Elian left Gideon’s carriage and headed back to the Cauldron with a stack of folded paper tucked under his arm. Unable to wait longer to check what Gideon had given him, he paused his journey, sat at the edge of a statue’s pedestal, and opened the first one.

  “Gideon should be an imperial artist with his skill,” he muttered, admiring the intricate illustration of the internal structure of a plant. It was drawn by hand but was detailed enough to look like a picture in a textbook from Earth. Science on Fellenyr were in some ways on par with Earth and yet the lifestyle was a few hundred years late. He blamed the presence of real magic for the selective stagnation.

  After Elian explained his plan to weave together Viney and Aether, he was surprised to find that Gideon wasn’t dismissive of it. Elian should’ve expected the eccentric floramage to be open to crazy ideas.

  “We can draw inspiration from the best teacher—nature,” Gideon had told him. “Flora and fauna have their structures tested by the environment.” He rapidly fired examples while combing through piles of papers for illustrations.

  Gideon spoke of a tree only growing in the far-off Aegis Forest. It supposedly had honeycomb-like insides, filtering and storing Aether throughout its trunk. One would think a mostly hollow tree would be easy to cut down, but it was favored by the goatkin for their tree fortresses. The trees were sturdier than stone walls several feet thick—something about how their internal structures interacted with magic that Elian couldn’t follow because of how fast Gideon spoke.

  Several more examples Gideon told him. The challenge was how to mimic them.

  “I suggest you let the Aether flow through the Guardian Exactor Vine before activating its Barkskin,” was Gideon’s advice. “Filling the gaps afterward might be harder with how precise the structure would be. At any rate, this might be much effort for little gain.”

  Still, Gideon helped Elian by giving him the illustrations. Part of the floramage was probably rooting for Elian to succeed.

  “I know this one.” Elian unfolded the next parchment and saw illustrations for a four-legged beast clad in armor, looking like a giant armadillo—the gentle tatuon of the Lehusen Glades.

  Of particular interest was its armor. It wasn’t as solid as most people would expect. Each of the overlapping flaps was made of hexagonal tiles connected by softer tissues. The tiles were bones stronger than what humans had, laced with iron like the teeth of Earth beavers. That was why tatuon armor, like beaver teeth, had an orange hue.

  According to Gideon’s notes, the tissues linking the tatoun’s bony tiles had to be softer to spread the impact. It was akin to Thalman’s example of bones and tendons. The Lehusen established farms to breed tatuons and harvest their armor, leading to an economic boom in the region. Elian hadn’t been to Lehusen; he only saw armies wearing the armor they made.

  What Elian wanted to do wasn’t too far-fetched. Many inventions on Earth copied parts of plants and animals. He remembered scientists making gloves that mimicked gecko skin so that people could climb even on glass. Such a weird article that it stuck to his memories though many years have passed.

  “Speaking of animals…” Elian gazed up at the extended spear of the statue posing behind him. “The costrahastans.”

  Similar to the armadillo and tatuon, Earth also had a small version of the spear lobsters. Could also view it as Fellenyr having the giant version. The costrahastans were like the mantis shrimp of Earth, a small crustacean with a punch as strong as a fired bullet. Mantis shrimps needed to be placed in special aquariums or else they’d break normal glass to escape. Elian couldn’t forget about the mantis shrimp because he saw a video of it punching a hole through a man’s rubber boots.

  “Man, I miss the internet,” he said with a sigh. Many times, he’d watch random videos while taking a break from work. If his co-workers had a smoke break, why couldn’t he choose to rot his brain with online content?

  Those times weren’t a complete waste because he also recalled the video of a mantis shrimp breaking the shell of a clam. Wasn’t that like the spear lobsters smashing open the Solbasks’ exoskeleton? Be it mantis shrimp or spear lobster, they should likewise be affected by the impact of their own strike. Even if their claws or spears or whatever they were called were extremely tough, the impact would travel up their arm and the rest of their body. Their joints and squishy insides would take damage from smashing tough prey lots of times over their lifetimes.

  It wasn’t like a costrahastan was way tankier than a Solbask. Frederick and Marlowe said they could stab through the shell of its head to kill it. Elian didn’t think a mantis shrimp was that much tougher than a regular shrimp either if it was indeed classified as one.

  There must be something about their body structure that made them survive their own attacks.

  “I could ask Frederick or Marlowe to bring me a costrahastan arm from their hunts.”

