Dirty Rotten Magic

Journeying back to one of the human kingdoms in the north had taken a few weeks—a voyage marked by long, arduous days and restless, starlit nights. This speedy return required that I run from dawn to dusk, my legs powered by the stamina I had painstakingly built up over the last month. Every footfall echoed on the rough terrain as I dashed along winding paths, my breath a steady rhythm in the cool morning air.

For navigation, I relied on a weathered map that I had discovered at the citadel, its parchment edges softened by time and use. When I'd studied the map that depicted the sprawling orc empire and its neighboring kingdoms, the intricate lines seemed to leap off the page, and in that moment, my own map—the mystical book of life—was updated in a burst of shimmering script. After this profound knowledge transfer, whenever I consulted my book, I was heartened to see that the once vibrant colored line had been transformed into a precise black and white sketch, marking every step of my journey with an elegant simplicity. With each new mile, I noticed the magic at work: the colors gradually filled in the pages, a living record of my passage that made it impossible to get lost in this strange and ever-changing world.

At the end of the long trip, as the twilight deepened and the stars began to wink into existence, I paused to check my stats, happily discovering that my progress had been significant since my arrival in this mystical realm.

Skill Table Name Major Level XP to the next level XP Comment Unarmed combat Strength/Agility 10 1100 10 Any fighting without weapons

Blunt weapon use Strength/Agility 10 1100 200 Use of a blunt weapon in combat

Trading Charisma 1 200 50 Buying and selling items

Romantic Charisma 0 100 48 -

Running Strength/Agility 20 2100 22 -

Gambling Charisma 18 1900 34 Shield Magic Intelligence 22 2300 200 Any type of shield magic

Domestic Magic Intelligence 5 600 34 Useful for all type of work around the house

Fire magic Intelligence 24 2500 1200 Any heat energy magic

Blade weapon use Strength/Agility 25 2600 1789 Use of a blunt weapon in combat

Name: Chrix Top Skill Blade weapon use Character Total Level 25 Major Strength Fortitude Agility Number 11 11 11 Major Intelligence Charisma Knowledge Number 155 16 10 Minor Shield Magical Power Stamina Carry Limit Number N/A 785 65 32 Regen Sec N/A 32 2.1 N/A

Now that I had honed my combat skills with relentless determination, my primary goal as I neared the town of Highfields in the kingdom of Neo-Nursia was to acquire potent magical spells. I yearned to harness a spell capable of unleashing a devastating, arcane blast. Even though I had earned some proficiency with an ax, a glimmer of desperation still tugged at me—I craved the transformative power of magic. The thought of conjuring brilliant, swirling energies filled me with an effervescent joy, like watching a kaleidoscope of flame and light dance in the twilight. Alas, the spells I'd painstakingly learned from ancient tomes were only rudimentary; they served mostly for mundane tasks—igniting a modest fire or summoning a small, flickering flame to dispel the darkness. Yet, beneath that humble spark lay a fervent ambition: to one day command torrents of energy like the legendary magicians of old.

Despite endless hours of practice, the flickering spell I had mastered could only propel a diminutive flame about ten meters before fizzling into harmless sparks, capable only of drying out a piece of wood. Yet with dogged persistence, I continued to refine my technique until I could cast it instinctively, as effortlessly as drawing breath.

With my destination now in sight, a surge of excitement coursed through my veins. According to the map, I was only a few kilometers away from Highfields. The forest through which I traveled was an enchanting expanse—vast, compact, and strikingly young. Towering sequoia, graceful rowan, rugged hickory, and other stately trees intermingled with bursts of sunlight that pierced through the canopy, creating dappled patterns on the forest floor. The air was redolent with the rich, earthy aroma of damp soil and fresh foliage, while the delicate perfume of wildflowers and the musky scent of moss wove together a natural symphony of fragrance. Curving vines and climbing plants cascaded elegantly from branches, and a dazzling array of regional flowers added splashes of color and a heady, sweet aroma to the undergrowth. The forest was alive with sound—a cacophony of beastly roars from distant herds mingled with the soft, rhythmic croaks of frogs from nearby ponds, composing an organic chorus that set my heartbeat racing.

Rounding a clearing, I came upon a serene pond, its surface rippling under the gentle caress of the wind, echoing the persistent croaks that seemed almost musical in their cadence. Beyond the pond, the forest opened into a sprawling field where a herd of cows grazed lazily under the watchful gaze of a towering cliff. At the far edge of the field, a plateau rose dramatically, crowned by the stone-walled town of Highfields, its silhouette stark against the soft hues of the late afternoon sky.

I paused for a moment, my eyes drinking in the inviting sight of Highfields—a beacon of civilization that promised comfort and purpose. Judging by its scale, this town dwarfed Oakville, and I had chosen it as my pathway to the capital of Neo-Nursia.

Above the sturdy town walls, smoke meandered upward from numerous chimneys, blending with the clear sky. The day was brisk and windy, the gusts dispersing the haze and creating a fine, ethereal mist that clung to the plains below. Several prominent buildings peeked above the high stone walls, among them a formidable castle with looming towers that reached ambitiously toward the heavens. A well-trodden earthen rampart led to a massive iron gate at the base of the wall, its surface worn smooth by countless footsteps. The final stretch before the gate was marked by a lowered drawbridge over which people and creaking carts ascended and descended, their slow, deliberate pace punctuated by the steady march of a squad of vigilant guards.

