DD1 ASC - Chapter 22 - Choices

Typhoeus and Arilla left the training grounds without incident, but as they passed through the Guild's main hall, they were approached by a familiar looking clerk who had clearly been waiting for them. Typhoeus recognised him as the same Guild official from two nights before who had helped defuse his standoff with Medraut’s Rovers.

"Excuse me, may I have a moment of your time,” the clerk said, his firm tone and austere expression indicating that it was anything but a request. Still, Typhoeus was not easily cowed and refused to accept such a politely worded instruction.

"I'd really rather not. We’re tired and have plans for the evening," Typhoeus said confrontationally, uneasy at the prospect of getting any more involved with the Guild than he already was.

"I’m afraid that I really must insist,” the clerk said. "Given your recent altercation and a minor discrepancy with a bounty payment, I would very much like to talk to both of you in order to clear some things up, amicably."

Typhoeus heard Arilla audibly gulp at the mention of the bounty payment, and he quickly made the decision to go along with the clerk rather than pressing his luck any further. Nodding his assent, they were quietly escorted through a side door from the main hall and down a series of corridors until they found themselves in a small private meeting room.

Like everything in the Guild, the furniture dripped with understated affluence; at first glance everything appeared to be relatively mundane, but on closer inspection the oil lamps were in fact lit by magestones, the furniture mana infused hardwood, and the upholstery a mixture of rich cottons and finely stitched exotic leathers. Each item in the room likely cost more than what the average classed labourer made in a season and needless to say Typhoeus’s draconic instincts were piqued. The incessant need to simply possess everything in the room tugged at his consciousness, a primal drive that his human brain was fortunately able to sidestep.

"Please sit,” the man said, gesturing for them both to do so as he took a seat in what looked like a very comfortable high backed chair situated around the low table in the centre of the room.

A map of the local area was carved into the surface of the table's cherry coloured wood, with Rhelea, the Old Roads and many other local landmarks highlighted with dark red or blue accents. All in all, it was a very impressive bit of carving and just looking at it was enough to fill Typhoeus with a materialistic lust that was almost sexual in nature, another layer of confusing stimuli that he really didn’t need right now.

Turning his attention to the much more mundane human, Typhoeus was forced to acknowledge that the clerk was immaculately groomed. He looked to be in his late 50s, with more grey in his hair than brown, which had done a remarkably good job of staying thick and lustrous despite his apparent age. The human maintained an air of polite professionalism that would be admirable if every one of Typhoeus’s newly burgeoning social instincts weren’t screaming at him that this man was preparing to hit him with bad news.

The clerk was level 51, and judging by the vitality that Typhoeus could smell wafting off of him, he had in all likelihood recently filled all of his class slots in order to eke out as many extra years as possible before old age swiftly moved to catch up with him. With three classes to his name, the clerk would likely reach the end of his attribute-enhanced lifespan long before seeing his main class’s rise to level 52. At least as long as he restricted himself to passive levelling, but in that time his second and third classes would likely make it into the low 20s, buying him perhaps another decade with each class, provided he could avoid meeting a violent end.

This sort of thing was apparently very common with humans, who would level their main class as much as they could during the prime of their life and only when they started to physically decline would they fill their remaining class slots. The decision to split their experience two or more ways made it practically impossible for them to then make it to the next tier. It was essentially the same thing that normal dragons did, Typhoeus being well aware that he was not counted in that category. They would passively level to tier 7, and only after receiving the Call would they fill up on classes and swiftly raise them through the ranks as they made their descent, in order to ensure their survival in the depths for as long as possible.

"I'd really rather stand if it's all the same," Typhoeus said stiffly, bringing his attention back to the present as he watched Arilla’s mouth barely twitching up into a smile. His warrior sparing a moment to glance over at him with amusement before she moved to carefully rest her new zweihander against the panelled walls of the room as if it were some kind of delicate treasure made from porcelain rather than sturdy steel. She then finally sat down on one of the high backed chairs on offer as Typhoeus moved to stand behind her, resting his arm on the top of her chair as he placed a reassuring hand on her shoulder, all while the clerk did his best to conceal his emotions, his face remaining completely impassive.

