[I am a Table] Chapter 74
Daniel Newwyn posts
[Boon, Bounty & Bad Decisions] Chapter 47
This chapter will also be a part of Book 1 after some consideration. I'll add it before the Gravel final chapter.
2025-04-05 17:57:21 +0000 UTC View Post
[I am a Table] Chapter 56
Blorbo had no time to mourn the betrayal of the system, for he had already been hurled onto the wagon. The horse wheezed as Rob held the rein, and the wagon started moving. Their destination would be on the other side of town, toward the Barony of Luxden.
Lena kept her eyes on the road. “Are we sure this baron has something we need? I’d rather not have to interact with another snobby noble, if possible.”
“Oh, without a doubt,” Anders said. “Baron Luthor Luxden is a known collector of rare and enchanted kitchenware. If anyone has an entire arsenal of premium knives, it’s him.”
“But you just found out he was a known collector of rare kitchenware ten minutes ago from the innkeeper’s mouth!” Lena objected.
“Doesn’t change the truth.”
Ducaz, still lounging in a place that was not Blorbo’s surface, stretched out in his usual form. “We also heard from the man that Luxden’s a paranoid shut-in. He won’t just let anyone waltz in. Even the noble types need an invitation, and that takes weeks to process.”
“Even if we hear it from the innkeeper, it doesn’t mean it’s fact…” Rob’s voice turned smaller toward the end.
“Well, we’ve got the literal circle from the sage on the map too, if you wanna complain about it,” Anders barked.
Blorbo barely registered the conversation around him. Something far more insidious gnawed at his mind. Something treacherous. Something vile.
[Consume (Level 1)]
He pulled up the skill description again.
Consume (Active Skill – Level 1): Allows the user to absorb food items upon contact. Does not grant sustenance or benefits unless specified.
Blorbo stared at it. He read it once. Twice. A third time, just to be sure.
Then he screamed. What the hell will this ever do for me?!
It didn’t let him taste. It didn’t let him gain energy. It didn’t even let him store food. It just made things disappear. He would gain nothing while the food owner would lose their food.
This wasn’t a skill. This was a tax on existence. A crime against nature. A net negative to society.
He pulled up his stats again.
CP: 21 (-1)
What was the purpose of this?! Was this some kind of twisted metaphor about capitalism?
Then he heard Ducaz’s voice as he stretched and yawned. “So, that’s all for the plan to break into a paranoid noble’s house?”
Anders nodded. “Obviously.”
Rob sighed. “Obviously.”
Wait. Seems like I’ve missed an important chunk of information again.
Also, wait. I’ve been wondering this one thing. He’d been accumulating useless skills after useless skills, but all of them were at Level 1. Did that mean if he were able to level up a skill, it would become less useless later on? Maybe a Consume Level 1 would let him gain temporary stats, or it would let him store food. There was no way to find out since if the System had an indexing system hidden anywhere, he hadn’t find it. He could only level up to see for himself.
He thought back to the reward of the Ducaz Appraisal sidequest. He would get an accelerated bonus on Appraisal levelling up progress upon completion, which meant it was likely that the skill levelled up based on repetition—constant practicing of said skills until one’d reached perfection for that level. Which would mean skills like Adjustable Angle can easily be upgraded. Meanwhile, Synchronized Sitting would not. But who cares about Synchronized Sitting?
Why haven’t I thought of this before?
“But I will not participate in a break in without a fair price,” Ducaz clapped once.
Anders cracked his neck as he leveled a glare at Ducaz. “I could reduce you to ashes where you stand.” His fingers twitched like he was ready to start weaving a spell.
Ducaz was unfazed. He leaned back against the wagon’s railing, arms crossed behind his head like he was lounging at a beach. “Well, if you could, you would have,” he said smoothly. “And yet, here we are. Besides, if you were capable of handling everything alone, why bring others along? Why use only Basic spells?”
Anders scowled, lips parting like he wanted to argue, but no words came. His jaw clenched, then unclenched. He grumbled something inaudible and turned away.
Rob sighed. “How much? Is five shillings fine?”
Ducaz brightened. “Ah, now we’re talking! My price starts at one silver, but since I’m fond of you lot, I’ll generously begin at a humble four hundred copper coins.”
Lena narrowed her eyes. “That’s the same as one silver.”
“It’s not, though. That one-hundred coin could’ve been used as insurance so I could prepare my own coffin once I’m caught. Think about it, guys. I’m risking my life for you here.”
Lena cracked her knuckles. “Three hundred.”
Ducaz gasped, clutching his chest like she had personally stabbed him. “Three hundred?! My dear cabbage princess, are you trying to starve me? What am I supposed to eat with that? Air and disappointment?”
Lena folded her arms. “You ate half the inn’s sausage stock last night. You’ll live.”
Ducaz scoffed. “That was yesterday. I live in the present, Lena.”
“Two eighty.”
“Three seventy-five.”
Lena clicked her tongue. “Three seventy-five? What, are you charging us extra for the privilege of hearing your nonsense?”
Ducaz waved dramatically. “No, that’s the charisma tax. A premium service, might I add. Without me, this trip would have been, by the Lords, boring.”
He’s got a point.
Lena huffed. “Fine. Two seventy. That’s how much your charisma is worth.”
Ducaz recoiled like she had just insulted his ancestors. “Two seventy?! Are you under the impression I want to get caught? Do you know how expensive a good escape plan is?”
Lena smirked. “You don’t have one.”
“That’s why I need the money to make one.”
Lena narrowed her eyes. “Two seventy-five.”
Ducaz tapped his chin. “Two seventy-nine.”
Lena jabbed a finger at him. “Two seventy-eight.”
Ducaz inhaled sharply through his teeth. “You drive a hard bargain, Lena Oakward.” He extended his hand with all the weight of a man agreeing to a lifetime of servitude. “Fine. Two seventy-eight.”
They shook on it.
Rob shook his head, swung the rein once, and sighed. “You two just haggled for five whole minutes over twenty-two shillings.” The horse started moving like a starved horse.
Anders grumbled, rubbing his temples. “I’ve killed men for less.”
Ducaz grinned. “Ah, but those men didn’t have negotiation skills.”
2025-03-19 08:18:50 +0000 UTC View Post[I am a Table] Chapter 55
A warm, electric sensation spread through his wooden frame. Level Up.
[LEVEL UP!]
Blorbo has reached Level 4.
5 HP
1 MP
5 Attribute Points
YES! YES! It happened! Finally, he was getting somewhere! He could feel the power coursing through his grain, his glorious ascent as a piece of furniture with cosmic potential!
Time to come in and distribute my sweet, sweet new attributes.
Eagerly, he pulled up his status screen, basking in the thrill of progress.
