Chapter 17: Systems and Sacrifices

*Date: 33,480 First Quarter - Chalice Theocracy*

Next morning, Aris and Lyra were eating breakfast in the inn hall. The common room buzzed with activity - faes with their gossamer wings folded delicately behind them nibbled at honeyed pastries, while halflings heartily devoured plates of eggs and sausages. The mix of races created a symphony of different voices and mannerisms, each group maintaining their own customs even in this shared space.

"Plus two to Insight just for a Reader title isn't that amazing?" Aris asked.

"You know Insight doesn't make you any smarter. Not even us. We are not machines," Lyra replied.

"My RP pool didn't change. I hoped I could cast two healing touches after Insight increased. What is RP or TRP?"

"It is yours all of ours spell resonance points. You store and spend captured echoes."

"What?"

"Yeah, what? Even I didn't get it," Fox added.

Lyra rolled her eyes. "It is a universal system for us locals. I guess now for everyone. Learn, use, spend game mechanics."

"Unlike the classic version for players, you learn with titles?" Aris asked without fully understanding.

"It is so weird talking about our version and comparing to your version, but since we started the conversation... You were getting skills based on the road you chose. If you chose a mage route, with level-up skill points you could buy skills and use immediately. The roads were chosen for us. Some of us, like aware ones created recently like me, have to go that route. And some of us, like a blacksmith's son or scribe's daughter, have to go that route without realizing."

"And if they don't go that route?"

"Our," she made air quotes, "leveling is set. Doesn't matter what we try to develop. Every time we level up without reaching our potential, of course our stats are distributed to that extent."

"Yeah, how are they getting skills? I watched videos of locals going toe to toe against players," Aris remembered seeing videos of the game before entering.

"I don't know about videos. But most of our legendary warriors or wizards were hand-crafted by the creators. There are so few who rolled high and developed themselves. We learn skills by first getting the title of that skill and then either studying, practicing hard, or capturing from the master."

"Capturing. I had a captured echo is that it?"

"Yes, when you became Acolyte Healer, you captured from your master. But you can't capture mass heal or learn by practicing."

"Because my title is not high enough and won't allow it?"

"Yes. Finally! And TRP is Title Resonance Points something you guys have to charge by practicing so you can use that spell or skill."

"What?"

"Look, I don't know fully. Ours didn't change. We are manifesting magic or skills by our strength. Yours merges with ours, and I think this is a fallback version, maybe an old version. We don't have to charge, but our output varies from our stamina, insight, manifest - too many variants. But when you charged, you are producing healing touch at full power. Which is very rare."

"So he will be consistently inconsistent," Fox said.

"If he counts his attempts, he can create wonders at the right times. Is it enough meta talk for today?" Lyra was visibly sad after all that explanation.

"Thanks, Lyra," Aris said. Seeing her frustration, he didn't want to push any further. Imagining invisible hands from your creator limiting you and releasing death-crazed friends just because they paid made Aris ashamed. Now after four years, he was realizing they weren't robots and were aware of it - especially people like Lyra. And people like Aris entered this universe to satisfy their gaming, doing god knows what.

"All right, young recruit. I will go meet this academy evaluator. You go study and see how hard it is to get the second tier of that scholar title."

---

*Date: 33,480 First Quarter - Iron Confederacy*

Demir was working hard and keeping his special hammer swings to only hit certain items. But keeping score was easy the important thing was making actually useful items above F grade.

Brovick was showing making ingots to Sin and Timmy. Marco was making beds for their shed. Marco approached Demir.

"You know I am not a builder or crafter you are using me wrong. I am the highest level among you."

"Yeah, but also the weakest among us. You sure you distributed your points right before the coup?" he said, keeping swinging.

"Of course I am weak. I ate scraps for four years, and I gave my stats for a mage, so there is no strength."

"Mage? You never said you were a mage."

"Yeah, you didn't ask."

"You attacked goblins with a rock."

"I was half dead there. I didn't have strength to manifest anything."

"You know, I was wondering this charged swing can also be in other things."

"Like?"

"Well, I hunted for four years. If I charge somehow a sneak attack, does a charged hit become critical?"

"Maybe."

"Weren't you a tester? You should know this."

"This is a vast and endless game. Was, anyway. I was entering with a set of goals to test bugs. I don't know anything about charging skills with practice."

Brovick approached with dwarfly vigor. "Those twins slack too much and do everything funny. One of them is gonna burn the other, I tell you. Forge is no place to make jokes."

"They are seventeen. Let them have fun."

"When I was seventeen, I was swinging that hammer for sixteen years. And you," he turned to Marco, "stop interrupting my apprentice. Go craft those beds. Sleeping on a proper bed keeps a man stronger."

"What do you think of my last chest piece? I think it is getting better. What do you say?" Demir stopped swinging and showed the chest piece he had hammered a constitution bonus into.

Brovick took it in his hands and looked at it again. "Didn't I tell ye yesterday? It is not the worst thing, but it is not enough. Not enough for my standards, anyway."

"Do you see, feel anything from that?" Marco elbowed Demir a little, meaning stop the pursuit.

Brovick pulled out glasses and started to look closely. "Is there something I am not seeing?"

At that moment, one of the older dwarves with white hair and beard came Durnak Blackanvil, the unofficial elder and leader of the small village.

"Some riders and footsteps approaching. Send one of the young ones to the city in case of trouble and hide your humans."

"On it, elder." Brovick turned to Demir and Marco. "Go into your shed. Don't come out you heard the elder." Brovick, still with glasses on his nose and chest piece in his hand, went to his forge and yelled to Timmy and Sin.

When the boys entered the shed, Demir was once again grateful for the small window they managed to carve out because he could see the small village center. Dwarves were gathered, and finally a small party of goblins arrived. One of them was on a beast Demir didn't know.

"What is that beast?" Sin asked.

"I think that is a mutated wolf. Disgusting creatures," Marco said.

"Shh, I can't hear them," Demir said.

The goblin on the beast said, "What do we have here? Dwarves living in green, separated from a mountain."

Durnak replied, "Why do you care how retired dwarves live? Also, who the hell gave you permission to wander inside Iron Confederacy soil?"

"I am Lagra Bonebreaker, captain of this group. We were looking for aggressor humans that attacked our mining site."

"Your mining site? Attacked by humans?"

One of the goblins near the captain said, "Yes. Old man, are you hearing well?" He laughed alone. Lagra swung a fist at that goblin, meaning shut up.

"Look, I heard the news our prince is making deals with you people. But that doesn't mean you can enter our settlements and wander around. Take your idiots and look for those fresh meats elsewhere."

"I meant no disrespect, great elder. I just didn't want them to hurt you too." The goblins weren't pleased by the dwarves' response, but twelve goblins weren't stupid enough to attack dwarves in their country and break the truce.

One of the goblins reached up and whispered to Lagra. Lagra then turned to Brovick.

"Hey old man, is that chest piece you're holding for sale?" he asked Brovick.

"You talking to me, yellow friend?" Lagra wasn't pleased by the racist comment but kept his anger.

"Yes, how much for that piece?"

Brovick looked again at the piece Demir made and said, "Ten silver."

"Ten silver for low grade? Fine..." he said, disgusted.

"Muks, give him the silver." The exchange happened, and the goblins left the village.

"Why would they pay ten silver for that?" Demir asked in the shed.

"I think the one who whispered somehow judged the piece," Marco said.

"How?"

The question hung in the air, heavy with implications. If the goblins could identify the true quality of Demir's work, what did that mean for their plans? And more importantly, what other secrets were the goblins hiding about their growing operation?