The Skill Thief's Canvas - Chapter 4 (beta test) (Patreon)

He needed to find out more about Lord Aspreay.

Before that, however, he needed to get some rest.

Adam slept peacefully in his cell that night. He could tell the room had been designed to be a bit uncomfortable – although it was somehow still an improvement over his last dorm room. At least here he wouldn’t wake up in a panic over how to pay for rent. Sure, the mattress was hard, but that was fine.

Being jarred from sleep by two armored men painfully chaining his wrists together? Considerably less fine.

“Good morning,” he drowsily told the guards, as they held him up by his arms. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Tenver opened his mouth to reply, yet Esteban spoke faster and sharper. “Time for your judgement.”

Adam’s annoyance faded quickly. Compared to dragging himself out of bed at 3 A.M because fire drills were scheduled in the middle of the night for some fucking reason, he honestly didn’t mind this too much.

Instead, he took the time to glean whatever information he could from his surroundings. As Adam walked, the two guards led him down windowless, cold stone hallways. The only adornments he could spot were the numerous paintings lining the walls. Each depicted a full-body portrait of a well-dressed, handsome-looking man. He was standing proud, flanked by swords taller than himself that were stabbed into the ground.

“Hmm,” Adam muttered to himself, as he examined the paintings. All of them were close to identical; likely the result of Lord Aspreay wanting to intimidate prisoners with his ‘noble’ visage.

“Would you quit wasting our goddamn time?” Esteban shouted. Adam had been cooperative on their journey, but every time they passed by one of the portraits, he would come to a sudden halt and take an extra half second to inspect it. Those small pauses were adding up to a priceless amount of time. It wasn’t advisable to keep a Lord waiting. “You’ll see the real deal soon enough – stop gawking and start walking.”

He yanked the chains forward. Adam stumbled and almost fell flat on his face, barely managing to catch himself with his hands. His shoulders fared the worst, as Esteban kept his arms raised the entire time, pulling Adam’s muscles upward. With a little more pressure, his shoulders might have dislocated.

This is the guy Tenver says isn’t a terrible dude? Really? When Adam looked up, he was surprised to see that Esteban didn’t appear like he was mocking him. If yesterday he’d seemed nervous and hot-blooded, today he seemed flat and robotic. It was professional to the point of being fake, hinting at the stress that plagued his mind.

That didn’t make Adam any less furious. I know Tenver told me you don’t have a choice, but…I don’t give a shit.

It wasn’t how he usually processed situations like these. Life had a way of muting his emotions – a fact Adam knew better than anyone. He wouldn’t have lasted this long without developing a few defense mechanisms. As such, it was legitimately hard to make him upset at something.

People like Esteban, though, had a gift for it.

Tenver shot him a pleading look. Adam smiled appeasingly in response, hoping to convey the thought: ‘Don’t worry, I understand.’ Of course, what he actually thought was: ‘I’m going to punch this man in the face someday.’ The guard’s relieved expression showed he’d interpreted the former.

“Sorry,” Adam lied, with a smile. “I just wanted to know what the lord presiding over my fate looks like, you know?”

Esteban grunted. “Yes, yes. Keep walking. We’re almost there.”

In truth, Adam couldn’t care less about the lord’s appearance. What he was most curious about was how the paintings had been done. From what he could tell, while they were extremely similar copies of each other, each one had clearly been inked by hand. Even leaving aside clear indicators of ink, and accounting for the brief time he was afforded to glimpse at each painting, he could see some small differences or mistakes that weren’t present in all of them.

He made a mental note to append his tablet notes.
—There is (probably) no printing press in this world. At least not one capable of reproducing paintings. This might reflect the technological level I’m dealing with.

Which was strange, since he’d seen a fucking vending machine in the woods earlier. That monstrosity had pissed him off more than Esteban ever could. Food and shelter, all yours for a low, low price! Oh, what’s that? You’re broke? Sorry, better luck next time!

Adam exhaled and took a moment to refocus his thoughts. Outside of that…thing, the level of technology here seemed downright medieval. If this supposedly greedy lord couldn’t afford identical copies of his paintings, then it probably couldn’t be done, period. Unless the man thought handpainted portraits were more impressive than printed ones, but somehow Adam didn’t think a ‘lord’ would care about expressions of individuality; just whether his extravagances would sufficiently awe visitors.