Name: Blorbo
Race: Animated Furniture (Table)
Class: None
Level: 4
EXP: 0/15000
Wait.
15000?!
The last level required 100! What is this scaling?! What kind of cruel, unjust system increases the required EXP 150 times in a single level?! Would you give me 150 times the attribute gains if I level up? Would you do that, huh, huh?
I’ll worry about that later. Distribute my stats first.
Blorbo felt he needed to go on the offensive. He had a sneaky feeling he would have to fight in table duels in the near future. They were going to barge into rich people’s places and demand them to hand over their precious knife collection soon, and if Bimbleton is any bit a fair representation of a snobby noble in this realm, he’d need to either hit hard or dodge hard.
Agility and Strength, it is then.
+ 3 AGI
+2 STR
Just as Blorbo finished distributing his stats, the door creaked open.
Ducaz stepped in, moving with the smug satisfaction of a man who had just gotten away with something. His hands rested on his stomach, which was noticeably fuller than before. He let out a quiet sigh of contentment, stretched his arms, then flopped onto the bed in the exact same position he had been sleeping in before.
The same arm tucked under his head, and the legs bent at the exact same angles. The same stupid, peaceful expression like he hadn’t just broken into a secret chamber to commit grand larceny on a sausage.
***
The next morning, Anders said that the knives weren’t going to free themselves, so they were on their way again. But not without breakfast, of course.
The shouting of the Innkeeper had gotten them all to get downstairs on time, with a little help from the magnificent smell of stew (the good kind and not the cabbage kind) from the kitchen. Rob had carried Blorbo downstairs in preparation, and the scent of a hearty meal filled the air as they settled at a table—an actual dining table, not him, for once. Harry Porker had prepared a steaming pot of sausage stew, with slices of fresh bread to go with it. The smell alone was enough to make the stomachs of those with stomachs rumble.
Harry Porker growled as he ladled out portions. “Damn shame. I was missing a link of sausage from the storage this morning. Counted every piece last night, and wouldn’t you know it? One less.”
As the innkeeper walked back into the kitchen, Ducaz spooned a bite of sausage stew into his mouth, chewed, then leaned back with a punchable grin on his face. “Mmmmmm,” he hummed, smacking his lips. “Still tastes as good as the last time I tried it.”
Rob turned.
Lena turned.
Anders turned.
Ducaz stopped chewing. “... What?”
As the awkward silence stretched, the front door swung open, and in strolled a burly young man lugging a basket filled with fresh vegetables. He spared the party a single glance as he passed through, making his way toward the kitchen.
“Oi, Benny!” Harry Porker called out. “Before you put that lot away, run down to the cellar and fetch some more stock, would ya?”
“Aye.” Benny groaned but did as he was told, plopping the basket of veggies onto Blorbo.
The injustice.
I am not a storage space.
But wait. Am I sensing… a cabbage head?
His nonexistent gaze fell upon the single head of cabbage nestled among the carrots and potatoes.
A cabbage.
A lone, unsuspecting, perfect cabbage.
His newly acquired skill [Consume] tingled at the back of his awareness, like a predator sniffing out its prey.
Yes. YES. This is it. This is my moment.
He mentally activated the skill.
[Consume].
For a second, nothing happened.
Then, the cabbage sank into his surface.
Blorbo didn’t just eat the cabbage. He absorbed it.
Like it had never been there.
Like he was a bottomless void.
A chill ran through his wooden grain.
What… what did I just do?
[SKILL ACTIVATED: Consume (Level 1)]
Oh. Oh. OH!
HE COULD CONSUME. HE COULD GAIN CABBAGE POINTS AT WILL. Best of all? He didn’t even have to taste the cabbage.
Unlimited power was on the horizon. What should he do next? Maybe he would add 100 STR point and join a table joust tournament so he could earn 50 gold coins for Rob and Lena, and in return receive Legendary improvements. That would be an excellent plan.
A belated notification showed up.
1 CP
Wait. Minus one?
What’s happening?
Frantically, Blorbo pulled up his status menu. He scrolled down to his CP total, dreading what he was about to see.
His worst fears were confirmed. His CP had been deducted by one.
But why?
He tapped on CP for more details, and an explanation unfolded before him:
[Cabbage Point: Consumed when you increase stats temporarily OR when you need to eat a cabbage.]
WHAT.
THAT’S WHY YOU CALLED IT CABBAGE POINT?!
The world blurred as realization struck him like a sledgehammer to his face.
He had been lied to.
He thought CP was a resource to be farmed, a currency for power, a means to ascend beyond the limitations of a simple table. But no. No, the system had other plans.
It wasn’t a reward. It was a tax.
The cabbage wasn’t free. He had PAID one CP to eat a cabbage.
This was the second worst revelation of his entire existence. The worst one was when he found out he was a… well, let the people finish that line for him.
2025-03-17 22:07:32 +0000 UTC View Post[I am a Table] Chapter 54
Blorbo was unceremoniously dropped into the corner of Ducaz’s room like a mere piece of filth that needed to be shoved into the most out-of-the-way spot possible. Rob and Lena’s room had been cramped enough with just the two of them and Tabby, so of course, Anders wasn’t going to let a table take up any precious space in his own quarters.
As Blorbo sat in the dark corner, he couldn’t help but curse his existence. The golden icon, gleaming tauntingly in the corner of his vision, didn’t help. "Consume a sausage," it beckoned, practically glowing with the promise of infinite glory, or at least a good chunk of EXP, Cabbage Points, and a brand-new skill.
I’m right here! The Chamber of Sausages is right there! What do I have to do to get someone to eat it?
Yet Ducaz, the very man who seemed to eye it like a starving vulture, hadn’t made a single move.
Instead, the rogue had done the one thing rogues were not supposed to do. He had gone to sleep.
Are you kidding me?! He was wide awake, staring into the darkness, waiting for Ducaz to make some move, to scheme something stupid, to at least sit on him so Blorbo could finish the quest and maybe level up enough to become somewhat useful.
But the man refused to move. The man hadn't so much as moved from his position since crawling into bed.
Blorbo stared at the clock in the opposite corner, seething with boredom. Was this how it was going to be? Was he doomed to spend the night in this stupid corner, with nothing but the map location glowing in his vision?
If this was how it was going to be, he might as well cancel the quest. I’ll just click it, and it’ll disappear, no more stupid glowing icon!
Wait. How do I cancel a quest?
He tried clicking every part of the icon. Nothing. Then, he tried dragging it to the side, closing the icon like a window .Nothing. Maybe he could swipe it away like he was on some kind of rolling pin? Nope.
Why? Why why why?
He even clicked on the Failure option to find a failure condition. There was no such thing.
The icon wasn’t going anywhere, and there was no “cancel” button.
