Solo Strategy

(day 111)

A little over a week had passed when I realized that Wind Sense wasn't just a spell or an aura but a true art, one that could take a lifetime to master. An adept fully versed in this magic could summon a real storm or create a giant tornado by controlling the surrounding air currents. Yes, it would require hours spent in deep meditation, but it was still quite possible. And like any art, Wind Sense was resistant to analysis and relied more on feelings, intuition, and, of course, Talent. What Scully had taught me had been nothing more than pitiful scraps of true magic—a craftlike, heavily simplified version. It was like comparing a street artist's drawing to a true masterpiece[1].

While studying—or rather grasping under the guidance of an experienced mentor—only Wind Sense itself, in such a short time, I had managed to raise the filling of the Stars of Talent in Air to three! Very, very fast, even for Shards! If the former captain of the Trade League was surprised by my incredible, by local standards, progress, he didn't show it. Though today, when we parted ways, he hinted that tomorrow he would start teaching me simplified versions of the aura—those that could be maintained without deep meditation. He also let slip that I could already be taken as a ship mage on any of the Trade League's vessels. Just simple praise, but for some reason, it pleased me.

All these days passed surprisingly peacefully, if you don't count the constant bickering between Katashi and me. And we argued often, though mostly for good reason.

What had seemed such a simple task at first, building the glider, turned out to be full of so many "hidden pitfalls" it was impossible to describe. Still, despite making mistakes and arguing—sometimes to the point of getting hoarse—we never gave up. Today, having bought new materials for the fifth time and learned from all our past errors, we were ready to try making the first flyable prototype. It would be created from ordinary materials, and, of course, it was out of the question to fly it up to a kilometer height. But we both felt that for a short, low-altitude flight, this model would be suitable.

This evening, Katashi was running late; the sun's disk had already touched the city walls, but he still hadn't arrived. Dinner was ready, and a thick stew sat over a low flame so it wouldn't cool.

Not wanting to waste time, I began performing the simplest All Elements routine with Striking Whisper in hand. However, unlike the usual execution, I attempted to do it in the meditation style I learned while mastering Wind Sense. At first, I didn't notice any difference, but by the middle of the routine, I sensed a strange feeling of something being off. An inaccuracy. Trusting that intuition, I slightly altered my long-familiar actions. I didn't just correct something, but began to synchronize my movements with the quiet and calm flow of air in the small space of the inner courtyard. Continuing in the same manner, I realized that the All Elements routine was not just a memorized sequence of actions but something more, and it bore its name for good reason.

Unfortunately, out of all five blocks of the complex, I only managed to feel this "depth" in the Air phase. But in its own way, that made sense. I was sure that if I brought my understanding of the other elements closer to what I had with Air, I'd be able to unlock this set on a new level. A very interesting revelation, and one I never even suspected in the Last Cycle—even though I did these exercises almost every day as a basic warm-up.

I wanted to consolidate the results, but I heard a knock at the front door. I did offer Katashi a copy of the keys before, but he flatly refused. Leaning the spear against the wall, I went to open it.

"You're late today," I said, letting the young blacksmith in.

I stepped aside to let the Japanese through and froze, barely able to hide my surprise. Just this morning, Kay had left the house as an Opal, and now he was a Sapphire!

"Did something interesting happen?" I asked as we sat in the courtyard.

"Yes," nodded the Future God of Labor. "They let me work with the Forge for the first time. Of course, under the supervision of Grandmaster Brondark, but I was allowed to work on my own."

"And? How did it go?" I leaned in a bit.

"As you can see," Katashi showed the visualization of his new rank above his palm, "successfully."

"Did you manage to impress the locals?" I asked, squinting slightly.

"I tried not to," the young blacksmith replied with a slight smile. "On the contrary, I did everything according to local tradition. But the main thing is that the Forge accepted me, and the heat from it was such that it surprised even the grandmaster."

That the living fire of the dwarves reacted to Katashi this way didn't surprise me at all—I knew it would happen.

"And, besides the new rank, I also gained Fire Affinity," said the Future God of Labor, as if it were something insignificant.

