(I) Liberation

-Memoirs of a Master-Tier War Mage271 (I)

Liberation

No unforeseen crises unfolded in the following two days leading up to the slipgate’s completion. Shiv would have called it a small miracle, except he knew it was mainly a factor of Hymn closing down the central part of campus to allow maintenance to unfold. That, and also because the Culturist decided to quell any issues before they got out of hand.

Though Shiv hated to admit it, the orc was on another level of skill and power. At several points, Adam detected hired mercenaries and assassins lurking in the dark, results from the blood feud created by the family heirloom switcheroo. Yet, attacks that were supposed to happen were suddenly cancelled. Killings were halted abruptly. Pathbearers lurking in the darkness sheathed their blades, as if suddenly possessed by a new notion or objective, and with that they turned away and went home, overcome by a peaceful urge.

"I have no idea how he's doing this," Adam begrudgingly admitted. "I have no idea where he's casting his spells from, how he's influencing their minds. I suspect he has a Divination Skill too. Something like Andra's skill—the one she used to cast her javelin using the System’s narrative or causality itself.”

And though the two of them had cast wary and near-belligerent looks at the Culturist, the Legendary orc took no offense and even gave them respectable distance. Indeed, it seemed like the Culturist was empathic when it came to Adam. Everything the Culturist did, he did carefully and subtly, trying not to traumatize Adam further. It was as he'd promised: he would seek to build them up. He would refrain from violence as much as he could until he next lost control of himself. And he always reminded them that he would inevitably lose. But there was a feeling of dissonance, a growing lull. As if the Culturist could beat the darkness inside. As if the Culturist could become more than an orc. And that was just a thing that was human psychology at work: the urge to hope.

Such was the worst thing about the Culturist. He made you hope. You couldn't help it. Shiv suspected it was part of his Charm skill, but it truly felt like it was at the core of his personal philosophy, that yearning for virtue. On top of this, the Culturist was different from the other orcs by magnitude in power and action.

Shiv could beat down Helix, could tear Mortar limb from limb, could overcome Whisper, and could pulp Tequila into paste with barely a flick. The Culturist was different. Shiv suspected he would need to die well over a hundred times before his skills were strong enough to contend with the Culturist. And even then, he suspected that the greater divide between them was experience—combat experience, life experience, and general intellect.

The Culturist's gaze was gentle but piercing, and Shiv felt transparent before him. It was an unnerving feeling. The Deathless liked being unpredictable, liked having a psychological edge. He was willing to suffer unspeakable pain, die, and return to surprise his adversaries. But that wouldn't work on the Culturist. There was too much insight in the orc. More importantly, he was also too damned understanding.

"It's an understandable feeling," the Culturist said, approaching Shiv out of the blue as he and the rest of their group tried to communicate with one of Kura's temporal shadows. The elven Chronomancer had managed to dispatch a few of her time clones out from the temporal gateway. However, there was an issue of what Jessica called lag: time dilation between the pace of progress inside the Gate and the actual world beyond it. As such, Kura’s clones would take a few steps, go still for half an hour, and then only carry bits and pieces of sentences across, leaving communication a bit of a jarring mess.

As such, it became necessary to start piecing what she said together, syllable by syllable, writing it down in a notebook until a coherent message was delivered.

"What's that?" Shiv said, turning to regard the orc.

"How you feel toward me. It's an understandable feeling. You're worried about your friend. You're worried about your own security. And you do not trust me. You regard me as a deer would a wolf."

That made Shiv scoff. "I'm no deer, and you're no wolf. We're both killers. Now, you might be a bigger killer than me right now, but I'm no easy meat. Don't get that twisted. If we fight, you'll kill me a hundred times, a thousand times, a million times, and whatever other numbers come after that. But there's going to be a point where I'll be more than you can swallow. And then I'll choke you, and then I will be the one that eats you."

The Legendary-Tier orc chuckled and nodded in agreement. "Indeed, indeed. I'm not disputing that, and that's part of the reason why I didn't kill you overmuch during our encounter. I was saving that for the future. I think you would be better sculpted by more precise deaths. Having you die to pointless brutality is not efficient for your development.”

