Chương 474: B7—Chapter 50: Different Eyes on the Same Madness

We stayed in the city for over half a year, long enough to settle into a comfortable rhythm. Rue had the most fun of all of us. Although everybody called him a monster, none of them were actually afraid of him. The gnomes were welcoming in general, but they adored Rue in a way that made him feel like he'd become a local attraction. Passing people on the street kept waving to him and smiling, and the children chased him with excited squeals that echoed between the narrow buildings.

He made friends with all the kids in the inn area and disappeared for the whole day, only showing up when it was time for meals. Those he never missed. The moment food appeared, he showed up like magic, sat down, ate, and then vanished again with a happy flick of his tail. This world was also a good training ground for his mana speech. None of the locals had Telepathy, and they didn't even know the skill existed.

Al supplied him with mana potions, and Rue chatted with the kids, who mostly treated him like a very patient and very fluffy riding mount. He always got upset when I suggested he should glamor himself as a horse when he was big, but here he had no trouble serving as one with no glamor at all. It became a regular sight to see him strolling down the street with two to four children riding on his back, all of them holding on and yelling contradicting instructions he ignored.

His only real problem with the whole thing was that they held him by his fur, and sometimes they tore it out by accident. Every now and then, he'd trot back to me with an offended look, a few loose tufts of fur stuck to his side, and the self-pity of someone who'd suffered a terrible injustice that obviously required immediate ear scratches and at least two snacks. Al, on the other hand, was the most miserable. He didn't get the gnomes at all.

Whenever we explored the city, his expression kept shifting between shock, bewilderment, or pure contempt. He didn't say much about it, but it was obvious he wasn't a happy camper. Every corner we turned seemed to make him question our chosen destination. His height, which scared all the gnomes, made the situation worse. They stared at him like he was an actual monster, and he left behind a trail of people hiccupping in fright.

Originally, I thought the first city we visited was weird with all the hiccupping, but the way they reacted to Al made it clear this was just how they expressed fear. Seeing him approach was enough to trigger a whole round of startled hiccups, like some kind of nervous citywide chorus. Even in our inn, which was specific for stretchlings, he got the same reaction. Most of the stretchlings we met there were about 1. 5 meters tall. So Mahya and I, with our 1.

70, they could still accept, but they had trouble with Al's almost 2 meters. The stretchlings at the inn didn't hiccup when they saw him, and I was thankful for at least that small blessing, but they still kept their distance and kept throwing him fearful glances from behind mugs, plates, and the occasional curtain. In his turn, Al looked down his nose or simply ignored them.

He would sit at the table with a rigid, perfectly upright posture, eating with flawless manners, pretending the entire room wasn't watching him like he might step on them by accident. If anything, the more they stared, the more formal he became. It was almost impressive. Every raised eyebrow seemed to push him deeper into noble behavior, as if perfect etiquette could shield him from the absurdity of the place.

At some point, Al gave up on the city altogether and spent most of his time in my house, which we opened in my room. He experimented in his lab, tended his greenhouse, and read, claiming at every opportunity that we were insane for enjoying the city so much. He said it with the same dry conviction he used when lecturing about alchemy, as if our enthusiasm for gnome chaos was a clear sign of declining mental health.

Meanwhile, he hid in the quiet of his plants and equipment, perfectly content to treat the entire city like a dangerous wildlife preserve best observed from a safe distance. The one place he actually liked was the races. He thought they were hilarious, and Mahya and I agreed. Something about the chaos seemed to bypass his usual stiffness. During every race, Al had trouble keeping his collected detachment.

He tried at first, hands folded in his lap, chin lifted in that formal way of his, but then a frog would leap sideways, or a rider would vanish into a hay pile, or a tongue would shoot out and yank someone off their saddle, and his composure would crack. It always ended the same way. At some point, he completely lost it, and tears ran down his face from laughing so hard. He would cover his mouth, try to regain control, fail, and sink into helpless laughter again while the crowd cheered around him.

