BT - Book 1 - Chapter 21

“Do you mean?” Micah glanced up at Brenden and Martin and motioned at the sacrificial knife.  Bart shook, trying to free himself from his bonds as his eyes fixed on the knife.

“You could always just sit there pissing yourself like a scared puppy,” Brenden sneered back.  “Being an adult means making tough choices.  Even if you hadn’t failed today, it was just a matter of time.  Eventually you’d be where you are today.  No one gets Knighted without getting their hands dirty.  The Royal Knights aren’t an organization for idealists, that sort of emotional weakness will get people killed on the battlefield.”

“But I thought you were with the Golden Drakes?” Micah’s eyes widened.  “Why were you my mentor there if you’re a Knight?”

“He’s not a Knight yet boy,” Martin interjected.  “Brenden is a squire.  Once the Drakes sold you to us, I sent him over to handle your early education.  He let me know when it was time to accelerate your training and sent you to the Capital.  Now, are you going to sit there mewling about how the world has wronged you, or are you going to actually try to make something of yourself.”

“The Drakes sold me?” Micah cocked his head to the side, blinking rapidly as the room spun around him.

“As soon as you revealed you had the power of prophecy,”  Martin chuckled.  “That’s the sort of blessing that’s very useful to a ruler but relatively useless to a guild.  The Golden Drakes have some connections to the Second Prince and they know better than to hold onto recruits that might be strategic assets.  We paid a Baron’s ransom in attunement for you boy.  I still think it was a waste, but who knows.  You might prove me wrong yet.”

“Now,” Martin pointed at the knife in Micah’s hand.  “No more dawdling.  Get on with the ritual.  Either you’ll succeed or you won’t.  Either way I want a resolution so I can get out of this armpit and take a shower.”

Micah looked down at Bart shivering against the bonds.  They’d never been close, but Bart was currently what passed for Micah’s best friend at the Academy.  He stared up at Micah, pleading with his eyes.

Micah gritted his teeth, trying to will his weakness away.  Martin wasn’t lying.  He could see the glee in the older man’s eyes when he talked about murdering Micah.  If this didn’t work, Martin would use a water tendril to smash him against the wall with enough force to break every bone in his body.

He closed his eyes, the dagger weighing heavily in his palm.  It all wouldn’t matter soon.  This timeline wasn’t nearly as bad as his first, but there was no way Micah was going to live out his life under the Knights thumbs.  If they were going to make him kill another student just to ‘show his loyalty,’ it was only a matter of time before they escalated the atrocities expected of him.

Really, when you thought about it, Bart was barely even a person.  This entire timeline was doomed to fade away the minute he reverted.  Micah wouldn’t feel good killing him, but at this point his choice was stark and clear.

Micah began reciting the words to the ritual.  Brenden and Martin’s visible approval damned him almost as much as Bart’s frantic struggling.  Once again, the incantation went off without a hitch.  The only moment of doubt came when Micah struggled to choke down the ritual mouthful of Bart’s blood.  The salt and iron burned his throat, and Micah felt the bile begin to rise in the back of his throat.

With an act of will, Micah ground the nails of his right hand into his palm, using the pain to distract himself from his barbaric actions.  He scattered the second handful of blood into the circle, activating the runes once more.

Mana surged into him, more than he ever thought possible.  Bart’s life gave him easily two to three times as much as the dungeon boss, quickly swelling his reserves to the breaking point.  Quickly, he began casting foresight.

This time, the spell was almost perversely easy.  Maybe it was the advantage of having attempted it once before, or maybe it had something to do with Bart’s sacrifice, but each word and motion came like he’d rehearsed them a hundred times.  Almost in a trance, Micah finished the final incantation and the rainbow smears projecting the potential future actions of the objects around him snapped into place.

With perfect clarity, he watched Brenden slouch over to Bart’s desiccated body to dump him in a flaming brazier almost a second before it happened.  Some aspect of the spell allowed his focus to split perfectly, tracking every discrete moment between the present and a second in the future simultaneously.  The rainbow blur of motion should have distracted Micah, but instead he was oddly fascinated by it.

“Well,” Martin spoke a second in the future, “that was a pleasant surprise.”

“It surprised me too,” Micah replied, too enthralled with the multicolored smear of future possibilities laid out before him to notice that Martin had just opened his mouth.

“Maybe we should wait to continue this conversation,” Martin smiled slightly.  “You seem a bit overwhelmed by your cosmic significance at the moment.”

Micah nodded absently, staring around the room.  All too soon the spell came to an end, the probability arcs shortening until they disappeared entirely.  Suddenly, Micah was fully grounded in the present once more.  Brenden looked vaguely nonplussed over not being allowed to murder Micah, but Martin was strangely happy.

“Good,” Martin smiled, his eyes roaming over Micah like he was a prime cut of meat.  “You’ve proven yourself worth the investment the Royal Knights have made in you.  Now we just need to get you leveled up to twenty so you can claim a class specialty.  Then we can begin on your advanced studies and transform you from a confused young man into a proper warrior.”

With a hiss, Bart’s body began to burn in the brazier.  Micah’s gaze snapped back to it, watching the acrid black smoke begin to fill the room.  Almost immediately, everything began to smell of charred meat.  He wrinkled his nose in disgust.  Even if this timeline was a dead end, he wouldn’t forget what he’d been forced to do today.  Next time, he’d know better than to trust the Royal Family and their knights.