"And let me guess, you're going to be the one that delivers these deaths."

The Culturist almost curtsied. "It is a mutually beneficial proposition between us, and more importantly, it allows you to overcome the anxiety you are feeling."

"Not feeling any anxiety," Shiv said. But as soon as he finished those words, his body vibrated with doubt, and the Culturist noticed just as much as he did.

Gardener of Doubt:

"Keep your pride, if you must, but understand that I know where you stand. I know how you feel, or at least some approximation of how you feel. After all, Valor has engendered the same feeling in me time and time again. Of all my adversaries, he is the one I never got anywhere close to slaying. He is always a step beyond, a step too far."

The orc paused and let the implication settle into Shiv as words drifted uncomfortably close to the Deathless's innermost thoughts. Then the Culturist turned away from Shiv—a deliberate and dramatic action. "You find yourself wondering, 'How? How can I match this creature? Perhaps if I am strong enough, yes, with enough years, with enough effort, with enough dedication, with raw power, I could overcome everything else.' But there is that something else. That intangible something that you cannot fully grasp yet. A superior intuition, a deeper reservoir of understanding and knowledge, an intellect that you cannot match."

Shiv sneered. "This is a really cute way of boasting about yourself, orc."

"I'm glad you agreed, Pathbearer Shiv. But it's not about boasting. This is about the value of discomfort, of coming to grips with your inferiority and learning what you can do with it. It is an important lesson, and for very many Pathbearers, they learn it when they are still Adepts. You, on the other hand, bypassed this lesson. You faced too many monsters that simply slayed you. Too many Pathbearers who got ahead based on raw talent or power, and they slayed you until they could not keep slaying you, until you were more than they were. The System has poured so much power and strife into you that you bypassed many critical teachings. And here is one of them: how to avoid the bigger monsters. How to survive in their shadow, so that one day you might become greater than they. And how can you understand where they are greater than you? So that you might be able to sculpt yourself to counter their advantages, to learn from them?"

"That's why you call yourself the Culturist?" Shiv asked. "Because you learn from your enemies?"

"I did not coin this title myself. It was a term of mockery, originally." The Legendary orc scoffed. His bitterness seemed true. "You know about the orcish cliques. Some of us are called 'Exos' for our interest in other cultures, for our willingness to take in skills that are not born of the Challenger. I collect such skills. I try to find a higher path beyond our base animal rage, psychopathy, instinct, and urge to hurt. And it has guided me well. But some of my own kind find this an insult to their self-esteem. Some take it as an ontological challenge. The statement that the orc is not the prime of all races, that they are not better, that our civilization is not superior."

"And you're saying it isn't," Shiv said, prodding the orc slightly.

"I'm saying we don't a civilization. You've been to the Tutorial, Pathbearer Shiv. Tell me, what great works of art did you witness there? Structures, yes. Fortresses, yes. Weapons, perhaps, yes. Implements of war, of course. We are capable of that. But what lasting monuments are there? Did you even see ruins? Did you see aqueducts? Did you see anything for the commonwealth of my species? No. It is practically an ever-decaying tomb. A tomb we harvest from. A tomb that we use as our domicile. But we are as if rats living in a greater being's corpse. We feed off the festering rot, and we lurk there, dying and resurrecting, never truly growing, never building anything that lasts."

The Culturist's lip curled, and the full extent of his disgust played upon his face. But a second later, he mastered himself, and his stoic calmness returned. Serenity was the orc's desired state, and he seemed to cling to that whenever he could. "Regardless, the lesson of hierarchy and the balance of power is best experienced rather than learned theoretically or from text. If you can face these feelings, if you can channel your anxiousness into something worthwhile, then you will have ruled your own mind. And that is something absolute, that is something beautiful and to be proud of."

"The lesson I should learn is when to play the role of a little dog and whimper in the presence of a proper monster?" Shiv retorted mockingly.