Aside from all that, there was one other detail he’d noticed – the very first, actually. A glaring issue about the paintings that was impossible to miss.

They all really, really sucked.

He’d just started to make a mental reminder to append his notes when Esteban slapped his shoulder and said, “We’re here.” The guards opened an ornate set of double doors, revealing a sight that made Adam stop cold.

Until now, a part of him had held onto the idea that he was still somewhere on Earth. That despite the monsters and magic and strange powers, he could lie to himself and imagine that this was all ‘just’ a weird government experiment. Not even eating, sleeping, and bleeding in this world had fully shaken that notion.

Somehow, it was the Throne Hall, the least fantastical thing he’d seen since getting to this place, that sealed the deal. Maybe it was exactly the mundaneness of it all that convinced him. Maybe it was just the last drop in a continuous stream of oddities that had worn down his sense of reality.

Either way, the dimly lit hall banished away those fears – and summoned new ones.

There were more candles than Adam could see in a single glance, yet they still weren’t enough to brighten the vast, windowless room. Walls made of stone had been decorated in the cover of thick, polished wooden panels, scarred by the dents of time. Six long, rectangular tables stretched throughout nearly the entirety of the Hall, separated in the middle by a red carpet that trailed from the double-door Adam and the guards entered from, all the way to a raised platform whereupon a lonely throne sat.

Thereby ruled Lord Aspreay.

While the lord was less of a perfect specimen than the paintings would have someone believe, his noble features weren’t a result of artistic liberty. Aspreay’s jawline was sharp, his eyes piercing, and his hair dark, although his skin wrinkled with the scars of time. Posture wasn’t his priority; he made a point to raise an impressive chin at their arrival, he leaned to one side, head on hand, elbow on chair.

“All may rise,” the lord declared. “The accused will kneel.”

It was here that Adam noticed the shadowy, hazy figures sitting at the tables. Until now, he hadn’t been aware of their presence. They projected elegance without arrogance, with men sporting trimmed mustaches, women displaying finely braided hair, and everyone dressed in fine silk.

Except for the fourth table, populated by moving, full suits of armor that Adam hoped contained people inside.

He quickly took note of his surroundings. Save for the fourth table, all contained the same type of men and women, and including the fourth, all displayed a lavish amount of food. It was closer to a feast than to a casual midday meal. Not that someone would have noticed from their disinterested eyes, as no occupant in the room appeared to consider the feast anything special.

At that moment, Adam’s mind flashed back to the decayed city, and to the lost souls that wandered its withering, cancerous streets. They starve, but these people…

With that reticent thought, he walked forward. Guided by sharp eyes at his back and red carpet beneath his feet, Adam marched toward the throne and briefly met the lord’s eyes. In that moment, he glimpsed a variety of emotions. Disgust, of course, and disdain too – but there was something else there as well. Something he couldn’t quite place.

There was no time to study further. He fell on one knee, hands still tied behind his back, and looked up at his judge, jury, and possibly his executioner.

How the hell was he supposed to address this guy? Adam often went for a more casual style of speaking when he got nervous. ‘Yo, ah, lord dude, we good?’ came to mind. Which probably wouldn’t be the right thing to say – although it would definitely be the last.

I should try to be more…formal. What counts as formal in this world? Maybe ‘Nice to meet you, sir’? No, that sounded too…Earth-like. Considering how medieval the place seemed, he should try to speak differently. Screw it. Not enough info to make a reasonable guess. Just going to try to be polite. “Thank you for seeing me, sir.”

Aspreay laughed. “Sir, he calls me.” The lord grinned at his servants. “You hear that?”

“Aye, my lord,” a dark-robed man said, sheepishly clasping his hands together. “Think ignorance enough to make him guilty?”

The lord shook his head. “It betrays his birth, not his guilt.”

Adam drew a deep breath. There’s no time to lose my shit over this. Don’t panic. Analyze. Make a plan. What did that exchange tell you?

It was apparent that the lords disdained his ‘Earthly’ way of speaking. While Tenver didn’t tend to speak too differently from Adam despite being a noble, it was easy to read between the lines here. Speaking like a normal person made you sound like a commoner. It gave the lords a convenient way to look down on him.

Fuck that. Decipher what they said. Pretend it’s a code.

Adam wasn’t a linguistics major, but he understood the concept of ‘Nominal Sentences’ well enough. When compared to modern English, this fancy medieval speech was just them omitting words they deemed unimportant.