Blorbo froze. What if... it’s stuck here forever?
At exactly 3:00 AM, Ducaz sprang up.
What?
The man had been dead to the world just seconds ago, and now he was wide awake, rubbing his hands together like some devious mastermind about to hatch an evil plan. Blorbo could practically imagine the “muahahaha” echoing through the room.
Ducaz snuck out of bed, moved with such stealth, looked over his shoulder once. Then he was out the door.
Okay, okay, he's moving. He's up. He’s going for the sausage. Blorbo’s heart leapt with a surge of hope.
But no.
Instead of heading toward the magical sausage, Ducaz tiptoed toward the window. He threw a quick glance around, then slowly, silently, pulled open the window and slipped outside with the grace of a cat burglar.
Wait—what? Where are you going? What about the sausage? You’ve literally been eyeing it all day, and now you sneak out at 3 in the morning?
Less than an hour later, the rogue returned. The man slipped through the door with a smug, satisfying, self-gratifying grin as he carried a huge linen bag that was definitely not with him when he left. Blorbo was too eager for something to happen to think much about how Ducaz had managed to acquire it.
Ducaz made his way over to the bed, placing the bag down with care to not make a sound. Then, one by one, he began to pull out his hauls.
First, a completely intact goat skull—not the clean, pretty kind one might use for decoration. No, this one still had remnants of fur and muscle on it, like it had been pulled from the very recently deceased.
What?
Next came a small barrel of something that smelled unmistakably like wet leather. Blorbo wasn’t sure where Ducaz even found that.
Then, a vintage-looking vase, which, on closer inspection, turned out to be a garden gnome with a hollowed-out body.
Then, a full-sized cartwheel.
Is he summoning a demon?
But, the final item was the one Blorbo had been waiting for. Ducaz held up a sausage on a wooden skewer that was still steaming hot. Blorbo could feel his metaphorical taste buds tingling in anticipation.
Oh yeah! Eat it! Put it in your mouth! Eat!
Ducaz took a gigantic bite of the sausage, then chewed happily. Blorbo waited. He waited so long. Surely now, the quest would be completed.
Nothing happened.
What?
Blorbo's screen remained stubbornly empty. The diamond icon was still there. No EXP, no Cabbage Points, no new skill. Nothing.
Ducaz looked at the now sausageless skewer with a proud smirk. “Ahhh, there it is! A good sausage makes all the difference, doesn’t it?”
But why… How? Explain to me. EXPLAIN TO ME!
“Damn it taste good,” Ducaz talked to himself like a book narrator who really wanted to get a point across for no good reason. “After I saw that sausage in the chamber, I wanted one so bad. I had to go out there and buy one from a vendor. Best decision of the night.”
You BOUGHT a DIFFERENT sausage? You’re a THIEF! Why did you decide to be ethical NOW? You stole an entire cartwheel, but had to BUY a sausage?
Arrrrrrgggghhhhhh! Ducaz! You are a son of a harlot!
“But my craving is yet to be satisfied,” Ducaz muttered to himself. Then, he proceeded to reached for the goat skull, the barrel of wet leather, and the garden gnome, then set them in a straight line. With a quick glance at the bed where he had set them down, Ducaz muttered something under his breath.
What was he doing now?
He then repositioned the goat skull in the center of the room, then carefully positioned the gnome on its side, as if it were the sentinel of an altar. He opened the barrel, and the suffocating smell of something aking to wet rat skin assaulted Blorbo’s smell senses. He didn’t seem to care as he ran his hands through it, murmuring under his breath.
Ducaz was speaking in a strange tone that was too small to hear, almost like he was casting a spell, and Blorbo’s mind started to piece things together.
The name of the skill materialized over his head.
[Sacrifices to the GOATs—Rare C-Ranked Exchange Spell—Level 7]
Whoosh.
An arc of energy surged through the room, and the barrel, the gnome, and the skull all glowed. A soft, swirling vortex of cerulean energy enveloped Ducaz, curling around him like tendrils. The objects he’d gathered levitated, and for a brief moment, the rogue was completely obscured, swallowed by the blinding lights coming from the objects.
Just as suddenly, the swirl of light vanished, leaving Ducaz standing there. Partially transparent. He was invisible, but not entirely. He was like a ghost.
What just happened? Did Ducaz actually create a cloak of invisibility? Half-invisibility? What the hell? How is being HALF invisible going to help you?
Without saying another word, Ducaz quietly snuck toward the door and disappeared into the hallway, leaving Blorbo alone, still trying to process what he had just witnessed.
Ten minutes later, a notification appeared before him.
[SIDEQUEST COMPLETED—Put the Sausage Inside]
Reward: +50 EXP, + 5 CP, Skill: [Consume].
2025-03-16 18:40:09 +0000 UTC View Post[I am a Table] Chapter 53
With too little time left to head anywhere else and a wagon too big to move at night without suspicion, the only thing left to do was to find a place to stay the night. The party decided between two inns, The Squealing Snout and The Hogwash Inn, which were horrific names for an accommodation establishment, and finally decided to go to Hogwash.
They were greeted by an innkeeper named Harry Porker, a stocky man with a mustache that looked like it had been plucked straight from the back end of a pig.
Why do like half the men in this world have mustaches? Is this realm accursed with a Curse of Bad Fashion Sense or something?
“Well, if it ain’t the fine travelers of the night! Welcome to the Hogwash, where your comfort is our... priority!” Harry Porker said with a grin that was a bit too wide.
“Three rooms for the night,” Anders said with the same casual tone he used when giving orders to a dog.
“Not a problem. That would be two hundred and fourty shillings,” the innkeeper said. Rob paid the money.
As they followed Harry Porker to their rooms, Lena caught a glimpse of an old painting hanging on the wall. It depicted a large, rotund hog sitting at a table, wearing a wizard’s hat, holding a steaming sausage. The caption beneath it read: “Harry Ham and the Half-Blood Sausage.”
Lena raised an eyebrow, squinting at the image. “Is that a family portrait or something?”
Did you just say their family are pigs, Lena?
Harry Porker laughed, his belly shaking like a well-cooked ham. “Ah, that’s the legend of old Harry Ham. He was famous around these parts for his unique cooking skills and a rather unusual bloodline. Some say he was part pig, part wizard. I’d be wary of any sausages from his lineage though. Bit too good for my taste. Too magical.”
Ducaz leaned in. “A half-blood sausage, eh? Where do I find it? I bet that one packs a punch.”
“Oh, you bet it does,” Porker grinned as he tapped his nose. “Rumor has it, Harry Ham wasn’t just famous for his sausages but for his magic. It’s said he was a natural at Sausage Spells—magically-infused sausages, if you will. Ever heard of the Sizzling Curse? He invented that one. And don’t get me started on his Muggle Meat-Magic. A grill-brewed potion, that one.” He gave a dramatic pause. “And you better believe those sausages come with a little extra... oomph.”