“Oh stop moping,” Brenden said, wiping Bart’s blood from his hands onto the dungeon boss’s corpse.  “He was dead anyway.  He needed to make a breathrough as an enchanter and he was given three chances.  Even if you took some sort of moral stand and refused to perform the ritual, he’d have joined you in the fire anyway.  The Knights will make you wealthy, powerful and famous so long as you’re useful.  If you aren’t useful?  Well.  No use wasting resources.”

Micah hurried to catch up to Brenden and Martin as they left the dungeon.  The following week, he was excused from every class.  Instead the three of them went into the dungeon as often as it reset.  Micah killed monsters held still by Martin’s water tendrils or Brenden’s daemons over and over again.  

Finally, he hit level twenty.  Withdrawing his spear from the imp’s chest, Micah heard a chime that rose steadily in pitch until it became an omnipresent droning whistle.  His vision blurred and the floor rocked under him.  He sank to a knee, shaking his head to try and clear his senses.

The noise faded away, prompting Micah to open his eyes.  Around him was nothing but dimly lit mist.  The floor felt the same as before, but it was the only touchstone of normalcy.  He couldn’t see Martin anywhere.  He might still be in the dungeon, but at this point his location was more of a guess than anything.

“Congratulations blessed,” the familiar voice from his class selection spoke from the mist.  “You’ve reached your first milestone and are eligible for a class speciality.  A series of options will be presented to you based upon your affinities and skill levels.”

“For your achievements in learning the martial art, Wind Spear, you may upgrade the martial art to Uncommon rarity, increasing the effectiveness of all abilities associated with that martial art.” The voice continued, its even tone and measured cadence unperturbed by Micah’s bewilderment.  “Due to your increased physical fitness, you may specialize as an athlete and gain additional hit points upon each level up.  For following the path of the spear, you may specialize as a spear adept, making you more effective in many small ways with a spear.  For your achievements in wind magic, you may specialize as an aeromancer, decreasing the mana cost and increasing the effectiveness of your wind magic.  For your achievements in wood magic you may specialize as a healer, decreasing the mana cost and increasing the effectiveness of your wood magic.  For your achievements in time magic you may specialize as a chronomancer, decreasing the mana cost and increasing the effectiveness of your time magic.  For your knowledge and achievements in ritual magic, you may specialize as an occultist.  For your knowledge and achievements in enchanting, you may specialize as an enchanter.”

The voice paused as Micah blinked rapidly, inundated with information.

“Be aware that you may only select one speciality or improvement of a specialty every twenty levels.”  The voice spoke, tone unchanged.  “Please select one of the previously listed abilities or request that they be repeated for you.”

“Chronomancer,” Micah tried to prevent his voice from cracking.  Martin had been clear.  Any other specialty would not result in his survival

“Granted,” the voice replied, the mist fading away to reveal the chamber of the dungeon he’d been standing in before.  Martin stood nearby, attempting to rub some monster blood from the hem of his outfit.

“Congratulations on your level Micah,” Martin’s voice didn’t carry any warmth.  “Now that you’re done staring vacantly into space and staring it’s time to move on to the next step of your training.”

“Moment of truth once again Mr. Silver,” a water tentacle snaked out from behind Martin’s back.  “You should be close to full mana right now.  If you selected chronomancer like we agreed, you’ll be able to cast foresight.  Otherwise,”  he shrugged.

“The Royal Knights are fairly keen on following orders.”  Martin continued, the water tentacle snaking near Micah.  “We aren’t very keen on accepting rogue elements into our ranks.”

Micah glanced toward the tentacle and bit back a sarcastic response.  As much as he didn’t enjoy the constant threats, he knew they were genuine.  Now wasn’t the time to goad the malevolent killer that held his life in his hands.

He cast the spell, only stumbling once but quickly catching himself.  It consumed over half of his mana, but by his projections from before he gained the specialty, it should have consumed over 130% of his available mana.  The world faded into the rainbow blur of probabilities around him.

Micah’s eyes widened.  He ducked a full half second before the water tentacle, its tip flattened into an axe head, swung at his neck, traveling at barely visible speeds.  He rolled to the side, a disc of water drilling through the dungeon floor at hypersonic speeds.  

He pulled himself up into a crouch and raised his spear.  Just as he was about to charge, he paused, literally seeing his futureself get pulled apart by a lattice of water blades that sprouted from nothingness around Martin.

“Good, good!” Martin clapped his hands together, grinning maniacally at Micah.  “A Magi managed to dodge two high speed attacks and avoid rushing into a defensive trap.  I’d say that’s proof positive that you had foresight active.”

“That,” Micah’s teeth chattered as cold sweat ran down his back.  “That was all just a test?  You could have killed me!”

“Would have boy,” Martin clicked his tongue at him in disappointment.  “Sometimes I wonder about your Mind attribute.  No matter how much we tell you that the Royal Knights aren’t a place for the weak, either physically or emotionally, you never seem to properly take it in.”

“You’re more or less one of us now,” Martin began walking out of the dungeon, motioning for Martin to follow him.  “If you can cast a fifth tier spell before your eighteenth birthday, no matter how you got there, you’re qualified to be a junior squire.  If you’ve learned anything from me during these past eight months, I want to be clear on the most important lesson.  You’re going to have to toughen up.  It takes a lot to survive in our organization, and right now you’ve only gotten your foot a couple inches inside the door.”