It was the extreme, quasi old-timey equivalent of saying “I consider Eric my only friend.” The ‘to be’ is omitted between ‘Eric’ and ‘my’ because the context is already understood. Nobles probably found certain words fine to ignore because they shared similar backgrounds, culture, and education. It was probably why they looked down on ‘common’ speech.

Adam grit his teeth. Fine. I’ll play your game. “My lord – forgive me if I misaddress your title.” Fancy medieval speech, omit words. Why not toss in some stupid metaphors while I’m at it? “My memory is lost, and my mistakes bloom in the spring of my recovery. How should my tongue address?”

Lord Aspreay snickered as a smile crept across his face. “You have forgotten your name, but not your manners. That, I appreciate. ‘My lord’ is fitting for your station. Should your banished memories prove your rank higher, then ‘Lord Aspreay’ or ‘Lord Aspreay Walsiege will suffice.”

The lord raised an eyebrow. “Although…I don’t think we need worry much about that possibility. ‘My lord’ will do.” He spoke disdainfully, yet without the intention to insult.

Which almost made it worse.

Aspreay reminded Adam of the occasional guest artist he’d seen at class. The kind who would pridefully explain why their art was better than whatever the students had created, more focused on admiring themselves than acknowledging the existence of – let alone insulting – another work. Not all guest lecturers were like this, but it felt like every semester always had at least one of those types.

Perhaps Lord Aspreay was the fate-mandated replacement for this half of the year, Adam dryly thought.

“I understand, my lord,” Adam replied, closing his eyes and lowering his head in a bow. Stay calm. Keep analyzing. Aspreay had lowered the quasi-medieval speech a bit after their initial verbal exchange. Maybe Adam could talk to him like something resembling a human being now. Or at least like a theater major who’d had too many drinks. “I thank you for your patience and place myself under your wise judgement.”

The lord appeared pleased at that. A moment later, the black robed servant from earlier approached him from behind and handed him a parchment. Aspreay grabbed it with one hand, lazily eyeing it without taking his elbow off the armrest.

“Do you know what you are accused of?” His voice seemed colder all of a sudden.

“No, my lord. I fear I’ve lost my memories.”

“A terrible fate to be suffered…or a prohibitively lucky coincidence.” ‘Too lucky to be believed’ was the omitted ending, Adam thought.

Lord Aspreay sat up for the first time, leaning forward to eye Adam suspiciously. “Two crimes you are accused of. Carrying word of our city to another, and carrying contact of the forbidden beasts into the city.”

In other words – being a spy and getting close to a monster. Better to start with the former.

“I have not and could not carry word to other cities,” Adam said calmly. Almost too calmly. Why am I not nervous right now? “But I assume just claiming as much is hardly enough proof for you, my lord.”

Lord Aspreay smiled. “I question neither your wit nor your manners, but your integrity is another matter. You understand my position, yes?”

“Understand? God, no. I barely understand the world around me, my lord.” Adam flashed a grin at the end. “I can guess, however.”

“Guess, not understand…good, very good. Tell me of what you surmise. Let us work together, shall we?” Lord Aspreay spoke in a friendly tone, as if he wasn’t contemplating ordering Adam’s execution. “Why do you think I fear your allegiances?”

“Because of my entry point to the city,” Adam said. “Lacking in memory, I had no idea there was a proper checkpoint to follow – so I just tried entering the city through the barrier. I imagine spies would do that?”

“They would,” Lord Aspreay nodded, as if playing along with a game. “Even if you have no memories, it should stand to reason that spies would prefer to enter a city unaccounted for. Members of the spy class, generally speaking, are the only ones who can attempt to pass through the barriers without much fanfare.”

An immediate, bright thought popped into Adam’s head. “Ah –my lord, though my hands are chained, if you would have your men check…you will see that one of my hands is quite burned. Would a spy burn their hands upon touching the Barrier?”

The lord turned his head to one of the tables. “Is that true, Esteban?” Adam didn’t turn around to see the response, but he saw Aspreay nod thoughtfully. “It does make you an unlikely spy. Mayhap merely a lackwit…but not likely, considering this conversation. Although a crafty spy might endeavor to use such an injury as justification.”

The nobleman let out a loud, thoughtful sound as he rubbed his chin. “Nevertheless, my immediate opinion is that such actions do not become of you.”