"Of course, do as you like,” the clerk said, briefly half raising a questioning eyebrow at Arilla's poorly suppressed smile. “Now, I do believe we have not been formally introduced. I am the head clerk of this institution, and I go by Mr Gautier or Clerk Gautier. It is my job to oversee the smooth operation of the main hall, and so naturally, I am quite interested in talking to you both.”

“I’m Typh and—”

“He knows who we are, Typh,” Arilla interjected, her eyes narrowing with suspicion as she looked at Gautier.

"Miss Arilla is correct, Typh. It is my job to know who you are,” he said, tenting his fingers in front of him before moving on. “Having looked into your records, I was initially quite surprised to see that you made it to clay rank so quickly after gaining your classes. If it wasn’t for the Shining Swords checking up on you with such regularity, I would have suspected something untoward.”

“Untoward?” Typhoeus asked, his curiosity spiking at the clerk’s words.

“Yes, but don’t worry, I would never accuse someone trained by the Blazing Witch of being involved in something so unseemly,” Gautier said, not deigning to explain any further.

“Please just call her Enora, and I’m supposed to keep that quiet. She has no desire to take on another student, and if she ends up being pestered to do so, it will be my hide,” Typhoeus said, the lie coming out all the easier after his weeks of practice.

“Of course, I would never divulge a guild member's secrets. Now onto the business of the day,” he said, taking a more solemn tone. “First off, I would like to offer the Guild’s sincerest apologies about the incident that occurred on our premises two nights ago."

Typhoeus said nothing, his eyes following Arilla’s lead as they narrowed in suspicion of the man as he waited for the inevitable 'but', Arilla however, had no intention of waiting as she declined to remain silent. “The attempted assault you mean,” she said bluntly, practically snarling as Gautier tried to water down the severity of what had so very nearly occurred.

"Yes, that…However, we cannot have violence in our halls, and while I don't doubt that the allegations you made may have some truth to them, we cannot have mages like yourself escalating things with magical attacks. Regardless of how justified they may feel in the moment," Gautier said, his face revealing nothing about how he truly felt about his words.

Typhoeus forced a strained smile to his lips, and judging by how the clerk almost flinched, it wasn’t a very good one. "Some truth to them? Your tone has certainly changed since that night,” Arilla said accusingly.

“What about all the people who came forwards to say that we were being harassed? Surely that lends some weight to our accusations," Typhoeus asked, adding his voice to Arilla’s before she could berate Gautier any further.

"I'm afraid to say that I may have been overzealous in my initial denunciation of the actions committed by Boscoe of Medraut’s Rovers. Over the past two days, the numerous witnesses that came forwards on the night in question have one and all recanted. Now it's just your word against theirs that anything untoward happened, and they have seniority and a flawless track record, whereas you have neither. In addition, they have the wounded party, and the evidence is clear that you were the cause of it,” the clerk said, with no hint of discomfort on his face as he locked eyes with Typhoeus.

"And you don’t find that suspicious?” Arilla snarled. “Just ask them about Galen; they’ll admit to being paid off!”

“Lord Traylan’s conduct is not being discussed here, and I am afraid to say that if we do not come to a suitable understanding, you run the risk of being expelled from the Guild,” Gautier said calmly in sharp contrast to Arilla’s steadily rising voice.

Typhoeus was unsure how to feel about the threat. The Guild was not all-encompassing, and while expulsion would force him to leave Rhelea, and likely Terythia as a whole, there were more adventuring towns in other countries where the Guild’s grip was essentially absent. However, judging from how Arilla was shaking with rage, having heard the threat, he assumed that she was less than keen to abandon the country of her birth.

“You can’t kick us out! She’s the victim here!” Arilla yelled, unable to constrain her outrage any longer.

