The witch merchant stopped thinking Elian was handsome after he asked for a discount. But she did have a potion that gave a thousand Attack Power, stowed in an enchanted safe at the back of her store. He left her shop with his bag of coins much lighter.

  Not too concerned about the cost since he expected more money after Thorren sold their loot. A show of trust that Elian would wait for his share. If Thorren had greedy motives, he could’ve left Elian to die and take all their loot for himself, including the Spectral Fairy Azaleas. The fact that the Rakhonite braved the dangers of the Forbidden Temple and returned with help proved his honorable nature.

  I should have a safe container for this potion, Elian thought, examining the viscous, deep red liquid that shimmered under the sun.

  Though the witch merchant assured him the glass vial was magically reinforced and battle-ready—that was part of the cost—he went to look for a padded leather pouch. He’d probably fit a wooden or metal frame inside to slot in vials for more protection. Instead of worrying about equipment that was less durable than his bare skin, he only had to think about one small bottle.

  He grimaced, remembering the fulgurate oil bottle that broke inside his bag—an expensive purchase he didn’t get to use. Applying it on his Jawbreaker Knuckles and helmet might’ve saved them from getting destroyed by the Grumpbeing’s teeth.

  But how could he have known they’d get attacked? No opportunity to use the fulgurate oil after the Grumpbeing’s scream.

  This was the downside of relying on potions for added Armor—he had to drink them to gain their effects. It wasn’t like he’d always have time to prepare; the Grumpbeing showed that. On the other hand, he’d already be wearing armor and weapons if an unexpected enemy pops up.

  “So, always expect an enemy, huh?” Elian asked a stray ringko. The small cat-like creature looked up at him, a fishbone dangling from its mouth. “Right? Drink potions whenever there’s even a tiny hint of danger.”

  That plan necessitated lots of potions and lots of money to buy them. Not an easy solution, but quite straightforward. Potion overdosing wouldn’t be too much of a concern because of the Abyssal Eye’s Curse if his interpretation of it was correct.

  Elian hadn’t yet called his Tribulation for the day. He’d test the Attack Power potion later. Should he use his cleaver for more Attack Power? A surprise that a kitchen knife survived everything he’d been through.

  Given his Curses, wielding weapons combined with Attack Power potions was the optimum combo for copious amounts of Armor. That circled back to the issue of equipment surviving a Tribulation, especially the stronger future ones. The Champion Penitent’s way of sacrificing gear every Tribulation wouldn’t work for Elian. The effect of the potions wouldn’t get removed, but if the first strike destroyed his weapon and armor, the second strike would hit much harder.

  And what about actual fights? He’d need well-crafted equipment made from highly durable materials to stand in front of danger. Money issues. Again. In his coin-strapped state—for the short term, hopefully—buff potions were best. It wasn’t like he could… wait.

  “I can go unarmed,” he told the ringko that decided to follow him.

  The ringko tilted its head right and raised a leg, pawing the air. He took that to mean it agreed with him.

  Or it just wanted food.

  The War Monastery had various Fist Forms that increased Attack Power when fighting without weapons. Should have some Boons related to it from their deity, Divine Commander Cael. But since Elian couldn’t deal damage with his attacks, he couldn’t train the war monks’ techniques in the conventional sense. Would they even accept him as a student?

  Add that to the things to research later. There had to be alternatives.

  Elian wrapped up his business at the Cauldron, buying a pouch for his potion and a meat skewer for the ringko. He almost forgot to buy a notebook and charcoal nibs for writing.

  The temple on the central hill was his next destination.

  “This might be the Three Gates of Acuity.” Elian stepped back to appreciate the beauty of the ten-foot-tall double doors made of glossy wood and inlaid with veins of bluish ores to highlight the carving of a man sitting cross-legged with dozens of arms in various poses.

  Was this depiction supposed to be the Hundred-Armed Magistrate?

  Following Priest Thalman’s instructions, Elian entered the left wing of the temple and descended the first staircase he saw. The library was beneath the building, the priest had told him. Elian looked for people who might be heading to the library—those carrying scrolls and books, those with serious, don’t-disturb-me expressions, those with glasses. His method wasn’t very scientific, but he somehow reached this door.

