grasshopper!” shouted Swen while acting as a spotter for Terry.

  “SHUT.” Terry lifted what felt way heavier than anything this size had any right to be.

  Stupid gravity manipulation bullshit.

  Swen wiggled two fingers in front of Terry’s eyes. “Too slow.”

  “IT.” Terry lifted the damn thing again. He knew the entire training area was amazing. Even while inwardly cursing the weights that increased always slightly beyond what was comfortable, he had to admit it was effective.

  “Come on, little baby, just one more.” Swen curled one finger in front of Terry’s face.

  Terry gritted his teeth. His blood burned in his veins and his heart felt as if it would jump out of his chest any time now. He pumped through the pain one last time.

  Terry jumped up from the bench and couldn’t help himself. “DAMN GEEZER!” He pointed a finger at the Blasphemer.

  Oy, you’re shouting at a Faithless Saint!

  And you’re embarrassing us in front of the gods.

  Terry could feel the gazes of training faith users silently judging him for his outburst.

  “What are you looking at?!” Swen barked at the gods. “Never seen a wimp throw a hissy fit before?”

  Terry’s eye twitched.

  “How about you keep your eyes on your own pathetic form?!” barked Swen. “Keep pumping or make space!” He turned to Terry. “That goes for you, too, wimp.”

  He’s a Faithless Saint. He’s a Faithless Saint. He’s a Faithless S—

  Oh, look. More words are falling out.

  “You’re the most annoying person I’ve ever trained around!” Terry was panting heavily.

  And that’s saying something! Even the martialists train quietly, no matter how annoying they are during spars.

  “Ouch, I’m hurt.” Swen rolled his eyes. “Quit whining, especially when I’m paying for the schedule.”

  “Screw that then!” Terry was leaning over while resting his hands slightly above his knees for stability. “I’ll pay for the next one if that allows me to have even one quiet training session.”

  Much to Terry’s delight, his experience in the Court of Gods differed from so many of his travels. For once, he wasn’t entirely broke on arrival. Mostly, because he had packed his storage items with stuff that actually mattered instead of whatever local currency had been in use where he had departed from.

  As it turned out, Terry’s core collection was a suitable barter currency. He considered himself lucky, because even many of his lowest and most common cores were in high demand. Apparently, the aspect distribution of his collection was very different from the cores on the local market.

  A consequence of the Twin-Death Realm Cluster being isolated, perhaps?

  The veil reshaping to protect our realms from otherrealm invaders coincided with the arrival of dungeons, so our dungeons never acted as a source of cores for other realms.

  For us the aspects of the core system are the most common, but I guess that’s different in other realm clusters.

  Even though Terry had some credits to his name thanks to lucky circumstances, he also had plenty of other uses for them.

  For one, getting cores with unfamiliar aspects for his own use, and to bring home. Samuel would definitely love that. Considering Terry’s core summoning ability, soul spirit users might also appreciate a batch of otherrealm cores.

  Not to mention feeding Oz and allowing it to create more satellite slimes.

  Terry was doubly-lucky that shadow-aspected cores were relatively cheap to come by here, but still. He had many uses for credits, so paying for training sessions had not been on his list while the Faithless Saint had been offering.

  But DAMN IT!

  Terry was starting to believe a single session in peace might be worth more than all the cores in the world.

  Terry had tried to be patient. He had repeatedly told himself how much the Blasphemer had sacrificed for his realm. He had reminded himself of how looney he had become after only a few weeks in a dungeon.

  Terry didn’t think he was in any position to complain to the Faithless Saint, but that thought meant little when the jerk constantly shouted at him.

  Not to mention all the lying.

  “One more time, my arse!” huffed Terry. “That was like twenty one more times in one session!”

  “You kept going, didn’t you?” Swen grinned smugly. “So I did my part perfectly. You’re welcome!”

  I hate you.

  “Now scoot over. No more whining. My turn to get cracking…”

  ***

  “Alright, puppy, time for your walk,” teased Swen.

  “Ha. Ha. Your sense of humor has aged as well as your hairline,” retorted Terry.

  “Pah, I just needed the real-estate,” said Swen while rubbing his bald head that was glimmering with ritual marks. “Stop whining so damned much and put some real sweat into it and we might pick one for you, too. The concept weirdos can be useful at times. Shit’s expensive, though. You’re lucky I don’t have much use for most of my saved credits.”

  Terry still had to get used to the Blasphemer constantly shifting between patronizing snark and teasing insults to sincere generosity and genuine effort.

  He had already learned about the concept rituals, which appeared similar in style to the link-externalization Terry had done for his shadow bangle.

