5.12

“Why did I burn the orphanage and torture all the children you ask? Well because I was fishing and a trout looked at me funny!” - Last words of an unnamed follower of Osshiven’Kai.

I woke up snuggled in a blanket.

A nice sentiment, they even covered up the windows for me. I briefly surveyed my surroundings as well as the eyes of the others. Greenie had swapped back to its poison body and was on someone’s head as they tended to patients in various stages of not ok. Celine, judging by the green hair. Sowing wounds, not with dolls but the old-fashioned way. Noam was in a carriage, one of the staff ones, cooking a meal in a large stockpot. Utoqa I couldn’t see through, I needed to get Observe on him one of these days, but I saw him when he opened the door to Noam’s carriage while carrying a skinned animal.

“Awake?” Declan asked.

“Yeap,” I answered.

“Slept for pretty long, what happened?”

“Got shot at,” I answered as I got up. Explaining what happened in the early morn when the idiot was still asleep. Damn casual.

“I heard that.”

“Sleep is for the weak.”

“Says the person just waking up.”

Food sounded good. Finding my stuff stashed in the corner of the room, I pulled out the fistful of bark I acquired and cast Bark Skin on myself. Shielding myself from the damned sun until I got more food in me. My staff was in arms reach, the softly carved out eyes seemed to twinkle a bit. As I grabbed it, I became aware of the card that was lodged between it and the wall. Pulling it out, I saw it was once again upside down, as well as something strange.

The Lens was twinkling.

“Hmm?”

“Strange,” I muttered.

“Perhaps my recent unlocking?”

“Perhaps,” I answered.

Our current understanding of the card was that it was a sort of… simple progression tracker that happened to have a certain prophetic element to it.

As for how the prophetic element factored in… “If the explanation is true, then prophecy only becomes true if you choose to engage in it,” I said. “Which is just so fucking helpful isn’t it?”

If a prophecy only became true because someone decided to fulfil it, then theoretically some asshole could just shotgun random shit until they get it right once. If you choose to fulfil a prophecy, it isn’t a prophecy, it’s a guideline pretending to be fancy.

But it was also why I was… uncommitted to deciding the symbology of the remaining two empty spaces. The outlines of a Goblet and a Key.

“The symbology of those two are plenty, the Goblet especially in Tarot.”

“Don’t tell me,” I said. Theoretically, simply committing to or accepting an idea of what they could be, would make them be. If I decided what they meant, then I would be metaphorically locking them in. It was another reason why I was averse to logging off. There was also the idea of Euler’s Loop, the idea that faith reinforces faith. The more people believe in something, the more power it will have, causing more people to believe in it. There would be more power to an idea the more people believe in it, thus following accepted interpretation or symbology would likely mean more obvious power, but at a loss of my own control on it.

“That’s why the Key is probably already locked in.”

“Hah,” I drily laughed. There was only so much a Key could symbolise, after all, opening or closing something, pretty simple. Even if the actual item was outdated in my world, the image was still used everywhere it was applicable. The matter of discussion then becomes what I want it to open.

“Can it open infinite power? Or even better, a lifetime supply of tortillas.”

I paused at that.

“Oh you can’t be seriously considering the tortillas, I was joking. We should get HSP or pizzas instead.”

“I can’t rule that out anymore,” I muttered. Something from here has undeniable effects in the real world. It has been proven twice already. I could actually, completely theoretically, use this Key to get a lifetime supply of HSP.

“Worth it.”

“Shut up dumbass.”

“Son of a bitch silencing my free speech.”

“Don’t talk about my mother like that.”

“Our mother.” Suddenly my vision was switched to Declan’s, just as he played the USSR National Anthem on Ustube.

“...”

“Hehehe…”

“How long were you holding that?”

There was a chuckle, “Ahh far too long.”

“It is a good one,” I replied with a smile. “How is it not censored?”

“Found it in the Educational History section.”

“Whoever put that there is a legend.”

“I need to show this to Matt later, ah fuck I still need to tutor that idiot.”

“Don’t worry, you’re both idiots so you’ll find common ground,” I said as I left the room.

“I checked his results from last year and his INT is actually in the negatives.”

