[Midworld Bench]

Been here a few weeks, and all I've done is go from bar to bench. Growing too much hair. Don't wanna go to the barber.

I mean a good barber is great, but It's like a whole street from the bar, man.

Teleportation does not factor into the equation, thanks.

Didn't feel like doing anything, so I stayed in bed.

Yes a bench doesn't count as a bed, but whatever.

Just layed there looking at the water. It started raining, and the water rippled a bit. Soothing when water ripples you know? Tired, so very tired.

Coke rules by the way. The drink. Actually… does coke exist here?

Alright, so I did find cola. It tastes bootlegged. Like it was filtered through a shoe.

5/7

I'm just gonna read and call it a day. Don't have any energy.

Arrin was mourning. Where was he now? He was in his bedroom. His new bedroom. He’d died in an unfortunate accident, and reincarnated. He didn’t freak out, he didn’t panic.

When he opened his eyes he saw a ceiling. He looked through his memories, and realized what had happened. He let out a single tear for his loss. He took a deep breath.

He was now Arrin, son of Carlos. Arrin Carlez. He wasn’t anyone special, but his dad was an elite mage, a pseudo-wizard who failed to reach past Sky Scraping, but had survived, and given up, and was a baronet. He was a war criminal. Uuuh war “hero.”

He had earned merit, and been rewarded with a fancy house, wife, and money. Loadsamoney. Enough that Arrin received a 400 silver weekly stipend. Which he was guaranteed to receive so long as his father lived.

Action is primary. So, he refuses to sit idly by. He will honor his loved ones by living a good life.

He didn’t feel much for his new family. He had no siblings. Not for lack of trying, his father had thrice-cursed fertility. A dread curse created from his dogshit karma. Arrin was his pride, and joy.

The original Arrin was a weak people-pleaser. He wanted to be accepted, and constantly went around seeking attention, and love. His father, while encouraging his growth, was not an affectionate person. His mother was absent from the picture.

She birthed him, and then went off to do other stuff. He remembered that she had taught Arrin how to read, and then left him with: “I’ve taught you basic literacy, I have no more responsibilities.” She doesn’t appear in front of him, and, despite the little boy seeking her out, he could never find her. He doesn’t even remember her face, but she does live with them, in theory.

Arrin walked into his father’s office.

A red-robed, black haired, spectacled, red-eyed, wizard sat behind a desk. Carlos. He stopped managing the estate, as he felt his son walk into the room. He looked up, and saw the strong, tall(er), violet-eyed teen standing there. His mood rose, but his face did not shift.

He raised an eyebrow. This was the first time he had walked into his office without knocking, or permission. “Yes?”

“Young dragon assessment.” Arrin stared down at the man.

The wizard’s mood rose higher. “Ah, yes that is coming up. How far along are you now?”

Arrin looked through his memories. He had been fed all kinds of potions, and special snacks to get stronger. His dad had also provided him with a cultivation technique when he was younger.

The Supreme Boiling Blood technique was a technique that belonged to the Daemonic Infinite Blood cult before they were purged from Timor. Weirdo violence fetishists. Turbo cool. It had been kept secretly by a low-level disciple, and then passed down one murderer to another. His dad killed the last guy who had it, and used it to become a pseudo-wizard.

The blood attribute,extremely rare, was most effective with it, but it also could be used by anyone to stoke their own attribute. Arrin’s happened to be thunder & lightning, another extremely rare attribute. Hard to train, and master.

He remembered that the former Arrin had used the technique to unlock his innate strength. He had a weird dream where him, and an exact doppelganger were weighed on a scale.

The doppelganger was lighter. This was terrible news for the original.

When the original opened his eyes he desperately cultivated for 4 years. Most started at the age of 12. When he reached the age of 16 he attempted to ascend to the Young Master realm.

He dreamt that he was walking through a strange new world. He experienced some nice things, before a giant steel box flattened him. When he ‘woke’ he found he could no longer breathe, or dream. He realized that he didn’t want any of it in the first place.

His body reached the Young Master realm, and he dreamt of nothing more.

“Just reached Young Master.”

Carlos jumped, and smiled for the first time in front of his son. He quickly floated up, and used telekinesis to open up his safe.

He hands Arrin a white blade. “This is the white blade!”

Arrin blinks.

Carlos recalls that his son was not quite interested in history. He coughs. “This sword belonged to some old sage or something. Some weirdo cult in the woods is looking for it. It’s good, but I’m not a swordmage. Just head over, and show them the family crest. I don’t think this will be too much trouble for you”

Arrin had been trained as a swordmage. The boy had wanted to be like dad, but he had no talent for spells. He had a talent for stabbing. Which made Carlos prouder than if he was a regular mage.

“Thanks, I’m going now.” Arrin observed the blade. It was a simple, and pure white blade. It was not actually called the white blade. It was the Midnight Saint sword. A relic that if discovered could cause a civil war within the empire. Its aura was suppressed, so it was just a sharp sword for now.

Arrin headed off.