Shattered Bastions

[vladspellbinder]

Still waiting for Kyle to die.

like a Zittle in a handful of N&Ns,

Click to shrink...

Still hate this Trope. But I wasn't going to comment on it if it was the only thing I saw I felt commenting on so-

not however took over.

Click to shrink...

"whoever"

"Good enough for Kyle's bunch," Logan noted, offhand. "Maybe not Bart."

Click to shrink...

Fuck you Logan, it's Bartholomew.

Good enough for Anna, Dylan knew, but wouldn't voice.

Click to shrink...

Also waiting for Dylan to drop that torch he's carrying.

feel you heart

Click to shrink...

"your"

Logan joinied her

Click to shrink...

"joined"

"Well, one way to find out!" Malik smiled, and, in a single moment, pulled a knife from a pocket, and cut his own arm.

Click to shrink...

Malik's a real one. He already understands that health is a resource and pain is only temporary. He's got his own version of 'healing' magic after all so self injury isn't that big of a deal.

Thanks for the chapter.

 

[Luke Dragneel]

So definitely seeing Dylan go down the path of the Blood Mage. Might even go full Necromancer if he's not careful. Learning new [Jobs] will never be a bad thing, but I doubt they will stay separated as like meets like and synergize into a cohesive greater whole.

Definitely liking Val's and Ivy's influence on Dylan and vice versa. Malik's thought process is definitely getting affected by his [Systemic Arcanist] Job, as he is treating his body more as an avatar for his mind/spirit than his flesh and blood.

Am I the only one thinking Amy has romantic intentions for Kyle, with Kyle seeing Amy as more of a fuckbuddy? Bart's insistence on being called Bartholomew probably played a part in his separation from Dylan's faction, but I am surprised he chose Kyle over the neutral faction instead. Kristen simply feels like a mixture of Malik's nerdiness but with Kyle's arrogance making her rather grating to deal with. I also get the feeling she's highly vindictive of slights against her intelligence.

 

[Weero]

So definitely seeing Dylan go down the path of the Blood Mage. Might even go full Necromancer if he's not careful.

Click to shrink...

Nah, I think it's more likely he'll get some sort of vampiric sanguimancer Job before he ever gets close to necromancy.

 

[sperance]

Still waiting for Kyle to die.

Click to shrink...

You know, it's kinda amusing that we're basically seeing a shonen protagonist seen by an outside perspective when it comes to Kyle. He has a lot of the shonen tropes assosciated with him: he's brash, hotheaded and not very smart or talented. He also hits a lot of the story beats that shonen touches on: the girl he likes is into someone else who is his cooler rival that's better than him (Dylan), his rival is "cold" and "aloof" and always acts superior (Dylan is none of those things, but Kyle sees him as such) and he's "unpopular" because other people are prejudiced against him in favor of said rival but suddenly finds a great power within him that makes him the perfect leader everyone admires (his Champion job)

Of course, when we abandon "Kyle-vision" we see the "shonen protagonist" for what he is: a violent, selfish cunt who people have very good reasons not to like. He's a jerk putting the moves on someone else's girlfriend, acts like everyone is supposed to admire him and follow his lead even if he's done nothing to earn it and his rival is more popular than him due to the simply being plain more likeable.

 

[kraryal]

I didn't expect Anna to straight up die, I thought we'd be getting drama from that for chapters and chapters. That was a good bit of writing and a nice twist for us readers.

 

[Leecifer]

Chapter Fourteen: Battery Life

​

Divine Magic was… strange.

It took a week, putting his all into it, during which the Caravan started moving again, before Dylan got his job, [Pulsewright], which took what he was struggling to do and made it so much easier. The star was small, reflecting its Clay status, and a vibrant red as opposed to Raider's almost malevolent crimson, its name made up of rippling energy that never stayed still.

Unfortunately, it was only after he got it, just like with [Handyman], did he realize what he was doing wrong. Except, while in his main Caravan profession, if he did a bad job of it he might get a splinter or make an uneven shelf, with this one he'd not only wasted Mana, he'd start feeding his own vitality into the process to compensate.

