Ash. The Legends of the Nameless World. Progression Gamelit Story by Kirill Klevanski (ink book reader .txt) 📕

Like a single organism, the swordsmen rushed to the aid of those who were in the red zone. Ignoring the pain in their hands, they grabbed the ropes, keeping the ferry afloat and preventing the logs from breaking. Some of the Aqueals fell into the water and were quickly helped back onto the deck. All except a boy who was standing closest to the edge when the attack occurred. The child was carried away a few yards and thrown directly into the center of the storm.

“Man overboard!” Raland shouted as he single-handedly tied several huge logs with ropes. His powerful arms bulged from strain and face turned red.

For just a moment, the Ternites stared at the drowning boy, who was desperately beating the water with his arms in the vain attempt of saving himself. Just a moment, and then they all returned to their posts as if nothing had ever happened.

Ash gritted his teeth and looked at Mary. She shook her head and nodded toward the raging spirit. But the mage slung his staff over his back and dove like a swallow into the river. As soon as the water closed above his head, he felt as if he were trapped in a coffin. He slowly sank to the bottom, feeling his magic leave him. For the first time since that day, he felt helpless.

Chapter 45

9th Day of the Month of Afir, 312. A.D., Mt. Mok-Pu, The Eastern Territory

M any novices had gathered in one of the monastery’s many pavilions despite the cold of the winter’s months. Ash saw young Chen and Hao among those present, who had set fire to brother Fen’s beard last week, stuffed snow into the abbot’s collar, threw snowballs at sister Nan, and done many more mischiefs. It wasn’t for nothing that the group of children that Ash had ended up was considered the most troublesome in the monastery.

Sisters Sen and Men — twins that were very talented musicians — also came to watch the performance. The music was played on bamboo flutes and an instrument made of a piece of curved wood with many strings, the name of which Ash still didn’t know. The notes were sharp and high, but they didn’t lose the elegance of the melody. Brother Jing-Jing, the man who had brought Ash to the mountain, was there as well. The two had become good friends. Jig, as Ash called him, was looking at his ward with a smile.

Ah, but one could go on forever about who was present in the Hall of Wisdom. The Hall, usually empty, was a spacious structure that could easily accommodate the entire population of the monastery. Only those who sought advice from the God of Wisdom, Liao-Fen, came here when no festivities were taking place.

The statue of the heavenly sage stood at the end of the Hall. His face was thoughtful, the right hand frozen, propping his chin, and the left hovering over the chessboard as he contemplated his next move. Across from the God, was sage Jianyu, seated in a lotus position. According to legend, his mind was so bright that Liao-Fen came down from his hall to play a game with the monk. But one day, Jianyu baffled the God, and the latter, in order to be able to think about the answer, turned the monk to stone and promised to undo the spell when he came up with a good move. He must’ve found himself in quite the predicament because the monastery was almost eleven thousand years old.

Finally, abbot Ling waved his hand. Armed with a makeshift staff, Ash began to recite the Words.

He made ribbons dance like snakes, stones fly like birds, air turn into water, water turn into stone, and turn into ray of sunshine. He wove a small cloud, planted a piece of night into it, and created the light of a star on his hand. He pulled a child’s laugh from his pocket and used it to light a torch made of water. He called the pans and pots from the kitchen, much to the cook’s displeasure, and made them dance.

Smiling, Ash shook his free hand and picked up the pace. He uttered hundreds of Words, changing the laws of the universe and giving life to the impossible. His performance lasted for two days, during which he wasn’t allowed to drink, eat, or go to the bathroom. During the night, so that the mage didn’t sleep, but continued to chant, he was watched in shifts by Qiang and Kisheng, two older students who were near the end of their training.

And so, on the third day, when the mage uttered his last magical formulae, and the new audience (who, unlike him, couldn’t stay in the same place for three days and three nights) was deafened by the sound of the morning gong, Ash earned the title of the Master of a Thousand Words, one of the several living on the unnamed planet.

There were claps as the monks picked up the exhausted, but happy young man and carried him away. That moment, when dozens of sincere smiles lit up around him, would forever remain in Ash’s memory.

Evening of the same day

Dusk was falling on the Eastern continent. In the west, the tired sun was hiding among the mountains and clouds, and in the east, stars were slowly coming out to show their beautiful faces to those who remained awake. Their cold light, coupled with the frosty air, made Ash pull his clothes tighter around himself, wishing that cloaks were an accepted attire in the monastery. A nice, thick cloak would be wonderful right about now.

Sniffling, he sat on a rock, where he had spent many days and nights, learning, as stupid as that might sound, the secrets of the universe — other than that, he simply had nothing to do