  “What do you have there?” An approaching guard gruffly asked, interrupting Elian’s thoughts. Elian must’ve looked suspicious going through papers while muttering to himself.

  “Drawings of plants and animals, sir.” Elian handed the parchments to the guard. “I bought them from Floramage Gideon if you know him. I’m an avid collector of—”

  “That silly old pot dealing with odd plants,” groaned the guard as he checked one of the drawings. “I didn’t know he was this good in art. Instead of peddling his bizarre creations and picking fights with other merchants, he should apply to be a painter for a lord.”

  “I told him exactly that. He said that he loves plants from the moment—”

  “I’m sure he does,” the guard cut in, handing Elian back the drawings. “Thank you for your cooperation.”

  “How goes the investigation, sir?” Elian asked before the guard could turn away. This low-level soldier wouldn’t know any important details but there’d be some rumors among their ranks. Elian would try to extract them from him. “Have you caught the thief yet? He should be hanged!” He added that last line to sound zealous.

  The guard shrugged. “I suppose it isn’t prohibited for me to tell you we haven’t caught the criminals. If we did, they’d be paraded in the streets before they are executed.”

  “Criminals? You suspect there is more than one?”

  “It couldn’t have been the work with a single person given the intricate security of the temple, especially the halls of gold.” The guard relaxed as their conversation went on. He must’ve been stressed by the whole situation; this wasn’t normal for the Temples of Tribulation to experience. “Between you and me, I don’t think the followers of Penitent Tharguras did it. Only someone with a cracked skull would steal an item to then use it during a Tribulation for all to see.”

  “Ah, I thought Penitent Tharguras is the prime suspect because the priests haven’t released him yet,” Elian said, playing the part of an interested gossip. “But I agree with you, sir. Too obvious, isn’t it? Someone is framing him so they can run off with the stolen armor and sell those far away.”

  This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  The guard chewed his tongue, likely mulling over whether to correct Elian’s wrong assessment. He took the bait. “The treasures of the Temples of Tribulation are very recognizable,” he said. “And the Magistrate’s followers widespread in all lands. What was stolen is a legendary suit of armor—if someone were to buy it from the thieves, they’d want to use it. But they can’t without the risk of getting discovered. Moreover, a price cannot be placed on the armor. Each piece is more valuable than an entire town. Who will pay that much for something they couldn’t use?”

  “You speak true words, sir.”

  “With their skills, the thieves could have stolen some other precious items that are easier to sell and don’t invite the ire of a strong force, such as the followers of the Hundred-Armed Magistrate.”

  “Do you mean that the thieves' true plan is something else?” Apparently, everyone, from the priests to the guards thought the same as him. “Why hasn’t Penitent Tharguras been released yet?”

  “I wouldn’t know, now, would I? I’m not important enough to be told. But… I have my suspicions. Don’t go spreading this, you hear? The esteemed priests fear an attack on the Champion Penitent. Those spreading rumors that he is the thief have malicious plans for him. The priests protect him while holding the peace of the hills. The criminals would show themselves soon enough, and we will recover what was stolen.”

  That’s also what I think would work best, Elian thought. But he still couldn’t shake the feeling of something amiss. Besides the obvious, of course.

  “Since we’re talking rumors here,” continued the guard in a lower voice, “some say that… the priests are in disagreement about certain… things. I won’t tell you what though.”

  “They suspect one of them is involved in the theft?” Elian jolted. This occurred to him only now.

  “I-I never said that,” the guard hissed, backing away. “I’ll have to check… uh, you there!”

  It makes sense… Elian thought, observing the guard stop a cart loaded with fruits. A heist of such scale would be much easier with inside help. Though his knowledge of robberies was only from true crime documentaries and heist movies—and he watched those long ago—they usually had an insider. Didn’t have to be an actual accomplice. Their helper could be an unwitting participant in the crime.

  The thieves could’ve tricked or blackmailed one or more of the priests into helping them. Thalman had mentioned all the priests worked together to protect the items in the golden hall. It wasn’t like any of them had the motive…

  How would I know if they have a motive or not? Heck, Thalman attacked the Magistrate more than a decade ago. He had some issues. The other priests might have crazy backstories too.

  “Too few clues to know what to do,” Elian said, tutting in frustration.

  Returning to camp, Elian began to practice controlling Viney and Aether constructs, making different structures following Gideon’s illustrations. He made bigger versions first because making fine tendrils and Aether strands was out of reach of his current skills. He settled with cylinders the size of his arm; their insides were an entangled network of Barkskin and Aether.

