Chương 33: A Modicum of Competence

Captain Hatch peered across the training yard and Caleb immediately broke form, fumbling his grip on the practice spear. The incompetent performance was a constant drain that left him more mentally tired than the drills themselves. He watched the captain move down the line, his mind swirling. Last night's bravado in the Guild Hall felt like a monumental error in the cold light of morning.

"I don't get it, Thal." Corinne stood a few paces away, her head tilted in confusion.

"How did you do it?" She gestured vaguely toward the village.

"Everyone at the inn was talking about 'Thalorin the Proven,' but you can barely keep up with the drills." The two identities clashed in his mind. Thalorin the Proven, slayer of matriarchs, stood sweating in the yard next to Thalorin the Mediocre, the trainee who fumbled through basic forms. He'd known the two couldn't survive together in a village this small, but he had hoped the reckoning wouldn't arrive so quickly. Caleb wiped sweat from his forehead, noting how she searched his face for some hidden secret.

At least the news hasn't spread to the training yard yet. Hatch seems normal.

"What can I say? I got lucky." Caleb leaned on his spear.

"It was really an ugly fight. Nothing like what people are probably saying." Corinne lit up.

"Lucky!? You killed like a dozen goblins! And the big one at the end—""Was trying to kill me, Corinne," Caleb interrupted.

"The clever thing almost succeeded, too." She waved his words away, practically bouncing on her toes.

"But you did it! You actually did it! You know, I've been thinking... maybe I should try to join the Guild and take a contract soon? Nothing too dangerous, just something to get started. If you can handle goblins, then—" Crumb! Abort, abort! Adrenaline spiked, chasing away his fatigue. He had been afraid of this. No matter how much he'd tried to impress the dangers of the hunt upon Corinne, it had turned a nightmare into an inspiration for recklessness.

"No. Absolutely not." Corinne flinched at his tone.

"Corinne, I nearly died. Multiple. Times." Caleb moved closer, staring her down.

"It's not some kind of game. One wrong step, one moment of bad luck, and you'd be scraping what's left of me off the cave floor. Don't mistake 'barely survived' for competence and use it as some kind of bar for your own readiness." Her enthusiasm faltered. She looked down at her feet, seeming very young in that moment. The silence stretched between them as Caleb watched her deflate.

But even as she nodded and murmured something about being careful, he could see it in the set of her shoulders: she'd made up her mind. Caleb could only sigh. As Corinne walked away, he felt new responsibilities take root. Others were watching, learning. Following his example. He needed to be better. Starting with proper gear. After departing the training yard, his first stop was Yorrin's Forge. The heat rolling from its open front was a welcome shock against the morning chill.

The clanging of hammer on steel was the village's heartbeat, a sound of creation and purpose. The forge's interior was purely utilitarian, a workshop built for production over presentation. Raw iron bars lay stacked near the entrance awaiting their turn in the fire. Heavy-bladed short swords and bearded axes hung from hooks on the walls, their edges gleaming and unadorned. Piles of newly forged axe heads and shovel blades waited in a corner, ready for the hands of loggers and farmers.

Yorrin worked at his anvil, hammering a glowing piece of metal with methodical strikes while Caleb waited. He knew better than to interrupt a craftsman at work. Finally, Yorrin plunged the piece into a quenching barrel with a furious hiss. He turned, swiping a grimy forearm across his brow and regarded Caleb with typical nonchalance.

"Yeah?" Caleb un-shouldered the spear, laying it on the scarred wooden counter. The sheared-off tip and the spiderweb of stress fractures along the shaft told their own story. Yorrin picked it up, his thick fingers tracking the damage. He brought the ruined tip close to his eye, indifference giving way to a spark of curiosity.

"This… looks like my work. Where'd ya get it?"

"From the Adventurer's Guild's armory, actually. It was… the weapon of a deceased adventurer." Yorrin grunted.

"Huh. I remember it now. I always wondered what happened to that lad… pity. Anyway, what'd you hit with this? Ya try to parry a falling mountain?"