"Congratulations on the rank and on gaining the new Affinity," I said sincerely; I had thought he already had the Fire Affinity before, but apparently, I was mistaken.

"Thank you," Katashi bowed formally.

"Shall we celebrate your success today?" I suggested.

"Of course!" the Japanese nodded and added quite seriously, "By working on the glider."

No, there was no changing him. Not that I needed to.

After a quick bite, we washed the dishes and immediately went to the former storage room, which was looking more and more like a mad scientist's workshop every day.

In the past few days Katashi had really gone all out: he acquired several massive tables, made a vice and workbench with his own hands, and even built a real lathe, albeit primitive and with a foot drive! I felt like I would never cease to be amazed by what this young man could accomplish.

For the first flyable prototype, we didn't skimp and bought much better materials than before. Yes, the frame was still bamboo, but it was alchemically treated for increased strength. The corner brackets were forged personally by Kay. The fabric was one of the best in the mid-price range and, on top of that, was treated with some alchemical solution. But the most expensive component was the glue, which, according to the merchant who sold it, could bond fabric to metal and wood so well that it would be easier to tear the fabric than damage the glued joint.

Taught by dozens of mistakes, this time we knew exactly what to do without even looking at Skyros' blueprints. Today, Katashi and I almost didn't argue. And in just three hours, we assembled the prototype—on the first try at that—and hung it from a ceiling hook to dry.

"Primitive and a patchwork solution," the Japanese grimaced, walking in circles under the glider that spread its wings across the entire room.

"But will it fly?" I asked.

"It should," the young blacksmith replied curtly. "If it doesn't, I'll find this Skyros and make him eat his own blueprints."

"You'll be second in line," I grinned.

"We'll play rock-paper-scissors for first," Katashi returned my grin.

"It'll take about twelve hours to dry?"

"Maybe less," the young blacksmith said, scratching his temple with his index finger, "but twelve is better, yeah. Then we'll take it apart and reassemble it, and do that three times."

"Why three?" I frowned.

"Just because," the Japanese waved me off. "If there's any slack, I won't let you fly."

Of course, I could just take the glider and make the first flight without Katashi. But he'd be seriously upset with me afterward. So, I simply agreed with his reasoning.

"By the way, about the test flight," I said, leaning against the wall and looking at the glider hanging from the ceiling. "We shouldn't do it in the harbor: too many people, and it'll spark a lot of gossip and unwanted attention."

"Also, the first flight shouldn't be over water," the young blacksmith frowned. "If an accident happens, the glider will crash into the sea, and we won't be able to figure out why."

"Agreed. Plus, on the first flight, especially with a prototype, I won't be going high," I nodded. "There's a good spot about two hundred kilometers southeast of Deytran."

"Isn't there anything closer?" My suggestion clearly didn't thrill Katashi.

"It's a hilly area with good wind patterns and a deep lake nearby," I started listing the benefits. "Plus, there aren't many people living around the lake, so we can find a relatively quiet spot. Besides, we'll definitely be testing the main model there, and it would be good for me to feel the airflows in those exact conditions."

"But two hundred kilometers..." the Japanese shook his head. "Just getting there and back will take us a day."

"There's one more thing that makes me want to go to that particular lake. But it's unverified. Just... a hunch, that, if proven true, might solve the issue with money for building the final version of the glider."

"How are the lake and money connected?" Katashi asked, not really following.

"I won't say just yet; need to check a few details," I lied shamelessly, then added with a hint of indifference in my voice, "But you don't have to be at the test; I can just make a quick trip there alone."

"No," the Future God of Labor immediately disagreed. "I need to see everything with my own eyes and, in case of malfunctions, understand their cause. But still, maybe you could choose a closer spot?"

"I'm the one flying, so I choose the place," I shook my head. "But if you want, I can let you take the first flight."

"No, thanks," Katashi's expression gave nothing away. "I'm not as crazy as you to risk my life for another Affinity."

An Affinity and an Adamantium Achievement, but I didn't bother to clarify that. Crossing my arms, I pressed slightly, adding a cold edge to my voice:

"I really do need to check out that lake."

