“Damn, I need to sit down.” I muttered before promptly collapsing into the still warm sand. Adrien and Elric exchanged a glance before snorting in amusement. Perry, Helen, and Rose looked at me with a mix of endearment, worry, and mirth.

  As soon as I sat both Sky and Luka broke free of Rose and Eva’s arms and rushed toward me. “Big Brother! Are you okay? Did he hurt you? I’ll bite him. I don't care if he’s stronger!”

  “Papa! Hurt? Quick Singing lady help him help him!” While Sky spoke directly into my head Luka also yelped, causing Eva to chuckle a little bit.

  “Luka want’s you to help his papa, Rose. Go on, help Papa Lios! The fox says the only way to help is with singing.”

  “Oh? Is that so? Maybe if the idiot asks for healing himself I’ll consider it.” Rose crossed her arms and glowered down at me. It was in that moment I realized the dress she chose to wear was a touch short and forced me to turn my gaze toward the ceiling as I laid down on my back instead of sitting up.

  “Oh my darling Rose please please won’t you heal me?” I put on my fakest sweetest voice as I spoke, glancing over to see her face and being careful not to take advantage of my position.

  “No wait, before that, how did you do that? You really fought me at close to full strength an entire tier below me.” Harkan spoke up and knelt beside me before plopping down on his back too. “Ahh now that it isn’t burning the warm sand is kind of nice.”

  “He may have fought close to the same strength as you but he also mangled his body in doing so.” Amelia said as she knelt between us, pouring a little bit of mana into my body. I felt the cool trickle of her mana and blood manipulation as she accelerated the healing of my tattered muscle fibers. “I mean, you would naturally heal this but you’d be sore for ages I’m sure.”

  “What do you mean he mangled his body?” Rose asked quietly as she also knelt down beside me, petting my anxious foxes comfortingly.

  “Perhaps it would be best to find some privacy before discussing that?” Helen suggested as the onlookers had yet to disperse. “Lios, are you fit enough to walk?”

  “Of course. I would never hurt myself to the point of helplessness in a spar.” I said before bouncing up and reaching down to help Amelia and Rose up, hands extended. My body ached, there was no doubt about that, but I was used to it. I had spent every day for four years training, my body aching every evening, and the next four years working at the forge and training which only exacerbated the feeling. Aching muscles was nothing new to me.

  Both healers grabbed onto my hand and I helped to pull them up before turning to my friends. “Perhaps a booth or table? I think I’m about ready for some lunch. What about you all?”

  There were murmurs of agreement as we headed up the stairs and Adrien, Elric and Leshal pulled some tables together so we could all eat in the same space. I smiled a bit, happy to be able to share time with the two very different groups of friends I had found in this new world. Well, I suppose, it’s not all that new to me anymore. I thought internally as I sat down with a huff.

  “Lios, I’m finding myself eager for our next spar after that as well. I’m sure Elric feels the same.” Adrien said as he waved over to Garth. “It’s hard to believe you’re the same runt we picked up, what, ten months ago? Nearly a year now.”

  “Is it really so hard to believe? I feel I’ve hardly improved.” I scoffed at the idea, realizing even as I said it that the guidance I had gotten the past several months from both sword instructors and magic ones had vastly improved my capabilities.

  “Hardly improved? Hardly improved, the boy says. Can you believe it, Adrien. Makes me want to hop in line for a fight.” Elric grinned, teasing me. “Rose, Eva, Leshal, what do you guys think?”

  “Well, I haven't known him long, so I dont have much input but... he is fierce for his level. More so for his age.” Leshal said his voice a bit gravelly. He turned to face me and tilted his head. “I believe Lios is overly modest while also understanding he is stronger than he should be. He doesn’t take compliments well.”

  “I agree. Bad with compliments, much stronger than level would suggest. He’s definitely a little bit stronger than when we did the Spider’s Web.” Eva was next, reaching over to pat on my back.

  “Definitely has improved but his attitude is a mess.” Rose said wistfully then turned to me. “But how are you actually feeling? Amelia said you were tearing your body apart, do you need healing?”

  “I certainly wouldn't say no to healing.” I shrugged and winced a little bit as it pulled on some muscles. “Mostly I’m just sore. It will heal on its own within a few days I’d expect. But I won’t say no to healing in general.”

  “Especially not from the pretty bard, right Lios?” Harkan batted his lashes at Rose mockingly before laughing. “To be clear, I still won!”

  “Yes you won against someone more than seventy levels your junior. Very impressive.” Amelia teased him before walking around behind me and placing a hand on my shoulder. She closed her eyes for a moment as she registered the damage I and Harkan had done to my body. After a few seconds she opened her eyes again and smiled at me. “Looks like you're right, your muscles are a bit beat up but your constitution should have you sparring with people who could kill you with a thought again soon.”

  “Amelia, why do you sound so disapproving?” I tilted my head and grinned lopsidedly. “Is it because I lost?”

