Chapter 12: Waiter, there's soup in my fly

“Woo!”

My cheering is cut short by the smoldering fire catching its breath. I quickly return to curbstomping it out.

Tired and mildly mana-sick from the effort, I allow myself a moment of pride. That pride curdles slightly, as my mind gets stuck on something. It takes me a moment or two to puzzle it out, but soon figure out what had been subconsciously bothering me about this.

I return to the desk, the single piece of parchment explaining [Firebolt] atop a mound of loose white papers, open empty journals, blank books, and various pointless or non-functional instruments and devices.

“That's a lot of paper for a tier 1 spell.”

The full explanation of [Firebolt] could fit neatly on a single page, with room for commentary. So, what's up with all the blank books and extra pages?

I pick a few up and squint fruitlessly at their empty visages. Being familiar with invisible ink or watermarks and the like, I cast [Light], its negligible mana cost only straining my mana-sickness slightly. I hold the pages up to the red and blue flickering light, and see… something? No, that's just a slight fold from how I’m holding it.

I tap my lips with one finger hard and repeatedly out of slight frustration. There's something here, I can feel it.

The 1st cocoon had a red scarf and robes, the spell was [Firebolt] with knowledgeable commentary on pyromancy. The mage that originally owned this room might very well have been a pyromancer. Or a hydromancer that dressed in red to surprise people. Either way, flame or heat is a common method to reveal invisible ink, if this was their work they wanted to keep secret.

Snapping a banister from the bed and wadding up some webbing like the grossest cotton candy I've ever seen, I create a small torch. Then, not wanting to strain my mana-sickness so instead using some of the alchemical ingredients in my bag, I light the torch.

Holding paper above the fire and past the flames reach, I let it cook. When the paper begins to brown, and nothing reveals itself, I slam the torch to the ground and stomp it out in frustration.

“Come on!”

My last suspicion is the one I want the least.

It's obvious these opening areas are “edited” by the Great Work to fit the people being brought into The Game. Therefore, it's highly likely that– in the original inn this little tableau came from– the spell that was originally on these papers was a higher tier spell, now scrubbed and replaced with a tier 1 [Firebolt] like I've got parental controls on while I'm fighting for my life.

“Fuckin’ thing wants me to fight a war with a Nerf gun.” I mutter to myself.

Smacking my damaged brain against the problem repeatedly, higher function waterboarding it until it finally talks, a memory pops up.

I remember a scam I pulled once in those few bleak months of homelessness— after escaping the foster system but before being put in Juvie. I was at a little Italian pizza place where the Nona looked favorably on me and would give me free food on occasion. The teenage girl running the phones was taking an order, writing down the details on a little scratchpad on the counter. She input it into the computer for the kitchen, erased something on the paper, then tore off that page and tossed it.

Later, when no one was looking, I fished that piece of paper out of the trash can. I could see a few stray marks from what was erased, and snatching a pencil from a cup by the cash register, I lightly went over the paper with the side of the graphite. Gently, the indentations of words written reveal themselves in the negative space of where my graphite doesn't reach.

I lived good off those credit card details for the few weeks it took for it to get canceled.

It's not quite a smile, the expression on my face as I look back at the blank pages, but I’ve been taught to identify the emotions behind it. It's a bit of spite and determination, tinged with a fluttering hope in my chest.

“Let's see how thorough this ‘Great’ Work is.”

I re-light the torch, and let it burn until the lacquered banister beneath the webbing has a good layer of charcoal. Then, I get to work.

The softest of touches, the most discerning eye, and after an inspired, creative moment of scam-artistry, the words of a messiah are born in ashes, in the virgin womb of a blank page.

[Flaming Whip], (tier (3?))

Mato shakes his head as maniacal laughter echoes from the upper floor of the inn.

***

I've been staring at the same paragraph until time has lost its meaning; Ad saeculum saeculorum, unto the ages of ages.

“Jeeesus fuck! What is this? What is that!?” I yell, pointing at a symbol that resembles half of a drawn cat; a C with an A atop it.

