The Humble Life of a Skill Trainer

"His Highness, King Alesembra Fredrick Valdir, third of his name, Long may he live!" said the Duke's Majordomo. His voice was carefully modulated through a Skill to reach even the furthest reaches of the ballroom.

At the King's arrival announcement, the music cut off, and the guests stopped what they were doing to bow. Pausing at the head of the stairs, the King looked around the room. His large eyes slowly panned around the room as my group waited in the hallway behind the man. The pose of casual but interested disregard was well-practiced, and I could tell even with only a small sliver of him being visible from my vantage point. Which meant it was a Skill of some kind, likely to convey intent and emotion through body language and movement. The King had casually demonstrated more than a handful of social Skills in the short period between meeting us at the Baron's mansion and entering the Duke's estate. It was as much a show of power as a demonstration of his right to rule.

The Monarch was dressed in the single-sleeved style, the bare arm showing off his dashing figure and corded muscles. He was dressed in his royal colors of dark blue with gold trim. Looking into the crowd, he gestured for the collected guests to rise, then stepped down the stairs while bracketed by two of his guards.

We had joined the King as a part of his entourage, our carriage following closely behind his own. When we stepped from the carriages, the King loudly welcomed us, shaking the Baron's hand, patting me on a shoulder, and casually throwing a warrior's salute Alexis' way. We marched together into the Duke's home then had to wait as the King was announced.

"Baron Anthony Morick Verstrom!" said the announcer, his face carefully neutral.

Standing at the top of the stairs, the Baron bowed, then quickly marched himself over to the banquet table to grab himself a wine glass. A small wave of nobles turned away as he approached, a visible demonstration of his lack of favor with the nobles. The King had suffered some minor looks of annoyance or dislike, but nothing as severe as the Baron. The large man was careful to ignore the disrespect, but it had to gnaw at the man.

"Alexis Verstrom, heir-apparent by right of martial Skill to Baron Verstrom!"

There was a sound of interest when Alexis stepped to the stand to present herself. Her attire was carefully coordinated by her father and the King to match the Monarch's own clothes. Instead of a deep blue with gold trim, Alexis was clothed in a light blue tunic and silver trim pants. Her attire was a toned-down match for the King's own outfit, down to the slightly out of style sleeve that reached the elbow instead of cut to the shoulder. It was a subtle but obvious statement of support. Though, I did notice it was one that the King could deny as a coincidence if needed. All typical political games.

It was surprising to me that the crowd seemed less hostile to Alexis. At worst, they seemed neutral to Alexis compared to her father. It was likely the difference of the King raising him to his position versus Alexis inheriting her place. If anything, it was more a comment on the dislike of the King.

Gliding down the stairs, Alexis strode across the marble floor and joined a waiting group of young noblemen.

This was what I was dreading. The King was protected from direct abuse. The Baron has had years of being ignored, and the harassment had faded over time. Alexis was not yet landed, and the King had not yet declared her inheritance. Still, martial Skills were well-respected, and she was already well-favored by the King, if not all of the Royalists.

I was an outsider, a new unlanded low noble, and a Skill Trainer. I did not expect this dance to be a pleasant experience. All of which ignored the apparent trap of Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain and her mother being invited to the ball. Even a social outcast and political outsider like myself could imagine the more uncomplicated plans. Unfortunately, those plots were well known and trusted because they were so effective.

"Joshua Still, Low Noble!" came the call by the announcer, his voice cutting off clearly enough to allow the titters and laughter to come from the crowd.

We had expected this, but it was unfortunate to be proven correct in our expectations. The correct term for my position was 'noble-of-honor,' for what little it was worth. Calling me a 'Low Noble,' as accurate as it was, would be like describing a mistress as your 'personal whore.' Precise, but intentionally insulting. Worse, I was not even given my proper title of 'Master Skill Trainer,' which I found myself far more annoyed over.

Stopping at the top of the steps, I showed off my ensemble, which matched our group's overall theme: a light sky-blue, elbow-length single sleeve with a light copper-colored trim. Unlike the others, I ignored tradition and spoke up.

I looked into the crowd with a sniff as if I was commenting casually upon the weather and ignoring the insult.

"It seems that even a Duke may have difficulties finding a capable servant. I might be able to find someone to train a replacement for him. I'm even certain he could afford it," I said into the sudden silence.

Waiting for a count of three in my head, I strode down the stairs as I approached the now smirking Alexis.

Acting has advanced to 23.

Seeing the increase in my [Acting], I had the urge to laugh. I had become used to constant improvements in my Skills through [Meditation]. I found myself almost blasé with the increase, a feeling which would have been foreign to me even a month before.

I dropped into the silence of the ballroom like a stone thrown into a still pond. Where I walked, murmurs spread. My insult was one of a few we had crafted in advance to the expected social attacks. In this case, the Duke's financial issues and reliance on Mage-aligned noble family coffers to keep himself afloat. It was no secret that he had suffered business losses after his Dukedom's southern fields were mostly burned during the war. Still, those fields would soon recover, and his House was one of the few that knew how to grow those alchemy components in bulk. Which was why everyone wanted to lend him money - he would recover and return to making massive profits by the end of the decade at worst.

Still, it was a prick to the Duke's pride, and if he was willing to insult me on my entrance, I was ready to return it in kind. What did I care? I wasn't one of these dandified idiots, and I had no interest in joining them. In fact, it would offer Alexis a chance to rebuke and call me to heel - a useful social gambit. Not that I was eager to be commanded by Alexis, but that was one of the trade-offs of having a romantic relationship with someone of her status when I was from a lower rank.

