Reborn From the Cosmos

ARC 7-Cursed Fates-156-Dunwayne

When he was an earnest boy named Dunn, the Harvest Hero wanted to grow up, both in body and spirit. A child couldn’t stand up to the bullies in the slums where he grew up. A child couldn’t earn crowns to support his family. All he wanted was to do honest work and live an honest life.

When he was a naïve young man, confidence buoyed by the attentions of his master, he wanted to prove himself. He wanted excitement. To slay monsters and bed beautiful women. The world was opened to him and he wanted to indulge in every bit of it. Even some of the unsavory parts.

When he was at the height of his power and reputation, having just saved the kingdom from a threat it could have never predicted, he wanted to change the world. To save the kingdom from itself. Guide it to bigger and better future. His ambitions led him to the palace, where he bumped agendas with the most influential men in the land.

When he was older and a little wiser, he remembered he was just one man and settled for leaving his mark. He was no longer arrogant enough to believe that he could guide all of humanity, but he was determined to make a difference and prayed to the saints that it would be a positive one.

Now, as a tired old man, all he wanted was peace and quiet. He didn’t have the heart to fight against fate. His magic hadn’t waned, but his physical strength and his stamina had. He had learned much but his mind wasn’t as sharp as it used to be, unable to juggle his many responsibilities with the same competence as he once could.

Life cared nothing for his decline. It continued to throw trials at him, the latest one of the greatest he’d ever faced. Seated behind his desk with his fingers splayed to reduce their aching and his back as straight as he could make it, he tried to project a strength he didn’t feel as he was delivered bad news.

“We severely underestimated the fallout of the conflict between Lady Tome and the guilds.” Cynthia Oriole rubbed her bloodshot eyes as she focused on the papers she held. Her robe was tied messily and the front had fresh stains on it. Her dark hair was tied back and her frown made her age, usually carefully disguised through a half dozen creams and skillfully applied make-up, show prominently. As both the founder and face of a beauty company, the alchemist took great care of her looks. Her haggard appearance was a testament to how hard she was working.

Dunwayne could vaguely remember her years as an acolyte. Cynthia had been full of spirit, with a curious streak a league wide. More than once, he’d listened to exasperated instructors and healers begging him to expel her after she injured herself one of a hundred different ways with her experiments. He defended her and he did so because he saw potential in her inquisitive mind. Moreover, her compassionate spirit. She never endangered another soul, choosing to try her salves and potions personally instead.

Decades later, there was no trace of that reckless girl besides that compassion. He worried that her love of crowns and expensive taste would compromise it, but she managed to balance the two halves of her heart. She was a shining endorsement of the Hall, the reason Dunwayne had leveraged all his gold and many favors to see it built.

“The camp needs more supplies and manpower and that’s only the beginning. All our problems are worsening by the day. We planned to house a fraction of civilians for a week, maybe two.” She scowled. “We also expected that the city’s leadership would still be intact and would provide for them afterwards. Or that they would have families and jobs to rely on.

“The Abyss swallowed all those hopes. Almost the whole southern half of the city has been flattened. The camp we expected to house a few hundred, maximum, has thousands of souls crammed into it. We’re expanding and rationing, but people are still cramped and going hungry. We’ve tried salvaging supplies from the city and buying more, but between looters and greedy bastards jacking up prices, every bag of grain is a miracle.”

Dunwayne let out a breath and tried to ignore the pain in his lower back. It seemed everything made him hurt in some way. “Does the Hall not have surplus?”

The alchemist sighed. “Our stores are tight. The dorm kitchens tell me that they have enough to feed the acolytes for two weeks, maybe four if they start rationing right away. That doesn’t include the instructors who likely don’t have more than a few days of food in their homes, the laborers, or the servants. We also don’t know when we’ll be resupplied.

“News of what happened will have spread to every corner of the kingdom by now. Certainly Rosentheim. Any merchant that isn’t scared will be charging an arm and a leg for anything they carry. If we open our pantries, we can feed everyone for a week, but after that we’ll have to deal with dozens of powerful, angry casters. Hopefully, they’ll just leave but if they don’t…”

“What of the Sanctuary? They grow food crops and raise beasts that can be slaughtered.”

“No offense, Headmaster, but the Temple will fight us tooth and nail before they let us remove a blade of grass. Literally.”

Dunwayne sighed. Many times, he questioned his decision to house the manabeast fanatics. Long before he built the school, the different clans that made up the Temple were nomads and raiders. They lived in small tribes and wandered large swaths of land, stealing what they wanted from smaller settlements before disappearing into the wilderness.

