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Chapter 4: The Stroll and the Depths

After the events in the yard, one certainty became absolute: I would have to stomach my sword-training routine with Instructor Garrick. My father had already laid down the law on that. I would start studying tactics and doing physical exercises with the red-haired brute. On one hand, this aligned perfectly with my cellular strengthening plans; on the other, my former university professor mindset begged for theoretical knowledge. I felt my brain rusting away in that stone castle.

I waited for the dead of night, when the corridor torches were dimmed and silence dominated the fortress. According to the manga stories I used to read back on Teia, any self-respecting castle should have a grand library filled with ancient grimoires and ancestral maps. Driven by this naive expectation, I sneaked into my father's study.

My disappointment was crushing.

What I found was just a single, rustic wooden shelf with half a dozen dusty books. I wanted to cry. What did I expect from a border lord focused on containing invasions? The man only had military campaign manuals. I sighed, but decided that all information was valid. I picked up a terribly drawn cartographic map—which barely indicated the terrain's elevations—and a treatise on infantry tactics. However, in the corner of the shelf, I found a gem: an introductory book on the Magic Weave, explaining the basic concepts of mana and the elements. The only problem? It was an illustrated textbook for noble children. An edition like that must have cost a fortune in this world without moveable-type printing presses, which made me waver between laughing at the irony or crying at the quality of the material. I accepted what I had. Information is power, no matter if it comes with colorful drawings of little fairies.

Two weeks passed in this methodical routine. My mornings and afternoons were filled with exhausting physical training and secret psychic exercises, where I forced my Telekinesis to move larger and larger wood splinters. Lunches and dinners with my parents served to map the court's behavior. At night, I devoured the few books I had. My scientific diagnosis was positive: Psychometry and Telekinesis were stabilizing, and Kaelen's body was recovering from the poisoning at record speed thanks to psychic cellular acceleration.

Until, on a sunny morning, my mother called me for a stroll. Sylvia was visibly anxious, her eyes tense. Master Alistair's verdict that I was a "mana-deprived aberration" had deeply shaken her. Walking through the courtyards, I twisted my small fingers on the inside, praying they weren't taking me to a medieval exorcism ritual. First, because it wouldn't work, since I wasn't a demon; second, because it would be a massive embarrassment to go through that.

When we stepped out toward the outer courtyard, I spotted the carriage. And, standing right beside it, the traitorous coachman.

*It's time,* I thought, deciding to put my psychological plan into action.

As the man approached to open the vehicle's door, I widened my eyes, faking terror. I recoiled abruptly, grabbing tightly onto the skirts of Sylvia's dress. I made my body tremble by fractions of a millimeter and pointed my finger at the coachman, breathing heavily. The traitor furrowed his brow, caught completely off guard, making a face of pure incomprehension and confusion.

Sylvia looked at me, torn between surprise and doubt. She quickly picked me up in her arms, settling me inside the dark carriage. As soon as she slammed the leather doors shut, isolating us from the outside, she gently held my cheeks.

"Kaelen... did something happen? Why did you react like that?"

I seized the opening and used my childish vocal cords to stammer the planned phrase, injecting as much innocence and fear as I could simulate:

"S-Scared... Bad... man..."

Sylvia's expression changed instantly. A shadow of severe suspicion crossed her eyes, but she was a shrewd noblewoman; she tried not to show her shock so as not to alarm me. She simply swallowed hard, smoothed my hair, and changed the subject, ordering the carriage to move out.

Our first stop was an establishment that looked like a cross between an antique shop and a curiosity shop in the center of the fortress-city. The place smelled of incense and old metal. We were greeted by a sharp-eyed, middle-aged woman. From what I could decipher of the drawn-out dialogue between her and my mother, Sylvia was desperately looking for some protective amulet or rune against family curses.

While they were negotiating, my geeky eyes spotted a pile of ancient tomes at the back of the shop. I approached, pulled one out, and pointed at the pages, looking at my mother.

"Can... read?" I asked, my voice coming out clumsy.

Sylvia froze, staring at me as if I had grown wings. The shop owner leaned over the counter, curious.

"You... you can read, my son?" Sylvia stammered, startled by the precocious intellectual capacity of a six-year-old child who could barely speak after the trauma.

I nodded firmly. Sylvia's shock melted into tears of pride and happiness. She knelt down and gave me a loud kiss on the cheek, tears rolling down.

"Go... go find a book that isn't too expensive, my love," she said, her voice choking up.

I forced a tight, innocent child-prodigy smile, but on the inside, I was jumping for joy. Finally, real literature! Far away from my father's war manuals or childish drawings of fairies. I ransacked the shelves until I found a thick volume with a worn leather cover and handed it to my mother.

Instantly, Sylvia's face soured, and the old woman raised her eyebrows in surprise. The book's title dealt with the biological mapping of monsters, planar creatures, and the hostile races of that world.

"Kaelen... why do you want to know about monsters and savage races?" my mother asked, her voice trembling.

I waved the book in the air with feigned enthusiasm, trying to look like just a young boy fascinated by boogeyman stories. They seemed to relax at my childish acting. It was at that moment that the shop owner leaned over and whispered something to my mother in a very low tone, of which I could only catch the end: "...take him there. If it doesn't work, bring him back here."

Sylvia nodded gravely, paid for the goods, and we left. Our next stop was the city's central market. We walked flanked by an escort of two heavily armored guards. That excessive protection severely restricted my movements and my scientific analyses, but it allowed me to notice something important: the local population bowed and smiled with genuine respect upon seeing my mother. Arl and Sylvia seemed to be just rulers, loved by their people.

On the other hand, the urban experience remained a test of endurance for my Teia stomach. The stench of mount manure mixed with the foul odor of open black sewage ditches, completely lacking any basic sanitary treatment. By the edge of the muddy river, washerwomen beat clothes under wretched conditions. I gave a long mental sigh. Where is the magic in this wonderful medieval setting that manga authors so heavily defended? I demand a lawsuit against all of them... please, give me back my technological air filters!

My modern laments were cut short when the carriage pulled up before a grey stone structure at the highest point of the district. A small local church, adorned with holy symbols of a deity I did not know.

I looked at the Gothic facade, at the statues of saints, and at the solemn silence emanating from those wooden doors. I felt an uncomfortable shiver run up my spine—the spine of a former slave to planar gods.

I swallowed hard, looking at my mother who was pulling me by the hand toward the entrance.

*Oh, no...* I thought, scientific panic finally knocking on my door. *Now I'm really screwed.*