‘Stagefarer.’

  Arnold raised his eyebrow at the unfamiliar term. He had never heard it before, not from anyone he had encountered.

  But to be fair, he had only met about five people with supernatural abilities so far. How could he possibly know the internal terminology of the hidden world?

  Bless for the public, Stagefarer for the inside. It was an intriguing distinction. He guessed it might be a way to separate the extraordinary people from the ordinary, to gatekeep them from knowing too much?

  Davis rapped his knuckles on the service hatch, ordering a plate of salted meat, another pint of ale, pickled eggs, and boiled peas. When the dishes arrived, he threw another strip of dry meat into his mouth and chewed loudly.

  “Stagefarer is a term to call those who pursue extraordinary paths. The Stagefarer is usually split into several factions. Each Faction holds its own Paths, and each Path bears a different name. Within these Paths, one must advance through several Stages. The higher the stage, the stronger you get.”

  Davis set down a small fork in front of Arnold as if he were demonstrating something with props.

  “Ya may have heard of it. One of the factions was the Church of White, the Harmony faction. Though, I do not know their specific paths.”

  He then placed another fork beside it.

  “Beside that is the Violence faction. That is the faction that I and Rudo currently pursue.”

  Arnold rubbed his chin, considering the information.

  “So you two are both Stagefarer?”

  “Precisely, master. We both knocked a potion provided by the Boss.”

  “And yet, bested by some nobody…” Rudo grumbled into his tankard, the shame evidently bitterer than the ale.

  Ignoring his sullen companion, Davis continued. He placed two spoons onto the end of his fork so they branched out like a slingshot.

  “In the Violence faction, I only know of two paths. Mine is the 'Path of the Deceiver.' Rudo here walks the 'Path of the Warrior.' Once you choose a path, there is no turning back. You can only march forward through the Stages.”

  He cast a glance at Rudo, who was leaning back in his chair, staring morosely at the ceiling.

  “Each Stage within a Path bears a unique name. I’m not sure what the purpose is, but that’s simply how it is.”

  Davis placed two green peas at the head of each spoon, creating a little row.

  “Rudo stands at the Entry Stage. This is the first step, often called the Zero Stage, and thus it carries no unique name.

  “At this stage, they do not provide much in terms of extraordinary ability. As an Entry in the Warrior path, Rudo’s strength is merely greater than that of a common man.”

  Then he placed a second row of green peas below the first.

  “As for myself, I stand at the Apprentice Stage, a step above the Entry. The Apprentice Stage of the Deceiver Path grants the unique name of ‘the Deceiver.’ At this stage, I can think and calculate quicker, my mind is sharper, and my tongue... Well, let us say it is more persuasive.”

  ‘I see,’ Arnold thought. ‘That explains why he surrendered so quickly.’

  As a man of intellect, Davis had calculated the odds and realized fighting Arnold was a losing proposition.

  Davis added another row of peas below the previous two.

  “Beyond the Entry and Apprentice lies the Foundation Stage. Boss Danz stands there upon the Warrior Path, which bears the unique name ‘The Gladiator’. He is a beast of a man. He becomes much stronger, has better stamina, resistance, speed, and can ignite fire. That is the extent of my knowledge.”

  He chuckled as he pointed toward Rudo again.

  “The Apprentice Stage of the Warrior Path grants the unique name ‘The Fighter.’ Rudo shall bear that name, should he ever advance to the next stage.”

  Arnold nodded slowly while he digested the new information.

  If he had to compare it to something, it resembled a class-and-level system in Izzy’s old world’s games. a Path was a Class, a Faction was a broad category of classes. Once chosen, you could not switch.

  Stolen content warning: this content belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences.

  Stages were simply levels. Entry stage was level 0. Apprentice was level 1. Foundation was level 2. Unique names were simply Class Titles.

  Davis was a Level 1 Deceiver of the Violence Faction.

  Arnold surmised the Faction’s name was relevant; they pursued strength through aggression, intellect through trickery.

  ‘Boss Danz’s abilities…It felt somewhat similar to Glen.’ Arnold raised his head.

  “Do they happen to have crimson eyes?” he asked. Violence and crimson seemed like an obvious connection.

  Davis’s eyes went round, then brightened.

  “Lor', so ya did encounter them, master. Ya are indeed right. The Violence faction’s color code is crimson, the color of blood.”

  As he spoke, his own eyes flashed red for a brief moment, a flicker like a spark of blood-colored flame.

  ‘!’

  That meant all the people Izzy had met until now belonged to the Violence Faction!

