Aeres Academy - Chapter 7 preview

Back then, the entire process of reincarnation had been blocked by my patron. There was no way for me to recall why I had managed to keep my memories and not drink from the soup of forgetfulness. All that I recalled was a vague sense of choosing a singular, powerful skill rather than a series of smaller, integrated ones. I could not remember why I felt the need to drive downwards, beyond my own desire to live – wholly, fully and in a manner I had chosen not to the last time. To help assuage the aching loss of a world by casting myself in the forget of violence and monsters. 

I knew that the skill I had been gifted would allow me to journey to the deepest core, if I so chose. That it had the potential to raise me high and dig me deep; if I had the will to do so. Conserve – a skill whose entirety of its ability could be encapsulated by its name, its ability to preserve and store. 

What, you might ask? 

Anything.

Theoretically, at least. 

Even now, I have yet to tap the full extent of the skill. To grasp the fullest ability that been gifted to me and its limitations. Back then, I was just beginning to explore the skill. As I jogged – gingerly – down to the second floor, I pulled up my skill for the first time that day. 

Skill: Conserve

Level: 4

Potential: 34%

Target: Self (Only)

Siphon Level: 7%

Extrusion Control: Low

Number of Vaults: 1

Vault 1: Health

Conserved: 81.83 days

As I leveled the skill, every aspect of the skill could be changed, though there were some limitations. I could not have more vaults, not yet. Nor could I preserve anything outside of myself. The framework – the levels – of my skill could not support such things, not yet. My little magical engine needed upgrades, and it was only time and training could improve it.

Currently, only being able to conserve one target type meant that I had gone with that most important of resources – my health.

There’s a perspective that you get as you aged, as your body wore down and injuries accumulated. That saying, of you did not have your health, you had nothing, became all the starker.

No surprise that so many billionaires desperately searched for a solution and found, nothing.

You would think that 81.83 days of health was nothing. After all, it took just over forty two days or so to heal a broken bone. Major surgery could take months to heal. Never mind concussions, ruptured organs or anything else semi-permanent.

One advantage of Mana – core magic, and yes, they have their own words but I prefer the English – soaking into the bodies. It brought everything back to ‘true’, to some extent. Such that many semi-permanent injuries healed over, given enough time. 

Still, eighty plus days was not much. Which was where extrusion control mattered. See, I was storing my health overall. A whole body’s worth of health over eighty days. If I was trying to heal only a moderate wound, I could direct the stored energy there and fix that with minimal waste of energy.

Well, technically. My extrusion control was still pretty low, so a lot of energy was wasted; going into fixing minor scrapes, refreshing and rebuilding muscles, flushing out excess chemicals and renewing various organs.

Jogging and guiding the flow of health while I ran was hard, but it had to be done if I did not want to lose more time. Thankfully, the time with Yorrick had been mildly beneficial with the various shards I’d gathered filling a portion of my allotment. If I had been aiming just for paying the tuition, it would be a good start. 

But I had a bet to win. 

Warmth filled the back of my leg and buttocks, patching together holes, a deep and annoying itchiness replacing the agony of each step, punctuate only by surges of pain as I ran. Having healed myself thrice in the last few years since my return – once for a particularly bad cut from a too dull kitchen knife– I knew what to expect.

By the time I reached the exit way down, the wound was patched over. A quick review showed barely a few hours worth of healing spent. My wound still ached, perhaps even more than it before as reawakened nerves complained, but I could walk and run properly.

Adrenaline would handle the rest when I next fought. A glance at the hanging water clock by the entrance to the second floor, hung high above and warded against bugs and miscreants showed it was just before noon.

I was running behind. 

So, no more distractions. 

***

The second floor should have been less busy in theory with fewer aspirants, but in fact was busier than the first floor. All the time I had wasted, not just helping others but also taking the time to root inside monster corpses for shards had taken longer than expected. Something worth noting – that harvesting was not that simple. Not just getting the angle right for punching through the worm’s corpse, but then rooting about to find the shard. Worse of all were the times when I could find nothing and had to give up. 

