The Hated Hero and His Sigils of Ancient Power

The floating scroll unrolled further downward, revealing more unwritten space. The quill continued:

The area will be darkened and the crystals illuminated for a better viewing experience.

The quill disappeared after it had written its last message. The scroll rolled back up and disappeared following the quill. A bottle containing about a liter of glowing red liquid floated about a hair's length above the already graying floor and descended as slow as a falling feather.

"That must be the healing potion." Immanuel bent down to—

He sprang back upright, his heart pounding. "Wait, wasn't I hurting everywhere earlier?"

The pristine white cleric's robe was a stark contrast to his arms, which still looked the same as it was since the explosions. "And how did I get a change of clothing?"

He felt the cleric's robe on his person. It had neither stain nor tear. He balled his hands, stomped the floor, and did a few squats. No pain. Not even mild discomfort except for the mild leg tension associated with squats.

"Unbelievable," he hissed his remark. "I've got a change of clothes, and these burns don't sting anymore even if I've not yet consumed the potion!"

A glowing scroll appeared, floating above the potion bottle. Immanuel frowned, annoyed at its presence this time.

"My apologies, but all this is already so much for me to take in. I would rather not get an explanation from a scroll this time."

The floating scroll disappeared. Immanuel stepped forward and picked up the healing potion bottle. "The ancestors offered me a healing potion. I shall consume it even if my burns don't hurt this time. It was offered to me for a reason."

The glowing liquid tasted like strawberry juice, but had the texture of water. It was only when he had taken a sip of the potion that it dawned on him that he had not hydrated himself since the encounter with The Hunter. He drank the contents without pause.

As he was about to set the bottle down on the gray floor, he jumped at the sight of things he never expected. In front of him lay his two-handed sword and his utility belt. The pouches for explosives and throwing daggers were attached to the utility belt.

"No scrolls to explain what's going on please, just as I had nicely requested earlier, alright?" And thus no scroll appeared.

The sword looked like it had never been scratched in combat. As for the utility belt and the attached pouches, they looked like they had just come out of the tannery.

Let's say I could keep these things in the same state until the end of the test, would those in the real world take on the appearances of these ones?

The strawberry taste still in his mouth brought Immanuel's attention back to his body. New layers of meat and skin crawled over him—layers that were not only restorations as they also enhanced his appearance.

The new skin layers were without sores and scars. They also changed Immanuel's complexion, making him seem like he had never been exposed to the elements throughout his life so far.

Immanuel rubbed his palms and fingers together. Nothing about their textures changed—they still felt rough.

"Nice! My sword calluses are back!" With Immanuel fully restored and ready for the next test, he strapped his sword and utility belt to his person and sat on the floor with crossed legs.

Time to enjoy the show, as the collective of ancestral spirits decreed.

The area had gone from white to black, and whatever light sources illuminated everything that needed his attention had gone out, except, perhaps, for one. Like the others, he could not ascertain that light's origin point, but it illuminated the aimlessly floating crystal pieces around him, and, strangely, only those, creating a magnificent, mesmerizing, and relaxing light show that reminded Immanuel of a cloudless sky.

A scroll floated in front of him. This one did not glow, and it unrolled without the need for Immanuel to reach out to it. Light illuminated the unwritten space, and the quill materialized to write Immanuel a message.

Rest here a while. You had been through so much in your life lately.

"I sure will."

After a while, some of the crystalline pieces picked up speed and struck other pieces, creating a series of delicate, tinkling sounds that, altogether, formed a peaceful, ethereal melody that matched the light show. The struck pieces then picked up speed and flew into other pieces, adding a response to the melody, completing it.

Having seen enough of how the crystal pieces danced in midair and listened to their music long enough to sense a pattern as to how it went, Immanuel rolled up both sleeves of the white robe. On both shoulders were his new sigils, and they glowed purple.

On his left shoulder was a mark composed of swirls and curves that brought the eye to the middle, which had not even a dot or line on it. Immanuel recognized this symbol as the Manhole Sigil.

And on his right shoulder was his third sigil, a plant-themed one. The center piece of the symbol was of two thick vines intertwined with each other. This one was the Reach Sigil.

"Where would the priests inscribe the rest of the sigils, I wonder. Would they cover the rest of the arms or would they go with my back and belly?"

Having recalled an earlier message, he thought of creative and efficient ways to use his three sigils in combat. He pulled out a throwing dagger and, while admiring how the colored lights glinted against its unblemished surface, Immanuel imagined attaching the Reach Sigil's power to the dagger to give it range and remove the need to release his hold on it in the event a long-distance kill is needed. He also thought he could use the same combination to drop an enemy into a summoned manhole.

He also recalled The Hunter's story and considered how he could use a summoned manhole to trick enemies into believing they had the upper hand. He chuckled as he imagined pulling in enemies to death from the depth of the manhole.

Or, if an enemy were tough to defeat, he'd summon a manhole under them and toss grenades and daggers into the hole for a quick end to the fight. If he couldn't afford to waste daggers on a kill, he could attach one to the Reach Sigil's power and strike that same tough enemy with it until it falls.

