Solo Strategy

The next morning, at first, I once again consolidated my command of Wind Sense under the watchful eye of the former captain of the Trade League, and then trained Wind Blade. And again, it seemed to me that there was practically no progress in mastering this spell. Unlike me, however, Eddart didn't get discouraged; on the contrary, he kept supporting me, which, given his character, looked rather unusual.

"Trainer, tomorrow and possibly the day after, I won't be able to come to practice," I said during a meal break.

"I hope you have a good reason for that," the former captain of the Trade League frowned.

"I'm planning a flight," I shrugged as if in apology.

"You still haven't given up on that dubious idea..." the Air mage shook his head.

"I haven't," I admitted.

"Ahem," Eddart scratched his chin and looked at me intently. "Although I'm not your full-fledged teacher, I believe it would be right for me to be present during your flight."

Of all people, I didn't expect such a suggestion from my temporary trainer! But if one outsider, Ger Karilian, was already going to watch the flight, why not invite a second?

"The test won't be in Deytran; there are too many curious eyes here. It will be at one of the lakes, almost a day's journey away," I clarified.

"As if I have anything better to do than guzzle wine!" the Air mage laughed deeply and somewhat sorrowfully.

"I'm sure you enjoy guzzling wine," I couldn't resist teasing him.

"No argument there," he smiled.

"In that case, you'll need to change after the training," I said, casting a pointed look at his light shoes.

"Is that an agreement?" Eddart asked.

"Of course, how could I refuse you? But there's one condition," I added.

"I'm listening," the Air mage seemed to tense slightly.

"For a while, I'd like to keep the flight a secret from the general public. So, if you wouldn't mind swearing an oath at Kamo's altar to keep what you would see confidential for six months, I'd appreciate it," I said as politely as possible, trying to soften the request.

"Not that I have many friends or am particularly talkative," the former captain of the Trade League said more relaxedly. "I'll take the oath."

"Glad to hear it, and I invite you to witness my triumph," I replied with as warm a smile as I could muster.

"In that case, today's lesson is over," Eddart said, bustling about as he set aside the basket of food. "I need to change, and then we have to make it to the Temple. There's usually quite a line at Kamo's altar in Deytran."

I had nothing to say to that. Besides, my struggle with mastering the Wind Blade was clearly frustrating me, so I was actually glad to finish the lesson early today. Despite his apparent haste, Eddart entrusted me with bringing the yacht-tender to the fishing bay, insisting I use only Wind Sense for this. However, he didn't trust me with docking at the pier, taking over the boat's control a couple of dozen meters from the shore.

Then we went to the former Trade League captain's house, where he changed into travel gear and even took a small backpack and a heavy, albeit rather short, boarding cutlass—something between a saber and a Chinese dadao, the very sort of weapon sailors in the western waters preferred.

The Air mage wasn't wrong about the queue at Kamo's altar. Even considering my status as sheriff of the Great Guild, we had to wait for over an hour. The crowd at the altar was diverse: ordinary townsfolk, sailors in faded jackets, merchants in expensive cloaks, and even a few mercenaries with faces covered in old scars. Each carried a certain heaviness within, and a muted tension filled the air. It felt as if the God-Executioner himself was listening in to every word, so people in line spoke in whispers, trying not to draw unnecessary attention.

The priest in scarlet slowly admitted the next supplicants to the altar, his stern gaze seemingly weighing the fate of each one.

Touching personally the altar of the God of Vengeance, the God-Executioner, I didn't dare. Given my natural vindictiveness, I didn't want to provoke another task from the Echo of Kamo. I understood that my fears were likely unfounded, but too many divine entities in this Cycle had already taken an interest in me. So, I just stood nearby while Eddart made his vow.

Leaving the lesser Temple of Kamo, we didn't head straight home. At my insistence, we first stopped by the market. The vibrant stalls were filled with smells—warm flatbreads, dried fruits, and freshly brewed tea. We bought various sweets and good tea, and I also remembered to purchase a tea set in the Eastern style, which Katashi might like. The vendor unwrapped porcelain cups with the finest painting, and I chose those where the lines were light, like a gust of wind—exactly the kind of design, I thought, the Japanese would appreciate. Such a set would be perfect for serving tea to esteemed guests.

The bustle of the market, the laughter of merchants, the shouts of hawkers—all this was distracting, as if leading my thoughts away from the upcoming trial. But as soon as we left the stalls and moved towards home, the familiar tension returned: the flight was getting closer, and too many eyes already were drawn to it. And it wasn't yet clear whether that increased attention was bad—or, on the contrary, good.

Approaching the insula, I warned Eddart that my companion and another very esteemed guest were present at my home. And that both of them would also be present at my flight, as they were the ones who had created the flying device.

