Outrage of the Ancients

Fionn

The march to Dublin had been a bloody affair, though that was likely due to how Fionn had chosen his path, dragging the Fianna through as many monster-infested areas as possible.

It had achieved its primary purpose, allowing them to stop some of the biggest problems before they actually impacted the people of Ireland.

It had also left everyone tired, dirty, and while he’d normally not apply that phrase to his esteemed brothers in arms, cranky.

However, the whole affair had also demonstrated that none of the old legends had been exaggerations.

Well, he knew of one that was a little more fantastical than what had really happened. It claimed that a member of the Fianna had come back from the grave to settle a dispute about whether or not a poet was correct about the site of a battle.

It was a long story, that basically boiled down to poets being able to lay dangerous curses down upon those who insulted them, a king correcting a factually incorrect statement made by a poet, and then being threatened by a curse unless he could prove it. The issue was that, well, while everyone knew where the battle had taken place, there hadn’t been any proof.

It was true, his son Oisin had shown up and set the record straight, but he hadn’t escaped the grave for that.

Regardless, this was a new world. One where anyone who cared to seek knowledge was almost as well informed as he was, except that they drew from humanity’s collective knowledge, not the world itself, as he did.

So, that was the plan. March into the capital city, declare their names for all to hear and spread about, and then, they could work together to gear up this country, and any who would follow Ireland’s lead, for war. Because this was not going to end quickly, or painlessly.

Modern weapons were powerful, intense, and destructive, but they were limited in how often they could be used.

A swordsman could skewer a dozen enemies before his blade needed to be sharpened, and said blade could be sharpened a hundred times before it needed to be replaced.

A gunman could spend the entirety of his available munition in a matter of minutes, and the machinery needed to replace it would only survive so long in a world where new monsters could appear anywhere, at almost any time.

An issue that only grew when it came to tanks and jets, the latter of which especially could become useless within a single day of use without adequate maintenance.

They needed to figure out how to get everyone Classes, and find people willing to fight for this cause. The head of the carriage-sized seagull that was mounted on the end of his spear should serve as a better rallying symbol than any banner he’d ever beheld.

***

People stared as they entered Dublin, and marched through the streets. As expected. This wasn’t a sight those of this age would have been used to. Phones were being waved about, pictures and videos taken, something many people were doing despite also looking rather scared. Was clout on this “social” media really that valuable?

Either way, he ignored questions, for now, his goal was barely a hundred meters away.

The Spire of Dublin, positioned right at one of the city’s main thoroughfares and holding not insignificant symbolic weight.

As he reached it, he raised his left hand slightly and muttered a spell, the magic flowing far more easily than it ever had in the past, raising a low platform of stone from the ground.

Being unable to see the System and its direct effects unless said effects had been studied and quantified by humanity, thereby making it a part of “earthly knowledge”, was limiting. It completely ruined his ability to see most of the future, removing a large part of his metaphysical arsenal, and yet, he knew he was stronger than he’d ever been. They all were.

So what did it say that thoughts of the future filled him with dread and uncertainty?

“My name is Fionn Mac Cumail,” he declared, after stepping onto the platform and turning around. “Most of you know the old stories, some of you don’t. Some of you will believe this to be false, fakes like so many things seen on the internet. Others still will choose to avoid facing the reality of the situation, preferring to let others handle the threat posed by this new world.”

He raised his spear overhead as he said this, showing the monster head impaled there to even those standing furthest back, then rammed the butt of this weapon into the stone beneath him, leaving it stuck there even when he removed his hand.

“The world is about to become as dangerous as it was in the age you only remember in myths, but this change has also returned power to mankind. The Fianna has returned, and we will lead the charge once more.

“Come to us for protection, and even the likes of the biblical Leviathan will not be able to harm you.

“Come to us for training, and we will mold you into a warrior worthy of standing beside us.

“And if you come to us seeking purpose, together, we shall. Save! This! World!”