“But is he really a hog?” Lena asked again.
Porker portrait his deep knowledge of local lore and a lack of basic comprehension as he proceeded to not answer Lena’s question, “Rumor has it the sausages were enchanted to make anyone who ate them enhanced senses. But only if you were a Half-Blood yourself. If you were pure of ham, so to speak... well, you’d just end up with really good sausage.”
Well that’s useless. How are you supposed to be a half-blood sausage?! What’s next? Ham Potter and the Chamber of Sausages?
[SIDEQUEST UNLOCKED—Put the Sausage Inside]
Objective: Consume a sausage from the Chamber of Sausages.
Reward: +50 EXP, + 5 CP, Skill: [Consume].
Prerequisite: None.
Temporary Knowledge: The location of the Chamber of Sausages.
Failure: None.
Blorbo’s mind began to whirl.
What the heck? Why are you asking me to consume something BEFORE giving me the skill [Consume]? How do I eat?! I’m a table!
The thought of “eating” was just too much. He was just a table. The closest he was to consuming something was when he got dropped a pot full of boiling cabbage soup on. That didn’t give him any cabbage point. Would Lena put a sausage inside him? What if—?
What if this skill allows me to consume Cabbages?
That would give him a way to gain unlimited CP, thus transfer to unlimited stats, thus could make him the most powerful being on the planet as long as he eats an unlimited amount of cabbage. This might actually be the best skill yet.
I don’t care how I’m eating that sausage. I’m eating it.
He willed himself to accept. He was immediately pinged by a golden-colored, diamond-shaped icon that floated near the corner of his vision and stuck to that corner like a stubborn fly. When he tried to close his vision to shoo it away, it disappeared, but jumped back to its spot as soon as his vision field returned. Just like a fly would.
He clicked on the icon, and the location of the Chamber of Sausages appeared.
Blorbo couldn’t believe his luck. The Chamber of Sausages was right here. Right in the inn, of all places. Maybe a few feet from him, maybe in a room right adjacent to this. It would make sense. This place was called Hogwarts, and hung a painting of a hog. Of course a sausage chamber would be here.
The golden icon still clung to his vision, taunting him with the location as he was carried up the creaky stairs by Rob. His vision was in the direct line of the path leading to the sausage chamber. And he could see it—the butt of a sausage sticking out at the end of a corridor. Never had a sausage looked so tasty to him before.
But as Rob climbed the stairs with him in tow, Blorbo started to notice something that immediately struck him as... troubling. The narrow corridor in front of the inn’s second floor was barely wide enough for a person to pass through, and the further they went, the narrower it became. The path seemed to twist like a snake, the walls closing in on him, as though the space itself was intentionally designed to reject the very idea of something as wide as a table moving through it.
There’s no way I’m fitting through there.
The walls pressed closer, and the ceiling loomed lower. Every step Rob took seemed to shrink the space, and Blorbo could feel the cold marble floors beneath him, mocking him for his limitations.
But then, something caught his attention—a glimmer in the corner of his vision.
Ducaz’s eyes.
The rogue was trailing behind them, but his eyes were locked on the sausage at the end of the corridor. There was a look in his eyes, a look that only a seasoned gluttonous thief like Tabby would possess.
Greed.
Ducaz licked his lips, practically drooling as his gaze followed that butt. He needed to eat that butt. He was praying to the Lords to have a lick of that butt.
Wait a minute. The quest doesn’t say who has to eat the sausage, just that it has to be eaten.
2025-03-16 17:41:18 +0000 UTC View Post[I am a Table] Chapter 52
They found their way to Noka Merchant’s Guild Hall, a stone building with a golden coin over a crossed fork and knife emblazoned above the entrance, across from some huge tavern that seemed very popular amongst the locals. The sign above the establishment read The Gilded Hog, fitting for a town of wild boar fight rings, and even from across the street, the scent of roasted meat and drunk meathead was palpable.
Of all the places they could park their wagon, they chose this one.
Flies buzzed around discarded bones and crushed tankards, leftovers from whatever revelry had spilled out of the tavern. And the smell. THE SMELL. Why am I a table with a sense of smell? A pungent blend of sweat, ale, and something that could only be described as fermented regret wafted through the air, seeping into the very fabric of his existence.
Whoever decides to park here must pay for their crimes. Rob… Rob! I pray some drunk come out and vomit on your leg.
Truly, I was born to suffer.
Lena leaned forward from her seat, squinting at the scene. “That’s the guild? Why the fork and knife?”
Anders, still in the driver’s seat, folded his arms. “If we find a better target inside the city, we might shift plans, but yes, that’s one of our stops.”
Ducaz, perched on the edge of the wagon’s railing, barely seemed to hear them. His eyes darted from the guild hall to the street corners, up to the windows, then back to the guards. He didn’t seem to blink the whole time.
Rob caught his expression and tilted his head. “What’s got you looking like a skittish fox?”
Ducaz flashed her a grin but didn’t stop scanning. “You don’t wanna break in later?” He gestured toward the hall with his chin. “Then you need to learn the pattern of the guards.”
Why do you insist on illegally breaking in? Just pretend to be some merchant and have a look around.
Lena blinked. “The what now?”
“Their rotation, their habits. How long they linger, where they look when they’re bored. Who’s actually paying attention and who’s just here to collect a paycheck.” Ducaz leaned forward, nodding toward one of the guards. “See that guy? The one with the thicker belt and shinier boots? Probably the shift lead. He’s the one they follow.”
Rob followed Ducaz’s gaze. “And that one by the door?”
Ducaz clicked his tongue. “Already half-asleep. Bet you ten coppers he won’t notice if someone walked right past him.”
“Do you think that shift lead is the most capable of them all?” Anders asked.
“Possibly,” Ducaz replied.
Blorbo, meanwhile, silently fumed. The real crime here wasn’t the heist. It was the fact that Ducaz still hadn’t sat down on him.
Anders jumped from the wagon. “Let’s see how good that guy is.” His landing didn’t make a sound.
Lena blinked. “Wait, what?”
But the old man had already moved through the street.
It didn’t look like he’d done anything special, but Blorbo’s Skill Appraisal caught the line of status over his head.
[Feather’s Drift—Basic-level Spell—Level ???]
The way he walked wasn’t just quiet—it was unnatural, like the wind itself was carrying him forward. His coat didn’t sway. His footsteps left no disturbance on the dirt road.
Sure. You make no sound. But how do you expect to not get noticed walking like that?!
Then, ANOTHER spell was cast on top of the earlier spell, and another line of text added atop the existing line.
