Brennan’s efforts were finally beginning to compound after spending two years in this world, training every single day. At least, he thought so. Today it was time to test whether it had true worth by coming into contact with the outside world.
Skill leveled up!
[Analyze (Common) Lv. 40] -> Lv. 71
[Focus (Common) Lv. 35] -> Lv. 65
[Sense Magic (Uncommon) Lv. 29] -> Lv. 39
[Memorization (Common) Lv. 11] -> Lv. 47
[Reading (Common) Lv. 9] -> Lv. 44
This being the start of his third year, he could comfortably say that he was excited to actually move beyond the front of his house. He’d been taken here before, but never past the first few steps out of his door. And every time, his mother or father had been supervising.
His father was currently the one chaperoning him. That didn’t happen often considering the guy spent most days working, an activity that required him to leave the home. But today he was taking Brennan and showing him around the village of Craswidge, after long evenings spent strategically negotiating (begging) to be taken out because he was totally mature enough.
They stepped out of the front door, the early morning sun not yet visible over the trees past the wall encompassing their… village. He almost wanted to call it a town in his head, an ingrained habit from having lived in one for years in a previous life. Craswidge was too small to be called a town, really, with the population consisting of some number between eight-hundred and a thousand. Not a tiny village per se, just small enough that people still broadly knew each other by name and face.
To be honest, Brennan hadn’t figured out exactly what they were going to do today, aside from visiting some place his father needed to go to for work. He’d simply taken the first thing resembling a ‘yes’ to his requests to be taken along at face value, not wanting to change their minds by digging too much.
“Ready, son?” came the deep voice from behind him. He looked back to see his father closing the wooden door of their house with deceptive gentleness, equipped with just a knife and rope on his belt as he made his way down the two steps onto the smooth stone path leading to the fence opening in front of their house.
George Kerrick was a down-to-earth man, with brown hair and eyes, calloused hands, and a slight tan to his skin. Often, his face could be a bit intimidating when he was wearing his ‘neutral’ expression, but in Brennan’s presence, his features were generally pretty light.
“Yeah, Dad. Where are we going first?” he replied. He knew his father had a building-focused Class, so it must have had something to do with that.
“To Egbert. I’m getting a new axe, and then we can go chop some wood,” George said while they walked over the road, the few people who were up at this hour greeting them in passing.
The words almost made Brennan stumble. Egbert was the local blacksmith, from what he had been able to infer in conversations between his parents that he’d overheard. They were getting a weapon, even if it wasn’t for the purpose of fighting. Most importantly…
“We’re leaving the village!?” he exclaimed. The only place where Dad could get lumber was on the other side of the wall, meaning they had to leave. It was his first day exploring Craswidge in earnest, and they weren’t even staying within its borders!
“Your mother said you wanted to see the forest,” his dad explained with a shrug, like it was no big deal that he was taking his toddler son into the wilderness. This chapter was copied from novelping dot com without permission.
Did that mean Doris had convinced her husband to take him there on his behalf? He would have to thank her somehow, one of these days. She had done a lot for his skill gains, in his second year of life. In her mind, he had likely reached a sufficient level in his literacy skills.
Skill unlocked!
[Writing (Common) Lv. 1] -> Lv. 18
The only reason his writing skill was still so low, was because he hadn’t been practicing it for very long. There hadn’t been any pens available to him without his mother’s permission, and she hadn’t allowed him to write until recently. Now that he had opportunities to learn, he was making solid progress.
Her behavior made him wonder if there was some other reason as to why he couldn’t just be allowed to fail at writing from the outset, rather than having to wait out some arbitrary reading-only period before she saw fit to let him scribble some letters. She never gave him a straight answer. Was the ink too expensive? There were other materials to write with, weren’t there?
Whatever the case, he was now looking at a skill list that was more than half-full, leaving him less room to expand his repertoire unless he chose to discard something. And he absolutely didn’t want to do that if the circumstances provided him with any alternatives at all. A lead on effort was the one thing he had over other kids his age. Take that away, and he was just another boy. No different from the rest of the pack.
The chapter is posted by its author on NovelPhoenix.com, yet this copy was taken without permission; reading that version supports them.
One could argue his magic made up for it, but what results had it shown so far? He still couldn’t weave a fireball or throw a rock with the power of his mind. Functionally speaking, it was useless. The potential was all imaginary and nothing substantial, nothing concrete to prove that he was bending the laws of physics through sheer force of will. Sense Magic provided him with a bit more context about the world in some aspects. That was it.
On their way to the blacksmith, wood-and-stone houses similar to their own stood in every direction, more people waking up and starting the day with each passing minute. Soon, they reached the main road, where all the interesting buildings stood. A textile shop, a herbalist, a bakery, a butcher, a stable. Brennan could see a few groups setting up stands for what he assumed was going to be an open market later.