As I sprinted across the open field, a few curious cows ambled over, their gentle eyes and soft lowing inviting me to share in their quiet world. For several blissful minutes, I stooped to stroke their velvety ears, eliciting murmurs of contentment that blended with the rustle of the wind. Soon, however, I was off again, bounding through the lush, dew-kissed grass toward the rampart. In my haste, the thick blades concealed hidden obstacles, and I found myself stepping into a cowpat—its earthy aroma a stark reminder that even nature has its imperfections. I quickly resolved to cleanse my feet before venturing into any of the town's buildings.

I surged past the steadily climbing figures on the earthen rampart, buoyed by the enhanced stamina I had gained during my time in the kingdom. The guards stationed at the gate scrutinized my rough but well-made trousers, plain shirt, and the trusty ax slung across my back. One sergeant, his voice low and gruff, muttered to his comrades, "Crazy tall adventurer," before waving me through into the town with an air of resigned amusement.

Perhaps it was the gentle ministrations of the friendly cows or simply my improved vigor, but I felt a strange ease as I passed beneath the grand stone gatehouse and entered the bustling market. The clamor of the market—a cacophony of shouting vendors and chattering townsfolk—clashed sharply with the serene silence of the forest, making my ears ring with the intensity of it all. For a brief moment, I stood rooted in place, feeling awkward amid the fervent energy, before joining the lively throng. I weaved through clusters of people buying and selling goods, their voices rising in passionate bursts as if every word was a vital declaration. Gradually, I found a clear path leading to the back of the market, and as I passed a grand fountain at the center, I was drawn to a small gathering of performers captivating a mesmerized crowd.

I halted at the outskirts of the circle, easily towering above the shorter onlookers, and noticed how my presence—now imposing in both stature and muscular build—attracted fascinated glances, especially from the women of the crowd. My time among the orcs had chiseled my muscles, giving me an imposing yet charismatic appearance, and I returned their admiring smiles with a nod and a warm grin, causing several of the younger women to blush in gentle reticence.

Suddenly, an explosive sound shattered the moment—a searing burst of sound accompanied by a dazzling hot yellow and red fireball that erupted from a man's mouth. It was a fire-breathing act, a performance I recognized from my past life, yet this time the flame lingered and danced in the air with an almost sentient quality, as if imbued with magic. The man's expression briefly flickered with a serpentine intensity before dissolving into a genial smile as the crowd erupted into applause.

In the wake of this vibrant display, another burly performer, his attire a riot of colors, announced with theatrical grandeur, "Good people, this is just a taste of what we have on offer. Tonight in this square, come and see our traveling troupe perform for you all." Of course, I surmised there would be an entrance fee. As I drifted away from the market square, the allure of the circus tempted my curiosity, but the imposing sight of the guild building in the adjacent square quickly reclaimed my focus—the promise of new spells was too potent to ignore.

I crossed into the tree-lined square, where the atmosphere was more subdued and the air held a quiet expectancy. Dominating the space was the stately stone guild building, its size dwarfing that of its counterpart in the previous town. Carved into its weathered wall was the guild's emblem, a symbol of knowledge and power, and a small set of steps led up to a large bronze door that stood invitingly open. Adventurers armed with a myriad of weapons bustled in and out, their determined faces hinting at tales of recent quests. I merged with this eclectic crowd, my presence slightly conspicuous despite my efforts to seem inconspicuous, drawing curious glances and furtive stares.

Inside the hall, shelves laden with quest parchments and illuminated by a blend of magical orbs and the limited sunlight filtering through tall windows caught my attention. Dust motes danced in the beams of light, and I paused before a large wooden table displaying a detailed map of the guild complex. Tracing the lines with my eyes, I quickly located the library in the attic. With my recently cleaned feet—scrubbed hastily with a simple cleansing spell after a pointed remark from a guild staff member—I ascended the stairs.

The library was a sanctuary of quiet scholarly pursuit: ancient books chained securely to sturdy shelves, massive wooden desks that bore the weight of centuries of wisdom, and in the far corner, a locked room whose secrets beckoned me with silent urgency. I hoped fervently that this secluded chamber housed the advanced magical tomes I so desperately sought. Clutching the coin that marked my dubious guild membership—a token issued under a false name yet still brimming with a certain monetary power—I approached the librarian at the counter.

Her presence was a welcome return to the familiar comforts of human civilization; a graceful, pretty woman who greeted me with a warm, knowing smile that lit up her gentle features. Gaining confidence from her welcoming demeanor, I declared, "I need to read some of the magical spell books." She nodded in understanding, accepting the coin as I passed it over.

As soon as her fingers touched the coin and moved it over a glimmering crystal on the bench, the crystal burst into life with ripples of magical energy that danced like liquid light before my very eyes. The librarian's eyes widened in astonishment, and then a resounding bell began to ring throughout the guild building. I glanced around to see every patron in the library pausing mid-action, their attention fixed on me.

Realizing that this sudden commotion portended trouble, I did the only thing that came instinctively: I ran. I bolted from the library with a burst of speed, the echo of my footfalls mingling with the shouts of alarm. I caught sight of three guards, their spears gleaming as they charged up the plush, carpeted stairs in hot pursuit. In that split second of adrenaline-fueled clarity, I shouted, "There is a monster in the library! Quick, it's got the librarian in its grasp!" The leading guard merely nodded in acknowledgment as they surged past, allowing me to leap three steps at a time down the stairs toward the guildhall exit. In my frantic escape, I collided with several potted plants, their shattered remnants scattering like broken dreams across the floor, but I managed to reach the lower level and burst through the guild's heavy doors into the open square, determined to vanish into the sprawling town.

