391 days until the Arkon Shield falls

Sorcery is magic of the spirit and is fuelled by spirit itself. Even those with no Potential for magic may harness it. —Trials Infopedia.

The inside of the tent was brightly lit with torches. In its centre was a log table. I frowned at its crude construction. The table had been made from hacked-off logs, bound together with sinew and gut. Can the Outpost’s crafters do no better?

There were three people clustered around the table, one of whom I instantly knew had to be the old lady.

Unlike the other two, the old lady was, well, old.

Her hair was iron grey, her posture erect, and her face wrinkled and seamed with age. The woman’s eyes were closed and her hands were clasped behind her back as she listened to her two younger colleagues, both of whom were as fresh-faced as everyone else in the camp.

Tara cleared her throat.

The old lady’s eyelids snapped open. Piercing blue eyes flicked from Tara to me—frank, direct, and coolly assessing.

“Tara,” she greeted. Her voice was warm and welcoming, and at odds with her strict military bearing. “I didn’t expect you back so soon, and with a guest, no less.” Only the barest hint of a pause betrayed her surprise at my presence.

“I’m sorry, ma’am. But this couldn’t wait. You’ve heard about what happened?”

“Marcus has just finished filling me in.” She shook her head. “You should have summoned me earlier, Tara,” she chided.

Tara bowed her head, accepting the gentle rebuke without dissent. “I’m sorry, ma’am, but the battle turned so swiftly there hadn’t been any time.”

The old lady nodded. “Marcus said almost the same thing.” She pursed her lips. “It seems I can no longer afford to stay away from these skirmishes. The murluks are getting bolder.”

She set the matter aside with a shrug. “But I hear events turned out alright in the end. Did you discover how our northern flank managed to push back the attack?”

“I did, ma’am.” Tara pivoted, angling her body to point towards me. “This is Jamie Sinclair. A new player and the one responsible. He shows promise.”

The Outpost leader quirked one eyebrow in surprise. “A new player,” she mused. “And crippled to boot.” Her words were flat and unemotional, a simple statement of fact that carried no hint of derision. Remarkably too, they were devoid of the pity that most people unconsciously voiced when speaking the word ‘cripple.’

The tent was silent, and I realised that the others were waiting for me to speak. “Good day, ma’am,” I said. “As Tara mentioned, I am Jamie Sinclair and still very new to Overworld. I entered this morning.”

“Interesting,” said the old lady. “Only a few hours in this world, yet somehow you have not only garnered Captain Tara’s respect”—I shot Tara a surprised glance. So she was a captain?—“no small feat in of itself, but you also managed to repel a murluk attack. And you are already level nine. Impressive, Mister Sinclair. Very impressive.”

I started. How did she know my level? I had not sensed her analyse me as I had with Tara before. Had she analysed me? I wasn’t sure. I was almost afraid to try the Technique on her.

“Just Jamie, ma’am,” I replied, attempting a disarming grin. “I’m too young to be anyone’s mister.”

The old lady smiled as if in appreciation of my effort. “Well, Jamie, I am Commander Jolin Silbright, but most just call me ‘the old lady,’ for obvious reasons.” She gestured to the blonde man next to her. “This is Captain Marcus, and this”—she pointed to the black-haired giant next to him—“is Captain Petrov.”

Marcus was a slim, dapper-looking individual who looked less a captain than an office clerk, while Petrov was a solidly built man whose height easily topped seven feet. Both men nodded curtly in greeting, their gazes curious.

The commander braced her arms on the table and leaned forward intently. “Now tell me, young man, how did you stop the murluks?” she asked, her voice stripped of its previous affability.

I met her gaze. “I have a Technique called invincible. It makes me immune to damage for thirty seconds.”

“Ah,” said the commander. Other than that single word, Jolin displayed no other reaction to my revelation. “How often can you use the Technique?”

“Only once a day.”

She nodded, eying me shrewdly. “I assume that it was the Trait that made you enter Overworld without a Clean Slate?”

“It is,” I replied. I had been prepared for the question and managed to keep my face blank, so as not to reveal the half-truth behind my words.

“I see,” said Jolin, leaning back. “A useful Trait, but ultimately not one of much tactical significance.”

I didn’t dispute the commander’s assessment, even though I disagreed. Let her draw her own conclusions.

“Well if that is all, I wish you good luck, young man,” said Jolin. “We need every able man and woman to fight for humanity’s cause. I trust you will join us in our efforts. Tara will fill you in on the details.” The dismissal in the commander’s words was clear.

“There is more, ma’am,” said Tara.

The commander turned in her direction, one brow arched upwards in query.

“He has magic.” Both captains stiffened in response to Tara’s words, but again the commander betrayed not the least hint of surprise.

“Well, then,” Jolin said. “Petrov, fetch Tara and Jamie some stools. It seems we are in for a much longer conversation.”

✽✽✽

Petrov left the tent silently.

I cast surreptitious glances at the others. Tara had folded her arms and fell into something akin to parade rest. She seemed content to wait for her fellow captain’s return. The commander and Marcus, ignoring me, bent their heads over the table and studied what appeared to be a hand-drawn map of the vicinity.

I pursed my lips as I studied the commander. I still wasn’t sure what to make of her—other than she appeared both formidable and unflappable. Is she a mage? I wondered.

Deciding not to forgo the opportunity to learn more of the people I had fallen in with, I cast analyse upon Marcus and the commander.