"I hit something big and hard and fast that was trying to kill me." The blacksmith snorted, his thumb rubbing at a spot where the wood had splintered.

"This damage is a power overload from the wielder, an internal failure from excessive force. You put too much through the weapon too fast. The iron couldn't handle the kickback, which is why the tip shattered, and the impact tore the wood apart from the inside." He laid the weapon back onto the counter.

"I don't know how you managed it but this spear is scrap. Honestly, it'd be cheaper to make a new one."

"I-I need it repaired, Yorrin. It saved my life." The blacksmith let out a short, humorless laugh.

"Then hang it on your wall as a trophy, lad. Don't bring it back into a fight." He gestured dismissively at the ruined weapon.

"To make this useable I'd have to forge a new, heavier head and reinforce the wood with iron bands. It'll cost you at least three gold for a clumsy, unbalanced stick with a grip like a bag of rocks. You'd be better off with a whittled fence post."

"But—" Caleb stopped himself with a frown, and nodded. Better to trust the man who made the weapon. He knew his craft.

"Yes, well. Thank you." Yorrin snorted again, already turning back to the heat of his forge. Caleb left with his glorified walking stick and headed for The Golden Mortar. When he arrived, Selara stood behind the counter, sorting a basket of what looked like dried roots. She looked up, her grey eyes assessing. He said nothing. He simply rested the broken spear against the polished granite countertop between them. Selara glanced at the ruined weapon, frowning.

"What did you hit with that?"

"A feral goblin," Caleb said. He produced the glass jar containing the matriarch's pheromone gland, setting it down next to the spear. A muscle twitched at the corner of her eye as she took in the fist-sized gland floating in preservation fluid. She looked from the gland to the broken spear and then back to Caleb, her features shifting from assessment to something more complex. Respect, perhaps, colored with suspicion.

"The deal was to kill a single feral goblin… yet you claim to have killed a matriarch?" She tapped a finger on the counter, her stare fixed on him.

"You've met the terms, but this... this is not the work of a novice fumbling through his first contract. I shall need to see your skills for myself before we proceed. You understand, I am sure." Aurelian emerged from the back room, annoyance plain on his face. He stopped short and eyed Caleb with distaste.

"Selara, must you allow street boys to simply wander in here? He's tracking the grime of the common thoroughfare all over my clean floors." He then glanced at the jar.

"And bringing his... trophies... with him. How utterly pedestrian." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Caleb ignored his words, turning to face the alchemist directly. He pointed to the jar.

"This is proof of my potential. I'm here to request an apprenticeship again." Aurelian raised a perfectly sculpted eyebrow. He approached the jar, examining its contents with a derisive air.

"You think killing a feral goblin matriarch is something to impress me with?"

"In its own den, after killing most of its pack. The creature was smart. The pack used flanking tactics and suppressed my movements with thrown rocks from the quarry to herd me, but I managed to use the cave entrance to thin their numbers. When the matriarch finally emerged - which was a surprise, let me tell you - I realized my spear couldn't penetrate her hide. The standard Legion forms I'd been trained on were useless against it." He paused, letting the implication hang in the air as he took a breath.

"So I adapted. I created a new Ability on the spot by overloading my attack with every bit of Stamina I had left. The thrust worked, but the force of it damaged the weapon and damaged my arm."

"Fascinating. A perfect specimen of a fundamentally useless category." He tapped the glass jar.

"Feral goblin parts are F-tier refuse. This is simply a larger and shinier piece of trash." He then waved a careless hand at Caleb.

"And you. Your methods are brutish. The work of a thug, not befitting a craft for scholars." Leaning in, he dropped his voice to a condescending whisper.

"I cannot teach a hammer to be a scalpel." He muttered under his breath, "And I certainly have no time for strays with delusions of adequacy." Caleb met Aurelian's stare, his expression unyielding.

"What you deem brutish is me analyzing a problem and inventing a solution under fire. I would assume an alchemist benefits from that kind of creative thinking and tenacity." Caleb raised his hands, putting his dexterous fingers on display.