The distant rumble of thunder that followed the proclamation hadn’t been intended, and Fion only belatedly realized that he’d subconsciously triggered one of those countless Skills, namely, [Inspiring Proclamation], but it fit the image he wanted to project despite not having been planned.

With that, he dropped down onto the ground, leaving the monster’s head where he’d planted it, and made one final announcement.

“We’ll make camp in Phoenix Park, you’ll be able to find us there. Even if some of us are away, hunting, someone will be there to hear your requests.”

It had the space for a camp, even if their numbers increased tenfold overnight, and was near the western edge of the city, where he expected most of the problems to come from, at least for now.

Not to mention that the Áras an Uachtaráin, the residence and main workplace of Ireland’s president lay in that same park. If the government decided to meet with him, already being within spitting distance of the head of state would make things much easier.

***

Creating a camp was one of those things that any self-respecting warrior of their original time would have done a few hundred times in their lifetime, an action practiced to almost perfection.

And the Fianna was made up of some of the finest Ireland had to offer. It had been easy. Grab rocks to line the fire, find sticks to build said fire, set up the tents you’d brought with you, dig a couple of holes to serve as toilets, and that would be it. Maybe cut down a few trees to form a basic palisade.

Of course, they couldn’t really do most of that in a public park, someone would inevitably raise hell despite the fact that this situation was the very definition of an extenuating circumstance. That was something he might know and understand intellectually, but in reality … just what had the world come to?

Even so, it was an overall moot point. This new magic known as “Skills” made it easy and simple to create a camp better than anything they’d had before. And while their Classes varied, they were all somewhat based on their status as members of the Fianna.

Caoilte had been declared the [Legendary Deputy of the Fianna], Conan had his [Wrrior of Unwavering Loyatly] while Goll had gotten the most basic descriptor as [Warrior of the Fianna].

Oisin and his [Child of the Forest] would have been able to transform this park into a verdant paradise in short order, but Fionn had sent him off to buy some clothes for everyone. Modern clothes. It had been a simple thing to get their measurements in modern standards, then find a shop that would let itself be paid in gold. Of course, they’d make sure to massively overpay in the process, that would smooth things along.

But worrying wasn’t his job right now, that would be setting up camp in a way that both looked impressive and was inviting.

In many ways, the modern world was far more concerned with appearances than his timeline-

Images were so much easier to make and proliferate, including stills from those movies, and people would have a basis of comparison for basically everything, a mental picture for how something was “supposed to look”, even if it like had never been seen in living memory.

Therefore, well … this camp needed to look good. And he’d be damned if that wasn’t a little annoying.

[Instant Setup] meant that the tent he’d packed appeared in an instant, complete with all the wards he’d normally prepare.

Caoilte managed to create a palisade wall in a heartbeat.

Conan created the firepit with a gesture.

And so on. The camp took shape in short bursts, all that was really required was someone to find the relevant Skill on their lengthy list and apply it. Presumably, people who started out at lower Levels would be able to grow into their abilities, and make each of them their own.

Fionn took this as a chance to once again use his sight. For the sake of not looking ridiculous, he only stuck the tip of his thumb into the side of his mouth, giving the whole affair the appearance of merely chewing on his nails.

The world was, surprise surprise, in utter chaos, the various spots of monster activity causing varying degrees of casualties, depending on the armament of the locals and proximity to military installations.

But there was one more thing.

He’d probably drawn on his gift more today than he had in the decade preceding their slumber, but was still feeling absolutely lost and was constantly being caught by surprise.

For example, it seemed like he’d sent Oisin off for no reason. Or not sent him early enough. Either way, the meeting he’d wanted a modern suit for was just about here.

It was a matter of a few simple motions to divest himself of his weapons, unhooking his sword and hunting knife along with their sheaths from his belt, and removing the sling that held his spears from his back. It would have been easier to simply remove the weapons themselves, admittedly, but this look, without empty holsters, was simply … cleaner.