I kept to the edge of the ballroom. The groups I passed discussed business deals, gossip over who was cheating on whom, and who was failing their House. The typical conversation of the idle rich. To be fair, some of these nobles were likely making deals involving far more than the price of woven textiles or fine pottery, but those were few and far between. In general, these were the young scions of older noble Houses and wouldn't be trusted with real power for another twenty years or more.

Looking around with my magical vision, I couldn't see any mages with the typical 'broken pottery' mana flow of the undead. This didn't mean that none of the nobles were mages, but it at least meant they weren't undead. I noticed while looking closely that there were subtle signs of Skills being used by the nobles while they huddled together. Which made sense. Part of the reason the House leaders let the younger members handle small deals was to help them practice their Skills. According to the Skill Trainer spies, some Houses even had mutual exclusive trade deals to help their members practice business Skills.

While I wandered through the hall, stopping to select a wine or a snack, our host was announced. I wasn't particularly interested. The Duke was likely simply hosting the ball, and our harassment, in exchange for financial considerations. I might as well be upset with the person who supplied the bread for the feast. My musings were interrupted by the next guest's announcement, one I very much was interested in.

"Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring, diplomat of the Northmen and Oracle of the Blood Snow tribe," said the announcer, to my considerable surprise.

Oracle was the title for anyone with a Skill that allowed for limited future prediction. It was, in part, a bit of an insult. Seeing a few seconds into the future could be useful but was often monumentally worthless. Knowing that your limb will break when you hit the ground, often signaled by the Skill as a burst of pain, is simply adding insult to injury when you are already falling. Calling her an Oracle instead of the Northmen preferred Shaman might be a way to save face politically, or it might be a subtle rebuke from her backers. Either way, I was curious to see how Alexis' mother handled the insult. I also found it interesting that Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring was the diplomat instead of Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain.

When her title was called into question, there was no reaction, but she hadn't looked pleased when she was placing herself center-stage, to begin with. She had eschewed the kingdom style and chose a thick stylized garment stitched with patterns of flowers and birds that continued from her blouse and down through her leggings. Paired with a cloak and thick boots, she appeared to be almost a stereotype of a bard's barbarian princess. Alexis' resemblance to Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring was obvious. She was tall and had a similar facial bone structure to Alexis, but she lacked Alexis' muscles. Where Alexis was strong, muscular, and moved like a prowling cat ready to pounce, Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring was more of a tall, thin, but aging beauty. Her hair was streaked with grey, her eyes were marked by deepening frown lines, and she had an air of exhaustion about her.

To my surprise, Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring remained on the announcement platform and was soon joined by a large man. When Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring refused to descend, the majority of the nobles turned to watch. This display was obviously prepared beforehand, and no one wanted to miss the show.

Given the spiral of grey tattooed along the man's arm, I could guess who was standing next to Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring.

"Master of the Axe, Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain, General of the allied Northmen."

Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain stopped next to Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring, his thick arms crossing in front of himself. He matched Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring in style. He wore a short-sleeved tunic of refined fabric, thick pants - likely made from wool - and sported a matching cape. His attire was clean and stylish but failed to match the noble nature of the gathering.

"Chief of the Blood Snow tribe, Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat."

Snapping my head around, I looked to the now crowded platform and the man slightly shorter than myself, who stood next to the other two. To my surprise, he was dressed in the fashionable single-sleeve style, the hand of his sleeved arm jauntily tucked into a thick black belt. In contrast, his bare arm flexed and showed corded muscle. His face was lined and was stuck with a permanent frown on weathered skin. Looking across the ballroom, his blue eyes roamed until his frown deepened, and he strode quickly down the steps and into the crowd. Tracking his progress, I realized where he was going, and I started to move toward Alexis.

I almost missed it, but Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring hesitated before following Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat and Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain. This pause drew my eye, and I watched the angry look she shot at the chief's back before she followed the other two through the center of the ballroom. Their passage left silence as they strode through the center of the dance floor, their rude behavior leaving a few scandalized looks as they passed. I was too slow coming from the other side of the room, moving around the outer edges of the dance floor, but I was on the same side of the room when Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat stopped in front of Alexis.

"So, this is where your Skirotich daughter has gotten too," Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat said.

What 'Skirotich' was, I didn't know. Given that Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain, Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring, and Alexis all stilled when he said it, I could imagine how insulting the word must have been. Seeing that no one responded to his words, I used the pause in the conversation to slip past a large group of nobles as I tried to reach Alexis. Ignoring her former chief, the man who barely came up to her chest, Alexis looked to her mother.

Bowing slightly, Alexis said, "Respect to the Shaman, Blood-of-the-Snowfed-Spring," then she smiled and continued in a less formal tone, "I am glad to see you, mother. It has been far too long."

While Alexis spoke, Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat slowly flushed red.

Nodding her head slightly again, Alexis turned to the larger man.

"Respect to the General of the allied Northmen," Snowy said in a still-respectful, but cooler tone. I was watching closely while I approached. Any mistake of the three could help us prepare for whatever plan they might have. Ashen-Arm-of-the-Mountain's face was stony, unshifting at her greeting, but his head did dip minutely.

Just as I reached Alexis' side, Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat moved. His arm struck out like a snake, his fist hammering across Alexis' face, her jaw breaking with a sound like shattering stone.

"Skirotich!" shouted Blood-of-the-Mountain-Cat, his face contorting in anger as spit flew from his mouth.