Chương 11: Chapter 10: The Worst Place To Grow

Torin watched the daylight form with bloodshot eyes. Morning had come, already? His scalp throbbed with the realization. How much more time had been lost? Too much. Fleeing the scene after the statue fell cost Torin greatly. No one else had been close, but everyone in the damned city would have seen it fall. He couldn't settle for a quick retreat, even in his Hawk disguise. Torin scrambled through hidden alcoves for hours to create a safe distance. Finding salvageable shelter took even more time.

At a certain point, his body had finally collapsed into a derelict building of its own accord. Now, the sun rose behind the smoke again, heralding another unavoidable day. Torin still couldn't believe he escaped that trap. Knocking down the statue had been the biggest gamble of his life. Torin guessed that [Battle-Sighted] would only protect against planned attacks, not accidents. He'd cut his finger when raiding the Hawk Nest, and it had not predicted that. There might have also been more in his favor.

Even at Platinum, Cornelius had slowed down over the years, to the point where his responses greatly slackened. Had he caught on a fraction of a second sooner, would it have still worked? No, somehow that felt incomplete. For all his life, he'd never hit Cornelius even once. So, why now? Torin rubbed his scalp. What did it matter? Luck, skill, or something else he did not see. A win was a win. Engaging in that fight still weighed heavily.

Cornelius revealed so much about their shared past, Torin's origin, and the lies of his childhood. Each would be difficult to process individually. Together, they threatened to crush him under an avalanche. But not today. It couldn't be helped. Too many pieces were moving against Torin. He had to maintain clear-headedness and control, and couldn't get derailed ruminating about what it all meant. The past was the past, but his future remained at risk. How much time is left in my borrowed Traits?

Torin pulled up his status, but before he could answer that, another alert caught his eye. Congratulations! You have Leveled Up! Not just once either, but many, many times. Congratulations! Your Domain has Evolved! Congratulations! You have Leveled Up! Congratulations! You have…! Congratulations…! Because of last night's fight, the System had catapulted him all the way to level 17, with 39 new stat points to spend.

By State standards, this would place him at Peak Bronze for power, completely bypassing Mid and Late stages. He allocated the points with glee. Name: Torin Maximus Level: 17 Class: Locked Strength: 25 Dexterity: 20 Constitution: 15 Intelligence: 15 Wisdom: 15 Perception: 18 His body flooded with raw energy as it adjusted to match the increased stats. Fatigue washed away in this sudden rush, as if every part of him had been reborn. He could see further, think more clearly, run off into the horizon without rest.

This greatly surpassed what his body had ever been capable of before. The placements had not been done without thought. Torin guessed that strength, speed, and perception were still his greatest tools, but he did not want to abandon the others thoughtlessly. To be a step ahead of the State, he needed to be quicker and sharper. In another world, Torin could simply farm the Bronze-Rank Hawks for experience, killing waves of their weakest before slinking into the shadows. His younger self always dreamed of doing that.

But this was the Avinum State. They premised their foundation on countering these types of insurgencies. After the first few kills, the State would rotate Silver-Rank garrison patrols to plant a trap, swapping out medallions to hide their power level. If that failed, freelance Ospreys from Silver to Gold would be put to the task. If that failed, a battalion of Peak Golds and Early Platinums would descend from High Perch and comb the streets to purge anyone suspicious.

And if that somehow failed, a Diamond-Rank Archmagus sent from the Capital would simply incinerate the entire District and be done with it. Nothing was more powerful than the State. As his mind considered the thought experiment with newfound clarity, he landed back on this unavoidable truth. Gaining the [Divergent Phoenix] Trait might have been the best he could have ever hoped for, but it happened in the worst place possible. The timer continued to tick.

[Strongarmed] was halfway spent, but fortunately, [Battle-Sighted] would last until late at night. Somehow during his brawl against Cornelius, he had managed to refresh the timer. That was the last time this could happen, however. That only other person that Torin knew about who had the same Trait was Cornelius's estranged grandson. But he was leading a battalion in some distant continent, and not here. No, Torin could not refresh [Battle-Sighted] again any time soon, once it ran out.