Once outside, I heard the unmistakable clamor of pursuit—guards pouring from the door, their voices sharp and commanding. Harnessing the newfound power of my endurance and the raw surge of adrenaline, I sprinted down the first narrow alleyway. I raced past busy shops and into a long, bustling market street teeming with people. Dropping into a crouch to avoid detection, I pressed myself into the throng, the press of the crowd offering temporary refuge as I twisted through the labyrinthine city streets until I was certain that no one trailed my steps.

Finally, slowing to a cautious walking pace, I allowed myself a moment of self-reproach, silently kicking at the cobblestones as I pondered the recklessness of my actions. Of course, they would have flagged the fake identification I had used weeks ago; its trace was well-known among the guild's watchful eyes. For a while, I just wandered around the town, thinking.

--

I found that I was walking along a cobbled street under a sky dappled with late afternoon light, with servants bustling up and down the winding path on urgent errands. Their worried faces, etched with lines of fatigue and apprehension, evoked in me a deep thought: how easily one might be ensnared into a life of servitude, obeying somebody's every whim for a meager wage. The ancient stones beneath my feet echoed the quiet history of the city as the street led to another large open square. In that moment, my mind spun with schemes and plans—how I would acquire the elusive spells I so desperately needed. I certainly didn't want to be conned by the human government again, so it would be best to avoid joining the guild under my real identity, even if the temptation of structured power beckoned.

As I was pondering this predicament, my eyes roamed over the square. It was in the higher-class end of town, where majestic trees had been carefully planted amongst the cobbles, lending the space an almost enchanted garden-like atmosphere. The houses that lined the square's edges were large, stately structures built of heavy stone blocks, their facades worn by time yet dignified in their enduring strength. Along the periphery, numerous outdoor eateries bustled with life as well-dressed patrons lounged at tables, savoring the caress of pleasant sunshine and the gentle murmur of refined conversation. The people there were immaculately dressed in smart, tailor-made clothes that shimmered subtly with the assurance of wealth. This section of town exuded a refined, gentrified air—a place where people seemed to flaunt their prosperity with every confident stride and careful gesture.

The kind of people who are easy to swindle, I thought, their affluence a siren call to tricksters and con artists alike.

In the center of the square, a lively crowd had gathered, their murmurs and gasps creating a symphony of anticipation as they watched something unfolding before them. I wondered what spectacle could command such attention, and with a blend of curiosity and determination, I made my way over to take a look. To my surprise, I recognized the same troupe of colorful entertainers who had performed at the city entrance earlier that day. In the center of it all, the fire-breather was mid-performance, dazzling the onlookers with a fire trick that sent arcs of flame dancing into the air, accompanied by cheers and gasps that mingled with the crackling hiss of burning embers. Watching him, I wondered if behind that dazzling act lay the very fire spell I sought.

When he moved stealthily to the back of the group after his breathtaking display, I seized the opportunity to speak with him, my heart pounding with excitement at the possibility of unraveling his secret. I was chewing my lip with anticipation—surely, I mused, there must be more to his performance than mere natural talent.

Making my way around the back of the crowd, I managed to catch his eye and signal my desire to speak. He regarded me with a questioning look, the flicker of curiosity in his eyes evident beneath his painted mask of theatricality, before nodding in silent acquiescence. He weaved through the throng in his costume, a vibrant ensemble dominated by blazing red, accented with a swath of yellow cloth that billowed like living flames. As he passed, well-wishers reached out to shake his hand, their faces lit with genuine admiration for the seemingly impossible magic he wielded. With a confident smile and graceful charm, he greeted his fans as if he were both a master of performance and an enigmatic sorcerer.

"So, what do you want, tall man?" he asked with a friendly smile as he reached me. "If you want a job with the troupe, it looks as if you could. Your height would make you an attraction—especially for the women."

"Hmm, maybe," I replied noncommittally, my tone a careful balance of intrigue and reserve. "Could I offer you a drink? I have got a proposal for you."

"A drink sounds fine. I'm finished for now, and breathing fire is thirsty work," the man said with a sly grin, his eyes glistening as he licked his lips at the prospect of something cool and refreshing quenching his burning throat.

He then caught the eye of the man who'd earlier announced the evening's event, making a grand drinking gesture with his hand as he pointed at me. The announcer merely rolled his eyes and returned to the performance, leaving the two of us to our private conversation. The fire-breather pointed toward a large, inviting inn nestled in the corner of the square and observed in a merry chant, "That will meet our needs."

I nodded, following him to the entrance of the inn, where a modest garden burst with the vibrant scents of blooming flowers and freshly cut herbs, and where clusters of people enjoyed the warm caress of the sun on their faces.

Once we found a free table, a smartly dressed woman approached us, her tone polite yet cautious. "What can I get you, two gents?"

Her eyes flitted between us—unease evident at the sight of his garish, flamboyant costume and my own incongruous appearance, marked by my plain attire and bare feet that betrayed my less refined origins.

"The strongest alcohol you have," declared the fire-breather, his voice resonating with a hint of mischief. "He's paying, so make it large."

I offered a gentle nod and a small smile as I added, "Just a small beer for me, please."

The woman frowned slightly, insisting, "I need payment upfront."

I produced the strips of copper she required, their metallic glint catching the light, and she relaxed visibly, her expression softening as she headed inside with a tray balanced expertly in her arms.