And, unlike when Sam first overcast, because it wasn't a single one-and-done 'spell', but a long ongoing one, there was no easy stop point if he didn't know what he was doing. And, at first, he really didn't know what he was doing. Which, in retrospect, was probably why the Caravan had them all try to learn their first Magic jobs with oversight.

But with them working together, and with the others not… like him, they managed it.

Sam, Ivy, Logan, and Malik all got a second Magical job, all of which were a bit like Val's, in that their new [Job]s physically enhanced them, though each was a bit different in how it worked. Sam's [Bulwark] made her tougher, for instance, to take hits without injury and giving her power to move slowly but with strength, while Ivy's [Lightness Artist] let her instead move in a way that was supernaturally graceful. The name of her [Job] made Malik laugh, but when the Asian girl glared, and declared, "Not a word!" his eyes went wide and he just nodded, refusing to explain that evening when it was just the two of them.

They, in turn, had worked with Val to get a second Magic job of her own, at Dylan's urging. Another Divine one, since Arcane required tools to learn, but, talking with Sam, and Logan about how their [Job]s worked, it was all about visualization… and being careful not to overdo it.

So, talking her through it, combining Sam's 'casting' and Logan's 'shaping', to try and make a 'shell' of mana, the Hispanic girl got something of her own to work, picking up [Ironbloomer], which made Malik snort, but let Val, for a moment, create a piece of armor. Theoretically she could use it to take a strike on it, but, really, what she did with it was just to give herself a gauntlet the moment she punched something, to make her hit even harder. Working with her, the moment of creation was the biggest drain, and she could maintain it afterwards, at a third of the original cost per second, but unless she was going to use it again and again, it wasn't worth it.

And, as Ivy had discovered, even without Ranking up the [Job] to the next tier, getting better at it normally could lower the costs, and increase the quality, of the casts as they practiced. The [Job]s were a massive jump up, but, theoretically, even if they never got one, they could've just improved on their own.

For now, at least.

All of them remembered Vey's warning that, the higher in Rank they rose, the lower the ceiling for everything non [Job] related they could do would become.

But, either way, Dylan's [Thaumic Scrutineer] helped a lot, because he could see the flow of Magic in what Val was doing, and, reaching out with his own, help her form it, a little. Similarly, he could poke other people's workings to either strengthen them, or loosen them, though the second was a lot easier than the first. After all, to do the former, he had to not only read the lines of Mana present, he had to understand what they were doing, and poke them into compliance, a little like his [Pulsewright] in some ways, but in others, not at all. [Pulsewright] was about life, it was warm, and flowing, and felt responsive to his task. [Thaumic Scrutineer] meanwhile, was about magic itself, and was… not cold, but room temperature, and felt almost a little like steel wool, in that it was kind of soft and pliable, workable in its way, but definitely not fluffy.

However while trying to get a spell to work better was really difficult, it was a lot easier to break a casting, working, whatever, because he could essentially go 'not that', and it always did something to disrupt whatever he was going after.

Meanwhile, in their day to day, everything just… kept going.

He repaired things with Jakyb, getting better, and only now realizing how much he'd been babied, now that he wasn't.

Thrain still dropped by on all of them, the short man noting the divide between them, not commenting on it directly, and making sure to check in on both 'groups'.

They were sent on Gathering missions once again, in pairs now, Dylan partnering with Malik, who, now that he was watching, really did throw himself into everything he did.

The athlete admitted, in the privacy of his own head, that he'd seen Malik screwing up, a lot, and thought he was, well, a bit of a screw up. That he meant well, but his roommate just wasn't that good at doing stuff. Except… no, because whenever it was really important, Malik did just fine, but the boy would constantly do things like field-dress a Hookpaw to get the needed bits with his off hand, or upside down with the creature turned the wrong way, or things like that.

And he was like that with everything he did.

So Dylan did the thing he had a feeling no one ever did.

He asked why.

