45 – Old Rules

Over the next two hours, I interviewed ten guards. The conversations weren’t anything notable, learning a bit more about their life circumstances and releasing them with a small raise.

By now, the fact that I was increasing people’s pay had spread, so everyone was much less nervous to talk to me. They were growing eager instead. Sure, one copper a day wasn’t much of an improvement, but it could be the difference that shaved the ‘barely’ off of ‘barely enough to live’. It also added up to over three and a half silver per year, a not insignificant extra sum.

Most of the guards I talked to had a common backstory – they were the second or later sons of their families and thus wouldn’t inherit their fathers’ trade. Since they were physically fit, working as a guard was an opportune, well paying job. It also came with some authority compared to other work.

This last factor was a little worrying, the whole adage of ‘those who crave power being least worthy of actually having it’ and all, but so far there hadn’t been any apparent issues. The local town was probably too small to get away with overstepping boundaries. If everyone was more or less familiar with everyone else, it would be hard to not accidentally extort another guard’s family or acquaintances.

Even if that wasn’t what happened, becoming known as someone who acted in such a way would quickly lead to social repercussions. For people who would likely never leave their place of birth – unless they were called to war, in which case returning alive would be the issue – being shunned by their neighbors was one of the worst things that could happen.

Of course, traveling foreigners didn’t have this communal protection, but that’s where the second big factor came in. That factor’s name was Lars. Where Kalin hadn’t been the slightest bit interested in managing the town, Lars was a man of principles. Crossing him wasn’t a good idea.

Apparently, a few years ago there had been someone who thought it was a good idea to abuse his power as a guard in Kalin’s employ to enrich himself. Lars heard of it and now that man was no longer with us.

It was during a time where Kalin preferred to be more alcohol than man, so he didn’t even notice. Lars and the former steward handled the trial and public execution of the would-be lawman bandit swiftly. Not a solution I personally enjoyed, but neither was the crime easily forgivable.

And the penalty for banditry was death.

Speaking cynically and leaving aside the ethical issues of unchecked oppression of the population by the people supposedly in charge of protecting them, it wasn’t a good image to condone robbing traders or other travelers. Such rumors reduced traffic to the region, which wasn’t great for such a remote town. Most of the ironware used here was imported for example, since there were no mines nearby. While there was a blacksmith in town, his main job was repairing or adjusting existing tools. He had some supply of raw metal to work with, but that was similarly imported.

All that to say I wasn’t too worried about my men abusing their positions. Still, it was something to keep an eye on, just in case.

As the day progressed into afternoon proper, I interviewed another five guards. Unlike the previous ten, these were the ‘old guard’ – ha – of my armed men. The oldest, a man of slightly over forty years, had been here before Kalin. Said old-timer was still quite fit, so he’d remain in service for a while longer.

Retiring was an issue. When people got too old to properly work, they better have a family to care for them, or they’d likely not live long once whatever savings they had ran out. The temple helped feed the poor to an extent, but that didn’t keep people clothed, nor warm during the winter.

Interestingly, the old veteran had a son who was in his twenties. This son also worked as a guard for me, though he was currently assigned to the town guard house.

Attrition of my men at arms wasn’t unbearably high, but it was far from zero. The main cause of deaths or crippled survivors was of course the winter.

Not much else happened that required armed force most years. But when the beasts became restless and left the comfort of their forest dens, it could easily happen that one or two men fell in defense of the town. And that was during a good year. If a powerful monster emerged and Lars wasn’t close by to deal with it, victory was paid for with a steep price of blood.

At least I learned that crippled survivors among my men weren’t just kicked out onto the street. Someone – I doubted very much that it was Kalin – had implemented a form of pension for such cases, as well as for the families of deceased soldiers. It wasn’t the same amount as the original pay, so times would be hard, but at least it didn’t leave them to completely fend for themselves.

Something I’ll have to address when it becomes relevant. Let’s hope that it’s not this year.

One big upside to the rather monotonous interviews was the obvious – blood.