"Fine, you're the pilot—you take the risk," the Japanese agreed with me, albeit very reluctantly.

"Besides, attracting attention is the last thing we need." And then I added with a bloodthirsty smile, "If I take off into the sky over Deytran Bay, a patrol wyvern might just bite me clean in half."

"Bite or not, that creature could actually break the glider, out of fright and confusion," Katashi nodded, seemingly unconcerned about the possibility of my demise. He was clearly more worried about the glider, which he already considered his own creation.

"Tomorrow, we have the prototype reassembly on our schedule, and I need to learn a spell from my trainer," I explained, noticing the Japanese's questioning look. "Air Bubble, I'll explain why later. So, how about the day after tomorrow? We'll set off right in the morning and will arrive just in time to catch the evening wind change and the warm updrafts from the ground."

"If the reassembly goes well."

Arguing with him was pointless, so I nodded in agreement...

The next day, the former captain of the Trade League agreed to teach me the Air Bubble. Unfortunately, since in the Last Cycle "I" hardly used Air magic, all spells of this school were noticeably more challenging for me than Lightning or Earth ones. Therefore, even mastering relatively simple magic like Air Bubble took almost an entire day. And even then, calling it "mastery" was an exaggeration. I managed to get something right, but the magical air sack, which was supposed to allow breathing underwater, was quite small in my execution and provided only four additional breaths. However, for what I had planned, this should have been enough, so I was satisfied.

As soon as I realized I could use Air Bubble on my own, I informed Eddart that I'd skip practice tomorrow. I thought the former captain would protest, but instead, he was pleased and confidently declared that sometimes it's necessary to rest, so I was free the next day.

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

Returning home a bit earlier than usual, I checked the glider but didn't touch it—let it hang under the ceiling until Katashi inspected it.

I was too lazy to cook dinner myself today, so on the way back from the fishing port, I bought some ready-made food that just needed reheating. I set the basket on the table and, not wanting to waste time, got in some training.

Really, it was the right decision not to rush my rank elevation—now, thanks to many days of practice, my skills and abilities generally matched those of an average Sapphire. For example, I finally managed to master Spirit Armor to an acceptable level and could now create it in a second. There was also decent progress in Lightning Magic and slightly less in Earth Magic.

Mastering the Air element wasn't going as smoothly. This was largely because I focused on Wind Sense, practicing other Air spells only when I had time left. This selectivity was based on my plan to first gain Affinity with Air and then seriously train spells like Air Shield. This way, I could not only shorten practice time but also make it much more productive.

Two hours before sunset, a disgruntled Katashi arrived. Over dinner, I managed to get him to talk a bit and found out the reason for his bad mood. It turned out the Fire Forge was shutting down for three days. The young blacksmith didn't know the exact reason but suspected that a client hadn't paid for their order, and no new commissions worthy of the undermountain people's forge had come in yet.

"You're already being allowed to the Forge on your own, right?" I asked.

"Yes, more and more often. The Grandmaster favors me and sets me apart from the other workers, even those who have been at the Fire Forge for many years," the Japanese boasted, unable to resist, though he kept a neutral expression.

"Maybe, if the Forge is idle, you could pay for its rent yourself and do what you really want?" I suggested slyly.

"That..." It was clear he hadn't thought in that direction, "is an interesting idea." He liked it, but grimacing sadly, he shook his head. "It's expensive. I don't have the money to rent the Fire Forge even for an hour."

"How about this: if our glider project succeeds, as thanks for your help, I'll pay for a couple of hours at the Forge for you?" I offered, hiding a smile behind a mug of berry drink.

"You said you didn't even have enough money for the full version of the glider!" Katashi frowned, casting a doubtful look at me.

"Not yet," I replied shortly and, getting up from the stool, nodded toward the workshop. "Let's not waste time and check out the prototype."

Wasting time was exactly what Katashi disliked, so he readily agreed. We headed to the workshop.

First, we carefully took the glider off its hanger, after which the Future God of Labor examined it closely. He frowned and shook his head, but I had learned to read his true mood and realized that everything was fine; the glue had set properly. Then, without letting me touch a thing, Katashi dismantled the prototype, studied all the parts, and reassembled it. After that, he repeated the procedure twice more.