"Townsfolk," the fire-breather mused with a bemused smile, his tone tinged with the weariness of experience. "They're happy to watch our entertainment, but they never trust us. This is the life of a traveling fire-breather."

"What can I do for you, good sir? You said you had a proposal," I prompted, trying to mirror the playful confidence that danced in his eyes.

I returned his smile, a subtle acknowledgment of the shared spark of mischief between us. I got straight to the point. "I would like to buy the fire magic spell from you."

"Would you, now? That's most interesting," he replied with a smirk, as though he had just uncovered a tantalizing puzzle. "What's stopping you from going to the guild?"

I regarded him confidently, the quiet determination in my eyes belying the uncertainty of my quest. "The guild and I are having a small disagreement at the moment. I'm looking into alternative sources of spells."

"Oh yes, and you've found that none of the shops in this town sell combat spells since the guild forbids it. So you came to me as it seems that I have a fire spell," he said with a slight nod. "I'm sorry that I'm going to have to disappoint you, but it's more of a natural ability than a spell, per se."

I struggled to conceal my disappointment, but he seemed to catch the fleeting shadow that crossed my features as he added, "Better luck next time, and I'm sorry I can't help you. You should come to the show tonight. It's rather good if I do say so myself."

With that, he downed the enormous drink before him in one massive gulp, as if it were water from a mountain stream. The aroma of potent alcohol, sharp and tangy, filled the air as he placed the tankard down. Rising lightly despite the volume he had just consumed, he waved goodbye and merged back into the departing entertainers. Nearby, glamorous women performed impromptu cartwheels, their exuberant cheers merging with the sounds of the departing performance—a spectacle clearly designed to please the masses.

For a few minutes, I sipped my beer, its modest bitterness grounding me as I mulled over his words. Then, with renewed determination, I set off down the street towards the nearest magic shop.

I was back in the square located at the entrance to the town. The entertainment troupe was about to put on their show, and the market that had filled the square earlier had been cleared away an hour ago—the market stalls having been swiftly rearranged to form a small wooden stage. The transformation had been executed with practiced precision and barely a murmur of resistance, as if it were a ritual performed daily.

Facing the stage, I sat on a hay bale alongside a diverse gathering of people, all waiting in hushed excitement for the show to begin. The air was alive with buzzing chatter and anticipation, a mix of voices from all walks of life—the rough-hewn accents of the common folk intermingling with the more refined tones of better-dressed craftsmen and women. Small children, their eyes wide with wonder, bounced excitedly, as if this show were a rare and magical treat—a welcome reminder of simpler, happier days before life had forced me to fend for myself.

To be happy and innocent and young again, I thought wistfully.

Despite the general excitement, I found myself tapping my feet in annoyance. The past few hours had been a fruitless quest, confirming that none of the magical stores in town carried battle magic spells. With each visit to shop after shop, the fire-breather's earlier comments echoed in my mind, a testament to the truth that one can rarely trust words until they are personally verified.

In a fit of exasperation, I had wandered around the imposing guild complex just before dusk, studying its formidable architecture as darkness began to fall. I had resolved then to make an unannounced visit to the library in the early hours of the morning. If obtaining the magic spells by conventional means proved futile, then a more unorthodox method—perhaps even a bit of cat burglary—seemed justified in my mind. I usually preferred to run a con rather than resort to direct confrontation, but sometimes physical intervention was the only path to success.

As a deep, rhythmic drum roll began, the troupe gathered onstage, their presence pulling my focus back to the imminent performance. Then, with surprising agility for his imposing size, the large man leaped onto the stage as if buoyed by a hidden lightness. Behind him, a cloth backdrop adorned with images of the acts I had witnessed earlier in the day recalled the nostalgic charm of open-air street theater shows. He bellowed to the expectant crowd in a resonant, baritone voice, "Welcome, one and all, to the wonderful and bizarre world of 'Troupe Wonderful Magnificent!' Tonight, we will entertain and amaze you with our great and spectacular talents."

For the next hour, I was completely absorbed in the dazzling display of varied talents on stage. Among the performers was a quartet of orcs whose astounding feats of strength were as mesmerizing as they were intimidating. Their raw power and rugged presence both amazed and unsettled the audience; I noted with a twinge of melancholy how some children shrank behind their parents during their performance. Having spent considerable time among orcs, I couldn't help but observe that these particular men seemed to lack the vibrant spirit I had once come to expect from their kind—almost as if they had lost a part of their very soul.

The show concluded with a grand finale by the fire-breather. The entire audience instinctively ducked as a sweeping wave of yellow-red fire blasted overhead, the searing heat mingling with the aroma of burning wood and sulfur. From my limited understanding of fire-breathing, it was evident that his act defied human possibility, reinforcing my resolve to extract the secret behind his seemingly magical performance. In this world of arcane wonders, surely he must be channeling a true spell, I thought.

Once the show ended, the performers roamed the square with bowls, collecting money from a grateful audience still reeling from the spectacle. Their costumes, vivid and dramatic, continued to captivate onlookers. People, smiling and generous, dropped a few copper strips—mere fractions of a copper coin—into the bowls. Seizing my chance, I navigated through the dispersing crowd to intercept the fire-breather. I found him entertaining a group of small children, drawing delicate smoke rings from his mouth that floated upward, shimmering briefly in the fading light before dissolving into the darkening sky. When the giggling family moved on, I approached him with a flourish, using one of my subtle magical tricks from Earth to catch his attention. In a deft motion, I extracted five copper coins from his ear and placed them into his battered wooden collection bowl. I wondered silently whether he was more amazed by the trick or by the unexpected bounty.