Fionn strode out to meet the government envoy, surprising the man who immediately proceeded to awkwardly bow slightly. It was clearly not a motion he practiced often, if ever, but the effort was appreciated.

“Lord Mac Cumail, President O’Dwyer would like to extend an invitation to meet him at his residence, to discuss the future of this country,” the man, who was clearly an aide of some stripe, began before pulling out a folded piece of paper, hot off the presses, as it were.

Fionn grasped the proffered letter and looked it over. It read like a modern man’s version of a proper royal summons, even more flowery than the originals had been, and it was exceedingly, for lack of a better word, submissive. As if he were the king, being asked to grace one of his subjects with his presence. It even stated the time of the meeting as “by his convenience.”

Oof. The government’s being polite was good. Afraid, on the other hand, … not so much.

“Would me taking him up on this invitation right now be too early?” Fionn asked.

The aid shook his head. “No, President O’Dwyer would …”

“… He’d like to be able to plan with all information at his disposal?” Fionn finished as the aide trailed off.

“Yes, exactly,” the man beamed.

No, this wasn’t fear, no, it was … awe. Or, in modern parlance, the man was starstruck. If the same feeling drove the president, then maybe this meeting would go well.

The aide led the way and Fionn followed until they reached the Áras an Uachtaráin. It was guarded, of course, considering the nation’s sovereign lived and worked here, but no one stopped them.

They soon reached what Fionn was able to identify as a sitting room, complete with a cabinet of liquor, huge bookshelves covering most of the walls, and two comfortable armchairs stood in the middle of the room, with a low table holding two wide, short glasses alongside yet another bottle of liquor sitting between them.

An informal meeting, even better.

“Good afternoon, President O’Dwyer,” Fionn greeted, dipping his head. A far cry from a full bow, but an acknowledgment of the other man’s standing nevertheless. Then, he offered his right hand, palm perpendicular to the ground. Neither of their hands would be above the other, a handshake between equals.

“Lord Mac Cumail, thank you for coming,” O’Dwyer shook the hand with clear relief before he gestured towards the chairs.

Again with the “lord”. Clearly, something that had been settled on to cover all bases when it came to politeness, though not something he was entirely happy with.

“Please, call me Fionn,” he said as he sat down.

The O’Dwyer seemed a little uncomfortable, so Fionn explained.

“I know it’s a regular first name nowadays, but for me, it’s a title. My name is Demne, even if I haven’t heard it since I was a little boy.”

The president nodded.

“Alright, Fionn, I have to ask, what are your intentions beyond your declaration earlier today?” he asked.

“We, the Fianna and I, want to do what we set out to do all those centuries ago. Protect Ireland. There were no more monsters to fight at that time, no dire need, and while my sight didn’t stretch to the present day, it wasn’t hard to predict that, eventually, we’d be needed again.”

O’Dwyer sagged in his seat, though the cause was clear relief.

“Thank you,” he breathed. “Thank you so much.”

“My sight means that we can easily find and fight monsters as they crop up, but if you have an issue that you need help with, you know where to find us.”

“Thank you,” O’Dwyer repeated.

“Though access to some of those ‘mobile phones’ would make things go much more smoothly. And some modern clothing wouldn’t go amiss either,” Fionn continued.

“We can arrange for all that. Hell, let’s do that right now,” O’Dwyer announced, turning to the aide that had led Fionn here. “Mac Liam, can you arrange to have everything they could need delivered to the Fianna’s campsite? Coordinate with the Corps of Engineers to make sure you have a complete list of what could come in handy.”

“Yes, Mr. President,” the aide nodded and marched off.

Then, O’Dwyer turned back to Fionn, looking nervous.

“I really appreciate everything you’re offering, but …” O’Dwyer sighed, and Fionn chose not to comment. It seemed like he’d follow that up in a reasonable amount of time.

“… There are people who won’t see it that way. Or people who decide that going for your head is a way to earn prestige.”