The target is Marcus Smithson, a level 28 human player. He has no Magic, meagre Might, and is gifted with both Resilience and Craft.

The target is Jolin Silbright, a level 49 human player. She has no Magic, mediocre Might, exceptional Resilience, and is gifted with Craft.

Marcus appeared oblivious to my probing. But despite my care, the old lady sensed what I was doing. The sharp look she threw my way made that clear.

I ducked my head, shying away from her gaze while I tried to make sense of the Trials’ feedback. Jolin had no magic. But that makes no sense, I thought with a troubled frown. How had she cast the two auras, then?

Her level was disconcerting too. She was a much higher level than both Marcus and Tara. How had she achieved that? And her age… why had she chosen to enter Overworld in her old body? Could she also have Traits from her old life that she wanted to retain? Did that explain her auras too?

Perhaps it is like my own trait-given Techniques, I thought. I knew that both invincible and mimic did not draw from my magic—the mana residing within me—but were instead powered by pure spirit.

Was that the answer? In my magesight Jolin’s auras had seemed like a mesh of spirit. Are the buffs surrounding the commander an extension of her spirit itself? I wondered.

I was debating using my magesight to study Jolin again when Petrov returned. The big man carried a log stool under either arm.

The five of us took our seats around the table, and without preamble the commander resumed the conversation—or was it an interrogation? “Now, then, tell me about your magic,” said Jolin. “What can you do?”

I studied her impassive face. She seemed to have no doubt that I would answer. I shrugged. “I don’t have any magic—yet. Only Potential. I haven’t visited the dragon temple. I joined the battle as soon as I arrived.”

“You entered the fight as a level one virgin?” asked Marcus, his voice heavy with disbelief. “Without even basic training?”

“There was no time, Marcus,” replied Tara with a shrug. “He arrived during the attack. I was sure I could protect him.”

Marcus snorted. “That was foolish.”

“It was my call, Marcus,” Tara replied coolly. I noticed she did not tell him she had been unaware of my Magic Potential until after the battle.

Ignoring her subordinates, the commander kept her gaze fixed on me. “And just how did you come to arrive here, Jamie?”

“Ma’am?”

“Location seventy-eight is only reachable through the elven gate at New Springs, and then only to those who refuse the elves’ ‘generous’ offer of pseudo-citizenship. But you are not from New Springs, are you, Jamie?”

I struggled to keep my face scrubbed clean of expression. How had she figured out I wasn’t from her town? Her intuition was scary, and I realised I would be hard pressed to keep my secrets from her.

“I’m not,” I replied, choosing to be honest instead of attempting a deception that would likely fail.

Petrov, Marcus, and even Tara frowned at my response. The commander, however, only nodded. “Will you tell us where you are from and how you got here?”

The direction of the old lady’s questioning was worrying, and I had to stop myself from biting my lip. What did she know? Or guess? “Not just yet,” I replied with a shake of my head.

A knowing glint appeared in the commander’s eyes and I realised she had anticipated my response.

“Well then, Jamie, what do you want?” Jolin asked.

“Ma’am?” I asked, frowning in confusion.

“You are clearly an intelligent young man, Jamie. One who is mistrustful—probably with good cause—and determined to keep his own counsel. But you also have something we desperately need: magic. I suspect you are not the type to be swayed by moving speeches, nor do you appear inclined to join our cause.”

Now how did she figure that out already? I wondered. I felt like I was ten steps behind the commander. Where is she going with this?

Leaning forward on the table, Jolin steepled her fingers. “I don’t have time to beat around the bush, Jamie. So, I’ll ask you again: what do you want in exchange for your aid?”

I stared at the commander and somehow managed to keep my jaw from dropping open in shock. Nothing about this conversation was going the way I had foreseen. I had expected the old lady’s reaction to be similar to Tara’s, and for her to try and browbeat me into joining them. What I had not anticipated was a forthright and blunt attempt to buy my services.

And I was insulted.

I would never stoop so low to demand payment from those so desperately in need. “I don’t want anything,” I replied with an angry scowl. “I will help as I can. Freely and without payment, and for as long as I am here. But,” I said, meeting the commander’s gaze squarely, “I will not join your organisation.” I glanced at her captains. “Nor will I put myself under the command of your… officers.”

A small smile played at the corners of the commander’s mouth. “Thank you, Jamie,” she murmured. “Your terms are acceptable and most generous, too. You will not be forced to join us.” She sat back and spread her hands on the table, palms out. “But I do have a condition of my own as well.”

I jerked my head for her to go on, still furious but willing to hear her out.

“You are valuable—” Seeing my annoyed look, she held out a hand to still my protest. “Hear me out, please. As a mage, you are important, and not just to our budding colony here, but to humanity as a whole. Your worth cannot be overestimated. While you remain with us, you must be protected. Do you agree?”

I mulled her words over. It was not an unreasonable request. “I agree,” I said.

“Excellent,” she said with a genial smile. She gestured to the giant, who loomed large over the table. “Petrov here will serve as your bodyguard.”

I glanced at the big man. He had remained tight-lipped throughout the meeting. Even now he did no more than grunt in acknowledgment of the commander’s orders. And while I had no cause to dislike the man, I didn’t know him. “I prefer Tara,” I said, surprising even myself with my words.

The commander’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly as her gaze darted between Tara and me. “Of course,” she said with a negligent wave. “As you will. Tara will serve as your protector.”