Chapter 21: Axe-errands. Errands with an Axe.

“Gimme that you chickenshit motherfucker! I wanna see what’s so god damn important that I can’t spend my money that I risked my life for!”

Isabella reaches for the binder with one arm as she smacks me with the other, but I lean back near completely, one leg against her center of mass to keep her away and both arms holding the binder as far away as possible.

“It’s— It’s bail money! I don’t know much more than that, but— but— stop hitting me!” I reply, shortly before Mato pulls Izzy off me and Demarcus stands behind me. Likely to prevent me from doing something stupid.

Isabella lightly smacks Mato as I continue. “Look, there’s an inn where we can get food and board for free.” I flip through a few pages to find the exact line.

The Last Stop is an Inn on the western side of the nameless town you’ll make it to. The [Innkeeper] there doesn’t charge adventuring types. She’s figured out that if people stay there and benefit from her skills right before they do something incredible, she gets partial credit for it. Walk in talking about the ancient ruins, she’ll trip over herself to get you to stay.

Drop the team off there, then take the axe from Demarcus.

Find the [Blacksmith] Yang Xuan in the [Artisan] district. Not a [Glassmaker]. Convince him to make glass with the time sand by playing up how special the sand is. Think of a better name than time sand. He’s curious and likes a challenge.

Leave it with him, you won't be picking it up in the orientation, but out in The Wider World.

Trade the axe at a [Merchant] for a shitload of mana potions.

Break into one of the empty workspaces and start doing some [Jury-rigged Alchemy]. Have fun with it.

Peeling my eye from the page and returning to the conversation I was supposed to be participating in, I explain the bit about the inn. Isabella is dubious about it and Mato doesn’t feel great about taking advantage of someone’s generosity, but I remind him that we will be traversing ancient ruins tampered with by myself in the future, and if that doesn’t get her to level, then nothing will. We’d be doing her a favor.

Our argument enthusiastic discussion continues until we crest another hill in this idyllic prairie and we see the town.

It’s a rather beautiful sight in the pink, waning sunlight. A strange anachronistic mixture of buildings of all styles and makes throughout the ages of human history. Market squares, shopfronts, and all manner of various services and restaurants. Every trade mankind has ever plied— except for maybe office work— is represented somewhere here. Even, oddly, a church. Which brings several questions about faith in this now confirmed afterlife. As we get closer I take note of which buildings have light and which do not, which buildings lay empty.

Future me described floor 3 as “A great waiting room” and that seems largely true. Everywhere you look things seem… temporary. No one truly is setting down roots as it will all be lost when they reach tier 2, so everything is treated as a means to an end. Wooden or metal signs of various ages, be they brand new or handed down for centuries, dot all kinds of shops and services, and people work diligently and purpose yet… without too much passion. It’s hard to truly put your back into something that you know will be temporary.

I remark upon this aloud, quietly to my group and it’s Isabella who scoffs and speaks up.

“Idiots. Assuming you’re gonna level and doing stuff just to achieve that is a great way to never level.”

Her words flip the switches of curiosity and interest, and I ask “what do you mean?”

She looks at me slightly disdainfully, and I can see her do the mental math of whether to actually respond to me or just give me shit, before she comes to the likely conclusion that I am sincerely asking.

“Well, the levels aren’t just numbers, right? The whole point of this is that they’re a measure of how strong your soul is on its way to godhood. The orientation constructs even said the point of the game is to struggle. They’re not struggling just trying to meet an end. Sure, they might be doing something difficult, and that’d work a little, but if you wanna level you have to try. You have to really challenge yourself, and that’s hard to do without passion. So, yeah, if their heart’s not in it, if they’re not growing attached cuz it’s all gonna disappear when they hit tier 2, then they’ll never make it. Or maybe it’ll just be slow, I dunno.” She says, growing slightly meek and embarrassed as she goes on and realizes she has all of our rapt attention.

“Where’s this inn again? I’m starving.” She says, swiftly changing topic and speeding her pace down the street.

What she says makes sense, but I am mostly confused by where this insight is coming from. How does she just understand this?