"Huh?" the dark-skinned guy responded, confused. "Well, like, it's turning the difficulty up on a video game! When you get okay at it, well, you can do it, sure but you don't get any better! It's like, you know, walking on the sidewalk!"

Dylan, in fact, did not know, so slowly asked, "I, maybe we did different things, what do you do?"

Malik frowned, "You know, trying not to step on cracks, trying to only step on cracks, walking just on your heels, or the balls of your feet, or the sides of your feet, or making every step the exact same step, you know?"

His first response was to argue that what his roommate was talking about was childish. By a lot. The kind of childishness that was, if he was being honest, why Malik didn't have a lot of friends.

But…

But Malik was the strongest fighter in their group.

Malik was the one who had the most [Job]s out of all of them.

Malik was the reason that Dylan survived.

"Never did the 'same size' one," Dylan stated, not mentioning he stopped doing that sort of thing when he was nine. "Wouldn't that be easy?"

The other boy took a second to study the athlete, before he grinned, "You'd think so, and, like, yeah, for a dozen steps, but if you have to turn, or move around people, or stuff, it gets a lot more complicated! And out here," he waved to the forest around them, "it's even harder!"

Which led to Dylan trying to, and… his roommate was right, because as he turned, he shortened his steps, when they were going towards something nearby, he lengthened them, and, it was like that internet meme, 'I cast… Manual Breathing!' in that now that he was thinking about it, he couldn't stop noticing it.

Thing was, weirdly, focusing on his steps resonated with both [Bloodshot Raider] but also [Survivor].

And Dylan had no idea why.

So he started working harder, started doing things, not in his day-job, but elsewhere that were just… different.

Asking Malik for tips, the boy talked about 'Gamer' stories which always had an 'Observe' spell that gave you intel. The obvious way to 'power level' it, his roommate stated, was just to use it on everything, complaining that his own magic both didn't have something like that, and his magic was obvious.

But Dylan's [Thaumic Scrutineer] was not.

So he started using it to look at things constantly, until he figured out a way to just… rest, and keep it running, at a low level. It used a little bit of magic to do so, something he couldn't feel with [Pulsewright], but could look at himself with Scrutineer to gauge, but, again, the more he did it, the easier it was to do.

Day after day passed, and Dylan found himself, actually, having fun.

Which never lasted, because, at the same time, doing so felt… felt like he was betraying Anna.

She was gone, he, he shouldn't be allowed to be happy.

Except he rarely found himself alone, and if he dwelled on it, others could tell, so he kept going, kept doing things, and, and the hurt didn't go away, the feelings didn't disappear, but he was, in an odd way, too busy doing things to focus on it.

He knew it wasn't healthy, knew it wasn't right, for himself, for her, but…

Life continued.

And he had to continue with it.

<SB>​

Dylan's pulse pounded as he brought his axe down, steel flashing, deflecting the attack that would've ended him, as he spun about, the blow barely missing him despite the parry, the force and weight of it almost too much, while his gun lifted up, pointed, and-

Twang.

"That's Match," Ser Maude stated, the practice weapon, which fired a rubber band, striking Kyle dead center in his forehead.

With the Caravan moving, but also with the local Monster population suppressed, because they'd killed them all, and with their trial by fire, the group's Head of Security had started running their bi-weekly sparring practices.

And she was… intense.

She never used more words than she needed to, but despite that Dylan was learning a lot, not just when he fought, but when the others did too. While the people who trained them before had been teaching them how to use their Lead ranked Combat [Job]s, Maude was pushing them forward with them. Because while the [Job]s themselves granted knowledge on how to use them, subconsciously, and when they went from Lead to Iron they'd get another boost, that wasn't enough. No, learning how to use your [Job] past that initial burst of knowledge was both how you Ranked up faster and made sure your next level of [Job] fit you better.

More than that, though, the woman… didn't move like a person, and was teaching them how to do the same.

That sounded wrong, but it wasn't incorrect. They were all still strong like normal people, mostly, but with their movement-based [Job]s, the ones the Caravan had made sure they'd gotten, along with the ability to use Magic, they were all, in different ways, that much faster than a normal person would be. But using that for anything beyond the express purpose of the [Job] was something they had to do consciously, at least at first.

