Wiererid
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A Real Human Being: Chapter 11
🕑 Added 2025-08-06 14:11:36 +0000 UTCAuthor Note: So, I remember I promised a cool and dynamic chapter? Turned out that will be the next one. When I started writing out this chapter, before I realized it, it turned out I had to write out some more mundane stuff, to properly wrap up everything in the Sturmkamm Valley. When I was done writing everything I felt I had to write, the chapter already was big enough that there was no point trying to squeeze in that cool stuff I originally wanted. Said cool stuff will be the next chapter, this time for sure.
It was a bit exhausting writing this chapter. Mostly because Grammarly, the app I use to correct my spelling, was dead in Google Docs in Firefox for 3 days, and I had to interrupt my writing a few times and come back to it, which I felt messed my pacing up.
I still hope you enjoy this chapter, I'll try to whip out the next one ASAP. Probably won't take me over a week.
Thanks again for all your support guys. I really can't oversaturate how much I appreciate it, and how much enthusiasm it's give me.
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***
The more spells you master, the easier it is to learn new spells.
It’s a matter of transferable skills. Every spell was created by someone, and never in a vacuum. When a mage created a new spell, he took whatever he could from the works of other mages first, before filling in the blanks with his creations. The age-old principle of ‘if it’s not broken - don’t fix it’ very much applies to spell creation. If someone has already made a functioning solution, just use that.
Of course, mages in this era, since the fall of the Empire, don’t have access to some central hub of knowledge; the mage could only use whatever grimoires, knowledge, and advice he could get wherever he lives at the time.
That inevitably leads to many similar elements popping up within spells that originated from the same general region.
Obviously, if you pick a hundred random spells in the world, no matter the region, you will get to see similar transformations. Transformations, at their cores, are very basic mana manipulation; they are all about simply giving magical energy a tangible property. Making mana ‘hot’, ‘cold’, ‘stretchy’, and so on, instead of just letting it stay ‘mana’. Usually, that does not produce any visible effects on the world by itself.
Generally, many spells could share familiar or similar weaves. Weaves, as the name implies, are a few transformations woven together to produce a more complex effect. For example, you can create a few sparks of fire with a weave. Obviously, there are countless ways to create a weave that will end up producing flames, so at that stage, if you study a new spell and see familiar weaves in it, you can often see where the mage got inspired from.
Then there were templates. Spells sharing templates, back in the accursed time of the 21st century, would’ve likely been grounds for a copyright lawsuit. That’s because templates were a spell in miniature; there is almost no way you would accidentally reproduce someone else’s template. For example, in Aschewind, one single template was responsible for creating the actual flaming projectile and aiming it, and the second template was responsible for creating the lingering and sustained flames that hover in an area afterwards. I can cast only the first template of Aschewind, and functionally use it as a weak exploding fireball.
A single template could also contain dozens of weaves, with hundreds of subtly different mana transformations in total.
So, as you learn more spells, you inevitably learn to cast certain weaves and templates. And because being original is harder than copying someone else’ proven work, you oftentimes find those weaves you already know, and sometimes entire transformations in the new spells you acquire.
‘The more spells you master, the easier it is to learn new spells.’ - isn’t true just because you are getting better at learning, though, partially, that’s a factor too. No, in truth, you are getting exponentially faster at mastering spells because you tend to already know exactly how to cast a part of the spell you are attempting to use. So you have to learn less each time.
For human mages, it helps, but it isn’t anything extraordinary. Humans only have so many years to live and study, so they can master only so many spells. This just helps them study a bit faster if they are smart about their spell selection. But for elves, or for me?
This was an avenue to master new spells in a hilariously short time.
I am nowhere near close to a point where the new spells I add to my repertoire have enough familiar elements for me to master them quickly. It still can take months of practice to use combat spells without accidental misscasts and with sufficient speed and precision. But I imagine someone like Frieren and especially someone like Serie could learn a new combat spell in the afternoon, and use it masterfully the following morning.
One may ask, why even bother learning so many combat spells, and the answer is quite depressing; it’s because variety helps.
The issue is that magic almost always seemed to have some sort of trade-off. Every combat or utility spell I found so far is specialised. It’s an inevitable design limitation.
If you make a fireball spell, you are limited by how fast you can cast it and how much mana it consumes. So you can only add so many weaves in your templates, and create only so many templates; otherwise, you will run into a problem when your combat spell just isn’t realistic to use in a combat scenario. It may be because it eats too much mana, or because it’s too slow to shape, or simply too complex. Sometimes all three.
So you have to choose, are you trying to improve on its homing properties, give it penetration power, give it a lingering effect, make it explode, and deal damage to an area?
When creating a spell, the mage either makes it do a little bit of everything, and so it excels at nothing, or he focuses on a few key characteristics, forsaking everything else. Otherwise, the spell inevitably becomes unusable for one of the aforementioned reasons of bloated design.
Then there are folk spells, which can have any bizarre but ridiculous effects. Folk magic, in general, isn’t designed to be used in combat, so the mages developing those spells can allow themselves to be creative. Weaving ridiculously complex and outlandish template combinations to produce absurd specialised or very versatile generalised effects.
The average combat spell has 2 to 3 templates. The average folk spell can have up to ten.