Before he could leave, I asked, "Can I buy you another drink?"

"Of course, I'm always up for someone else buying," he replied with a smooth smile. "Let me just finish the collection, and we can go to the inn on the corner."

I nodded as he concluded his collection, his light-hearted, entertaining manner continuing to endear him to the crowd. As I looked around, I noticed that all of the others in the troupe, with the sole exception of the stoic orcs, were engaging in similar exchanges. One particularly well-dressed woman, clearly adept at using her allure to captivate male onlookers, drew my attention with her graceful movements and knowing smiles.

I watched the troupe with quiet admiration. They ran a well-oiled operation, their friendly demeanor earning them the highest possible gratuities from an appreciative audience—a situation in which both performer and patron benefitted from the shared magic of the moment.

Eventually, as the collection ended, the fire-breather walked over to me with a grin. "Now for that promised drink. Shall we go?"

"After you," I said, offering a respectful nod.

We quickly crossed the now-empty square and entered a large inn, already abuzz with satisfied customers recounting the night's brilliant performance. As we stepped inside, the room's lively chatter mingled with occasional bursts of laughter and the clink of coins. I noted with some self-conscious amusement that a few women cast flirtatious glances in the fire-breather's direction; our odd pairing—my tall, somewhat out-of-place figure beside his colorful, flamboyant costume—naturally attracted curious stares from the inn's patrons.

The common room, with its high vaulted ceiling crafted from exposed wooden beams beneath a thatched roof, exuded a calm, refined atmosphere quite distinct from the rowdier establishments I had frequented before. Guests clustered around sturdy tables, savoring meals or sipping from large tankards, while a lone lute player in the corner filled the space with soulful local folk songs. His rich, resonant voice and the gentle strum of his instrument created a soothing backdrop, a comforting auditory tapestry that made one wonder if the people of this world truly cherished even the simplest forms of entertainment.

True to the nature of inns, I soon discovered a discreet corner where patrons engaged in gambling. Several heavy wooden tables, adorned with subtle magical symbols that thwarted any arcane interference, hosted games of chance. The soft clicking of tokens and hushed exclamations blended with the overall ambience of the room.

"Let's play a few games while we get some drinks," I said to the fire-breather with a wry smile.

"I'm not the best at gambling, and I'd rather not lose all my money to you," he replied with a chuckle that hinted at both self-awareness and playful competitiveness.

"Don't worry. You only have to pay if you want to. Maybe I can show you a few techniques on how to win."

He nodded at my offer, his eyes twinkling with anticipation. "Winning sounds good."

We found two empty spaces at a game table—a table I was well acquainted with from previous nights of high stakes and even higher spirits. I spread out a large pile of copper coins onto the table; the gleaming coins caught the light and seemed to promise fortune. The dealer, with a practiced smile, began to distribute tokens amongst the players, and thus our battle of wits commenced.

Sometime during the first round, a courteous server approached with a polite smile and asked, "What do you two handsome gents want to drink?"

"I'll have a tankard of your ale, and my friend... sorry, what's your name?" I inquired.

"Xaset," he replied with an eager smile. "I'll have the cheapest and strongest alcohol you've got and lots of it, too."

The server laughed and said, "Are you sure? It's pretty strong and tastes horrendous. You might find yourself under the table pretty soon!"

"Sounds like exactly what I want," said Xaset, his smile radiating the same charm that had so effortlessly won over the crowd earlier.

"You seem to have a fan there," I observed with a nod.

"All just part of my natural charm. Anyway, you were going to show me how to play this game," the entertainer declared with a spark of excitement, licking his lips as if savoring the anticipation of victory.

For the next hour, I endeavored to teach him the subtleties of gambling. It soon became apparent that he possessed the antithesis of a poker face; his exuberant expressions gave away every flicker of emotion, much to the amusement of the other players, who exchanged knowing glances and suppressed laughter at his unabashed displays. At one point, I nearly reached over to tap him on the shoulder when his grin revealed an especially good hand.

During a brief intermission—while a pretty server, still flirtatious from her earlier encounter, delivered another round of drinks—I leaned over and murmured in his ear, "You weren't kidding when you said that you couldn't gamble."

"No, I certainly was not," he admitted with a rueful smile.

"If you're going to improve, it's going to take a lot more practice. So, if you don't want to lose all your money tonight, it's best if you stop now. I'll continue to play and split the earnings with you if you give me the spell," I said, nodding toward the steadily growing pile of coins.

He hesitated for a moment, his eyes gleaming at the prospect of wealth, then licked his lips and said, "You can have all the spells I have."

Energized by the promise of both magic and profit, I redoubled my efforts at the table, hoping to force a swift loss upon my competitors so I could claim the spell. As I deftly worked the table, I noticed that Xaset had shifted his attention to an empty table nearby. With his effortless charm, he persuaded a flirtatious server to join him, her giggles punctuating the soft murmur of conversation. I glanced over occasionally, watching him regale his new companion with animated tales of life in a performance troupe. By night's end, they were seated so intimately that she practically nestled into his lap. When I finally tallied my winnings, I found myself ahead by about two hundred copper coins.

Approaching the couple with a sense of finality, I laid down a neat pile of one hundred copper coins and said, "Here is your half."