Though, the more he did that, the easier it was to shape his own thinking into 'deliveries' and 'obstacles' that made [Courier] lend its help in the combat context beyond 'don't get hit so you don't fail your delivery', which was useful in its own way. And he was finding his dual Magic jobs were also easier and easier to integrate, [Thaumic Scrutineer] not helping in a normal fight, as while everyone had a bit of magic, people didn't really use that when they moved, not like monsters did, but when someone else used magic?

Especially, like how Kyle used it, to enhance his own strength?

He might as well have been calling out his attacks like a Saturday morning cartoon.

Though knowing the hit was coming didn't help a bit when the hit was coming in at super-strength, hard enough that, even using their practice weapons, the blow would still hurt pretty badly, and Dylan could barely deflect it.

But barely was enough.

And [Pulsewright], while he had to touch someone else to use it on them, he was always touching himself. Not like that. But he'd been working, and could… pulse himself, to get that much more out of what he was doing, to push himself that much harder, and, with a minute or two afterwards, he could then heal the damage he did to himself in the process.

Though he felt that the armored woman could absolutely tell what he was doing, even if she didn't comment on it. It was just that she gave advice, terse, but not angry, that was generally useful, but which also could be directly addressing the physical enhancement Divine Magic [Job]s that Malik, Ivy, Logan, and Sam had all picked up too.

And Val's ability to now make armor for a second? There was no hiding that, but, at the same time, Ser Maude often stood beside the Hispanic teen, said a few words, and left the tomboy frowning as she looked at her own hands, or knees, glints of metal momentarily forming before dispersing around them.

"That's bullshit!"

Right, because while Dylan was trying hard to push forward, even as some part of him whispered that doing so was a betrayal of her memory, Kyle… was still Kyle.

And Dylan was realizing that his old football teammate… was kind of a dick.

"Explain," Ser Maude commanded.

"What, just because he's got a freaking gun, he wins?" the taller boy demanded. "We aren't even supposed to have our old gear, so why does he get to keep his?"

"He Uses His [Job]s, You Use Yours," Ser Maude reminded him, every word leaving her like a verbal strike. "His Weapon Is Bound. You Did Not Bind Yours."

Not liking that, the other guy ordered, "Then let me use a gun too! See how he likes it!"

Their teacher looked to him, and Dylan shrugged, so she nodded to one of their older teachers, who handed Kyle a wood and rubber band revolver, same as his, the teen holding his bastard sword in one hand, now unable to use it fully, the 'gun' in the other, as they both took their positions, twenty feet away from each other, and-

"Begin!"

Smirking, Kyle lifted his weapon up, but Dylan, tracking the end, having used them himself, and slipping into his combat focus, took a single step to the side. His opponent unloaded, which was wasteful, but he supposed when you didn't need to bleed for every shot, you didn't value them. Either way, shooting took skill, and while he was at point blank, so drop wasn't a thing, 'point-blank' the way people normally meant it, as in 'so close you can't miss', for an untrained person, was more like three feet away.

Which meant that every band missed, and, in the moment where the weapon clicked empty, and Kyle frowned, starting to say, "Bullshit!" is when Dylan moved, throwing himself into a sprint, Pulse flaring through his legs, [Courier] guiding his steps. His opponent disgustedly threw the wooden gun at Dylan, who shifted to take the hit on his shoulder, letting it bounce off.

As the other guy moved to grab his weapon with both hands, Dylan snapped a shot off for Kyle's head, the guy dodged, but dodging meant he wasn't grabbing his weapon correctly, and when Kyle's arms flared gold, the mana-enhancement burning, Dylan stutter-stepped. In doing so he slowed himself just long enough for the wild swing to go by, but not enough for the other guy to have time to swing back in the other direction, a rubber band hitting Kyle's hand, which if this were real would knock him back more, but the other guy just ignored it.