  “Not at all. Although that does rather diminish my opinion of you. How ever could you lose to someone at least seventy levels above you?” She teased me back before rounding the table to check on Harkan.

  The banter continued for a while, even after food came and went. By the time everyone started to move around to leave it was nearly supper time. At one point I pulled out my notebooks, unwilling to let a day go by without working on my skills that had yet to peak. Most of my skills were capped, but neither class was at one twenty five just yet. Bladedancer was closest at one twenty one, but my secondary was stuck at seventy four for the time being. This would hopefully change on the morrow. I was finally ready to craft a silk quiver for Eva that I hoped would be complex enough to gain me a few levels.

  The next morning Luka, Sky, Eva, Rose and Leshal left to go run a dungeon. This one was called “Kobolds Keep” and contained, you guessed it, kobolds. Lots of them. It was essentially a castle surrounded on all sides by a city of kobolds. From the sounds of it they numbered in the thousands. Eva assured me I’d find the dungeon boring considering I could just rush in and cast a few spells and that would be that. For the rest of the group who didn’t have quite the same skillset, it would be a bit challenging.

  As for me, well, I was finally ready to take the next few steps to push for my class evolution. The tournament was nearing, just under three weeks until the start of the festival including sign ups, which would be followed by four weeks of various events and festivities. On top of all of that, of wanting to be ready for the tournament, another possible event was hovering in the back of my head that had me focused on growth. Getting stronger. The potential that the cult, one we still didn’t even have a name for, was planning to disrupt the festival for another mass sacrifice ritual didn’t evade me.

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  And so, after working with my swordsmanship trainer for the regular four hours with minor time dilation, I sat at a table with the loam my mother had gifted me. A magical, enchanted loam that simply made it much faster to weave the threads and braid them. I took out the first of many spools of spider silk I intended to use and took a deep breath, knowing this process would take hours if not days. My hands at this point were primarily conditioned to hold a hammer or sword, one of my hands barely having any calluses at all due to being regrown only days before.

  Of course, per the directions given by Rhosha, I had been working on my [Runeweaving] for a number of weeks so it wasn’t as though I wasn’t practiced by now, but still. The enchantment I was intending to make was complex, one that I had not done before. It was made all the more complex due to the fact I was weaving and not forging it. With a heavy breath I began to weave the silk, slowly but surely creating a mesh of fabric, of spiders silk that was durable enough to stop the average swordsmans strike.

  From my hands, from my fingers as they pulled on the strands of silk and tightened them, mana flowed. Just as I was pulling on physical strings, I also tugged on threads made of mana. Wind mana. The first of the one hundred and twenty five runes clicked into place. Unlike [Runeforging], [Runeweaving] enchantments didn’t need to be applied and broken over and over again. It was, per my theory, something to do with the materials ability to hold the enchantment as well as the hardness of the material. Metals were naturally more dense than thread and fabric, as such metals required more persuasion to hold an enchantment.

  On the contrary, thread was soft. Despite its tenacity when pulled together to make a single construct, it was fragile at its core. And so it took on magic easier. There was less material to change, less material to merge with the mana and with the enchanter's intentions.

  And so, I sat. I weaved. I didn't know the enchantment well enough to use [Compendium Actualization] with confidence, preferring to have the chance to correct mistakes as I worked. And so, I worked. My mana spread throughout the weave and I worked.

  Around me, the guild was a buzz. Things were starting to pick up with the coming festival. Adventurer’s were working on their last preparations, frantically studying dungeon guides in order to reach the height of power for their tier. They were talking with their parties and discussing which events they would all partake in. There were more adventurer’s there overall as well. More seemed to be trickling in every day.

  Occasionally one who had seen my fight with Harkan would stop by for a moment, but when it became clear I was focused on my work they would walk away with few words exchanged. I noticed the eyes of even some of the new arrivals lingering on me as whispers of what had happened the past few days reached them. Of how I had fought with one of the higher ranked swordsmen of our tier and utterly squashed him and how I had fought toe to toe with someone not only a tier above me but many levels into that tier. It didn’t help that he was apparently a quite famous spearman in Ironfell.

  And so my day carried on, with my hands moving constantly despite a deep ache settling into my left hand. It took all of my focus to ensure the threads lined up perfectly, to make sure there were no deviations. I didn’t take a break, regardless of the budding pain in my left hand. Regardless of how many tried to talk to me, to congratulate me or ask how I was so strong.

  In my mind, I didn’t think I was overly powerful, though. And it didn’t escape my notice that some were starting to associate my strength with my relationship with Adrien and his party. Some were saying already that I was some sort of secretly trained warrior by the kingdom. I snorted at the theories. I snorted because I realized what I had that they didn’t wasn’t just drive. I did have advantages, even if I often didn’t acknowledge them. I had imagination. Not only my own, but the imagination of thousands, millions of storytellers from my days on earth.