I…think that means he doesn’t think I did it? Adam dared to feel optimism. “Then you agree–”

“–However…unlikeliness does not mean an impossibility. If I am not certain you are a spy, prudence would have me execute you regardless, no?”

Adam somehow remained composed. He values propriety. Keep steady. Panic, and he’ll lose interest. “Even if I am likely innocent?”

“Even if I think you innocent,” he agreed, “I cannot place my subjects – those I know to be innocent – at risk.”

“You would bloody your hands?”

“I am a lord.” He spoke as if this were enough. At Adam’s blank stare, he added, harshly, “My duty is often to paint red with my sword.”

I’d wager you never color it with your own ink. Adam bit his lip. Great, the theater kid is infecting me.

After that momentary annoyance, the next emotion he felt was fury. This man’s logic was absurd. He was willing to kill innocents on the off-chance that they were guilty? Asshole. It was hardly difficult to administer harsh punishments from atop a throne and surrounded by feasts.

In spite of everything, Adam remained calm. If he wasn’t respectful, this wouldn’t work. “That makes sense. My lord is most wise.”

“Oh?” There was some amusement in the lord’s words. “You speak truly?”

“Of course, my lord.”

Aspreay harrumphed and swaggered as if expecting Adam to raise an objection. He looked like the kind of man who enjoyed drawing the ire of his inferiors. Evidently, he wasn’t used to commoners agreeing with him.

“I do not expect you to risk your city to save my insignificant life,” Adam continued, “but you are a kind, noble man. You would not take my life if there was a way to ensure the city wouldn’t be affected.”

“And I suppose you have a way in mind?”

“Yes. Keep me imprisoned.”

The hall went silent.

During that period of respite, it was finally quiet enough for Adam to notice how many people were muttering in the background. Though he couldn’t see their faces, he had to imagine they looked as shocked as the Aspreay. “You would sentence yourself to an eternity in a dungeon?” the lord asked in disbelief.

It honestly wouldn’t be too different from college. “No. Until my memories return. At that point, I would be able to explain my background and adequately convince you that I am no spy. And until then…well, even if I were a spy, I would do the city no harm while locked in that cell, right?”

“And you would be content with that arrangement?”

“I have lost my memories,” Adam said. “I have nowhere to go, nor the ability to feed myself. The jail cell would be a luxury.”

“Perhaps.” He nodded. “But feeding you would cost us coin – you may not know this, but the city suffers. We must curb our expenses.”

Unsaid in the lord’s explanation was: ‘And immediate execution is cheaper than a long term prison sentence’. Despite sounding as if he fully believed himself to be reasonable, he’d moved from his people’s safety to a monetary justification in the blink of an eye, as if they were one and the same. Worst of all, he seemed unaware of the hypocrisy of worrying over expenses when this ‘trial’ practically had a buffet readied for its guests.

I want to strangle this bastard, Adam thought, his chained hands twitching. With a smile, he said, “Ah, but there is more to say, my lord. Would you allow me to make an offer?”

“By all means.”

“I saw on my way here that you are an admirer of art,” he said. “You have collected many portraits of yourself.”

“What of it?”

“I am a painter,” Adam proudly stated. This was the first thing he said today that didn’t sound like bullshit to his own ears. “And I can do better work than what you have right now. By a significant amount.”

If the earlier silence had let Adam know that other people were muttering, now he was painfully aware of the dozens of whispers in the background, so many that they added up to a hazy cloud of noise pollution. That was fine. He’d expected this reaction.

Lord Aspreay barked out a laugh. “You claim to have no memory and expect me to find no issue with you claiming to be a painter?”

“Why not?” Adam asked sharply. “You take no issue with me being able to walk, and I’ll go as far as to say you’d never be confused that a bird can fly. Why question that I can paint?”

“Romantic,” the lord replied in a droll tone. “Yet lacking in substance. Can you prove it to me?”

“Can you give me a canvas, oil, and ink?”

It was here that, for the first time, Aspaready appeared to truly consider Adam’s words. The lord narrowed his eyes and leaned back in his throne. “And if you fail to meet my expectations?”

“Then my lord needs not bother executing me – if I fail to impress someone whose expectations were set by those paintings, then I will gladly slice my own throat.”

Adam was intentionally trying to be dramatic, but he found himself surprised at how much he meant the words. It wasn’t like he felt particularly confident in his oil painting skills. By most definitions, he was an average artist, and while he enjoyed oil painting, he struggled with it. Pencils and styluses were kinder to him than a brush.

