Chapter 4: Chapter 4

“I left the starting area. I fought every day for forty years and got a mountain of contribution points–”

“How much?”

Tom raised an eyebrow at that question. “How many did you get?”

Jeffrey smiled arrogantly. “I got–” he choked, unable to force the word out.

“What was that?”

An ugly flush went over the others man’s face. “We’re not allowed to talk about that which is lucky for you because you won’t be shown up.”

“As I was saying,” Tom continued, ignoring the other man’s barbs. “Forty years of fighting got me a shitload of points and I’ve invested them for the long term to maximise ranking points. I’m not interested in being just another soldier accumulating a few ranking points here and there. I’m set up to make a real difference.” 

“Stop. No one cares about your dreams of grandeur. Do you have any useful skills?”

“I have Spark and…”

Jeffrey burst into laughter. “You have Spark as in the useless starting spell.”

“Yes.”

The other man doubled over and wiped away tears. “Oh god, I don’t have time for this. I had Spark. I evolved it to Zap and then into Electrified Weapon.” Jeffrey’s voice was getting louder and louder. “and then into Lightning Weapon, which made it borderline useful. Spark is useless.”

Tom wanted to argue. The words were on his lips. Spells could be strengthened through evolution or via improved control. There was no one best way to do things in this world that the GODs had created. He had kept Spark because the contribution cost of buying it to bring it into Existentia was a hundred times less than something like Lightning Weapon. It was a solid argument, but Tom bit his tongue. Jeffrey was number sixty-four. He had invested everything for immediate gain and that told Tom all he needed to know about the other man. Subtle arguments would not land. Unfortunately, Tom knew the type, his friendship group used to have the rule ‘Don’t argue with stupid.’

It was a pity that applied here.

Plus, if Tom was being honest with himself, he was damaged goods. Forty years by himself meant that his social skills were certain to be lacking. He would struggle to find the right words to win the debate and end up losing because of his delivery instead of his logic.

The very experience that strengthened him and allowed him to supercharge his knowledgeable made it harder to express himself.  

The argument died on his lips.

“Tell me exactly what you have.” Jeffrey’s mirth was gone as he took on a boss tone. Not that it mattered, but in his head Tom was pinging Jeffrey as the incompetent supervisor on a construction site. The one that thought that they were a hotshot. The mover and shaker who gets things done with their brilliance, and if they weren’t there, everything would come to a crushing halt when in reality they were a hinderance and the entire workforce from the forty-year veteran to the first-year apprentice worked around him.

“I have a trait that at the cost of between zero and two attribute points grants two points of both agility and fate.” 

Jeffrey nodded. “Every level?”

“Yes. Precisely if there are no free agility, fate or magic points, then those four points cost nothing. The other way of saying that if my class only awards strength and agility attributes, then those four extra are all free.”

“That will make you useful eventually, but fate points are…” Jeffrey did not finish the sentence, but the perplexed frown told Tom exactly what the other man thought of them.

“I also have soul storage.”

Jeffrey’s eyes lit up. “How many slots?”

“It’s a growth version, so only two currently, but it’ll gain an extra slot per class level.”

“Fuck man, you’re not giving me anything.”

“A trait to strengthen elemental damage by fifty percent.”

“All elements?”

“Yes.”

“That at least has long term utility.” 

They all do, you idiot, Tom thought, but kept the words to himself. “An extra class slot and Touch Heal.”

“Michael,” Jeffrey said, turning to the man leading the healers. “What do you know about Touch Heal?”

Michael, the guy who had been assigned to look after the healers, glanced over. He had been number eight and felt like his rank was high sevens, which increased Tom’s respect for him immensely. Clearly Michael had purchased for the long term unlike a lot of others. Also, there was something about how he interacted with those around him that promoted trust. The healer’s eyes fell on Tom and there was the tiniest nod of acknowledgement. Michael did not know he was number one, but he knew he was in the top seven. “It’s the shittiest first level healing spell.” Michael said, falling into a lecturing tone. “Only slightly better than needle and thread.”

Jeffrey threw another disgusted look at Tom and stood up. “You have useless skills, kid. Don’t annoy me, or get in anyone’s way. Put your head down and work hard.”

The other man stormed away. 

