“Meditation ain’t just sittin' cross-legged wit’ yer eyes closed tryin’ to become one wit’ the world,” Doug started, “If y’went to a sect, they’d tell ya nonsense ‘bout the nine stages, and ‘meditati’n bein’ the first step to Qi refin’ment’, and a buncha other thing about ‘Dao.’ While I ain’t gonna tell y’ that’s a loada shit, it just ain’t relevant to ya if yer not cultivatin’. Different strokes fer differ’nt folks, I say. You just focus on yer meditation.”

  “Right, so what do I do?” Dean asked. " Right now, I just want to be able to access the system—er, read the scroll.”

  “I ain’t you, son, so I don’t know fer certain. But to start, you can try getting comfy and in a state of und’rected hyper-focus. Some cult’vators call that ‘awareness of th’ inner realm’, but you call it what ya want. Now bein able t’ get t’ that inner realm is easier said than done, I admit, but it’ll sure come with practice. When y’ got it, y’ll be able t’ follow where yer focus goes natu’ally, this’ll show you where yer spirit an’ yer will align. Thas the key to visualisin’ yer inner realm."

  It had been a week since Dean had first learned about meditation and cultivation from Doug, and since then, the old man had seemed to find a new lease on life. He drank less (though still a fair amount) and wasn’t as bitter to those around him.

  Dean had spent much of his time either sparring with Doug, running around the town doing errands, or meditating. He had yet to find the state of ‘undirected hyper-focus,’ and it was beginning to frustrate him. He had so much to learn and experience in this new world, but this one aspect held him back from much of that.

  He finally decided he needed a break after running errands for townsfolk all day, he returned to the Depot, and Doug told him to ‘stop stressin' ‘bout it, boy,’ and ‘go bed yer milf!’ (Dean had taught the old man that term after they spent the evening drinking and telling tales.)

  While Dean liked Josephine, he really didn’t think it was appropriate and feared the woman might latch onto him in a way he didn’t want (and definitely not the other way around.) So, instead of following the words of his lecherous teacher, he decided some time away from the bustle of town life would do him good.

  Before he could go anywhere, Dean needed to collect his identification token. It was explained that all residents from recognised settlements within the Empire would need to be provided with a specialised metal token. This token was crafted by a skilled blacksmith and infused with magic by an arcanist or Daoshi, whoever was available. This magic inscribed within the token could show anyone with a monitoring artifact the details of said token’s owner. The token was also linked to a corresponding life tablet that was bestowed to the local magistrate or other governing figure within their registered settlement of residence.

  The blacksmith in Lonely Hill who was in charge of crafting the token was also an arcanist; this meant Dean would pick his token up directly from the source rather than the municipal office. He was a little disappointed that he didn’t have an excuse to see Josie’s smile, but meeting new people was something he had always enjoyed.

  Dean arrived at Dandee Gai's workshop the following day. Even without heightened hearing, he could hear the sound of ringing metal from outside, but he knocked anyway, as it was always important to be polite. Entering the workspace, Dean saw the man hard at work. He was short and very muscular, his massive arms rippling with muscles as he rhythmically hammered away at his project.

  “’Scuse me!” Dean shouted to be heard above the Clang-ting-ting of metal on metal. It was incredibly hot within the room, and though he had only just entered, he had to wipe away sweat from his brow, even from the other side of the room. Stepping closer, he tried again, ’SCUSE ME!” this time catching the man’s attention. The smith turned around to reveal an incredibly luscious, golden-blonde beard tied in intricate patterns and woven with adornments. Dean realized he had been mistaken; this was no man. This was a dwarf. A lady dwarf.

  She was bronze-skinned, and her equally luscious hair was tied back in a simple plait that grew all the way down to her feet, so to avoid stepping on it, she wrapped the plait around her shoulders like a bandolier. Unlike dwarves that Dean recognised, Dandee Gai was not all square and hard angles; her face was heart-shaped, full of freckles, and pretty. While she was short, she was just below 5 feet tall, 4’8” at least, and not waist height. She wore an apron over baggy denim overalls and goggles that she removed to address Dean, revealing her emerald-green eyes. “How can I help you?” she asked. She sounded Scandinavian to his untrained ears, which somehow appealed more to Dean than the regular Scots accent every dwarf he’d ever heard had. That was his thing, ya bawbag.

  “Awrite? I’m Dean, I’m here to collect the ID token. Is it ready?” he asked, trying to remain cool and calm in front of his first, admittedly attractive dwarf.

  She nodded, “Oh, Ya, I have it here somewhere. Come over here and hold this for me, would you?” Without so much as an inkling of hesitation, he walked briskly over and took hold of the hammer in one hand and a pair of tongs in the other. They weighed at least 4kg each, plus the metal held in the tongs added another couple of kilos.

  “As soon as it stops glowing, just pop that in the bucket, would you? I’ll be back in a moment with your token.”

  “Aye, sure, heh. Bloody hot in here, aye?” Dean observed, wiping more sweat from his brow with his forearm.

  “You get used to it,” she replied with a chuckle, leaving through a side door into the adjacent room. He waited patiently for the metallic shape to cool enough before dropping it cautiously into the quenching oil, stepping back in surprise when it caught fire.