“That’s why you’re perfect,” I started with a smile, “two negatives make a positive.”

“...”

“How the fuck do you fail at statistics?”

“Why do you say that as if you didn’t expect this?”

“I feared the worst and was reminded of my lack of imagination,” I replied. “And bio! What is this appalling lack of knowledge!?”

“Well bio is just applied chem and you know I hate chem.”

I opened my mouth to retort, but he did have a point. “Then why the fuck are you in bio!?” Instead of tearing his argument into pieces, I made an Ad Hominin, truly I had the potential to be a great politician.

“Don’t talk shit about me when you’re barely passing English.”

I tsked, “At least I am passing.”

“Oh really?” he asked, pulling up a file, “I read your lit analysis, you’re just repeating the same shit the teacher says.”

“And what of it? It gets me a passing mark.”

“You read art and see words,” he interjected, probably thinking he was being profound or something, “to you a painting is just ink on canvas. It’s dead, bland and boring!”

“And how is it wrong? Art is meant to communicate a message, that is the sum of it and all it ever will be.”

Matt clutched his throat as if being physically strangled, he made a very good impression, probably because he’s been actually strangled before, “Just a message he says! It is so much deeper than just a message!”

“Numerous hidden meanings, biases of the creator, not to mention the cultural context of-”

“All are part of the message,” I replied evenly, “the message being biased or wrong or unintentional doesn’t make it any less of a message from the creator.”

“An author makes their story a message because they think it’ll communicate itself better. Humans are ultimately still tribal animals, evolution and new technology doesn’t change that.”

Matt fell back, his chair falling to the ground as if he was just thrown. “I can’t. You have killed me, you insane utilitarian.”

“It is disingenuous to call me a utilitarian whilst I am in your room doing the rather pointless,” and possibly hopeless, “task of educating you.”

“You know being right, doesn’t make you right,” Matt replied as he pulled himself back up.

“If someone wanted to communicate a message then they can outline it clearly in discussion or a scholarly article rather than put it in a story to take advantage of the mentally defenceless,” I said. That was all a story was, a piece of something designed to take advantage of human’s tribal hindbrain that we have bafflingly not yet removed, in order to pass a message or worldview.

“I’m not recommending you web novels anymore,” he muttered, “how the fuck do you enjoy stuff if you think like this?”

“I haven’t gotten around to lobotomizing my brain of the outdated parts yet,” I said as I pulled out some test questions from online. “I can still appreciate art, but that doesn’t remove the fact they are meant for communication. Back on track, do these prac tests for me,” I said as I forwarded them.

He opened his messages, frowning slightly as he looked at them.

“... These are Seventh Grade questions.”

“I have no idea where you are missing knowledge,” I replied, “so we’re going to go from Grade to Grade until I find the gaps and fill them.”

The sciences were all about foundations, if you didn’t know the previous piece of information, formula or theory, how could you be expected to know or understand the next?

“I could cram everything you need into your head, but that’ll just result in short term memorisation and not true understanding, thus we need to begin from the start and patch everything up along the way.”

To his credit, Matt got started with only a minimal amount of grumbling.

Noam riled up an after battle party, stewing up some kind of small equine creature Utoqa caught. I hesitated to call it a horse because while it did have hooves, the teeth seemed omnivorous in nature and it did possess a thin layer of fur. Rather counterproductive for a distance runner, bare skin was needed for sweat to function, indicating this creature might’ve been a mixed rush down type hunter and occasional herbivore, or just a standard scavenger.

Regardless, it did taste pretty good.

A bunch of the other passengers shared their own ingredients and spices, apparently as thanks for us moving to fight off the goblins.

“And I swear the fish was this huge…”

Beside me, Noam chatted and bragged, his own stew barely touched, apparently the hero of the tale since he saved several hostages. Not untrue, he did contribute the most in the battle, killing the mage that likely upturned the train along with resolving the guard stalemate. He was simply in the right place at the right time.

The guard captain was even eyeing him beside me, something she really outta make less obvious.

“How did he become such a good shot…”

“It involved shooting me many times,” I answered. After realising superior reaction timing and reflexes were the main things he had above me, he sharpened them to insane levels. How it applied to a body that didn’t have the same level of reflexes was still a mystery to me, but I suspected his original skill still applied even if he wasn’t as dexterous.