The royal army was mobilized many times to subdue them, but none could rival the wild men and women in untamed lands. For every member they detained or killed, they suffered a dozen casualties and it never helped. The Temple was both stubborn and vengeful. They’d disappeared for months before resurfacing to cause more trouble than before.

Dunwayne got involved with them when the previous king requested his help in subduing a particularly raucous tribe. The leader had tamed a winged crimson cobra, one of the deadliest flying manabeasts on the continent. Big enough to swallow a bear, possessing powerful wind magic, and able to spew acidic mists. Aerial combat was already difficult for the best of the best. A caster riding on the back of such a beast made it impossible.

At the time, Dunwayne had just been waking up to the possibility that not every problem had to be solved with violence. He defied many expectations by talking to them and he discovered that they were not the monsters the nobles painted them as. They were strange people with strange beliefs but all they wanted was the freedom to live as they pleased.

Dunwayne leveraged his reputation to strike a deal with the clan he was sent to subdue and every other they had connections with. He stopped their raiding and found them legitimate work that benefited the kingdom. In return, he promised to find them a place for them to live in peace. He intended for that place to be a quiet corner of the kingdom, likely in the underdeveloped south. When he started making plans for the Hall, the Sanctuary seemed a much better fit. Also, their taming skills gave the school a source of income, which it desperately needed in the beginning.

It was the right choice and a lot of good had come from it…but also a lot of complications. The Temple grew in power while Dunwayne weakened. They were well beyond his ability to rein in, but they still listened when he spoke, owing to what he had done for them. His successor wouldn’t even have that.

The old hero was no fool. Soon, time would claim him as it claimed all creatures. He’d long ago made his peace that being a legend didn’t make him immortal. Leaving a legacy was as close as he’d come, and he worried about it. It had become more than he ever imagined. A beacon of light. The key to the kingdom’s future.

The Hall wasn’t the only place where the talented gathered. It was the only place where the lowest of the low could rise to the greatest heights. A place where those born without status or wealth could cultivate their talent without fear of reprisal. The Hall represented hope.

Dunwayne loved the kingdom, but he was aware of its deficiencies. Harvest wasn’t a fair or kind place. Some areas were outright travesties, like Victory. The powerful hoarded their power and none could challenge them. That was the way of things for a long time. There was no motivation to change as there were no other options, humanity having isolated itself from the world generations ago.

Dunwayne had shined a light into the dark pit the common people thought inescapable for generations. His influence extended far beyond his domain. He and the Hall allowed people to dream. Harvest couldn’t lose that.

And he was very afraid they would. He’d extended his help after the crisis for many reasons, not least of which was his altruistic spirit, but one of them was to test his subordinates. To see who would rise to the occasion, because that was who he wanted to take over when he inevitably retired.

Some had, notably Cynthia who had taken it upon herself to organize the Hall’s efforts and Alyssa who was on the frontline of the disaster. The acolytes were also working hard, motivated by reduced tuition and a possible apprenticeship to a master. But the true power behind the Hall, the instructors, weren’t interested.

Dunwayne wasn’t training heroes. The Hall represented freedom. It drew the best and the brightest because it gave them space and didn’t place restrictions on them. Powerful casters tended to be arrogant and selfish. They also tended to be distant, especially from the little people. The only emotion the plight of the city inspired was annoyance, as the lack of supplies and the interrupted trade routes would hinder their work.

It was shameful, but if everyone was a saint, they wouldn’t be worshipped. There was no point in lamenting what others didn’t do. Heroes took action.

“I will write to the Rosefields. Their patriarch owes me a favor or two.”

“How many favors does it take to get a reasonable price for grain?” the alchemist groused.

“Too many. He’s a thief dressed in a nice jacket, but the Hall can eat the damage. Keeping people fed is more important than minding the treasury.”

Cynthia hummed in agreement. “If we’re lucky, it won’t take more than two weeks for the food to arrive. Two hard weeks.”

“I will endeavor to hasten my dealings but, yes, it could come to that. Perhaps longer.”

The alchemist slumped in her seat. “Is there nothing else we can do?”

“There is another place to get food. The sea.”

“You want to negotiate with Graywatch? We joke when we call merchants thieves, but pirates are literal thieves. They will milk this situation for all it’s worth.”

“I find, no matter their reputation, people are people. As long as you can find common ground, they can be reasoned with.”

“How do we find common ground with a pirate?”

Dunwayne chuckled. Before, the answer would have been by grabbing one of their ships and crashing it into the docks, but he didn’t need the trouble of throwing out his back. “Through another pirate. I understand we have several acolytes from the coast attending. I’m sure at least one has the connections we need.”

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