“Or stupid teenagers who decide that messing around with a lethal swordsman to film a funny video is a grand idea,” Fionn added. “There’s no need to worry. I’ll defend myself, but I’ll leave everything I can to the ‘proper channels’, as it were. And I’m more than capable of differentiating between a real threat or a fool doing something foolish. Also, I can clearly distinguish between friend and foe, I won’t hold anyone else’s actions against you.”

As he said that, Fionn raised his right hand, palm facing towards him, and a cloud slid aside from in front of the sun at just the right moment to reflect off the glass front of the liquor cabinet to perfectly illuminate his thumb, which was covered by a mottled scar. This time, [Inspiring Proclamation] had been used on purpose.

The scar had been old even when they’d gone to sleep, and was truly ancient in the twenty-first century, it should have faded into near-invisibility by now, but one could still see it due to its faint blue tinge. That was the so-called “thumb of wisdom”, his “signature power”, gained when the burning-hot fat from the frying Salmon of Wisdom had splashed onto it.

“I guess that would make it easier …” O’Dwyer stared.

“Now that we have an agreement, don’t you think we could use a ‘photo opp’,” Fionn stumbled slightly over the unfamiliar word before continuing.

“The people need something to boost their confidence. I’d also like to be introduced to some of your military leaders, and I have reason to believe there are others like the Fianna out there, people from ancient times returned to save the world …”

***

Charlemagne

So, this was what Francia had turned into. Split up in two parts, which constantly fought against each other for centuries upon centuries, with the half now known as “Germany” having become most-famous for producing the worst villains of the world’s history, and the one known as “France” was globally stereotyped as constantly surrendering.

Although there was one good thing to say about the current state of Francia. Germany really seemed to have taken his philosophy of structure and order to heart. To the point where it was an international joke.

As for the world itself … a Godless place filled with countless pagan and even satanic religions. Far from the legacy Karl had hoped to leave behind.

But he could only get general information on everything. [Information Osmosis] was good for slowly understanding his situation, not receiving precise intelligence.

Not to mention there were these strange “Skills” that had originated from … something. A “System” that seemed to be the threat that had woken him despite the fact that it was also helping him. So much magic, without a clear and present origin he could point to, and investigate.

Though he needed to find his helpers, his keepers during his long sleep, before he could do anything else.

So yes, he needed to take a few steps to ensure that everything went smoothly.

Step one, find the Mandln.

Step two, have them fix this place up.

Step three, go out into the world and re-establish proper structures once step two had begun.

Step four … show the world just what he was capable of.

Gathering his beard up into a big knot pressed against his chest. Karl began to march through the tunnels beneath the Untersberg. Dust flew into the air in great clouds with every step he took, making it harder and harder to see and breathe the faster he marched, so he pulled his beard up to cover his nose and mouth.

As hard as it had initially been to imagine that it had been over twelve hundred years, seeing this made it easy. Here and there, he saw signs that the Mandln had tried to clean up, but this vast complex that had simply appeared beneath the mountain was large enough to house the entirety of his army at the height of his power and then some. Of course, a mere baker’s dozen of mountain spirits would not be enough to keep it in shape for over a millennium.

While he marched, he came across a sign that said “Armory”, which he promptly opened. He had to put his entire weight on the doorknob before it moved, and when he hauled it open, an ear-splitting screech rang out, but open it did.

The inside was room less dusty than the corridor had been, having been largely sealed, but that didn’t mean it was clean, far from it.

Karl picked up a dagger and pulled it from its sheath, seeing a freshly oiled blade staring back up at him. So that was where most of the upkeep effort had gone.

A single sweep of the weapon later, the monumental beard fell from his face, and a few more cuts left him looking halfway presentable.

Perfect.

He attached the sheath to his belt and continued his search.

Eventually, he reached the deepest point of the fortress, and there, he finally found the Mandln, huddling together in the tiny tunnels that served as their home.