  “I’ll hit this, brother Elian?” Casimir asked, hammer in hand. Elian had asked for his help.

  “The hardest you can.”

  “Here goes.” Casimir pounded the cylinder. The shape crumpled and compressed, but didn’t break. A good start.

  Elian’s experiments became the entertainment of the pilgrims while they waited for dinner to cook. A much better pastime than worrying about Tharguras or talking about fights breaking out on this hill or that camp. Violence seemed to spread again despite the guards deployed. Thankfully, it was peaceful in their area, and they had fun with a contest on who could deal the most damage to Elian’s creations. Even the children took turns. Elian took a break every six cylinders to let Viney recuperate, using the time to assess the results and plan adjustments. Gideon’s new potion healed Viney so Elian didn’t need to wait too long; for some reason, Rejuvenating Roots didn’t work on Viney itself.

  When everyone was tired and started preparing to sleep, Elian headed to the trees to practice what Thalman taught him about compacting constructs. But Elian wasn’t going to make aura emitters. Not now, anyway. He wanted to miniaturize the structures he made without taking too much concentration. Mind-efficiency, as Thalman had said.

  “Wait, what time is it?” Elian paused his practice. He still hadn’t done his Tribulation.

  It was late at night; no one was going to bother them now. Probably a couple of hours to go until the next day, and he’d have his Tribulation again if there was a fight.

  A thought occurred to him—what if I waited until midnight?

  He called up his Covenant with the Gods and examined the details of the Magistrate’s Curse.

  Lesser Curse of the Overzealous Judge

  Once a day, you must call upon a Tribulation and suffer it twice, increasing two attributes of your choosing as reward. If you fail to present yourself for heaven’s judgment before the day rolls into the next, the Hundred-Armed Magistrate will strike you with Tribulations thrice the number of what was owed. All debt must be paid.

  “I’m quite sure that ‘day rolls into the next’ means midnight,” he said. “But what does the penalty mean? Thrice the number… that should be six times then?” If there was any time he should test the penalty, it should be now. The double strike of the Tribulation barely caused him any pain. Six strikes would also be no worries.

  He picked up his lantern ball and headed deeper into the forest. Six strikes would disturb the tired pilgrims.

  Once he picked his spot, he undressed himself and consumed a drop of the Attack Power potion. He had his trusty cleaver that seemed immune from the curse of his possessions getting destroyed. He had hiked in the dark forest for more than an hour. He shouldn’t wait too long for midnight.

  Since the sky was mostly cloudy, it was hard to tell when the strike was coming. But there was a very obvious sign—Elian’s tattoos from the Magistrate’s Curse lit up brightly.

  “Here we go.” Elian clenched his teeth, crouching to protect his cleaver.

  The first slam came, quickly followed by the second. He bowed lower from the weight. Three! Four! The strikes came in batches in two, like the Cursed Tribulation, with a few seconds in between. Each strike drove his knees deeper into the ground.

  Wasn’t that a bit stronger than the last? He didn’t have much time to think because the last two strikes slammed down, lighting up the darkness with blue light. Those were stronger than the first two.

  Elian stood up and distractedly picked his rewards—two attributes added as usual. He pondered the implications of the Curse’s penalty. Essentially, he hastened the progress of the Tribulation’s strength by two days without any rewards. Good to know. He shouldn’t allow that to happen again.

  Getting penalized would be a huge problem once his Tribulations reached the strength of those that Tharguras and Faridar experienced. The first few strikes could wipe out the prepared defenses, leaving the rest to finish him off. And also, he was taking away preparation time.

  Could I hide in a cave? Borlen said Tribulation couldn’t be called down without a view of the sky. Wouldn’t that mean he could escape the penalty Tribulation at midnight if he was underground? He could spend time in isolation training in a cave like some war monks do, and come out stronger. By then, he’d be ready to face the Tribulation.

  But what would happen after he’d leave the cave after a month or two?

  All debts must be paid—this was the last line of the Magistrate’s Curse.

  “I feel like it’s going to be way more than six strikes,” Elian said. All the missed Tribulations, including their rate of becoming stronger, which was a sort of interest to the debt, would strike him. This was his guess, and he wasn’t stupid enough to test it.

  The words of Priest Thalman echoed in Elian’s ears. “The possibility that I can once again walk on the Penitent Path lessens with each passing day. Given the years that have passed, it is impossible now.”

  Why would the priest say that?

  Was he really Cursed?