The clerk merely blinked once in surprise before moving on, speaking in his steady neutral tone that hid any sign of his emotions. "I assure you that everything being discussed here is in accordance with the Guild's founding charter. As this was your first offence with the Guild, there is of course, the option of paying fines to cover the cost of healing for Boscoe Red Axe, another for instigating a magical attack on our grounds and finally, one more for submitting a false bounty on goblin ears. Altogether it is quite a substantial sum that I suspect is beyond your current means,” Gautier said.

"How much?" Arilla cut in.

"Thirty drachma for the healing, a further ten for instigating the attack and another twenty for the ears,” he said straight-faced as he rattled off the exorbitant fines, the total sum coming to sixty drachma, or one electrum mina, more than enough for the two of them to live in luxury for some time.

"They're clearly lying to you; there’s no way that a healer would charge that much for new skin and a general heal!" Typhoeus said, more outraged by the attempted extortion than for being blamed for reacting to his own assault.

"I am told there was also a rather delicate organ reconstruction involved, but regardless they are an established party in good standing with the Guild, whereas you two are not, so we are taking their word for their incurred costs,” the clerk said. “If you are unable or unwilling to pay, I have been instructed to inform you that house Traylan is willing to purchase your debt, provided that you swear oaths to work for them as indentured adventurers until such a time that your debts are paid.”

Typhoeus and Arilla both visibly blanched at that, all too aware what that form of work would entail. “Is there any other way to resolve this?” Typhoeus asked.

“Given the peculiarities of this case and your close relationship with one of Rhelea’s premier adventuring teams, there remains the option that we could come to a certain understanding about how your relationship with the Guild will work going forwards,” Gautier said, putting a lot of emphasis on the word ‘understanding’.

“What kind of an understanding are you talking about?” Typhoeus asked coolly.

"I’m glad to see that you’re taking this calmly,” the clerk said, mistaking Typhoeus’s tone for his disposition. "While your use of an offensive aura was completely unjustified, it has not gone unnoticed that you were able to use it to incapacitate an adventurer two ranks above your own. Furthermore, as your relationship with The Blazing Witch has yet to be made public, people are under the mistaken impression that in the short time since you gained your class, you managed to teach yourself how to use such a complex skill so very effectively.”

“I don’t see what you are getting at,” Typhoeus stated flatly.

“The Guild is always trying to expand the scope of the school, both in the funds allocated to it and in the calibre of the students it attracts. That the Traylans sent their heir Galen here rather than to Helion or Naironos for tutelage was seen as a major triumph for the future of the Guild. One that we are hoping to carry forwards in the event that Rhelea returns to the noble fold. Now given how dramatically you upstaged our star pupil, several protesting voices in Rhelea have once again asked why the Guild is investing so much of its resources into teaching when a pair of nobodies are able to do so well for themselves in a much shorter amount of time."

“We’re not joining your school if that’s what you’re getting,” Arilla said curtly.

"I wouldn’t dream of asking. Now tomorrow, many of our recent graduates will be going on a loosely supervised expedition into the nearby foothills. A sort of final tempering if you will, for the next generation of heroes. Normally admittance on this expedition is strictly closed to non-graduates like yourselves, but if you two were to attend and allow some of the other students to shine in your place, then I'm sure you'll return to Rhelea to find that this has all blown over,” he said with a patronising smile.

"So we can choose between going on this expedition and purposefully making ourselves look bad, selling ourselves to the man who’s responsible for all of this, or you kick us out of the Guild for failing to effectively pay a small ransom in silver?" Arilla summarised.

"I would never put it so bluntly,” the man said in a perfect non-answer before standing up from his seat and brushing some imaginary dirt from his lap as he looked across the room at the expressions of anger and disappointment on both of their faces before speaking again. "The graduates are meeting tomorrow at dawn in front of the Guildhall. Make sure to pack for up to a week away from town. You're only going into the foothills but it can get chilly at the higher altitudes, so you might want to wear something a bit more …substantial,” he said, gesturing to Typhoeus's thin-looking dress before making a quick exit, leaving the two of them to simmer in their anger while they processed his ultimatum.