It was the only time I saw him truly relax in this bizarre city. The races turned him from a stiff, dignified prince into someone who laughed until he couldn't breathe. In my opinion, it suited him better than all the formality in the world. The races were held every week on a huge track beside the wall at the northern far end of the city.

We first heard about them from a stretchling in the inn named Tingogo, who spoke about the whole spectacle with such reverent awe that I thought he was describing a religious ceremony or a coronation. According to him, the races were a source of cultural pride for the region. After watching one, I understood he wasn't exaggerating. He simply left out the part where the entire event was a celebration invented by people who had never heard the word safety. The riding animals were enormous red frogs.

Their leaps were unbelievable. They soared about three meters into the air and covered nearly seven meters of distance at a time. When the race started, it looked like the entire field had turned into a herd of giant bouncing tomatoes. The gnomes riding them had only a collar to hold on to, and each time the frog leaped, many riders flew off like brightly dressed stones being launched from catapults.

The frogs continued on without them, completely unbothered, often leaping faster once freed of the extra weight, grateful for the sudden improvement in aerodynamics. The frogs that kept their riders tried to gain an advantage with their tongues. They shot them out with a wet snap, aiming at the riders on other frogs, hoping to pull them off. Sometimes they succeeded, and a rider would vanish from their saddle with a startled squeak. The crowd gasped each time, then shouted angrily, since the move was illegal.

Never mind that pushing a rider off with your frog's tongue was perfectly acceptable and even had a prize. According to the gnomes, one was noble combat. The other was an act of depravity. I still failed to understand the difference. The prize categories reflected the event's priorities. There was a prize for the most dramatic fall during a leap, another for the most dramatic fall during a landing, and a special prize for the most dramatic fall caused by a tongue shot.

They applauded these more than the actual race itself. There was also a prize for the last rider still in the saddle, which felt more like a survival award than a racing one. Technically, there was also a prize for the overall winner, but during more than thirty races we watched, no one ever reached the finish line still mounted. That prize might as well have been a myth. The citywide coalition campaigning for frogs to earn their own prize was the cherry on top of the madness.

They believed the frogs were the true champions because they always finished the race. Their campaign was loud and tireless. They marched around the track with hand-painted signs that said things like Respect the Leap and Justice for the Jumpers. They placed frog-like constructs around the city that croaked recorded complaints about an unfair system. They even wore full frog costumes and hopped around while chanting about frog rights.

At one point, I saw a group of them trying to teach a crowd of children a protest song. The children ignored the cause and used the lesson to learn how to leap like frogs, which led to a riot of tiny, red-painted gnome kids bouncing into each other. Even with all that effort, the coalition never managed to change the rules. By then, I was convinced they never would, because everyone else enjoyed the sheer chaos surrounding the argument. The entire city treated the debate as part of the entertainment.

The more serious the coalition became, the more cheerfully everyone else embraced the madness. Vendors sold frog-shaped pastries, kids painted their faces red, and the announcer shouted commentary with more enthusiasm than a commentator at a football match. By the time a rider flew overhead and landed in a hay pile for the third time, I realized the logic of the races wasn't logic at all. It was insanity, proudly advertised for anyone brave enough to get on a frog's back. I liked the city and the gnomes.

They were like small, insane kids who reveled in illogic. It took me more than two months to explore the place and see everything it had to offer. I liked the strange architecture with all the metal parts sticking out at odd angles, the go-kart drivers and their shouting matches every time one of them dropped the wheel to brake and caused a street-long traffic jam, and the strange, big constructs they called vehicles. Everything felt loud, chaotic, but creative at the same time.

If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it. At some point, I even risked using the ATV in the city, and it went totally fine, except for the gnomes commenting that my machine needed some additions. They volunteered to supply those additions for a triple price, of course. That was the only disappointment. From Lis's and Malith's stories, I expected the gnomes to ply us with alcohol to help us overcome our sad lot in life of being tall.

