The sparring grounds were somewhat crowded, and two from Brin’s Lance were already there, Aeron and Meredydd. At first he was impressed that they were already back here and practicing after their extremely difficult day, but they weren’t sparring. They seemed more interested in chatting with the other [Knights] than actually getting any training done. Neither looked keen to talk to Brin, so he left them to it.

    The sparring area was pretty full, with people waiting in line, but the targets set up for archery were completely open, which suited Brin perfectly. He hung the piece of armor that Meaty had given him on a dummy and then backed up to give himself room to work.

    First, he launched some of his pre-summoned marbles at the dummy, pressing more magic into them than was strictly necessary in order to harden them so they wouldn’t crack or break against the metal. They probably wouldn’t have broken anyway, but he wanted to get a feel for the interplay between his magic and the hardening enchantments on the armor.

    It didn’t work very well, because he could only feel the interaction in the Wyrd for a tiny instant before the marble bounced off. He tried again with one, and instead of throwing it he pressed it into the metal and held it there.

    This time, he felt his connection to the magic powering the marble cut out, and it fell to the floor.

    Good. He tried again. He charged the marble with as much Mana as it could hold without shattering and then pressed it against the metal. This time he felt it connect, and felt the conflict in the Wyrd.

    The metal’s argument was strong. It wasn’t even an argument; it was a statement of fact. I am armor. I don’t bend or break. I defend my wearer. Short and simple, and it gave Brin nothing to work with. One of the weaknesses of the Wyrd was that you had to believe your own arguments. Brin couldn’t say, “You aren’t armor” or “You shouldn’t protect your wearer” and the armor wouldn’t budge even if he could. The best he could manage would be something like You are armor but I will break you anyway. At that point, knowledge of the Wyrd wasn’t changing anything at all.

    Still pumping in Mana to keep his grasp on the marble, he tried using it to nudge the metal to the side.

    He gasped as the Mana draining from his pool increased tenfold, and cut the connection before the armor could pull it all away. It had obviously been enchanted against someone trying to move it with magic.

    Where was the energy being stored, and how? There wasn’t a clear crystal or beast core anywhere on the metal. He guessed that the fuel was dispersed within the metal somehow. If Brin tried to break through long enough, could he sap the armor’s magic and break it that way? Even if that worked, it would be a long, expensive process.

    He was starting to get the feeling that there wasn’t Mana storage going on at all. He didn’t think there was an enchantment the way that he was used to–if there was, the Wyrd would be more complex because he’d be arguing with the person who cast the enchantment. This felt more like he was arguing with pure intent. Meaty had used his considerable skill and power to imbue this piece with strong but undirected intent; it knew it was armor but it left the details of what that meant up to the wielder and even the attacker. Brin was fighting against his own Wyrd. Unless he stopped seeing it as armor, it would do everything he expected armor to do.

    He used the marble again, pressing against the metal, but not in a threatening way. When his intention with the magic wasn’t harmful, the armor didn’t have much to defend against, so Brin could hold it there with much less power.

    He switched his argument. That dummy is nothing. I’m your owner. Protect me.

    To his surprise, the force pushing against his marble immediately disappeared, and he was able to push the bit of metal with no resistance. He whooped with excitement before realizing that no, this wasn’t the win he thought it was. It couldn’t actually be that easy. This had only worked because he was completely certain of the fact that the dummy had no real claim on the armor. In real life, he wouldn’t be able to make that argument.

    The next time he tried, it was much more complex, because now he had to convince the metal that the practice dummy really was its wearer and then try to talk it out of that again. He solved this by using a directed thread to play the part of the dummy. All the directed thread did was put an Invisible Eye in the dummy and think “Yes of course this is my armor” and suddenly the defenses were back up in full force.

    Try as he might, Brin’s main mind couldn’t change ownership back to himself. The other thread was wearing the armor, sort of, so he was the owner, and nothing could change that.

    Rather than try to succeed in a complete negation of the armor’s Wyrd, he started trying more indirect arguments. He tried, “I’m only moving you, not really doing damage. You protect from harm and I will not harm.” With arguments like that, the armor still resisted but not nearly to the same degree.

    He practiced for another hour, trying everything he could think of, until he realized that the first thing he tried was probably the best. He touched the marble against the armor, and it didn’t fight him too hard unless he tried to break through. He melted the marble and surrounded the metal. He was careful to form in his mind that he wasn’t trying to get in, just around.

    It was brutal on his Mana, draining the rest of what he’d had left, but he managed it. He could use this. [Knights] were near impossible to break, but much easier to bind.

    What if he made chains? That thought was interesting enough that he considered splitting his mind in half to give a full half of his brain to the idea, but he didn’t actually have anything else to do right now. He could use his full brain.

    The idea was pretty simple; he could summon the links in a chain individually, and have them grow right into each other. What if he created fifty Directed Threads and had each of them create a single link in the chain? His conscious mind would lose the entire one second it took to make it, but Directed Threads were fast and when they were done, he’d have it all back.