"We have to do it," Arilla said, "We can't earn the money we need at our levels without the Guild. If we try to sell monster parts without membership, we'll be blacklisted and be lucky to get a quarter of the price that we do now. We could always try another town, but this side of the border, Rhelea is the only one with a strong Guild. Anywhere else and we'd have to swear oaths to nobility."

Typhoeus was conflicted, strictly speaking he had the money, he even had much better equipment for Arilla, but it was all part of his hoard. A very raw, very primal part of him rebelled at even the thought of removing items from the pile of material wealth that he had slowly collected over the course of his 54 years as a dragon. He was aware that this didn't make sense by human standards, but every draconic instinct in his body demanded that nothing be removed under any circumstances. He was immensely grateful that he was not so constrained with the gold and silver that he acquired in his human form. While the urge to add to his horde was still there, it was noticeably muted. Which was fortunate as if he was forced by his very nature to add every coin he earned as an adventurer to his hoard, then he didn’t imagine that his disguise would last for very long, as he would quickly be forced to resort to violence to claim the gear that he would ultimately need as an adventurer.

"Typh, are you okay?" Arilla asked, jolting him out of his silent self-recriminations with a gentle touch on the small of his back.

"Yeah I'm fine, sorry,” he said, apologising for far more than Arilla was aware of.

"It's okay. You've done nothing wrong; it’s just this stupid Guild,” she said, letting out a long sigh. "I think I'm going to go back to the training yard for a while. I feel a second wind coming on and an overwhelming urge to hit things."

"Okay, but leave the zweihander behind. I’m sure you can make do with a training sword just this once," Typhoeus said with something approaching resolve in his voice.

Arilla gave him a questioning look but did as she was asked without asking him why, and in that single moment, Typhoeus felt his heart swell for that small amount of unspoken trust. Know it or not, Arilla was his chosen champion; she fought and bled so he didn't have to. His [Alternate Form], whilst far stronger than a mage of his level had any right to be, was still extremely fragile, and with his [Sovereign's Body] skill locked away, he was so very vulnerable to the enemies that he had the bad habit of cultivating.

Typhoeus knew that in the distant past, when dragon knights and the like were the norm, they had been outfitted in the finest of equipment, the runic enchantments bleeding off enough excess mana to light up a room. Typhoeus couldn't replicate that; he had no supplicants paying him tribute, no lands or subjects to draw wealth from, he had no blacksmiths on retainer, and he certainly didn't have any knightly orders flying his banner. But he did have Arilla. His sworn sword oath-bound to protect him and to do battle against his enemies, plus a few other acts of service that weren't strictly relevant to this line of thought.

Already he could feel the connection between them growing. The thin line of power tethering her class to his. From the moment she had sworn an oath to serve him, tipsy and half in jest, it had sprung up into Creation. It was small and nascent, something that could still be so easily severed, but he knew that if it ever was, then it wouldn’t be by him. He could almost see the paths she would take, how her class could grow to better complement his own. The Great System, interfering in their lives to bring her closer to him, a gift he wasn’t sure he deserved, but would never relinquish. To his knowledge there hadn’t been a dragon knight for tens of thousands of years, but there was nothing to say that there couldn’t be one again.

He willed the door of the room to stay closed. He had no desire to be interrupted, so he weaved a small misdirection spell into the threshold. For as long as the spell's mana supply lasted, anyone who came to the door would hear a woman's inconsolable sobbing and feel increasingly uncomfortable at the thought of disturbing her. It wouldn't hold up to any divination magic or sufficiently high mental stats, but the Guild thought him weak and easy to manipulate, so he doubted they would care to investigate any further.

