It was... menacing. At least as menacing as a tiny rock golem could look. Pebble-skinned and squat, it sported two thick arms that bulged with biceps so massive they looked like tree trunks grafted onto the body of a garden gnome. Its legs were stubby, almost comically short, so that the immense upper body seemed perpetually off-bance.

  Fine. It did not look menacing.

  Anabeth, however, was oblivious to my internal debate about its intimidation factor. Her focus was entirely on the creature itself.

  “Observe, Sir Henry!” she chirped. “Durand’s structure is far more stable than initial attempts. The mineral composition is exceptionally dense, and the aetheric binding is remarkably potent.”

  Durand took its first tentative step in her hand. It wobbled like a sack of rocks on stilts, then pitched and teetered like a toddler learning how to walk.

  Anabeth said, “That’s just a small imperfection. Nothing to worry about. It’s part of the charm.”

  I watched the golem’s leg churning with the kind effort that definitely did not speak of stability. ‘And what is this thing used for?’, I tried to ask.

  [Speech Override: ACTIVE — CERALIS: Intimidation Restructure —]I said, “What does it do? Does it swallow mountains whole? Does it bathe in the blood of slime kings? Does it roll through the dungeon leaving only chaos in its wake? Does it bend the ws of physics just to make sure no treasure is ever safe? Does it whisper secrets to the walls before tearing them apart? Does it stare into the void until the void wets itself and begs for mercy?”

  “Oh! He can’t do any of that.” Anabeth ughed. “But this is my most offensively forward-leaning construct to date! He can aid us nicely in battle!”

  Nicely, she said.

  Yes. A creature built like an unstable meatball with arms.

  As I urged Silvermane to turn down the forest path, I was already thinking: What is this small gravel-child ever going to do—

  Thunk!

  Durand lost bance the instant the horse turned. One massive bicep smmed straight into my back.

  [-32 HP]

  Your HP: 28/60

  I lurched forward in the saddle, wheezing. A sharp metallic tang hit my tongue.

  Am I bleeding? Thirty-two? This thing could murder me in two strikes.

  I swiveled my head toward the golem.

  [Lesser Stone Golem (‘Durand’), Slimetouched — Level 15]

  HP: 360/360

  STR: 72

  END: ???

  DEX: ???

  Skills: ~8 Aetheric Skills]

  Note: Unlock Appraisal to appraise attributes of superior creatures.

  I turned my head slowly, painfully, to look at Anabeth. She had said ‘offensively forward-leaning.’ That was like calling a hurricane a ‘stiff breeze.’ The creature she’d summoned could have been a guardian, a champion, a terror on the battlefield. And she’d made it from slime cores.

  How powerful actually was she?

  She just smiled brightly when she saw me looking. “Oh dear. Durand is enthusiastic, isn’t he? I suppose I may have overcompensated slightly. I’m dreadfully tired now, actually. But I cannot wait for us to reach the next town. I’ve never been to Elderstead before! And certainly not alone with a man!” She giggled like that detail mattered. “I heard they have splendid honey-buttered briar loaves, you know. And river-churned cream. Oh, and I heard they sell healing potions for very cheap here; at half the market price! We should stock up on those. And—”

  She kept talking.

  And talking.

  And talking.

  Something about Elderstead’s midspring pastries. Something about the market square having ‘elm benches that sometimes drop glowing pebbles.’ Something about the proper way to fold travel cloaks to ‘avoid respect-loss among seasoned adventurers,’ which was absolutely not a thing.

  The forest path began to widen ahead, and the dusk light split through the treeline in purple bands.

  Civilization. Thank the Saints.

  The trail curved one st time, and Elderstead finally materialized.

  It was much smaller than Dunsvale, but still managed to sport a full wooden palisade, a reinforced front gate fully lit with torches, and two guards who looked like they’d been waiting their entire lives for someone to justify their posture.

  Anabeth cpped. “I thought only mid-tier towns bothered with guard rotations!”

  “Most don’t,” I muttered. Unless something had been raiding them tely. Which was a concern. The st thing I wanted was to stumble upon some local crisis and immediately get drafted as the nearest able-bodied idiot in armor. I would have happily enlisted my assistance had I had actual strength to back myself up, but I didn’t.

  We approached the gate. I checked my skill again and realized that Voice Recmation was no longer on cooldown. If necessary, I could recim my voice for this interaction. But there was no need.

  One guard actually drifted his hand to a spear as he saw me in armor with a stone golem dancing behind me.

  “State your—” the other guard began.

  I stared at him.

  [Silent Authority Activated]The guard froze like someone had swapped his spine for a rod of cold iron. His pupils contracted.

  “R-right,” he said, voice suddenly thin. “Of course. Travelers. Evening check-in. Gate entry permitted.”

  The younger guard looked between us then at his companion, and decided this wasn’t the moment to question anything. He lifted the gate-bar and wished us a good time, and there was that. No entry fee this time.