That’s because you aren’t expected to use folk spells under pressure, and you don’t need to be able to fire them off in a split second with ‘muscle memory’ alone, while stressed, wounded, or exhausted. You can take your time, entire minutes, shaping and powering them. There is also the issue of mana over-saturation in combat spells. If you saturate the templates with mana too quickly, the templates can burst, not unlike pipes if you pump water through them at high pressure, and that’s a big issue because combat spells must be cast quickly. You can somewhat mitigate it with strict mana control, but only to a point. This is why it’s unfeasible to put ‘more mana in a fireball spell for the fireball to get bigger’, you are very much limited by the spell’s design and many subtle nuances. Some spells can actually take additional mana if you take your time, some are designed in such a way that you can’t ‘overcast’ them at all, it’s all quite intricate, and it depends highly on the spell in question.
However, folk spells, if designed right, tend to avoid this issue, for understandable reasons. Their creators don’t chase spellcasting speed and efficiency, so you generally can take your time powering them, and you can power them to be really strong. The trade-off is that you generally can’t cast them as quickly, even if you really need to.
That’s excluding the very pinnacles of magic, like Frieren herself.
However, this is where it gets interesting. The bizarre part is that nothing stops folk spells and combat spells from sharing some common elements! It’s just that one spell is designed and optimised for combat, while the other isn’t, but mages still borrow elements from any spell they can find when creating their own works!
It’s for that reason that I spent a lot of my savings and time acquiring any grimoires I could find and mastering them. I even became a patron of a few merchants in Sturmkamm Town, ordering new grimoires yet unknown to me, combat spells, and folk spells alike, and delivering them here after they make their rounds to wherever they travel.
As a demon, I could tinker with spells much more effectively than an average mage. I instinctively knew where certain magical manipulations would lead. Where a human mage can spend years scratching his head trying to create a solution while constructing a spell, I can come across one within a week. Unlike a human who did proper research, I may not even understand exactly why my solution will work, but it generally will.
I am not talking about combat spells; those didn’t interest me this much, and I never found a pressing need to dedicate my personal time to coming up with more effective ways to kill. The spells humanity created and I studied were good enough to serve my purposes; there was no need to dedicate myself to trying to ‘improve them’. I wasn’t even sure if I could.
No, I was interested in the building blocks of human magic. Any human magic. Proven solutions with known effects. The more of those I learned and catalogued, the easier it was to create my own, small magical solutions; probing, diagnostic, scanning, and other spells that aided in my research.
It helped with Resonant Soul development, too, I suppose. But working on my curse was more of a guilty pleasure than a necessity. Resonant Soul was already good enough for everyone I needed it for, but developing it felt… satisfying. Pushing it further felt instinctive and went much smoother than trying to wrap my head around centuries of designs made up by humans; it was just so much easier to wrap Resonant Soul into variations and different configurations for multiple situations.
No wonder demons tended to focus on their spell alone and pushing it beyond all limits, it was easier, and I was sure more effective, if your only goal was killing efficiency.
As I wrote in my journal, trying to come up with new ways to improve my unnamed probing spell, the one I used to influence the core of monsters I vivisected, I couldn’t help but dwell on that fact.
It was harder and harder to find new spells to buy. Even the merchants to whom I paid to bring new and obscure spells had less and less to offer me as years passed by.
Eventually, I will reach the same point as Frieren, when the only new spells I would be able to acquire would be the spells I accidentally stumble upon in obscure family libraries or ancient ruins.
This day was far in the future for now. After all, I only glimpsed into the abyss of magic in Central Lands. Northern Lands, as proven by my ‘pen pal’, seemed to have their own share of unique spells.
I froze.
My mana sense pinged, telling me of approaching mana signatures… familiar ones too.
I glanced at the journal before me. I was almost there.
Then, with annoyance flaring somewhere deep in my core, I stood up and started to prepare for the visitors.
***
People are exhausting.
Humans or dwarves, as the years passed by, I ceased seeing much of a difference. Fundamentally, both were the same.
If I were to answer the question ‘what are people to you?’, my honest response would be: ‘annoyances’.
I never wanted to get involved in the lives or happenings of the locals. I was content living in the wilds and quietly doing my work, never interacting with the people of Sturmkamm Valley more than strictly necessary.
But I suppose I was naive. One cannot live one’s life completely independently of others, not without dedicating a significant amount of effort to doing so. Inevitably, I left my mark, even through the brief, measured interactions I had with others.
I long since ceased bothering to distance myself completely. It was way too convenient to have access to merchants and craftsmen, even if I still couldn’t stomach populated areas for long, and occasional visitors tended to ruin an entire day for me.
Living on the edge of civilisation was the best of both worlds. There were downsides, mostly occasional people, but I could afford the equipment and conveniences that were beyond my reach in Tiefholz, which in turn sped up my research tremendously.
For a while, it suited me just fine. At first, I was mostly left alone. But as the passing years turned to decades, bit by bit, more and more people were buzzing around like flies.
All good things come to an end, I suppose.
“What are you doing here?” I asked, standing at the entrance of my hut, as I opened the door.
My voice was devoid of emotions, and my face was blank. In truth, I wasn’t calm or in a good mood; if anything, I only felt annoyance and frustration.
After all, when I sensed this party approach, I had to cut off my horns to come out like this and greet them. Even though I was deep into research, and now wouldn’t be able to continue it productively until I regenerate, pain is just too distracting; demon or not, I can’t do creative work while suffering from it.
