"Jason, it is time that I get a mask."
"Bro, it took you long enough. All superheroes have masks and judging by the show you put on back there, you most definitely are one. Wait, Superman wears glasses. But, whatever. He is superman. You are more of the flash type."
"I don't know a single word you said. I would like to visit your world one day."
"Yeah. It is pretty fucking cool. At least compared to this shithole. Apart from the magic, of course."
"Wait, you don't have aether?"
"Yeah. We use a power called gasoline."
"Ahh. So only the name is different."
"Aeeeehhh. Yeah. Right. The name is different."
When he finally stepped out onto the street, he tried to blend in as best as he could and walk with the flow of people. After several minutes of following the crowd, he found a small antique shop and entered it. When he asked for traditional clown masks, he received a weird stare from the elderly shop owner. Still, the shop owner sold him a very crude mask for twenty coppers.
"Bro, why the fuck would you choose a clown mask? You could have chosen one of those northerner sacrificial masks. That would have been badass."
"I can't imagine a costume that would stand out more than one of those grotesque faces. The clown mask was the most inconspicuous of them all."
When he walked out of the store, he bumped into a street child. He dismissed the child but whirled around when the child whispered: "Sensei. Where are you? I thought I saw him go in here." while pressing his face against a small window. On closer inspection, he realized that the child he had dismissed was actually Brent. Res wanted to clear up this mess with the revolution and distance himself from them. If he wasn't the face of a rebellion, it might help to quell the bad blood with Trianon's criminal organization.
"Hey, Brent."
Brent whirled around like a lightning had hit him. "Who-o are-e you?", Brent stuttered. Res slid the mask halfway off and understanding dawned on Brent's face. "Sensei, we need your help. I am begging you. Please help us. We are done for." Brent began to cry and grabbed Res's sleeve in desperation. When Res looked in those puppy eyes, he couldn't object to such an innocent request.
"Fine. Do it quick." He could distance himself from all the trouble this revolution business brought in front of thousands of witnesses.
Brent's eyes alighted in joy. "Of course, sensei. Follow me."
Brent led him into an alley and Brent pushed away a manhole cover. Memories he wanted to forget surfaced in his mind. Memories of a bath in … Res forced down those memories and followed Brent into the stinking dark abyss. Brent followed complicated twists and turns, and Res was already suspecting treachery. Right before he wanted to leave through the next sewer's entrance, Brent told him they were there. A tunnel without a canal appeared on his right and Brent followed it. The path opened up into an enormous cavern supported by giant arches. The room was only that – a room. The only distinguishing feature were the two hundred children huddled around the room. When they entered the room, everyone looked up with faces of fear and hunger.
To Res, this motley assembly looked like two hundred starving children, not a 'revolution'. Brent announced with a radiant smile: "I have found him!"
Instead of the excitement Brent expected, he received only: "Why have you brought a clown? Don't tell me you spent money on him."
Brent stood there bewildered but answered: "He is the powerful cultivator." All the children looked in horror at Brent. They had put their hopes on a clown?
After a look in his small linen bag from the alchemist tournament, Res took the initiative. "Who is sick? Stand up." As the eldest in the room, Res supposed he had some privileges as many stood up. "All of you, form a neat line and tell me of your ailments."
All the children listed their problems and Res sorted them after perceived severity. He dismissed those who might recover and was now left with eight candidates. He pulled out one of the practitioner healing potions and the entire room went dead silent. Most of them had seen a potion once and few had caught glimpses of potions sold by licensed alchemists. He gave the girl with a festering wound a full bottle of healing potion and continued in the same manner. Res split his last small healing potion among the least severe cases. The most dramatic change was in the girl with the wound. The deadly wound closed in a matter of minutes. One could watch as all the toxins were swept out of her body until only white undamaged skin remained. Now all the children looked at Res in awe and fear.
"Yo Bro. Tell Brent you have to meditate for a bit. We have to talk."
Res told the children he needed to meditate and Brent only nodded at him wide-eyed. He sat down in a corner and asked. "What is it, Jason?"
"Circulate aether in your brain. Memory and Rationality. You should help those poor kids. They deserve better. Are you ready for another lesson?"
"I don't want to sound cruel, but that seems like a hassle."
Jason stated: "That was cruel … and selfish."
Res groaned as he buried his face into his hands. "Fine, make it quick."
Jason's knowledge about tactical combat was vague and more of hearsay than facts. Still, Res learned about the advantages of 'guerilla warfare' which Jason knew from 'strategy games'. It involved splitting your force into small groups that work together with the locals. You sow discontent in the enemy's ranks, ambush them, terrorize them but never attack. When Res came back from his talk with Jason, everyone in the room had gathered in a half circle. Hundreds of puppy dog eyes were clinging to him as if he was a hero out of legends. Res determined that if they needed a hero, he would imitate being a hero. Being a genuine hero was too much work.
"Brent!"
Brent straightened up and gave a pale imitation of a salute. "Yes, Sir Sensei."
"Our revolution can't go on like this. First, tell me about the things you did in the council and why you left." Brent gulped down and shouted out in an imitation of army slang.
"Some of us would be in the bazar and trying our best at pick-pocketing. The older ones would sell mild drugs like the golden glow. Some would help with cleaning in the whorehouses. We left because we were always fighting for every scrap of food. Dying of hunger isn't rare in the streets. If one of us were to die, there would be hundreds of other children in line to do our job."