  Only much grander in scale, and limited to a single choice. While the rituals were supposed to be compatible with regular body inscriptions, they were all incompatible with each other.

  Terry would have been wary of the idea, if not for two points of reference. The Blasphemer himself had chosen such a ritual to create a perfect synergy between his other magics. The exact workings were a secret, but the vampire was a walking proof of what the right ritual could unlock.

  The second point of reference was more of a hunch. The more the Blasphemer had shared about the workings of the concept rituals, the more Terry thought about a certain silver-eyed dwarf he knew.

  According to Thena, her brother Jee had always been an extraordinarily talented mage. But while he had always been aspect-gifted in the space aspect, his inherent talent was nothing compared to what the dwarf was wielding now.

  Terry knew from his friends that had fought to defend Libra City against the Wastes that Jee had even held his own against Weran. It was a limited battle where the vengeful elf had held back, but even so. It was a battle of a young rookie against an aged archmage.

  From Matteo, Terry knew that Jee had performed a ritual on himself after their House had fallen and they’d been forced to flee the dwarven-native realm. Matteo had investigated the source of Jee’s mirror-like eyes once.

  ‘Let’s just say the only way to pass that without going insane is to not be completely sane to begin with.’

  Terry had never paid it much attention, but thinking about unorthodox rituals inevitably led his thoughts to Jee.

  Thena had shared that her brother had never used anything beyond the space aspect ever since he had returned with his silver eyes.

  Didn’t Devon also mention that the deathcult used a ritual to take aspects away?

  The more Terry thought about, the more the rituals of Jee and Devon appeared like one of the types of concept rituals Swen had mentioned. Rituals that leaned into a specific focus.

  How would that work for me, though?

  Terry pushed the thought out of his mind. “Let’s go. I want to check the other markets you promised me.”

  ***

  Terry abruptly halted in his tracks. His gaze was drawn to the display of an unfamiliar concept crafter.

  “BEHOLD! The Flowing Blades!” The elf with grey skin and white hair circled mana into a device at his wrists and a silvery liquid emerged, took shape, and solidified into solid metal before transforming repeatedly into different weapons. “No matter if you need a shield! Spear! Sword! Or Hammer! Always have the weapons you need at your immediate disposal!

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “This is pure mithril, with all the sharpness and mana conductivity that comes with that!” The elven god demonstrated the sharpness of his freshly formed scimitars by literally slicing through other weapons. “Today, at an incredible discount!”

  Terry was staring when the Blasphemer scoffed next to him.

  “Don’t fall for that scam,” warned Swen. “Incredible discount, my arse. It’s at a perpetual discount because no one’s buying it after the first customer caused a stink. Sure, it looks impressive. But what the pus beetle doesn’t tell you is that it only works with mithril and you have to provide the mithril yourself.”

  Swen scoffed. “Mithril! You can’t even buy that shit anywhere. Mithril doesn’t get sold. It gets mined, collected in lethal dungeons, or stolen. That’s how it changes hands. What this parasite is peddling is a fancy sphere for fast manipulation without anything to manipulate.”

  Terry’s mana touch picked up a twitch in the crafter’s face and soul.

  Hit a nerve, huh?

  Perhaps I can use that…

  Terry grinned like an excited child and walked over to the crafter unperturbed. He asked about the device, its origin, its design, its reaction speed and mana sensitivity. Before they knew it, Terry was immersed in a testing session and crafting discussion while Swen was repeatedly throwing shade on the crafting god.

  The longer they talked, the lower the offered prices got.

  Terry didn’t know if the crafting god liked him, if the elf was reacting to the Blasphemer’s snide remarks, or if the god was simply desperate for a sale.

  When Terry asked about the possibility of a bulk discount, the price dropped another time, and Terry was looking expectantly at his companion.

  “You can’t be serious,” said Swen flatly. “I told you this is a scam. I know I offered to sponsor you, but—”

  “It’s cheaper than those rituals you mentioned,” said Terry. “And I’ll pay you back.”

  “This isn’t about the credits,” said Swen. “I don’t mind investing money, but this is burning money. This is a scam!”

  “I think it’s an impressive crafting achievement,” stressed Terry.

  In Terry’s eyes, they absolutely were. The reactivity was unimaginable. It put every material manipulation inscription and Liquify Metal spell to shame. It appeared to simply work based on raw mana control, with barely any overhead or mental strain.

  Don’t say they’re perfect for you. They are, but don’t say that out loud.

  Terry was slightly disappointed that the crafter didn’t drop the price another time, but he knew he should be happy with what he got.

  Terry grinned sheepishly. “Trust me.”