This world didn't follow that belief at all. They viewed stretchlings as a source of income, and everything cost double, triple, or quadruple. They also weren't shy about it and pointed it out every time, with their two standard phrases. One was "Tall people have tall wallets," and the other was "You can do everything with gold, and if you're tall, you have more gold." Their alcohol was indeed good. They had the normal stuff for everybody, and the hard stuff for high-level individuals.

At least that part followed the stories. The best thing about it was that it didn't taste like wood varnish or paint remover, but closer to sweet liqueurs on Earth. It also didn't make us blindly drunk until we couldn't remember anything, like the alcohol in Tatob, but gave us a pleasant, warm buzz that settled behind the eyes and made the whole chaotic city feel softer around the edges. It was expensive, a gold a glass, but I had enough gold, so I didn't mind.

The gnomes also liked music, and on our third night at the inn, they sang a song about fighting a snake between the trees. Once they finished, I got up on the small stage in the common room, played my guitar, and sang the same song with illusions showing the fight. That earned me a flood of drinks from all the patrons in the place, each one shoved at me by someone insisting theirs was the best.

After that, the whole inn turned into a race to teach me more songs so I could perform them with what they called pretty pictures. They competed with each other over who could get their favorite song sung first, whose song had the best pictures, and whose alcohol I would drink first, and the rest of the night turned into a cheerful battle of elbows, enthusiasm, and alcohol.

The innkeeper with the purple beard saw the financial potential and offered to give us the rooms for free for every day I sang in the common room. I didn't really need the discount, but it was a good chance to raise my Bard class, learn a whole collection of strange gnome songs that mostly talked about failed experiments and explosions, and finally enjoy the free alcohol I had been promised by Lis. The moment I agreed, the innkeeper looked like he had discovered a new natural resource.

Very quickly, every evening I performed, the common room was packed to the rafters. It wasn't just stretchlings either. Gnomes filled every chair, stool, and patch of floor they could sit on. Some even climbed the support beams to get a better look at the illusions. During the half-year we spent there, my Bard class rose from level seven to level twelve. Level up +3 Perception, +3 Vitality, +2 Creativity, +3 Free Points Bard Level 8 Free points: 20 …

Level up +3 Perception, +3 Vitality, +2 Creativity, +3 Free Points Bard Level 12 Free points: 32 At level ten, I got the skill Fortify, which, for a moment, I thought would be something like my Fortify Life Force from the Healer class, but I was wrong. FORTIFY A general enhancement skill that boosts physical strength, speed, and casting speed. Fortify infuses the target with a surge of focused energy, sharpening movement and improving overall combat efficiency in demanding situations.

At the beginning, the skill can only be applied to one person at a time, but with every five levels gained in the skill, the number of people it can affect increases by one, and the strength of the effect rises slightly. While the enhancement is moderate, its reliability and ease of use make it a valuable support tool for both short bursts of action and extended engagements. The first time I tried to use it on Mahya, it didn't work, which was a first, and threw me off completely.

But the strange nudge in my throat made me realize what was missing. The second time, I hummed while using the skill, and it was a very different story. We experimented with it for a while and found that it lasted for ten minutes. While the skill was active, Mahya could jump forty meters up instead of thirty and change. The skill also lowered the mana she needed for the skill, 27 instead of 45, and the landing felt softer on her feet.

She could also dash a bit longer, almost three seconds instead of two, and that, too, used a little less mana. Al was pleased as well. He could cast two different spells one after the other without any delay between them, one from each hand, although in that case the mana usage actually went up instead of down. When he cast only one spell at a time, the mana usage was slightly lower, but the difference wasn't nearly as dramatic as with physical skills.

For example, his Blazing Orb, which could now honestly be called a fireball because of its size, cost 42 mana instead of 50. The only disappointment was that I couldn't cast it on myself. I had a lot of free points I didn't spend, and it was time to use them. I first added seven points to Strength to round it up to 100. The minute I did it, every muscle in my body spasmed at once, and I dropped to the floor like a sack of potatoes.

