Chapter 57: That Was An Option?

Chapter 57: That Was An Option?

Entrance into the university was unexpectedly smooth.

“I told him you were a wealthy overseas student here while your parents were working abroad,” Thrush said with as much cheer as it was capable of.

“I am dressed in stolen gangster clothes, and my iron horse is missing pieces. Like most of the seat.” Truth looked dubious.

“The clothes actually help sell the image of rebellious youth. The bike, I informed him, was purchased a week ago and deliberately destroyed by you to improve your “thug” look. In only the most respectful terms, I pointed out that only a real “wannabe thug” rich kid who never had to struggle a day in his life would turn up to university with a spear and no pens.”

Truth kind of boggled at that one. “But... what if I was exactly what I looked like?”

Thrush laughed, like birdsong over a crib death. “He could sense that you were Level Two. The chances of being both Level Two and poor in this city are nil. Combined with the fact that you are plainly a foreigner, there was nothing to find suspect. The Student Services Center is your next left, by the way.”

Truth got his head into the game. The campus was... well, he wasn’t sure what it was. Parts were just open grass, mowed barely a centimeter high. A few bushes dotted the grass in no discernable pattern and for no discernible purpose. They, too, had been trimmed to within millimeters of their lives.

The buildings ranged from concrete bunkers to glass and steel boxes so generic as to be nigh invisible. Then, towering over the vast expanse of the campus were a few monster buildings. One was a neo-classical design broad base with columns supporting a white tower fourteen stories high and crowned with a golden dome. Another was shaped like a sea serpent out of blue-green glass, rising out of the grass “sea.” Truth wasn’t sure how you would get around in it, but he supposed they managed somehow. One was pyramidal, bleached white stone covered in magenta flames. Another gently spun in place, each floor turning independently. The mirror finish on the spinning one kept catching the light, creating a strobing effect. It was impossible to ignore, and very quickly, one wished one could.

Truth had never been to university or even visited a campus. Maybe this was normal. Truth found a golem with a double dozen flags poking out of its back and shoulders. He saw the flag of Jeon sticking out of it. Promising.

“Golem, does this campus offer language classes for visitors?”

The clay creature turned towards him, its eyes a dim gold. “Yes. You do not need to be a student here. Merely pay.”

“Which teacher should I approach for lessons in the local language? That can teach someone who only speaks Jeongo.”

“Go to the Linguistics Department. Find Professor Salesio Aduol.” A tiny wisp of golden flame came from its mouth. “Follow the spark of wisdom, young seeker.”

Truth followed after the light, muttering to Thrush, “It’s always so embarrassing when they do that.”

“Truly. Some magi have no thought for the dignity of those they bind.”

“Follow the spark,” oh God, save us all. No offense.” Truth quickly added.

“None taken. Hell quite agrees.”

“Wait, what?”

“Follow the spark of wisdom, young seeker. The world is so much more vast and deep than you imagine.” Thrush dramatically flew up and ahead of Truth.

“Wise ass.”

Professor Aduolo, a tall man struggling at that awkward point where one is no longer a young academic nor yet a senior fellow, was intercepted as he was unlocking his office. He did, in fact, speak fluent Jeongo and was quite happy to teach Truth the local language. Truth was invited to pick which one. There were at least seven in common local usage, and the professor claimed to speak all of them.

Feeling a tinge of madness coming on, Truth selected Re’inyo. It was the most “high class” language, used by professionals and the plutocracy alike. It also happened to be the language with the most textbooks and dictionaries printed for it. It turned out, “by coincidence,” that the good professor had published several such books. Books he “by coincidence” had copies of in his office. And yes, he was happy to take cash. A new class was starting in a week. Truth could study up and then join in from the beginning. Registration, alas, could not be handled by the professor and had to be done at the student center.

“The point is, though, whatever decisions they made or are making, it’s their decision. What works for them. I can make different decisions, and I want to. I’m dead to the world. Not... really content to leave the sibs where they are, but I know that right now, I can do nothing for them. I am an unbound ghost drifting through a foreign country. I am as free as a body can be. So what do I want?”

