[ Daily Task: Duel a mage of equal rank for 12 turns ( minimum ) ]
> Completion rate: 09/12
"Well, this is quite a surprise...." Merrywick mumbled to himself while examining the changes in his progression panel. In front of him lay a knocked-out Alfie Declan, limbs akimbo on the floor. Mana poisoning had finally hit the young man, and his first time experiencing it was not as gentle as he would have liked it to be. Having a bronze grade progression system implied an above-average affinity to mana, but even that had only assisted Alfie to withstand casting four successful spells.
The original Merrywick, with his silver grade system, would be just a few spells ahead of Alfie, but now he could not be sure of the difference between them. What did his unique progression system imply? How much higher was his spiritual tolerance to mana poisoning?
Merrywick couldn't wait to find out. But Alfie would not be the one helping him discover his limit. For mages below Rank-1, one encounter with mana poisoning would leave hours, or even days of sequela.
Throwing Alfie's unconscious body on top of a large crate, Merrywick finished the rest of his food and strode out of the building in a lazy gait. The population occupying the streets appeared unconcerned about what had transpired there. They had all seen the members of a mob unwillingly leave this outpost. Aside from watching the odd takeover unfold, they had done nothing except minding their own business, a survival instinct present in all sentient minds numbed by weakness.
When the store owners nearby noticed Merrywick setting foot in the street, a trace of liveliness finally appeared in their numb faces. But it was hardly the liveliness brought by hope, or anything positive, really; rather, it was the liveliness that made cowards the biggest population among the masses.
Merrywick stood still on the decaying pavement, hands in pocket, eyes scanning each shop slowly, deliberately until the owner met his gaze and shrank back in apprehension. The street wasn't long, and there were around a dozen shops on both sides, most of them small. The furthest part of the street ended in front of a thin, old brick wall that could be broken by a strong kick. On the other side was a stinking sewage channel that made Merrywick thankful for the distance his new home had from this end of the street.
But this was the best place to start. The denizens of this particular area would be so heavily consumed by the stink that the smell of something new might just break their senses. Merrywick made a beeline for the second-hand clothes seller hunched over his cheap data terminal, just twenty feet away from the wall. It was one of the smallest, oldest stores here, by the looks of it. The only relatively modern thing about it was the online transaction ID on a plaque, meant for payments upon purchase.
"Hello! May I know your name, senior?"
His bubbly voice didn't wash away the old man's apprehension. Instead, it seemed to reinforce it. He looked up from his terminal screen with abject fear in his eyes, replying in a hoarse voice.
"Hello, sir! I've paid this month's rent already! Please-"
Merrywick held up a hand, silencing the old man's pleading.
"Senior, do I look like I belong to that small-time thug association? You've seen the world by this age. You have the ability to tell who's a good guy and who's not, right?"
"Of course, of course! Young sir, you don't appear the same as those fuckers! You have a magnanimous aura-"
The old man was forced to stop again, because this time, Merrywick's other hand was up in the air, and this hand wasn't empty.
Facing the cold opening of a gun, the simple shopkeeper shrank into a ball, head tucked under his hands. Had Merrywick not interrupted him twice, showing a distaste toward vain words, he would have begged for mercy, as usual. He understood the rules of survival well. Not every predator was the same, and only a prey that understood the predators could wring out their mercy.
"Tell me, please, senior. How am I compared to the thugs who used to occupy that building?"
"I...I don't know, young sir!" The old man said between choked sobs.
"That's the right answer," Merrywick said, taking his gun down and back into his pocket. "It's not a good habit, presuming things that can affect your wellbeing. I, too, struggle with this. Even now, I'm considering which shop here could pose the biggest danger to my safety. I'm just one person, after all. Tell me, senior, should I just presume an answer...or ask someone who can answer with honesty?"
Hand shaking, the old man subtly pointed out two faraway stores. "B-both are run by the men from the Ironbond Gang. Their families work there."
"Good answer. Do you know what could have been a better answer? If you included what exactly makes them a threat to me, senior."
"I'm- I am just an ordinary guy. I don't know much about magic. But I've seen some of them use spells in those stores. Even when the electricity gets cut off here, their house is never dark. I've even seen the owners use guns on occasions." The man was slowly coming out of his cage of fear upon realizing that he could be useful.
"Guns and spells, a familiar combination. Someone out here has not been gatekeeping their knowledge," Merrywick remarked while picking up a thick overall from the store's display table.
"How much would you charge the thugs for this abomination?"
"Nothing sir, it's free for you ownerfolks," the old man was quite quick this time.
"Senior, I think I get why you've been cast aside by the world and tossed to this cesspit," Merrywick said plainly, stunning the man. "You're an idiot, simply said. I demonstrated my abhorrence to being categorized with the thugs quite clearly, yet you still made me feel included in their cohort. It's almost like you want me to be as terrible as they were. You're obviously not the type to succeed by bootlicking. Do you fear changes that much?"
A long moment of silence passed between them before the old man was forced by his forceful stare to reply.
"Changes brought me here, sir. Changes turned me useless, same fate as millions of commoners out there after mages took over everything. What's not to fear about something as unstoppable as changes?"
Finally, Merrywick got to see the last vestige of the old coward's spirit...and he liked what he saw. There was not much in it that could be labeled positive, not that he needed the positivity.
"That's an interesting idea, fearing change because it is unstoppable. A person I once admired used to think differently," Merrywick told the man. His fingertips danced on the screen of his comcell, and a transaction took place online.
"What cannot be stopped, must be worshipped."
"Isn't that the motto these mages have been trying to brainwash everyone into believing?" the old man spat hatefully. Merrywick's favorable impression of him went up another notch.
"Indeed, and I always contradicted his idea. In my opinion, for something to be truly unstoppable, it must not be susceptible to guidance. But changes can be guided, no matter how large in scope. So changes are not unstoppable. Only an idiot like you would deem otherwise. Have you received your payment?"
"I-huh?" The whiplash the old man got from the reply dazed him once more. Realizing what Merrywick was implying, he quickly checked the data terminal in his hand, and froze upon seeing the number of zeros in the transaction.
"Good thing for you, I'm looking for idiots to employ. Come with me, let's get to know our neighbors."
The old man's gaze shifted between Merrywick and his data terminal repeatedly. But then he realized which direction Merrywick was headed in.
"They have mages! Young sir, wait-"
His words came to a stop as Merrywick turned around wearing a disgruntled expression on his face.
"Like I said, senior, fearing change is rooted in idiocy. And fearing a mage is rooted in weakness. But do I appear to be fearful of either? I'll do another little demonstration now, and you had better remember the lesson this time."