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Translator: Snorri
Proofreader: theunfetteredsalmon
Everyone would be confused and distracted sometimes. It wasn’t something that called attention to itself in and of itself. But for a calm and stable person like Amon, it was an anomaly to be in such a state for a long time. He was a second-level mage that had fully mastered the basis of magic practice: meditation. To be disturbed continuously by various trivial thoughts and left unable to enter the state of serenity needed to focus on his own mind, it would be a fundamental barrier for his magic practice.
And it was a natural barrier. In a peaceful state of absolute quietness, trivial memories, tiny thoughts that had once been submerged under consciousness, would float to the mind from the deep ocean of subconsciousness. A third-level mage was one who was about to learn advanced magic, which demanded absolute serenity during meditation, a state that could not be broken by external information and trivial thoughts in mind. The test occurred when one’s spirit was tempered during the second level practice and was strong enough to keep every trivial detail of memories and thoughts in mind. Passing this test meant that he could stayed in absolute serenity despite of the strong spirit.
It was called “faith’s confirmation”, but in fact, it tested whether the practitioner was determined enough to move forward on his path. For a mage who believed in the gods, it was about his faith in his god or goddess, since in this stage one tended to be confused and think too much, questioning his god or goddess, magic, the magic practice, or even his instructor. Only when a mage restored faith in his god or goddess and in the path of magic could he find his peace of mind again and reach a deeper state of absolute serenity.
If you understand what this test was truly about, you knew the key to overcome it. It wasn’t necessary to seek peace in the gods. By its nature, it was a test about the determination of one’s belief in one’s self.
Figuring all this out, Amon sighed for the magic practitioners.The more devoted a mage was in his god or goddess, the easier he could pass the test. Meanwhile, a non-believer like him might spend his whole life stuck at this stage had he not sorted out the principles behind it.
Amon still kept his good habit of not thinking too much about problems he could not solve. He stopped thinking about how he could pass the test, or how he could solve the secret of the gods. He just tried his best to meditate, to keep serene in the face of all kinds of thoughts.
He told Lynk and Metatro to practice magic by themselves, and not to disturb him if not necessary.
Metatro had spent enough time with the cavemen. Worrying about his family, he had to return to Bablon City. Before his departure, he came to Amon to say goodbye while carrying a heavy big bag. Amon taught him the complete instructions for several synthetic primary magic and told him what the next test was about. He called for Lynk and asked them both to swear an oath.
In this continent, people believed in the effectiveness of oaths. The oath Amon asked them to take was special: they should keep the fact they learnt from him and what they learnt from him as secret, and shouldn’t use them to betray or hurt him, otherwise they could never pass “faith’s confirmation”, “devil’s temptation” or any of the other tests.
The oath was effective. Amon wasn’t sure about the coming tests, but when he realized what “faith’s confirmation” was about, he knew that one could not have a shred of hesitation or self-doubt when passing the test. And breaking an oath would leave a flaw in their mind that would stop them from passing the test.
Metatro’s bag was full of ingots, some of them Damasc iron. An advanced warrior doing the work of a drudge and smuggler, that was how he used his body arts. Indeed, it was impossible for ordinary people.
Amon asked curiously, “Aren’t you tired? How much do they cost?”
Metatro patted the bag and said, “A few dozen gold parans! These several Damasc iron ingots alone are worth five parans!” He took out three Damasc iron ingots to show off to Amon.
Amon grew up around iron ores and furnaces. His staff was made by the same kind of refined iron, which was called Damasc iron in Bablon. Metatro was boasting of its value, but Amon was a bit surprised because he found it less valuable than he thought. Three ingots carried out from the deep mountains cost merely five parans in the capital of Bablon Kingdom.
Refined iron was strictly controlled in Duc. All ingots had to be handed in to the state. The blacksmiths were paid by salary for their work, not the ingots they made. And the salary was always offset by ores. So Amon didn’t know the price of refined iron ingots.
Metatro carefully put the ingots back to the bag after the impromptu show and tell, and said to Amon, “This journey was so meaningful for me. My biggest gain was being able to learn magic from you. You are my teacher, my guide. I would like to call you God Amon, like Lynk does……You must come to Bablon City if you have time. You will receive the best of welcomes from me. I’m about to make some fortune with these darlings.”
Amon replied, “I won’t stay here forever, and I do have plans to go to Bablon. You can keep this parangon. The practice of magic demands a lot of time and energy. You may not have time to travel all day for money.”
Amon took out a parangon and threw it to Metatro. Metatro’s eyes widened and Lynk’s jaw fell. It was after a good while that Lynk broke the silence, “My god Amon! You are so generous!”
Metatro stuttered, “Oh my god! Amon, how can I receive so precious a gift!”
It’s just a parangon!, thought Amon. In Duc, a parangon could only buy two barrels of the best wine. It would be a big favor if the seller could give a goat as a bonus. These two ignoramuses had never heard of the Terroculus. Had they known how much the black parangon they had used cost, they would pass out in shock.