What he couldn't ignore was Dylan's blunted rubber-coated axe sweeping down for his head, the guy trying to fall backwards, but that just meant that he got hit on the side of the neck in what would've been a partially decapitating strike instead of an instantly severing one.

It was, by far, the worst performance Kyle had shown in months.

Because he'd stopped trying, because he thought he'd already won.

"Match!" called Ser Maude, the one word holding several paragraphs worth of chiding, which, from how the other guy winced, he heard too.

"We've trained with our weapons," Dylan offered, taking a step back. "If I tried to use a sword like you, I'm sure you'd kick my ass."

The other guy just glared at him, which… fine.

He tried.

Turning to walk back to his seat, he heard Kyle grunt, but it was Sam's yell of "Dylan!" that made him move, not thinking, just going, [Job]s firing as he launched himself forward, only hearing the whistle of the weapon when he was already gone, the blunted blade passing right where his head had been, as he rolled, coming up to-

Crack!

He didn't even see Ser Maude move, the woman seeming to practically teleport behind Kyle, gauntleted fist a blur as she slammed a punch right into the back of his head, which caused the boy to seize up, weapon flying off from nerveless fingers. He managed two steps, before he dropped to his hands and knees and vomited, and if he wasn't concussed Dylan would eat his hat, if he had one, which was bad.

"You're Done Today," the Bronze Ranked Combatant declared, voice arctic. "Leave."

Kyle staggered to his feet, and glared at Dylan like this was somehow his fault, before lurching out without another look to anyone else, one of Ser Maude's assistants using magic to clear the mini-arena they were using.

"Is, is he gonna be okay?" Bartholomew asked. "That wasn't okay, what he did, but…"

"Lead Rank. Tougher. He'll Survive," Ser Maude announced, looking around at the others. "Guns? Useful. Limited. Require Skill. Sourced Ammo." Striding over to the dropped bastard sword, she picked it up, and handled it like it was a kitchen knife, then twirled it so fast the air shrieked. "Blades Need No Reloading."

"But," Kristen argued, glancing around, "real guns don't hit like rubber bands."

Their instructor considered that, then nodded, and looked to one of her assistants, who pulled a pistol, checked it, and handed it to the nerdy girl.

"Shoot Me," Ser Maude ordered. When Kristen hesitated, the older woman added, "No Gun [Job]. You Are Lead. Shoot Me."

Hesitantly, the girl did, knowing the basics of how to handle firearms, all of them did, but their class in school had been hunting focused, not combat focused. Her first shot went wild, but the next seven hit, sparking off the armor the woman wore, without leaving a scrap, several hitting her dead on, the squashed slugs dropping to the ground in front of her.

"W-what!?" Kristen asked, confused.

"Bronze Tier Armor," Ser Maude stated, tapping her chest. "Bronze Rank [Plateborn]? Makes It Silver Tier."

Dylan heard the Title, and understood the woman's main profession wasn't management, be it logistical, like Quill, or social, like Vey, but combat, above and beyond anything else, her ability to communicate and teach effectively surely coming from a different [Job].

Which meant, when she Wrought, she'd lose them.

"Stronger Ammo, Better Weapons Exist. Expensive," Ser Maude stated. "Clay And Lead Gear? Enough For What We Face Here. [Job]s Make The Difference. Clay, Lead? Skill Boosts, Mostly. Iron And Above? Changes Things. Until Then? Train." Taking a moment to impress upon everyone what she was saying, the woman nodded. "Sam. Logan. Next."

<SB>​

Filling Mana Crystals still sucked.

The drain was unpleasant, though, with [Pulsewright], able to follow the flow of his own life force, which he used Mana to manipulate but wasn't Mana itself, he was relieved to be able to confirm that the process didn't actually drain them of life, no matter what it felt like.

But they needed to, so they did, though, weirdly, doing so… didn't help him feel better.

Which, yeah, filling them wasn't fun, that was just how it worked, but, but he kept feeling guilty about feeling good, so feeling bad should be better, right?

Except the guilt, the pulling feeling that he had to fight to do things, all of it, none of it was helped by doing something that made him feel bad, by, if he was being honest, punishing himself in a way.