Berg huffed, crossing his arms on his chest. The man was outfitted in the complete set of his armour and had his impressive axe behind his back.
I knew this wasn’t because he came here to fight, but rather because the road to my hut wasn’t completely safe. It was as safe as the wilds could get, but there are still some occasional monsters that you can run into.
He was also accompanied by the trio of kids for some inexplicable reason. The children seemed surprised for some reason.
After a moment when I genuinely couldn’t place their bewilderment, distracted by occasional spikes of pain and my own annoyance, I belatedly realised that it was probably because I was dressed casually.
“Here to get something through the thick skull of yers, seein’ other couldn’t,” He said stubbornly.
“I told the hunters whom you people sent that I am not interested,” I said simply, looking into the man’s eyes. “This isn’t up for discussion. Bother someone else.”
The dwarf had the audacity to roll his eyes.
“Can we come in at least?” He gestured towards the surrounding clearing. “Ain’t a proper place to talk.”
If I were a human, I would’ve taken offence to that.
My hut wasn’t quite a pinnacle of architecture, but it wasn’t ugly. Built on a solid stone foundation that had weathered decades without issue, the structure towered over the surrounding area, mostly because it was positioned on top of a hill. The walls of the building were constructed from lumber harvested from the magical ironbark trees that once dominated this valley; dense, dark wood that required almost no maintenance and repelled most pests naturally. The only issue was that I had to expand a few times, so the building’s shape was a bit odd and rounded; however, in my opinion, the construction looked almost professional. Mostly because I wanted to build it this way, it seemed more fitting for a reclusive mage I wanted to appear as. I also worked on my dwelling while taking breaks from research to clear my head, so it inevitably wasn’t as rural and terrible-looking as my previous lairs.
The building was larger than most would expect for a single occupant, standing two stories tall with plenty of space for the roof on each level, and with the bulk of my important work conducted in extensive underground levels. Most of the hill was dug out into additional space I made use of.
Thick vines I had cultivated covered much of the exterior walls of the hut itself, their deep green and red thorns created a living barrier that discouraged rodents and small birds from nesting too close to the structure. The vines possessed just enough primitive awareness to be trained with controlled applications of fire, making them surprisingly docile guardians. They were also some of the last surviving vines in the entire valley.
A single door marked the main entrance, carved from the same ironbark as the walls and reinforced with iron bands. No windows faced the forest, and none existed on the first floor, as I had learned early that privacy was worth more than natural light when you possessed the means to illuminate your home magically. The roof was steep-pitched and conical in shape, pitched with slate, designed to shed the heavy mountain rains that plagued this region during certain seasons.
The clearing around the hut was maintained but unremarkable. I kept it free of undergrowth primarily to spot approaching visitors before they reached my door, and out of old habits in Tiefholz, though I had grown less vigilant about such things over the years.
I specifically planted the vines to keep my house isolated from rodents. I will never forgive the sheer rage I experienced when I realised that the pages of Journals #435-457 were eaten through. It helped that somehow the plants had some primitive consciousness and could be conditioned into behaving with fire.
My hut was still located in the Dornpass Valley. The valley itself ceased to be considered monster-infested after my first two decades here, and was considered ‘ relatively safe’ after another decade. After that campaign to burn most of the valley’s vine outgrowths down it did become considerably easier for humans to traverse, for better or worse. There is a small farming village on the other side of Dornpass Valley, because apparently, the burnt vines left behind a very rich soil.
All of this was a gradual change. Back when I settled here, the Dornpass Valley was completely hostile to any settlers and was considered a treacherous, monster-infested death trap. I lived here the whole time, and it’s change, both in appearance and the status in the eyes of people, was very gradual, so slow and steady that I almost didn’t notice as my privacy slipped away.
It was an odd feeling, seeing the world change like that around my very dwelling. It wasn’t a fast change either, but a gradual shift. Over the years, I simply eradicated or captured most of the truly dangerous monsters, the density of monsters decreased as I did my work, and before I noticed, humans and dwarves considered this area relatively safe. I wasn’t alone in chipping away at the monster population; local adventurers and hunters probably did even more work than I.
When my dwelling became known, and my reputation, that I didn’t even know I was cultivating, grew, I was occasionally asked to go with one party or another to help kill a particularly troublesome monster. I rarely refused over the years, after all, exterminating truly dangerous monsters was a common interest I shared with the settlers. Besides, helping with this was morally the right choice.
But that led to an even more troublesome perception of me by the settlers and local adventurers. Which caused more people to seek to interact with me.
I hated that.
I understood why it was happening and why this behavior made sense, thanks to the experience of my previous life, but I still hated it; I couldn’t help it. To me, there was nothing pleasant about unneeded human interaction, just pain, tension, and boredom.
I could have made an effort to make myself completely unapproachable, but this wasn’t what I wanted either. I didn’t mind providing help when it was needed. In that respect, having my home approachable was worthwhile; it was the only reason I never moved.
I just despised being bothered needlessly and distracted from my work. It didn’t happen too often, but even once a year was too much.
“Come in,” I finally said, closing my eyes briefly to help me compose myself.
To my dismay, I knew Berg. I knew he wouldn’t drop the issue. I also knew he wouldn’t come here if he thought there was no chance to convince me.
The least I could do is hear him out.
I stepped aside and gestured for them to enter. The main room of my hut was modest by necessity, though I suppose outsiders might find it peculiar.
