Chapter 56: Wait A Goddamn Second!

Chapter 56: Wait A Goddamn Second!

Truth coolly cataloged the guard in front of him. Wearing fatigues, no armor, cap with brim. No visible rank insignia. The fetish looks professionally made, and given the size and depth of the carvings on it, clearly intended to handle a high power throughput without disintegrating. Given that this is the Free State... military and imported. The spellhound... might not actually be a spellhound. The inaugural upload of this chapter took place via N0v3l-B1n.

The more he looked at it, the more he got the sense of a dog that was selectively enchanted and altered with alchemic mutagens. Nasty stuff. The whole package made for a very effective guard patrol along the eight-meter-tall wall separating the university from the rest of the city. There was a guard booth up ahead too. He would have to be a bit careful about this, but he should be able to rush them before they can sound the alarm.

And he would do that... why, exactly? Truth felt himself physically jolt as the questioning thought made itself known.

There was literally no reason to attack this guy. He was out here, doing his job, no threat, no bother. There was nothing in the university that he needed to see right this minute. No teachers for him to talk to, nothing he could read. He didn’t even want the fetish. He definitely didn’t want the dog. This was not his kind of dog. Truth steered the iron horse away from the university, found a quiet spot, and parked.

He started trying to pick through the last few days. He had been killed. Ok, he was part of a kidnapping, then found out the company he had dedicated his entire life to thought saving fucking Ludovic was more important than his survival. Starbrite ordered him to commit suicide, on pain of being killed by them if he refused.

Starbrite relied on the fact that the System Astrologica slowly but constantly brainwashed its employees. He remembered thinking that dying in the line of duty would be fine and right.

He had been brainwashed. So had the people who ordered his suicide. But since they were also brainwashed and had been brainwashed for much longer than him, they presumably wouldn’t mind that he was being magically compelled to fight to the death.

Although, really, it wasn’t relevant. Not really. It had been a total betrayal of everything he had spent his life trying to achieve. Everything.

He wakes up in the pitch black of a well. Has no possessions. Proceeds to discover he is strong. Immediately starts a campaign of thuggery to improve his situation. At no point did he ask for anything. At least, not that he could recall.

Oh, wait, the vendor he intimidated after robbing a bookstore. Miming probably counts as a request. And he did pay.

And he... you know... killed a couple of dozen people, many of whom were level zero, to secure an apartment, clothes, and home goods. Trash goods in slum housing. That was... not good. That was very not good. That was, in fact, deeply fucked up. And had been OK with it. He thought that it was necessary. Excused by the fact that these were criminals. Morally, if not legally, in the Free State.

Like their being gangsters excused everything. Assuming they were gangsters, he had only a literal demon as his source there.

Not only very bad and deeply fucked up, but it was also very, very stupid. Truth desperately cast his mind back. He could remember the first person he killed. Well, probably killed. It was the mindless addict by the canal. It was self-defense. Same thing with Thierrie, sort of. He was saving Vig. He was charging to the rescue.

It was all, all, all bullshit. All of it. Even his shitty, evil parents. Then being shitty and evil was on them, but who made the slums? Who kept the slums, slums? It wasn’t all on the slumrats. He was willing to bet it wasn’t even mostly on them.

Squeak Squeak, little rats. Line up by the subway and feed yourself to the cats.

Would he make the same choice if he had to do it all over again? Or would he go gangster? Try to kill his way out? Find some... blessed land where he could keep the sibs safe and free? If such a place existed, Truth hadn’t seen it. Hadn’t even heard of it. Security came from power. Your own... or your gang’s. Well. He didn’t have a gang anymore. He was a monster of violence, loose on the world, and encouraged to become more monstrous by a demon and a... “spirit of intellect.”

The funny thing was he knew how to handle the world telling him to become a monster. He had a proven, effective strategy for it. Study and cultivation. Focus on goals, make a plan, act on the plan, and treat violence as just a tool in the toolbox. Unless violence was the only answer, it was almost always the worst answer. Because violence only produced short-term results. Nobody got long-term rich from it, and the power was always shaky. Power over external things was always shaky.

Just look at the Free State. The whole country, rich parts included, was just another fucking slum. No safety, except your own strength. Safety only existed for one spell length.

Truth slowly pulled himself together. Can’t fix the world. Can’t even make sure the sibs are safe. Couldn’t do anything about it, even if they weren’t safe. All he can control is himself. He can take charge of himself. He can figure out himself... for himself.

Truth hopped off the iron horse and, in a dingy side street in one of the most dangerous cities in the world, he began to cultivate. His body moved under his control. The cosmic rays were pulled into the refinery of his body and transformed into cosmic energy. It gently expanded his first and second spell apertures, and he could feel it wearing away at the seal of the third. Soon now. But no rush. Just moving, breathing, and being. When he finished, he moved on to the Meditations. He had a fantastic new body. Time to learn all about it.

The sun rose, flooding the street with orange light. Even through the smog and dust, the stars were unconquerable. The world might get in your way of seeing them, but they were still there, shining down. Truth dusted himself off and hopped back on the two-wheeler.

“Was the night fruitful, Master?” Thrush asked. He had been notably silent the whole time.

“It was. Frankly, I was surprised you didn’t try to interfere.”

“It was a struggle, but I persevered. I had the uncanny foreknowledge that you would have murdered this form if I tried.” The little bird gave him a hard look.

“Hah. Well. That’s true. Now, realizing that I may be making more trouble for myself in the long term, get ready to act as my translator.”

“Master? I would be more than happy to teach you the local language.” Smoother than butter and honey was the voice of the demon.

“I’m sure you would. No, Thrush. I think I will learn for myself.”