He picked up Arilla's sword, laying the heavy blade flat on the large table over the map of Rhelea. Typhoeus was no enchanter, but he had one of the largest collections of [Dragonbane] swords in all of Astresia, and like every item in his hoard, he had studied every inch of every weapon religiously, etching their memory into his very soul. Added to that, he had the inherited memories of his mother and her mother before that echoing back to the very first dragons at the dawn of Creation. While the vast majority of information wasn’t retained over this indescribably long period of time, the important events were and discovering the runic language that underpinned Creation certainly qualified as important.

He bit deeply into the pad of his index finger, watching patiently as his red blood spilt forth. He willed [Alternate Form] to temporarily weaken, his shed blood reverting back into that of a dragon’s, causing the vital fluid to bloom in depth and colour. Before his eyes it turned from mere red to a deep multihued crimson as his skill waned, and a small part of him suddenly became so much more. He began to carefully trace the first of many arcane runes onto the ricasso, pushing mana through the crimson fluid as he etched the primal language of reality onto the blade.

This era of humanity was deeply unimaginative compared to their ancient forebearers. They foolishly thought that magic could be reduced down to formulas and rules. He had seen it in the neat little runic scripts that they plastered on everything. The uniformity of their runes suggesting an attempt to reduce any kind of variation in favour of systematic optimisation. He knew better than that. Typhoeus remembered what true relics looked like, and as a dragon, his comprehension of the runic language eclipsed that of any still-living human. So when he poured his blood into the sword, he did so with artistry, scribing a story onto the black steel in a flowing script of elongated runes that forced Creation to alter the blade to conform to his demands.

A rune for power so that the sword could hold mana, a rune for permanence so the blade would never break, chip or lose its edge and lastly, a rune for sharpness so that when empowered, it would slice through defences wrought with spell or skill. It was unfinished, but it would do for now; he couldn't put anything too flashy on the blade for fear of it attracting too much attention. Already anyone with a suitably high-level perception skill would be able to read the System-granted description and identify the runes as dragon made. Even so, it was hard to restrain himself once he set his mind to enchanting Arilla’s weapon. It felt fundamentally wrong to leave it so close to mundane, but a more complex working would only drain its mana supply even faster, and with Arilla's tiny mana pool, Typhoeus was already committing to recharging its well for the foreseeable future.

Time had passed, and from how his limbs were cramping, Typhoeus would guess that he had been at it for hours. Three primary runes were etched prominently onto the ricasso with more than a dozen no less important supplementary sigils carved around them. He pushed a drop of mana through the weapon, and smiled appreciatively as he watched how the flow of magic was directed throughout the huge sword as the runes stabilised and amplified the simple enchantments.

[Sovereign’s Zweihander]

This expertly crafted Black Steel Zweihander has runes etched into it with the blood of a Sovereign Dragon.

So long that it retains a charge, this sword is indestructible, and any damage that the sword would usually take will instead deplete its mana supply. Additionally, this sword will mitigate the active and passive defences of creatures struck, consuming additional mana in order to do so.

Mana Capacity [1/500].

For a first attempt it would do nicely, and there was still plenty of space left on the blade to add additional runes at a later date. Although, in all likelihood, Arilla would need a heavier sword before she needed a stronger enchantment. He pulled the last point of mana out of the blade and watched as the dim red glow vanished from the runes on the weapon. Arilla currently lacked a perception ability, so he wasn't worried about her being able to read its System description any time soon, and by the time that she got one, he hoped to have resolved all of the secrets lying between them.

He picked the sword up, his 37 strength coming in handy as the heavy weapon threatened to tip him over as he slowly walked to the door, dismissing the misdirection spell around its threshold before quickly casting a glamour inspired by Enora to give himself the tearful red eyes that would be appropriate for someone who had just spent several hours crying. Even with his excellent memory to prevent him from getting lost, it still took Typhoeus several long minutes to find his way back to the training yard where Arilla was wreaking havoc on a beleaguered training dummy. The reinforcing runes on the mannequin looked noticeably dimmer to his eyes as they were taxed heavily by Arilla's anger fuelled rampage.