“There is no threat … for now,” Karl declared. “I need you to march out into the world as my envoys, find those worthy of becoming my paladins in this new age. Find me the greatest keepers of knowledge, the bravest of warriors, people who can navigate this new world, and those who can make things happen in the current climate. Then …”

He was interrupted by a loud “boom” that echoed through the entirety of the underground fortress.

Oh, that could not possibly be goo- … were those footsteps?

Yes, they were, heavy, loud beyond measure, and most importantly, familiar.

“Eleven of you, find me worthy Paladins. The rest, make this fortress presentable. Rough sweep to get rid of the dust in the throne room and the corridors that lead there first, everything else can come later.”

And with that, Karl whirled around on his feet and began to make his way upwards, in the direction of the entrance. The more he closed in on the newcomer, the more the dust in the environment began to jump, until his visitor finally came into view.

A giant of a man, wearing silver plate armor, a shortsword that seemed to hum with energy grasped in one giant hand, covered in fresh, odd-colored bloodstains that the dust now clung to.

“Carolus Magnus Rex,” the man rumbled. “As always, you have your ideas staying up way too late into the night, and present them to everyone else still wearing your nightshirt.”

Karl looked down at himself and sighed. Yes, he’d fallen asleep for centuries and was clad in not only, well, a nightshirt, but also countless layers of dust. And yet, he couldn’t bring himself to care about the mess.

“You have to admit Ogier, they were good ideas.”

“That, they were,” the giant responded, and at that point, both men were already close and embraced each other, with Karl’s ribs creaking by the time they separated again.

“Where were you all this time?” Karl asked the last survivor of his twelve paladins, Ogier the Dane.

“Asleep under Kronborg Castle,” the man announced. “And this is your resting place, I presume?”

Karl nodded.

“And what are you going to do next?”

“Why, I’m going to rebuild the empire, of course,” Karl announced. “The modern world is not ready for the appearance of monsters, and its inefficiencies would have spelled its doom sooner or later. I’ll find the best and brightest to serve as my paladins and advisors, I’ll forge a military that can take on the worst this ‘System’ can throw at us, and once all is said and done, the sun will rise over a new world!”

“That’s going to have to be a pretty powerful military,” Ogier noted, gesturing to his chest, and the blood spatters there. “These things are tough.”

“So are we,” Karl said. “So are we.”

***

Drake

This world was truly incredible. The capabilities of this ship had already been impressive beyond belief when it had been under the suppressive effect of that monster.

But now, Captain Smith was in some room, alone, talking to someone in England. From just off the coast of Portabello, to his homeland. In an instant. Real-time communication. He could receive orders from the other end of the world in less time than it had taken Queen Elizabeth to send for a fresh pot of tea.

If he’d had that kind of communication capability back in his day, he’d have been able to tear the Spanish Armada apart with casual ease, coordinating wolfpack tactics across several sea miles, drawing attention at one spot with only a handful of ships that remained at a safe distance before attacking in full force from another side, destroying what they could before retreating.

On the flip side, a single one of these “radios”, or rather, a pair that could communicate, would have stopped his raids on Spanish colonies dead in their tracks.

And this radar of theirs … fantastic, fascinating, world-shattering, a concept that would forcefully shape strategies and alter all tactics, everywhere, now that it had been invented.A simple machine that could track thousands of objects simultaneously, even if they were as small as a pea …. It boggled the mind.

The things he could have done with something like that in his day boggled the mind, but alongside the daydreams his imagination painted of that world came nightmares of the Armada devastating the Royal Navy simply by being able to track their every move, even at night.

Midshipman Fletcher had been very informative, mentioning past disasters when his drum had sounded, and briefly, very briefly, Drake had thought about the world he might have returned to.

However, the more the Midshipman explained, the more he realized just how little he’d have been able to do in that situation.

It was humbling.