I’m sure a proper adventurer could get it down to seconds, but between jogging, walking and resting when necessary, time was bleeding away. Others had much the same idea as I had, or had given up on finding more worms on the first floor and made it down.

The majority of those on this floor came from the second group that applied to Aeres academy.

The everyman – your average delver. Common folk with decent skills, a desire to be an adventurer and neither the funds nor connections to join a better academy. They were commoners, tradesmen and peasants and farmers, all of whom had some magic skill that made being an Adventurer a better bet than a more peaceful occupation. Most, well, most had magic but no technique, no training.

A fact all too evident as I tried to push my way through crowded corridors, all too similar in appearance to the grey-black stone of the floor above. Caverns and passages, illuminated by twinkling stars of Mana crystals and filled with the light, slightly sweet and intense smell of natural nightsoil.

“Watch it.” I grabbed the hand that swung too far back, nearly putting the mace in my face as I edged pass the group holding up the cavern entrance. Once I was sure they weren’t going to brain me by accident, I let their arm go. The big man holding it flushed, glared, red in anger and frustration.

“Mind if I step in?” I waited just a moment for their acknowledgment before I slipped through the crow of four to face the trio of creatures that had caused the jam. Dungeon voles, about as tall as a small dog, furred and blotchy with nasty looking claws and horned perturbances where their eyes should have been.

“Fighting’s all about timing.” Feet slid across stone cave flooring, smooth as silk. The first vole lunged, sensing me using whatever extrasensory method it had. I crouched, bending and twisting as I throw a left hook that impacted with a wet thud.

Someone shouted a warning, but it was unnecessary. Did not take a genius to work out that the reason the quartet had backed off was because the trio of dungeon voles fought as a team. Strong, tough and fast – the moment I was distracted, the other two attacked. One high, one low.

I pivoted on my feet, twisting my upper body so that I kept turning to allow the opposite elbow to impact the vole going for my tricep. The one aimed at my feet was swept aside, knocked back momentarily. Not enough speed to do real damage, but enough to block and force it back.

Gave me a moment.

Before it could recover and chomp on my toes, I relaxed and collapsed, knee crushing the furred body. Knee braces took the impact, the rotten smell from the blotchy, somewhat rotten body rising. I gagged a little, a slight wooziness assailing me as the creature’s diseased, poisonous body reached outwards. 

This, the creature struggled, my blow not entirely perfect. A single fist fell, crushed head against unforgiving floor. Kept leaning, dropping my shoulder the same direction as my fist, rolled off the creature to punch at the next.

Felt a bite along one thigh, tearing my legs up. A reminder that I needed better, stronger pants.

One day, the other two only needed to be struck properly, once and again with a fist and foot. I only had to glare at the pair to ensure they stayed back, that no one broached an objection. The rules were clear with the Aeres academy – the one who dealt the killing blow was the one who took the shard.

Kill stealing was frowned upon, but not technically illegal as Yorrick knew all too well. It was, however, dangerous – as the half-eaten corpse in the floor above attested to. Truth be told, I never understood the point – why go through so much trouble when you could just acquire one yourself?

But some people, they spent more time and energy ‘cheating’ than doing the job, because somehow, it felt better to do so. Perhaps the world had taught them, over and over again, that doing it the right way never worked for them. Or perhaps, that all the effort to get ahead was wasted. A sucker’s game. That someone else, someone just like them would always be there, ready to take.

Better to be the thief than the victim.

Perhaps, in the end, the theft was the point. For some people, the world was always a zero sum game, that there could never be anything but gainers and losers.

As I said, I never got it. 

There were some, scattered amongst the second group – but most of those, we had left behind on the first floor. Here, on the second floor, there were only those who knew the value of hard work. Even if, in their desperate battles to eke out the best future for themselves, they worked towards the wrong thing. 

The everyman, the common aspirants lingered on the second floor, believing they had a solid chance at succeeding with the most minimal of risk. As though a successful life as an adventurer could be won without a little risk.

I moved on, headed for the next floor. 

After all, I had lived that life before. Taking few chances, working hard and taking the meager rewards. Safe, sensible, smart; even.

But I’d died and been reborn. It was time to try another way.