"And trust me when I can be a scalpel. I worked at the Hearthsong kitchen for weeks. Ask Gareth about my knife work. I possess the finesse required for delicate tasks." Aurelian laughed again, unpleasantly.

"Do you hear that, sister? He's comparing dicing onions to distilling the essence of a natural treasure. The sheer audacity. You're amusing, boy, I'll grant you that." Caleb let the alchemist's laughter fade. He held the man's mocking eyes with a calm that seemed to unnerve Aurelian more than any outburst would have. Without a word, he reached into his pack and drew out another small, cloth-wrapped bundle, placing it on the counter beside the matriarch's gland.

"Would a simple brute have recognized to bring back this, while wounded and exhausted no less?" Caleb unwrapped the cloth, revealing a cluster of pale, fleshy lichen buds. Selara stepped closer. Her attention shifted from the lichen to Caleb with a new intensity. Aurelian went still. He bent closer, his eyes narrowing with interest.

"Impossible," he declared, a denial aimed at the world itself. With a pair of delicate tongs, he picked up the sample and brought it closer to his face.

"This is carrion bloom, an E-tier spirit herb that doesn't grow in this region." He breathed the words, a stream of calculations and disbelief.

"The conditions would have to be perfect… decades of decay…" He looked up, his eyes intent.

"Where did you find this?"

"I'll consider parting with that information as part of the terms of my apprenticeship." Aurelian placed the sample down with a care he hadn't shown the gland.

"Fine." The word was clipped.

"You've proven a modicum of competence. But that only qualifies you as a supplier, nothing more." He turned to his sister, his tone dismissive.

"Selara, this diversion has run its course." The alchemist started for the back room, then paused. His eyes lingered on the carrion bloom sample on the counter, a flash of undisguised avarice in his countenance before he masked it. Caleb saw the look and made a quick calculation.

"You can keep the lichen. Call it a down payment on future business." He turned to Selara, knowing he had more work to do before he could truly win the alchemist over. Selara looked Caleb up and down, noting his ruined armor and lack of a proper weapon.

"You can't go into the forest armed with that." She disappeared into the back room with her brother and his prize, returning with a simple, well-maintained spear. The wood was dark and seasoned, the iron tip keen.

"I expect you to treat this loaner better than you did your previous weapon." She led him from the shop, and as the door closed behind them he pushed thoughts of Aurelian aside and focused on what Selara would demand next. They walked toward the forest, Selara setting a brisk, purposeful pace.

"You're a clever young man," she said without looking at him.

"Using his own arrogance against him… I almost enjoyed that. Now, it is time to see what else you are made of." Caleb had progressed with the alchemist, but the day's real challenge was just beginning. Selara led him out the southern gate and under the wild curtain of the Virethane, the sounds of the village quickly fading behind them. She stopped beneath a large evergreen.

"To start, you need to learn how to truly see what is around you. Have you learned to use your [Spiritual Perception] yet?" Caleb nodded and scanned the area, but the forest floor seemed barren of any meaningful spiritual signatures.

"The easy ground has been stripped bare around here: this is called the Delver's Trace. Dungeon delving teams head out southwest of Deadfall, straight through the forest to the dungeon. The track has long since been cleared of obstructions, and every team takes the same route. Naturally, the path is typically clear of threats. That makes it safer, which means it's also been picked clean." She ducked under a low hanging branch as they continued.

"Add the Reaping Festival to the mix, and you have every forager in Deadfall competing for scraps." Reaping Festival? He pushed the thought aside. Right now, the only priority is pretending I know what I'm doing well enough to impress my suspicious potential mentor. As they walked, Caleb's perception picked up a faint, earthy aura. A memory from Thal surfaced: Meriel's gentle hands pointing to a similar plant.

"Rustroot," Caleb said aloud.

"It's good for Stamina potions." He met her surprised look.

"My mother was a Mycari herbalist, and she taught me a few things before she passed away."