He was an old man now, at least by the standards of his day, and the world had moved on without him even on the final raid, the one that had ended with him contracting dysentery and dying.

The sheer amount of technological catching up he’d have had to do to be useful in the so-called “Second World War” would have rendered him useless, and the intuition that had carried him through so many dilemmas and dangerous situations would likely have failed him, simply because his knowledge of that world was so lacking.

But today, today, the world had fundamentally changed once again. They were all off balance, just like him, scrambling to understand how things worked now. Everyone was just as confused as he was.

However, unlike him, the sailors of today hadn’t had the chance to gain his degree of experience. He had power beyond this ship’s crew, and likely, beyond everyone else on this planet.

Drake grinned. This would be a fascinating world to explore, one that held countless challenges and adventures. All he needed was to be given a fleet, or, hell, even just a single ship.

And while the Captain was briefing high command, he could continue learning about this new world, and experiment with his Skills.

There were a lot of them, ranging from directly applicable abilities with simple effects, such as [Instantaneous Reload] to instantly reload all guns on a vessel, or [Full Restoration] to restore a ship to full combat power, including refilling munitions, to more esotheric and hard-to-understand abilities. [Devil’s Luck], [Uncanny Intuition], or [Sling of David].

Another Midshipman strode towards him, one he hadn’t met yet. Well, actually, she was a Midshipwoman. Not something he’d have expected to see, but apparently, it worked for the navy of today.

His contemporaries had thought his open attitude to primitive locals and willingness to accept help from escaped slaves was stupid and reckless, but it had almost always worked for him, a handful of situations where literally everything that could go wrong had gone pear-shaped notwithstanding.

Just because common wisdom said, or rather, used to say, someone couldn’t serve in combat didn’t mean it was so. It’d still take some getting used to.

“Midshipwoman Buckley, are they ready for me?” he asked, getting her name from her nametag. That was yet another new thing for him, something that would certainly have been useful in his day. No need to ask for names, no need to resort to “hey you”s, just addressing people with their names. Simple and polite.

“Yes, Sir,” she nodded. “If you’ll follow me?”

“Lead the way,” Drake announced and rose to his feet. It wasn’t far, just walking a couple of meters and stepping through a single small door with a raised threshold that was at just the right height for an unwary sailor’s shins to bang into. As his did.

It made sense, this door was part of a bulkhead, and having the bottom edge raised off the ground would make it harder for water to flow from one section into the next, but it would take some getting used to the change.

Biting back a string of blistering swearwords, Drake reached down and rubbed his shin as he fully stepped in, while Midshipwoman Buckley stayed outside.

The room he now found himself in was tiny, but that was to be expected. Space was at a premium on a warship, especially a small one such as this.

As for what this room was used for … Drake would have called it the captain’s mess, but that was mostly a guess. It could also be a meeting room, or one solely meant for using telecommunications equipment.

It could be any of those, it could be all of those. It was a room with a table, eight chairs were set around said table, and one wall was covered in what Drake was now able to recognize as computer screens. And displayed upon those screens seemed to be a high-ranking officer.

At least that was the assumption, based on the higher number of gold stripes on the woman’s sleeves and far more intricate epaulets. There were three stars on them, assuming each of those stars on them represented a higher rank, and Captain Smith’s uniform lacked that kind of design, she was either a vice admiral like him or a full admiral, depending on whether the first rank that gained a star on its epaulet was commodore or rear admiral.

He’d learned that the Royal Navy of today was a direct continuation of the organization he’d served in his day, so technically, he should still have all the rights and privileges of his rank, but that wouldn’t necessarily hold true in practice.

Annoyingly, his authority was a technicality, hers was cemented in the hearts and minds of every person on this ship. He was under no illusions about the power dynamic here.

“I’m Vice Admiral Porter,” she introduced herself, solving at least one of his questions. “You’re Vice Admiral Drake, I take it?”

Her tone was somewhat skeptical, but far less so than he’d expected. What else had happened today to make her a believer? Aside from the whole “System” mess, that was.

