Chapter 4 - A Start (Patreon)

The woods wrapped around us like a cloak as Quintin and I moved slowly beneath their green and brown visages. It was cool and dry, and we were downwind. I walked silently behind my adoptive father while he paced forward, his eyes trained on the trees. Occasionally, he’d stop to examine tracks on the ground.

It was our first day hunting together. He told me to watch, observe, and try not to make any noise. Quintin gave me a cloak and a hunting knife but told me not to play with the knife or use it unless there was an emergency. Like me, he wore a cloak, but he also had leather armor on his chest, legs, arms, and joints. He had no weapons at his side or on his body other than a quiver of arrows on his hip.

“Stop,” ordered Quintin. “Do you understand what I’m doing?” he asked me quietly.

“Not at all,” I admitted.

“Right.” Quintin scratched his head. “Never taught anyone anything before.” He cleared his throat. “I’m tracking a deer.”

“How?”

Quintin then spent fifteen minutes discussing footprints, what they told him, and why they mattered. Then, we moved into a short segment on feces and brush breakage.

After the brief lesson, Quintin asked me to assess what we should do next based on what he told me. I gave him answers, and then he pointed out the things I missed or that were inaccurate. We repeated this several times until I began to understand.

“You’re picking it up faster than I thought you would. But you’ve always been smarter than most, so I don’t know why I’m surprised,” admitted Quintin. “We’ll make a hunter out of you yet. Stick with it. Learning to take care of yourself will ensure that if anything happens to me or Amalia, you’ll be able to survive.”

“Don’t die so I don’t have to,” I replied.

Quintin chuckled. “We’ll try not to.”

For some reason, while talking through hunting and tracking with Quintin, my mind “remembered” how to do so, and in ways better than Quintin taught me—like I’d done it before.

I wasn’t given any actual context for the skill—a montage of scenes of the past version of me didn’t replay inside my head. Instead, I suddenly just knew what to do. In fact, it suddenly felt odd that I even needed Quintin to teach me in the first place.

It wasn’t the first time something like that had happened. Certain stimuli or information would cause my brain to learn a skill at an extremely deep, detailed level like a master. I assumed it had something to do with my past life. Every time it happened, it made me wonder who I must have been. It is how I learned to read, write, and cook so quickly. My brain just “remembered” things like I’d done them all my life.

Quintin held his hand out in front of me to stop, but he didn’t say the words. I looked around for a reason and spotted it immediately—a deer. It was munching on vegetation near the base of a fallen tree.

My father put his hands together and opened them like a booklet outward. As he did, particles of white mixed with different dotted colors—reds, blues, and yellows—formed silently into the shape of a book. He turned a page and reached his hand inside. It disappeared into the magical paper halfway up to his elbow before he pulled it back, bringing his massive bow with it.

I’d seen it countless times before, but the way adding and removing items worked in a codex always captivated me.

Quintin tossed his codex behind him. Before it could hit the ground, it shattered like rain into the same particles it was formed from.

The entire time, the marks on his fingers and wrists glowed the same color as his eyes—a brilliant bright green. Even his eyes got brighter. It always happened whenever someone used their mana to create magic.

Quintin already had a quiver of arrows strapped to his side. He silently pulled out one with a broad tip and placed it against the string of his bow.

I watched with anticipation as he pulled back the arrow. His breath was steady. The bow adjusted upward in his hands, tilting and rectifying until he had the first angle.

And then—

Thunk!

The arrow darted from his string and caught the deer right in its throat just as it looked up. It collapsed on the ground screaming, its legs kicking out and its head thrashing against the brush.

“Come on. Let’s put it out of its misery,” said Quintin. He shoved his bow back into his codex and removed a large hunting knife in the same motion.

The deer’s cries lessened with each step we took toward it. It got slower and slower until its legs and head were barely moving. Even the soft rise of his torso was thin and weak.

Quintin carefully knelt down and finished the deer off with his blade, ending its suffering.

The sight of death sent a rush running through my spine. It was so random, so powerful a feeling, I flinched. What was that?

“Don’t be afraid,” said Quintin as he looked at me, clearly assuming my action was drawn from fear and shock. “Something’s got to die for us to eat, be it an animal for meat or bugs, birds, and rodents for crops. Nothing in life is gained without sacrifice. Surviving means something dies.” He shifted the blade in his hand. “Now, watch how I butcher this guy. Next time we’re out, I’m gonna have you try this, okay?”