If moving on made him feel bad, and not moving on made him feel bad… what the hell was he supposed to do!?

Fill Mana Crystals, apparently.

And… be a [Survivor].

So he did, along with everyone else, not even gritting his teeth anymore, just letting his magical reserves get sucked out of him. It was a bit like fluid dynamics, actually, as, once the flow started, it just kind of pulled itself along, until the container was full and it stopped itself. Though, from training both of his Mana-using [Job]s, he'd noticed his reserves had been growing, these sessions not leaving him quite as drained, as they were hitting a per-person quota, not one scaled to their capability.

The Divine-only people were having a harder job of it, which made him wonder if he could ask to borrow an Arcane-Teacher, to help Val, Sam, and Logan get the type of job that he and Ivy had, to make it easier on them. While Malik was…

Malik.

And had already filled up his entire set, before anyone else was halfway done, and was now working on the 'extra' set they could do for extra pay the next time they stopped at a Bastion, which was still several weeks out.

"Trained doing this too?" he asked his roommate, the flow of Mana a thick stream to his Scrutiny from the man's hands into the containers.

"Yeah!" Malik grinned. "Though it got a lot easier when I got a [Job] for it!"

"Of course you did," Ivy grumbled, however the person overseeing the process had frozen, turning pale at the dark-skinned guy's boast. "What?" the Asian girl asked.

"S-Stop doing that," the woman, Seena, ordered Malik, who looked at her, confused. "Stop filling the batteries. What is the name of the [Job] you gained, young man?"

"It's [Mana Battery]," he responded, Dylan parsing the Title, which was… actually really straightforward. It was all about having Mana, which you then had others use, because something about it meant you couldn't use it yourself. Not great if you were alone, but if he worked with Sam, she might be able to throw down prodigious amounts of lightning, or with Ivy maybe she could crack true invisibility.

From the Caravanner's response, and that of her assistant, a guy with black eyes and fingernails that were apparently all natural, however, that wasn't a good thing. "Go tell Quill," she ordered, the assistant nodding and running off.

"What's going on?" Dylan asked, concerned. "Is, is he okay? It doesn't seem that bad."

"That bad?" the woman demanded, before she caught herself. "It's… nothing bad right now. But…"

"But there's something you didn't tell us," Ivy declared.

Seena hesitated, "That's… not my call."

"Which is a yes," Bartholomew frowned.

"What is it?" Kyle demanded.

Ivy sighed, "She just said she can't tell us. And forcing her won't go well."

The other guy looked like he wanted to argue, but just crossed his arms, as they waited.

Though they didn't have to wait long.

But it wasn't Quill that entered, it was Hark, the Caravan's commander, who did not look happy, though he didn't look angry either.

"Which one?" he asked Senna, the woman pointing to Malik. Turning to Dylan's roommate, he commanded, "Say the [Job], please."

"Uh, [Mana Battery]?" the nerdy boy responded, understandably worried.

The older man let out a long breath. "Alright. I guess we're having the conversation now." The intensity that surrounded him like an aura faded a bit, and he waved around the room. "Everyone take a seat. This'll be a bit."

Dylan did so, though Ivy and Kyle both hesitated, and only when it became clear that Hark wouldn't continue did they sit as well.

"Alright. I made it clear that allowing your status as Outlanders to be known would be… problematic, correct?" he requested, and the others nodded.

Dylan, however, remembered something in particular. "Death would be kinder." At everyone's look, he explained, "You said, if it was known, we might get robbed, might get enslaved, but a one in eight, you said 'Death would be kinder'."

"Vey did, but she wasn't wrong," Hark corrected. "But to explain that, you are aware that Gods create, and maintain Bastions, yes?"

To this they nodded, Sam adding, "But, they can also be, uh, enslaved themselves?"