The first thing the previous three visitors noticed was the ceiling. The enchanted lamp I had crafted decades ago was hung beneath the wooden beams, which, despite shining blue deep within, were producing sunlight and never flickered or dimmed. It was a simple enchantment on paper, though it had taken considerable trial and error to make it stable enough to function almost indefinitely without maintenance.
Berg walked in first, ducking slightly out of habit despite the ceiling being more than tall enough for any human, much less a dwarf, to pass with no issue. His eyes swept the room with the practiced assessment of a veteran warrior, though I caught him pausing at the sight of the lamp. The three children followed behind him, and I could see their heads turning this way as they took in their surroundings.
The main area served as both my sitting room and workspace when I needed more space than my study provided. A sturdy oak table dominated the center, its surface scarred by years of use. Several books lay open across it, the pages of some held flat by small paperweights that prevented the pages from curling or the books from closing. There were also notes and writing supplies scattered around, creating a bit of a mess.
Along the far wall, shelves stretched from floor to ceiling, filled with an assortment of containers, instruments, and curiosities I had collected over the years. Glass vials containing various preserved specimens glowed faintly with preservation enchantments, while a collection of crystalline formations served as focusing stones for my more delicate magical work, mostly used for enchantments and to fuel some rituals. They were stored here for convenience and because I was running out of space underground. A few monster parts were also deposited around the room, useful components for specific rituals or experiments.
There was also the fireplace, which was unlit at the moment. Above the mantel, a mirror reflected not the room behind the viewer, but rather showed the bird's-eye view from above the house. One of my only attempts at trying my hand at Clairvoyance-type spells. The mirror’s surface shimmered occasionally as clouds passed across its mystical view in the sky. The magical item was incredibly basic and simply showed the view from high above where the artifact was placed, but I suppose it did look a bit impressive.
"Sit wherever you like," I said, gesturing toward the handful of chairs arranged around the room. They were simple, sturdy pieces of furniture that I carved out myself, before I even had any tools, with my claws alone. The pillows upon them were also sewn by me. It was simply more efficient to do at the time. I needed the furniture before this Valley was safe enough to take a cart with me when I went to buy supplies, so bulky things like furniture had to be made by me. First by hand, then with some instruments.
It’s bizarre how many minor skills I had to pick up, even if I am nowhere near close to a professional.
The apprentice mage, Zaudern, was examining the bookshelves with poorly concealed fascination, his eyes wide as he tried to read the titles of some of the volumes. This wasn’t my study, so those weren’t my journals or works; those were the tomes I was reading or were yet to read. Some encyclopedias and atlases, some books on more common magical theories, even a few more normal tomes, I came across over the years.
Most were written in common languages, though several were written in scripts of the Ancient Empire. I had arranged them by subject matter rather than any aesthetic consideration, which probably made the organization appear chaotic to outside observers.
Eigen seemed less interested in the magical implements and more focused on a collection of simple weapons that hung on one wall. They were practical pieces, well-maintained but unremarkable, though he had apparently noticed the quality of their construction. The dwarven boy also glanced at those weapons.
They were mostly gifts or examples of peculiarly enchanted items I looted from the dens of vanquished monsters, and kept for later study. I would lie if I were to say that those items were collected simply for practical use. At some point, when I got used to having a safe house, my hoarding instincts kicked in. I am not sure if I can blame my demonic heritage for it.
"Cozy place," Berg commented, settling into one of the chairs with the casual manner of someone who had been here before. "Still got that monster skull?"
I glanced toward the corner where the bleached remains of some long-dead creature served as an impromptu bookend for a stack of research journals. "It serves a purpose," I replied simply.
The children remained standing, clearly uncertain about what they were allowed to do. Their eyes continued to wander across the various oddities that filled the space, though I paid little attention to their specific reactions. To me, these were simply tools and conveniences that I accumulated without even noticing. Some served a purpose, some were made simply because I wished to have something humans would have in my place. Also, admittedly, a lot of the junk I accumulated was collected on the premise of ‘it can be useful one day’.
I would have to leave a lot of it behind soon.
“The three of you can sit,” I offered the children. While deep down, I did carry some anger for their reckless actions near the Nordgrube mine. I don’t know what reputation I used to have prior to that incident, but in general, I do not enjoy heroics. If a monster needs to be killed, I would prefer it to be fought not in an uphill and heroic last stand, but unfairly murdered after stacking an entire deck of aces in my favour.
However, those three were also the only reason why I could slay the monster in the first place. Without them, I would've likely just retreated, and who knows how things would've turned out then.
“I would like some tea,” Berg asked shamelessly.
With a gesture of my hand, I summoned an empty wooden cup that floated between his hands.
Then I slowly wove a spell, and the cup was filled with aromatic herbal liquid.
Not even remotely the most useless folk spell I possessed. I bought the grimoire with it years ago, because it was the first spell I ever saw that created biological matter from magical energy. Digestible biological matter at that.
The amount of pointless folk spells circulating out there in the world is frankly ridiculous, and some mage spent decades creating each one. I suppose incredibly clever people spend a lot of time and effort making niche, impressive, but generally useless things, isn’t limited to Earth alone.
“Right,” Berg took a sip, and seemed to visibly relax, sighing in bliss, “That’s good, as always. But to our business,”
The dwarf looked me in the eyes.