[Mimic’s Frame—Basic-level Spell—Level ???]
His posture shifted. His shoulders squared, his chin lifted, and suddenly—he looked like he belonged. He didn’t move like a suspicious thief. He moved like a man who had every right to be there.
Rob narrowed his eyes. “That’s...?”
Ducaz’s smirk faltered. “A disguise without a disguise,” he muttered.
Lena whispered, “Is this Exchange magic?”
“More likely Structure,” Ducaz replied.
“How do you know?” She asked again.
“Experience. Watch.”
Then, another spell was cast.
[Paid in Apathy—Basic-level Spell—Level ???]
And he just walked in. Blorbo felt a strange urge to just not care. If he hadn’t paid attention to the old man since the beginning, he would’ve looked away.
Lena had already turned her back against Anders and started petting the cat. She looked like she’d completely forgotten she was supposed to watch.
The shift lead didn’t glance at him. Not once.
Anders walked past the dozing guard.
Nobody stopped him.
Ducaz’s grin was completely gone now. “Wow.”
Anders made it all the way to the guild hall’s outer wall before stopping. He turned slightly, met their eyes, then tilted his head and mouthed, Well?
Rob exhaled. “That’s absurd.”
Ducaz leaned forward, studying Anders as if trying to figure out the trick. “No way that’s just a beginner technique.” Then he mouthed at Lena. “Your Dad is something else.”
“Huh?” Lena turned around. “Where’s he now?”
Anders had vanished inside the building. He walked out about ten minutes later with the same unbothered posture as when he’d walked in, shrugged and shook his head. Still, nobody paid him attention.
This man is crazy.
[Stealth detection failed. PER too low.]
What do you even mean, System? He’s right in my line of sight—Wait. Where is he?
Blorbo was still panicking over the system’s blatant lie when—
“Well?” The old man’s voice rang out behind him.
Anders was already back in the driver’s seat of the wagon, arms crossed, looking at them like they were the ones wasting time.
Lena jumped. “GAH—” She clutched her chest. “How did—when did—?!”
Rob stiffened. “You were inside just a second ago.”
In one dramatic motion, Ducaz dropped to his knees before Anders, clasped his hands together, and bowed so low it looked like he was about to kiss the old man’s boots.
“Oh great and powerful master,” he intoned in a voice enough to creep out the cat and make it dash off to another corner. “Do you accept students? I am your student now.”
Anders didn’t even blink. “You’re a Rogue. Go train with a Rogue.”
Ducaz gasped, clutching his chest. “A man can be whatever he wants to be! I am a Mage now!”
Anders ignored him. “The guild hall a suitable target. Too much movement inside. Too many guild members watching inventory. And it didn’t look like they accept stolen items.”
Rob sighed. “Figured as much. Then it’s the auction house next?”
Anders nodded.
Lena was still gaping at him. “You—You can’t just do that and not explain anything!”
Anders clicked the reins, making the horse start forward. “It’s a basic technique.”
I mean, he didn’t lie.
2025-03-14 18:30:32 +0000 UTC View Post[I am a Table] Chapter 51
After a final detour so Lena could buy some honey nougat, they finally arrived at Nokia at sundown.
The entrance to the Township of Nokia was marked by a pair of towering stone gates grander than the simple terracotta in Iakesi could ever be. The surfaces of the gates etched with faded carvings of trade emblems and a guild sigil that looked like a boar. A heavy iron portcullis loomed overhead, its bars thick enough to stop a charging orc in its tracks. To the sides of the entrance stood two weathered watchtowers, their torch-lit windows blazing against the deepening dusk.
Just outside the gates, a cluster of merchants had set up makeshift stalls, loudly hawking their wares to travelers before they even set foot in the city. Some man in a pink shirt waved a string of smoked sausages at a passing noblewoman, while another tried to convince a weary-looking farmer that his rusted trinkets were "ancient relics of unparalleled power!" A pair of guards stood by the gate, paying more attention to a heated argument over the price of a single turnip than actually overwatching the wagons passing by.
A massive wooden plaque was nailed beside the entrance, proudly displaying a bold inscription:
“Welcome to Nokia! Home of the #5 Knight Guild in the Country—The Indomitable Iron Brand!”
Underneath, a smaller, hastily added engraving read:
“(Ranked by the Caerfort Annual Knightly Competency Survey—Accuracy Not Guaranteed)”
Ducaz let out a low whistle. “Ah, the prestigious Iron Brand! Holding strong at a very respectable fifth place. You’d think that would mean something, wouldn’t you?” He leaned back against the wagon, grinning. “You ever hear about their captain?”
Lena raised an eyebrow. “Should I have?”
Anders scoffed. “You shouldn’t. Even I don’t know of that guy. He must not be important.”
“Oh, he’s somewhat famous,” Ducaz said, gesturing vaguely. “B-ranked, even! Goes by the name Stevie Jobs Motorola.”
“That’s an odd name,” Lena said as she popped a nougat into her mouth. Tabby kept meowing on her lap. The little thing hadn’t gotten a thing to eat since the start of the trip.
Good. Let it be the one suffering for once. Blorbo had given up on trying to get Ducaz to sit on him.
“You think?” Leaning against the side of the wagon, Ducaz waggled his brows. “He’s more known for running a barely legal wild boar fight ring than for any of his actual achievements on the battlefield. Supposedly, he made more coin last year off gambling bets than the entire guild did through official contracts.”
Anders threw his hands in the air. “Fantastic. That’s exactly the kind of knight I want in charge of city security.”
I mean you should be happy if they’re crooked and incompetent. It’s very much possible that you’re breaking into someone’s property to steal their knives tonight.
“Why are you with us again?” Rob asked Ducaz.
The aspiring rogue shrugged. “I know of your secret now. Would you rather I be off to Lord-knows-where next?”
Oh yeah. I never realized that until now. There goes Lena’s attempt at leveraging him.
As the wagon rolled forward, Lena leaned forward, peering at the distracted guards, then waved a hand. “Hey! We’re coming in! Don’t you need to check our wagon or something?”
One of the guards, a thickly built man with a patchy beard, barely glanced her way. “Just pass! Don’t you see we’ve got an important matter to settle?”
The ‘important matter’ in question seemed to be yet another squabble between a merchant and an old woman shaking a particularly ugly turnip in his face.
“You said two copper per turnip! Now you want three?!” the old woman snapped.
The merchant extended his hands forward. “That was before I realized how firm and well-grown this one is! Look at the texture, the depth of color! This is no ordinary turnip, madam. This is a premium-quality root vegetable!”
Lena gave the guards an incredulous look. “Are you serious?”
The second guard, a lanky man with an unfortunate mustache, barely acknowledged her. “Shush. It’s getting good.”