    He summoned a single link of a chain, muttering the Language under his breath to mold it into the perfect form. The glass chain link looked good, but he ran into another problem. The day had been brutal on his Mana. First the fight with Hedrek had drained him, and he’d lost most of what he’d regenerated in the meantime practicing just now.

    Should he drink a Mana potion? He only had one stashed in Lumina’s ring. That was for emergencies, though. If he started using them regularly, his allergy would come back.

    “Giving up?”

    Brin turned around and saw that it was Aeron the [Warrior] who’d asked the question. He and Meredydd had stopped practicing at some point to watch him.

    Aeron had sandy blonde hair, and an open, innocent-looking face. Neither of those were common here in Prinnash. Meredydd looked more like Brin, though his black hair was much longer and greasier.

    “I’m running low on Mana,” Brin admitted.

    “Getting through a [Knights] armor isn’t that easy, now is it?” Meredydd asked, a hint of mocking in his voice as if he hadn’t already seen Brin whoop a [Knight] in armor earlier in the day.

    Brin didn’t rise to the provocation. He needed a better relationship with these guys, and if they were talking to him then maybe this was an opening. “What’s your advice?”

    Meredydd crooked an eyebrow. “Get a weapon better than glass.”

    “You’re an [Armsman], right? Does that mean you help make weapons for the Order?” Brin asked.

    “No. It means I used to make weapons, and now I use weapons. If you want something made, go buy it yourself. I’m not the Lance’s discount,” said Meredydd.

    Brin shrugged and tried again. “Fair enough. But I’m sort of stuck with glass. Do you have any tips for me?”

    “You really want my advice?” Meredydd asked, considering.

    “Sure,” said Brin.

    “Then pay me for it. You’re our Second, you’re supposed to be teaching us. If you want it to go the other way, then make it worth my time.”

    Brin gaped at the [Armsman], waiting for him to say he was just joking, but he was completely serious.

    “Fine.” Brin fished through a pocket and found a silver penny, and flipped it to Meredydd.

    Meredydd’s eyes went wide for a brief moment, reminding Brin that silver was still a lot of money for some people. He snatched the coin out of the air.

    Aeron groaned. “Please don’t encourage him, sir. Meredydd needs to learn that not everything is about money.”

    “That’s just something rich people say,” said Meredydd.

    Aeron shook his head in dismay, and Brin was pretty sure that it was because he really wasn’t wealthy at all but that wasn’t something you could admit to in this culture.

    Meredydd said, “A deal’s a deal. Let me answer your question with another question. Do you ever wonder why almost every [Knight] has [Blade Mastery] but you never see any of the experienced [Knights] with swords? Sometimes they have sidearms but it’s never their primary weapon.”

    Brin blinked. “I hadn’t really noticed that, but you’re right. Galan uses a mace.”

    “That’s because they don’t need to use blades! The ability that [Blade Mastery] imbues you with doesn’t need a blade to work. I can fight with a stick,” protested Aeron.

    “But you’re better with a blade,” said Meredydd.

    “They need something for armor,” said Brin.

    “Exactly. Spears are fine if you’re aiming for the gaps, and by the way there are plenty you could’ve gone for today. But if you want to go through the armor, you want a mace or a warhammer. Maybe an axe, but only if you have the right Skills for it,” said Meredydd.

    Brin thought about it. Was he really married to spears? He should experiment with different weapons. The key thing was shapes; why didn’t he try different shaped spearheads, or even projectiles? He could probably make hollow point bullets, too, with a little trial and error.

    “Food.” This had nothing to do with the cramping hunger pain that he himself was feeling; no, he really needed to help his Lance-mate right now.

    Rhun followed him, and said, “Where? Is the mess hall still open? I had rather thought that they expected us at certain times.”

    “No, it’s closed. But in a big, bustling headquarters like this, there has to be food somewhere,” said Brin.

    Rhun followed for a little longer, then shook his head. “I’m not certain we should pursue this course of action. A true man takes what he is given, but nothing more.”

    Brin noticed that Rhun didn’t stop following him, though. “I can’t help you be a true man. I want to make you a big man. If you only take the points that the System gives you, then you’ll never be as strong as you should be. You need to grow your real muscles, too, and real muscles need real food. Lots of it!”

    Brin found the door he was looking for; nothing had warded his Invisible Eyes against this place, so he knew that this was where the servants ate.

    He knocked on the door.

    An older gentleman opened the door, and Brin was treated to the scent of warm bread, roasting meat, and a strong amount of pipe smoke.

    Before speaking, the older man poked his head out of the door, looked both ways, and then smiled up at Brin and Rhun. “Alright, come in then.”

    Inside, he found a cozy, tightly packed kitchen. The walls were covered with ovens and stoves, some magical and others fueled by ordinary flame. There were also preparing areas, shelves and cupboards, and dishwashing bins. A table took up the center so that there was only about a foot of space to move around on either side, and a single servant girl sat on the table, poking at a plate of supper exactly like what Brin’s Lance had eaten a few hours earlier.