  Anabeth beamed at them, entirely oblivious to whatever psychological devastation had just occurred. “Oh! How splendidly polite! Thank you, gentlemen!”

  Task Completed: Commitment to the Path (Path of the Earthen Aegis)

  Boon: New Active Skill: Static Surge (Level 1 — Lightning Spell)

  Effect: Channel an electrical static into a metal conduit to deal 18 ~ 30 ATK on top of existing damage

  Cost: 5 AP

  Cooldown: 30 seconds

  Ah. What a delightful skill. If only I actually had the AP to use it more than once.

  We passed beneath the gate and into Elderstead proper. The town wasn’t bustling—dusk had mostly cleared the streets—but there were still a few vendors packing away stalls, a smith closing his shutters, and what looked like the world’s most exhausted pair of donkeys pulling a cart den with baskets of river reeds.

  I brought Silvermane to a halt just short of the main square. Before I could dismount, Anabeth leaned forward in her saddle, peering at me with sudden concern. “You look positively dreadful,” she decred, as if announcing the weather. “All pale and rigid and quietly murderous. You must be exhausted.”

  I opened my mouth to deny this.

  She continued anyway. “How fortunate, then! Elderstead is famous for its honey-buttered briar loaves. I insist on fetching some. We should both eat something restorative before you do something foolish. Like colpsing. Or intimidating a tradesman into a nervous breakdown.”

  I narrowed my eyes. That st one felt targeted.

  “I’ll be quick,” she added brightly, already sliding down from the saddle. “Oh, and river-churned cream! They must still have some at this hour.”

  Durand made a pleased grinding noise, which I chose to interpret as approval rather than intent.

  There is no stopping her, and I cannot deny I am in dire need of nutrition. I commanded, “You will tell me when you return.”

  “Of course. It shall be no more than half a bell.”

  Perfect.

  She skipped off down the street, humming something that sounded aggressively cheerful. Durand waddled after her like an overmuscled child escort, each step threatening structural damage to Elderstead’s cobbles.

  [Stamina: 61%]Good enough. I would have the time to test my new skill, Static Surge.

  The problem was where to test it on. I gnced around the street. There were, of course, no lurking threats beyond the usual danger of economics and poor life choices.

  There should exist a sparring sentinel somewhere. Just not here.

  I gnced once more at the open square, then nudged Silvermane toward a narrower side street and tied her off behind a cooper’s shed.

  Training grounds were always near the barracks or the watchhouse—close enough for guards to rotate in, far enough that nobody compined about noise or broken stone.

  And, predictably, they were never designed to keep people out.

  People tried to wriggle out of training, not sneak into more of it.

  I dismounted and moved along the outer wall, keeping to the shadow. The training yard revealed itself through a break in the buildings: a sunken rectangle of packed earth, ringed by low walls reinforced with old sigils. One guard was present. He sat on a crate near the main gate, helmet tipped back, thoroughly engaged in demolishing something wrapped in paper. Grease glistened on his fingers. His spear leaned forgotten against the wall.

  I stopped.

  Breathing shallow. Weight centered. No haste.

  I did not need him to look at me. I did not need to risk Silent Authority firing again and torturing yet another poor soul.

  There were always two entrances to these pces.

  I let my eyes drift. The second entrance should be where function outweighed ceremony: not where people entered, but where equipment moved and instructors cut corners.

  [PER Check: 27 > 14 (Pass)]A narrow service gate half-hidden behind stacked practice shields, probably unlocked for instructors and never bothered with otherwise. The tch was old, its metal dulled from years of weather rather than handling.

  The guard ughed at something, and I slipped through the second entrance, easing the gate shut until it rested flush with the stone. As I shifted my weight forward, my armor creaked loud enough that my entire spine stiffened in reflex.

  Right. This was why people didn’t sneak in wearing full kit. Still. If I did get caught, at least no one would see my face.

  Inside, a sparring sentinel was present.

  Stone-bodied, humanoid, taller than Durand by a head and far less enthusiastic. Its surface was smooth, etched with symbols that looked like glyphs and reset sigils. Yes; even for such a simple training construct built to withstand punishment, they had to imbue it with some magic.

  [Training Sentinel — Guard Issue]

  HP: 688/1500 (Worn out from repeated use)

  END: 17

  I approached the sentinel.

  Up close, it was even piner. There was nothing on it but a smooth stone helm with a single horizontal slit faintly glowing blue. Its limbs were proportioned conservatively, joints reinforced, weight banced for repeat impacts rather than fir.

  I drew my longsword.

  The moment my fingers closed around the hilt, the new skill responded with sensation.

  The aether rose, and it felt like breath being drawn through my veins instead of my lungs. It flowed down my arm, and the bde answered. Sparks of cobalt blue static crawled along the fuller. The metal sang under my grip, a high, eager note just below hearing.

  Saints above.

  So this was it.

  This was why people loved magic.

  For one brief moment, my body felt like it was doing exactly what it had been designed to do.

  [Static Surge — ACTIVE]

  AP: 5 → 0

  I stepped in and struck.