Xaset smiled down at the money and, with a playful glance at the woman beside him, remarked, "Would you excuse me for a while? I need to talk to my friend here."

She responded with a sweet smile and a quick kiss, then departed, leaving behind a single copper coin she had pilfered with a cheeky smile. After her departure, he mused, "It's a great talent to be so handsome and charming all at once."

"But terrible at gambling," I teased.

"There is that, but I guess you could teach me."

"Like you can teach me your fire magic," I countered, the excitement in my voice rising to a near-desperation as I clung to the hope of unlocking the secret spell.

For a fleeting moment, his face fell, and he said, "About that. As I said, it's more of a natural talent than any magic that you can use."

My cheeks burned with embarrassment and frustration—I felt utterly duped, and I was about to unleash a torrent of harsh words upon this charming trickster. Before I could, however, he interjected, "As a demonstration of good faith, I will help you get the spell you need from the guild in exchange for my cut of the money."

"You're up for a bit of breaking and entering?" I asked bluntly, my tone laced with both incredulity and a hint of admiration.

"Sounds like just the fun I need to finish off a good day," he replied with an impish glint in his eyes.

"I hope that it won't be your first gig."

He shook his head slowly, his expression turning reflective for a moment as he admitted, "The townsfolk normally have a good reason for not trusting us traveling performers. We often use some of our skills for other… revenue streams."

--

The stars were shining in the clear night sky as if the dark cover of the celestial curtain had been pierced by a thousand glistening needles, each one scattering its own tale of ancient light. The heavens, set ablaze with a cosmic symphony of twinkles, bathed the world below in an ethereal glow—a light that rendered the nocturnal landscape almost perfect for our clandestine activities. Having lived my life in this raw, untamed world, I had grown to appreciate how the absence of electric glare unveiled the majesty of the cosmos, a stark contrast to the suffocating, neon haze of the polluted city where only the garish lamplight reigned.

Around me, the barely audible rustling of my clothes in the soft, nocturnal breeze merged with the cool, damp scent of dew-soaked earth and wild flora. It was early in the morning; the bustling clamor of the town had long since faded into a whisper. In the distance, a deep, resonant roar from the forest reminded me that the wilderness was alive with a dangerous, untamed spirit, its echo mingling with the earthy aroma of moss and decaying leaves. I guessed it was around 3 a.m., though in this world, time was as fluid as the shifting shadows, measured not by clocks but by the cadence of nature.

Xaset, the fire-breather, moved behind me as silently as a ghost, his presence as deliberate as a practiced dancer in the midnight ballet. His attire, now muted and inconspicuous compared to his previous flamboyance, whispered secrets of countless moonlit escapades. I had wondered how useful his offer to join this "nighttime adventure" would be, and watching him now, every measured step and deliberate motion confirmed that his experience in nocturnal prowling was both profound and reassuring.

We crept through the town, our forms melding with the deep, velvety shadows to elude the keen eyes of the sporadic night-watchmen. Those sentinels of the dark, identifiable by their long, swinging lamps that cast trembling pools of light upon the cobbled streets, ambled by as if heralding their own presence to ward off any hint of mischief—a necessary practice in a world where everyday life was interwoven with the clamor of weaponry and guarded secrets.

Our journey led us to the rear of the guild complex, through a narrow, malodorous back alley where the stench of rotting refuse and stale sweat mingled with the pungent odor of spilled ale. Every careful step was a ballet of avoidance: sidestepping over heaps of discarded garbage and evading the drooling forms of drunks, expelled from nearby inns hours ago. Their slumber, punctuated by the occasional discordant snore, lay on grimy pavement, their faces smeared with the evidence of excess, while a few lay contorted in the alley's dim light.

As we passed one such slumbering figure—a man robbed of his boots, lying with bare, cold feet on the grimy ground—I shook my head in quiet disapproval. I pictured the morning's bitter surprise when he discovered his missing possessions, and wondered, with a trace of pity, how someone so lost in inebriation would allow himself to be so vulnerable. Life, as I knew it, had already handed me enough hardships without the added misfortune of foolish vulnerability.

Redirecting my focus back to our nocturnal quest, we continued in near-silent stride. Along a decrepit brick wall, worn smooth by the passage of countless days and dampened by persistent humidity, we discovered a wooden gate that I had earlier identified as a quiet, secret entrance to the guild complex's rear. The door's wood was slightly warped, bearing the scars of relentless exposure to wind and rain. A chunky iron lock, now partially concealed beneath entangled vines and brittle leaves, awaited our attention. I brushed aside the green tendrils, their earthy scent mingling with that of damp wood, and knelt to examine the lock by the flickering light of my modest spell.

"You better not use magic to unlock the door," Xaset whispered in my ear, his voice soft yet edged with caution as he scrutinized the archaic wards etched into the lock. "It looks to be warded, like everything to do with the guild."

I nodded silently, reaching into my inventory to extract several slender pieces of metal. These crafted metal rods, carefully fashioned throughout the evening by bending and twisting them into intricate shapes, were a testament to my survival and my keen eye for opportunity. Over the years of living on my own, I had honed the art of lock picking—a skill that not only provided access to vital necessities but also served as a subtle nod to my past, where even a simple magic trick on Earth could captivate an audience.

With deft, practiced movements, I manipulated the locking mechanism. The soft, satisfying click of the mechanism echoed in the stillness, affirming my belief: in this world, over-reliance on magic left vulnerabilities that the resourceful could exploit. Xaset's nod of approval, though barely visible in the dim light, was a silent commendation of my modest display of skill.

