“LEVEL TWO! LET’S GO!”

Mona threw a fist in the air as what must’ve been the last rat in the whole field dissipated into aether. She turned to face me and I offered her a slowly, half-sarcastic clap. In turn, she mugged and preened as though the entire town had erupted in rapturous applause, also likely only half ironically.

Sincerely, I was happy for her, even if she’d have found the sentiment overly saccharine. It was another, admittedly small, step down a long, nebulous path that she’d long talked about dreaming of. We’d all dreamed about it, I think. Even though we all grew up in the shadow of the guild, all the children in the town dreamed of one day becoming an adventurer of some sort or another. I could remember watching the other kids run around with sticks as a proxy for swords and hammers and scythes and spears.

It was a dream I thought I’d mostly discarded. It was hard to hold onto hope, with the looming guillotine hanging over us. After Charlie’s father passed away, Mona might’ve been the only one who still held any hope for such a thing at all. In the face of that, a couple hours of drudgework likely seemed positively tame.

Personally, I was fed up after less than an hour.

The fifth rat had been a pain to find and it’d only grown worse from there. There was no way to tell if we’d exhausted the field, or if one had simply gone overlooked. More often than not, the telltale sound of monsters spawning led only to more slimes. By the time I’d killed my ninth rat, I’d gotten thoroughly sick of turning over every nook and cranny. Charlie had persisted for maybe a little longer than I had, but he too had given up after a little more than an hour and had gone home. Mona, however, had insisted on staying until either she was level 2 or someone came to drag her home for dinner.

I could’ve left too. It was very tempting. It wasn’t as if I’d be of much help, but...But it didn’t feel right to leave Mona out here by herself. I played spotter where I could, but mostly just gave her someone to talk at.

It quickly became clear, as I observed, that Mona had been practicing, but still wasn’t used to the weapon. Or maybe that the weapon itself was flawed in some way. In fact, it almost seemed like she was fighting it more than the monsters. The way half her attacks ended with it planted in the ground, or with the blade held in an awkward angle that Mona had to pull back under her control. It looked ungainly, to say the least. Strength didn’t seem the issue. She wasn’t straining to swing it, nor could I call the strikes slow or sluggish. As we stood by, searching for any remaining rats, I mentioned my observations to her.

“Yeah…” she admitted, “Dad says he always heard the Great Sword’s all about going from stance to stance, and I don’t have skills that work with every stance I have.”

“You going to ask someone for help with that?” I asked nonchalantly, keeping up the facade that my attention was on searching for targets.

“I mean, who? Am I going to dig up old Forgarty’s grave and learn off his corpse?” she asked with a bitter snarl, “I’ll figure it out. Once I get some more levels. I already have an extra skill that’ll slot right in. It’ll fix itself. I just need to work on it.”

I let the conversation stop for a little, as we continued searching. The real question I needed to ask...I’d honestly started to dread it. I’d let it stew too long and my imagination had taken over. She hadn’t mentioned it, so it must be something she doesn’t want to talk about, so the logic went.

You’re being stupid. Maybe the reason she hasn’t mentioned it is because you haven’t asked?

Honestly, that was what ended up motivating me. As much as it baffled me—Knighthood usually required swearing allegiance to an organisation, or some other form of act of devotion—I could accept just an ‘oh, you’re mistaken, everything’s fine’.

Thus, I pressed on.

“So, knighthood,” I began, suddenly hyper aware of just how smooth and organic that didn’t sound, “How’d that happen?”

She hesitated with almost a wince.

“...Eh, I’d rather not…”

That’s...not what I wanted to hear.

“You were willing to tell everyone in town, so my father said,” I reminded her, as I carefully continued to look straight ahead.

Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glare. I studiously didn’t acknowledge it.

“The hell he s—I told plenty of people I had a class, not how I got it,” she corrected, levelling an annoyed look, “I’m—No. I said I wasn’t going to tell anyone, and I’m—Look, just drop it, okay?”

I didn’t say anything as I looked back. It was meant to be a questioning look, but I couldn’t help but think maybe a hint of worry had leaked through.

“No seriously, Leo, leave it,” she declared, more forcefully this time.

“Fine, fine.”

As the sun began to set and we both returned to town, I tried to focus on other, more tangible matters. I focused on how fruitless my own attempts at levelling had been, and how great a pain hunting rats was. I set my mind on just how terrible my abilities were in combat and how, even after so little time, it felt like we were setting off without a proper direction.

Thus, I found myself a question.

And as it burned, distantly, I let everything else fade into the darkness.

* * * * * * * *

As was often the case when I had a question, I turned to the old book room. They’d once been part of a collection and, when ‘everything came crashing down’ (whatever that meant), they were one of the few things my father had been allowed to bring with him, but he’d never had the heart to reorganise them. The ones he cared to regularly read, he kept far closer to hand.