"It could be the lesson you choose to learn, yes. But I would argue it would be a mistaken lesson. A lesson learned because you are too obstinate and emotionally fragile to face the actual truth. The lesson I hope you learn is that you are more than your emotions, that though your feelings are valid, though your worries have weight behind them, you can confront the realities of the situation; that even being lesser than someone doesn't mean things are hopeless."

Shiv's tongue was moving before his thoughts formed. His instinct was to say something acidic. Yet, the orc's words pushed one of his skills over the edge, a final hit of insight watering his Philosophy.

Philosophy 46 > 51 (Skill Evolution Reached)

Skill Evolution: Philosophy (Initiate) > A Glimpse of Perspective (Adept)

Suddenly, as Shiv regarded the Culturist, a faint vision appeared in his mind's eye, a vision connected to the orc. Something emerged from a place of roiling darkness. Something surfaced from the depths of Shiv's mind. It seemed like an insect of some kind, halfway hatched from a cocoon but still stuck inside. Ultimately, unable to break free. Part of its body had turned into a butterfly, while the other half lingered in the form of a caterpillar.

Shiv stared at the thing appearing in his mind’s eye with incomprehension.

A Glimpse of Perspective:

Shiv thought.

A Glimpse of Perspective:

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

A Glimpse of Perspective:

Shiv’s jaw opened slightly in offense.

"Did you just gain a Skill Evolution? Have you evolved your Psychology? Or was it Philosophy?" The Culturist's wide grin was annoying, and Shiv nearly told him to piss off. He hated how much the orc could see through him. But just then, another urge took hold of him.

"Do you know what 'hoebag' means?" Shiv asked.

"A… promiscuous woman?" The orc was taken aback. "For what reason do you wish to know this word?"

"That's what it means? My skill called me that."

The Culturist laughed, Helix laughed, and not far away, he heard the Educator cough as she quickly flipped through her tome, trying to hide a laugh of her own.

The Deathless absolutely did not laugh.

A Glimpse of Perspective:

Shiv thought to himself. When the Skill didn't reply, the Deathless snarled.

"I take it you advanced your Philosophy, then." The Culturist's smile grew ever wider. "I am glad to be of service. And you're welcome."

"You shut the hell up too, asshole. I’m gonna go… read a book. Or write and shit. Felling… made up words."

The Culturist perked up at that. "I can recommend you some literature."

Shiv walked past him and pointed a single finger at the orc. He chuckled behind him, further fanning the flames of Shiv's furor.

"Oh, that godsdamn old bitch," Shiv hissed, seething at the Sync-Letter.

Adam was shivering next to him, trembling with withheld laughter. The Gate Lord's face was red, and his cheeks were filled with air. It was all he could do to hold it back, and a low whistle escaped from him.

"You can laugh if you want, Adam." And that was all it took. Adam doubled over in laughter. He had broken down at several points while explaining specific words in the letter to Shiv. Words such as "magnanimous" and what “postscript” meant.

The message Shiv had received from Veronica was the opposite of useful. Instead, it was a barrage of insults and a reminder that she had her eyes on him, and she made it clear just how much she knew. She was aware of the slipgate, which meant that she was probably already aware of the Culturist’s presence and the imminent evacuation of Blackedge.

This meant Blackedge faced more than just one threat. The Fingerlings and the Strangers were one portion of the danger. The others were Udraal, who continued to lurk in the shadows, and the Prismatic Guard alongside the Ascendants, who were likely capable of attacking at any moment—held back only by Veronica's self-interest. She likely wouldn't make a move until Udraal showed himself, and he likely wouldn't make a move until she did something first.

Or that was how the situation seemed thus far. A game with the Deathless trapped in the middle.

But Shiv doubted this détente would last. Once they secured Blackedge and reclaimed Starhawk's Perch, there was more than a small likelihood one or both sides would try to move on the Starhawk's Sacred Phylactery—along with all other Sacred Phylacteries it held. In that process, they would likely try to recapture Shiv, Adam, and everyone else from the town.