Why should I care about the life of something that doesn’t affect me? I thought. As long as I and those I care about live, everything else is of little consequence. But I didn’t say that out loud. Instead, I nodded, fascinated by the blood pooling under the creature’s lifeless form.

When the deer was properly butchered and packed away in Quintin’s codex, we returned home. As soon as we got in the yard, Amalia ambushed me, slamming me with question after question about how things went, and checked me for wounds. Afterward, we ate dinner, and they discussed future adventures involving me.

That night, while everyone else was asleep, I imitated the way Quintin fired his bow.

The imaginary wood sat comfortably in my left hand. With my right, I pulled back the pretend weapon’s string. An arrow was notched. On my bedroom wall, I envisioned the scenery changing. Snow dotted the background. A demon was standing off in the distance, blood covering its face.

“Die,” I whispered as I let the imaginary arrow fly.

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Thunk!

My arrow pierced the head of a deer standing nervously amongst the trees. It staggered for a moment before lifelessly hitting the ground.

Nuzzled in warm clothes and a cloak, I ambled over to my prey—my prize. I’d been hunting it for some time now, and I’d succeeded in my first hunt by myself.

“I passed the test, Quintin,” I said as I examined how best to butcher the deer. Using my knife, I started carving its flesh as I lost myself to daydreams and memories once.

I was nine years old and would turn ten soon.

Quintin didn’t let me do any real hunting when we first started training. We’d made a bow together, but I never used it outside of our yard. On hunts, I could only watch him, answer questions, and butcher whatever he killed.

The butchering was supposed to be a lesson about the sanctity of life, but I found myself numb to the process. I didn’t need an emotional reason to kill an animal. If I were hungry, I’d kill or steal without hesitation. If the option was either that or dying, it was obvious.

Emotions didn’t need to play a part—not that they really played a part in any of my decisions.

Quintin deliberately slowed my training because of Amalia. Even when he suggested taking me on more adventures, she kept using my age and race as justification to keep me contained. It was annoying, honestly.

Around seven, things changed. Quintin let me go on more hunts with him, and he put more consistent time into training me in archery under his direct supervision.

At a certain point, I learned to use a bow with hardly any guidance. All I needed were a few pointers and examples from Quintin, and I “remembered” how to do it—fragments of my past life, whatever it was, guided me. Still, my body couldn’t keep up with my skill, so I needed constant practice to align reality with what I could do in my head.

When Quintin was confident in my skills and stamina, he let me help him on hunts with tracking and picking prey. Then, I started taking over the lead role and the shooting.

Once he witnessed me kill and butcher my first animal without his input with no issues, he brought me to areas with monsters.

Mana existed in all living things. When it condensed too much in one place, it formed a mana-rich environment referred to as a “miasma.” It was in areas filled with miasma where monsters and demons were usually born and thrived.

Mana sometimes condensed too much in animals and plants, turning them into monsters. They were ranked on a Tier list and given a level based on the amount of corruption they endured, their strength, and a variety of other factors.

Demons were humans who died in a place thick with miasma or who died harboring intense negative emotions that corrupted their mana and engulfed their souls. If any of those instances occurred, the mana in a person would bubble and produce a crystal inside them. At that point, given my real-world experience, a demon would then crawl out of its host body like a parasite. According to Quintin, more than one could emerge from a person in certain instances depending on the circumstances.

I’d seen Quintin kill many weak monsters but no demons—not since the shipwreck when he saved my life. Given how they were created, it made sense that there were more monsters than demons.

My thoughts trailed as I packed the butchered deer in a bag and trudged home. My ears flickered unconsciously as wind and snow battered against them. They never fared well in the winter.

“Having a codex would make this so much easier,” I grumbled as I shifted the weighty bag on my shoulders. Its straps dug against my collarbone. “Only a few years left to go. I wonder what color my eyes will be when I finally awaken?”

I passed by a small pond and scrutinized my reflection. My irises, black due to my lack of mana, gazed back at me. Frowning, I looked away and continued the long, tedious task of walking home.

There’s brown, green, violet, orange, grey, and white. That’s the order Quintin gave me for mana levels. I mulled over. Awakening meant a child could start off at any color and build from there. Most people awakened with brown eyes and a select few with green. Any higher at an initial awakening is considered a “miracle.” I probably shouldn’t hope for much more than that. I paused. But both my biological parents had high mana since it’s based on eye color. I think my dad had orange eyes, and my mother had grey. Maybe I should be more hopeful. Then again, it’d piss me off if I expected greatness and nothing came of it. Better to be realistic than optimistic.