The door refused to open without a rough shove, and as I did, it exhaled a cloud of dust in my face. The piles had little if any rhyme or reason to them, but I could still remember vaguely what I’d already read and where it went. There was a pile near the door with the old alchemy references, which got used the most, and the pile in that corner was all adventure novels. Here, in my own element, it was so much easier to find things. It didn’t take long to find a pile that seemed to mostly be what I was looking for. Happy with three books with what seemed like the most appropriate titles from the middle of the stack, I returned to my own room and dropped my references on the old, wooden desk. Flexing my new power, I incanted an 🜔 and invoked the lamp without touching it. It was honestly more effort than reaching over and doing it the normal way, but the novelty still hadn't worn off.

And with that, four hours disappeared into the void as I lost myself in the rustle of pages and the haze of study.

At some point, dinner appeared next to me and I must have consumed it at some point, as I remember finally looking up to see it long since eaten. As I crept into the kitchen to wash up, I mused on what I’d learned

There were a thousand thoughts I could have meditated on, but the greatest issue was how little I had at my disposal. My own knowledge of chemistry and some incredibly unimpressive combat stats? Growing strong enough to at least hold my own against potential invaders was something I knew to be a priority.

Thus, I began with answering the question that I was sure would create further answers, rather than only asking further questions.

‘How do you learn a spell?’

Given that it was rhetorically asked in the first passage of the first book I picked up, it looked like something of a cliche, and the answer I stumbled upon was similarly well-worn: to answer that question, one first had to ask another question.

‘What is a spell?’

‘A Hobbyist’s Guide to Magic’ defined a spell as ‘magic shaped into an irregular, replicable pattern by an arcane construct’. Thus, there were three elements; magic, the ability to shape it, and the knowledge of the construct. That last part was what appeared in an Adventurer’s Spellbook. Patience rapidly waning as the book began waffling about magic’s history, I skimmed through the text until I reached the next island of practical information.

There were three vague categories to how spells could be gained: Discoveries, Gifts and Signatures. Gifts and Signatures weren’t immediately relevant for my current purposes; one was the spells earned by levelling up and the other was only available to spellcasters with far more experience. Which, of course, left Discoveries.

Discoveries, sometimes called ‘Natural’ spells or ‘Elemental’ spells, were patterns that existed in the world at large. Sometimes they were actually magic, but they were just as frequently events that magic could directly replicate. Sadly, it barely touched on how to do such things, preferring to continuing talking about the fluff that surrounded magic, rather than its actual use.

The second book, which was more focused on the specific system of Glyphwork shone more light on it.

According to its author, Glyphwork’s popularity wasn’t so much a result of any advantage it had in a moment to moment sense, so much as the advantages brought to a culture that could be built upon it. A tribe, or brotherhood or college, all learning together, could form a single set of unified glyphs, with each symbol given a unique, specific meaning. In doing so, spells could be passed from teacher to student by simply imparting the Glyphs themselves. Though it buried the lead, I understood the meaning. Glyphs were meant to be a medium for a caster to impart meaning on magic and, in order to learn a new spell, it was best to have glyphs that had meaning in and of themselves, even if I later reassigned them later.

A slight snag, perhaps, given that I doubted I’d get much from ‘Mind’, ‘Body’ and ‘Soul’ by themselves. I needed something a little more...specific, perhaps.

Without a mentor who ‘spoke’ the same Glyph language as I did, I’d need to invent my own system of glyphs, each with my own meanings. Thankfully, as an Alchemist, I already had a pretty substantial pool of symbols I could pull from. From what I could decipher, all I needed to do was experience something, with the mind towards creating a new spell, and with Glyphs I could associate with it already in mind, even if they weren’t currently Glpyhs. The more sharp and intense an experience, the better, and the more familiar with it, the better.

So, pain. It meant pain.

Thus, as I ran the water over my plates, I asked myself. What sort of pain was I most familiar with?

Someone only familiar with a description of me might think acid or fire...Well, no. I was a responsible, careful alchemist who wore gloves and a smock when working. Those sorts of accidents were exceedingly rare and long in the past, and I felt repelled by the very idea of exposing myself to them. Physical injuries also didn't seem like a good pick. They varied too much in experience, even between a pair of paper cuts. The basis of my first offensive spell needed to be something I was thoroughly familiar with, and thus something far more banal.

There really was only ever one option it could be, I thought to myself, as I filled the kettle.

Reluctantly, for I didn't particularly want to burn myself, I waited for it to boil. I couldn't exactly sense anything from it as it stat there...But I didn't exactly know what I was trying to sense either. With a sigh, straining to reach out with a sense I couldn’t tell was present, let alone knew how to operate, I put my hand over the kettle spout.

“Gah!”

You have learned the spell: Scald! ( 🜄 🜂 ) Scald Rank 2 Spell

Deal (120%) Water/Heat Damage to a single target within [2 Sq]. Currently Assigned Glyphs: 🜄 🜂 Congratulations! You have gained the skill Arcane Sense!