“I understand that you are a shy sort. Really, I do,” I opened my mouth to object, but the dwarf asked me to keep silent with a gesture. “There is nothing wrong with that. But here, with this whole ordeal, you are being stubborn for the sake of it.” He said, looking into my eyes, “They just need you to pose for a few hours at worst. The burgmaster even offered to pay you, for Goddess’ sake!”
I simply closed my eyes, fighting down the growing irritation in my chest. Mostly due to the flare of pain that appeared at the base of my horns as he talked, but also because it felt as if Berg came here to waste my time.
Seeing his face made me more annoyed.
“If this is all you wanted to say, then my answer stays the same.”
For a moment, there was silence.
“Why?” The dwarf asked simply.
I opened my eyes, meeting his gaze with ease.
“It doesn’t matter why. I am not doing it.” I answered as clearly as I could, feeling my irritation spike irrationally again.
Fighting down one’s own aggression never became easy, even if I did so constantly in this state.
“It matters to me,” Berg said quietly, and nodding to the three kids, “And to them too.”
I spared a short glance at the children. They acted like they didn’t know whether they were allowed to even be here. Slouching, heads held a bit low, eyes carefully studying me or Berg. Body language indicated distress and tension, no fear, just uncertainty.
I consciously let out a longer breath, closing my eyes for a moment, and wrestling down the irritation. Collecting my thoughts.
“I dislike the idea of a statue being built in honor of someone akin to me,” I said simply, studying the pattern of the wood under my hand by touch, focusing on that sensation and trying to ignore the rest of the feedback from my body. “I do not like the reputation I accumulated. It brings people to me expecting someone I am not. I do not like interacting with others more than I strictly have to.” I opened my eyes, once again meeting Berg’s stare with my own. “People mistake me for some sort of hero, and I do not like it. A hero is a person who inspires others, particularly younger generations.” I nodded towards the kids, who all, in their own ways, seemed jolted by the sudden attention, “But there is nothing about me worth emulating. Everything I do, I do for my own selfish interests; I do not wish others to try and act or live as I do.”
I said the truth, but I couldn’t articulate the depth of my opinion on the subject. Not truly. It was the deep, smoldering hate and envy in my chest that was missing from my emotionless tone and carefully constructed words. The fact that I was considered by those people as some sort of a model, ‘a hero’, was sickening. It made me feel hate when I dwelt on the idea long enough.
I would have traded all I am for the opportunity to live out the rest of my life as one of them. Feeling like them, tasting foods and enjoying them, and being able to connect to others.
Even my envy wasn’t a ‘human envy’. Mine was more primitive, simply spikes of anger when I compared how they lived and how I did in my mind, it didn’t feel the same as it did in my memories.
“But you are a hero!” My eyes snapped towards the boy who spoke up… Eigen, I believe. He immediately lost his fire, “S-sir,” He added, as if afraid I would scold him.
“Well, I agree with the lad, but that ain’t the point, I’d wager,” Berg simply said, folding his arms on his chest, “Ye gotta understand Albert, folk got real scared when they realized what sort of beast almost broke out. If that thing got to the town, there ain’t a guarantee anyone would’ve lived through the night.” The dwarf looked a bit tired as he met my gaze, “The statue is to honor ye, yeah, but in many ways it’s for them. To have yer girly muck on the main square, and feel all calm and safe. To not think about how close death was, and to feel that they paid you back at least a bit.”
I understood what he meant. The Schattenbrand monster was… troublesome. Traditional enhancement adventurers had on their gear wouldn’t have helped much. Mages and priests would’ve had just as much trouble as I trying to bypass its ridiculous regeneration.
The monster was a living tank that was impossible to approach in melee, and remarkably difficult to damage at range. And that’s how it was on the surface, underground, I can’t imagine myself winning against this beast.
There was a reason it was a mythical force of nature in Dwarven folklore. Moreover, this particular monster might have been a juvenile. Or, at least, on the younger side.
I did some research during the last week, the myths about this monster paint it at least twice as big as the one I saw.
I didn’t immediately respond. The reasoning I shared was true. But there was also the simple fact that staying in a human settlement, while being a center of any sort of attention, was torturous. With my horns cut and my mana detection crippled, with people around being loud and plentiful, it was a constant annoyance from everywhere. Posing for hours didn’t sound pleasant or rewarding. It sounded like a form of torture.
“They can simply make a statue of a hooded figure,” I finally decided, wishing to be selfish for once. “I am not needed for that,” I looked Berg in the eyes, “Don’t bother trying to change my mind about this.”
Berg nodded along, for some concerning reason, he seemed completely unsurprised, as if expecting that much.
“I see, I see. You know, recently a certain tome that you were asking about for the last ten years arrived to town,”
…no. No, he couldn’t have.
“...and the Burgmaister, on my recommendation, agreed to acquire it for you using his connections. ‘Course he didn’t quite believe me when I told him that you’d love it, so he was expecting you to confirm that you’d want this as a gift whenever you arrived in town to give your measurements but…”
This accursed toadstool of a midget! He can’t do this to me!
No, I refuse. I will not be blackmailed into this charade by a book. I have principles, morals and self-respe-
***
"Move your neck a little to the left, please," The stone-cutter asked politely, and I shifted as he requested.
My eyes focused on the dwarf who had way too much fun sitting here with me, in this workshop, as he drank his beer and watched this artist force me to try different poses for the last half an hour.