"Did she explain how?" Hark questioned, and, when they shook their heads no, he sighed. "Sounds like her. Alright, there's three aspects of… Bastioning, for lack of an official term. The first, the creation, is something only a God can do. It is their standing their ground, and planting their flag in the Farweald, going 'This Territory Is Mine, and Mine Alone.' Our Goddess explained it, but the records suggest different Gods can see it differently, but it's always roughly the same. They expend a great deal of energy, not Mana, something deeper."

"Like a Domain Extension, but permanent!" Malik exclaimed. "From Jujitsu Kaizen! Or maybe a Reality Mantle? From Fate/Wait Eve?"

There was a moment of silence, Dylan clearing his throat, "And… what are those, since we haven't seen the series yet?"

His roommate's cheeks darkened in embarrassment, "Oh, right! Uh, they kind of have an, er, 'inner realm', and by being really good, and using a lot of energy, they can kind of bring out that inner realm to replace the world around them with it. Not very far, or, like, very far outside, it might be really big inside, but they control everything in it, though, usually, like, subconsciously."

The golden eyed older man considered that. "That's not what they do. But it's not entirely wrong either. Gods can shape their Bastion, but every aspect of it costs them. Increasing the size, which increases the bubble, but not one to one. The creation of valuable materials, rougher ones that need to be extracted cheaper than finished, higher Tier being more expensive. The imposition of certain… rules, and pressures."

"Like why New Agartha was full of Dwarves, while Gondolin was Elves?" Logan asked.

The Leader nodded, "Yes, they originally were more like us, but every generation would be pushed a bit more to what the God wanted, and the longer they lived there, the stronger the push would be. Our Goddess doesn't do that, which is why we are the way we are, but many Gods have preferences, that, by living there, you are affected by. Most of the time. Outlanders… are not, though their children are, in turn, affected especially hard, most of the time."

"So, it's trade-offs," Bartholomew stated. "New Agartha had more minerals, but Gondolin only had plants, but was bigger."

Hark shook his head, "No, the NAgs had more rules, that ate up a lot of their budget, and the Gonds trees were created by their Goddess, as were the rules that let them grow like they did, but letting them grow saved on Mana."

"Mana?" Sam questioned. "I thought you said they used something else."

"They use something else to create the Bastion," the Leader stated. "Afterwards, maintaining it, growing it, that is Mana. And the one who controls the Mana at point of input can influence the Bastion. For some, the God is no longer there at all."

"If there's no God, how do they have the Mana to keep it going?" Dylan asked. Hark gave the cart full of filled Mana Crystals a significant look. "Oh."

Bartholomew, focused, questioned, "And with more Mana, you can do more. Have a bigger Bastion. Better materials. More rules. All of it."

"Indeed," the gold eyed man replied. "Mana is, at the end of the day, the one resource that controls all others."

Ivy asked, "In New Avalon, you have people donate Mana there too, don't you?"

"Entirely voluntary, and those who do are paid," the leader reassured her. "Other Bastions enforce it as a tax. Others use it as a punishment."

"And for some reason outsiders keep getting found guilty, with no proof they did it," the Asian girl remarked.

"Indeed," the golden eyed man agreed. "And some don't even pretend. However, the act of doing so is so specific, it creates the exact same [Job] in all cases."

Malik turned ashen, "Oh. But, it's just one of them, I've got a lot of others!"

"As long as you don't continue doing so. Because [Mana Battery] increases quickly," Hark noted.

Ivy froze, "Wait, you…"

Dylan, however, had a terrible realization, "And if you end up becoming Wrought with it… there was nothing in the [Job] that made it easier on you, just better at it. And the higher your maximum Rank, the worse it'll be."

The Leader agreed, "Yes, and when Mr. Malik starts to reach his potential, if Systemic Arcanist is consumed, his notably easy Mana Transfer will become a great deal more unpleasant."

"…Oh," the guy in question practically squeaked.

"Maybe you're a Bronze?" Sam offered. "That wouldn't be that bad."

"Or just don't get caught," Val declared.

At that, however, Hark frowned. "You're not Bronze."

That made them all pause. "How do you know?" Kristen questioned. "We were told you couldn't know your maximum Rank until you hit your limit and started cannibalizing lesser [Job]s."