I don’t have much time to ponder this before I have to jog up to her and let her know that she’s turned down the wrong street.

***

“Oh don’t you worry about the bill. You brave adventurers are better off spending your money on things like healing potions, it doesn’t burden me any to give you some good sleep and warm meals before you go off on your big journey. It’s the least I can do.” The sycophantic [Innkeeper] says to us as we sit down in the inn. Demarcus has to cough into his hand to hide the chuckle when Isabella shoots me an infuriated side-eye at the mention of spending our money on healing potions.

“Thank you, ma'am, we truly appreciate it.” Mato says, sweetly.

Isabella and Demarcus wolf down their stews while I only have time for a few spoonfuls, then stuff some bread into my satchel.

Tapping Demarcus on the shoulder, I whisper to him and he attempts to hand me the axe slyly from under the table, and fails spectacularly as its bulk thumps the table and spills some of his stew.

I grab the axe and simply walk off towards the door, confidently and casually as if I'm doing nothing wrong. Which, I’m not.

At least I wouldn't have thought so until I feel a tap on my shoulder and turn to find that Mato had silently crossed the 20-some feet to the door in a second.

I've said it before and I'll say it again: Damned [Lightfooted].

“Where ya goin'?” He asks, arms crossed and suspicious.

“Jeez, can't a guy run some errands? It's not a big deal.”

Mato tilts an eyebrow in condescending disbelief, then looks down at the axe I carry and back up to me.

“You need a battleaxe to run errands?”

“Axe-errands. Errands with an axe. Sue me.” I say, but Mato's look dipping dangerously into frustration has me groan and elaborate, reluctantly.

“I'm serious. Just errands. I'm gonna trade the axe for a bunch of mana potions. Plus I gotta drop off some materials at a [Blacksmith] and try my hand at alchemy. Mato, it's nothing to worry about, all above board. Besides, I don't need to run everything I do by you, I'm a grown-ass man and should be able to run some fucking errands without an interrogation.”

I think playing up the clumsiness and cluelessness to keep Mato around by playing to his paternal instincts and making him feel responsible for me has backfired a bit here.

I forgot father figures usually try to keep you out of trouble rather than just try to forget you exist.

Mato pinches the bridge of his nose slightly and sighs.

“Unfortunately, it does necessitate I keep tabs on you when ya got a habit of findin’ or causin’ any brand of trouble you can get yer hands on.”

A familiar and unwanted anger begins to simmer again in my chest, and I feel my control over volume and tone slip.

“You don't know me Mato.”

I glance over to the table where Isabella and Demarcus sit. Isabella is more reserved than I'd expect from her, as I'd anticipated some needling grin while she enjoys my suffering. Demarcus though, he looks ready to stand and get in the middle of this, and he meets my eye with a tilt of his head; Silently asking if I need anything or want him to intercede.

I take a deep breath and give Demarcus a subtle thumbs up, then turn back to Mato.

“There shouldn't be any trouble. I'm gonna point out here that all the bombs and fire and whatnot was done while we were fighting for our lives. Now, safely in a town, I don't need to pull anything too crazy. I won't get hurt.”

Mato's gaze softens slightly as he recpgnizes the effort I'm making.

“It wasn't you I was worried about. Just— just stick to the harmless sort of crazy, yeah?”

I joke back. “Hey, what's that supposed to mean? Ya old fuck.” And lightly punch his shoulder.

“I should be back pretty soon, I'll meet you guys for breakfast, alright?”

***

The [Artisan] quarter isn't hard to find. Yang Xuan's smithy is a bit harder. Most stores and workshops are closed up for the night by now, their proprietors safely tucked away with their workdays at an end or focusing on their craft. Very few have signs of any sort.

I find the smithy not by a description of the shop but by a description of the man.

Future me described him as a skinny Taiwanese dude, but that really didn't do him justice.

Looking through a wide opening in this open-faced forge/shopfront, and into the back area lit by forge fires, I see a rail-thin asian man, I'm talking 0.2% body fat and actively trying to fix that as he stuffs his face with a slice of bread slathered in a slab of butter, while with the other he pours molten metal from a crucible into various molds.