While some anger shimmered in my chest from the constant state of annoyance, I didn't hold anger at Berg himself. I simply couldn't. The grudges the demons carried were logical, precise things, 'this person almost killed me, so I should kill him first next time' sort of thing, so while I was annoyed at what I had to do, I wasn't bothered by him clearly enjoying me suffering through the experience.
My shallow emotional depth simply didn't allow me to be bothered by him extracting fun out of this.
"Ye know, ye don't have to leave," Berg said, ignoring the busy man who was trying to sketch down my features, to use later when he would be carving the statue. "Nothing stops ye from settling here. For however many centuries."
His words did surprise me a little bit.
"How do you know?" I asked simply.
He waved me off.
"Half the craftsmen in the town are busy with that thing ye asked them to make," He said, his tone implying the answer is obvious. "Over half of them are me kin. Not to mention that some of the precise mechanisms ye asked for made us call some elder relative from the original villages. Practically everyone knows now."
He met my eyes, his expression serious.
"But don't change the subject this time."
This was a sincere, quiet request.
I couldn't nod on behalf of having to pose, so I simply closed my eyes for a moment in acceptance.
"You know of my research," I reminded him simply, "I can't continue it here anymore. As such, there is no point staying."
Berg didn't answer immediately, just glanced at the hard floor.
"Thought ye'd say that." He said with a sigh, "'Suppose I just don't understand that type of thinking. Ye've been here almost since the very start, ye've… built something that matters here. I won't ever understand how ye can just leave it all like this."
I had known Berg for decades by this point. He was one of the few people I almost routinely interacted with, a few times a year, usually. There were a number of reasons why. He was easy to converse with, he was knowledgeable and informed me of the important happenings, and I could settle some of my business with the surrounding settlements through him. He also tended to bring new interesting brews.
He wasn't a talkative person, gruff, linear, and stubborn. But over the years, he grew more… talkative. Introspective. It didn't trouble me, so I simply acknowledged it and moved on.
After all, unlike the humans, he still looked the same.
And yet, I never recalled him talking about such things.
I considered him for a while. Eventually, I spoke up.
"What you consider important, and what I consider important, are two completely separate things," I told him honestly. To me, there was no reluctance to leave. No negative feelings, nothing. Simply a decision. "It's not that I regret what I've been doing here through the years… It's just that what's done is done. Not for the first time and not for the last, it's time for me to move on."
The dwarf didn't answer immediately, just grumbled.
"Ye know, humans consider ye elves and us dwarves similar. To them, living up to four hundred years is practically the same as living forever," He scoffed, shaking his head, "I wonder if talking to me for them is as bizarre as for me talking to ye." He looked me in the eyes again, a smile outlined on his face despite the rich beard, "Whatever magic ye are seeking, come back here when ye find it. I'll have plenty of new brews for ye to try."
I didn't comment immediately, but I understood what he was trying to say.
Berg's assumption wasn't uncommon; many among those I interacted with often through those decades arrived at a similar conclusion, as they saw me never age. I never wore any illusions or changed my ears; people simply arrived at the conclusion that I must be an elf. Berg himself asked what I did to my ears once, when he was drunk.
I wonder if I would've been touched were I an elf.
I closed my eyes.
"How old are you, Berg?" I asked quietly.
"A hundred and thirty-three." He echoed.
I nodded at that.
"In that case, we may see each other once I am done," I told him honestly, opening my eyes once again and meeting his. "I hope you will keep this place safe by then."
The dwarf, for some reason, seemed a bit more cheerful.
"Aye, that much I can promise."
I didn't visibly acknowledge his words, but I remembered them.
***
I exited the workshop with my hood on; it brought familiar comfort. The stonecarver guild was in the old dwarven district, and I left it long since sundown, but the town itself was well-lit.
I immediately noticed three people waiting for me outside.
“Albert, sir!” The blonde boy spoke up, his voice even and unwavering. “We had something we wanted to discuss with you!”
I measured him with a glance. The young warrior looked exhausted, and so did the artificer apprentice and the blacksmith apprentice behind him.
We were practically alone outside at this late hour. Berg left halfway through the process of ‘taking my measurements’, and the man who was responsible for making sketches of me and physically measuring my body stayed inside, tidying up.
Those three really waited for me all this time?
“I am listening.” I echoed simply.
The boy took a big breath.
“Please take the three of us with you!” He said all in one breath, before gesturing towards his friends, “Zaudern, Glühen, and I, we all want to travel with you! We don’t mind helping however we can!”
His plea was energetic and seemed… practiced. Spoken a bit too fast in some segments.
For a long moment, I was genuinely puzzled.
My first immediate response was to reject them outright… before I recalled the incident in a mine.
So instead, I elected to approach from another angle.
“Why?”
It was a simple question, but I knew it didn’t have a simple answer.
Those three boys all had families here, and a good profession they were mastering. Moreover, they were rich.
The Schattenbrand was a monster made of lava. Not pseudo-flesh like I and most monsters, instead, he was closer to a ‘possession’ type monster. A being who integrated himself into a living or non-living object and treated it as his body.
His body was made of genuine molten stone and ores. But the monster also instinctively seemed to filter the lava inside of it, leaving only the most durable and magically rich inside.