"I'm done," Typhoeus said, handing over the sword, realising as he did so that he was utterly exhausted. While his mana was far from empty, the simple act of sustaining his concentration for so long had thoroughly drained him, his vitality score not quite up to the rigours of prolonged spellcraft.

Their eyes met as she took the oversized blade from him, her expressive eyes quickly darting to the inscriptions on the ricasso and back to his as they widened. Whether it was with excitement for the sword or concern for his tearful visage Typhoeus didn’t know, but when he mouthed ‘later’ at her it was enough to still her hands moving to touch his face.

"Thanks,” she said awkwardly, her tone promising that there would be more to discuss later. “I got [Warrior’s Strength] to 5, although I haven't chosen the rank up yet. "

"Good, then let's get out of here," Typhoeus said, sounding as tired as he truly felt.

They walked home to Julian's, with slightly less difficulty now that Arilla had levelled up both her skills [Warrior’s Strength] and [Sworn Service]. Which was fortunate, for when Typhoeus dismissed his spell and leaned on her in his exhaustion she was more capable of supporting his extra weight. Her strong hands wrapped around his waist as she held him close to her, the smell of her fresh sweat comforting in its familiarity as it paired well with the scent of solid steel that he was coming to associate with her. Their walk through Rhelea was pleasantly dull, and besides stopping for a few minutes to watch a street performer swallow swords for the gathered crowds thrown chalkoi, it was an uneventful journey home.

When they arrived back in their room, Typhoeus immediately flopped face-first onto the small bed that they shared. Despite the relative luxury of the inn, Typhoeus had been given a tiny box room with little more than a bed, a window and a small chest to store his belongings in. There categorically wasn't enough space for the two of them in the room, let alone in the same bed and with the addition of the large zweihander things were getting uncomfortably crowded. Typhoeus was honestly surprised that Julian hadn't given them any trouble over the two of them occupying what was obviously a one-person room, the innkeeper probably trusting in their need for space to eventually force them out as soon as they could reasonably afford it.

"Don't ever let anyone ever take that away from you. If anyone with a perception skill inspects that, it'll raise a lot of questions that I can't answer. We'll also need a dark cloth to cover up the runes as it glows when it’s charged. I'll keep it topped up until you get a mana supply of your own," Typhoeus said without lifting his head from the pillow.

“I feel like we’re glossing over the part where you know how to enchant swords!” Arilla said excitedly, finally getting the opportunity to discuss the latest addition to her admittedly still new weapon.

“I’m good at magic. Enchanting is basically the same as warding, which isn’t all that different from casting spells,” he said, rolling over in bed and sitting up onto his elbows to look at her.

“Can you explain that in a way I’ll actually understand?” she asked hesitantly.

“Fine, but only because you might get an arcana skill someday, and it will save me explaining it then,” he said.

“Oh, don’t bother then. I don’t have the gift,” Arilla said dejectedly.

“Don’t be silly. You are a human; you can still get a mage-tagged class. Even if you somehow managed to fall short of the most basic requirements to get one when you first used a class stone, just wait for a few levels and try again. Depths take me; your brush with manaburn was probably enough to qualify for something. Look again when you hit pewter, not that I would advise going dual classed warrior and mage,” Typhoeus said sagely.

“Really? I could still be a mage?” she asked.

“If you really want to, although your levelling efficiency will be absolutely awful unless you get some kind of mana warrior option out of the gate.”

“Huh, I just assumed it wasn’t an option for me.”

“Well it is, now do you want to hear this or not?”

“Sure, why not.”

“Okay,” Typhoeus said, taking a deep breath as he pondered how much to say. His understanding on this topic far outstripped that of the human scholars of this age and while Arilla’s education was too poor to notice, he didn’t want her repeating anything that could get either of them in trouble. “The first thing you need to understand is that Creation isn’t as rigid as it may initially seem.”

“I think you might have already lost me,” she said with an eager grin, her apparent confusion not dampening her desire for answers in the slightest.

