PATRIARCH FOWL
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Casual Heroing, Chapter 142
🕑 Added 2023-07-19 17:06:08 +0000 UTCNext chapter comes out Thursday, July 200th!
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TRAINING A LOT! 🏋🏻♀️🏋🏻♀️🏋🏻♀️
3/7 chapters this week!
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Chapter 142 – Runes
“As I’ve mentioned, Young Luciani, the training consists of facing a Puppet that will slowly reach what the enchantments on it deem plausible for you to be as a level 20 [Champion]. Then, during the last twenty-three hours of training, the Puppet will try to kill you.”
“As everything, apparently—books, Puppets, and cute chicks winking at me while I ride a bike in Italy. You wouldn’t believe how dangerous that is.”
Magister Mulligan just stares at me, nonplussed.
“Young Luciani, I hope that surviving this ordeal will forge you into a proper man. You have planted the seeds with your choices, but you still have a long way to go.”
“Do you know who the Pope is, Magister Mulligan?”
“What?”
“The Pope? You have taken a good look into my memories, right?”
The old man frowns, not understanding where I’m going with this. I’m trying hard to muddle my thoughts and not give away my point.
“Yes.”
“Well, it really shows with all the pontificating you are doing—”
ZAP!
As I writhe on the ground, my muscles spasming from all the electricity coursing through them, the man resumes talking, unbothered.
“At the end of every hour, the Puppet will become stronger, starting from a very low difficulty, so that you have time to adjust. Remember, Young Luciani, the most important thing is how fast you grow as a warrior. There are many stories of the Vanedeni gaining ten levels in one battle, constantly fading in and out. But for every warrior who managed to do that, hundreds, if not thousands, die. It will be up to you to let your talent blossom or die as a pitiful bastard.”
I slowly get up on the paved floor at the center of the colonnade, with my clothes slightly singed and the smell of burnt chicken skin in my nose.
“Good,” I clear my voice. “Am I going to train with a weapon, or…”
Magister Mulligan nods briefly before snapping his fingers and making a massive sword fall on the ground—its clacking resounds in the empty space like a funeral bell.
He most definitely didn’t need to snap his fingers nor make it fall like this—show-off.
Thankfully, no electricity takes over me this time.
Maybe he can’t read my mind at all times?
“Whatever,” I say out loud. “So, that monstrosity… how do you think I’ll be able to lift it? Also, I’ve seen that before. Isn’t that similar to the sword in Agostina’s apartment?”
Magister Mulligan smirks at me.
“The woman renting you this room has a surprising knowledge of the Vanedeni culture—it is rare to find someone who truly understands the spirit of my people, young Luciani. But while the sword she has is what an average [Warrior] would have wielded, this in front of you is of superior quality. Do you see the azure hue around it?”
I get closer to the manga-like sword and notice that the enormous blade gives off a slightly azure hue. It’s extremely simple otherwise, with a long, two-handed handle covered in leather but with no guard or ornaments.
“It contains three enchantments that will feed on your Mana. They are nothing special—however, if you survive this challenge, I might gift you something appropriate for a disciple of mine.”
“Lucky me,” I say, circling around the sword and sneaking a few glances at the stationary metallic Puppet that has not moved since the [Archmage] summoned it. “How much does this weigh?”
“Around 260 pounds,” Magister Mulligan says off-handedly. “Now, as for the enchantments—”
“WHAT?!” I shout. “Are you out of your mind? How am I supposed to lift this thing?! I’m not athletic! And who the hell can swing such a heavy thing?! Does one of the enchantments reduce the weight at least?!”
“No,” Magister Mulligan strokes his beard with a smile, “that would defeat the purpose of the [Heavy] enchantment on it. After the first generation of our [Heroes], young Luciani, we had more than one spat with Dragons and Hydras. Both species can grow pretty big, especially the former. To kill a Black Dragon, skills aren’t everything. You need to cut deep into their skin. And, on a battlefield, ten warriors wielding these broadswords can take on a hundred enemies mounted on horses. The only problem is that no other civilization has been strict enough to train their offspring with true weapons instead of little metal sticks they call swords.”
“Doesn’t the saying go ‘size doesn’t matter’?” I cringe.
“Size very much does matter,” Magister Mulligan chuckles.
I glance at the man briefly, trying to understand if he knows what he just said.
When the [Archmage] winks back at me, I’m reminded that he did indeed scour through my memories and can probably understand Earth puns.
“Ok, still—how do you think I can ever swing it? I would probably have trouble swinging a 20-pound sword, much less anything like that!”
“I’ll show you. Undress,” Magister Mulligan nods.
“What? Yo, I don’t know what crazy ideas you’ve got there, but I’m not playing Ancient Greece here, alright?”
Magister Mulligan gives me a straight look before snapping his fingers again.
All my clothes, save for my underwear, vanish from my body.
“YO!” I say, covering myself. “Stop playing, man!”
“Young Luciani,” Magister Mulligan sighs, “runes—that’s the answer you were looking for. I need to inscribe runes onto your body. That is how you will be able to wield this sword like a true Vanedeni eventually.”
“Runes?” I suddenly frown. “Don’t runes only work on inanimate objects?”
“Technically speaking,” the [Archmage] nods, “but Dragons found a way to inscribe Runes on living beings, albeit at a great cost. It’s one of the many things we plundered during the Great Hydrean War. Only a few know we reached Foresta and penetrated deep into Dragon territory after they raided some of our ships. I was personally there, overseeing the plundering.”
“Dragons,” he continues, “managed to inscribe runes onto living beings and then used that same knowledge to empower themselves. I fought more than one [Runic Champion] myself, young Luciani. And trust me, a Black Dragon with runes all over his body is not an easy opponent for anyone who’s not a Vanedeni.”
