Chương 1: Prologue
Anders' Diary, Pages 36-38 "Wondering on a Wednesday"
'Fire, a rather astounding discovery made by humans so long ago that it's pointless to try and decipher exactly when, has gained a reputation as a most destructive force not to be trifled with.
Water, with its abundance, depth, and essentialness to survival, has grown to become a symbol of awe and fertility.
Earth- glorious earth- has been hampered in its usefulness due to humans' misunderstanding. It is not just rocks, but the trees, the sand, the metals, the grass, the dirt. It is simultaneously what holds us up and what we trample.
The wind that coasts amongst all the other elements, strengthening some and weakening others, taking in the very essence of each and carrying them into the atmosphere, dispersing them and congealing them.'
These are the four primary elements- as described by The First Grand Mage- that supposedly make up the foundation of all magic. Dark magic, light magic, spirit magic, mind magic… all of these secondary and tertiary forms of magic sprout from these pillars, in theory. It's alleged that The First Grand Mage could use a form of time magic, since he lived almost two centuries, but nobody has been able to recreate it if he did hold such powers.
That's all to say that the exterior magics are more than understood. It'd be more surprising if they weren't, I suppose. They're such a large part of daily life that there's almost no point in cultivating any other sort of arts.
Still, ironically, rejects always find their way into society. Some simply don't understand the concepts- this error is easily fixable with some focused studying. Some don't have the mana necessary to put the concepts into practice- mana potions are able to fix this problem.
Where the real problem lies is when none of these apply.
I stole books, and I even robbed a Duke's son and attended a few seminars in his place. I'm certain after that experience that even the best teachers in the Capital would not be able to best me when it comes to theory.
I pilfered potions from every vendor I came across- by God, every vendor from the Gardens of Halsia to the shores of Sannan has a reason to want me dead. Still, I could not manage to muster the strength. That was what most people said. "Not enough grit in you, boy."
Pricks, the lot of them.
That was when I discovered something I had never even heard whispers of. First I heard of it, I was rereading the biography of The First Great Mage- obscene that they never revealed his name, isn't it?- in the corner of the only inn I hadn't swindled in Sannan. A beggar came stumbling in, merry as can be and rosy-cheeked to match.
He stomped and hollered as though there was some bard singing tales of the King's dragon slaying son, but only he was singing. I couldn't help myself, so I joined his song. It was one that my uncle often took to singing, so I knew the bones of it.
After we'd finished our tune and I'd gotten him to buy me some booze, he joined me at my table and seemed awfully interested in my notes on the biography. I told him honest; "a bunch of horseshit." He found that rather funny and inquired why, so, I shared my woes with him.
"That's 'cause you're made for the inner magics, you dolt!"
Turns out that books don't hold all the history. I know that Aren was an old drunkard, but what he showed me was nothing short of fantastic. His students were jumping over buildings, hauling carts of boulders for miles, and I swear by my name that one boy- Johan if I recall- took a cannon to his belly and was fine. For the most part.
All without external magic to help them.
An astounding revelation it was. I wasn't the only reject being held up by the earth- people just like me were trampling it too.
Two years I wasted there. I know that it wasn't some mind magic- hell, Aren could barely conjure a breeze to blow out the candles at night- and it showed me things I'd never even pondered possible with the human body. A beastkin maybe, of with one of those dwarves' sturdy bodies, but not with the flesh and bones I'd been graced with.
I couldn't do it.
24 I was when I left. Too old for the academies, not enough qualifications for a normal job, and no desire to be anything except an adventurer.
It was my weakest moment in life that made me the strongest. Perhaps it was a return on all of the luck I'd been lacking in my life, but I doubt it. I like to think that it was because my stomach's been tempered like steel from all of the slimy mush and sloppy grits I ate in my travels.
Eating any part of a monster will usually cause three things to happen: mana reflux resulting in a damaged or broken core, physical irritation to the point that some have peeled their skin off from itching and, eventually, death. The last one is practically a certain, depending on how much is digested of course.
I think that years of self-hatred, years of seeping in the judgemental gazes of others, years of being completely rejected from society, and years of getting my hopes up just for them to crash down around me all caught up to me when I stole the corpse of a scaly rabbit creature from the back of a hauling cart.
I never did learn the names of many monsters, but I know the rough gist. There's the animal-like monsters, usually classed as Beasts. The monsters that can use magic are called Variants. Monsters that have gained a bad enough reputation are called Fables. Then there's the Myths.
It was a tad too fancy for my taste. They're all monsters after a point. The only fun things were the dragons, and they were as rare as a thanks from the King.
Anyway, I stole that rabbit and planned to cook it in a nice stew. A last enjoyment before I went in the worst way. The stew never worked- well, that's arguable. It didn't kill me. That stew made me what I am today.
When I went to see Aren, he was utterly baffled. I could turn my skin into the scales of the rabbit in any area that I wished. Tough enough to withstand the swing of a sword without any magic behind it from the old man. Nearly had my neck lopped off when one of his students wanted to try it with magic, though.
The old man was always drunk, so that day was no exception, but he always had a way with words even through his stupor. He ran about shaking all of his students and pointing at me, rabid as a dog.
"I told you! His eyes! I told you there was something in 'em! I did, didn't I? I told you there was a beast in there- not one of those pissy rabbits, but… if you eat and eat and eat… what will you become, boy?"
That question, his enthusiasm. I owe Aren my life, when I think on it. Aren and those adventurers who didn't see me steal a rabbit from them.
I did. I kept eating. Eating the same monsters did nothing for me- what was really interesting was something I only found out later in life. It was the biggest realisation I made. One that only cemented my title as "King of the Beasts".
Me, a King. What a blow to the balls that was for the actual King. On the same level as me. It wasn't a title meant to uplift me though. The people feared me, and I'm certain they still do after what happened in Vaan. That's why I've been in these mountains so long.
This is my seventh journal, and I'm certain I've wrote these exact words before, but I do not have the foggiest idea where the other ones have gone. This cabin's a mess with all the books and animals in it. Perhaps I'll fish the old ones out and see how much my perspective has changed in my old age.
Maybe the other Kings have them. They always did poach from me. Thieving bastards.
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