Annoyed, I shook my head, readjusted the straps of my bags, and forced myself to think about something else.

It would still be a while before I could use mana.

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“Are you hurt?” I heard Amalia call to me as I entered our property a while later, lost in thought. She smashed into me, hugging me, and pushed my chin up to look over my face. “Scrapes? Bumps? Cuts? Are you sick?”

“Nothing went wrong,” I said. “I’m just a little colder than I was this morning. My ears feel like they’ll fall off,” I joked. “Maybe that’d be a good thing.”

Amalia immediately started rubbing them with her fingers. “Better?”

I nodded as a soothing feeling registered in my brain. It felt like I was being caressed by warm angels.

“Good girl.” Quintin went to pat the top of my head. It made me flinch. I recoiled, brushing his hand away before he could touch me, and he laughed. “Sorry, sorry. I forgot you don’t like that anymore. Lemme see your haul.”

I took off my pack and offered it to Quintin. The horns of the deer dangled from the back. We walked into his shed beside our home and unpacked my goods. The pelt and meat were neatly stored and cut, just like I’d been taught.

“Oh, well done,” said Quintin. “I’ll sell most of this to the butcher and save half the coins for when you get your codex. How does that sound?”

“Oh, awesome! Perfect!” I yelped. Quintin had been saving up some coins for me for a while. This was generally our agreement, so I didn’t protest the terms. However, noticing how I’d subconsciously acted childish without much thought, my cheeks flushed red, and I cleared my throat. “Th-That would be nice, I suppose.”

Amalia and Quintin smiled at me. I looked away from them, embarrassed.

“You did an amazing job,” said Quintin. He placed an arm on my shoulder. “And you’ll be ten soon. Your mana should awaken within the year. I think it’s time I started teaching you how to use a sword if you want. Let you get a head start before your awakening. That sound good?”

My neck tingled. “Really?!” I cleared my throat again. “Is that so? That would be nice, I suppose.”

Quintin chuckled. “Don’t expect too much from me. I’m not anything special.”

“Don’t put yourself down,” I pouted. “I don’t like that.”

Quintin went to pat my head again, but I moved away from him at the last second. “Right, right. Sorry,” he muttered. “Puberty…”

Something like that…

Instinctively, I rubbed my scalp where Quintin nearly touched me. A dark look passed across my face. I won’t be able to hide this forever. I don’t know if I can afford to waste any more time. I need to know more about devils. I can’t keep putting this off.

My voice dropped to a whisper. “If possible, since I know I’ve never asked and I felt you all have avoided telling me…could you…teach me about…me? W-Why you adopted me, and about devils.” I suddenly felt flustered, which irritated me. “I know…it’s an awkward thing to talk about but…I’m old enough now, right? I’ve been putting off asking because…like I said, it’s awkward. But I don’t want you guys to think it’s because of you all.” I cut myself off. “I’m rambling. Sorry. Forget about it.”

“No, don’t apologize.” Quintin knelt before me so we could make eye contact. “Amalia and I agreed not to discuss it until you brought it up. I’m surprised you didn’t ask sooner.”

“Really?” I looked at Amalia, and she nodded. “Then…please?”

“Right.” Quintin appeared a little worried. “Give me some time, okay? There’s a place I need to show you first.”

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I turned ten. Amalia baked me a cake, and Quintin had Harkin, the town blacksmith, make me a new bow and a cheap sword. Turning ten and fifteen were considered significant milestones in a person’s life, so my adoptive parents spent more coins on me than they probably should have.

One bright morning, Quintin woke me up, saying he wanted to take me on a little adventure. He shared that it was finally time to tell me “what I wanted to know.” Ominously, he led me south toward the coast.

The path we took was familiar and unfamiliar at the same time. It confused me until I saw the shape of the shore before us. When I did, everything made sense. We were where Quintin found me all those years ago. It was the beach I’d shipwrecked on with my dead mother, where the demon nearly ate me.

I guess he wants to tell me everything that happened to me. Or at least the parts he knew. How kind of him. It feels scummy that I’ll have to pretend it’s all new. I’d better start working on some fake tears. I thought.

Quintin and I stood side-by-side, looking at the shore. I held a blank expression while Quintin’s tinged with worry. I could tell from his eyes that he was struggling to start his sentence, so I gave him a little push.

“Very pretty,” I said loudly. “What does this have to do with devils?

“You said you wanted to learn about them,” Quintin answered after a while. “For you, the story starts here.”