“It’s not exactly a gift. You took the oath and promised to welcome me in Bablon City. I taught you magic and I hope to see you focus on magic practice. You can settle your family with this parangon and practice magic wholeheartedly in the coming months. I will find you before long. You can wait in peace with it.” Amon smiled, putting the parangon in his hand.
Metatro was about to cry as he gazed at the transparent gem. He burst out in a pile of praise and promise. Amon did this for a reason. No mage in this continent had to work for a living. Nor did any of them do illegal business carrying heavy iron ingots. One needed a stable and comfortable environment to learn magic, otherwise Amon would not choose to stay with the cavemen.
It could take months for Metatro to go to and fro in the deep mountains. He gained less than ten parans each time, taking travelling expenses and costs into account. The parangon Amon gave him could be his annual income in iron smuggling.
Metatro left with many thanks, imploring him to visit. Lynk and Amon accompanied him out of the village to see him off. On the way back, Lynk looked at Amon appealingly. It was easy to tell what he was thinking. He was waiting for Amon to give him some gifts as well.
When they went back to the tribe, Amon told him a story, “Once a boy was asked by the Mayor to herd some sheep. He was paid two silver coins per month. When this boy had other occupations, the Mayor asked another boy to herd, paying him a silver coin per month. Did the Mayor owed this latter boy a silver coin if he took the job?”
Amon did not make this up. The Mayor was of course Dusti and the latter boy was Amon himself. Lynk was smart enough to catch what Amon tried to tell him. He hurriedly explained, “My dear god. I did not ask you for anything, let alone the parangons. I was just envying Metatro. You’ve taught me everything about magic, letting me have this divine power. All I shall have is my gratitude. You owe me nothing, on the contrary, I owe you too much.”
Amon smiled. He returned to his house, took out a fine brass bottle, and handed it to Lynk, “You and your fellow men respected me well. I enjoyed staying with you. I have had much of your food and wine. Now I give you this bottle. You need some fine utensils for decoration. As for parangons, you already have one on your staff. Metatro, as a sorcerer who practices magic secretly, needs parangon more. And he doesn’t have one. I saw him borrow your staff from time to time.”
Lynk took the bottle from him. This was the most elegant thing they had ever had in the tribe. Amon’s father had bought it with fifteen silver coins. Though the wine in it had been drunk by Schrodinger, the bottle itself was a piece of art. Lynk held it in the arms like a baby, and returned home happily.
In the following days, Amon did nothing but meditate. Knowing that it was a test, his spirit began to be able to descend into a deeper place in his mind, leaving the various thoughts floating above. Sitting quietly, he was able to easily sort out his thoughts. Looking back from this deep serenity, he could not only perceive his memories and thoughts, but also his body. This perception could even flow out and let him sense the outside world in an incredibly clear way.
Mages needed to communicate with the force surrounding him, and control this force. With a deeper level of serenity, one could sense the world more clearly.
Amon accidentally entered this state when meditating one night before he was aware of it. He was trying an advance magic, the Detection Eye, whose principle he had well understand, when everything in the dark night reflected into his mind like moonlight reflected in a well. He could perceive every sound outside the house and noticed even a small bug creeping in a corner of wall.
This meant that he passed the test. Being able to use at least one advanced magic was one of the criteria of a third-level mage. Although Amon did not start to learn the Detection Eye, he had been reckoning its principle by interacting the various elemental detecting magic that he could already perform. He managed to deduce the magic skill all by himself.
Amon was still refining this skill he had just discovered when he suddenly heard thunders rolling from the far sky
The disaster had come to Duc right after Amon’s departure. The third day after Amon’s departure, the first teenager death occurred in town. It was Maqi’s son. He was fourteen years old, the same as Amon. In the following months, three more boys died consecutively. The youngest was twelve, the oldest was fifteen.
Shog, the priest and medicine man of Duc, could do nothing since all these boys died nigh instantly. Examining the bodies by curing magic, Shog found some traces in the muscles and blood vessels indicating that they had received strong impacts that had surpassed their endurance. He reckoned that it was a result of practising the technique of Duc in secret.
The technique of Duc seemed to be simple to start, but what it required in strength and bodily endurance largely exceeded the limit of underage boys. The hidden damage would accumulate, and break out once it had reached a certain degree, by which time it would be too late. Aristotle had explained to Amon the spirit and the original intent of the oracle forbidding underage children from learning the technique. Although he didn’t know that practising it too early could be fatal, he was right about the oracle protecting the inhabitants.
But Shog and Dusti could not punish these families. The boys were already dead. It didn’t make sense to investigate whether they had had the approval from the goddess. Besides, since the families would never admit it, there would be no evidence. In fact, there were many more families that were doing it. Everybody knew what was going on, but nobody was willing to discuss it.
If we had to find a reason, it might trace back to Amon.