"So, how is it?" I couldn't help but ask, watching the Japanese circle around the glider put together for the third time.

"Better than I expected," he admitted.

"Shall we disassemble and pack it then?" I suggested.

"Eager to get to the lake and test it?" the Japanese teased me. "But if we set off now, we'll arrive at the lake early in the morning, and you wanted to make the first flight in the evening, when the ground warms and rising air currents predominate."

"That's true," I replied, unfazed by his remark. "But we need to find a suitable place for testing, which might take some time. Besides, the sooner we leave, the less we'll have to run."

"I wanted to work on the new model of the lathe," Katashi said, still eyeing the glider.

"You'll have three free days anyway," I reminded him.

"I don't have free days," the Future God of Labor retorted, perhaps a bit too sharply. "I always have something to do."

'Workaholic,' I thought, but of course, I didn't say that out loud. Instead, I kept it neutral:

"It's worth dedicating time to training as well."

"I do!"

"Not enough," I shook my head in mock disapproval. "You need to train more."

"You've got a professional deformation. You, former athletes, are all obsessively fixated on training," Katashi suddenly remarked.

Did he just call me obsessed? Maybe he should have taken a look in the mirror!

"Are we going to bicker, or are we actually going to do something useful?" I asked, slightly irritated.

With no strong arguments against this, the Japanese finally agreed. This time, we dismantled the prototype together, and Katashi kept butting in with explanations about how to do everything "the right way." Moreover, I knew all of this perfectly well—after all, we had built this glider together—but he still stubbornly tried to correct me, muttering all the while.

After the disassembly, we packed the prototype into a wooden box, to which the young blacksmith had attached straps yesterday, so it could be carried on the back like a backpack. Not very convenient, of course, but at least it left the hands free.

As per our agreement, I was the one who had to carry the prototype. After slinging the box onto my back, I squatted a few times, turned around, checking the balance, and then Katashi adjusted the straps, satisfied with the result. The prototype weighed about twenty-nine kilograms without the box, with a wingspan of eight meters. My intuition suggested that such a design wasn't quite suitable for setting records. But it was reliable, as even the Future God of Labor acknowledged, and as a test platform, it ought to serve its purpose. At least, I hoped so.

Taking the box off my shoulder, I headed to the room I'd already mentally labeled as the armory. Katashi went to change as well. Yes, the surroundings of Pentapolis were generally considered safe, and most dangerous monsters had long been eradicated, but I wasn't mentally prepared to travel without armor. As it turned out, the Japanese wasn't about to neglect his innate caution either; he came down fully armored.

As he had said, his armor differed from mine, though it was clearly made following a similar scheme. The plates were larger, the pauldrons thicker and more massive, and a steel belt buckle, no smaller than a dinner plate, provided additional protection to the stomach. However, I didn't like his helmet—too enclosed: it impaired hearing, and peripheral vision was significantly limited. The visor seemed alien, as if it had been added after the base was made.

Unable to resist, I voiced all my thoughts about the design of Katashi's helmet. To my surprise, he didn't argue or get upset but instead agreed with my remarks and declared that as soon as he had more time, he would definitely redesign the head protection.

At the young blacksmith's waist hung the familiar one-handed war hammer. But besides that, in his hands now lay a two-handed hammer, with a head fashioned into a four-edged spike about fifteen centimeters long. This was apparently what he had been carrying in the wooden box I had noticed a few days ago when the Future God of Labor agreed to temporarily move into my new home.

We left Deytran with the last rays of the sun, making it out just a couple of minutes before the main gates closed. My own backpack on this short trip I chose not to take, as the space on my back was occupied by a box with the disassembled glider.

As soon as we passed the suburb, we switched to running. Of course, it wasn't as easy to run at twilight as during the day, but thanks to the Perception aura and our significantly enhanced senses compared to ordinary people, it wasn't much of a problem.