Tom frowned. That did not go as well as he had been hoping. Jeffrey with steam metaphorically coming out of his ears went over to lead the generic damage dealers.

What a weird man, Tom thought to himself. The emotional reaction there had been too pronounced by someone who did not know Tom at all. They were all psychologically scarred so it shouldn’t have surprised him, but that over the top fury? Immaturity? Stress? Something else? Tom shook his head. He was sure over the next year or two, if Jeffrey survived Tom would find out about his story and it would probably be interesting.

Tom wished he could fight monsters already. With an internal shrug, he went over to stand with the healers. 

“You’ve really only got Touch Healing?” Michael asked when he joined the group. “You weren’t just riling Jeffrey up?” 

“Nope, Touch is all I’ve got.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.” There was a hopeful look on Michael’s face.

“Afraid not.”

Michael grimaced.

“I am, however, highly skilled in it.”

Michael was lost for words for a moment, but Tom was relieved to see that he was not angry like Jeffrey had been. “Are you medically trained?” Michael asked hopefully.

“Only what I learnt in the tutorial.”

There were more than a few snickers.

“Come on,” Tom said with a shrug, a little annoyed at being laughed at. “I got hurt a lot and did a load of first aid, setting bones and that sort of stuff.”

“What? And you didn’t get offered a chance to upgrade the spell.” A young, fit woman asked. Not pretty. Her face was too angular for that. Maybe she would have earnt that label if she was a princess, he mused internally to amuse himself.

“I refused.”

“Are you taking the piss?” Michael snapped. “This is not a game. There are real consequences.”

“I know,” he retorted. “Of course I know the consequences and wait.” Tom said hurriedly, holding up a hand when he saw Michael starting to mentally dismiss him. “Let me do a demonstration before you judge.”

He turned to look at the ferret face woman who had joined the conversation. She had been number eighteen. “I’m Tom,” 

“Clare,” she answered reluctantly.

“Can I borrow your knife?”

“You don’t have a knife?”

“Or shoes,” Tom joked unapologetically. “My contribution points did not stretch far enough for luxuries.”

“Or a proper spell apparently,” a third voice chimed in. There were more giggles and Tom knew he was the fool till he changed opinions. He needed to make them understand. A little adversity was character building, but he required some people on his side if he was going to grow into his potential. 

He plucked the knife off Clare and groaned when he touched the edge. It was blunt.

“My skill level in Touch Heal is 92.”

Michael, who was having a sip of water, gasped and sent it spraying out. “What the hell? How did you grind something that high?”

Tom tried not to remember, but with his memory, he couldn’t help it. Forty years of fighting cautiously, pressing every day but staying alive at all costs. In the end, it was not the challenges that broke him; it was the solitude. He had gotten sloppy and eventually a family of dire bears had proved to be his superior on the day. “Long story,” he said politely. “Literally. I was up to forty years at the end.”

“But you’re all alone in the tutorial,” Clare said with abrupt compassion. Tom smiled internally. He had the skills to go to the melee, healers, or ranged magic, but had chosen healers for exactly that reaction. People who had specialised in healing were more likely to be empathetic. Clare’s response was what he was after.

“Fate of humanity,” Tom answered, swallowing hard. “I had to hang on for as long as possible to get stronger and.” He studied the ground momentarily. “To ask sufficient questions to find a way to help save humanity.”

“Did you?” Clare inquired with a manic edge. “Learn anything?”

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“The yes or no questions.” the pudgy Chinese man asked at the same time talking over the woman.

Tom held up his hands and looked straight at Clare. “Yes, I think so, but the less I talk about the details, the more likely I’m to succeed.”

“DEUS was worried about other GODs?” Clare whispered, disbelief in her voice.

Tom inclined his head in agreement.

The pudgy man cleared his throat. “You guys can’t be buying that. The question were useless.”

Tom shook his head. “Strongly disagree. After a couple of thousand, I learnt how to extract useful stuff. After ten thousand, I was a pro. Anyway,” Tom flipped the knife in the air and caught it and then twirled it around his fingers like a magician. “Demonstration.” The blade flipped as it flew up. It spun four times on the way up and a similar number on its way down and he snagged it with the tip pointing to the ground. “Ready?”