“The natural laws that determine our reality are less rules and more …suggestions. Mana itself is chaos incarnate. It is everything that ever was or could be and with enough willpower, you can for a time, force that mana to take on certain shapes. These shapes are what we mages call spells. Now the Great System is a massive help in this, but it is by no means essential. With an arcana skill from the System you add its will to your own, making spellcraft and the like exponentially easier, but it is important to remember that the System, for all its power, lives within Creation. It is bound by the same rules that we are.”

“So you’re saying that I don’t need a mage class to cast spells?”

“Technically, no you don’t. But natural-born mages are vanishingly rare, and as they all qualify for mage classes from the System, they tend to get lost in the crowd.”

“I think I understand,” she said, sounding uncertain.

“Good, because this is where it gets complicated. Ultimately, everything comes down to will. If you want something hard enough, Creation will bend itself into the shape you desire. Smaller changes are easier than bigger ones, and spells that build upon well-worn paths are much more powerful than new effects built on nothing. There is an unspoken weight behind Creation, where things that are accepted as true by many people are generally more powerful than beliefs held only by a few. Not because it’s more right, but because that collective belief gives it power. Do you see where I am going with this?”

“Not really?”

“What does that remind you of? Large changes built atop smaller ones, something fundamental that every being, living and unliving, believes to be true,” he said, smiling wide as understanding bloomed behind her eyes.

“You’re not talking about spells anymore. You’re talking about stats,” Arilla said.

“I’m talking about everything. Why do you think increasing a number next to your strength score makes you physically stronger? Why does your dexterity make you faster and more coordinated or vitality lets you shrug off injuries and live for longer? Language changes over time; it's mutable, and the words in our status change to match. But that expectation behind the belief, that is what gives the System the power to fundamentally change us.”

“So you're saying I can just will myself to be stronger?”

“If there is enough mana in the air, sure. But you’re missing my point. Everyone who’s ever heard of the System believes that increasing your strength score makes you stronger, so it does. While you could will yourself to be stronger than your strength score for a time, that sort of thing requires a degree of willpower that humans rarely possess. Which brings me to my second point.”

“Which is?”

“Beware the insane.”

“Huh?”

“Normally, when you want to improve a spell, you can either throw more mana at it, work on your conceptualisation, or incorporate a complementary rune that forces Creation to lend a little extra weight to your working. But an insane or worse a devout classer can defy the usual System generated limits. Their certainty is a dangerous thing that should never be underestimated and if you ever find yourself facing someone like that without an ace up your sleeve, run,” Typhoeus said, giving her a severe look as he tried to impart his warning. His warrior raised her hands up in her own defence as she took the caution.

“Similarly, in terms of raw power, ignorance is a good proxy for insanity; more controllable, too. Creation doesn’t really care if you are right, only that you believe yourself to be. People have gotten surprisingly close to immortality by convincing others that they were gods. A few hundred thousand people chanting your name in temples and declaring you an undying god, is a pretty effective way of achieving longevity.”

“...That sounds very heretical,” Arilla commented, looking appalled when Typhoeus merely shrugged in response. “Typh!”

“I didn’t say the gods aren’t real,” he said defensively, aware that he was perhaps skirting a little too close to the edge of Arilla’s comfort zone. “Anyway, your sword. When I carved those runes into the blade I told Creation a story, one written in blood, and in a language that it understands. There’s weight in that, an expectation that there is not only power in blood, but also that the runes have meaning. Whether the runes themselves are intrinsically powerful or not is irrelevant, but generations of mages have at one time or another believed that the very same arcane symbols have power. Their use of identical runes has carved grooves into Creation that your sword will now make use of. I’ll need to keep it charged with mana for you, but so long as there’s light in the runes you’ll know it’s working.”

“Thanks, that’s a lot to wrap my head around,” Arilla said, looking thoughtful. “[Sworn Service] does give me a mana pool, so I can charge it myself if you show me how. Although you never told me, what exactly does the enchantment do?" she asked.

"It does what swords do. It kills things."