Just the fifteen guards I’d interviewed had added up to around three liters of the life juice in total, even with only taking a single glass’ worth from each. Considering humans averaged between five and six liters blood volume, that was a lot. I also got to sample a wide variety of flavors while at it.

It was pure conjecture at this point, but I might be able to taste the different blood types. Among the varied aromas associated with different people, there were a few repeating similarities. Ones I couldn’t explain aside from blood type being the cause. Not that I was at all certain of this idea.

This consideration distracted me a bit when the last interview was wrapped up. If what I tasted really was blood types, which tasted best? The answer was hard to determine. While there was a notable difference – I had detected it, after all – the differing flavors were just that. Variety.

Either way, there was no negative reaction from mixing blood in my body, so it was a bit of a moot point. By now I was feeling properly full. Or sated, rather. I can still drink more, a voice in the back of my mind was telling me. I did my best to ignore it beyond noting the information.

Not that I hadn’t known I could consume more than this amount of blood at once. I’d done just that back in the tower after first waking up. But that blood had been far more inert. My best guess as to the cause indicated some facet of the ritual itself was to blame.

For now, I was flush in vitality, my strengthening running at full tilt. Still not a noticeable change, but it was definitely doing something good.

Taking a break before calling for the next person, I did something I just realized would have been smart to do earlier. I headed over to my room and retrieved Anaster’s book from the desk. With the amount of blood I was drinking, even without being fresh from the vein, I was taking in a substantial amount of mana as well.

At the very least enough to refill myself.

So, I put that metaphysical fuel to use by opening the book. Once I’d taken a seat in my comfortable plush chair again of course. As the cover flipped open, I stopped in surprise.

Unlike the previous layout, with a single space for my thumb to receive a reminder-jolt, the page showed the multi-spot puzzle from the beginning. There were less spaces this time though. It was for my right hand.

A quick probe confirmed the existence of only a single set of places to put my fingers. Less than a minute after opening the book, the puzzle was cleared already. I was also less than half empty, hazy as my perception of this fact still was.

Did passing the puzzle before qualify me to no longer need the basic reminder every time? That seemed the likely answer.

As before, the page reconfigured to a single long space down the middle, surrounded by a messy tangle of metal lines. Placing my thumb at the top, I focused my mind for what I had to do.

This page obviously wanted me to trace a line down it in one motion. Further assumptions included the line having to be unbroken, which would be a challenge.

I could eject mana out through my fingers. The puzzle I’d just now solved proved it. But that was more of an unguided push than anything. Making a coherent line would need far more control, maintaining not only a continuous output, but also pacing myself so that I didn’t burn through my reserves before the end.

With a deep, steadying breath, I exerted my will. The mana flowed almost readily, now that the channels were active. Moving my finger simultaneously was a big issue, I immediately noticed.

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By now there was barely any vertigo from moving my mana out. But that only applied when I stayed otherwise still. Once I tried dragging my thumb down the page, there was a massive disconnect.

The closest comparison I could come up with for the mental block was that challenge to pat your head with one hand and move the other in a circle on your stomach. Just orders of magnitude more difficult.

Any time I moved, my concentration on the flow of mana broke. And when the mana moved as I wanted, I held still. A dark circle was growing on the page, mana staining the ‘fabric’ as it bled out of me. My head was developing a nice headache. Finally, right before mana exhaustion would set in, I stopped and pulled my hand back.

Wow, that is a strong mental block. Also, I really wish I could sleep. My head is killing me.

Now that I was no longer trying to split my mind in half, the headache had changed from piercing agony to a mere thumping, pressure-based pain. Still very ‘pleasant’. I didn’t look forward to my rapidly approaching second set of training with Lars in the evening. Nor the remaining interviews.

With a frown, I emptied my cup. At least the headache abated a bit when I was no longer so close to empty. It was still there in the background though.

I’ll just have to treat it as ‘muscle’ pain from training. Maybe that’ll put a positive spin on it. I’ve often heard it said that the brain is effectively a muscle that needs exercise anyway, right?