The first guard handed him a smoked sausage, and they both took a bite at the same time. “Mm. She’s about to hit him.”
“She is. You see how she’s gripping that turnip? Classic winding-up motion.”
“She’s got good form.”
“That comes from experience. She’s grabbed turnips all her life.”
These are the people keeping the city safe?
The wagon entered the town without anyone stopping them.
Anders muttered under his breath, “Knights.”
As the wagon clattered past the completely useless guards, Rob reached into his coat and pulled out a rolled-up map. He unfurled it over his lap and smoothed the parchment with his palm. Several markings dotted the city’s layout, with three bold circles standing out among the rest.
“We’re actually not far from the first location,” Rob noted, running his finger along the street names. “The Noka Merchant’s Guild Hall is just a few turns from here.”
Rob nodded. “One of the largest in the region, supposedly. It’s got silver utensils from the Old Empire, a ceremonial bread knife from the Ascetic Monks of Saint Baguette, and even a soup ladle carved from enchanted wyvern bone.”
Wyvern bone ladle? That sounds absolutely ridiculous. Who would touch such a thing, let alone use it? That’s like taking a spine of your pet and use it to stir your stew.
A quest popped up.
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: A Most Questionable Utensil]
Objective: Make physical contact with the enchanted wyvern bone ladle.
Reward: +75 EXP
Prerequisite: None.
Failure: None.
Accept: YES/NO
Of course.
2025-03-13 18:03:37 +0000 UTC View Post[I am a Table] Chapter 50
The grushkins scattered the moment they were outside, their stubby legs carrying them in different directions like spooked rodents. Lena, with Tabby on her hands, trudged toward the wagon first, rubbing at her wrists as she squinted against the light. Rob was right behind her.
Anders emerged last, and the look on his face and the way he walked triumphantly suggested he had pried loose something valuable.
Lena climbed onto the wagon, sighing as she dropped onto the seat. “That could’ve gone worse.”
Rob pulled himself up next, shaking his head. “It could’ve gone better, too.”
Anders swung himself onto the bench with an ease that belied his age. “That orc was useful after all, though he rumbled on and on too much. Nobody needs to hear about the philosophical approach to inclusive cross-race immigration. Remind me, how many locations do we need to check again?”
Rob replied, “Three.”
Anders nodded. “Good. I’d rather not waste time chasing shadows.”
Oh you should! There was one just now who forcefully imbued me with dark magic!
“The Barony of Luxden,” Rob recounted, ticking them off with his fingers. “Noka Merchant’s Guild Hall. And an underground auction house that I’ve forgotten the name of.”
“Emergherd,” Lena reminded him. She then stretched her arms over her head. “So which one are we hitting first?”
“We go to Nokia first,” Anders replied. “We’ll decide which target is best once we get a feel for the city.”
“My friends! You wouldn’t leave without me, would you?” Ducaz strolled into view with his usual grin plastered on his face.
Blorbo’s gaze fell to Ducaz’s side pocket. It bulged suspiciously, like it was stuffed with… something. Something dense. Something loot-shaped. But with a simple rub on the pocket, that bulge was gone.
[NEW QUEST AVAILABLE: The Rogue’s Ledger]
Objective: Use Appraisal to reveal Ducaz’s full status screen.
Reward: +300% Appraisal EXP accumulation for the next 24 hours.
Prerequisite: 25 PER (You can’t accept this quest—PER: 24)
Failure: None.
Accept: YES/NO
Blorbo groaned. Fine. Fine! I need that Appraisal leveled up. I can’t stand only being able to open a status screen when somebody sits on me anymore. And it’s only 1 Cabbage Point anyway.
The old wagon squealed as Rob snapped the reins, urging the horse forward. Gravel crunched beneath the wheels, and soon enough, they were back on the road, heading straight for Nokia.
Surely now that the wagon was in motion, Ducaz would have to find a place to sit down. And what better place was there to sit down than on Blorbo’s face!
However, Ducaz had seated himself not on the table but on a crate beside Blorbo. His legs were spread wide, one arm propped on his knee, the other casually twirling a knife between his fingers.
What? Why? What part of me is inferior to that crate?
Ducaz was practically surrounded by seating opportunities. There was the sack of cabbages he had carelessly kicked aside, a wooden barrel next to him, and even a perfectly good flat table surface, yet he chose to balance himself precariously on the crate like some kind of circus act.
JUST SIT ON ME, YOU JESTER-FINGERED CHARLATAN.
The road hit a small dip.
The wagon jolted.
Ducaz flipped backwards, landed on his hands, then pushed off into a neat little spin before settling right back on his crate without ever touching Blorbo.
Why? Why are you like this?
I have to make this happen. I need that Level 2 Appraisal.
He activated Adjustable Angle.
Blorbo tilted himself ever so slightly, praying that the next bump in the road would send Ducaz tumbling onto his surface.
A moment later, the wagon hit a rut.
Ducaz merely lifted his legs and balanced on the very edge of the crate like a smug, overgrown cat.
Blorbo seethed.
He leaned in again. Let’s see how you handle another one.
The road jostled them again.
Ducaz did a full handstand on the crate, before flipping down and landing in the exact same spot.
WHAT? Why didn’t you just sit on my face for once!
Rob glanced over his shoulder. “What are you even doing?”
“Practicing my balance,” Ducaz replied with an easy grin. “Can’t have the road throwing me off, now can I?”
Come on… Come on!
Blorbo tried one last desperate Adjustable Angle when a rock sent the wagon bouncing.
Ducaz bent with the movement, spun in midair, and—
A status table opened.
Target name
Tabby
Species
Domestic Menace
HP
160/160
STR
???
AGI
???
DEX
???
INT
???
END
???
PER
???
Passive Skills
Nine Lives, One Attitude – Minor injuries regenerate over time.
Feline Grace – Cannot be caught. Ever.
Owner’s (Specifically Lena) Favorite – Gains invulnerability when being watched by humans.
Wait. This isn’t Ducaz.
Atop Blorbo, completely unbothered, sat Tabby—legs spread, tail flicking lazily, licking its own butthole with the utmost indifference. Meanwhile, Ducaz had chosen, for reasons unknown, to perch himself on the very edge of the wagon’s side. One leg of his dangled, the other was bent in an acrobatic pose that seemed physically impossible to maintain for extended periods. He lounged backward, arms crossed behind his head, as if he were reclining in some invisible hammock rather than clinging to a moving vehicle.
The system promptly notified Blorbo of the important skill:
[Skill Identified: C-Rank Basic-Level “Feathered Perch”]
Utilizing subtle micro-adjustments of weight and center of gravity, the user maintains perfect balance on precarious surfaces, allowing for a casual stances even on moving vehicles. May or may not be entirely for showing off.