  He knocked on it, confirming it was wood. This should’ve been made recently. A wooden door couldn’t have survived centuries in this pristine condition unless it was protected by magic. In contrast, the archway looked ancient, the stone blocks lining it etched with runes he was certain he should recognize.

  “The symbols on the Magistrate’s bracelet?” The deity’s hand inside the middle tower of the temple wore a golden bracelet around its severed wrist. Not an exact match, but these runes were very close to it. “Have I seen them elsewhere before?”

  The door opened a few inches, and an annoyed woman peeked out. She had an elaborate hairstyle balanced on top of her head that swayed as she spoke. “Were you the one who knocked?”

  “Yes, I am. Is this the Three Gates of Acuity?”

  “If you’re going to ask if there are two other doors, then you’re out of luck because I don’t know.”

  “That’s not—”

  “If you’re asking what the word ‘Acuity’ means, then we have several dictionaries written by renowned scholars inside the library.”

  “The library! I’m here to research. Not the meaning of ‘Acuity’ though.”

  The woman sighed, her hair structure dangerously tipping forward. “You should’ve simply entered. A knock on this door echoes inside the hall. They should’ve replaced this door with something else.” She opened the door wide. “I want to place a sign, but they won’t let me. Ruins the beauty of the art piece, they always say.”

  Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

  Elian walked through the doors and stepped onto a landing. On the right side was a table—the woman’s station. In front of him, past the wooden railings, was a vast library dug deep into the ground. Platforms carved into the rock held rows and rows of book-filled cabinets. People went from one platform to the next on floating discs.

  “My name is Marielle,” the woman said, her expression turning friendly as the door closed. “Navigating this library is difficult for newcomers, so don’t hesitate to ask me what you’re looking for.”

  “Plenty of topics I want to study,” Elian said. “I want to start with the lost catfolk. Seeing the ruins of their civilization scattered all over the hills piqued my interest.”

  An innocuous enough start. He wouldn’t immediately ask for material on the catfolk binding seals. That might draw some suspicion. He had to work his way there.

  Marielle tilted her head back and forth as if processing data in her head. Her stack of hair swayed in turn. “The catfolk? Are you sure you don’t want to research how to survive the Tribulation? I have introductory references prepared here.”

  “Taking a break from thinking about Tribulations,” Elian said as nonchalantly as he could. “Later, I’ll get to it. For now, I want to satisfy my curiosity as a form of relaxation. Do you have something about their history?”

  Some truth in his words. He was genuinely curious about the cat people’s fate.

  Marielle gave Elian a paper of books he should look for. She also instructed him how to navigate the hundreds of shelves and use the floating disc. It wasn’t as hard as he thought. Ten minutes later, he rode a disc to the platform floating in the middle of the library full of tables and chairs. More than twenty other people were there, hiding behind tall stacks of books as they researched how to not get squished.

  The books Elian read all agreed that the catfolk were long gone before any human explorer set foot in the area. But they differed on the reasons.

  The Rise and Fall of the Feline Imperica, penned by Ackerly Quilt, an author Elian had read before, claimed the catfolk were decimated by war. But the Essay on the Mistakes of Ackerly Quilt, written by a rival author, argued that sites of ancient wars pointed to the catfolk winning, even conquering large swathes of rival civilizations. Giant hand-shaped imprints on excavated fortifications of their enemies abound.

  “They used Tribulations to attack? And here I was, thinking my idea is new.” Elian chuckled, interrupting the silence and attracting glares from other tables.

  Sidetracked by this tidbit, he read about how the catfolk conducted warfare. Ruins showed the use of multiple Tribulations to bring down walls and magical defenses.

  Multiple? On the same spot… Something about the way the ruins were compacted led researchers to this conclusion.

  Elian sat straighter, questions swirling in his head. Were these several Tribulations or multiple strikes of one Tribulation? The latter seemed more plausible. Difficult to organize several people to call down their respective Tribulations on the same spot while in the middle of a freaking siege.

  And how would the Penitent wall-breaker survive the Tribulation strong enough to smash walls and the enemies trying to stop them? Only one answer—they didn’t. The author theorized they were most likely criminals sentenced to death. Too huge a waste to send willing warriors.

  But why would a prisoner, knowing he’d die, cooperate with the catfolk army?

  “They’re using Cursed Penitents…” Elian muttered in revulsion. It wasn’t stated in the book, but there was a single way in his mind the catfolk could’ve pulled this off.

