(TLO) Chapter 112: Jim (Patreon)

The seminary, as cruel a place as it always proved itself to be, was nothing if not consistent. When a seminarian displays an aptitude in one talent, they honed it. The countless training implemented was only designed for the sake of broadening their horizon. It was expected that every Reverend know a little about a lot of things and a lot about a little. Often times there were seminarians that proved talented in more than one aspect and were groomed to it.

However, Seth was an anomaly, in a manner of speaking.

Jim watched him try to absorb the fragment he had given him. Targan would not be pleased to find his fragment gone but he could always compensate the soul mage adventurer. That was if the rumors of Seth’s inability to absorb a fragment were true.

Watching the boy frown and mutter to himself reminded him of his other title amongst the priests. The soulless mage was not the only one he bore.

But that was not what held his attention. There was too much focus from the boy. It was too all consuming, mostly unnecessary. Jim still remembered how he’d felt the first time he’d absorbed a fragment. He remembered the focus, unlikely as strong as the one happening before him. He remembered the cold feel of the fragment in his hands, remembered its dull red.

His mind panned back to the reports he’d received when the seminary had informed him that he was to receive a seminarian on his pastoral year. It was not to be his first seminarian to handle, and he knew it was not to be his last. He had only wished the seminary had deemed him important enough to grace him with the secrets of Barony.

He had argued his case ceaselessly, countlessly. In the beginning he had been parsimonious with his petitions. He’d filed them once every three months, sometimes delaying it to six. After three years, and a belief that he had contributed a lot to the seminary, especially its finances, his petitions became aggressive. Any time he had, he dedicated to his petitioning. If a response delayed too long, he petitioned again. If a response promised him soon, he petitioned again.

A part of him understood the seminary. They no doubt believed his evolution to Barony would do them no good. After all, his monetary value in West Blue as a Gold mage would be greatly affected. They would have to restructure, return him to the seminary or post him to a land where no Baron stood as a ruler. As much as he understood this, it irked him to find they cared more for their benefit than his evolution. Left to his vices, he would’ve left long ago, packed himself up and vanished. But it was the seminary, they would find him and he refused to imagine the consequences he would be forced to face.

He would not be the first priest to run and he would not be the first to be caught.

Shaking away dreary thoughts, he refocused his attention on Seth.

The child had his fist clenched so tightly around the fragment he seemed to want to crush it. It was something all soul magi knew. A fragment could not be crushed. The world had once thought diamonds the hardest things in the world. The arrival of fragments taught it differently.

Seth muttered something again. He requested silence in a need to focus and Jim wondered if the boy truly had voices in his head.

Slowly, his eyes wondered to the twin blades on his desk. They were conspicuous. Short swords in a design he’d never seen in the seminary. They were obviously custom made. If the design was not proof of it, then the materials were. He’d never seen metal so deep in its black as this one. And its edge did not look sharp. But he knew better. Some of the cloth it had been wrapped in had been cut very cleanly.

He wondered if he would have to advise the boy on its use. It would’ve been easier to assume the boy knew how to handle it, but while he had seen recognition in the boy’s eyes when he’d unwrapped it, he’d also seen confusion and fear. Whatever had inspired the seminary to gift this to Seth, it was not him.

Something in the air changed and it drew his attention back to the boy. His focus was not gone, if anything, it had entrenched itself deeper than it had been. He opened his gold eyes and saw the world anew. The cascading lines and wisps of different reia aspects that filled his room sought to distract him. In his earlier days as a gold mage they would’ve succeeded. Unfortunately, he’d been gold for too long. Their presence had long since lost their appeal. He had since found himself unable to be enthralled by them. But he saw something else and it raised him to panic.

Seth was cycling his core, invoking his reia. It did not spill from his body like most soul magi above silver authority experienced when cycling, however, it enveloped his fist like a skill. Jim had not even heard the boy chant. Only Barons did not chant, and it was because they rarely displayed their skill. Their raw power was already grand enough.

Slowly, he leaned forward, realized he’d risen from his chair. The reports on the boy were proving ever accurate. The reia that wrapped his fist was a translucent blue so faded it was almost transparent if he did not discern it at the edges of it. Reia manifested itself in two ways amongst those below Barony. One was like liquid, and the other like air. Its gaseous state was a phenomenon of aura. It was a side effect of its use, an announcement of its presence. Its liquid form was its true self. It was reia realized.