He is deceptively skinny, as from beneath his leather blacksmith's apron and gloves, I can still see his wiry muscles. He doesn't look strong, but that's just the complete lack of body fat. The one handed grip on what must be 40 pounds of metal as he lifts the now filled molds, paired with the unburdened gaze on his sleepless, baggy eyes shows just how much ease he can lift it with.

I approach the shop, and feel the sheer heat as I get closer.

Stepping in, I look around at the stands full of basic weaponry like spears, swords, and axes, as well as tools like pickaxes and hoes, even cases of horseshoes.

The [Blacksmith], Yang, glances up as I step into the firelight barely illuminating my end of the counter. He doesn't stop his work, carefully hammering arrowtips into shape as he speaks around the bread and butter.

“If you're here to make an order or purchase, I accept payment in coin or workable metal.”

It's well into the night now, long after any shop should be closed. The man is clearly dedicated, and from the journal's description, it's clear he does this with a genuine passion and desire to improve. Exactly what Izzy said would get someone to level. This guy’s going places.

“You're in luck Yang! I have one doozy of an order to place. This undertaking will pay for itself just in the levels and experience you’ll get from the unique challenge of working with it.”

I say, doing my best impression of a snake oil salesman.

Yang looks up from his work now, setting the arrow tips aside and walking closer to the desk. He peels a sweaty lock of his black ponytail from his neck and looks at me confused.

“Do I know you?”

Shit. Is there some time fuckery at play here and he's already met me? How did I tip my hand?

Nervous sweat mingles with sweat from the forge, and they go bobsledding down my back.

“Um,” I begin, then catch it. The name! I said his name!

“No, but you were recommended to me by a trusted source. Only you can help me with this.”

Yang glances away from me and I follow his gaze to a small and slick piece of metal shaped like a tuning fork. We watch as the sleek coating on one prong of the tuning fork slowly begins to glow a light radium blue. Eerie, and confusing.

“So I was. I’m assuming your trusted source also told you to mention the ‘challenge’ of it to get me to take the job, probably pro bono?” He asks— ironically enough, challengingly— while removing his gloves and tossing them onto the counter.

“What? No.” I play it off. “They just mentioned you'd appreciate the chance to work with such a unique substance.”

He glances back over at the fork, and my eye follows, and this time the other prong glows slightly yellow.

“So that's a lie. Doesn't matter. If what you've brought me is actually as unique as you say it is, then your trusted source is probably right.”

“So, what have you got for me?”

Slightly shocked, distantly anxious, and very much vindicated by the existence of a lie-detecting fork, I pull the purple bag of time sand from my satchel.

I hold it tight to me, playing up the preciousness of what I hold, and lean in to whisper. Not only to add to mysteriousness of it, but to hopefully not be overheard by the Fork of Truth

“These are… grains of Forever.” (Nailed it. Great name.)

“Don't ask me how I got them but, I need you to make it into glass.”

He looks unimpressed, but curious.

“Grains of Forever?”

I shush him, dramatically.

“Keep your voice down. But yes. The Sands of Time itself. Can you do it?”

Yang holds out his hand for me to give the bag to him, and I do. He pulls the drawstring and inspects the sand, taking a small pinch of it and letting it fall back into the bag. The light catches and reflects off the sand brilliantly, not with vibrant colors but dark purples and blues.

He thinks for a moment, before speaking.

“I can certainly try. I’ve never worked with glass before so there’s likely to be several failed attempts as I learn. I’ll have to get my hands on other sand to practice on, and I’m guessing it’s not gonna be the heating process that’s the sticking point but cooling the molten glass. When do you need it done?”

“Not time sensitive, take as long as you need to do it well. I don’t expect to even pick it up here, you’ll have leveled far past tier 2 in the process of forging this. I’ll find you out in The Wider World.”

At that he looks very suspicious, but I just play it off with the sleazy confidence. By now he knows something is up, and it’d be impossible for me to convince him that nothing shady is going on. So, I do the classic strategy of letting them find a small thing so they stop looking for the big thing; I let him think I’m just ripping him off to get work done for cheap instead of laundering and smithing sand stolen from a church and smuggled from the future.