Immanuel lay. The ancestors told him to rest, after all, and just sitting down with crossed legs won't suffice. With his head on his arms, his mind raced with more ideas for combinations and potential uses for his sigils.

Being the experienced fighter, Immanuel found it ironic that running combat scenarios in his mind while at rest no longer roused him to the point of restlessness. In fact, at times, when he could only toss and turn where he lay to rest, as was happening at that moment, he imagined himself in combat with beings conjured by his imagination.

Even when Immanuel had, at last, fulfilled the order to rest, the crystalline pieces still danced and played their melody around him. The unknown light source still illuminated them, and colorful lights still circled him even as he slept.

—

An man clad in elegant, almost regal clothes and an ornate metal chestplate shook Immanuel awake. The latter rubbed his eyes and, when he saw the man's elegance, he rose to kneeling position and offered to shake his hand, noticing that he did not reach out to offer a handshake.

The man in blue elegant garb gestured to decline the offer of a handshake, but smiled at Immanuel anyway. "Formalities are not necessary."

Immanuel put his hand down and smiled back at the man, albeit with hesitation on his face. It wasn't hard to notice his appearance. Besides the illumination throughout the area, the room was once again pristine white. The crystalline pieces were nowhere to be found.

"You and I may have come from different backgrounds, but we're not really different," said the man in blue.

Immanuel backed his head away in confusion. And to what extent are we alike, exactly?

"You are Immanuel Maier. Soldier, yes?"

Immanuel's eyes widened in confusion as he gave a slow nod in response.

"Here, I am The Boy King. I may have come from royalty, but I am a soldier by heart."

And this is how I get close to a king! Not even the Hierophant's gonna believe I met King Mercurius in this realm! Immanuel's heart pounded, remembering what he knew about the hero behind the monicker. Despite how his political council referred to him as a boy king, having demonstrated uncanny leadership potential ever since infancy, he took the Kingdom's reins after his father's death already a handsome, grown man. In fact, he was a general before he was king—the battle scar that ran from forehead down his cheek, passing his left eye, was proof of how close he was to the front lines before assuming the throne.

His heart pounded. His breathing hastened. His jaws tremored. His hands shook.

Why is he here?

Which of the sigils I don't have yet will he be testing me for? Plagiarism? Explosive Clone? Breakthrough?

I was sure it was written that he was never gifted with mana in life.

But there persisted rumors of him having done the impossible in combat. As to what they were exactly…

"Please relax, soldier." The Boy King lay both hands on Immanuel's shoulders to ease his nervousness, neither grasping nor shaking them. But it worsened instead—Immanuel's face turned white as a sheet, and his shaking intensified.

Realizing what he had done, The Boy King sighed, looked down, and shook his head in disappointment as he backed away from Immanuel.

"Ever since taking the throne, people feared my presence, believing that I had become a different man by becoming king," The Boy King lamented.

Then he tossed a question Immanuel's way. "In the era you came from, do people still fear the king?"

"Yes, Your Majesty."

The Boy King stood. "How unfortunate. I made myself the best example of the reforms I desired—that those in power must serve, rather than be served. But it is pathetic that those who have come after us let their lust for power consume them instead.

"Do you fear your king, Maier?"

Immanuel looked down to address thoughts that stirred in his mind that very instant.

Right, I never considered the king's possible involvement in the scheme to take my wife from me. What if he were?

"Maier?" came the voice of The Boy King, startling him.

He rose and answered The Boy King. "I do not fear my king, Your Majesty."

"And why is that?"

"Because I can serve him well as one of the members of his military."

"And what of those who have nothing to offer him to start with, like, say, the poor who have no home? Should they fear him?"

"No, Your Majesty. As you said, the royals and nobles should use their office to serve."

The Boy King placed a hand on the grip of the longsword strapped to his waist. "By that argument, nobody, including yourself, should fear the king. And yet, deep inside, your greatest fear is becoming useless."

Immanuel leaned forward in interest. Go on…

"How else does one explain your terror when I introduced myself as a king? The only sensible explanation is because deep inside, you know you have nothing that my office needs."

The Boy King paced from one side to another. "Fighting skills? In this realm, that is not necessary, despite my office persisting even beyond the claws of death. You are useless to me, Maier, and that is why you fear me."

He's a man of great depth. "Your Majesty, if I may ask… why are we having this conversation?"

The Boy King adjusted the belt that secured his longsword to his waist. "There is more than one reason, actually. One, I am disappointed in the present state of affairs of your Kingdom, that nothing had changed since my father's time, despite all efforts at reform, all of which I had personally written."

He paused to think, then continued when he remembered the other reasons. "Second, because someone told me your story and why you wanted to acquire five more sigils."

There was another pause, but this one was shorter than the previous one. "You may be great in combat, but striking and defending aren't the only aspects to it, particularly when it comes to dealing with nobility who are supposed to be serving the masses. Well, you're in luck…"

The Boy King then drew his sword. "I am a king, and contrary to what had been written about me—and thus confirming persistent rumors spread through oral means throughout eras—I have indeed done unbelievable and impossible feats in combat."

He held the longsword with both hands and assumed a fighting stance. "Defeat me, and you will earn the lifetime right to use the Plagiarism, Explosive Clone, and Breakthrough sigils!"