Quintin then recounted the events of my life that I already knew. I feigned surprise where I should have, faked tears when I could, and the entire story ended with a big, dramatic hug. Honestly, I was surprised with myself. All my reactions came easily, just as I wanted them to. It made me feel guilty and proud.

“Why do my ears make me a devil? Why use that word?” I asked as I broke apart from Quintin, wiping my eyes. “Is something wrong with me? Am I evil?”

“You are not evil. You are no different from anyone else,” said Quintin firmly. “Don’t you dare think that.”

“But people have called me a monster behind my back most of my life. Other devils won’t even talk to me, and I’m not sure why,” I retorted. “I’m different. I’ll always be different. Why does it matter what I am? Tell me.”

Quintin frowned. “People are always wary of what is different, Yen. You can only change those who are willing to change and should ignore those you cannot. But there is nothing wrong with you. Nothing at all. I promise.”

“Then why do grown adults feel comfortable shoving me to the ground, spitting on me, and throwing food in my face?” I questioned, bringing up what happened to me at the market years ago. It wasn’t the only incident I endured, but it was definitely the most dramatic.

Quintin winced in discomfort but began to speak. “Humans and devils have waged war countless times over the centuries. Such tragedy is never forgotten; it always sows hatred in people’s hearts. Even so, the lives of devils aren’t top of mind for most people. They care more about feeding their families, finding work, and keeping a roof over their heads. Times were worse decades ago, and some northern cities are still bad. However, most people do not hate you, Yen, as they are concerned with their own interests. If you’re kind and polite, most people will act the same way.”

I fidgeted with my hand as I took in all that information. On some level, I already knew that from what I’d experienced and heard in town. It was another thing to hear it stated so bluntly.

Sensing my discomfort, Quintin knelt before me. “You’re my daughter. I raised you. You’re mine. I love you, and I’ll protect you until the day I die. I’m not the reason you were born, but you’re my little girl, and that’s more important to me than anything else.”

“I love you too,” I replied warmly with a light smile. I let that linger in the air before dropping into a more neutral expression. “I guess…I guess I want to know…what exactly is a devil? What are we? What am I?” I’d put together my own answer over the years from listening in on conversations, but I still wanted to know more.

“Devil’s just a catch-all term for humans that aren’t quite human,” described Quintin. He scratched his head again as he thought of the right words. “If you ask me, there are six kinds of people in the world, including humans, but we name everything that doesn’t look like a human a devil, so there are five types of devils.”

“Only five?”

Quintin nodded. “Beast devils, forest devils, sea devils, sky devils, and archdevils. You, my child, are a forest devil.”

“Because of my ears.”

Quintin nodded. “Yes, because of your ears. When you get older, you’ll grow a lot taller and be very...thin and nimble.”

I doubt it.

“Could you…explain the differences for me, please? If that’s possible.” I asked. “I don’t want to push you if you don’t know.”

“You’re implying something annoying,” scoffed Quintin. “Your dad’s a smart guy, you know.”

I nodded but didn’t say anything.

Quintin snorted. “Fine, fine. They drilled the differences into our heads daily when I was a knight.” He cleared his throat and fixed his posture like he was imitating a scholar. “You’ve seen beast and forest devils in town a bunch of times. In this country, they tend to be adventurers when they’re not, um…”

“Slaves,” I answered for Quintin.

“Y-Yes. Slaves.” He cleared his throat. “Beast devils are naturally strong. Really strong. Like ripping trees out of the ground without using mana strong.” Quintin’s eyes paled like he was remembering something from his past. “When they do use mana to augment themselves, they’re considered some of the finest warriors in the lands.”

“Or workers,” I added. “They make up most of the slaves in this country, don’t they?”

“Y-Yes. Um, well... yes. Moving on. Sea devils can live and breathe underwater. They possess gills on their necks and can create or remove webbing from their hands and feet depending on whether they are on land or in water. Oh, and their eyes are enormous,” Quintin continued. “Among all the devils, they remain neutral and have never fought for anyone but themselves, with some exceptions. Zalevet maintains peace agreements with some of their colonies to guarantee safe shipping routes. If humans anger them, we wouldn’t be able to leave the continent due to the sea devils’ complete dominance over the ocean, making them likely the most liberated of all the devils, after the archdevils.”

Interesting. Power matters more than superficial physical differences. Sea devils aren’t treated poorly because they could destroy international trade. My focus on survival skills and learning to fight were the right call, then.