  Filling in the blanks the author omitted, perhaps intentionally, Elian imagined the catfolk keeping criminals Cursed by the Hundred-Armed Magistrate in underground prisons. They’d help the criminals get through several Tribulations to strengthen the strike, but beyond that, it was a waste of resources.

  On the day of the battle, the criminals would be packed inside secure carriages or maybe boxes with no openings. Reaching the enemy walls, the Cursed criminals would be catapulted at it, whether by siege engines or magically. Tribulations would descend from the sky—the sacrificial wall-breaker didn’t call for this; rather, it was the owed Tribulations for how many days they evaded the Curse. A low-level Cursed Tribulation could deal a lot of damage if it was going to descend a whole lot of times. It might even get stronger the more days it went ‘unpaid’ to the Magistrate.

  Elian closed the Hand of Ancient War, disturbed by the practices of the catfolk as if the blood sacrifices and self-flagellation weren’t enough.

  Maybe it was for the best their civilization was destroyed.

  Still intent on finding any lead about their runes, Elian continued reading books. There were other theories, such as diseases, famine, and magical disasters. An interesting one was their rituals gone wrong. The scholar Nehu Sharnu explored the sites of these rituals he called Blood and Pain Sacraments and found clues of terrible damage and thousands of catfolk bones. He didn’t elaborate much on what he thought actually happened. Researching further, Elian couldn’t find any other mention of the Blood and Pain Sacraments.

  Elian asked Marielle about it—it was a very interesting topic, he reasoned—but the titles she gave didn’t elaborate much on it. He could be imagining it, but she seemed to avoid the topic.

  “I’ve heard that High Priest Ambrose Tolland is an expert on the catfolk.” Elian was back on Marielle’s platform. “Are his writings available here?”

  “Many are,” she replied, scribbling yet another list of titles for him to look up. She was becoming short with him. “Others are in the restricted area. There are halls further down only Penitents with higher tiered Boons can enter.”

  Sure enough, Elian didn’t find anything useful in the books written by the high priest available to him.

  Giving up on finding leads on how to break the sealed ring for now, Elian switched his research to strategies for surviving Tribulations. Marielle was delighted he stopped with his weird topics.

  Before she could offer the standard introductory references for the sixth time, Elian asked, “Do you have some sort of compilation of the strategies used by Champion Penitents? Summaries for each one I can easily peruse. Then I’ll pick those that suit me the most and focus on researching that.”

  “We have such a catalog.” Marielle wrote the platform he should go to. “Each volume contains around fifty years of data for the notable Champion Penitents living in that period.”

  Elian opened the latest volume, started with the last page, the most recent records, and read backward. He had a few criteria for deciding which strategies to pursue.

  For starters, it shouldn’t require traveling to extremely dangerous or far away locations. That was an unnecessary risk and a waste of precious time he could spend on something more immediately impactful. The method of obtaining the skill, item, or Bestowal also shouldn’t be too difficult or take a long time to accomplish. Preferable if he had heard of the strategy before.

  “Protector Konshari…” Elian wrote in his newly bought notebook with a charcoal nib wrapped in hardened gum. Out of the first ten Champion Penitents discussed in the book, eight had the Boon offered by Protector Konshari.

  When Elian first visited the marketplace of Vigor Hill, a merchant offered him a leather vest with a Konshari enchantment. He couldn’t recall the exact details, but it was something along the lines of added Armor when standing one’s ground. That was how the actual Boon of Protector Konshari worked, but with way better benefits. Perfect for Tribulations and would synergize well with Rejuvenating Roots since he couldn’t move while healing himself.

  Protector Konshari resided in the Barony of Durthane.

  Elian pushed aside books to reveal the surface of the table that was a map. Quite far on foot. But if he took a boat from Sarnival Port, tracing the coastline southward, he’d be there in a week.

  “Yep, this should be my next destination,” Elian said. “Very near my original plan.”

  From the Barony of Durthane marked on the map, Elian’s eyes traveled seaward to a large island with several towns on it. This was part of the territory of Pollion Kingdom and the site of the second Giant landing. Some chroniclers posit that Stormfell Island might also be the first location of the Giant-constructed portal to their mainland.

  If true, the defense of Stormfell Island would be more important than Sarnival Port.