By Torin's count, he had until then to escape Vrisgard. Once [Battle-Sighted] expired, he would lose the causal shield it provided. He knew what would happen if he entered a confrontation against superior opponents without that advantage. Where will I get through? The Hawk uniform only got him so far. He needed another angle. A hidden path to explore. He moved around for some time more, contemplating the dilemma. A pair of Hawks crossed his path, perhaps ten paces ahead.

"... I'm telling you, Finnius," the first said, "there can be no better job than this." The other grumbled.

"Are you sure, Tritus? They say that if you leave the city, you still need to make up with patrol time later." The genuine version of this novel can be found on another site. Support the author by reading it there. Leave the city, you say? Torin perked his ears. Tritus scoffed.

"Who says that? A bunch of Peaks pushing for Silver? They exaggerate the detriments so there's less competition."

"I could use the coin…" Finnius admitted before looking over his shoulder. He shot Torin a surreptitious glance, and Tritus followed a moment later. Torin slackened a few more paces, his attention suddenly diverted elsewhere. The two Hawks advanced faster, but it did not matter. With his enhanced Perception, Torin could still hear both men clearly, despite the extra distance. He had a feeling this would be lucrative for him as well. Tritus leaned in.

"As I was saying, if you want to get overpaid for a few days and escape the smog, there's no better work than escort work."

"Are you sure they'd take us Bronzes?" Finnius asked.

"I'm not registered to leave Residential."

"Doesn't matter. They'll take anyone Late or higher so long as they have the medallion. The Marquis knows that it's all for show. Some highborn runt comes into the city for a few days, sleeps with some whores, goes into the woods to kill a few foxes, and then runs back home. Nothing ever happens and they have a personal guard for proper security. The rest of us are there to shove commoners aside and look menacing." That would be good. Very, very good.

Torin crossed the road and accelerated a few paces, straining his ears to keep eavesdropping. Finnius pondered the thought.

"If it's so easy, then why doesn't everyone apply?"

"Because the system is stupid. Officially, we can only apply for escort work through High Perch."

"Can't do that. I'm not registered to enter the High Perch."

"None of us are. Some Heron designed it that way. They think they can lure only Golds or higher because of it, but the pay is too low if you're already up that high. So, in the end, there's a deficit of men, and that's when the escort captain loses patience and just brings along whomever agrees. Like I said, it's all broken."

"Still, I can't believe they just let us walk out… There has to be some trick from the Owls. Double pay for a few hours in the woods?"

"The Owls can shove it up their…" Tritus paused, watching the walls as if they had ears.

"You know how the Owls are. Just follow orders as normal and stick to the assigned route. Same as always." Finnius chuckled.

"Not bad for a day's work. Where do we go? Where is that Duke's son?"

"The little prick abandoned yesterday's tour over a 'stomach ache,' yet spent the evening at Flaming Lance near the southern rim. They'll no doubt reschedule again today, and there will be a shortage of men like before…" The pair rounded a corner, but Torin kept walking straight. He had extracted everything he needed. An interesting twist. Torin knew that exceptions were always made around nobility, but he never expected a loophole this big.

To simply march up to a captain and offer to leave the city with them and then… Go do it? Unheard of. Then again, he supposed he wasn't too surprised. During State Projects, his fellow workers had developed their own inside joke. Only two things ever trickle down from High Perch: incompetence and blame. The heads of the State cared little about the rumblings of their people until the second it interfered with their machinations. Torin grinned.

He had an opportunity to bypass everything, and this would get him out of the city by lunch. All this required was a single decent medallion. Finding one took the better part of his two hour window. Torin made a habit of scanning people with [Enigmatic], keeping his mana levels above the halfway mark to minimize magic fatigue. It was only a matter of time before he found one he could use. [Deft-Handed] (Rarity: Uncommon. Tier: Unranked) – Your hands have increased coordination and control.

Do you want to mimic [Deft-Handed]? [Yes/No] Torin swapped out [Strongarmed]. The raw power he'd experienced before melted with the change, but it was replaced by a different surge. He curled his fingers into fists and felt an added sensitivity, as if he could snatch a fly's wings as it whizzed by. He drew a coin to test its effectiveness. With a toss from one hand, his other immediately flicked the base. But the coin did not spiral out of control, instead bouncing straight back up.

