The silver coins felt heavy and wonderful in his pouch, a solid weight promising a new future. August walked with a bounce in his step, leaving the market's chaos far behind. No more selling fake potions. Today, he would buy a real skill, a sword skill worthy of a future S-Rank adventurer.
He glanced at the sky, imagining his name written in the clouds. August, the Hero. It had a nice ring to it. He would be strong and respected. Not August the Charlatan, the identity tied to the useless skill he was born with.
[Charlatan: S]
[You're an exceptional liar and scammer. Anyone with lower intelligence or willpower has a greater chance of falling for your schemes.]
An S-Rank skill, the highest rank possible, and it was for lying. The gods had a sick sense of humor. It made him good money, but it was a trickster's tool, not a hero's weapon.
The sword skill book was his first step to changing that. He would become a warrior, someone who earned respect through strength.
He turned onto the main street and saw the familiar sign:
'Elder Marten's Curiosities'
It was the only shop in town that sold skill books. His heart beat faster. He was so close.
Then he saw him. A young man walked out of the store, a book tucked under his arm. August's eyes fixed on the cover. It was simple brown leather with the words 'An Introduction to Basic Sword Skills' stamped on the front. His book.
August's good mood vanished like smoke. The young man was handsome in an annoying, clean sort of way, with neat black hair and sharp blue eyes. He wore a strange, dark blue uniform with silver trim that August had never seen before. He looked like he had never shoveled manure in his life.
And he was holding August's future under his arm.
August's shoulders slumped for only a second. Then, a familiar fire lit inside him. He refused to give up. He straightened his simple tunic, pushed his shoulders back, and put on his best smile.
Time to put his shitty skill to use one last time.
"A fine day for learning, is it not?" August said, his voice deep and formal. He approached the young man with the confident stride of a lord. "I am August, a humble seeker of martial truth."
The young man, Sekra, gave him a sideways glance, his expression completely flat.
"Okay."
The disinterest was a wall, but August was an expert at climbing walls. "I see you have acquired a fine book!" August said, gesturing to it. "A wise choice! The path of the sword is a noble one! A man of your clear intelligence would naturally be drawn to such a profound art."
Sekra stopped walking and turned to face August fully. His blue eyes scanned August from head to toe, and August felt a strange chill, as if his mind were being weighed.
"You were going to buy this book," Sekra stated. It was not a question. "You saw me leave the store with it, and now you are trying to charm me into giving it to you. Your flattery is clumsy, and you stand like you're trying to hide that you work on a farm."
August's smile twitched. This guy was sharp. Too sharp. "I... I merely wished to express my admiration," he stammered, his confidence cracking. "But since you mention it, perhaps we could make a deal? I can offer you seventy silver. A fine profit."
Sekra shook his head. "No."
"Ninety silver! My entire fortune!" August pleaded, desperation creeping in.
"The book is not for sale," Sekra said, his tone final. He turned to leave.
"Wait!" August yelled, his pride stung. He couldn't fail. A stupid, brilliant idea sparked in his mind. "I challenge you!"
Sekra paused, looking back with an irritated sigh. "To what?"
August puffed out his chest and flexed his right bicep. It was a good bicep, hard from years of baling hay and chopping wood. "Arm wrestling! Right here. If I win, you sell me the book for what you paid. If you win... you can walk away."
He looked Sekra up and down. The man's arms looked like noodles. August was sure he could snap him like a twig.
Sekra looked at August's flexed arm, then at his face, and then he laughed. It was not a friendly laugh. "You want to arm wrestle me for a book? No."
"What's wrong?" August taunted, pushing his luck. "Afraid you'll lose to a simple farm boy? I thought a man in a fancy uniform would have more honor. Or maybe there's no muscle under that sleeve?"
Sekra's eye twitched. "Are you always this annoying?"
"Only when something important is on the line," August shot back with a grin.
