Rags to Riches... Again
"Madds Heynard, Richard Sretch, Fate. First of all, I'd like to personally thank the three of you for going above and beyond your duties," the Empress started. "For carrying your fallen comrades back all this way, the two of you, Heynard and Sretch, have more than earned your promotions, should you ever advance Stages."
It was important to note that while the general rule of thumb was that the Guard's armor color denoted their Stage, it is not always so. One needed to earn their rank, and could just as easily remain a sergeant (the rank of Adepts) even if they advanced to the Master Stage. In fact, this was very common in the higher ranks of the guard, as the lieutenant and captain ranks were given only to the most trustworthy and dutiful of Guards.
At the same time, there were instances of Adepts stuck at the rank of private, those with nothing to show for their time but power. Such cases were extraordinarily rare, as anyone that incompetent was almost always simply removed from the Guard, but they did exist.
"As for you, Fate… I'm afraid there isn't much I can offer you. I'm not one to ignore the deeds of others, though, so I will offer what I can. For dealing with the imp scourge at great personal risk, slaying the imp shaman, and fighting thousands of imps entirely on your own, I will personally offer you a spot in my Guard upon graduation, should you choose to accept it.
"Moreover, I believe you are entitled to some other form of compensation for what you have gone through. Detention at my Academy is meant to be dangerous, but not the impossible task you conquered anyway. For this, I have deemed it fit to bequeath upon you a sum of two hundred and fifty gold coins, and official ownership of the sword you've taken from the imps' champion."
Fate straightened in his seat, eyes widening with shock. 'Two hundred and fifty gold coins!' That was enough to buy his house in Brergan twelve times over! Even a month of slaving away in Old Man Travis' shop only earned him one gold coin, and that was enough to put him in the middle class of his village!
Before the raise Old Man Travis had given him after his lashing – the old man felt that it was his fault for not paying Fate enough, something Fate vehemently denied – Fate had only earned three blue coins. While here in the big city, that was enough to feed oneself for a month, Brergan wasn't as industrialized as other villages and most couldn't afford the cost of using the teleportation pad.
Because of this, Brergan was essentially its own little world, where everyone got their own food from the wild or bought some from their neighbors. Many didn't catch any more than they needed, and the farmers sold off nearly all of their surplus to the other cities, so the latter option was quite expensive.
Fate had no chance of ever affording his own bow to hunt with, so his only option was to spend all of his coin on a monthly supply of food. After the raise, he was finally able to afford a new shirt or pair of pants once every other month, something he was endlessly grateful for.
All this went to say that Fate went from being dirt poor to someone able to buy 1/24th of his village in an instant. It was a mind-boggling fact that he couldn't wrap his head around, resulting in him staring at the Empress' face in the crystal ball for several minutes.
"Fate? Are you all right?" asked the Empress, revealing that this was a live transmission.
Fate couldn't help but get embarrassed, his cheeks and the tips of his ears burning as blood rushed into his face. "I-I apologize, Empress. Thank you for your generosity."
Jumping out of his chair, he bowed as deep as he could go, ignoring the twinge of the scar on his back as he bent at a forty-five-degree angle.
"Please, sit down," the Empress said, a touch of amusement audible in her voice. That mirth quickly vanished as Fate sat down, her expression one of gravity.
"Now, please produce the shaman's journal," she said.
"But my lady, I don't have it," Fate insisted. "I don't recall even recall seeing a book in that old mine, much less touching one."
"Your mind is muddled, I see. That's fine; your armor recorded everything. It should be in your left back pocket."
Fate scratched his head, standing once more to feel his posterior. "I didn't even know these pants had pockets… What the?"
He found the pocket and dug in, pulling out a leather-bound book the size of a palm. He blinked confusedly and started rifling through the pages, noticing that each word was so small he couldn't even make out the individual letters. Not that he could read them even if he could.
"That's strange," Fate said. "When did I get this?"
"It was during the use of your sword's berserk enchantment," Empress Settan explained patiently. "You seemed very out of it during that time, but you still remained lucid enough to pick the journal up when you chased a fleeing goblin into the shaman's room."
"But aren't berserk enchantments supposed to make you think only about killing?" Fate asked. "How could I do that in that state?"
"The world of Facets is a wide and mysterious one, Fate," the Empress told him, her gaze softening. "You are lucky it was an enchantment with a time limit. There are many a tale of men and women losing themselves in the madness of these enchantments until their deaths. There are also several tales of people that could speak and even write clearly in these states. It's best not to question it."
"You enrolled in Enchantment Development, Fate," Alessandra chimed in. "If you are truly curious, you can check the sword's lingering energy when you gain such knowledge. If you learn how to do so in time, of course."
"An excellent suggestion," the Empress said. "Now, please. Press the journal against this crystal ball."