"… Quill?" the gold-eyed man questioned, suddenly intense once more, reading the how the nerdy girl locked up. "Oh. No. Vey. Of course."

A thought occurred to Dylan, who tried to keep it off his face, but their Leader, the Silver Ranked [Roadwarden], noticed instantly, turning and asking, "What did she say?"

He could feel the pressure to response, even as, in his chest, he felt [Survivor] dig in against the push, allowing him to stay silent for a second, something that he could tell Hark noted, before Dylan answered, "I mentioned we were 'diamonds in the rough', and she… it meant something to her."

"It should, because each and every one of you is Diamond capable," the gold eyed man declared. "All Outlanders are."

The statement sucked the air out of the room, Ivy stating slowly, "Thrain said, if we were lucky, we wouldn't meet another Silver until we were back in New Avalon."

"And he was correct," Hark observed. "You are not Silvers. Not yet. But you will be, and that much more. If you survive."

The statement was a knife to the heart for Dylan, the guilt, the despair, everything rushing back, until it was hard to breathe, but [Survivor] kept him in the moment, kept him pointed forward, to hear Sam point out, "Wait, but, Diamonds, they can only do what they have the [Job] for. So if you became a Diamond Mana Battery…"

"Yes," the Caravan Leader agreed. "You would be able to do nothing but suffer as the Mana was ripped out of you, in great rivers, enough to put you on par with the Gods themselves, for centuries, possibly even a couple millennia. That is why you must never be discovered, lest you be taken, strapped into an extraction array, and live in agony so long that nothing of you will remain," Hark warned them. "Thule would not do that to you. Cockaigne would do it to you in an instant, for that 'Land of Plenty' is built on the suffering of thousands."

"Then why go there at all!?" demanded the theater girl.

The gold eyed man paused, then sighed, his presence lessening. "Because they don't touch Caravans, because their goods are high quality, and because the distance between Thule and Norumbega is so great that crossing it without the ability to stop and recharge the anchor is too great a risk. But Outlanders? They have no direct protection from a God, they have no people, and, if we were to turn you in, we would be paid, and handsomely at that."

The statement sent Dylan's heart into overdrive, and, glancing to Ivy, she was trying not to panic too, so he stated, voice not nearly as stable as he wanted, "But, you won't, right?"

"We won't," Hark reassured him. "I am a [Roadwarden], and I am bound by my agreements, even more than you are. There are ways around it, it wouldn't kill me to do so, but, were I to do so, I would be executed, and rightly so, either by Quill, Maude, and Vey. Or when we got back to New Avalon for my crimes. Just as any in this Caravan knows that, if they were to sell out their fellow Caravanner, their deaths would not be slow, for Betrayal is the worst crime of all, and Deserves No Mercy."

Which… actually was somewhat comforting.

"So," Dylan offered, feeling lost, "I guess we don't need to worry about running out of [Job] slots anytime soon?"

That got a chuckle out of Hark, breaking the almost electric atmosphere, as his Presence receded once more. "Given that you could hold one hundred and eight different Iron equivalent [Job]s? No. No you do not. But, Mr. Malik, you are not to fill any more Mana Crystals, because Outlanders, in particular, pick up the [Mana Battery] [Job] very quickly, and your having it, be it from your reactions, or a Bronze or above being able to detect it, given its specificity, would invite scrutiny that… I'd say you would not survive, but the issue is that you would, understood?"

"Y-Yes, Sir!" Dylan's roommate stammered. "Um, I got it by trying to figure out how to fill the crystals better, so, uh, should everyone just let it happen without focusing on it?"

"That is how most do it," Hark remarked. "But… Outlanders. I'd say it's both comforting and worrying that the stories were accurate. Now, if you'll excuse me, I need to have a talk with my second in command about what, exactly, 'Complete Introduction' means to her, as it clearly is different than what I believed it to be."

 

[Stevil]

You are not the heros of this story, right now you are just a resource.

I love this trope.
Fuck Kyle.

 

[Rotceh]

Good work I love this fic es