Magma Dragon's Heir

62nd of Season of Earth, 56th year of the 32nd imperial era

"I will need some time to plot out a realm chart for your second realm. I'll do the best that I can, but I am not an official scribe yet. The guild insists on mages and mageknights only, no knights allowed." Blackfist gazed at the ceiling, forming plans. "You can entertain yourself with the tournament while I handle other matters. Is there anything else?"

The man met Newt's gaze, and Newt shook his head. He was still annoyed with how easily Blackfist had read him, but at least Magmin's realm remained a secret. There was no way to deduce its existence with simple logic. At least Newt hoped so.

"Very well. You are free to visit, but I may take an hour or five to get ready to receive you. I have duties to attend." Blackfist's words seemed reasonable and polite. After all, he had his own realm to develop and a town to run, with an unknown number of difficulties arising because of the tournament.

Newt thanked Blackfist, who in turn thanked him for everything. Then, Newt registered for the tournament. He was alone, but he noted there were already twenty-three participants.

That evening, he once more enjoyed Dahlia's company, and even though the young woman's clothing sensibilities remained the same, Newt didn't mind as much, nor did he blush as much. Even the "accidental" clothing malfunction Dahlia suffered only made Newt avert his gaze, much to the hostess's disappointment.

Eventually, he retreated to his room, where he dreamed of Blackfist going insane. In Newt's nightmare, the townlord kidnapped him, handling him as easily as a child, before chaining him onto a stone table and opening him up with a knife. Newt tried to summon his defenses, to reinforce his skin, and to fight back, to no avail. Blackfist had shackled him with the same chains his uncle had used to bind the loyal tutor and guard captain. The nightmare repeated over and over until Newt awoke screaming.

He sat, the bed beneath him wet, the blanket thrown aside. Faint, bloody light ominously entered through the window. Newt looked outside and saw that the black sky had turned violet.

"It was just a dream," he assured himself and wiped his brow, still panting. But regardless of his half-hearted words, he was afraid of Blackfist. He was a former brigand. A rapist and a murderer. He even admitted he would kill his son and commoners, who tested his patience. To trust such a man was folly.

But he already knows almost everything about me. He even knows how I should sculpt my realm better than I do.

Newt considered his problem, watching the sun rise without seeing it. He was still sitting in his bed when he had come to certain conclusions. The fearsome townlord was better learned, had greater experience, and was smarter than him.

Experience Newt would gather while exploring and traveling the world. Intelligence should also be a matter of time and growth of his mindcore. As for knowledge, the library was within reach. But there were two problems with it. For one, the library was expensive, for another, comprehending what he read would take time, especially with first and second realm tomes, since they might involve sculpting of his realm and experimenting with suggested forms.

Blackfist seems to have laid low here for decades to read in peace, and now that he has accumulated all the knowledge he needed, he is going to rebuild his realm from the ground up.

But Teacher said Blackfist was a dimwitted bandit with a strong and merciless fist. Was that an act, or is his friendly attitude a sham?

Newt concluded that both the stupid bandit and the friendly wise man were fake. Based on their conversation, Blackfist struck him as a man pursuing his goal by any means necessary. With a heavy breath he left his room, and much to his relief, the brothel he realized he was using like an inn was empty in the morning, tables clean, chairs and benches resting atop of them.

The drowsy bouncer let him outside, and Newt basked in the warm autumn sunlight. He closed his eyes and breathed lavender mixed with a sharp but unfamiliar herbal scent.

What now? He had some ten days to kill before the tournament, but nothing to do. He could go back home, consult his tutor, and return in time for the first matches, but doing so implied inability to make his own decisions.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

I should've stayed in my room and discussed this with Magmin. The flying serpent couldn't offer Newt any meaningful advice, but the youth needed someone to talk to while sorting his thoughts. And his nightmare didn't help him trust Blackfist.

But what do I stand to lose if I take Blackfist's offer? Nothing's stopping him from killing me when I leave the town, and he obviously has some way of tracking my movement.

Newt walked around the town, but his feet led him back to the keep.

"I would like to speak with the townlord," he told the guard, uncertain what drew him towards the keep. There was some sort of magnetism in Blackfist's bearing. Something that made him want to confide in the man and be his friend. Objectively speaking, there was no need to further discuss the offer. Everything was clear, and yet Newt wanted to discuss it further. Or perhaps talk about something.

Is it because he's the first person treating me more or less like an equal? Is it because I had no company in the mine? Newt didn't know, but even with all he knew about the former bandit, it was difficult to think of all his evil when in his presence.

Newt snapped out of his thoughts as the guard once more left him with the townlord's butler.

"Good day, do you mind if I ask what you think of your lord?" Newt asked, he himself surprised by his own words.

The butler was startled. He looked left and right like a scuttler caught in a pantry before locking his gaze on Newt's knees.

"The townlord is a great man. Tough and just." The obviously terrified butler scurried away to tell his master that Newt had arrived.

Several minutes later, the man returned and told Newt the townlord would see him in two hours.

With no idea what to do, Newt waited, and two hours later the butler led him to the same audience room in which he had his two previous talks with Blackfist.

"I know we agreed I would focus on the tournament, but I'm confused, and I would like to ask some questions, if you don't mind." Newt took a seat across the table from Blackfist.

"Tea?" Blackfist asked.

"No, thank you." Newt paused and only continued speaking after the brawny man motioned him with his cup. "What do you stand to gain from investing your time in me?"

Blackfist sighed.

"I have already told you. I wish to establish a positive relationship with you. It should pay off in the long run, but even just the day we spent discussing realms yesterday has given me an excellent hypothesis and direction in which I wish to evolve my own after I wipe the slate clean. Do you understand that much?"

Newt considered nodding, but didn't. "Why do you need a positive relationship with me?"

"Oh, for the love of—" Blackfist sighed again. "Listen. Do you agree you have talent and unusual ideas about realm sculpting?"

Newt nodded.

"Do you think you would benefit from talking with someone who also has thoughts which deviate from the norm, that also differ from yours, but might be useful or inspirational?"

Newt considered it and nodded.

"Do you think this is easier to achieve if the other person hates your guts?"

Newt shook his head, hardly considering the notion.

"Well, what is it you do not understand about why I wish to establish a rapport with you?"

"Why me?"

"I will slap you dead if you ask that again. Are you looking for me to stoke your ego or something? You came up with that idea about a volcano at what? Fifteen? Sixteen? While digging in a hole. As a non-awakened. What will happen once you have proper education, insight, and experience? Think, damn it! Think!"

Blackfist bit his lip in frustration, stopping himself from shouting.

"Listen. You need to find a way to channel and hone your genius. Alchemy, forging, seal scribing, something. Learning an established art in a systematic manner will help you put your thoughts in order and teach you how to approach problems. You are thrashing about blindly right now."

Newt stared blankly at Blackfist, not understanding what he meant. Why would learning a craft help him improve his realm shaping? Was the purpose of supportive occupations not to support? They helped weak even the odds and let them earn a living. Prosper even.

And even if Newt was interested in adding runes and seals to his realm, Blackfist would provide the design for him. All he had to do was copy it.

"You have no idea what I am talking about." Blackfist shook his head in frustration, then stood and went over to a cabinet. He threw a paper booklet with his back turned. It spun through the air and slapped on the table right in front of Newt, facing him correctly.

Comprehensive Introduction to Scribing and Seals, by Dandelion, the title said.

"I wrote that to systemize my thoughts and knowledge about seals. I lack a mindcore, and cannot see the flow of mana, but this booklet addresses the scribing process and the theory itself. Combined with your dualcore, I think you'll be scribing spell seals long before I get to do it."