Confrontation

He focused on only three Spells for the moment, Splinter because it would be the most useful in a fight, Invigorating Touch because it was paramount to master for the Apprentice and Practitioner Spells, and Withering Touch to compensate for the life force he was expending.

Marrow Memory and Bone Bullet would have to wait until later. He didn't intend to just sit on his haunches for months on end, studying Spells. He couldn't do so even if he wanted to.

There was only so much he could learn from sapping yeast and throwing a blob of dark energy at nothing. He suspected that if he wanted to improve past the Apprentice rank, he'd need other targets to test his Spells on.

Morne cast both with and without incantations, feeling for differences between the two. Halfway through the next day he finally emptied his Chimh Well entirely, and waited a few hours for it to refill completely before continuing.

Along with gaining a better understanding of his Spells, he also felt his Chimh Well straining against its boundaries, trying to grow, and his Tower attempting to unlock its other floors.

Of course, neither happened since he was casting mere Novice-Grade Spells, but it urged him on nonetheless. The faster he reached Eme and could cast these Spells as Apprentice-Grade Spells, the faster he could start his journey to true power.

.......

Morne dropped the graying dough onto an empty plate, heaving a light sigh.

This dough wasn't the same dough he was using four days ago, it was new. He had started forfeiting the baked bread from his dinners in favor of the dough so he could continue his training.

The chicken legs and beans were enough to keep him satisfied, along with the breakfast that varied by the day, and he had to get change for a large silver after using it for a drink.

His hazel eyes went to the gaps in the wooden shutter on the window, and the soft light spilling into the room from without. He estimated it was around the twilight hours.

Today was the last day he'd have this room. He didn't intend to stay any longer after the four nights he had paid for upfront. He'd have to be out of here by noon tomorrow.

At the same time, he knew he could squeeze in a few more hours of work before he had to head to bed, so he picked up the dough again and threw himself back into training.

.......

Morne left the inn the next morning when the sun had just started to peek over the mountains in the distance.

He had no idea where to start searching for the second book. Ondethale wasn't as large as the Opyek Empire, but it was still far too large for one man to comb through on his own.

So, Morne started to search for a library or bookstore.

Knowing the Coltha, these books were probably hundreds of years old at the least, and their unique defense mechanism – the illegible words that formed whenever an unapproved viewer looked at the book – was sure to be remembered by those who laid eyes on them.

If it was in a long-forgotten ruin as Malcinson had suggested, then there might be a chance of the book being mentioned in history books or fairy tales.

And if it was in the hands of a private collector, perhaps the collector was the bragging sort, and mentioned it every time he had company. Who knows? Maybe he had even written a book on it.

Morne's thoughts were interrupted as he noticed a man who stood at the end of the street.

The man had a smug smirk on his face and eyes that raked over Morne like a farmer eyeing his prized cow. His clothes were no better than Morne's, but his hands were adorned with gaudy rings that sparkled in the light of the rising sun.

Other than him and Morne, this street was devoid of people, the backs of buildings on either side of them.

Morne tried to go around the man, only for the stranger to step to the side, blocking Morne's path.

Morne gave the man an unamused stare, which only caused the stranger's smirk to widen.

"You're a pretty big guy," the stranger said, the glint of metal appearing each time he opened his mouth.

Was his tongue… made of metal?

Morne grunted and tried to step around, only to be blocked again. His fingers twitched at the obstruction. He had little patience for such games.

"Hey, now, big guy," grinned the man. "I'm not done talking to you yet."

"Move," Morne said.

"Move?" chuckled the man. "Why would I do that? Could it be that you want to get away from those guys?"

The *snikt* of swords being drawn reached Morne's ears, and his eyes narrowed angrily.

"Why don't you stay and talk for a bit?" the stranger said, the menacing tone indicating that it wasn't a suggestion. It was a command. "I'm sure we have something to – GAH!"

Morne's fist slammed into the man's face, sending him stumbling back as blood splattered on the ground and the man's clothes.

Morne whirled around to face the others, only for two segmented lengths of steel cord to fly forward and wrap around his raised arms.

Morne hissed as tiny blades embedded in the cords cut into his flesh.

It didn't deter him for long, and he sprinted forward to the attacker on the left, who was less than twenty feet away.

He realized quickly, as the fourth and final attacker opened her mouth, that it wasn't swords that had made that noise.

As Morne ran forward, the metal tongue in this woman's mouth went from thick and short to thin and long like a frog's tongue, the metal scraping against itself producing a sound not dissimilar to that of drawing a sword.

That tongue flew out of her mouth just as the man on the right started to reel in his tongue, the sudden resistance tugging at Morne's arm and stalling him just long enough for the woman's tongue to reach its destination.

It stabbed into the flesh just below his collarbone, and Morne spied transparent green liquid coating the blades.

The man on the left reeled his tongue in taut, and the two circled around to Morne's sides, keeping his arms extended as the one he had punched wrapped his tongue around Morne's waist from behind.

It was over in seconds.

The woman retracted her tongue and walked forward, looking Morne up and down with a malicious glimmer in her eye.