“To stay a loser virgin, apparently.”

“Yeah, we will talk about my low self-esteem, but not right now. What I want is to get stronger. Not for being King Rat, but for being someone who isn’t a tool. Strong enough to say, “I’m looking after my people, and they are going to be fine, and I don’t need you to make that happen.” Strong enough to be enough, not just in the toughest gang.”

Truth sat back in his chair, calming his breath. “Look, you said that the more spells you have access to, the more you can synthesize and improve them, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Then we need to go to a country with an actual government, where it won’t be a complete pain in the ass to find and get spells, wouldn’t be near impossible to keep the spells we get, not to mention the total impossibility of getting elixirs in this country.”

“Far from impossible. They grow elixir ingredients in the highlands.” The System insisted.

“Yeah, ingredients. Which we don’t have a way to turn into useful elixirs, and even if we did, we would have to spend all our time defending our shit. More gangster bullshit. Look, this country sucks. This whole fucking country is a slum and operates on slum logic. I don’t want to invest any more time into it. Any hope of getting stronger here would require a campaign of violence and theft so large I’m sick just thinking about it. And in the end, the results wouldn’t be worth it.” Truth shook his head.

“We learn Re’inyo so we can speak some kind of local language and maybe pick up a dictionary for whatever they speak in Siphios. We study on the road. I reckon I have more than enough food money. For shelter... I don’t really care. A tarp or something.”

“And how do you intend to acquire “food money” in Siphios? Given that murder for hire seems to be your only sellable skill?”

“We will have that self-esteem talk real, real soon, and at length.” Truth sighed. The coffee was growing on him.

“My whole life, I have focused on just two things- save the sibs, don’t be like my parents. Now, I can’t save the sibs. In fact, nothing I do right now could directly help them. And I couldn’t be less like my parents. So where does that leave me? I’ll tell you where. Ready for something new. Ready to find out what it means to be more than a thug with a spell.”

He laughed softly to himself. “My mind is so completely screwed, I can’t imagine what that would look like. I’m still dragging all that old shit. So. I draw the line here. I’m ditching this poison slum country, and I’m going somewhere decent, and I’m going to learn how to be someone new. And fuck you if you don’t like it.”

“Fine. Be like that, then. At least go back to the Professor and buy books on Siphios. I can’t bear to watch you mug another innocent bookseller.” The Sprite spat in his coffee and vanished.

________________________________

Truth caught Professor Aduol on his way back from a lecture. The professor kindly informed Truth that Re’inyo was actually spoken by the Siphios elites too. The Free State adopted it to look fancy centuries ago. A different accent, some word choice variation, but fundamentally the same language. He had some old maps and guidebooks he could sell Truth cheaply, just by coincidence.

“Are you driving or flying?” The professor asked.

“Driving. I thought I’d make an adventure out of it. Try and figure out what I want to be, as a Mage and a Man.”

“Oh, how wonderful. In that case, I do have one piece of advice. The shortest route to Siphios is along the A109, but don’t take it. Get on the B roads. B8 runs up the coast before it turns north and inland. Miles and miles out of your way, but if you want an adventure, it’s far more colorful and beautiful. Good food too.”

“Really? Any recommendations?”

“For a young man facing the dusty road? Kwa Kabwere Garage, just over the border into Anat River County. It has been many years, but I recall there was a permanent barbecue stand next to the garage. Amazing meat and fish, all acquired locally, and very cold beer. I cannot recommend it too highly.”

Truth loaded up the two-wheeler with books. It took a bit of borrowed string to tie them in place. A quick trip back to the apartment for clothes, fill up some water bottles, gather what food there was, pack everything into looted shopping bags and then play the “how does it attach to the iron horse” game. Eventually, he got it all on there. Good enough.

He looked at the apartment complex. A slum. Perfect for all the rats to be born, eat trash, live sickly, and die scared. Truth shook his head and drove off. Who knew he could just walk away? A lifetime of feeling trapped, and now he was just walking... no. Now he was driving off like a wild man!