Still, the paintings in this world had no perspective at all. They were flatter than what Adam’s old roommate thought Earth was. The full-body portraits of Lord Aspreay had shown no depth between the bushes, rocks, the man himself, or the sword in his hand. The image looked flat, like an old medieval painting.

People often said that perspective in art wasn’t invented until the 1400s. That wasn’t true. Many old drawings showed a semblance of depth and perspective, to varying degrees of success. It was true, however, that Filippo Brunelleschi codified the technique into a mathematical science during the 1400s. Before then, the quality of 3D spaces in art was inconsistent.

"Perspective" in art is an illusion. A carefully crafted trick honed over many generations. Be it either a lack of interest in the trick, or a lack of opportunity to learn from each other, the fact remained that many old paintings looked extremely flat.

And – in Adam's opinion – boring.

Modern perspective would seem like magic to them. A boring, “realistic” style would greatly impress them – especially since the bar for realism was set so goddamn low. Adam might not be particularly tall, but he could still stand upon Da Vinci’s shoulders to reach new heights.

Well, Brunelleschi’s shoulders in this case, but the point stood. This was a world that lacked a printing press and appeared to have a medieval understanding of perspective.

More importantly…art is a luxury, isn’t it? Adam suppressed a grin. Tenver told me your Talent decides everything. Your job. Your skills. It’s how you earn Orbs, how you earn a goddamn living. Non-vital Talents are reserved for sworn servants of rich lords.

Having an artist must be almost as expensive as being one.

And Lord Aspreay, rich as he was, still lived in a dying city suffering from a literal tumor. Tenver had described this place as a remnant of better days; the current dumping ground of the Empire that even trading caravans tried to stay away from. Aspreay could posture as he wanted, feast at the cost of his people’s lives if he dared, but his luxuries were limited not by Orbs, but by availability. Having a proper court painter would be a luxury few lords could boast.

“As I understand,” Adam continued, “my second crime is coming into contact with the creatures outside. Yet I seem not to have been infected by them, right?” He was just guessing that the creature was infectious, but between the tumor and the comments he’d heard, it sounded like a reasonable enough assumption.

“Thus far,” Lord Aspreay conceded. “But that could yet change, if symptoms were to…not to mention, the crime of exposing yourself to such risk, of exposing the city to such risk is–”

Adam raised his head in a dramatic motion. “A foul deed that one should pay with their own life!” he loudly proclaimed. Beneath his clothes, he covertly tested his Ink, making sure it could still shoot out of his hand if necessary. Time to go for broke. “And I will pay that price!”

“You will pay with…your life? Speak plainly!”

“Twenty years,” Adam said. “Even if I regain my memories and I am deemed to be a free man, I will pay back your kindness with twenty years of my work.”

The lord fell into quiet contemplation. Adam could see the gears turning in his head. Yes…this should be a good deal for you, shouldn’t it?

If Adam was incompetent or not a painter at all, then some rope around his neck would easily sort things out. But if he really was as talented as he claimed...well, then having him legally enslaved for twenty years would be the bargain of a lifetime.

Sure, most people would probably view it as horribly exploiting a vulnerable young man, but Adam figured Aspreay was too much of a 'lord' to think of it that way.

Not that I have any intention of staying here for twenty years, Adam mused. But I do need money, food, and shelter. And if his gambit failed…well, Adam was still reasonably certain he could break his chains and attempt an escape. He liked his odds at winning over the lord better than escaping a city full of guards, though.

“You will not leave this building until your memories return?” Aspreay asked, with a thoughtful tone.

Adam nodded.

“And even after regaining your memories, you will work here for twenty years?”

Adam nodded.

The lord paused. “What guarantees are there that you would not try to harm me – or other members of my court? Your artistic duties would have you standing closely by our side.”

“You are free to keep my legs chained if you wish to limit my movements.”

After another long pause, Lord Aspreay nodded to the same cloaked servant from earlier. Once more he fetched a piece of parchment, but this time he brought it not to his lord, but to Adam. “What’s that? A contract? I–”

The servant didn’t allow him to finish. The next thing he knew, the cloaked old man had absently stabbed him in the arm with what looked like a bird’s feather, but felt like a knife.

Before Adam could so much as mutter a curse, the servant put the bloodied feather to his parchment. A second later, he looked up to Aspready with a smile. “My lord – he lies not. This man is truly a painter by the name Adam. He shows no sign of spying abilities.”

