A Sky Full of Tropes [Reincarnated Psychic Child LitRPG]

I have my [Ghostly Watcher] scan the auras of the five orcs to see what we're dealing with precisely.

What's this? An orc girl with a rare class? I restrain myself from hopping and yelling 'new friend!'

"They're... kids..." Hemlock says quietly upon reading the window I send my party.

I read their quests. They're all here to protect and guide the [Primordial Child]. And she's here to practice Invocation.

Her Mystic Origin, "Primordial", is Invocation + Survival (thank you, [Mental Encyclopedia]), and so shouldn't be possible to have as an Elite Novice. It means she got a class change somehow that wasn't at turning whatever age orcs become Novices nor was it when she attained Elite rank, which she wouldn't have been able to learn Invocation without. Either that or her core offered her a class with a skill she didn't actually have when she reached Elite rank. Or she reached Elite before she turned Novice.

My [Ghostly Watcher] tracks the approach of the party of orcs and makes sure that there are in fact only five Elites and that they don't have any backup trailing behind them. The orcs probably regularly send Elite parties into the Tinpot Palace to get combat practice and collect resources.

Directly confronting them is a risk, sure, but one I feel is reasonable. They might not speak Common, but I may be able to communicate anyway. I would dearly like to be able to automatically translate any arbitrary language I run across. It would make exploration so much more convenient. I'm sure there have to be skills for it, and my own build is a good bet for it. [Empathy] is already good at picking up more and more complex emotions as well as a few simple thoughts, but I need to go a step further than simply understanding them. I need to make myself understood.

I consider my options. Necromancy might be viable, but there's no guarantee that they'd speak exactly the same language as these orcs. They've been isolated for hundreds of years, so far as I know, so plenty of time to develop their own variant of whatever language they started with. They might have been reincarnated from orcs of bygone Ages who brought their language with them, but who knows when their last reincarnator showed up? That could have been over 700 years ago. No, I'm going to work under the assumption that none of my ghosts know this particular tongue, and it would not be ideal to have to dredge up a specific language anyway.

How, exactly, does the auto-translator work? It's a system function, clearly, and one polite enough to work for specific languages. I'm sure it's just taking advantage of the fact that we all have the system in our heads and it knows these languages, because it's in our souls and can read our brains just like it reads every other aspect of our being. That it makes us put work in first is just part of the Game in not letting us "cheat" too much.

I don't need it, though. I'm a blasted psychic. This is something I should be able to do. How? Incantation can probably do it, but I don't know enough about Incantations to guess at a skill and Charisma isn't my primary attribute, anyway. Invocation? I'd need an object symbolic of communication and connection. How much time do I have before they get here? Checking the position and speed of the orcs, I determine that it's enough time for a round of speed crafting with the help of a Heroic Sorcerer who can mold copper like clay. I pull out my backup copper rod and hand both to Anise.

"Mom, can you put both snakes onto the same rod real quick, please?" I ask, fishing out a bottle of glue and a handful of duck feathers from my bag as well.

"You were just carrying those around?" Hemlock wonders.

"I have a bag of holding and see no reason why I shouldn't carry around a small bottle of goblin glue just in case I really need to glue something. And feathers are useful for Invocation. Alright, I'm going to build myself a universal translator. Hopefully."

Anise hands back one of the rods, now with the second still-warm snake wrapped around it poorly. It might be sloppy, but it's still a stick with two snakes around it, so close enough. I take out the glue and apply the feathers to the top of the staff. I don't have time to make complicated wings, so this will have to do. Using [Imbue Item], I flood the rod with the concepts of communication and trade.

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The orcs are approaching the gates now. They get suspicious when they see the corpses of the Tin Soldiers that were guarding the gate, and have a quick discussion amongst themselves before deciding to head inside anyway. I monitor their progress through the village, seeing our handiwork, and... take a seat in the Tin Dictator's faux leather chair and prop my feet up on the desk. I have my party take up positions to defend my audacious butt when the orcs inevitably try to attack me. With my main attack being magical, I can cheerfully electrocute them while sitting down if I want. With a Bodyguard capable of stopping magic and parrying bullets and a Heroic Sorcerer casually standing in the corner playing with fire.