“Ok, boasting aside, you will inscribe runes that will do what, make me stronger?”
Magister Mulligan shakes his head.
“No. Though, you will receive such runes too. But only when you prove worthy of them. Dragons are the greatest [Fleshcrafters], [Flesh Mages], and [Biomancers] that anyone has ever seen. Even among the Vanedeni, only [Princess] Valarith could have perhaps reached such heights.”
This Valarith chick is coming up more and more, I think to myself.
And truly, I can’t help but avoid thinking about one supremely important question that suddenly escapes my mouth.
“Was she hot?”
ZAP!
“Watch your mouth, Joey Luciani,” Magister Mulligan admonishes as my hair fumes. “I am much more tolerant than any other Vanedeni you will find. However, suppose you insult one of the most revered heroes in our history in front of someone else. In that case, you might be challenged to death on the spot.”
“A-Alright,” I squeeze out the word between pained groans.
“The Dragons’ knowledge allowed us to empower future generations and ultimately win the conflict. Even for us, taking all those Hydras hadn’t been easy,” he explains. “But the Dragons had invented runes capable of enhancing the training even of Black Dragons—that’s what we’ll use for your training.”
“I feel like this is a bit light on the details,” I say. “And eerily so.”
“The set of runes I will inscribe onto your body is called Dolorosa Vis.”
“Shit,” I catch myself swearing. “Pain... strength? Painful strength?”
“I forget that the ancient tongue corresponds to what your kind calls Latin. Another interesting artifact of your journey to this world, truly.”
“Yo, you didn’t answer,” I say, looking meaningfully at the [Archmage].
“Yes. Painful strength. The set of runes, the Dragons called Dolorosa Vis, enhances muscle growth and tissue fortification, including organs, bones, and even fat. You shall excuse me for digging into your knowledge about bodies and anatomy—the explanation that would fit your world is that your cells will start undergoing replacement at an incredible rate through pain and metabolite signaling. Magic works mysteriously, obviously, but that would be the closest explanation that would make sense to you. As your kind says, young Luciani—”
“Oh, don’t say it!” I shout, clutching my head in my hands.
“No pain, no gain,” Magister Mulligan smirks.
…
Magister Mulligan is inscribing black runes all over my body as I levitate horizontally in mid-air – most of them become invisible after completion. He went limb by limb before switching to my torso.
I understand there’s a different set of runes for each part of the body connected by a joint, which explains the insane amount of runes covering the hands, feet, and torso. This Dolorosa Vis set includes overlapping subsets, one for each thing they act on.
After further discussing it with Magister Mulligan, it’s much more complicated than he had briefly explained. Some runes care for blood vessels, but the ones for nerve endings differ.
To give you an idea of how complicated this is, the same man who can apparently make small dimensions needs more than an hour to make this work.
So, yeah, it’s probably complicated.
“I need time, young Luciani, but these runes will stay on for the whole duration of your training. The Dragons have them last for brief bouts of sparring and training in aerial maneuvers.”
“Shouldn’t you stop reading my thoughts out of politeness?”
“If you are to be my disciple,” he states matter-of-factly, “I need to know your intentions are pure.”
“You have been spying on me since day one, and you still doubt me? What are you afraid of – that I’ll marry your great-great-great-granddaughter?”
“You will be punished after I’m done with the work,” Magister Mulligan says off-handedly.
It feels like he’s doing a complicated surgery, by the way. His hands move extremely fast—faster than my eyes can perceive. But at least whatever super-ink he’s using with his brush isn’t tickling me. If it did, I would ask him to knock me out. But fortunately, I am not having no old man tickle me to death in my life. Now, if it was Selena Gomez, though…
“Your fixation on beautiful women should be kept in check once you are powerful enough to warrant gold diggers to look for you, young Luciani,” Magister Mulligan remarks.
“Does being your disciple mean I must also listen to your advice on women?” I frown.
Magister Mulligan doesn’t respond.
…
I look at all the black lines on my body, and honestly, they look pretty badass. I feel a tingling sensation all over, but nothing more than that. I take a long look at my arms and legs. Finally, I turn around and shrug.
“So, what? What’s this supposed to do now?”
“Try lifting the sword,” Magister Mulligan says.
I look at the huge piece of metal on the ground and sigh.
“Alright, let’s see how this works.”
I approach the massive manga-like sword and wrap my hands around the hilt. I hesitate, though.
I raise my eyes to look at Magister Mulligan as a despairing feeling slowly fills my throat.
“This is going to suck, isn’t it?”
“Just go ahead,” the old man says.
Well, let’s see.
I take a deep breath, straighten my back, and then pull.
In the next second, the most atrocious pain I have ever felt courses through my body. It's as if I'm being torn apart from the inside. It starts in my hands, shooting up my arms like a series of electric shocks, but a thousand times worse. Every nerve ending in my body screams in protest. The pain is so intense and sudden that I nearly black out.
My vision swims, black and white spots dancing in front of my eyes. I can feel my heart hammering inside my chest, each beat a symphony of agony. I try to let go of the sword, but my hands are frozen, locked around the hilt.
The pain spreads, radiating from my arms to the rest of my body. It feels like my muscles are being shredded, and my bones are splitting. My skin feels on fire, each pore a tiny inferno. I can't breathe, think, or do anything but endure the pain.
I grit my teeth, unable to suppress the scream threatening to rip out of my throat. I can feel myself shaking, my legs about to buckle. Sweat pours off me, my skin cold and clammy.
The pain intensifies, and I'm sure that this is it – I will die. Then, my vision starts to fade, and the world around me grows dim. I can barely hear Magister Mulligan saying something about the pain.
The only thing I know is that even though I’ve just blinked, I’m suddenly staring at the fake sky above our heads.
I briefly passed out, and now, my back is laid flat atop the paved road.