"Good, that should save us some time. But we did not come out here for such simple fare today." They advanced deeper into the Virethane. The trees grew thicker, the light dimmer. He expected to hear Selara's call after a while, another quiet instruction, but there was only the dripping of water from branches high overhead. He looked around. The path ahead was empty. The relative silence of the woods pressed in around him. The hair on the back of his neck prickled, and he tightened his grip on the spear shaft.

On instinct, he swept his perception in a wide circle. There. A low-red, F-tier aura, low to the ground, thirty feet away and circling. It was… stalking him. The aura felt red and tasted like bitter sap, its texture like splintered bark. [Spatial Mapping] painted a vague picture of a four-legged canine, its form blending almost perfectly with the surrounding undergrowth to his eyes when he caught flashes through the foliage. Then it burst from a thicket of ferns, a blur of rough, ridged hide and bristling fur.

Caleb reacted instantly, meeting its charge with measured aggression. He used [Turning the Point] to deflect its initial lunge, the beast's claws scraping harmlessly against the wooden shaft. The creature spun, faster than he expected, its tail whipping around in a low sweep. He used a short [Flicker Step] to dodge back, then [Dash] to get into its blind spot. The creature was momentarily exposed, and he seized the opening. A solid [Breaching Thrust] found a soft spot just behind its foreleg.

His spear punched through hide and muscle, dodging bone to lance deep into its chest. The prowler convulsed once and fell silent. The entire fight had lasted less than ten seconds. He stood over the corpse, breathing steadily. The kill had been clean, controlled. Far removed from the panicked, ruthless bludgeoning of the first goblin in the quarry. Dark satisfaction settled over him, followed by a shiver. This was becoming easier. Too easy. Selara reappeared from the trees as if she'd never left.

"Impressive. You move well for someone so young." Adrenaline still sang in his veins.

"That was your test!? You could have gotten me killed!" Her eyes were cold.

"If a lone hemlock prowler could kill you, you were of no use to me as an apprentice. The forest filters out the weak. I just provided it with the opportunity." She crossed her arms.

"And I needed to know that matriarch's pheromone gland was something you earned yourself." She kicked lightly at the dead beast.

"Now, stop complaining. The risk was calculated, and that prowler carried a reward. I knew it had a spirit stone." His anger remained, a hot coal in his chest. He wanted to argue, to protest the cruel logic of her methods. But the mention of a spirit stone stymied his rage. He took a slow breath, forcing the fury down.

"You can feel them?"

"With a tier advantage or enough skill you can feel the presence of a stone within a living creature. It's a useful trick for prioritizing targets." He moved to the corpse to begin the harvest, then paused. Ahh crumb, I returned Gareth's deboning knife… Selara let out an exasperated sigh.

"You came on a foraging trial without a harvesting knife? What did you plan to do, chew the parts off?" She tossed him her own knife, the blade a piece of steel that gleamed so brightly it almost glowed.

"Follow my instructions." She takes me on an unplanned trip into the forest with no information, and then leads me into a deadly ambush. But it's my fault I didn't have a knife? We're off to a great start here. She guided him through the process with terse, practical instructions. How to make the initial cuts to preserve the pelt. Where to find the valuable canines. And finally, how to locate and extract the F-tier spirit stone from its sternum.

He worked under her critical watch, his hands sure and steady, his time in the kitchen and with the goblins showing its worth. The butchery was a gory, messy education in the true economy of this world. But he was already a student. After the harvest was complete, Selara looked from her knife in Caleb's grip to the borrowed spear at his feet, then to his battered cuirass.

"It has come to my attention… that I do not yet know your name. You will correct that." Caleb stared at her incredulously, realizing she was right.

"Thalorin. Thalorin Caldorn. I typically just go by Thal, though."

"Well. Now that you are my apprentice, Thalorin, this will not do," she said, pointing at his attire.

"You are representing my name from here on out. The lady Selara Veil. Come. It is time we got you properly outfitted."