When I finished the monster, and it cooled properly, its body turned out to be made of a variety of metals. Mundane and magical ores, most of which were incredibly pure, as they were refined inside his body, and never quite mixed into alloys. The monster was segmenting different parts of its body from different metals, and the very narrow part deep inside of it from the densest and most durable of them all, which was the area around which it rotated its core.
Schattenbrand’s body was worth a fortune. With it killed, we had more precious metals on our hands than most mines in the entire mountain range produce in a year.
For being the ones who helped me find a way to kill it, I gave half of the body to the three children. Each of them was set for life.
So why leave it all behind?
“It’s because I always wanted to be a hero,” Eigen said simply, his eyes shining with quite admiration, “I had to worry about ma and pa before, but now I don’t have to.” He gestured around. “This town is way too small! I want to see the world, I want to travel, I want to do all sorts of amazing things!”
I slowly nodded before turning my head to the other two.
“I… never liked working on enchantments,” The artificer boy said, fiddling with his fingers, “It’s always about making the same things again and again and…” He shook his head, before meeting my eyes with surprising passion, “It’s boring! Repetitive! It’s…” He hesitated for a moment, “It’s not what magic is supposed to be like.” He finished quietly, as he licked his lips, still looking up at me, “The only real magic I’ve seen was there, when you fought this monster! I want… I want to be able to do that too!”
For now, I suppressed my urge to respond and turned to the last boy.
He glanced aside.
“It’s nothing that big for me,” He admitted quietly, “But those two… they are right.” The boy looked me in the eyes, too. “Things in the Valley are good. Most of my relatives live here. But…” He hesitated, “I’ll never be as good as Master at the forge. Not if all I do is learn from him. It would take me forever to be anything more than an apprentice who does the most boring jobs.” He too looks at me, “I also can’t leave those two idiots alone. And I do want to see what the world is like.”
For a moment, I considered his words, too.
“All of you seem to be under a mistaken assumption,” I said simply, looking at them, “That I am heading on an adventure of some sort.”
I tapped my staff against the paved road, slowly weaving an optical illusion of the world’s continents’ map from memory.
When it materialized, I tapped on the Northern Lands, my finger passing through.
“I am heading here,” I said simply, “My goal is the same as it was here, in Sturmkamm. Live remotely, collect monsters for inspection, and eventually move to a new territory.”
I allowed the map to disappear.
“The three of you saw me having to take a fight I normally would’ve avoided, and seem to assume about my life more than you should.”
I could see the children looking a bit dejected and surprised by my words. I pressed on.
“You,” I pointed at the blonde kid, “You are a warrior, I wouldn’t be able to teach you anything. If you were to go with me, you won’t have time to learn from people in the towns and villages we pass, and you won’t have anyone to learn from once we arrive.”
I then pointed at the young mage.
“You are a fool for trying to go on such a journey while still being an apprentice,” I told him simply, “Every second mage apprentice dies, once a battle breaks out.” Even in this era, before the war with the Demon King that had so many mages die, this was common sense, and I suspect this was still an undersstatement, “It would take you years to grow beyond a level of ap aprentice. Besides, I do not specialize in combat magic, and I don’t have time to teach someone.”
Finally, I pointed to a dwarf.
“You shouldn’t mindlessly follow the other two. If they decide to pursue their dreams, they will have to receive their training separately, and besides, if their goals stay the same, they will be drawn to combat. You have neither the aspirations nor the skills to survive fights; you are a craftsman, and where they will go, you won’t be able to follow. I specifically plan to travel to dangerous and remote areas, no one for you to learn from, and I won’t be able to protect any of you this time.”
Having said my piece, I allowed my hand to fall limp.
I didn’t even bother to ask what their families thought, and if they had their approval. That wasn’t even as important in the grand scheme of things.
The three boys stood in silence for a long moment, absorbing my words. I could see the disappointment settling over their faces, but also something else: the beginning of understanding.
Eigen was the first to speak, his voice less certain than before. "But... couldn't we learn while we travel? I mean, there must be warriors in other places who could—"
"No," I cut him off. "This type of training takes years. I don’t have time to stay around waiting for you to be ready. Besides, you are thinking like someone who has never left their home valley." I gestured toward the darkened streets around us. "The kind of warriors you would need to learn from don't waste time training eager boys they meet on the road."
Zaudern shifted uncomfortably. "I know I'm just an apprentice, but I could practice on my own, couldn't I? I've been reading about combat spells—"
"Reading," I repeated flatly. "You've read about combat spells." I looked at him directly. "Tell me, when the Schattenbrand emerged and you were choking on smoke, how much did your reading help you then?"
The boy's face flushed, and he looked down at his feet.
"Magic theory is good for an artificer, but it’s practice that makes a combat mage," I continued. "What you need is years of supervised training where your mistakes won't kill you or others around you. My destination, not to mention the journey itself, offers neither supervision nor forgiveness for errors."
Glühen finally spoke up, his voice quiet but stubborn. "Maybe we're not ready now, but we could prepare. Train more, get better equipment, learn what we need to know..."
I simply looked at him.
"How long do you think that would take?" I asked him. "Two years? Five? Ten?" I let the question hang in the air. "I am leaving within the month. By the time any of you would be adequately prepared, I will be long gone.”
I could see the reality of it beginning to dawn on them. The romantic notion of adventure was colliding with the practical requirements of survival.