"It's a great honor to see you, Ger Karilian," the former captain of the Trade League bowed deeply upon seeing the master-artifactor in the workshop.

"I think I know you..." said the mage of Valirium rank, rising from his stool and peering into my companion's face.

"Yes," my temporary trainer nodded in agreement. "I had the honor of delivering you to Cortans nine years ago."

"Captain Eddart, if I'm not mistaken," recognition flickered in the artifactor's eyes.

"Former captain," the Air mage corrected. "Now retired."

"Master Eddart did me a great service by agreeing to teach me Wind Sense and other air magic," I explained, then introduced the future God of Labor. "Master Eddart, meet Kay—my companion and, I believe, soon to be a great master."

"Very pleased to meet you," Katashi bowed politely, giving me a slightly perplexed look.

"Since Master Eddart is teaching me Air magic, without which flight would hardly be possible, I thought it right to invite him to be present at the hang glider test," I explained.

"It's very pleasing to see that the youth have not lost their sense of gratitude to their teachers," Ger Karilian said solemnly, stroking his beard.

"And where is the hang glider itself?" I inquired, not finding it in the workshop.

"Already packed in a transport box," Kay explained.

And besides, Ger Karilian himself was dressed in travel attire, which likely meant everything was ready for the upcoming test already.

"Then I invite everyone to the courtyard, where we can have tea and discuss some details of the forthcoming expedition," I suggested.

"I'll brew the tea," the Japanese declared in a voice that brooked no objection, almost snatching the box of tea from my hands.

We moved to the inner courtyard, and I unpacked the new tea set. On the shabby table, it looked out of place, like a fragment of a more refined world accidentally left here, and yet it was pleasing to the eye.

We spent about ten minutes in shared silence, captivated by the elegance and almost noble manner in which the future God of Labor performed the tea ritual. Soon, fragrant steam began to curl softly in the cups, gently soothing and setting us for conversation.

It was pleasant to speak with intelligent, mature people. Over tea, our conversation was calm and thorough: we clarified the last details of the upcoming expedition even before we finished our drinks. A light breeze rustled above us, and in this setting, even serious decisions seemed like a natural part of the leisurely conversation. The only odd thing was Katashi occasionally giving me strange looks, as if amazed at how I could discuss matters so casually with such esteemed people.

We decided to set out closer to sunset, especially since it wasn't far off. Until then, Katashi and I observed two professionals converse. And I had to admit, both Ger Karilian and Master Eddart knew how to speak not only thoroughly but also very diplomatically. Listening to their conversation was a real pleasure. Even the Japanese seemed to be impressed, appreciating their deliberate courtesy and poise.

At the master-artifactor's insistence, Katashi and I decided not to wear armor. Ger Karilian promised to ensure our safety during the expedition. This made sense in its own way: if we encountered something that a Valirium-ranked mage couldn't handle, no armor would help us anyway.

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The master-artifactor also volunteered to carry the box with the disassembled hang glider himself, much to the surprise of the future God of Labor, who was used to the idea that burdens were carried either by the lowest-ranked or by the most invested.

However, we did take our weapons. To me, leaving the city without Striking Whisper had come to feel wrong, like I was out of my element. The spear was not only a weapon for me but also a symbol of the path I had chosen. Katashi didn't explain anything; he simply took his hammer with him. The way he held it firmly in his hands made it clear: for him, it was not just a tool but something he had complete confidence in.

Leaving the city, our small group followed the now familiar route. Only, we ran a little slower than last time, when it had been just the two of us, and not because Eddart, much less Ger Karilian, couldn't keep the pace, but because those two kept chatting, recalling mutual acquaintances and amusing situations. I listened with ears pricked, since who could know what information might suddenly come in handy. And the Japanese, too, though he pretended it was impolite to eavesdrop on other people's conversations, still listened in.

We reached the lake about an hour before dawn, lit a fire from a dry log that had long ago washed ashore, warmed up breakfast, ate leisurely, and drank tea brewed by the Japanese. Then Katashi and the artifactor set about assembling the hang glider.

The former captain of the Trade League watched the process attentively and with great curiosity from the sidelines. I did too, because this version differed a little from the first prototype: longer one-piece spars, different joints and gluing points. The assembly reminded me of setting up modern Earth camping tents—only vaguely, of course, but those were the associations that came to mind. I didn't remember everything the first time, but Katashi reassured me, saying he would show it all again later, more than once. When the assembly was finished, the two masters—one young, the other already accomplished and experienced—carefully checked every joint and seam.

