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Chapter 32: The Scholar
As Brandon stepped into Tullamane’s house, the first thing he noticed was the polished black pine floor scattered with manuscripts. Turning his head to the left, he saw a thick tome resting on a wooden stand. In this world, papermaking wasn’t advanced—writing on coarse pages required wide margins, and books were often bound with leather stretched over wooden frames. These tomes were cumbersome to transport and prone to damage.
Though kingdoms had Noble Libraries and Royal Academies, such institutions catered only to the children of merchants, minor nobles, and landowners. Even in prosperous nations, ordinary citizens preferred apprenticing their children in workshops rather than sending them to study.
Brandon quickly glanced at the book’s contents—it seemed Tullamane was researching ancient languages. He looked down at the scattered manuscripts; the old man appeared to be studying the evolution of the Highland language family (the Cruzean branch). Judging by the notes, he’d already made some progress.
To the average person of this era, these manuscripts would be indecipherable. Barthom might mistake them for scrap paper, while Freya would likely assume they were filled with incomprehensible scribbles.
Finally, the sound of flipping pages ceased. “Young man,” Tullamane said, “where did you come across this language?” After consulting a series of obscure texts, he’d identified a dialect whose phonetics and structure closely matched the syllable Brandon had spoken.
The Ancient Garonji Tongue.
The Garonji were the weakest of the five ancient Cruzean tribes, but their existence alone lent credence to Brandon’s claim—that the ancestors of the Cruzeans had indeed recorded history. Though Tullamane doubted modern Cruzeans were direct descendants of their ancient counterparts, he couldn’t deny that King Geert of Flames bore unmistakable traits of the ancient Cruzeans.
Brandon smiled but remained silent.
Tullamane, glasses perched on his nose, emerged from an inner room clutching a thick tome. He settled into a wicker chair near a window opposite Brandon, glancing up at the four visitors. Then, opening a cabinet, he retrieved a pipe from the second drawer, tapped it on the table, and watched as a flame ignited within, sending wisps of smoke curling upward.
Placing the pipe between his teeth, he exhaled a cloud of smoke through his nostrils before speaking. “You’re silent, which means you want something. Speak your request, young man. I’ll admit, you’ve piqued my curiosity—but don’t think you’ve won yet. I may be old, but I’m not senile. What do you hope to gain from me with a single word? You’d best offer something useful in return.”
Tullamane’s words startled Barthom and Freya, who now realized Brandon was negotiating with the wizard. Yet the nature of their exchange eluded them—they still didn’t grasp what the old man and the youth were after.
Roma, however, watched with keen interest. She admired Brandon’s composure and instinctively sensed that beneath the elder’s gruff exterior, he’d already softened.
“I am a Highland Knight,” Brandon began, deciding to lean further into his fabricated identity. “I need someone to introduce me to scholarly circles. My mentor sent me here, instructing me on how to proceed. Thus, Master Tullamane, the matter rests with you.” His statement wasn’t entirely false—guides for mage squires also played a role in mentoring knights under Highland Law. This explanation would neither raise suspicion nor dispel Tullamane’s doubts. Brandon knew the old man was acquainted with several Black Tower wizards.
Tullamane rested one hand on the armrest of his wicker chair, puffing thoughtfully on his pipe. He pondered which acquaintance might have set him up for this encounter. Though not a powerful wizard, Tullamane was a renowned scholar and alchemist with widespread connections across Vonder. For a moment, he struggled to recall who might be playing this prank on him.
Still, recommending a newcomer to scholarly circles wasn’t a significant burden, especially since Brandon seemed unlikely to embarrass him.
With another puff of his pipe, Tullamane retrieved a sheet of parchment, placed it atop the tome, and began writing with a quill. Folding the paper neatly, he sealed it with wax and pressed his signet ring into it.
Holding up the envelope, he asked, “I recommend you study under Sir Panoson for a time. You’ll learn how we conduct ourselves. Though rigid, Sir Panoson is an excellent teacher. What say you?”
“Perfect,” Brandon replied. But inwardly, he wondered if all this effort was merely to save a few hundred torr in registration fees.
Of course not.