When we had moved about thirty kilometers from the city, I positioned myself next to Katashi and started talking:

"The lake I mentioned is called Mirkdeep. It is indeed very deep, and its waters are cold even on the sunniest day. Its shores are rocky, and the surrounding soil is so poor that locals don't grow anything there. You might only find shepherds grazing flocks of sheep or goats. Before the Fall, this lake was quite ordinary, but due to an ancient cataclysm, apparently, a crust fracture occurred, and the lake became much larger and many times deeper. There's even a legend that a not-so-large town completely sank underwater. At that place, cold winds from the southern mountains clash with warm currents blowing from the plains spanning to the north of the lake."

"Is it dangerous there?" was the only thing the Japanese asked after hearing my story.

"At the lake itself, everything is calm; at least, there are no rumors of anyone disappearing or falling victim to monsters. However, locals prefer not to dive into its waters or even fish there. According to legend, some creature lives in its depths. But it seems that's just a myth. While I was in Sun City, I asked the paladins about Mirkdeep, and they confidently said that the tales of a monster in the depths are nothing more than rural scary stories."

I lied calmly, and it seemed Katashi didn't notice my deception about how I had learned all this.

After that, we ran in complete silence. The Japanese was engrossed in his thoughts, and I didn't forget to train on the go, practicing Air Shield and other spells.

By dawn, about an hour before sunrise, we reached our target—the western shore of the lake that had piqued my interest.

As I remembered from the Last Cycle, the area here breathed a harsh, almost ascetic beauty, with no hint of softness or comfort. Tall, rocky hills covered with sparse, sun-bleached grass stretched in a chain along the horizon, disappearing into a grayish haze. The grass, tough and stubborn, barely reached the ankles and seemed made not for beauty but for survival against the winds that had relentlessly torn at it for centuries.

On massive boulders veined with cracks, islets of moss clung—irregular dark green blots, like traces of a careless painter's brush capturing the breath of time. In the distance, beyond the cold surface of the lake, the eastern shore rose like a wall—rocky, grim, merciless, like a fortress built by nature itself. From there came a dry, penetrating wind, carrying a faint scent of stone and glaciers. In this land, even the silence was unique—dull, heavy, broken only by rare gusts of wind bringing a quiet, barely audible whisper of the black, cold waters.

Sitting atop one of the hills, I immersed myself in the meditation of Wind Sense. Katashi, on the other hand, was keenly observing the surroundings—somehow the stern, cold beauty of these places clearly appealed to him, as if it resonated with deep strings of his character.

"This hill isn't quite right," I said, standing up and heading to the next hilltop.

The young blacksmith followed me without question. In an hour, we had visited three more hills before I was somewhat satisfied. Here, in the hollow between the elevations, cold winds from the mountain peaks converged and intertwined, forming a dense, resilient "cushion" of air. I felt it with every fiber of my being, as if an invisible fabric fluttered and rebounded under my fingers.

"Good enough for a test flight," I nodded, placing the box with the prototype on the rocky ground. "We don't need to set any altitude records today, and for our first flight, this place is more than suitable."

"The rocky ground doesn't bother you?" Katashi inquired innocently. "A fall clearly wouldn't be pleasant."

"I'm not planning on falling," I replied with confidence, which rather masked unease than reflected my actual mood.

In the Last Cycle, I had twice tried flying on a similar glider, hoping to master this means of transportation and use it for reconnaissance. However, as far as I remembered, the experience was far from thrilling. But in that "past life," I had neither four Stars in Air nor the knowledge of Wind Sense.

This time, we assembled the prototype much longer and more carefully. Katashi, though not showing it, was probably more nervous than I was. After the assembly was complete, the Future God of Labor inspected the glider with the meticulousness of a master jeweler: he circled it from all sides, peered into every joint, and practically sniffed the frame, clearly wanting to ensure there wasn't the slightest flaw in the design.

While he was busy, I took off my armor, gambeson, and even my boots. After a moment's thought, I left the orc belt on the ground too, deciding to fly light, in just my shirt and pants. Standing almost undressed in the cold wind wasn't too pleasant, but it was bearable.

"Maybe we should wait for the evening and the updrafts from the ground warmed by the day?" Katashi suggested again.

"Everything will be fine," I reassured the young blacksmith.