  My class came from one of them. Came from a book I had read decades ago now, but my memory wouldn’t let me forget it. Not anymore. I had near perfect recollection. As I weaved I wondered how much of my path till now had been inspired by the fictions spread throughout earth. I realized most of it had to have been inspired by the stories I had fallen in love with. Not all, not in their entirety. Sure, the concept of a sword dance was nothing new to me, I hadn't created it, but the way I danced was new, as far as I could tell.

  The way I forged my weapons wasn’t new, as was evident with the dwarven techniques I had stolen. No. Nothing I did was new but it was all mine. I had had the drive and the imagination to do these things. I continued to have the inspiration to do new things, at least things that were new to the world. Even if I drew on my advantages, even if I took inspiration from tall tales and myths and legends from my world, I knew that I had done it all on my lonesome.

  And with those thoughts I continued to weave meticulously. I refocused, pushing away the mild insecurities that had risen from the conversations echoing around me. I kept pushing, halfway through the enchantment. At the same time, I reached a point where I had to try something difficult. Perhaps it wasn’t the best idea to experiment in the middle of a new unfamiliar enchantment that was slightly outside of my speciality, but as had been proven time and again since I came here, both through personal experience and stories, challenge was the best thing for growth. Hell, even in the stories from earth, challenges always increased one's ability to grow.

  And so, for the first time I was attempting to craft an item that held two elements in its enchantment. As I reached the halfway point of the enchantment and began to weave runes for the second part of it I switched to using fire mana. Doing so resulted in my hold over the wind-written runes weakening, forcing me to divert more of my attention to holding the runes from before. I could already feel my concentration waning as it was split multiple ways.

  I took a deep breath. I breathed in for four seconds, held it for seven, and exhaled for eight. I did this once, twice, a third time and a fourth, barely maintaining the enchantment as I did. But I did maintain it. Mana was leaking from the runes and I knew I couldn’t stop. If I did I’d have to restart. I could, of course, enchant the cloth that had already been weaved but the enchantment would be much weaker overall as the mana would have to seep into a thousand tiny threads instead of the few at a time that I was doing as I weaved the quiver.

  So I did my breathing. I thought back to my training with Rhosha. The last thirty minutes of every session where I would meditate to wind down from the intense combat we would find ourselves in. I thought about what she had been trying to teach me. Lucid meditation, or something like it. A way to mentally train by going over past conflicts, to visualize while actively moving such that I could accurately follow my opponent's movements in real time.

  A ding rang in the back of my mind but it was so far away that I barely registered it. I pulled in my sphere of perception to lessen the distractions, but I didn’t pull it all the way instead just shortening my range. My hands began to move again and fire mana poured out from my fingers, writing runes in the thread.

  With my breathing I calmed myself and began to meditate even as I moved. Even as I kept crafting, continued weaving, built a quiver from nothing but threads and mana. Instead of visualizing movements and combat I visualized runes where I wanted them. I had already been doing so a bit subconsciously, but now I was doing it consciously and the runes glowed before me.

  A headache began to press against my mind. I didn’t stop, I couldn't. I’d either finish this project in one go or I’d falter and collapse. Those were my options at this point. The weaving was so much more difficult than forging. At least when I was forging a new weapon I could pause while waiting for the plates or ingots to reheat, I could take breaks. With this, I knew instinctively that if I were to take a break the enchantment, the mana holding it all together, would dissipate. It would vanish and I’d be left with either creating a subpar version or restarting entirely.

  So, I kept going. I fought with my own concentration. I pictured the runes lighting up on the cloth even as I made them. I imagined all of the things that I wanted this quiver to be capable of. Of course, holding arrows was it’s primary function. But imbuing those same arrows with power, with magic, was the real purpose. I wanted both a wind enchantment and a fire one. I wanted to capitalize in my affinities, especially those two that worked so well together.

  Fire mana pulled from my core as I tuned out the rest of the world. I imagined the deer and foxes prancing through the weave, and smiled. Imagined them playing with the birds from the wind element. I laughed as I thought about them continuing to play, running havoc on the user of this equipment. And I kept laughing about it as I calmed and kept weaving.

  I didn’t move from my table, barely drank anything, even as Rose and Eva came to sit down and chat. Their words washed over me, same with Luka’s and Sky’s as they started to tell me about the dungeon. Briefly I considered how long I must have been sitting there for them to have returned. Part of me wanted desperately to ask. The other part recognized that I was in the final stretch of my craft. That the thing was nearly complete. That any distractions now could... unravel the entire thing.

  With that in mind, with hands that were shaking and a body that barely listened. With a core that felt like I was pulling on the dredges of whatever mana was left. What was once a torrent was now a trickle. My concentration waned again and I refocused again. My hand screamed at me from all of the unfamiliar exertion, but with shaking fingers that wanted to lock up. With fingers that had started to bleed without my registering it.

  Then, well then it was done. Outside was dark when I snapped out of it. A loud laugh escaped my lips as the headache I had been ignoring slammed into me. I cackled painfully as I gazed upon the gift I had set about crafting. Weakly I felt as skills, not just one or two, leveled up. For a brief moment I attempted to look at my status, before the world fell to black and I collapsed forward onto the table.