The two-meter-tall hunks of green muscle are considerably more intimidating when seen in person from the height of a seated nine-year-old human rather than a floating pair of eyes, but I have the confidence of a boy who just electrocuted several Heroic monsters without my party taking any serious injuries. The lead orc steps inside, looks around, and immediately recognizes that he's outmatched and we could have killed him if we'd wanted to.

"Hello there," I say when the orc enters the room in confusion, just in case one of them does understand Common, then I repeat my greeting in Goblin and English. No dice.

A second, older orc steps into the room behind him, while the three children remain in the hallway ready to flee.

Well, let's try this, then. I hold up the world's crappiest caduceus and attempt a new Invocation, channeling my vis through it as before but this time focusing on concepts of communication rather than healing or electrocution.

Recognition shines in the older orc's aura. He knows what a caduceus is? The orcs may have started off with human souls who brought their own symbolism with them. And he says something in a coarse, guttural language, then laughs.

"Let's talk," I say. "We're the Defiant Seekers. My name is Drake Corwen Tempest Tiganna."

I focus on projecting the meaning of my words and introducing myself on the conceptual level. They seem to understand the intent if not the words.

"[Resonant Child]," the older orc says, the [Gathering Healer] who apparently has a skill that can analyze classes. I don't understand the words, but I clearly recognize the concept attached to them as my own class.

A quest flashes into existence on the aura of the [Primordial Child] standing out in the hallway.

Oh, is that how this is to be? She doesn't come charging forth to challenge me to a duel, at any rate. I still haven't even seen her with my own eyes. And now Tempest itself is goading her. And perhaps daring me to remove her quest, too. I leave it be, smiling. I'm going to let her win and then become her friend.

I revise that I probably don't need to let her win. She probably is a better Invoker than me and it would be insulting not to take her seriously. I hope I can learn something from her, too. I have some weird insights, but I'm hardly omniscient. In any case, I doubt she would respect me if I just let her win.

"I take it you cleared the dungeon," the [Visceral Guardian] says. "Did you claim the core?"

"No," I say, shaking my head. "I just wanted to see what the chair felt like." I laugh and put my feet on the floor. "Would you be so kind as to introduce yourselves, [Visceral Guardian], [Gathering Healer]? I can read your auras but my [Naming] skill is still having trouble with names that aren't plants or animals."

"Names have power, [Resonant Child]," says the [Gathering Healer], clearly understanding me perfectly and not thinking anything of it. "And yet you gave us yours freely, and you bear the staff of Hermes. What do you want?"

I stand up dramatically, or at least as dramatic as my 134 centimeters can manage. "I would like to invite your [Primordial Child] to prove that she can use [Imbue Item] better than me."

The cores offer power. Refusing to use that would be like stubbornly trying to sail against the wind. It could be done, but why not use it? I just need to try to steer the quests to something I wouldn't object to. Tempest knows I can just delete any quest I see that I hate. Cores aren't stupid.

The thing is, while violence generates plenty of experience, complex social interactions generate more in the long-term. Having options for stories that don't end immediately? Invaluable.

"You Topsiders come down here and think you are better than us—" starts the [Visceral Guardian].

"No, Uncle!" the orc girl says, storming into the room, having clearly been eavesdropping and also understanding perfectly. "Tempest gave a quest for this!"

The young female orc looks as though she's about the same age as me, and she has the most adorable itty-bitty tusks jutting from the corners of her mouth.

"Tempest..." the [Gathering Healer] whispers. "Very well. Have you been practicing, [Primordial Child]?"

"Of course, Dad!"

"Then you will each need to craft items with easily measured effects. We should leave the dungeon before the bosses respawn. While I'm sure the Tin Dictator would not pose a serious threat to us all, it would be annoying were he to respawn while we're talking."

They don't sound like I would have imagined orcs to sound like, and I realize why. The auto-translation isn't just translating things into English, but into my own idiolect. They're not speaking broken English and there's no reason to render perfectly fluent Orcish as such.

We agree to a location for the contest, at a prominent landmark in between our Hearths. With a divinely-ordained quest hanging over their promised child, no one wants to lift a finger against us.

Yes, what a coincidence that their child with a shared skill path just happened to come on a training run at the same time as me. Apparently, Tempest thought I needed a rival. And Colt was too nice.

"That was weird," Hemlock says once the orcs are out of earshot.

"I need to learn a translation skill too!" Melody says. "Ooh, I wonder if they've got a Bard back at their village that I can challenge to a song battle."