“There are sky devils,” continued Quintin. He started looking up to the sky. His eyes strained as if he were searching the far reaches of his mind to remember things. “They’ve got wings and…something else,” muttered Quintin. He shook his head. “Most of them live in a clustered chain of islands to the south called the Broken Bits that’s got a lot of humans and devils living in it equally. You have to go through them to trade with the rest of the world. We get them in Zalevet sometimes. The devils are mostly nomadic.”

They had wings? Lucky. I’d prefer that to ears and, well…

He continued on. “Beast and forest devils manage a continent we call the Devil Continent. Forest devils govern the northern half cause it’s forested and warm. Beast devils oversee the southern half because it’s colder. I mean, there are a lot more devils there than just those two, and humans do live there, but those two dominate.”

So most of the world has devils, we trade with them, and there’s even a territory called the Broken Bits where we live with them peacefully. I summarized. Why are people so pissy here? The answer came to me immediately. Religion. That stupid book I read. Is that really it? There’s got to be more.

Putting that aside, I nervously asked my next question. “What was that last one?” I cocked my head to the side. “Archdevils?”

“Oh yeah. Those. Don’t really want to talk about those,” muttered Quintin. “They’re the reason everyone hates devils.”

My face hardened. “Why? What’s wrong with them?”

“They’re powerful. The strongest devils. The reasons why are lost to history, but every time there’s been a war, archdevils were the ones rallying all the other devils against humans,” said Quintin. “Seems like every century or so, the devils go through a civil war and then attack us.”

“Unprovoked?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “Although it’s been a long time since the last war, the stories have persisted. When you tell people story after story, generation after generation, that archdevils control all the other devils and always initiate wars with humans, it inevitably breeds hatred.”

That explains so much.

Steeling myself, I asked my final question. “What do these archdevils look like?”

“They’ve got horns growing out of their heads.”

 “Horns?”

“Yeah, horns. And a tail, I think, but I’m not sure,” said Quintin with a nod. “They’re supposedly the strongest beings in the world besides the Voiced in Agias. No one’s seen one in decades, though, and definitely not on this continent. The archdevils stay on Paradise. It’s their own little island out to the west off the coast of the Devil Continent. Never heard of one leaving there. Never.”

“Are they…evil?” I asked slowly.

“Nothing’s evil,” replied Quintin. “Everything has its circumstances.”

That felt wrong and idealistic, but whatever. They’re the ones that apparently start all the wars, though I’m not sure I entirely believe that. Another question formed in my head. “Do people perceive them as evil, then?”

Quintin paused. “Um…”

“If one were to appear in the middle of town today, what would happen?”

My father didn’t say anything for the longest time. “People would run away. If they were brave enough, some adventurers and townsfolk might band together to try and kill it.” His face was firm. “In the minds of all humans, archdevils are the source of all evil in this world. The Pantheon’s ultimate goal is to eradicate them.”

I shivered. “But other devils are okay?”

Quintin scratched the back of his head. “If you grew up your whole life hearing bad stories about devils, you’d hate them all regardless of the kind. But if you’ve grown up around all kinds of people—humans and devils alike—you’d know that things are a little more complicated than that.” He shrugged. “But I’ve never met an archdevil. Some of them are probably good. Or maybe they’re all evil. Don’t know. I’d assume the former, but healthy caution is a good trait to have if you like breathing. That make sense?”

I nodded.

Quintin smiled. “That was a little more than I thought we’d talk about today. Sorry. Not a very fun day.” He scratched the back of his head. “There’s no sign of a war anytime soon. Most people have worked with or lived in the presence of devils their entire lives. You’ll get a few assholes every now and again, but most people only worry about themselves. Your life is yours, Yen. It’s up to you what you want to do with it. Your mother and I will support your regardless.”

“Is this you trying to cheer me up?” I teased, fixing my face. “Do I look sad or something? I’ll have you know, I’m very mature for my age.”

“I know, I know.” Quintin chuckled. He reached out to pat my head, but I swiftly dodged him. That made him frown. “Rebellious stage,” he whined. “You used to love you daddy.” He sighed.

That wasn’t the reason why I avoided him. If anything, I felt more respect and love for him now than I did before. Something else caused me to act that way.

Protecting my head, I briefly rubbed my scalp until I found the reasons why I didn’t want him touching me.

Two horns barely poked out the top of my head. My hair hid them for now, but they’d grow bigger someday.

I didn’t have a tail yet. Either Quintin was wrong on that point, or it hadn’t grown yet. I was hoping it was the former.

So that’s what I am, huh? An archdevil. I suppressed a sarcastic chuckle. Whoever put me in this world like this is an asshole.