"Furthermore," I added, "you're assuming I want traveling companions at all. I live my life the way I do because I find the company of others bothersome. I think more clearly without the constant need to consider others' safety, comfort, or opinions. Your qualifications aside, I don’t need anyone to accompany me."
Eigen's shoulders sagged slightly. "So there's nothing we can do? Nothing that would make you reconsider?"
I studied his face for a moment. The desperate hope was still there, but it was tempered now by a growing understanding of the obstacles before him.
"If you truly wish to pursue this path," I said slowly, "then pursue it properly. You,” I pointed at the warrior boy, “Study properly under you current master. Use the funds you have to higher better teachers, maybe higher experienced warriors to both protect the valley while teaching you. Leaving the town won’t help you train better, until you reach the point when there is nothing more for you to learn, it’s better you stay. You,” I moved my finger to the little artificer, “master your craft first. Become a mage, not just an apprentice who dreams of being one. What kind of mage you want to be is up to you. Just like your friends you have money to hire whatever teacher you wish. And you,” Finally, my finger stopped on the dwarven boy, “make up you mind, decide what you want, rather than simply following your friends' ambitions."
I paused, then added with finality: "All three of you have every tool to go wherever you wish in life. But I can’t help you."
The silence that followed was different from before. Heavier. More thoughtful.
"I understand," Eigen said quietly, and for the first time since they had approached me, he sounded like he truly meant it.
“I hope you do.” I said sincerely, as I turned away from the trio and started my journey back to my lair, “If you have faith in your dreams, all that is left is to walk the road. Don’t expect anyone to lead you by hand.”
The children didn’t say anything as I left. I wasn’t surprised. Children are children. I doubt they considered the life-changing consequences of going somewhere with a stranger across the continent. Frankly, I didn’t care if they did.
But the advice I gave was real, even if I wouldn’t have accepted them along no matter what skills they possessed.
If, like most children, they abandon their ambition at the first obstacle, that’s their right as children. If they keep at it…
I did what I could to convey how they should do it right.
---
The following is a diary entry.
---
It seems I severely underestimated just how many items I accumulated over the years, living here. Still, today I finally finished relocating all the leftover material to the vault.
I also mostly finished loading up in the ‘Behemoth’. The wagon was a masterpiece of engineering and enchanting, but loading it proved to be challenging and took days. There were dozens of hidden compartments, some stabilized with specific enhancements I requested so I could safely transport laboratory equipment and delicate substances in them, and to access them, I needed to understand the ‘Behemoth’s mechanisms, which took more time than actually loading it.
Over the decades, I commissioned a lot of custom-made equipment to aid me with my research. Enchanted mechanisms that assisted in seeing magic, while also providing zoom, restraining chains, and other such items for monsters, stabilizing roads for surrounding mana, sensors, and detectors, many of those items required delicate handling and usually couldn’t be transported over such distances carelessly. Much less considering the sheer bulk of everything I needed to take with me to continue my research where I left off.
Which is why the ‘Behemoth’ cost me as much money as it would’ve cost to buy a small castle, and the land it would be standing on. No wonder the logistic chain to produce it involved multiple craftsmen guilds in neighboring towns, I couldn’t have built such a thing in four decades of work alone.
I long since finished summarizing my research journals and notes into scientific works, and I tried to frame them as I did my doctoral dissertation, at least wherever I could. I promised my kind benefactor in Äußerst the full scope of my work once I will be leaving my current research site in our last exchange, and while my pen pal’s response was, as usual, clipped and quit critical of the work I sent over, that person seemed quite enthusiastic about me sending the bulk of my research again, instead of ‘small notes’ we exchanged over the decades, arguing finer points in some of my earlier theories.
Obviously, it wasn’t that I didn’t wish to send the majority of my work over, but summarizing it and encrypting it took too much time, so I resolved to only send sizable packages whenever I would be moving, and would have to summarize my work anyway.
Still, for some reason, I struggled with the personal letter more than I did with the intellectual work.
Mostly because I was quite infuriated with the consistent attempts of my pen pal to find a way to twist my research into combat applications, against monsters, yes, but also against fellow humans. I was also trying to find a way to request that person to publish and make my work accessible, now that it was formatted with the right terminology, and when some of my theories ceased to be questionable to either of us.
Being diplomatic was a bit difficult, as I couldn’t mentally get myself into the mindscape of my benefactor. I suppose it’s because I never met him in person, and couldn’t properly imagine the mindset and feelings of a properly learned human mage, so my letters weren’t nearly personal enough, and my attempts to ask for a favor seemed odd in my drafts.
Aside from that, I finished charging the cargo golems. I don’t believe they are quite as well designed as the ‘Behemoth’ itself, mostly because I was designing them for only a decade, but they were passable enough to pull the oversized wagon, and I am powerful enough to recharge them weekly.
I will be optimistic and assume that I will be departing within a week. Now, when I was done moving bulky items and bookshelves into the vault I dug into the mountain, and with the wagon mostly loaded with everything I need to take with me, I will sell off whatever items I can’t reasonably store, and will finally depart.
I am not excited, but I acknowledge it as a benchmark of progress. Finally, I am moving towards the Northern Lands, no more detours. This thought still gives me some satisfaction.
Comments
Wiererid
Give me two days.
MihaTigar
Sooo, when is the next chapter? What's the schedule looking like?
GrinBean
I wonder if they added elf ears to his statue seeing as adding horns is not an option