  “Here you go, Dean, your token. Everything should be in order as I have tested it on my apparatus.”

  “Fantastic, cheers! Is it Miss Gai or Miss Dandee?” Dean wondered, trying to bide more time in her presence.

  “Miss Dandee, but it's fine if you call me Gai,” she chortled. "You are amusing, Dean, if na?ve. Cute too…”

  Dean flustered at her forwardness and quickly made his escape before he made a bigger fool of himself. “Feel free to pop by again if you can take the heat!” She declared as he left her shop. Feeling the red fill his cheeks, he decided he would come back and brave that heat again, eventually.

  With his token acquired, a new knapsack packed with a bedroll, some rope and canvas, a box of ammo, his canteen, and a sandwich that Zanling insisted he take for lunch, as well as a rifle slung over his shoulder, Sheila on his hip, and a rod loaned from Jeb. Dean set out into the surrounding wilderness.

  He walked until the sun reached its apex and found a clearing in the woods near a tributary stream that eventually fed into Lonely Hill Lake. The trees gave him well-needed shade as he strung up his tarp and laid out his bedroll. He spent some time gathering kindling and larger sticks that we would later use to form the start of a fire. Then, he navigated his way to the stream, set up, and cast his rod.

  He sat with his legs splayed out, leaning on his pack, arms above his head. Unlike before, in the first few days he had arrived in this world, this was not a matter of survival. This was different; this was where he felt most calm. He zoned out, basking in the serenity of just being, keeping the peripherals of his attention on the rod.

  Somewhere, deep within him, something fell into place. It wasn’t the flick of a switch or a burst of sudden realization but the final piece of a large puzzle sliding into place. With the image complete, he felt satisfaction. He knew this puzzle was a small part of something much larger, but that did not worry him; he was just content with what he had.

  He resisted the urge to delve deeper or open his eyes, remaining with his hands gently holding the line. Sometime later, he felt the line bob and opened an eye to see if he had caught anything. The line bobbed a second time, and he reeled in. Whatever it was, it was small, no legendary carp, so he released it and recast his line. When he closed his eyes this time, he intentionally directed his attention inward, imparting his desire to know more about himself.

  Dean sunk deeper into himself, passing brilliant washes of colour, but shortly thereafter, he faced a dense haze of darkness, like roiling storm clouds. He pressed his will against them, but they would not disperse. Instead, he decided he would stay where he was. He could vaguely distinguish a vast network of faint lines interconnected in an alien array across all he could sense within; Dean guessed those were his meridians. Briefly distracted, he brought himself back to the present.

  He willed the system to show itself to him now. Nothing visibly happened, but he felt the change. There was a presence here now. It was separate from his own but deeply connected to him. It was also far more significant than he, far greater than anything he could comprehend. He willed to understand this presence, and in the next moment, a figure appeared before him. It looked like an off-brand John Cleese.

  ‘You’re fuckin’ shittin’ me?’ Dean thought.

  “No, Sir. This is the form you selected, after all,” the butler replied

  ‘Like fuck I did!’

  “I can change my visage if you will it, Sir.”

  ‘Naw, it’s awrite, mate,’ Dean admitted. ‘Wait, do you have a name or something?’

  “No, Sir, you may name me as you wish!” The Butler answered. It seemed hopeful.

  ‘That’s a big responsibility, a name’s an important thing, aye?’

  “Yes, Sir!”

  ‘Francis, or Frank for short.’ Dean said with little to no thought.

  The Butler seemed slightly discouraged but stood tall regardless, “Very well, Sir! I’ll be Frank.”

  Dean let out a laugh as his master plan came to fruition, ‘Ha! That’s exactly the response I wanted, Frank!’

  “Excellent, Sir! I am pleased to see that you have entered the realm of Foundation Establishment. How may I be of service?” Frank, still in the form of a butler, enquired.

  ‘Wot? I’m not a cultivator, Frank. I just wanted to view the system and speak of… Where is it?’

  “Of course, sir! Not a cultivator...” Frank replied with a wink. I am also delighted to inform you that I, Sir, am the embodiment of your system.”

  Reading on this site? This novel is published elsewhere. Support the author by seeking out the original.

  ‘Right, right, guess that makes sense. Can you show me the screens that I’ve seen before? I want to see my skills and stuff.’

  “Very well, Sir,” Frank began before a familiar screen appeared before Dean. “Now that you have entered your inner realm, you can access your interface anytime and without needing to enter a meditative state. No need for catchphrases, just will it, Sir!”

  Dean noticed his ‘Stats’ Tab was flashing, so he mentally willed to view it.

  Unallocated Stat Points (SP): 3*

  Attributes:

  *SYSTEM NOTE: each SP provides a 5% bonus to the affiliated attribute and skills!

  He allocated 1 SP each to ‘BALANCE’, ‘FACE’, and ‘INSIGHT’ before examining the rest of the tabs.

  This was a whole lot of information to take in. Dean knew it would be like this, but seeing every aspect of himself quantified made his head spin. He was about to ask Frank for advice when he felt a great big tug on his line, sending him back to the outer world.