Murmurs of agreement rippled through the crowd at Brent's words. "Brent, pick four other children that you know you can trust and have the skills to lead. We need to talk."
After some chatter, Brent had chosen the fat boy from the sewers, a young boy with raven black hair, and a pair of twin boys. When the six of them were far away from the main group as not to be heard, Res gave commands.
"The tactic we will employ is named: 'Guerilla war'. You use it in an urban terrain, against an overwhelming force, and avoids all direct conflict. Let's get this straight: We do not fight for honor; we fight to win." All the children's eyes were glowing with righteous anger and passion. "It is only a matter of time until the council finds this place and then all you will be dead. Instead, you will work together with the citizens of Trianon. The council is not particularly loved. Today, the council has destroyed countless of shops through one of their lackey's who went berserk. He used aether, which is forbidden.
You will form groups of three and go to the shop owners. You will tell them that: 'You have split from the council, because they became too ruthless. You couldn't bear to live in such a cruel world.'. Then, ask them whether they would provide temporary shelter in a barn. Each group will receive twenty coppers as payment to the shop owner for one month. This will function as the base of operations for the individual teams.
Being nice to the shop owner's is priority number one. I have enough money on me to last three hundred children for two weeks. You will split your money into fourteen portions and hide them in various spots. Every day, you will get to one of those spots and then distribute the money. À propos, the different teams will have missions like gathering intelligence or infiltration. To stay in our organization, one will need to finish missions in a reasonable time frame. One more thing: Try to recruit as many members as possible and expand your hierarchy. Questions?"
Brent immediately bombarded him with questions and the other children soon joined in. After some time, they finally reached a conclusion. With a sigh, Res stood up and turned to the expectant gazes of the hundreds of children.
"We do not fight for honor. We fight for survival. We do not care how we win, but when. We will show the council that children shouldn't be underestimated!"
Res had thrown the children an anchor they so craved. And they took it. Shouts and laughter arose in the cavern and excited chatter broke out. Four gold coins lighter, Res left the cavern with a sense of fulfilment he had never felt before. When Res smelled the air of the surface again, he cried out in joy. From down below, he could hear a last shout of Goodbye from Brent who had guided him back to a sewers entrance. By now, a beautiful black night had replaced the dim evening sky.
"Bro, you know what? I didn't know you had it in you to help people. You know with all the 'being alone with your thoughts' thing you have going on."
"I don't help them."
"Yeah, keep lying to yourself."
"Fine. But I still want to get some peace, some relaxing. The problem is that I am hunted by the two most powerful entities of Trianon. See it as an investment. If I work now, I can rest later."
"That is one of the biggest lies of life and you know it deep in your heart."
Res sighed as he reentered the adjacent main street with his clown mask. "I will never let go of my dream."
After doing some asking around, Res once again found himself in front of Orson's warehouse. One of the guards was still stationed outside, even though it already was night. When Res approached the man, the guard turned nervously and looked up and down the street.
Before Res could speak, the man's mouth was next to his ear, and he whispered: "This district. Addison Street 48. Apartment 30. Meet the boss there." Before Res could blink again, the man stood in his previous spot while ignoring him.
"Bro, seems like our friend got into trouble or this is a trap."
"Do I have any other choice? We wanted to completely cultivate the brain. If everything Orson said was true, the only way to cultivate will be for me to be carried around like yesterday. The requirement to join the elite guard is to be an S-Rank. What rank was Baldie?"
"He most likely was a normal C-Tier. Mid B-Tier with his transformation.���
"I don't even want to think about what would happen if I were to fight against an S-Tier. We have no choice." Five minutes later, Res stood in front of the typical apartment complex of the lower class of Trianon. It was a four-story-tall stone block with countless small apartments in it. Through the thin walls, he could hear the sounds of a couple arguing and the banging of pots.
"Bro, how can anyone bear this level of noise? It is fucking midnight. I can't imagine the noise levels when everyone is up."
On the second floor, Res found apartment thirty and knocked. The door was torn open and before Res could blink, he found himself held in a chokehold by Orson. Before Orson could twist his neck, Res croaked out: "Wait, it's me, Res." With the same swiftness, Orson let him go.
"Sorry for that. I am a bit on edge right now."
On closer inspection, Res could see dark bags under Orson's eyes and his hands were fiddling around. Orson shoved Res into the apartment and looked up and down the stairs outside. With a sigh of relief, Orson closed the door. The apartment consisted out of a bed, a small stove and a kitchen. All the furniture was pushed to the walls which created a wide free space in the middle of the room.
"Orson, I would like you to ask for … "
Orson interrupted him: "Yes, yes my boy. You will get your martial training."
"Martial Training sounds wonderful, as long as I don't have to lift weights or run around in circles, but that is not why I am here. I want to finish my foundation and the power tracker would spot me. Can you please run around the city with me like you did before?"
Orson only stared at him slack-jawed and then reached out his hand to Res. "Let me see your cultivation."
Res placed his hands-on Orson's. When Orson lifted his hands up from Res's, even more sweat began to run down his face. "This is no joke, right? Of course, it isn't. Shit. I can already tell you that running around won't work. Last time you were like a spark to their senses, now you would be like a flaming torch."
Res gulped down hard when he saw the mischievous look of Orson.
"You know what, boy? I have a solution. Are you good at sneaking around?"