With a handshake and a promise that he’ll at the very least try, I can check that one off the to-do list.

Next up is the [Merchant]’s district.

The goofy omniscient mannequins said that all classes can branch anywhere, learn any trade, pickup magic, etc.— but this early on I’d guess that most merchants either started as [Artisans], or [Masterminds] depending on what aspect of trade they’re facilitating. Maybe even [Rogues] if they’re more on the fencing/smuggling side of things. It’s one of these more shady types that I’m able to find at this type of night, buying and selling weapons and gear. I pawn off the axe in exchange for an entire case of mana potions, and can’t help but feel that I’ve been swindled. Regardless, if it was in the book it was obviously worth it. It’s likely the axe’s value will be meager compared to what we find in the ruins my future self set up for us anyways, but mana potions are still very much necessary to get through it.

Lastly, I head back to the [Artisan] quarter to find an unused alchemy workstation and do some light breaking and entering.

Carefully, I make sure this station is truly abandoned and not just closed for the night. I check for dust, rust, and clean up a bit. Then, I cover the windows to make sure no light peeks through, and begin unpacking.

It's very possible that these stations are for public use, but humans are very touchy around what they think is “theirs”. Besides, someone might be trying to level as a [Landlord] and I do not want to see what kinda skills they get.

[Guillotine Resistance], maybe.

I check which equipment is still usable, and set up my looted supplies. I still don't know what half of the supplies I have actually do, let alone the equipment. I mean what the fuck does this slinky shaped tube do? Why not just a straight tube?

Thankfully, I’ve barely cast a single spell today, so my mana pool is topped off and healthy. I can [Eye-dentify] the night away.

First thing’s first, I should probably identify [Jury-rigged Alchemy] as I'm gonna be using it a lot here and it'd help to know what it does.

Kneeling, several breaths, I look inward and empty my thoughts. Then, those empty thoughts fill with new knowledge.

Apparently, [Jury-rigged Alchemy] is what it says on the tin; Helps me make the equivalent of toilet wine and moonshine.

In fact, I think making moonshine would actually be assisted by this skill.

The skill helps by reducing the effects of suboptimal laboratory conditions, allows more substitutions with cheap ingredients, lessens the negative effects of bootleg potions, and when I'm alchemizing by “vibe” it makes my intuition stronger.

Sick. Good skill to have and fits my modus operandi to a tee. No way in hell would I be spending all that time and money on a proper lab.

Next up is [Simultaneous Sustain], mostly cuz it's a newer skill I haven't felt activate yet and I wanna know what it does.

Another breath, another casting of [Eye-dentify].

Basic early [Mage] skill. Reduces the mana strain of sustaining multiple spells simultaneously, which would usually have an exponential cost. Probably got it for my usage of [Tripping Roots] and [Minor Illusion] in concert to lure the spiders.

A part of me is very curious to cast [Eye-dentify] on [Lesser Paradox Resistance] but that also seems pretty straightforward; makes it so small or petty paradoxes, like the sticky note on the mannequin's ass, don't fuck up my timeline. Or allows them to exist. Whatever. I'm betting the journal has this info.

Hey, speaking of, why I should probably look up some potion recipes and info about my skills in the journal. Really should've started with that.

I think about alchemy, with the desire to learn about what I have or what I do next, and my left hand instinctually dips a few fingers between a few pages, while my right grips a blue ribbon.

Flipping to the blue ribbon, I seem to find a cookbook of potion recipes, many of which I don't understand. A proud smile creaks across my face, and I move backward to the first page my left hand found. It reads:

First session of [Jury-rigged Alchemy] was relatively unsuccessful. Managed to brew blackout juice, and reverse engineered a bit of the mana potion. Attempted recipe for healing potion in journal (pg. 266), but some of the terminology was beyond me, at the time.

Later subsequent sessions were more successful at following the healing potion recipe, but from the advice of Isabella and my future selves I know that I can't let future versions of me do all the work for me, or I'll never level.