    The older man [Inspected] as Emir Bevan, a [Battle-Ready Baker], and only at level 30. That was on the low side for someone his age, but he also had a compound Class. If it had the same leveling drawbacks that Brin’s [Glassbound Illusionist] did, then it was impressive he’d even made it to thirty.

    “I suppose you want something to eat? The young ones always do. I think your commanders forget that though knights you may be, you’re still growing,” said Emir.

    “That would be delightful, thank you,” said Brin.

    “Don’t be shy,” said the girl, and patted the chair next to her. She was 15 years old and named Cati Breckon, a level 15 [Cook’s Apprentice]. She looked Prinnashian in the face, but her hair was an unusual light red.

    “Great!” said Brin, and sat down beside her.

    Rhun sat across from her, and eyed the two of them with a hint of suspicion. Cati chewed on a fingernail and looked to her other side; since she was at the end of the table there wasn’t another chair there. “We could scoot down...”

    Rhun smiled. “No need. From this side I can view my excellent company much better.”

    Cati blushed and leaned forward. “And I you.”

    Rhun grinned and removed his helmet, setting it down on the chair next to him.

    “Now, now, Cati, leave these poor men alone. Can’t you see that they’re famished?” said Emir. “What can I get for you young sirs?”

    “Oh, whatever you have on hand. We don’t mean to be a bother,” said Brin.

    “Nonsense. Bread? Roast beef? Vegetables?”

    “Yes, please,” said Brin.

    “Beer? Rum?”

    “Ru–” Rhun started, but Brin interrupted. “Milk, if you have it. And yoghurt, if you can spare it.”

    “I don’t care for yoghurt,” said Rhun.

    “Do it for your muscles,” said Brin.

    “Mmm. Muscles, hm?” said Cati. She fluttered her eyes a little at Rhun. What was going on? Rhun was the hot one, when Brin was sitting right here?

    “Oh stop that! These two might think you’re serious!” said Emir.

    Cati broke out into giggles, and Rhun snorted in amusement.

    Emir piled their plates high with great heaping portions, as well as two glasses each, one for milk and one for yoghurt. The food was cold but still delicious, and both Brin and Rhun dug in like starving wolves. Brin at least was a well-mannered starving wolf and used proper table manners. Rhun ate hunched forward with forks in both hands, and Brin got the feeling he was lucky that he ate with utensils at all. Well, etiquette was one of the things Cid had mentioned they’d need to teach the Lance.

    Brin’s stomach suddenly felt full around halfway through, but he figured it had been begging for food long enough that it could deal with it. He was going to eat everything on the plate. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to slow down.

    “I’ve never met a [Battle-Ready Baker],” said Brin.

    “Because you are from Frenaria,” said Rhun. “In Prinnash we know that every true man must be ready and willing to defend his life, his country, and his family. Emir, with his Common Class, lives a life above reproach!”

    Brin chuckled, because Rhun was usually the last person to butter someone up like that. Apparently all you really needed to do to be a “true man” was feed him.

    “Oh, I don’t know about all that,” said Emir, clearly pleased at the compliment.

    “I thought Prinnash was completely safe. Didn’t you tell me that all the ‘true men’ hunted all the monsters to extinction?”

    Cati snorted a laugh. “Did he really say that? There are monsters everywhere. We’re especially lousy with goblins, lately. Usually you’re fine if you stick to the roads but now no one travels without an escort and they’re even starting to raid towns.”

    “Is this true? Has so much changed in such a short time?” Rhun asked, looking at Emir.

    “It’s true,” said Emir. “With our armies hugging the borders of Arcaena, there is a lack in the rest of the country.”

    “I haven’t gotten a letter from my sister in Hrexwyth for almost two months. I bet she’s not getting my letters, either,” said Cati. “But her last letter said she heard they were moving in tribes of a hundred or more.”

    “These are dark tidings,” said Rhun. “My family is in Gynli. If goblins are growing bold as near as Hrexwyth, then how can I trust that far-off Gynli is still safe?”

    “Oh. I’m sorry,” said Cati.

    “It’s not as bad as all that. Our [Warriors] are here, but I think those goblins will find we commoners are tough meat to chew,” said Emir.

    “Hear, hear!” said Rhun.

    They finished their food quickly, Brin choked down his yoghurt and had to remind Rhun to drink his own. Fish-flavored, and it smelled more strongly than it tasted.

    Back in their bunkroom, he learned that the entire Lance never slept without their armor at the same time. Normally, that meant that two would keep watch, switching out through the night, but here that wasn’t needed. But they still expected two of them to keep their armor on, starting with Cid and Brin.

    Well joke was on them; Brin had no trouble with that at all. If you could learn to sleep knowing that a monster fish would torture you in your dreams, you could learn to sleep in armor. Brin was out the second his head touched the pillow.