Before us, the door was smeared with a fine layer of dust and grime, the relic of its long abandonment. As we pushed aside the dirt and entered, the faint brush of cobwebs against my face was accompanied by a musty, lingering scent of decay and forgotten memories. Inside, the storage shed was cloaked in shadow, its interior barely illuminated by thin shafts of starlight filtering through broken shutters in the opposite wall. The darkness cradled vague, indistinct shapes—boxes and barrels that lay in silent testimony to a forgotten purpose.

Moving slowly and cautiously with Xaset trailing behind, I navigated the uneven floor, my bare feet feeling out the contours of the space to avoid unexpected obstacles. Every step was a tactile conversation with the cold, rough surface until I reached a door that, unlike the others, was unlocked and invitingly open. It led to a training courtyard, an open space where practice dummies, worn with years of use, and a sandy central yard spoke of rigorous discipline and silent endurance.

What struck me as odd was the sight of several dozen bodies slumbering under the thatched huts that dotted the training yard. This modest accommodation, a budget haven for guild members who could not afford a proper inn, was a hive of quiet desperation. Tattered blankets were haphazardly arranged next to weathered packs, their owners clutching onto their few belongings as they succumbed to sleep. The only interruption in the stillness was the deep, rhythmic snoring—a reminder that even in a community forged of hardship, human vulnerability echoed in every breath.

I resolved to proceed boldly, to cast aside the shadows of stealth and stride confidently through the courtyard in full view of the sleeping forms. As I passed them, my senses were assaulted by the mingling scents of sweat, damp straw, and the faint, lingering odor of tobacco from a nearby pipe. I headed toward the courtyard exit, where, near a crude shower block fitted with primitive toilets, I noticed a man relieving himself in a grimy gutter. Draped in a rough, threadbare blanket for warmth, he fumbled with his aim, the errant spray of urine landing far from the gutter in a display of drunken inaccuracy. I approached quietly and mimicked his action, my own relief punctuating the otherwise silent night. He only glanced at me with blurry eyes, then shuffled back to his slumbering spot as if unwilling to disturb the fragile cocoon of his sleep.

"Are you finished?" Xaset's whispered inquiry broke the lull, his words edged with mirth as his white teeth glistened in the starlight. "Just one second," I replied, my voice barely audible over the ambient night sounds.

After a moment's pause, I rejoined him, our movements synchronized in a silent understanding, and together we moved toward the yard's exit that opened into another exercise space behind the main guild building. In the dim archway between the two courtyards, I halted to reorient myself towards the towering library at the building's pinnacle. I scanned the route I had earlier identified from the compound's exterior, confirming that the attic window of the library, broad enough to accommodate a daring climb, remained accessible.

Gesturing silently for Xaset to follow, we slipped along the building's shadowed perimeter until we reached the first wall in our ascent. Here, I crouched with my back against the hard, cool stone, cupping my hands to offer Xaset a sturdy foothold. With a concentrated effort, he pressed his foot into my supportive hands, and I propelled him upward. His agile form clutched the roof with the surety of a seasoned climber, and with a few swift steps backward, I leapt upward, seizing his outstretched hands. In a seamless, gravity-defying maneuver, he hoisted me onto the thatched roof, and together we traversed the expanse to the main building's intersection. Though the life of a cat burglar was not my natural calling, my honed physique and the thrill of the challenge lent me an invigorating confidence in this strange world.

I silently prayed that I would not fall, for the thought of pain, both physical and bruising to my pride, was too dreadful to entertain. With the rough, time-worn stone blocks of the guild building as our allies, we scaled three stories high. The final stretch, a test of dexterity and strength as we swung and lifted our bodies toward the tiled roof, was executed with cautious precision. Once atop the roof, we slowly crept toward one of the library's attic windows. In the soft silver glow of starlight, I caught a glimpse of Xaset's face, lit by a smile as wide and joyous as that of a child in a candy store—a glimpse that confirmed he was reveling in this nocturnal adventure, his eyes alight with mischief and delight.

After a few tense minutes spent fumbling with the antiquated locking mechanism of the window, I finally managed to coax it open. With careful grace, we slid into the expansive library room. The window had opened onto a modest reading nook, complete with a solitary seat by the sill that was easily navigable in the dark. A quiet thrill of excitement coursed through me as I stepped into the library, where the only illumination was the gentle starlight filtering through the window. In that silver glow, I made out the imposing, locked doorway guarding the treasury of magical books. Moving with deliberate, silent steps in a half-crouched stance, I soon confronted the heavy lock embedded in the steel-barred gate.

With Xaset vigilantly keeping watch, I set to work picking the lock. After several minutes of fruitless attempts, I leaned in and whispered, "This is no good. I can't open it!"

Drawing near, Xaset crouched beside me, his face bathed in the cool light as he studied the lock intently. In a moment of concentrated focus, his eyes flashed a fierce red, reminiscent of a predatory feline, and from his lips emerged a small, controlled flame—a flame that flickered first in a humble yellow before intensifying to a brilliant blue and then an almost blinding white. The heat radiated from him, mingling with the cool night air, and I instinctively shielded my eyes and face with my body to obscure the incendiary glow from the passersby outside.

In a matter of seconds, the white flame danced along the lock like a masterful welding torch, slicing through the metal with precision until, with a resounding clang, the melted lock dropped to the floor. Xaset, grinning in quiet triumph, pushed the door open with an exuberance that belied the danger of our nocturnal exploits.