  “I trust no one,” said Swen. “You shouldn’t, either.”

  Terry shrugged. “I trust you.”

  If I can’t trust a Faithless Saint, not to mention the only faithless in general around here, then I might as well die now. I wouldn’t have made it a day here on my own.

  Swen frowned. “Fine.” He glared at the offending crafter. “I don’t know how you fucking sleep at night. You scammed a kid that’s barely out of his diapers.”

  Terry’s eyebrow twitched.

  Eventually, Terry received his little box of spheres with the instructions to lock them to his mana signature. When he had them in hand, his mana sight confirmed what his mana touch had suspected.

  These were made from slime cores, which means there are mithril slimes somewhere.

  Terry let his mana touch wash over the market. He was sure he had sensed an aspect similar to what he felt in the flowing blades. It had been faint, but if Terry trusted anything, he trusted his mana perception.

  Before long, Terry was grinning again. “Tell you what, Swen, I’ll pay you back by the end of the week.”

  Swen snorted. “Yeah, right. With what? Hugs and friendship? No, thanks. I’ll believe it when I see it.”

  “How about a bet?” asked Terry. His face failed to hide his confidence, which only elicited another snort from Swen.

  “First you take my money and now you want me to bet on getting it back?” Swen rolled his eyes. “Sure, baby-boy, what are the stakes?”

  “If I win, you take me seriously from now on,” said Terry. “I don’t care about the name-calling from a geezer, but I’d like someone to actually discuss magic theory with, and you’re the only option I have.”

  As unpleasant as you are, you’re still a Faithless Saint, an ancient archmage, and a powerful vampire.

  “If I win, you stop whining like a pudgy baby about training,” returned Swen.

  I don’t whine about training. I’m fine with training. I love training. I complain about YOU! YOU! NOT THE TRAINING! YOU! DAMNED GEEZER!

  It took all of Terry’s self-discipline to hold his tongue. He took a deep breath, and held out a hand. “Deal.”

  For once, Terry walked ahead, which took Swen by surprise.

  Terry looked back. “One more stop.” He had some souled cores to pick out.

  ***

  “What are we doing?” grumbled Swen. “I could be pumping right now. I also don’t see how spending even more of my credits will increase your chances to pay me back, but what do I know? I’ve just been around for way longer than you.”

  Terry sorted through his first batch of souled cores. “You said you don’t mind an investment.”

  “Yeah, kiddo, but an investment makes returns,” drawled Swen. “I don’t recall you dropping a hint you’re a crafter capable of using those.”

  “At your age, you probably don’t recall a lot of things,” retorted Terry snippily.

  Swen’s teasing grin vanished. “I liked you better when you just arrived. At least I could pretend you held some promise.”

  “Yeah, we all have our burdens to carry,” said Terry flatly. “The Path of a Mage didn’t stress enough how stubborn you could be.”

  “It just seems like stubbornness to a welp like you, but I really know better,” retorted Swen.

  “If you spent more time listening instead of knowing better, then you’d remember I can use souled cores,” said Terry with plain anticipation.

  “‘Souled’?” Swen scrunched up his face. “I don’t remember you mentioning that you’re a soul sucker. These cores are from dungeons. Dungeon souls are never sapient. They don’t have a conception of themselves through time. No long-term reflection or anticipation. They don’t hold any life experience that could carry over. That’s the only reason no one bothers to clean the souls from the cores before selling. What’s the point?”

  “I told you I can summon from souled cores,” stressed Terry irritatedly.

  “Oh, that bullshit! Now, I remember,” exclaimed Swen. “Sorry, bucko. I tend to filter the nonsense. It’s a habit of mine to avoid going insane and get myself killed. Trust me, I know plenty about summoning but there’s just no way that—”

  Terry’s vision flashed purple while his mana was sucked into the mithril-aspected core. He savored the stunned expression on the ancient face that had been so smug before.

  “Yes!” Terry allowed himself a proud smile. Of all the unfamiliar cores carrying the mithril-aspect, he had correctly identified the slime among the bunch. His disruption fields enveloped the slime’s core and while its control over the mithril was weakened, Terry grabbed it.

  Terry’s mana circled into the controlling spheres for his flowing blades and wrestled with the weakened slime for its mithril body.

  It wasn’t even a question who would win.

  Terry marveled at the reactivity and sensitivity of the mithril under his control. It followed his mana without the slightest thought. Switched from liquid to solid in an instant.

  Now that’s a weapon to combine the Immovable Object spell with.

  Perfect to coat my king spear, too. I was getting worried about the spearhead’s durability. Without lightning running through it, it’s not at the same level as the Third Staff of the Monkey King that acts as the pole.