My muscles contracted and released almost like a heartbeat, only faster, and every pulse tore through me in sharp waves. Despite the pain, I managed to move my neck, and my whole body looked like tennis balls were rolling under my skin. Thank the Spirits it lasted only about a minute before the pain vanished. There was a heaviness afterward, a strange density in my limbs, as if someone packed my bones with metal. Standing took effort, not because I was weak, but because my strength felt unfamiliar.

My balance shifted forward a little, and even breathing felt like my ribs had been reinforced. Taking a deep breath, I added eight to Agility, also rounding it to 100. This time, it felt like ants were crawling under my skin from head to toe. I clenched my teeth and sat on my hands to stop myself from scratching myself raw. The sensation danced along my nerves, and every few seconds, my whole body twitched and shuddered. It lasted about a minute, and when it faded, everything felt lighter and faster.

Almost too fast. My eyes kept trying to focus on things faster than my brain could keep up. After both enhancements, I had a few tough days during which I broke too many things, bumped into too many walls, and generally behaved like a toddler in an adult body. Simple actions needed conscious thought. Reaching for a cup was a delicate operation. If I forgot to slow down, I crushed the cup or sent it flying across the room. Some moments would have been funny if they hadn't happened to me.

One morning, I tried to close a door gently. The door did close. The frame did not survive. Another time, I sneezed and knocked over a whole shelf. My favorite disaster was when I intended to do a small hop over Rue's tail and bang my head on the ceiling. Rue stared at me for a full minute before shaking his head in disappointment. Walking required caution. Turning corners required even more caution. If I forgot to slow the movement, I bounced off the wall like a rubber ball.

At one point, Mahya banned me from the workshop entirely until I could promise not to accidentally punch a hole in something expensive. Little by little, the new stats settled in, and my body adjusted, but those first days felt as if someone had handed me a stronger, faster version of myself without the user manual. Once I got used to the new state, I added four points to Constitution, also rounding it to one hundred. That one was much easier, at least compared to the nightmare of Strength and Agility.

My heart started beating like crazy, a fast, heavy rhythm that thudded in my ribs. For a few moments, I felt the blood rush through every vein and capillary, almost like my entire circulatory system lit up at once. Warmth spread through my chest, then down my arms and legs, and the room tilted a little. I got dizzy and had to sit down. My breath picked up, quick and shallow, the same way it does after a long run or an unexpected sprint.

Sweat beaded on my forehead, and my fingertips tingled as the sensation eased off. After everything passed, I didn't feel any difference at all. No added weight like Strength, no jittery speed like Agility. Just… normal. The big and completely unexpected change came when I checked my profile. The Health line vanished. One second it was there, the next it was gone, as if the system decided I didn't need that information anymore. I decided to investigate during dinner.

"Hey, weird question," I said.

"When you hit one hundred Constitution, did anything happen to your Health line?" Mahya looked up from her plate.

"I am not at one hundred. Why?"

"Mine disappeared," I said.

"Completely gone." Al paused mid-bite.

"Your Health vanished?"

"Yeah. The whole line. Poof." Mahya frowned.

"That is strange." She tapped the table twice, thinking.

"Hold on. I can try it." Her eyes lost focus.

"I need two points to round mine. I'll convert an ability point." Al blinked.

"You are doing this during dinner?" She shrugged.

"Why not?" A second later, her posture stiffened, and her breath turned quick and shallow like mine had before. Al stood to go to her, but I stopped him with a hand on his shoulder.

"Relax. That's exactly what happened to me." When she stopped hyperventilating and shuddering, I asked, "How did it feel?" Her description was identical to my experience.

"Check your health," I said. She nodded and reopened her Personal Information. Her eyes narrowed.

"Nope. My Health is still here. Everything looks normal." Al straightened.

"That is peculiar. You are certain your own line disappeared?" I gave him a look.

"Pretty sure, yeah. I checked five times." Mahya rested her elbows on the table.

"So only yours vanished. Same physical reaction, different result."

"Yeah, but I don't know what to do with that," I said. Mahya nudged my leg under the table.

"At least you're healthy."

"Hopefully," I said with a sigh, and tossed the question onto the growing pile of unknowns. One day I would deal with all of them, but it wasn't today.