He slammed the blunt dagger into his thigh just above the knee. 

“God,” he grimaced. Despite how often it happened, he had never got used to pain, and he was dreading the requirements of the class that he was aiming at. “Don’t heal,” he gasped. 

“Hold,” Michael ordered.

The Chinese man lowered a hand that had glowed white. In fact, seven of the twelve nominated healers had been on the verge of throwing spells.

Tom wanted the relief healing would bring, but the demonstration was necessary, and it needed to be more than just a flash of healing. “Now obviously. I haven’t hit anything critical, but the dagger is in the bone. Does anyone have a diagnosis skill?”

Michael, Clare and an Indian woman’s eyes glowed briefly. He marked them as valuable. Diagnosis capability was a sign of high tier healing.

“Now level ninety-two Touch Heal gives me a lot of control. I’m going to get,” Tom pointed at one of the men who had laughed early but had reacted with the instinct to heal him. A big burly man who was in his mid-thirties so had probably been seventy or eighty when the GODs… Tom forcefully prevented him from thinking about them. He needed a clear head and not the incandescent rage that they provoked. “You, to pull it out. Then I’ll heal the soft tissue.”

Michael cleared his throat. “But not the bone, because that’s higher level healing magic?”

“What?” Tom looked at him in surprise. “No, from thirty-two you can promote significantly faster bone growth and at fifty you can do instantly. No, I’m doing it in two stages to show control. Also, does anyone have an ability to determine my mana levels?”

The pudgy Chinese guy raised his hand. “Nineteen,” he confirmed. 

“Good, now this is a spell I try not to use because it stuffs with coordination and that might cost you your life in a fight.” Tom concentrated and everyone should have felt him use his magic. “But I’ve removed the pain.”

“Your mana did not change.” 

“It’s pretty much free for me. On another person or animal, I can remove pain for ten minutes with a single point of mana.”

“Animals?”

Tom sucked in his breath. That was why he had been self destructive enough for that last fight to be sloppy. If he had held back and kept control for another couple of weeks, he might have come in here with shoes and weapons. “I had a companion. A dragonling her name was…” his throat constricted. “Pinkwing.” Tom forced the sadness down and nodded to the big man. “Do it.” 

The man yanked and Tom felt extra breaks being created in the bone as the dagger twisted on the way out. There was no pain or discomfort, but he could track the actual damage that had been done. 

The state which Tom called healing tranquillity took over him. Time slowed to a crawl, and he was in tune with his abilities. At early levels, Touch Healing had only worked via the palm of his hand, but now any part of him could be used. When he was injured, he could heal with a thought. Tom was aware of the intricacies of the wound, skin, muscle, minor nerves, bone, and even a nicked tendon. The soft tissue closed as he applied his power. The skin, in an instant, was perfectly smooth.

“Two mana,” the pudgy guy called out.

Michael prodded the injury, but not too hard, because he knew the bone underneath was still damaged. “Impressive control. The bone is untouched, still broken.” Michael looked kindly at him. “I’m happy to heal the bone. I’m not like Jeffrey. Even with a mana pool of twenty with your efficiency you’re going to be valuable.”

Tom did not bother saying anything. Healing tranquillity rose once more and he could feel what was wrong with the bone. A prod here, a burst of healing there, and the floating piece of bone dropped into position, and then the hairline cracks vanished. 

“Umm no mana,” the pudgy man said confused. “It went down one then popped back up to two.”

Tom ignored the pudgy man and instead focused on Michael. 

The ex doctor smiled. “Healed. Perfect, no sign of damage. Can you do that with others?”

“Sure. Who wants to be the test subject.” No one stepped forward. Tom grinned at them. “I can dull the pain first.”

“I don’t think that’s necessary,” Clare declared. “That sort of experiment is not something doctors do. Plus, I’m sure we’ll have time to prove ourselves soon.”

“Enough distractions,” Michael agreed. “Who’s willing to heal in battle.”

Tom instantly put his hand up along with five others. 

Michael frowned at the people who had left the hands down. “Why aren’t you guys volunteering?”

“I think healers are too important to risk on the front lines,” Pudgy man said.