And then it hit me. If the first flight prototype looked a bit rough and even clumsy, raising doubts about its ability to get airborne at all, this version of the hang glider was entirely different. First, it was beautiful. How could a simple cloth stretched between slender masts be beautiful? I didn't know, but that was exactly how the final version of the "flying wing," or "flying sail," as Eddart called it, looked. There was something harmonious in its outlines, as if the shape had grown on its own out of the laws of wind and sky.

Second, despite its seemingly fragile and airy appearance at first glance, the hang glider gave an impression of a finished and reliable product. Looking at it, I truly believed for the first time: this was not just an experiment, not a toy for amusement, but a means that could actually lift me to an altitude of a kilometer, or even higher.

Under the watchful eyes of everyone present, I approached the flying wing and, walking around it, lifted it by the trapezoidal frame. This version was a whole meter wider than the previous one and about a fifth longer, yet it weighed nearly two and a half times less. Its proportions seemed far more harmonious to me, with a strange sense of correctness, as if nature itself suggested that this was exactly how a flying device should look.

"First, just glide down, as we've done before," Katashi said, giving me a stern look. "I'll go down and give the signal to start."

The Japanese quickly ran down the hilltop on which we had set up an improvised launch pad, and moved about three hundred meters into the dip between the hills.

"Wait for a lull," advised the former captain of the Trade League. "I'll signal when it's calm. It won't be long now..."

Indeed, within a couple of minutes, Eddart waved his hand:

"Go for it!"

The side of the hill where I stood wasn't steep, so I had to make a short run before pushing the hang glider up with a light gust of wind. For a moment, I was tempted to use Wind Sense to strengthen the lift and fly higher. But I remembered the future God of Labor's wish and refrained from magic, relying solely on the aerodynamic properties of the flying wing and my trained body, well-versed in sensing balance and equilibrium.

And they didn't let me down. The flight was surprisingly smooth: a gentle glide, barely noticeable fluctuations in the currents, and I was flying towards Katashi, who was standing below, using Wind Sense only to observe the flow of air around. I could have flown further, but I deliberately chose not to, slightly dipping the nose of the hang glider as I approached the Japanese.

I landed precisely and calmly, on my feet. A short run—and I smoothly lowered the hang glider, setting it on the main frame. The young blacksmith quickly inspected the structure, and then we lifted it back to the top of the hill. Ger Karilian immediately rushed to the wing, almost sniffing it, anxiously examining every joint. The former captain of the Trade League, however, seemed a bit disappointed with the first flight: he clearly expected something more than a simple glide from top to bottom, which even a child's toy could achieve.

"Another test flight, then we'll disassemble, reassemble, and check it again," said Katashi after ten minutes of thorough examination.

The mage-artifactor nodded in agreement, looking quite pleased.

"This time, try to make a circle or two, and then land at the same place you took off from."

Without magic or a motor, such a maneuver would require a very favorable wind rose, but since I had magic, I saw nothing difficult in the future God of Labor's request.

Another short run. A push with my legs coinciding with a gust of wind under the wing, and I was soaring again. The hang glider slid about fifty meters down a gentle slope, then I found a suitable wind, slightly altered its direction, and immediately rose above the hilltop. The glider was incredibly responsive: it felt like sitting behind the wheel of a perfectly tuned road bike after learning to ride on a wobbly antique. Every slight tilt of my body, shift of my legs, bend of my elbows—all of it instantly affected the behavior of the flying wing. If the first circle was made relying on the air currents I had created, in the second, I used magic only to understand how, where, and when the wind would blow. Naturally, this conscious limitation made the second circle less precise, and I was rocked dangerously a couple of times, but for learning to control this new design it brought me far more benefit.

When I landed, the skepticism was gone from Eddart's eyes. And Ger Karilian, despite his age and impressive stature, was practically bouncing like a little kid.

Another inspection, disassembling the hang glider into "travel state." The two masters even packed it into the box. They noticed a flaw in the assembly process, discussed it briefly, then took the flying wing out and reassembled it.

Without letting Katashi utter a word—otherwise, he'd have made me circle the hill ten times first—I lifted the glider and said:

"I'll make two test circles, see how the wing behaves, and then act according to circumstances."

"I would..." Katashi started, but Ger Karilian interrupted:

"It's all good. Besides, the Sheriff doesn't look like a suicide."

I glanced at Eddart, who was completely focused on observing the winds, and waited for his nod of approval.

A run-up. Push. Gust of wind. And once again, I was seized by that indescribable feeling of flight. The whistle in my ears grew louder, a cold current pressed against my chest, and my fingers gripped the control bar tighter, feeling every tremor of the structure. I delved into Wind Sense more deeply than before, perceiving the slightest gusts and minimal changes in direction.