WHAT. HE HAS A BALANCING SKILL?! THIS MAN HAS A WHOLE DAMN SKILL JUST TO SIT LIKE A JACKASS.
“Stop stumbling around like a dazed drunk! Why didn’t you just sit on the table?” Anders grumbled.
“I was about to, but the cat was already there,” Ducaz said.
Blorbo internally shrieked. MOVE, YOU PEST! YOU INCOMPETENT FURRY GREMLIN! YOU WHISKERED INTERFERENCE!
But of course, the cat did no such thing. It simply kept licking its butthole.
2025-03-12 18:12:48 +0000 UTC View Post[I am a Table] Chapter 49
Blorbo sat idly inside the wagon, metaphorically slumped over in despair. The sounds from inside the hut were muffled by the thick wooden walls, leaving him with no entertainment whatsoever. No grushkins running around doing something stupid. No Ducaz trying to sell Anders a horse. Not even Lena loudly mispronouncing things and accidentally summoning divine candy-based abominations.
Just silence.
A stray breeze rustled through the trees, shifting the cloth covering the wagon just barely.
Blorbo stared.
The breeze stopped.
He continued staring.
A single leaf drifted down from a branch above. It twirled in the air before finally settling onto the ground.
Wow. Riveting.
Maybe if he stared hard enough, a quest might pop up.
A grushkin popped his head outside of the door.
Oh. Something interesting!
He looked around, then popped his head back in.
Never mind.
Surely this would be the most uninteresting day of his new life.
The space before him torn. A portal of darkness appeared.
What.
There was no dramatic thunderclap as an oval-shaped void of complete, perfect darkness yawned open, peeling the space apart like a sheet of paper.
From it, a figure leapt.
A robed man with a hood over his head.
The Four-Gloved Mage.
The same one who had subjected Lena to the most tedious financial torture Blorbo had ever witnessed.
What…
He landed in a crouch in front of the wagon, making no sound. The horse wasn’t even alarmed by his presence. Somehow, his robe still billowed in perfect ripples despite the complete lack of wind. His gloved hands gripped the edge of the fabric portal as it rapidly stitched itself shut, sealing the darkness away as if it had never been there.
The Mage remained poised for a moment, then gracefully stood upright, brushing nonexistent dust from his sleeves. “Ah! What a successful demonstration of ze silent void traversal,” he mused. Then he froze for exactly three seconds before turning his eyes to Blorbo. “It is hard catching you alone, you know. Zat A-ranked Mage had keen ears, so it was quite a hassle.”
Blorbo suddenly got the very distinct impression that the Mage was looking at him. Not just at him—through him.
I’m just a table. I swear. A completely normal, boring, definitely-not-sentient table.
“Ah! I am not to disturb ze natural progression of ze system user more than I already have.” He produced a quill from within his robes and began aggressively stabbing the air above Blorbo.
What did you just call me? A system user?
He KNOWS about the system?
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
With each jab, ink bloomed in the air like invisible parchment had been unfurled, forming a perfectly legible ledger of…
… Absolutely nothing. The words he wrote disappeared a blink after being formed.
How much do you know? Tell me!
“Ah, zut alors!” The Mage clicked his tongue, shaking the quill like one might shake a faulty pen. “Your system has been rather… inefficient at its task. We must give you an unfair advantage. Judgment Day is coming soon.”
Judgment Day?! Nah, man. I’m done. I don’t need to no more. I’m fine with being a normal, underachieving table—
“Ze finest system user shall rise against ze God-King of the Thousand Realms. It is a must.”
THE WHAT.
Ah, you harlot-buttock…
The Mage continued stabbing his quill at the air, scribbling things Blorbo couldn’t even pretend to read before they vanished. Every stroke felt like nothing, but also like reality itself was being rearranged.
Scratch. Scratch. Scratch.
“No, no, no,” the Mage muttered, clicking his tongue. “Zis will not do! If you are to rise against ze God-King, you must be prepared! You are far behind schedule.”
I DO NOT WANT TO BE PREPARED. I AM JUST A TABLE. GO PREPARE SOMEONE ELSE.
[NEW QUEST: Trial of Ascension]
Objective: Prove yourself worthy of system advancement.
Reward: ???
Failure: The system shall compensate accordingly. Won’t you, system?
Accept: YES / [NO]
Ah-ha! A NO option! Blorbo mentally slammed that sucker so hard his metaphorical fingers shattered.
[Error: Denial rejected.]
NO NO NO NO NO—
[System Override: Quest Accepted. The command has been manually overridden.]
“Oh, très magnifique!” The Mage clapped. “Ze process begins! Do not resist. It will only make ze pain worse.”
Before Blorbo could process his imminent suffering, a sudden crash echoed from inside the hut. Loud voices followed—Anders’ gruff barking, Lena’s startled yelp, something being knocked over.
The Mage paused, tilting his head. “Ah. It appears ze rabble are returning.”
YES. THAT’S RIGHT. PEOPLE. REGULAR, FUNCTIONING PEOPLE WHO CAN FOCUS ON LITERALLY ANYTHING ELSE BUT ME.
The Mage let out a prolonged shhhhh, then pressed a gloved thumb against Blorbo’s surface.
Blorbo stiffened. What are you doing what are you doing what are you doing—
A flood of information surged into him like a dam breaking. It wasn’t painful, but it wasn’t pleasant either. It was like being force-fed an entire encyclopedia in one bite.
[You have gained: Epic Level Passive Skill – Skill Appraisal of the Darkness Realm – Level 1]
WHAT.
[Skill Appraisal of the Darkness Realm – A passive ability that allows you to instinctively recognize any and all skills, spells, and abilities within your perception range, along with their Rarity and Approximate Rank. Warning: Knowledge overload is possible. Upgrades will increase your length and knowledge storage capacity.]
YOU CALL THIS A USEFUL SKILL?!
What was he supposed to do with this? Yell out “oh wow, that’s a rare spell you’re casting, Lena!” except—oh wait—HE HAD NO MOUTH?!
I still have yet to learn anything! Whatever you told me just gave me more questions!
The Mage, seemingly pleased, dusted his hands off and stepped back. “I am generous, no? You shall need zat skill, in time.”
The Mage exhaled. “Alas, our rendezvous must end.”
Without another word, he flicked his wrist. The void split open again—silent, seamless, swallowing up the space behind him like ink bleeding into paper.
With an elegant step backward, he vanished into the darkness.
The portal snapped shut. It was gone. Then the door to the hut slammed open.
2025-03-11 22:34:38 +0000 UTC View Post[I am a Table] Chapter 48
Sporchide let out a low, measured exhale and planted his spoon against the floor. “You fight well, wind-walker,” he again rumbled, but his voice was much more measured now. “If I fought harder, perhaps this hut would no longer be standing.”