His other hand repeated the trick, though missing its window by a fraction of a second. The coin tumbled below. Torin spent a few minutes testing, and with each repeated attempt, he could juggle the coin an extra round by merely flicking it back into the air. [Deft-Handed's] speed gave his motor controls an unparalleled boost, even compared to his already heightened Dexterity. It wasn't long before he felt comfortable using it.

Another guard with the appropriate Rank crossed his path before long, wandering alone in an early-morning fugue. The Bronze Hawk medallion hung lazily from his upper left-breast, three stars for Late. The two were on track to pass, but Torin stumbled right into his chest.

"Hey!" the Hawk grunted.

"Apologies," Torin said, tapping him on the shoulder with one hand while the other worked its magic. The Hawk kept moving with a shake of his head. Torin stepped around a corner and raised his new medallion. Even he hadn't sensed the movement from [Deft-Handed]. His fingers moved automatically. He pinned the symbol onto his chest with a whistle, enjoying the free promotion. Now, I just need to get to the brothel.

The Flaming Lance was not the type of location that Torin would go to normally, but it was well-known enough. Ospreys frequented there after long hunts, and Herons loved to descend from the State District during odd hours of the day. He quickly proceeded to the brothel, but his heart sank on arrival.

"A hundred barbarians were slaughtered in the Southern Fringe yesterday!" the familiar voice squawked.

"Our fearless Falcons achieved another unforgettable victory!" What was he doing here? This obese Parrot always stood around his neighborhood, yet today, he made an exception. Not only that, but he was the only one speaking right now. Now that the statue of Markus Augorus Septyn had fallen, the rest of the district had grown silent. Deathly silent. But not him. This Parrot focused on the very brothel that Torin needed to wait outside.

"The city of Grasmere is leading all others in war production! Duke Salvitus is a glorious leader indeed!" Of course. The Parrot had come for the same reason as Torin. By asserting himself in front of the Duke's son, his face would be on the noble's mind later, perhaps when he sought a promotion. If he didn't drive them all insane first.

"The Roost of Cranes discovered that life expectancy has increased by 28% for the citizens of Grasmere! The Duke has accomplished so much with his benevolent rule!" Torin supposed that he could get some valuable information while he waited. Whatever the Parrot said about his current circumstances would be the official message from the State. He wrapped cloth around his face as a mask and approached, his new medallion clear as day. Damn, he's uglier than I thought.

The Parrot had dark, beading eyes below a narrowed brow, and his mouth contorted into a giant maw whenever he burst with a fresh declaration. His neck disappeared into his chin, with little distinction between where one ended and the other began.

"What is the news about the murders yesterday?" Torin asked.

"I heard the streets are unsafe." For some reason, Herons, from the lowest Parrot to the highest advisor, all had the same subconscious tick. One half of their lips would curl upwards a centimeter before they spoke. Not enough to be considered a smile, but enough to be distinctive. The people called it the "Heron's Grin," and it only came out when they were about to unleash the most outrageous lie imaginable. Every single one did this.

"Be on your guard," the Parrot said, face contorting into the Heron's Grin.

"An insurrectionist attempted to assault a young woman yesterday, and a group of our heroes valiantly fought to the last to protect her. It is only a matter of time before we capture this vagrant!"

"What about the statue? Was that related?"

"A controlled demolition," the Parrot decided, not missing a beat.

"There were foundational errors that our engineers wisely found. They will now construct a replacement that is twice the size of the first!" Torin wasn't sure why he asked. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. If only he could crush this man's skull. He finally had the strength to do so, but not the opportunity. Not in broad daylight. But it was so damn exhausting. Torin was tired of the lies. Tired of the excuses. Tired of being forced to bow his head to a regime that he despised.

No matter what, at every level, their sycophants were always protected. That was why the Heron's Grin existed, in the end. They knew they could lie with impunity. The State was never wrong, so who could challenge its criers? No one. Torin knew it. Everyone knew it. They knew it. They knew it so damn well. And as Torin watched this punk stare back with the Heron's Grin, he had only one wish in the world.

Just this once, with one slight distraction, a window of time where he could wipe the smug look off this man's face and get away with it. All he wanted was that one tiny window. The upper floor of the brothel detonated in a sudden explosion.