“Is that so? Consider yourself lucky, Adam the Painter. A single use of that parchment is quite expensive in these parts.”

Which was probably why they hadn’t used it before starting this ‘trial.’ Then again…this had always been closer to a negotiation than a trial. If Adam hadn’t piqued his interest, then Aspreay probably wouldn’t have bothered, even if it was free.

Don’t let your emotions get the best out of you. Focus. Anything odd about that parchment? For one, it seemed that the parchments were single-use, unlike his tablet. For another, it looked like they couldn’t see his Rank or abilities. This plan could have gone horribly wrong if they were able to tell how low his “Talent” was.

But most of all…none of them looked shocked that he was a painter. Surprised, yes, but not shocked. If merely coming into contact with monsters was grounds for execution, then shouldn’t they feel strongly about someone who could seal the beasts inside his drawings?

Maybe that wasn’t something most painters could do.

“I accept your noble commitment to the city!” Lord Aspreay announced, with a booming declaration. “On your feet, Adam! Roland, unchain him – no, no, you need not bother with his feet. Look into his eyes! Feel the man’s honesty and devotion to justice!”

You’re so quick to trust me now that you’ve confirmed my Talent doesn’t involve fighting, Adam thought, with resentment. Wonder if you’d still be so trusting if you knew I could turn my blood into ink, stab you in the throat, and spider-man my way out of here.

Thunderous applause echoed in that shadowy room. Lord Aspreay himself led the effort, with every man and woman rushing to join him. It was an expected response; when a lord clapped, you clapped with him, regardless of your own opinions.

As Adam was unchained by the robed man, he and Aspreay continued to stare at one another. He shoved down the disdain threatening to surface, and instead portrayed the expression of a placid, agreeable, lowly artist who understood his place. That was who Lord Aspreay wanted to see.

Let him think Adam was that man. For now.

At the very least, he was glad to be able to move his arms again. He focused on that emotion as he joined Tenver and Esteban at their table – it made it easier to flash somewhat of a genuine smile at them.

“Thank you,” Tenver whispered as he made space for Adam to sit down. “I know it’s a huge sacrifice you’re making, and that this isn’t fair. But you did the right thing to keep yourself alive. After a while, I will talk to Lord Aspreay to reduce your years of servitude. I promise.”

Adam found his smile more genuine now. “I appreciate that.” He wasn’t planning on staying even a tenth of that term, but he considered it a nice gesture nonetheless – if a bit on the naive side. “Can’t complain, honestly. Got to keep my head.”

“It’s still not right.” Tenver’s whisper lowered to a mutter, his eyes burning with intensity. “I know…” He trailed off and shook his head. “It’s rude of me to say that I know. But I can imagine how hard it is to have no idea why suddenly your life is in someone else’s hand.”

Considering what you told me last night, maybe you really do. “Just gotta keep my head down and look for a brighter tomorrow, right?”

“Of course.” Tenver laughed. “That’s simply how life is. Even if you didn’t volunteer to live under those rules, it doesn’t mean you can ignore them. You have to understand them. Understand him.”

Ah, if only you knew. “Planning on it. Getting to know Lord Aspreay is my top priority.”

“As it should be.”

Adam didn’t miss that Tenver went from philosophical to practical without missing a beat. “The lord is an odd man, but even the maddest of men have their own internal laws that they follow. It will be easier to live with him once you learn what his are.

“Doesn’t sound like you’re pleased about it.”

Tenver didn’t drop his smile, but he did add a slight tension to it. “Doing the right thing is rarely pleasant. Nevertheless, I became an Imperial Guard for a reason. If the system cannot be changed, then I will save people from within it.”

Too optimistic, Adam thought. You can’t help people from inside a broken system. It’s just going to break you down. He didn’t allow his bitterness to show, though. Much as the whole thing was a foolish aspiration, he had to admire the guy for trying. “I’m glad this city has you, Tenver.”

“Thank you, Adam. And before I forget – here you are.” Tenver pulled out Adam’s backpack from under the table and handed it to him. “You seemed very concerned about this earlier, so I figured you’d prefer to have it by your side than leave it alone in the cell.”

“I really do,” Adam excitedly said, pulling his tablet out. “Thank you. Didn’t realize how nervous I was feeling without this.”