Anders sniffed. “I’d say the same, but I have no reason to fight at full strength against an orc with a kitchenware obsession.”
Sporchide’s brow twitched, but he remained composed. “And yet, you acknowledge my strength. As do I acknowledge yours.”
Anders exclaimed, “A well-spoken orc! Haven’t seen too many of you lot.”
“Hey! Don’t talk about us like that!” one of the grushkins yelped.
Anders didn’t even glance at him. “You’re a grushkin, not an orc. You lot talk just fine. You’re just stupid.”
Sporchide’s grip tightened around his spoon. The planks beneath his feet groaned. For a second, Blorbo could’ve sworn he saw the Spoon Sage’s muscles coil like he was ready to lunge.
Lena shot forward, hands raised in a panic. “Wait, wait, wait! I’m sorry on my father’s behalf. We’re not here to pick a fight! We really do need your help!”
Rob nodded. “Please. We didn’t mean any offense.”
Sporchide’s dark eyes darted between them, then back to Anders, whose face remained as passive as ever. “He certainly meant offense.”
“He just misspoke!” Lena glared at Anders. “Dad! Let us do the talking.”
Anders groaned.
Why does this old man have to insist on making everything so difficult?
But damn does he fight well.
Rob told the spoon sage, “I am terribly sorry for the trouble we’ve caused, but we just need this one piece of information, and we’ll be on our way.”
After an agonizing pause, the orc finally let out a slow breath. “Very well,” he said. “Come inside. You came seeking knowledge, and knowledge you shall have.”
Anders scoffed. “Finally.” He turned to Lena and Rob. “Go untie the grushkins.”
Lena sighed, throwing a look at Rob before the two trudged back to the wagon.
Back at the wagon, Lena knelt down to loosen the bindings around one of the grushkins, while Rob worked on another. The creatures whined and grumbled about the rough treatment, but neither Rob nor Lena paid them much mind.
Ducaz, meanwhile, stood off to the side with his arms folded, watching with his usual smug amusement.
Lena huffed. “You know, you’re not contributing at all.”
Ducaz raised a brow. “I led you here, didn’t I? That’s enough contribution.”
Lena rolled her eyes but didn’t argue.
As she tugged at the last knot, she shot Ducaz a sidelong glance. “Hey, you said you studied under a Rogue, right?”
Ducaz smirked. “Not a rogue. A B-ranked rogue.”
“So you know about the magic system, don’t you?”
Blorbo’s non-existent ears picked up. Oho! Asking the right questions here!
Even the system seemed to agree, as a quest immediately showed up.
[NEW SIDEQUEST AVAILABLE: The Path to Influence (2)]
Objective: Learn about the Realm’s primary Magic System
Reward: +3 MP
Prerequisite: None
Failure: None
Accept: YES/NO
He accepted.
Ducaz’s smirk widened. “What do ya wanna know?”
“How can my dad be stealthy, control the winds, and make chains out of thin air at the same time?” Lena asked as she threw away the chain from one of the grushkins, and he immediately ran back to the hut. “Shouldn’t a mage only have one or a few affinities?”
Ducaz leaned back further against the wagon, gesturing dramatically with both hands. “Ah, Lena, Lena, Lena. You think magic is just about affinities? Like, oh, you’re born with Fire, so now all you do is grill sausages and throw fireballs? No, no, no! That’s peasant thinking. Magic is deeper. It’s woven into reality itself.”
Lena crossed her arms. “Then explain it, oh wise and all-knowing thief.”
Ducaz grinned. “Gladly! Magic is built on what we call the Pillars of Reality. They’re not elements. They’re fundamental forces that shape the world. The best mages don’t just use one—they mix and match to make reality bend to their will.”
“What do you mean?”
“Of course it does. I’m explaining it.” Ducaz cleared his throat and held up one hand, fingers splayed. “There are six main Pillars: Motion, Consumption, Structure, Exchange, Invocation, and Sentience.”
Lena squinted. “That sounds fake.”
Rob, who had been listening quietly, muttered, “Go on.”
Ducaz counted on his fingers. “Motion controls how things move. You ever see a mage jump three stories high or make an arrow curve in midair? That’s Motion.”
“Bingo! But that’s not all he’s doing.” Ducaz held up a second finger. “Then there’s Consumption—the magic of taking in, absorbing, repurposing. People like Lena, with her food magic? That’s Consumption.”
Lena gasped. “So my magic is about…reimagining what I eat?”
“More like turning what you eat into magic. A good Consumption Mage could gulp down a flame and breathe it back out as ice.” Ducaz flexed dramatically. “But me? I use Exchange!”
Lena raised a brow. “Exchange?”
“Yes! The magic of deals and trades!" Ducaz wiggled his fingers. "You give something, you get something. Magic runs on costs, and Exchange mages control what those costs are. Ever heard of a rogue vanishing from sight, only to appear behind you? They ‘pay’ their presence to gain stealth.”
Oh, you need to disappear, so you pay away your presence! How convenient!
Lena’s jaw dropped. “That’s—wait. Are you telling me my dad is using Exchange magic to trade something for stealth?”
Ducaz smirked. “Possibly. I don’t know how exactly your Dad does his magic, because it can be very creative depending on the style of magic they’re taught as well as the style they come up with. But then there’s Structure.” He held up four fingers. “The magic of building, reinforcing, reshaping. Why do you think that Spoon Sage can reinforce a wooden ladle until it hits like an iron club?”
“So my dad uses Structure to create chains?”
“You catch on quick!” Ducaz tapped his forehead. “You’re getting it now.”
Lena tapped her chin. “But he’s not using one magic type. He’s using three at once—Motion, Structure, and Exchange.”
“And that’s what makes him dangerous.” Ducaz spread his hands. “Most people only master one Pillar.”
Sure, okay. If this magic system is real, why was I reincarnated as a damn TABLE? Which pillar does this fall under?
Wait. There’s Sentience. You haven’t explained, you harlot-buttock!
Anders’ voice rang out from inside the hut. “What’s taking you so long? Finish it up and get back in here!”
Lena paused mid-step and glanced at Rob. “Do we bring the table?”
Blorbo nearly choked on nothing. Of course you should! I’m part of this damn family!
Rob nonchalantly replied, “Why should we?”
“Yeah. Let’s leave the table.”
Blorbo, still reeling, had bigger concerns. LIKE HOW THIS QUEST STILL HASN’T FINISHED.
Even Ducaz had left him behind and joined the two. As the group filed into the hut, he internally screamed, GIVE ME ANSWERS! WHAT DO INVOCATION AND SENTIENCE PILLARS DO?!
2025-03-11 08:36:27 +0000 UTC View Post