"Hah! The boy has spirit!" A hearty laugh came from the shop's doorway. An old man with a long white beard stood there, leaning on a cane. "Don't just stand in the street. Come inside! If you are going to compete, do it properly. I will even be the referee."
Sekra sighed, a deep sound of a man who realized he was trapped. He looked at August's stupid, hopeful face and knew this idiot wouldn't leave him alone. "Fine. Let's get this over with."
Inside the dusty shop, the old man cleared a small, sturdy table. August sat, rolling up his sleeve and planting his elbow firmly on the wood, beaming with confidence. Sekra sat opposite him, looking bored.
"The rules are simple," the old man said cheerfully. "Pin the other's arm to the table. Ready? Go!"
August gripped Sekra's hand. It felt soft, like a scholar's. He grinned. This will be easy. He pushed, putting all his farm-boy strength into the motion.
Nothing happened.
It was like pushing against a mountain. Before his brain could even understand, a power he had never felt before surged from Sekra's arm.
SLAM!
August's knuckles hit the wood so hard the table shook. It was over in a single, humiliating second. He stared at his hand, then at Sekra, who looked as calm as ever. The old man whistled.
"What? How?" August stammered, shaking his tingling hand. "No way. Best of three!"
Sekra shrugged. "If you insist."
They clasped hands again. "Go!" the old man shouted.
SLAM!
"Best of five!" he yelled, his face red with frustration.
SLAM!
"Best of nine!"
SLAM!
He lost every single time, each loss faster and more effortless than the last. He slumped in his chair, defeated, his arm aching and his pride shattered.
"Alright, lad," the old man said gently, putting a hand on his shoulder. "You gave it your best. Time to accept it."
August looked at the smug man across from him and nodded grudgingly. He had lost.
Sekra stood and bowed slightly to the old man. "Thank you for your hospitality, Elder Marten." He then looked at August. "Strength is not always in the muscle. Remember that." With those final words, he turned and walked out of the shop. August watched his dream walk out the door.
August slammed his good fist on the table. "How? How is he so strong?"
Elder Marten chuckled sadly. "Son, why in the world did you challenge a Mage Cadet to a contest of strength? For a simple E-Rank book, no less."
August froze. "Mage? Mage Cadet?" He looked at the empty doorway, thinking of the strange uniform, the impossible strength. It all clicked into place.
The bastard used magic
He had been tricked. Cheated. The best scammer in town had been played for a fool. The anger that rose in him was hot and sharp. It wasn't about losing. It was about the insult.
He shot up from his chair and stormed towards the door.
"Hold on, boy," the elder's voice stopped him. He hobbled over, his expression kind. "I know what a skill book means to a commoner. That one is gone, but I feel for you. Pick any other E-Rank book in the shop. I'll give you a heavy discount."
August's anger vanished, replaced by a surge of hope. He turned back, his face brightening instantly. "Really? Thank you, Elder!"
He ran to the small shelf labeled 'E-Rank Skills'. His eyes scanned the titles.
Basic Shield Blocking
Minor Healing
Beginner's Archery
They were fine, but none felt right. Then his eyes landed on a book tucked in the corner. It had a dark cover made of black leather. On it was a drawing of a beautiful woman with little horns and a pointed tail, wearing very little clothing. The title was stamped in silver:
Lilith's Tale
He picked it up. The description promised to teach the user 'basic illusion magic'.
Illusions. Tricks. Deception.
A grin spread across August's face. It was perfect. If he couldn't beat Sekra with strength, he would beat him at his own game.
He paid the elder, his anger replaced by a new, devious excitement. Minutes later, he was at the stables, untying his old horse, Roach. With a sack of new farming tools on one side and his new treasure on the other, he climbed into the saddle.
As Roach began the slow trot back towards the farm, August opened his new book, reading eagerly as he rode. A strange energy flowed from the pages into his hand.
[New Skill Learned: Novice Illusion Magic: E]