He decided to press further. Stepping forward, he pinched the envelope between his thumb and forefinger and added, “Master Tullamane, regarding that syllable earlier—I’ve been studying an ancient dialect of the Cruzeans. I’ve made a small discovery. Some natives of the Baltar Highlands still preserve primitive customs, and their wizards retain certain ancient words, preserving the purest form of the old Cruzean tongue…”
Brandon’s statement was half-truth, half-fabrication. The natives of the Baltar Highlands were real, and discoveries had indeed begun there. But the first Stone Tablet hadn’t surfaced in that region—it had appeared elsewhere.
Truthfully, the tablets held little practical value for Brandon, and he certainly didn’t wish to hasten this world’s descent into chaos.
Tullamane’s eyes gleamed, the ember in his pipe flaring briefly.
“You’re studying ancient Cruzean dialects?” he asked skeptically. “Tell me, what other insights do you have?”
“As you’ve likely deduced, ancient languages are imbued with magic energy. Hence the belief that words and language are the roots of all magic. But the Age of Chaos marked a turning point. After the ancient Cruzeans, the magic energy of written language began to wane…” Brandon paused, recalling background lore from forums. His foresight gave him deeper insight into core aspects of this world than even this scholar possessed.
Tullamane nodded approvingly.
“The aftermath… surely it’s tied to prolonged wars?” he suggested.
“Prolonged wars, fascinating,” Tullamane mused, reaching into a drawer and placing a ring atop the envelope. “Perhaps you should explore Sir Panoson’s private library first. If you uncover new insights, you can return with this ring.”
Brandon’s heart brightened. He didn’t know if anyone else had achieved this much, but each step forward wouldn’t be easy. Still, a promising start brought him quiet satisfaction.
Yet Tullamane wasn’t fully convinced. His delaying tactic was clever. Brandon suspected the old man would soon journey to the Baltar Highlands himself—but whether he’d find anything remained uncertain.
Taking the envelope and ring, Brandon’s vision flickered with emerald-green text hovering before his eyes:
Would you like to accept the sub-class ‘Scholar’?
Brandon accepted without hesitation. Instantly, a new section labeled ‘Sub-Class’ appeared on his status panel. Beneath it, ‘Scholar’ lay dormant at Level 0 (0/6), with only a single line of text: (History Knowledge Level 1).
In Amber Sword, sub-classes complemented main classes. Unlike primary roles, sub-classes enhanced characters indirectly, offering no powerful skills or stat boosts but granting unique abilities instead.
Think of them as identities that could level up. For instance, Scholars gained access to specific ‘Familiar Classes’ upon reaching Level 5 or higher in a field of knowledge. When pursuing those classes, experience penalties didn’t count toward their total. Up to three Familiar Classes could be unlocked. Additionally, Scholars earned triple the skill experience per level compared to Militia, earning them the nickname ‘Essential Sub-Class’ among players.
Mithril Keep Scholars were even stronger, boasting four Familiar Classes and treating alchemy as a core discipline—a fusion of Scholar and Alchemist sub-classes.
However, sub-classes still shared experience penalties among themselves, though they didn’t affect the main class.
Upon accepting the role, Brandon immediately invested 220 experience points to raise his Scholar level to 6, gaining 250 skill experience. Scholars had an unparalleled experience-to-skill ratio of 1:1.1 in the first six levels—the highest in any class. However, leveling a sub-class came with a caveat: its level couldn’t exceed the associated skill level by more than five.
Since Brandon needed expertise in nobility or heraldry rather than history, advancing the Scholar level further would have to wait.
Having attended to his own affairs, Brandon snapped back to attention as if momentarily distracted. Looking up, he asked, “Master Tullamane, my friend has lost contact with her aunt, and we’re searching for her. Since you know her, may I ask if you’re aware of her whereabouts??”
Tullamane tapped his pipe on the table and adjusted his glasses. “Young man, I merely know her aunt. It’s been over a decade since we last met. When I saw her, she was about the same age as this girl. Frankly, I didn’t even realize she lived nearby…”
Seeing Brandon about to speak again, he waved dismissively. “No need to ask further. Every wizard has their secrets. If she hasn’t told you, I won’t either.”
Exhaling another plume of smoke, he continued, “That concludes our discussion. You’ve achieved your purpose. When you’ve gained sufficient understanding of your current path, feel free to return.”
Brandon blinked, turning to look at Roma.
Roma flashed him a sweet smile. “It’s alright, Brandon. Auntie is the strongest.”
You’re hopeless, Brandon thought, glaring at her. But his heart softened nonetheless.
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