Also, with simultaneous causality in mind, it is important to attempt discovery and experimentation. Otherwise, half the entries in our journal would never have existed, and no new ones would be added.

Therefore, I propose, any alchemy session should have an even split of things we have to figure out for ourselves and recipes from the journal. Anything essential or time sensitive should be done via journal. If this policy causes problems, tear out this page later and adjust.1

1Note from Day 377 Cy: This policy is a pain in the ass and you talk like a douchebag.2 I don't know what we were on that day to make you think you're writing a fucking doctoral dissertation but, cmon dude, its just us here.

Anyways, this rule sucks balls but they have a point and it does let us discover shit and level so, no tearing it out. No matter how much we want to.

2Note from day 65 Cy: Ey fuck you man. Day 5 reads this so I'm tryna keep shit straightforward and easy to follow.3

3Note from day 377 Cy: and these footnotes are definitely helping on that front.4 You do realize you just wrote in a blank space because you remembered that I'll write this footnote later? I remember you doing that.

4Note from day 65 Cy: Yeah, to maintain causality cuz we saw these notes on day 5. I think we're in a Participant-source Virgin Birth loop with the footnotes. And who are you calling ‘you’? We're the same guy!5 You did this just 312 days ago!

5Note from day 377—

It goes on like that for a while.

I shake my head in embarrassment from watching me argue with myself.

“Oh god, do I really do that later? How often does this happen?”

Dread laughs in schadenfreude as I feel [Traveler’s Journal] activate, unprompted, and I instinctually know that I don't have enough fingers for all the pages. This happens, or will happen, dozens of times.

With a groan I turn my attention back to the important bits; I make blackout juice, I figure out mana a bit, and I guess I give healing potions a go.

I can work with that.

A juice that makes you black out already exists;

It's called tequila.

But one that makes you instantly pass out and wake up moments later, dependent on dosage. That's some magic.

I pull out a small vial of the spider queen venom, as I know that's a component, and then begin brainstorming.

I [Eye-dentify] a few ingredients, and find a few that give you indigestion or turn you blue, but not many really fit the theme.

The spider venom is a paralyzing agent and a sedative, so maybe I just need to amplify that.

I pull out the psychic mudshroom I had collected earlier.

It does fuck with your head and make you pass out in mud and drown. Maybe it'll also lower your defenses against the venom.

I slap the mushroom in a mortar and pestle and work it into a paste. I take a small scoop of that paste and put it in another tube with the vale spider venom, and swirl it a bit.

The resulting mixture is the right color—that dark purple nearing the point of black— but the mixture is a thick chunky slime, definitely not a “juice.”

I think for a bit, and decide to go with my gut and just stay on theme. [Jury-rigged Alchemy] is making me feel pretty confident about my idea for the next ingredient.

I leave my stuff setup in the workspace, after making sure everything is secure and no one will steal it, and I head out into town.

Not too long after, but longer than I’d’ve liked, I return with a shot of tequila. I had to haggle and barter off a healing potion for it, and really convince the guy that he’ll level cuz I’m doing some crazy shit, but I got it.

This “No buying stuff” rule is really gonna be a pain in the ass.

And where’d the guy get the tequila?

Regardless, I head back into the workstation and add the shot of tequila to the venom and mushroom mixture, then set it to boil and slowly stir it, to get the mushroom bits to dissolve. The resulting potion is a near exact duplicate of the one given to me by my future self, except for one bit; I need something that’ll wake you back up.

So, I add a bit of lime juice as a chaser.

Moment of truth, I take out my dropper, suck up a small bit of the blackout juice, drop it onto my tongue, and I wake up on the floor.

Dirty, and feeling hungover, I check the window to see little to no time has passed.

It clearly needs some work but; potion successful.

I’m a fuckin’ Alchemist.

I get to work on trying to reverse engineer the mana potion, fail, try my hand at the healing potion, fail, and find my way back to the inn sometime in the middle of the night.

In the morning, I wake up tired as shit, and once again desperately needing a bath but,

the future awaits.