"Why don't you just sell me that spell?" I grumbled as I stepped through the doorway, my tone laced with both jest and exasperation. "We wouldn't need to go through this whole creeping-about process."

"As I said, it's a gift more than magic," he murmured, his voice low and secretive, "but anyway, I'm having fun tonight."

"Yeah, this is such a barrel of laughs. I can't contain the laughter," I muttered, a wry smile tugging at the corners of my lips as I began to survey the chained books on the shelves. Only two shelves flanked me, and a closer inspection of the timeworn wood revealed intricate rune marks, their mysterious symbols carved meticulously along the edges.

I heard Xaset remark from behind me, "Damn, they've got protection runes on the shelves."

"What do you mean?" I inquired, turning with a mix of curiosity and apprehension.

"If you place your hand in to pick up a book, that's it. You will not be able to pull it out—you'll be stuck until morning when they come and open up the library," he explained with a frown, his tone as grave as the silent weight of the enchanted runes.

Damn, I thought, this is all I need.

The magical books lay tantalizingly close, their secrets hidden behind an impenetrable barrier that flared to life at the slightest touch. All I needed was that single contact, the one spark of magical energy that would unleash the 'Gather Knowledge' spell and transfer the treasured lore into the pages of my book of life.

Determined, I scrutinized the collection for several tense minutes, the soft rustle of pages and the subtle crackle of ancient magic filling the quiet space. Amid the myriad volumes, I found the one I sought—a dark red leather-bound tome adorned with a scale-like texture reminiscent of lizard skin, its spine boldly proclaiming the title 'Flaming Battle Magical Spells.' The sight of it stoked the fires of my determination even further, despite knowing the inevitable pain that might come with its acquisition.

"Does the spell just lock your hand into position?" I asked, turning to Xaset, who remained on lookout with his vigilant eyes fixed on the dim corridors beyond.

"Surely that's enough, as you won't be going anywhere without your hand," he replied with a half-smile.

"OK, I've got a plan," I declared, retrieving my well-worn war ax from my inventory—a blade heavy with memories of past battles and honed through countless trials. I handed it to him, saying, "Just do what I say, and it will be okay."

"Sure. It's your life at stake," he countered with a soft chuckle.

Standing on the creaking wooden floor, I fixed my gaze upon the spellbook and summoned my focus. I knew I had to be swift; there was no room for hesitation. With squared shoulders and a determined breath, I began to cast the simple 'Gather Knowledge' spell. At the precise moment when a wave of vibrant energy surged to the tip of my index finger, I thrust my hand toward the coveted book.

My hand passed through the shimmering barrier of magical runes, their flash of iridescence mingling with the cold blue glow of the emerging shield. As the magical blue shield materialized before the bookshelves, I felt an immediate, palpable resistance against my movement. Yet, by a narrow margin, my fingertip managed to graze the spine of the book just as the spell took full effect.

Now, with my hand eerily frozen in position within the pulsating shield of energy, I could only hope that the spell had woven its intended magic. I quickly checked the enchanted pages of my book of life. To my immense delight, the plan had borne fruit—the text of the desired book was now mine. A smile of triumph spread across my face as I browsed the newly acquired knowledge, marveling at the intricate details of the spells recorded within. A spontaneous urge to celebrate bubbled within me, though I promptly stifled it, aware of the peril that was yet to unfold.

"That was useless," Xaset remarked with a shake of his head, his tone laced with amused exasperation. "All you've gone and done is get stuck."

Now for the hard part, I mused. "Chop off my hand, would you? Try to make it quick and clean as well," I said with a wry grin, my voice a blend of irony and grim acceptance.

His eyes widened in momentary shock, and he hesitated as if on the brink of protest. But when I fixed him with an intense stare, he wordlessly swung his ax in a swift, practiced arc. The blade cut through the air—and then, with a decisive, searing stroke, it sliced cleanly through my exposed arm, mere inches from the magical blue shield.

A sharp, burning pain flared as the severed limb throbbed with a fury of heat, and I bit my tongue to stifle a cry. I sank briefly to the floor, blood soaking from the stump, each drop pulsating on the cold surface beneath me. My blood spattered in a macabre pattern, and for a heart-stopping moment, I watched in disbelief as my severed hand tumbled free from the protective blue glow, thudding onto the floor before it began to creep toward me as if imbued with a sinister, independent will. The sight was horrifying enough to send a chill racing down my spine, yet I couldn't help but wonder what Xaset must be thinking—his expression a mixture of shock and reluctant inevitability.

I carefully positioned my wounded arm next to the drifting hand, feeling a strange, almost natural pull as the severed piece settled against the stump. After a long, agonizing minute, the burning pain eased, and I sensed the magic knitting the wound closed with silent, determined speed.

Xaset's face, illuminated by the residual starlight, bore a look of utter shock and reluctant relief. He muttered, "I hope you're not going to do that again tonight."

"No. Once is enough for me," I replied, a wry smile tugging at my lips as I slowly raised my now perfectly mended hand for him to see. His eyes, wide with disbelief yet sparkling with a curious blend of admiration and worry, shifted uncomfortably as different emotions played across his features. He began to speak—"V..." then paused, turning away as if the weight of our deed was too great to bear in words.

Finally, passing me my bloodied ax with a solemn nod, he said, "Time to get out of here, I think. They're going to have a lot of questions about the blood and the broken lock tomorrow."