  Actually, if I can get enough, I could coat my entire armor…

  Terry skillfully guided the mithril into his storage pouches that also held his metal ingots for his material manipulation inscriptions.

  The summoned mithril slime had a short life, but its death donated a generous amount of the precious material to the stockpile Terry planned to grow.

  Terry placed the unsouled core on his sheath belt where it might spawn another soul with time. Even if it didn’t, the core’s value hadn’t changed. Terry could simply resell the used core to a merchant and repeat the process.

  The mithril should more than make up for the loss due to markup. That would mean selling some, though. According to Swen, that’s practically unheard of, which means I could get a great deal, but also that it would draw attention.

  Then again, if I’m going to completely coat myself in mithril, then there might be an upside to making myself known as a source for mithril that can be bought instead of stolen. There are bound to be some that would protect me for their own self-interest. I just have to find the right parties to deal with.

  Not sure what that attention would mean for the Twin-Death Realms, though. I should talk that over with Swen first.

  “That took quite the mana, but I think I can do one or two more,” said Terry while getting up. He started to stretch, because he was less confident about the next cores being slimes. “I asked you here just in case I summon something I can’t handle. I’d appreciate it if you don’t interfere unless you have to. We both know I could use the training.”

  “WAIT!” shouted Swen and held his palms out in front of him. “Hold up! By all the hells, what the shit just happened?!”

  Terry raised an eyebrow. “Exactly what I told you would happen. You can look forward to your credits and I’m looking forward to you stopping to treat me like a foolish child.”

  “Yeah, great, what the fuck?! That…” Swen narrowed his eyes. “Was impossible. I’ve never heard of anyone— How does that work?”

  “No idea,” admitted Terry with a deadpan expression.

  “My bullshit detector can’t tell.” Swen’s eyes narrowed further. “Who’s scamming who here? Did you know that crafter?”

  “Please!” Terry rolled his eyes. “If I knew anyone else around here, would I really go to the pits with you?” He snorted. “I told you I could do this. Even if I don’t understand my ability, I’m going to use it for what it’s worth. A tool to make credits, and perhaps to trade for a few favors. I’ll need you to tell me whom to talk to, though.”

  For a moment, Swen silently stared at Terry as if he was searching for something. Eventually, he shook his head and exhaled sharply. “Alright. You win. I don’t get it. I’m not even sure I buy it. But I’ll live with it.”

  Swen spread his arms. “Perhaps my disappointment at you being the first person to come was a little premature.”

  Now that’s a backhanded way to admit you were wrong… Not entirely unwarranted, though. I’d be disappointed with myself, too.

  “Then perhaps you can just talk normally to me the next time I ask about channeling liquid mana,” said Terry slightly testily.

  “Woah, woah, slow down, bucko.” Swen raised his palms in front of him, before curling all except his index fingers. “No promises. Right now, I’m halfway leaning towards me having finally snapped and you being a hallucination of my own doomed mind.” He rubbed his bald head. “But I guess if I have to talk to myself, I might as well play along.”

  Terry scrunched up his face. He wasn’t sure how serious he should take the Blasphemer’s words. He definitely hadn’t known the man long enough to judge how much of his ramblings were sincere and how much was just nonsense.

  Swen couldn’t help but snicker at the kid’s expression. He had to admit he was beginning to think maybe there was a reason this particular mage had made it to the Court instead of anyone else.

  Looking beyond the mage’s self-admitted aspect-impairment and rather limited skillset, Swen had seen the man pushing his pumps where even he in his younger days would have yielded and given up.

  Swen had taken many of the youngster’s claims as a mixture of empty bragging and sheer ignorance, but if the core-summoning was true, then perhaps the mage’s other claims were equally trustworthy.

  A mana perception beyond mana sense and sight.

  A spell that can block any physical force and most mana attacks.

  A disruption technique that worked at a distance and over a wide area.

  And, of course, a nonsensical claim about having channeled liquid mana before.

  The Blasphemer admitted that, with some serious effort and credit splurging, they might carve out a chance to make all of this work.

  Swen’s gaze changed slightly and he spoke more sincerely than usual. “Have you thought about the message you want to send back? Remember, we can’t use something physical.

  “We can send some finger runes, but we can’t risk the portal to open more than our connected realm cluster can afford with the parasites nearby, which means the mana you can send through is limited.

  “I know a way to make the runes linger for longer, but that further narrows the number of runes you can use. You have to prioritize what you communicate.

  “Filter or code it as well. The recipient might not be who you want it to be.”

  ***