Some of what this spell talks about I can recognize as aspects of thermodynamics. This is clearly something beyond me— hell, this was something beyond the actual pyromancer. The spell is unfinished! In the writings I can see where they got stuck, unable to overcome a specific sticking point.

As far as I can tell, the intention of the spell is this: The caster creates and funnels a small, controlled column of fire, much like the tier 2 spell [Flame Jet] (which I do not know) into the first gem “relay” in the base of the leather cord. Then, as the flame travels between the relays up the length of the whip, it will– via magical bullshittery– be magnified and intensified by the gems, much like the lenses of a telescope. When the flame reaches the end of the whip, it will extend beyond it in a semi-solid/liquid state, and be able to be wielded as an extension of the whip.

The original creator had trouble with the final part. No matter what they did, the fire wouldn't come out as that semi-solid. The jet of fire would just come out of the end of the whip violently and erratically, making the whip flail around like a loose firehose.

I haven't even gotten that far, I can't create a sustained jet of flame. Theoretically I could fire a [Firebolt] into the first gem relay and maybe have it be amplified and fire out the end of the whip, but that is not something I want to attempt inside this incredibly flammable building.

My attempts to create a controlled jet of flame, applying my knowledge of [Firebolt] and the process to collect and compress flammable material from the air around it, and potentially make it a sustained process, are cut short by a knock at the door.

Which is strange because I left the door open, but I suppose Mato was just trying to be polite.

“Cy, I found something.” Mato says from the doorway.

He looks at me up and down, the slightly burnt room around me, the bodies, the papers.

“Looks like you found something too.”

I begin packing up a few of the notes; ones with symbols I may want to translate later, the rest I have memorized. I wrap the leather cord around my waist as a shitty belt.

“Just some magic stuff. Got a new spell. Whatcha got?” I poorly explain away.

Mato gives the one hand wave to follow him, and says “hatch in the kitchen, haven’t opened it yet.”

***

Walking into the webbed kitchen on the 1st floor, I crack a joke to ease the tension.

“Waiter, there’s soup in my fly.”

My audience is unamused, which only makes my shiteating grin grow wider.

Mato leads me to the back corner of a pantry, where a wooden hatch has been uncovered beneath the webbing. With his knife in one hand, he grabs it by the rope handle, and nods to me. I stance myself ready to throw a magic missile, and mentally review the process to collect and compress a [Firebolt].

Mato tosses up the hatch and reveals steep wooden stairs leading down into darkness. A small, unlit oil lantern hangs from a hook on the wall beside and within. I throw up a [Light] spell. Mato startles and then blinks in confusion at the pulsing red and blue light, before I give him a thumbs up and set the orb of light to drift down the stairs.

The light reveals a dirt floor, and what we can see from the hatch is completely free of webs. Mato takes a tenuous step down, peeking around the floor into the wider room, and confirms;

“Root cellar, looks like it’s untouched. Food and supplies down here.”

“Sweet. Thank god spiders can’t use door handles.” I reply.

The root cellar has all sorts of supplies for the inn above, from lantern oil to potatoes to…

“What is that?” I ask Mato.

“I- I think it’s a melon? No, a gourd.” He replies.

The mysterious object looks like a basketball sized, pale green and fuzzy, Pomegranate. Our heads are tilted and examining, until I shrug and walk off.

Safe room secured, I begin bringing bedding down to the root cellar, and come down to find Mato cooking dinner. Shamefully, I toss the raw potato I’d been munching on (not for the first time and likely not the last) off to the side. Shutting the hatch securely behind us, we begin bedding down. Late into the night, after a few stomach-churning moments of practice and still going over the notes for [Flaming Whip] in my head, I drift off to sleep.

***

Level up!

Tier 1 [Mage], Level 3 ⸺ Tier 1 [Mage], Level 4

Skill upgraded: [Lesser Mana Well] ⸺ [Serviceable Mana Well] (passive, upgradeable)

Skill earned: [Simultaneous Sustain] (active)