As such, Shiv and Adam began devising plans of their own, plans that only the other knew about. Together, they schemed against absolutely everyone. Against the orcs. Against the public. Against Udraal and the Educator. Against Hawgrave. Against the escaped prisoners that had accompanied them so far. Finally, they considered Can Hu. Though it made Shiv uncomfortable, Adam brought up an important point about the Penitent.

"We must consider the bitter possibility that Can Hu has been subverted by Udraal in some way. It claimed that Udraal restored its skills, and considering how powerful Udraal's Animancy is…"

Adam didn't need to finish the rest. That didn’t make dealing with the problem easier for Shiv. "We can try reaching inside Can Hu, but we'd probably need to surprise it. Otherwise, assuming we're right, Udraal will notice, and I don't think he'll just let us remove his control or whatever he's got over our bot."

"I don't think we should do anything yet." Adam spent a moment considering the situation. "We don't want to give away our suspicion. That's one of our edges against Udraal. The more ignorant he thinks we are, the more likely he'll do something overt, something we might be able to notice."

"And what then?" Shiv asked. "We don't really have any means of countering him, even if we do notice. He's powerful. He's got too many bodies. For all we know, he could spend and kill Can Hu, and then just infect someone else down the road. Shit, if I was Udraal, I'd be planning more chance encounters with us, if you know what I'm saying."

And that brought a new dimension of discomfort to their conversation. "I do know what you're saying. And I don't bloody like it at all." Adam sighed. "It wouldn't be hard for Udraal to smuggle one of his vessels into my Gate eventually. As if it isn't compromised enough already."

"So, what do we do in the meantime? Just keep an eye on Can Hu? Feels wrong not letting it know."

"It is wrong, but it's also the best choice we have right now. I don't want to play passive, but there are too many unknowns and too much at risk." The Gate Lord forced down his discomfort. "And I've been considering speaking with the Culturist using my Commander's Foresight. He's here. He's not listening. I can feel him. His mind is elsewhere. He does it to give me my privacy, and I'm thinking he's trying to build trust with me. It's..." Adam hesitated. "Working to some extent. Damn the orc, and damn his charm."

"You sure about this?"

"No, I'm not godsdamn sure, Shiv. I'm not godsdamn sure about anything anymore. It's been a chain of 'I'm not godsdamn sure.' This orc is just another node in a long chain. Doesn't matter that he tore me apart. What's the difference? It's just another week, just another day. It's just another near-death experience. My body's practically not my own anymore. It's just clay for the System to beat and mold. And I'm just kindling. Just kindling."

Shiv really didn't like how Adam sounded.

"Kindling for what?" Shiv asked.

"For you, you fool," Adam muttered. "The Culturist is using me to hurt you. He intends to hurt me as well, and fashion me into a weapon, but I'm being burnt, I'm being tormented because I am alongside you. Now, don't get this confused. I'm not blaming you, but it's like everything around us must burn. Everything must be reduced to ashes, tormented and fashioned into an instrument of absolute strife, or destroyed to feed said strife."

Adam went quiet for a while, and Shiv's new Philosophy skill triggered. He gained a glimpse of how Adam saw the world, how he saw himself. He wasn't a hawk, soaring with talons bared, prepared to rip the flesh from fleeing prey. He wasn't an archer standing high above all, preparing to release his arrows to strike down foes beyond sight. No, Adam felt like a burning feather, withered down, spent, driven to the brink.

"I still get jealous of you sometimes," Adam admitted softly. "Not the same as before. There's no true rancor there, but—"

"What's rancor mean?" Shiv asked.

Adam couldn't help it. He laughed. "It means loathing. It means hate. Remember how we started out? A little bit like that. There's no hate there anymore, but I wish—I hope—that I could have your mind—the fact that you don't break—the fact that the System cannot shatter you so irrevocably that you are not yourself anymore. I'm jealous of that."

Sage of the Enkindled Heart:

Sage of the Enkindled Heart 129 > 131

Shiv didn't need to tell Adam that. Their minds were connected in that moment, and the Gate Lord heard Shiv's skill clearer than the Deathless himself did.

