While the Hob recovered and more goblins entered and began ransacking the library, I sat in a chair and read more about mana circulation. Tiny thread-like pathways ran through NPC bodies that became clogged over time. Every clog would limit the amount of MN particles an NPC could gather into their bodies and convert them into usable mana. Some people had more of these pathways than others, but they all shared the purpose of making it easier to draw in MN particles. These particles interact with small groups of organs in the body. These tiny mana pathways called roots required potions and meditation to clean out regularly and exercises to enlarge them.
I fell down a rabbit hole of techniques and practices outside the system I hadn’t suspected existed. Blanca didn’t say anything, and there were no mage books available to none goblins. Maybe I was overthinking everything. It could be that I’ve only been a member for a month, and they are still watching to make sure I’m not a spy.
“I hope it was worth it; a good Hob is dead because you had to explore this dungeon.” My remaining hob bodyguard said.
I looked over the piles of loot the goblins were hauling back out of the dungeon. Robes, staves, amor, maces, swords, and spears, all of which appeared enchanted to my eyes.
“Your republic must think so,” I said.
The Hob punched me hard in the face and I stared the monster in the eyes. It was clear the narrative would be disastrous for my reputation. The gobs on the scene were already muttering. “Shune him.” One said.
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CH5, 6, and 7
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