First circle. Second. On the third, I started gaining altitude, moving from the hill toward the lake. Each circle was almost half a kilometer in diameter. I wasn't in a hurry, spiraling higher and higher. With every minute spent in the sky, my body tensed more, but at the same time, I felt the hang glider better, as if it became an extension of my arms and back. At about two hundred meters, I caught a stable and powerful updraft that required almost no direction, and the climb became steadier. An Achievement for three hundred meters. Another for four hundred.

But just before the half-kilometer mark, the wind changed. The cold stung my face, my teeth clenched involuntarily, and my shoulder muscles ached from tension as the air currents threatened to pin me to the ground. I tilted the nose of the glider down, dropping lower and a kilometer to the east, moving further away from the shore. It took about ten minutes to find a suitable updraft. In that time, my palms began to ache from the constant strain. But when I found it—another spiral ascent. Upon reaching five hundred meters, an Itildine Achievement caught up with me. I waved it off and continued to climb.

At six hundred meters, my confidence wavered for the first time. The wind here was jagged, like a predator trying to tear the fabric of the wing. The hang glider creaked, the spars groaned, each gust seemingly trying to pull me down. The cold pierced under my clothes, my fingers numbed, but Wind Sense kept me afloat, helping me catch moments when I could turn the hostile flow into an ally.

At seven hundred meters, a new challenge arose—side gusts. They shoved the wing, tried to twist it, and my shoulders throbbed from fighting back. But I held on.

At eight hundred, I remembered the Lightness spell and used it to avoid another downdraft, letting it pass under the wing and then turning its force into lift. This allowed me to gain another hundred and fifty meters in just a few minutes. My heart pounded so hard it echoed in my temples, my breath burning my throat with unexpected cold. Just a little more to the coveted kilometer mark.

But then the wind went wild, as if the sky itself didn't want to let me go higher. Only perfect balance and a sense of equilibrium, linked with deep immersion in Wind Sense, as well as the constant support of Lightness on the spars, allowed me to win this battle. A swift gust that was supposed to knock the nose of the hang glider off course, I noticed in advance. My fingers clutched the control bar desperately, the muscles in my back humming with tension. I slowed down a bit, lifted the nose, and slightly diverted the flow, making it hit the sail directly. A sharp jerk. The sail stretched to its limit, the skin on my hands burned from the effort, the wind crackled in my ears. The spars creaked, but the Strengthening runes on them, infused with energy in time, let them hold up.

"Conqueror of the Skies"—an Adamantium Achievement with a sky-blue border—settled onto my core.

And in that instant, the world changed for me. The wind around me seemed to come alive. It was no longer a faceless force pushing me but turned into a companion. I heard its breath, felt its mood: still unclear, but not hostile. The gusts that had tried to throw me down now felt like play—light pushes from a child testing whether I could "keep my feet." The radius of Wind Sense doubled in a heartbeat, allowing me to track changes in air currents far more accurately. I realized: this was no longer just a skill but a new level of connection with the Element.

All this was a consequence of the new Affinity I had gained.

Affinity with Air.

The hang glider had seemingly become a natural extension of my body, and its sail I sensed as a second skin. The wind... The wind didn't grow more obedient, but it was more comprehensible. Its gusts, even those that were once completely unexpected, I now saw at the moment of their birth and could predict their behavior. Also, the wind of Ain had something like a mood. Perhaps it was a kind of hallucination from too deep a meditation, but I truly felt it that way.

A bend of the elbow. A slight tilt of the torso. The wing immediately responded with a leisurely downward glide. And the wind... It supported me in this new game.

Understanding all the shortcomings of the hang glider's design, I didn't drop it down but descended in an oval spiral, trying to get closer to the shore with each "coil." During the ascent, I had been carried almost to the very center of the lake.

And, by the way, I had come to love flying. Not fanatically, like some pilots who couldn't live without the sky, but I loved it. They said Affinity changed a person—and I welcomed this change.

I could have descended quickly, but I just didn't want to rush anywhere, enjoying every second spent in the sky. Three hundred meters above the water, the winds became predictable: a stable flow blowing from the southeastern peaks. "Riding" it, I confidently guided the flying wing toward the shore.

Another fifteen minutes, and, making a gentle turn with a glide, I landed right on the top of the hill from which I had taken off. My feet touched the ground. A short run to brake, and I set the central trapeze down.

Silence reigned around me.

Eddart still seemed unable to believe what he had seen with his own eyes.

Ger Karilian stood frozen, arms spread wide, gazing at the hang glider in awe, paying no attention to me.

As for Katashi, noticing my demanding look, he mouthed, "Got it. Adamantium."

Great. It meant our efforts were definitely not in vain!