"I know, I know. I thought these thoughts myself. But still, I'm not like you. It hurts, Shiv. Getting nearly killed hurts. Being so close to death, being mangled, having an orc take hold of my skill, my soul. And then instead of even being a proper monster, he plays gentle. He whispers to me and protects us from further harm. He takes a role of mentorship, one we cannot outright reject. And he tells us the ugly truth that he will hurt us, that he must, that he cannot avoid it. But he will build us up in the meantime. What are our lives? What monstrosities do we live? It's like we're pills in a cauldron. The heat just goes up and up and up simply because neither of us have broken yet. Neither of us have dissolved. But I'm not a pill, Shiv. I'm a person. I'm a person. And the fire is getting to me. I'm afraid. I'm afraid that I will—"

Adam didn't finish. Shiv did. "That you'll break?"

"Yes," Adam admitted. "I'm afraid I'm not enough. No—I I'm not enough. In far too many ways, I'm not enough. For all the skill, for all the mastery, for all the training, for everything I am, I'm not unbreakable. I am eminently fragile compared to you, compared to the Culturist. I'm fragile, and I despise it. I despise the fact that my mind is brittle. I despise the fact that I get scared, that I can't throw myself into the violence like you do. I despise the fact that I might not be here. I'm terrified of the fact that I might be struck down. I don't know what comes after. I don't want to think about it. I don't think about it. But more than that, I find myself burdened and distressed, worried about what might happen to you."

"What do you mean?" Shiv asked, but there was a building lump inside his metaphorical throat.

"I don't want to leave you alone with the monsters," Adam said. "I don't want to leave you alone in general. I don't want to leave. I don't want to die. But I will. For the people I care for. For Blackedge. For you, for Uva, for father—I will die. I will give my life willingly. But I don't want to be gone. I don't want you to be unprotected. I don't want to give you to some orc to mangle."

"I feel the same way," Shiv admitted. "I don't think I'm gonna die. At least, I'm gonna try not to, and it's pretty hard to put me down, but I know. I don't have any bullshit for you, Adam. I can't say that you're stronger than you know. And you are stronger than you know by a whole godsdamned lot. But I don't know if strength matters here. Caught a glimpse of how the Culturist sees himself, and even he's trapped and miserable."

"Yes, but his problem is different. Among orcs, he's quite the drama queen, isn't he?"

Shiv considered that and laughed. "Yeah, he's got a lot he complains about. It's pretty melodramatic at times."

A Glimpse of Perspective:

Shiv snarled.

The sudden self-insult caught Adam off guard. The Gate Lord choked. "What was that? Did your skill just call you a hoebag?"

"My skill's a prick," Shiv said.

Adam started laughing harder. "No, no, don't encourage the skill. I'm not a hoebag. I'm not a woman who sleeps around."

"Well, though the first part is untrue, the second part…"

"What do you mean by the second part? They're both untrue, Adam."

"Really? Let's take a walk down memory lane and recall what happened to Valor that night after saving Passage. Let us also recall the long walk I took. Oh, and then there was my mother, who was still trapped in your soul at the time. Perhaps she and Valor have some common traumas they can commiserate about."

"Felling moon-bits, Adam, I'm not sleeping around. It just keeps happening. I just keep having an audience that I don't know about or forget is there."

"Ah, yes, the ‘my debauchery was induced by stupidity’ defense. Perhaps you should write to Veronica Chandler and see what her opinion on this is."

Shiv sneered. "Man, piss up your own ass. I'm never doing that shit, and you are never telling her about this."

"But you have to admit, even in context, it makes you seem rather degenerate. Wouldn't you agree?"

"Adam…" Shiv growled with frustration.

"Am I right or am I right?"

"Yeah, I don't know, maybe you're not wrong, probably, but you know, you're kind of an asshole."

Both of them stopped talking for a moment and then snorted loudly as mirth overtook them. When they were finished laughing, they settled back into silence, and Shiv let out a long mental sigh. "Hey Adam, you ever imagine the future?"