Partially because of its connection to his powers, and partially simply because it was expensive as hell. Not that he could buy another while stuck in this world. His tablet was, in every sense of the word, irreplaceable.

“Aren’t you worried?” Tenver gestured at the tablet. “There’s a lot of food and drink here. Won’t they ruin the fabric on your canvas?”

“Fabric?” Adam asked. He only allowed his confusion to last a moment. No way he could afford to look suspicious right now. “Ah…yeah. Don’t worry about it. Painters work in mysterious ways.”

He quickly shifted his eyes around the room to see that most people – the few who spared him any glimpses at all – seemed to be regarding him the same way: not as someone holding an unknown device no one had ever seen before, but as a weirdo who was carrying around an empty canvas.

After briefly turning the bright screen toward Tenver and seeing no reaction, Adam immediately drew out his stylus and wrote a new assumption into his notes.

—People in this world cannot see the tablet. They see a canvas instead. Unclear on the limits of the illusion or its exact shape. Maybe consider testing–

“–PLEASE! I BEG YOU, MY LORD!”

Very few things could divert Adam’s attention when he was focused on his tablet. The fact that he found himself looking at the source of the scream meant everyone else must’ve been already paying attention to it for some time. Only now did he see the kneeling woman, standing where Adam had been a few minutes ago, pleading her case to Lord Aspreay.

Except he seemed more annoyed now. “Woman, be reasonable. Guilty of a crime, by your own admission. Why should you avoid punishment?”

“He – he was also guilty,” she said, pointing in Adam’s general direction. “And my lord showed him mercy. I only ask that you show me that same mercy.”

“Adam did more than ask for mercy. He bought it with his talent, wit, and reason. I give you the same chance, peasant. Have you anything to offer me?”

“Offer? My lord, I’m from Austern. Ever since the city fell, I’ve done nothing but wander and look for a new home. I heard tales of Penumbria, its rapid growth in the Empire, its kind lord–”

“A liar,” Lord Aspreay said. His voice was calm. Too calm. “Not only do you come into my city illegally, not only do you come without bearing gifts, but you also lie. Place yourself in my position, my good woman. A lying criminal demands to further strain your limited resources…would you entertain her?”

“My lord,” the woman began, in a shaky voice, “I beg of you. I am no liar. Truly, I am from Austern!”

Here the lord leaned forward, a frown on his forehead. “That I do not doubt. But if you ran from Austern, you would have passed Coimbrago and Almadares first…and here,” he tapped at a piece of parchment, “we have reports from those cities that you indeed did.”

At that last bit, the woman gasped, causing the lord to smirk in response. “Are you surprised we were aware of that much? Did you think we, at the dumping grounds of the empire, are so dumb and uneducated as to not know our surroundings?”

She went pale. “My…my lord…”

“They turned you down. And so you came to Penumbria, your last choice.” The lord’s face contorted in fury. “You insult my city by thinking of it as lesser than those whoreson-led cockroach nests, then dare to ask for mercy? No!”

The woman was trembling. “As you said it yourself, my lord, those cities were closer to my fallen Austern. I stopped there because I feared the monsters–”

“My decision is made.” The lord stood up. “Your crimes are not so severe as to forfeit your life. Nonetheless, you are not welcome into my city.”

Lord Aspreay raised his hand. Adam felt the entire room tense. With a flick of his wrist, the lord beckoned the hapless commoner forward, his voice low and menacing. The accused woman hesitated, sensing the danger lurking in the motion.

Before she could react, the lord unleashed his magic, and the walls of the throne room yawned open like a gaping maw.

A powerful, invisible force like a mighty tornado threw the woman off her feet, her limbs flailing as she hurtled through the opening. Her terrified scream echoed long after her body disappeared in a dizzying, spinning blur. Somehow, whether through instinct or a power he didn’t understand, Adam knew the woman had landed outside the barrier.

Lord Aspreay stood at the threshold, his features twisted in an eerie smile. “Begone from my territory,” he spat, his voice echoing across the courtyard.

And with that, he closed the walls behind him, stone moving itself into place as if alive.

Lord Aspreay Arcanjo
Talent: Domain Lord (Baron)
Skill: Dominion (Baron)
None can enter this domain without the Talented’s permission. Those without permission are forcibly ejected outside. Complete control over his palace’s stone. Has perfect knowledge of who resides inside his domain at all times. Cannot die while inside his domain.

“That is why,” Tenver whispered, “I said you did well.”

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