As I approached the glider and placed my hands on the frame, I didn't feel the confidence I had shown to the Japanese. In fact, I was slightly trembling with tension, though I rationally understood there was nothing much to fear: the slope of the hill wasn't too steep, the height not frightening. Even without considering my Adamantium Body and Sapphire rank, it was hard to seriously crash here... Still, one could break a neck even in much safer conditions.

Realizing that the longer I hesitated, the more a sticky sense of anxiety spread inside me, I gripped the frame tighter and lifted the glider. It immediately tilted to the side—a light gust of crosswind playfully tugged at the wing, but I managed to hold the structure, pressing my bare feet into the ground and working with my shoulders.

A short run, a powerful push with my legs—and the hilltop was left behind. For a moment, my heart sank, expecting the usual drop, but instead, the glider suddenly lifted its nose, caught a soft air "bump," and elevated me even higher. My breath was taken away, and not from delight. A cold, sticky fear rolled down my spine, nearly paralyzing my muscles, but I immediately "dove" deeper into the meditation of Wind Sense, immersing myself in the feel of the air currents.

I felt the invisible streams of air caressing the wing, how they swayed, twisted, and hid their power within. Catching the headwind, I gently redirected it under the wing, and the glider obediently, almost as if alive, drew upward. The altitude grew, along with a troubling, aching feeling under my ribs. Not wanting to lose control, I released the wind, letting it go, and the prototype immediately began a slow, almost lazy descent, like a paper airplane tossed by a skilled hand.

I was sure that without lessons from the former captain of the Trade League, my first flight would have ended quickly and awkwardly. But now, I clearly sensed how the air played around, how barely noticeable gusts tried to touch the wing. Catching a new headwind, I raised the nose again, allowing the wing to fill. The central bamboo strut, reinforced with a metal corner bracket, quietly groaned under the tension of the fabric, as if complaining about my stubbornness. Slightly easing the pressure with magic, I leveled the flight and noticed a steady updraft to the side. A slight tilt of my body, and the prototype gently turned in the desired direction. The wind caught me from below, pushing me up, and it was no longer a jerk but a confident, majestic ascent, as if an invisible giant was carefully lifting me in its palm. Fear dissolved, giving way to excitement: I saw, anticipated, and felt every gust, as if leading a measured, cautious dance with the elements.

Somewhere below, Katashi's alarmed shout reached me, just as the system awarded me an Emerald achievement for gaining about a hundred meters in altitude. Not wanting to test the patience of the Future God of Labor, I gently, without sudden movements, as if slowing reality itself, turned the wing towards the hill and drove the glider for a landing.

The smooth descent was no less thrilling than the climb. The air no longer pushed me upwards but gently nudged my back, as if hinting, "Time to return." I kept the wing steady, feeling the updrafts gradually weaken, giving way to light and fickle whirlwinds swirling in the valleys between the crests. The hill approached, along with the cold, gray-green ground speckled with stones, moss, and tufts of tough grass. At the last moment, the wind slightly changed direction, and the glider obediently veered to a softer part of the slope.

The landing was sharp but not painful; my legs, strengthened by Bull's Strength, absorbed the impact easily, and the wing, losing its air support, obediently settled on the ground under my control. My heart was pounding as if I had run a marathon, and my palms trembled, though my fingers still firmly gripped the bar. Taking a deep breath, I straightened up, inhaling the scent of cold wind, stone, and distant water, and only then did it hit me—I had really flown. Not high, not long, and on a rough prototype, but still, I flew!

A rapid patter of footsteps sounded from the side. Katashi was already running up, his eyes blazing, and his face showed either relief or delight.

"I got an Itildine Achievement!" In a manner uncharacteristic of the usually calm Japanese, the Future God of Labor yelled.

[1] The original mentions Aivazovsky's paintings (https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Ivan_Aivazovsky#Works) specifically, probably based on the author's personal experience. He's one of the most well-known painters in the post-USSR countries. Even my grandparents had a replica of his painting: https://upload.wikimedia.org/wikipedia/commons/4/4a/Hovhannes_Aivazovsky_-_The_Ninth_Wave_-_Google_Art_Project.jpg