After washing the blood from his hands, he returned to his desk and settled into his scribing, hoping to relax. No exercise today, he thought with a small smile. “I’ll write down everything I remember about the adventurers,” he murmured, “and then craft a few more spell scrolls.”

  As the light filtered through the window and the chaos of the past day receded to the edges of his thoughts, the quiet scratch of pen on parchment took his mind off what he’d had to do the evening before and the looming threat of the Inquisition.

  For the moment, at least, he was just a young scribe in his childhood bedroom using his [Draughtsmanship] skill.

  Three hours later, Jack had assembled a modest stack of papers containing high-quality sketches of all six adventurers, each accompanied by any names or relevant details they had let slip. He had also drafted a concise cover letter for the guards, outlining the adventurers’ actions and subtly implying a pattern of similar crimes. Nothing too bold, just enough to raise eyebrows.

  I’ll have to do something similar regarding Baron Greaves and the other blood cult members, he thought grimly. I hope the Inquisition executes the lot of them.

  Jack leafed through the pages once more, scanning for errors or inconsistencies. Finding none, he neatly stacked the documents and slid them onto a safe spot on his bookshelf; they were tucked between two old tomes on regional law and monster classifications.

  That should be enough. I hope Dad approves. The thought of his father reading through his work, evaluating it not as a parent but as a fellow scribe, filled Jack with both excited anticipation and unease. His father’s opinion mattered more than anyone’s.

  After the fire that had destroyed his home and claimed his family, Jack had spent years drifting, aimless and embittered. He’d never found another figure to look up to. His father had been his guiding star and role model, the man who had shown him, by quiet example, what it meant to live with dignity. A gentleman not in title, but in conduct. His father was honourable, principled, and in his own way, brave.

  I want to be like him, Jack thought, swallowing the lump rising in his throat.

  Jack picked up his smaller notebook and turned to a fresh page. It was time to record the fight with the rat-faced rogue. A few minutes later, the memory was etched in ink. Every misstep, every hesitation, every lucky stroke. He read over it, committing each detail to memory with his [Perfect Recall] skill, and marked the mistakes he’d made. Not to dwell on them, but to learn and improve.

  Next time, he told himself, I’ll do better.

  Unexpected Encounter with Six Adventurers

  Location: Forest clearing outside Lundun

  Duration: Under an hour

  Weapons: Dagger. White oak bow with quiver of ten cheap arrows

  Summary of Events:

  Failed to avoid a potential confrontation. Critical error.

  Surrendering the goblin’s ear and sword to the adventurers was the right choice.

  Choosing to run created the time needed to hide and plan. Absolutely the right move.

  Hiding in the root-ball hollow was a sound decision.

  Successfully used [True Aim] on the first shot despite difficulty breathing. Valuable skill in high-stress situations.

  Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

  Missed or fumbled two follow-up shots. Fear and breathlessness played a significant role.

  Switched from long-range to melee when the bow proved ineffective. Necessary, if risky.

  Became tangled in roots. Costly mistake that nearly resulted in death.

  Headbutting the rogue. Created a crucial opening.

  The dagger was decisive. Close combat ended the fight.

  The melee was brutal, chaotic, and terrifying.

  Did not hesitate to finish the rogue once the opportunity presented itself.

  Notable Factors:

  Luck significantly influenced the outcome:

  -Rogue froze after first hit; unexpected advantage.

  -Rogue flinched when loosing arrows; his accuracy decreased significantly.

  -Rogue’s arrows caused minimal damage; fortunate, given my lack of armour.

  -Ended up on top during the final clash; sheer chance.

  Returning to the root-ball hollow to avoid the remaining adventurers was the correct call.

  Observations and Lessons Learned:

  Should have hidden in the forest upon first hearing voices, my pride nearly got me killed.

  Life is more important than dignity.

  Though costly, carrying [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls could have allowed a safer escape or battlefield advantage.

  Cardio endurance is poor. I struggled to breathe after a few minutes of running. I must begin physical training as soon as I’m healed.

  A dark cloak will improve concealment.

  Invest in high-quality armour as soon as funds allow.

  Consider acquiring stealth-based gear or scrolls for evasion.

  Carry healing spell scrolls at all times. One good heal could be the difference between survival and death.

  Continue practising with the dagger. Close-quarters combat is inevitable.

  Consider choosing another combat class.

  Jack rubbed the back of his neck as the weight of his luck finally settled in. “So many things could’ve gone wrong,” he muttered, destroying the already memorised note with a sigh. Out of curiosity, he opened his status to check his Luck affinity, comparing it against what he’d recorded in his notepad a few days earlier.

  To his surprise, his Luck affinity had risen by one percent, up to 14%.

  “That’s… unusual.” He frowned. It was rare for affinities to shift so quickly. A person of his age might, for instance, subject themselves to regular doses of poison and only see their Poison affinity rise by a single percent over the course of a year. Even then, that was considered fast.

  Intrigued, Jack scanned through the rest of his affinity values and was startled to find additional changes. He grabbed his notebook and noted the discrepancies.

  Table of Affinities

  Affinity | Old Value | Increase

  Fate 71% +1%

  Earth 25% +1%

  Blood 18% +1%

  Luck 13% +1%

  Poison 10% +1%

  “That is so strange,” Jack murmured, scratching his head. “Five. Why?”

  He stared at the table, trying to make sense of it. Everything he’d ever read about affinities made one thing clear. They were slow to change. Years of dedicated training or repeated exposure to the appropriate elements were typically required to shift a value by even a single percent. Significant changes tended to occur after major life events, such as nearly dying from poisoning or undergoing a magical transformation.

  A single affinity increase after a fight might be explainable, but five? That wasn’t how affinities worked. “Not unless…” Jack’s eyes narrowed. “Something’s different about me.”

  A chill ran down his spine. This wasn’t something he could risk anyone else discovering. Not the Inquisition, not the Guild, not even his own father. If someone learned that his affinities were shifting like this… well, it wouldn’t take much for the wrong sort of attention to find him.

  “Hmm… I should destroy any notes about my affinities.” He ripped the page out of his notebook and destroyed it. “I can’t let anyone see this information,” he whispered. “I’d better destroy anything that seems out of place as well.”

  He destroyed almost everything he’d written in his notebook since waking up in his teenage body. He had them memorised, so he could recreate them at any time. But for now, they were better forgotten.

  Having no answers, Jack finished reviewing his notes to help cement the fight in memory, then turned to a task he enjoyed. Crafting spell scrolls.