I think I got a weird look from her, but I wasn’t paying attention that way, instead wallowing in the shade of the train. Sunlight wasn’t uncomfortable, no, precisely the opposite. It felt too comfortable, the warm rays made me feel drowsy, made me want to take a nap right then and there even with full covering.

It was a strange experience. I only knew a sun that felt like it was constantly trying to scald you. One that felt like a warm blanket during the winter months was… odd.

But the feast slowly ended, people slowly drifted away, off to do their tasks and salvage what they could from the train.

Off to the distance, was a pile of corpses.

The few that died were given proper burials by a sombre man that held a knitted symbol of a black rose.

I didn’t attend, though Noam did, standing silently by the side. I was instead with Utoqa, examining the corpses of the goblins, carelessly dumped in a pile to be burned later. Scavenging birds circled the sky, I hesitated to name them, for they appeared unlike any animal I knew of, four wings weren’t exactly a common trait after all. Having six limbs made me think they were actually an evolved insect, regardless of their lack of an exoskeleton and their feathers. Though that would also put centaurs in the insect category.

Utoqa rummaged through the corpses, his face was neutral but there was a certain ravenousness to his actions. Kinda reminded me of when I rifled through the snack drawer looking for food.

Eventually, he pulled out the corpse of the hobgoblin, the mage Noam took out. Utoqa’s fin folded and unfolded itself in a brief moment, one of very few gestures of body language the lizardfolk seem to do naturally.

Going into his pouches, he produced some simple instruments, carved from various bits of wood, bone and stone, and he began working on the corpse. Heading straight to the head, he pried open the skull with great precision. Extracting a single piece of crystal.

The crystal was strange, coloured a murky green, its shape was wrinkly and soft looking. As if someone had petrified a piece of the goblin’s brain. Utoqa took it, then opened the creature’s jaw, a single claw carefully sliced off the tongue.

The rest of the corpse was useless, though he did sneak a bite of the hand. Taking the crystal, he crushed it in his hand and sprinkled it onto the tongue. The thing glowed for a brief moment as it absorbed the energy and Utoqa was done.

“What does this one do?”

“Put it in mouth to become a mage,” the lizardfolk answered as he stood back up. “Will wear out, then it’ll become food.”

Kinda gross, but the sheer utility he just displayed was insane. As far as I understood, Utoqa’s creations lasted until they were used. Just by being on our side, he created additional value for every single encounter. Whilst Noam and I were rather specialised, Utoqa was a true generalist fighter. If he had a weakness then he could just stock up with something that covered it. Not to mention…

“Your tomahawk is a Scavenge as well isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“And it is permanent, or have you just not used its effect?”

“Gift will stay,” Utoqa answered, “it has no effect other than being sharp and hard.”

Sharp was an understatement, that thing cleaved clean through flesh and bone. Armour was a minimum to defend against that thing.

“And what did you get it from?”

“A wanderer,” he answered, “lost in the jungle, I killed the hunter hunting him. He spoke the dragon tongue and gave me a large bone saying it was called Gift.”

I raised an eyebrow, “Didn’t think he meant the thing was actually called Gift.”

“It does not matter,” the lizardfolk answered. “It is a tool and it works well as a tool.”

“Interesting story but-” Utoqa’s head suddenly jerked around, eyes staring at a spot on the corpse pile. I couldn’t see anything with my eye, but when I focused there with Manavision, I saw underneath all the corpses, a small hand clenching its fist in fright.

Slowly, Utoqa went to draw Gift, but I raised my hand.

“It would be pointless,” I said.

The goblin was too small to be a hobgoblin, so Utoqa couldn’t Scavenge anything from the body. It would yield nothing worthwhile.

“They will burn the bodies by nightfall, so I suggest getting a move on by then,” I directed to the hiding goblin, before turning to Utoqa, “C’mon, let’s see if they need anything of us back there.”

Utoqa’s hand left Gift, but still he glanced at the spot where the creature moved. He turned to leave after a moment.

As I went to follow him, I heard a quiet voice rasp.

“Why?”

“Like I said,” I replied evenly. “It would be pointless.”