Michael’s eyes turned to the next person who had kept her hand down. She was obese with short cropped hair. If you had been fat all your life, then you were going to come to Existentia in the same state. 

She touched her chest questioning with an innocent expression. “I’m a channelled burst healer. I can reform someone torn in half, but all my spells take like a minute to cast.” 

She had an excellent point. She was not a battlefield healer. As for the rest, Tom ignored their excuses as far as he could tell the theme was basically ‘I don’t wanna, because I’m a coward.’

While they were arguing, he slowly dripped mana into his gem. It was not an efficient use of his magic, but it was better than nothing but an investment of five mana resulted in the gem absorbing one. Then a little under two minutes later his mana would recharge and he would do it again. Filling the gem would take over three hours.

“Enough.” Michael yelled. “Tom, Pena,” he waved at the channel burst healer, “and Andros.” He pointed at a lanky kid with dusky skin who looked no older than sixteen. By looking at him, Tom couldn’t tell what he would end up like when he reached adulthood. He seemed to have broad shoulders and growth spurts could do funny things. He could fill the gamut from skinny and below normal height to a giant both in height and shoulder width, he a frame that appeared like it could put on muscle. “Those three are our back up camp healers. Everyone else is front line.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Who made you the boss?”

“Ridiculous.”

With a grin, Tom waved a hand. There was a minor flash of light and it sounded like a thunderclap went off between them.

“Thank you, Tom,” Michael said. “There’s about eighty of us here. Excluding the crafters, we have barely fifty fighters.” He kicked the ground. “We can’t afford to sit around on our bum. We all need to get strong. There, there, there,” Michael spun, pointing in random directions. “Do you know what’s there?” 

Embarrassed silence greeted him. 

Michael looked frustrated. “None of you?”

“Monsters,” Clare suggested.

“Yes, but not the answer I was looking for?” His eyes roamed, searching for a person to target. “Tom, I bet you know.”

“Kingdoms or war bands with an average rank above twenty. Which means elite units will be in the forties and the champions above sixty.” No one disputed his words. Everyone had seen the same map. They might chose to dispute how the levels were distributed but none of them believed any of the societies would have a flat level structure. If the average was twenty, they all knew that the elites would be far higher. “The Tortun War bands average forty.” Tom reminded them. “The Rightous Empire sixty five and the Blood Kingdom, which was the largest single empire averages thirty-three.”

“You memorised it all?” Clare asked.

Tom inclined his head. “I have an excellent memory, but that’s not the point Michael was making.”

“No, it’s not,” the ex doctor agreed. “We don’t care about your memory.” Michael winked at him. There were amused chuckles everywhere. “The point is, we can’t be static. You all know the gifts humans and our direct competitors possess. Long term, that will give us an advantage, but not if we’re rank ten. If we’re weak, those benefits will get us enslaved.”

“That won’t,” the Pudgy Chinese started.

“Don’t play dumb,” Michael advised. “If that Rightous Empire finds us, we’ll be another natural resource to exploit.”

“Fine.” Pudgy said surly. 

“Do you all understand?” Michael asked, making eye contact with everyone. Nods greeted him. “We all need levels. Including you Pena. Ultimately, we should all be on the coal face, but for now we’ll keep those three centrally.”

“But why are they getting special treatment?”

“Because between them, they’ll have the skills to put anyone back together. Andros can cut away dead tissue and has the best stabilising magic out of all of us. Pena can do big healing and Tom detailed work as required. This is just for the start. If it doesn’t serve, we’ll change it up. Those three need to stay central and be ready to respond if things go to shit while the rest of us help the fighters clearing the surrounding land.”

Jeffrey stomped over and paused for a moment to give Tom a contemptuous look. “You got the healers organised?” 

Tom, before he could help himself he rolled his eyes. A small-minded bully seemed to have taken charge and decided that he was the whipping boy. That gave him flashbacks to year eight. 

“Don’t give me attitude, you little shit.” Jeffrey snapped while his hand reached for his sword hilt.

And with anger issues, Tom thought even as his body reacted.

Battle instincts triggered, and Tom’s eyes tracked the other man’s shoulders. Unseen to all electricity gathered in his palms and his legs tensed, ready to react in an instant. If Jeffrey… then he would be ready.

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