Seth’s reia compressed on his fist and a touch of intrigue wrapped itself around Jim’s panic. With how much Seth’s muscles tightened and bulged, the seminarian truly believed himself capable of crushing the fragment. It was laughable, yet terrifying.

Then he heard something crack. Intrigue fled. In its place, terror buttressed his panic and he left his chair like a madman in search of madness.

“That’s quite enough,” he said, rounding the table and grabbing Seth by the wrist. “I am beginning to understand why you remain the soulless mage. I shouldn’t have goaded you into this.”

Seth opened his eyes as if dazed. He stared around the room slowly. He took in everything around him as if seeing them for the first time.

“I…” his words seemed to fail him. He looked down at his wrist in Jim’s hand and his confusion grew. “I thought I…”

This time, he allowed his silence win. The expression on his face said he had no will to seek out more words. He had accepted his loss here. Slowly, more sluggish than even his normal movements, he opened his hand and Jim took the fragment from him.

“You’re fighting the fragment,” Jim told him, as he returned to his seat. “That’s not how you absorb a fragment. You allow the fragment connect with you. Absorbing a fragment is more an agreement of the soul and the fragment. It is a mutual understanding. An acceptance. Not whatever it was you were trying to do.”

Seth continued to stare at him. While it was clearing up now, he still seemed dazed, confused. He resembled a soul mage at the cusp of discovering a new rune only to find it a mere replica of an already existing one.

Jim sighed audibly. The action was designed to draw the boy’s attention and it did.

“Now,” he said as silver eyes watched him. “Usually, for the pastoral year, seminarians get to choose what they would like to be. Some choose to play assistant to their handlers. Some choose to study on the path of the polymath, in which case we would have to find you access to one lab or the other. Some choose the life of a hunter. Others the life of an adventurer. The handler’s job is to advise and guide. We direct seminarians to pick a path that most suits them.”

Seth raised a hand.

“You’re no longer in the seminary, Seth,” Jim chuckled. “We’re in the world. We’re having a conversation and you’re no longer a child. You can resume the unnecessary politeness once you’re back behind the mist.”

“Noted. So what’s the difference between an adventurer and a hunter?”

“Hunters are on standby. They are soul magi who stay and train until there is a fissure or a crack that needs handling. When that time comes, they either bid for rights to it or have it allocated to them. Adventurer’s, however, are hunters who go out into the world. They are not as much as the hunters since it takes more than power to be one. Adventurers have to be cartographers. Have to be political, knowledgeable. They discover existent fissures no one is aware of and draw them to the attention of the guild who in turn report it to the government and the Baron. It’s also an adventurer’s job to either clear nests and soul beast territories.”

“What of the Barons, though? Don’t they have people they wish to grow? How do hunters get to handle fissures when Barons can simply send one of their own?”

“That’s simple. There’s a four-way battleground going on.”

“Four-way?” Seth asked, confused.

Jim raised four fingers and ticked them off. “There’s the Baron who stands for power. There’s the government, always playing at democracy and enforcing democracy. There’s the adventurer’s guild fighting to maintain adventurer’s rights. And there’s the hunter’s association, ensuring the hunters rights.”

“So the Baron is not a complete power?”

Jim laughed. “Not at all. He might be the strongest, but the government has its own Baron too. And if the Baron of the Deep decides he wants to wage a war over rights to fissures, then he better be ready to fight the government, the adventurer’s guild, and the hunter’s association. And that’s a fight he cannot win.”

“Oh.”

“So, what do you have in mind?”

Seth shrugged. “I’m not one for research since I don’t have the brightest mind. Anything else is fair game.”

“Yes,” Jim agreed, his mind still on why a seminarian with great aptitude for the gun was given custom made swords as a gift. “But if you were to choose, what would it be?”

Seth’s brows furrowed in thought. He turned his gaze from Jim for a moment and looked around the room. It was the action of someone considering the role of assistant. Jim had seen the look enough times to identify it.

“So we go for adventurer?” he mumbled, then he frowned in confusion. “What is it?”

Jim watched him contemplate. It was a brief moment before Seth spoke again. When he did, it was after a mild chuckle, an amused chuckle.

“No. We passed out last night and woke up this morning. We can pull it up but we’ll see its still there.” He shrugged, still thinking. “Maybe we take the consequence this time. I’m curious of something.”

Jim watched him talk to himself in silence. His other title was well earned: the broken mage. Soul magi did not fall sick so he wondered what exactly it was. He’d already been advised not to panic at it. Besides the boy’s constant conversation with himself, there were no other side effects to whatever it was.

If the seminary could tolerate it, then so could he.