  Arnold tensed instinctively. He knew too well how dangerous these beings were. He looked at Davis with heightened caution.

  “Pray, do not look at us so, master.” Davis said quickly, raising his hands in surrender. “We are only at the earlier stages. We possess no real ability to harm a master such as yourself.”

  He understood what Davis was trying to convey. I am harmless to you, and I harbor no ill intent.

  “How to become one?” Arnold raised a question and tapped his finger against the wooden table.

  Davis and Rudo looked at each other. Davis answered while adjusting his posture.

  “The easiest way is to become one of the Church’s own. To be blessed directly by the Monarch. A Bless.”

  He held up two calloused fingers.

  “There be two great Churches that I know of: the Church of White, which holds sway in this Conquesita Kingdom. And the Church of Contest, the faith of the southern lands… the Praetus Empire.”

  ‘Praetus Empire!’ Arnold had heard of this place from Erin, but knew little more than its name. Hearing it here confirmed its real presence.

  ‘So, another church from the Empire,’

  The Praetus Empire received aid from Duke Lowell… then perhaps there was a political alliance or some form of mutual influence between the Empire and the Kingdom.

  “I do not know much about Praetus,” Davis admitted, scratching his cheek, “but to be chosen by the Church of White… Well, that requires one to pass their trials. I heard only the purest of heart, the truly righteous, may endure. For the likes of us, bandits, common folk and scoundrels, can only dream about it.”

  ‘So he doesn't know about Praetus either.’ Arnold nodded. He did not particularly care about the empire, only the small fragments of information. The church and its trials, however, were a more interesting matter.

  Davis popped a piece of dry, salty meat into his mouth and continued chewing as he spoke.

  “The other way… the true way of the Stagefarer… is to partake of a potion.”

  He shook his ale tankard, looked at the liquid inside, and smiled meaningfully.

  “One can attempt to brew their own, but the ingredients are very expensive, rare, nearly impossible to find. More often, pre-made potions can be found in the black markets, or by swearing fealty to a secret organization, or by joining a band of… wild Stagefarers.”

  Arnold narrowed his eyes. “Explain these terms.”

  Davis scratched his head, looking embarrassed.

  “Ah, that, master. Bless refers to people who are officially registered with the Church. Stagefarers are those who come from official organizations that belong to the underworld but are tolerated by the Church.”

  He paused for a moment, watching Arnold’s reaction, then pointed at his own fried egg with the fork.

  “The Holy Court, for instance, is the head of the Church of White. But then you have the likes of the Silver Land, an organization so powerful it is given leave to operate by the Church, the Kingdom, and even the Praetus Empire.”

  He gestured with his fork toward the unappetizing slab of salty meat.

  “And as for ‘wild Stagefarers’, that term is for the likes of us, master. Those who do not join the Church. Lone wolves, bands of thieves, evil organizations. We find our own way, our own potions, and pursue the paths ourselves.”

  He smirked, his grin widening unapologetically.

  “By the letter of the law, we are outlaws, to be sure. But the Church does not pursue this matter much unless they catch you red-handed. There are too many Stagefarers out there. They cannot hope to catch us all, can they?”

  He stuffed another piece of salty meat into his mouth.

  “Besides, we are from the Violence faction, a faction connected to the Church of Contest. They are… more liberal in their views on such matters, haha.”

  Arnold stroked his chin in deep thought.

  ‘So each church has a different stance toward wild Stagefarers? That’s interesting.’

  Davis leaned forward again, this time bringing the tines of his fork close to Arnold’s face, his tone shifting to one of grave warning.

  “But I must offer this caution, should you wish to become a Stagefarer, master. Though a Bless and a Stagefarer both pursue extraordinary paths…”

  He shook the fork for emphasis, his eyes narrowing dangerously.

  “There is a reason Stagefarers stay secret while Bless stands in the open. Without a blessing from the Monarch, the luckiest thing that might happen to you… is nothing. Absolutely nothing will change.”

  He slammed the fork down onto the table, the sharp clang echoing in the small, quiet room.

  “But the worst outcome…. You will die on the spot.”

  He pulled it out slowly and smiled.

  “Or you will lose control, descend into madness—and turn into a Curse.”

  Well, I guess using Bless is kind of generic. Use Beyonder is kinda….copycat Lotm. So I wanna create my own term, which is Stagefarer.

  Well, writing it is quite cool, but when reading it out loud…it’s kinda…uhh, idk. Long? Hard?

  Someone did recommend using Farers only, but I will see how it's going.

  Anyway, happy New Year! Yes, my New Year is faster than most of my readers, probably!