Amon, a fourteen-year-old boy, mastered the technique of Duc perfectly, successfully extracting parangons by opening the ores and having the luck to obtain so many of them, including a blue one that even Lord Microbe envied. If Amon could do it, why couldn’t their own sons?
The boys in Duc were used to blowing the bellows and carrying ores for their fathers. They were strong as well. Amon didn’t seem to be the strongest boy in town. He was just the son of an old drunkard, forced to carry the family’s burden earlier than them. They didn’t know about Amon’s two years of training in the cold spring.
Not all of the boys died; some succeeded by luck, others just couldn’t learn it. Those who managed to master the technique wouldn’t admit it. The parangons couldn’t tell people who had extracted them.
There was only a thin line that separated innocence and ignorance. Many even expected their children to extract a special parangon as Amon did. In the rumours circulating among the Ducians, Amon might have extracted a parangon called Gods’ Tear, which was unique in the world.
The lord from the capital had announced that the miner who extracted a Gods’ Tear would receive the highest prize from the kingdom, but anyone who kept it to himself would receive the most severe punishment.
None of the Ducians had heard of it before the announcement except Crazy’Ole, Dusti, Shog and Amon. They don’t know what kind of parangon it was. Conjectures spread like wildfire, like that it was a kind of parangon that could only be extracted by children since no one had ever found one in the past centuries except Amon.
This conjecture was widespread in Duc. People gossiped about it, but never discussed it openly, resulting in the series of tragedies.
The oracle from Mourrin, patron of Duc, existed in name only. People seemed to pay more respect to their goddess, and to Priest Shog. Many dared not to even look at him.
Crazy’Ole was even crazier than before, often waving his cane and shouting to himself in front of the shrine, “This place is hated by the god! It is going to be punished! The god is so cruel! He has no mercy! But people! What are you doing here, people?!”
No one cared about his nonsense. The Ducians just avoided him. Dusti and Shog didn’t know how to deal with him. After all, he was a crazy old man. But the tragedy in Duc went on, and another couple of boys died with no sign.
Weren’t the Ducians aware that the technique might not be suitable for underage kids? More or less, they knew it. But since there were children who succeeded, not just Amon, the tragic losses were regarded as mere bad luck. Prudent families would mind their children to be cautious and stopped forcing them when they felt something was wrong. But none of them would give up training altogether.
How many of the underage Ducians were learning the technique? Everyone over ten years old! Every family did this because nobody saw a reason not to. As time went by, the issue became half open. The Ducians were just taking care not to leave any evidence or to be caught by Mayor Dusti or Priest Shog.
The disaster of Duc was unstoppable. The town had only over two thousand inhabitants, and since the technique was passed down from generation to generation in every family, everyone was involved.
Summer arrived. The midsummer heat in this year was particularly unbearable. Most Ducians were forced to sleep outside their rooms, in the courtyard or in the square. One night, they all felt traces of chilliness along with moisture in their dreams. When they woke up, they found, to their surprise, slanting rain drizzling from the sky.
The number of rainy days in Duc in a year could be counted on one hand. The summer was traditionally a dry season. Cheers broke out in backyards and in the streets.
The rain didn’t stop after sunrise but became heavier. Raindrops came in curtains, soaking the dry land. The clouds started to gather in the sky, covering the Charcoal Forest and the Syah desert. Jubilant Ducians gathered in the shrine of Mourrin to praise the goddess. Wild cheers were everywhere. The heavy rain lasted all day.
A downpour like this could drench the poor land and desert. Oases might appear after the rain stopped and feed more herds. This had happened before, but it was still rare. Heavy rain was often regarded as a precious gift from the goddess.
The goddess seemed to have heard the prayers from the Ducians. The heavy rain lasted three days and showed no sign of stopping. Some started to panic because it was something that had never happened in history.
The creeks and ravines in Charcoal Forest were in full spate, the lower parts of the courier route flooded. Water rushed down from the northern plateau in torrents, flooding the Charcoal Forest and carving a path to Duc. The town was surrounded by mud avalanches, engorged rivers and the flooded jungle.
When the people in Duc started to realize what was happening, they heard thunders coming from the sky. The sky over the high mountains of Syah Plateau was overcast, and lightning leapt from cloud to cloud. The Ducians had never heard thunder this ferocious. A deep fear started to awaken in their hearts.
The cheers stopped. People took shelter in their leaking houses, praying to their goddess, praying for the rain to stop. But the rain didn’t stop. Along with the approaching thunder, the heavy rain intensified to a thunderous rainstorm. It was as if the sky was torn apart and an ocean had fallen to the ground.
……
When the thunder arose, eighth-level mage Golier, the chief priest and oracle of the Enlil Shrine of Syah, was standing on the high ramparts. Watching the horizon in the southeast under the low dark clouds and the raging lightning, he mumbled, “Is this what you called the disaster, Nietzsche? It was real! But why are you still staying in Duc?”
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