Once they reached the building they were looking for, Brennan realized they were close to the wall, with the edges of the gate barely blocked out from his low vantage point. He guessed that if he were taller, he would be able to look straight at it.
Opening the door to the smithy earned his father a crisp chime of a bell that had been placed above it. The thing was of limited use, in Brennan’s opinion, because the sound was drowned out by the loud hammering in the back. He couldn’t see anything in the slightly open door behind the counter, but it was obvious that was where the blacksmith who may or may not have heard them, was working.
Inside, Brennan was somewhat disappointed to see primarily tools, agricultural implements and household items lining the walls. He had expected to see a lot more combat-oriented wares on display, but in reality that was just a minority. It didn’t escape his notice that the weapons rack was also close to the counter, the farthest position from the main entrance.
At first he thought the battleaxes hanging there would be suitable for his father’s needs, but that turned out to be wrong. The type of axe they needed was apparently one stored with the other tools, not qualifying as a weapon in the practical or commercial sense.
When his father held two of them up, he let Brennan pick out which one he wanted, leading him to pick the sharper-looking one. By this point he already knew he wasn’t an expert on medieval weaponry, so he wasn’t going to let practicality prevent him from picking the more visually appealing option.
The moment they approached the back of the business to make their purchase, the hammering stopped, answering the question of whether the owner had heard them. Someone emerged from the doorway right as his father set down the tool they were buying.
High perception.
Egbert was a man of average height and impressive bulk. He had arms as big as Brennan’s torso, filling out the fabric of his tunic underneath the leather apron he wore. The blacksmith sported a shiny bald pate, the only hair he had being on the lower half of his face—a thick mustache with a moderate stubble around it. As for the rest of his face, it surprisingly looked even younger than George’s. No older than twenty-two.
His eyes fell on the axe they had picked out. “Just the one?” he spoke with a bassy voice that Brennan felt in his chest.
“Don’t need a customer minding my schedule,” Egbert muttered under his breath, though the grateful look on his face told a different story. He laid a hand on the blade and haft, staying quiet for a beat.
“How much?”
“One renni,” the man concluded, apparently done assessing its value or whatever he’d been doing.
Part of Brennan had expected his father to haggle for the amount, like he had seen in a bunch of fantasy stories in his old life, but the exchange had no fanfare. George just fished a silvery coin with a phoenix printed on it out of his pocket and handed it to the blacksmith.
After the exchange ended, Egbert’s eyes landed on Brennan. “Anything for the kid?”
“No need,” George refused in his stead, and they said their goodbyes.
Brennan felt a hand on his shoulder when they were back on the street. “Come on, son. This way.”
Just the sound of people conversing not far from them told him the village was waking up, more people starting the day’s labor. Largely adults, at a glance. The kids were for the most part still sleeping, but some early risers he could already see playing around.
The walk to the wall was a short distance from here. A little less than a minute later they stood in front of the gate, looking up at a guard tower that currently had a figure staring down at them. Dark clothes, sword trapped to the waist, scar from temple to jaw: Kane.
While Brennan hadn’t encountered Kane more than once prior to today, he could think of two reasons why he remembered this person so vividly. His memory skill, and the fact that it was his first time meeting someone who killed monsters on the regular. A Class made for combat, swinging his sword to fight wild beasts and in some rare cases, people.
Kane and George greeted each other with tacit waves, and the former turned and did something he couldn’t see. Clicking noises came from the gate, and the giant wooden doors groaned as they parted, letting them outside.
What he saw on the other side, was farmland. At least in the immediate surrounding area. There was the forest, yes, but he hadn’t expected there to be grazing farm animals standing in the grass to the side of the road. He should’ve, in retrospect. Craswidge would have needed a way bigger wall if all the animals were to be placed inside its confines.
Following their departure, the village faded into the background until it was just the trees on either side of them, standing like watchful sentries. They traveled on the road to the point Brennan began to get fidgety. He wanted to speak up, but his father suddenly turned left. George’s stride was purposeful, as if it had to be this specific location and not anywhere else. The sudden pivot left him rushing to catch up.
Green canopy above them, the route they took led them to a wide clearing. They didn’t stop there, his father turning again seemingly at random. Brennan felt the fatigue catching up to him, having to jog just to keep pace.
“Where are we…” The words died in his throat, finding George standing still and looking at something.
Peeking through the trees was a section of the forest trapped in a glass-like barrier. One it took him time to recognize from the books his mother had shown him.
They were looking at a Zone, a place where magic altered plants and beasts alike.