“At your service,” he gave a formal bow before snapping back up to a ramrod-straight position, carefully making sure to not hit his head on the table. That display at the threshold had been bad enough, no need to make himself look any worse than he already did.

“The same Vice Admiral Drake who served Elizabeth the First in the sixteenth century?”

“That is correct, Admiral,” he said.

Porter sighed.

“Captain Smith tells me you have no clear idea as to how you managed to return?”

He shook his head.

“I made my oath to return on England’s greatest hour of need, and I did, alongside an empowerment by the System.”

“I see,” she said. “Your level wouldn’t happen to be somewhere in the forties or fifties?”

“That’s correct,” Drake said. “[Daredevil of the Sea], Level 47. What made you assume that?”

“You’re not the only one with such … exotic circumstances. Arthur Pendragon marched out from under Glastonbury Tor four hours ago and immediately proceeded to destroy the most powerful monster to date.”

More powerful than the Kraken… Drake blanched even as Porter corrected herself.

“Though that kraken of yours might have been stronger, it’s hard to get a proper comparison since he used magic of currently undefined power.”

Drake nodded.

“Does his return have any consequences for the line of succession or current monarchy?”

“Thankfully, everyone seems to be ignoring those implications for now,” Porter admitted. “The royal family is working on staying safe and Mr. Pendragon has been marching around exterminating any threat he can find.

“In addition, a man claiming to be Fionn Mac Cumail, a hero from Irish mythology, announced his return in Dublin, there is a video floating around of the German mythological king Dietrich von Bern having returned, and some claim an armored giant ran down the length of Germany from Denmark. He’s rumored to be Ogier the Dane, another legend, this one tied to the former Germanic emperor Charlemagne.”

Either there was something in the water at the navy’s intel division, or the world had just gotten a lot more fascinating.

“I ordered the Defiant to proceed to England with all due haste. Are those orders acceptable?” Drake asked.

Porter shook her head. “Get back here, then, we’ll discuss how we proceed further. Speaking of, what are your plans for the future?”

“I plan on going hunting, Admiral,” Drake announced. “It seems like however dangerous the land has gotten, the sea is a hundred times worse.”

“What would that require?” Porter asked.

“Anything the navy is willing to spare.”

“And if there are no ships to spare?”

“Then I’ll go out to sea on a fishing boat, armed with a speargun,” Drake responded flatly. “I swore an oath, and I intend to keep it. One of these Skills I was provided lets me instantly teach people to fill in for any position on a modern warship, I’ll find whoever is willing to stand beside me and then, we’ll hunt down the most powerful creatures this sea has to offer.”

And he was already practically vibrating with excitement. Though it seemed that Porter had understood something very different from what he’d actually said.

“So, you can magically teach people what they need to know to do anything on a modern warship? Can you use these Skills on yourself?”

Actually, he’d never checked, even though it had been very obvious. They could teach “people” and he certainly was “people”.

“Let me check,” Drake said and used [Instantaneous Training: Midshipman]. It was important to start at the basics, with the lowest officer rank to give him a broad base of information the training the latter rank teachings could build upon.

For about ten seconds, a pounding headache made him wince in pain, but it passed before he could even begin to articulate a request for a medic.

“Are you alright?” Smith and Porter asked nigh-simultaneously as Drake managed to sit up straight again.

“Peachy.”

Drake was met with two flat stares.

“That was unpleasant, but it worked. I’ll brush up on everything I could possibly need to know on the way to England,” he promised.

“I look forward to making your acquaintance in person,” Porter responded. “Until then, please also work with the crew of the Defiant to figure out the optimal uses for Skills.”

Drake nodded. “Until then, I bid you farewell.”

It would have taken the Defiant between six to ten days to reach England under normal circumstances, depending on how much they were willing to push the engine, but with his Skills, that time should shrink quite a bit, to four or potentially even three days.