Isul led me to the same private room in the temple that we’d used when we first met. He set his lantern staff against the wall, where the darkness cast from the lantern cut in strange shadows across the Secret-Keeper’s relief. After lighting the incense under the relief, Isul gestured for me to sit at the low table and offered to brew us tea. Naturally, I accepted.

We took a moment to savor the tea before I opened my mouth and cautiously broke the silence.

“Isul, since you know so much about the Tripartite, you understand titles too, right?”

“I’m no Scrivener, but I know a decent amount,” he said modestly. “What questions trouble you, my friend?”

“Titles are earned from your actions, right? So why might someone have titles that they can’t see or use?” At the questioning tilt of his eyebrows, I elaborated, “I know someone who has censored entries on his Record because his existential weight isn’t high enough to use them.”

“Hmm. And these titles are self-earned, not granted by a title spirit?”

Umm.

Yeah, whatever, I was already asking suspicious questions. Might as well go the whole way.

“What’s a title spirit?”

Isul gazed at me deeply. A faint smile ghosted over his lips before he answered.

“Some titles, when they grow distinct and powerful enough, gain their own will and spirit. When this happens, the title can no longer be earned or inherited simply by meeting the title’s qualifications; one must also earn the spirit’s recognition. A title with a spirit can only be held by one person at a time.”

In KP-04, when the [Last Genesis] had lent me its powers, it had appeared temporarily in my Record as a title.

“Are the spirits we meet in Fantasm Worlds the same thing as title spirits?”

“That’s an interesting question,” Isul said. “They are both spirits formed from and bound to concepts. Where a title spirit is born from one person’s Record, though, a Fantasm spirit is born from a world’s Record and condenses a title with its birth. The former emerges from a title; the latter precedes it. But either way, a spirit is formed with a conceptual title at its core. If it merges with other symbols, it can gain auxiliary conceptual titles as well, producing its own Record.”

“I thought Fantasm spirits were more like ghosts.”

“It’s possible. Some Fantasm spirits are formed from a specific individual’s history. In this case, the spirit would have achievement and lifestyle titles from its life as well as conceptual titles from what it represented to the world.”

“And titles can be… inherited?”

“Of course. The Saintess, for example, can only pass down her position to someone who has earned the recognition of the spirit, [Divine Saintess of the Dragon Shrine]. At the inauguration ceremony, the spirit formally removes itself from the former Saintess’ Record and bestows itself upon the new one.”

“What about the king?”

“He will inherit the title of the [King Who Bore the Crown of Sorrow].”

That sound like a terrible title. It was hard to relate at all to the people who wanted the throne. “What happens to spirits that don’t find anyone to inherit them? Or that don’t want to be inherited?”

“If they do not find a way to maintain their concept or remain relevant in the cultural zeitgeist, they will fall into a slumber and eventually dissipate.”

So in a way, they lived and died by others’ perceptions of them…

Good thing that had nothing to do with me.

“Returning to the original topic,” said Isul, “if a title spirit bestowed itself upon your friend, but he is not yet powerful enough to express its Record, then its entries may remain inaccessible on his Record.”

“He was able to use a Fantasm spirit’s abilities, though.”

“Channeling and bestowment are distinct ways of passing on a conceptual title’s powers. Fantasm spirits typically choose to channel; in this case, although they have attached themself to your Record and you direct their titles’ usage, the actual power of the title comes from the Fantasm Spirit.”

Like when Luka summoned me or that wolf, right?

“A bestowment binds a conceptual title to your Record in a much more permanent fashion; once it is done, the title spirit can only remove itself from the Record through another bestowment ceremony, sacrificing its core title’s power, or your death. It also means that the power for the title must come from you.”

“So then, the title would be limited by… the host’s existential weight?” I asked tentatively.

Isul nodded. “Titles with spirits usually have realm requirements, but some spirits choose inheritors ahead of time regardless.”

Okay. I was pretty sure I didn’t have any surprise title spirits. I would probably have noticed if some ceremony had happened to me. There was the Devouring Exchange, but Acacius was clearly not a spirit and he also had not wanted to give me anything, so I was pretty sure it didn’t count.

Then the [Acacius Duval] title…

I still had no clue what that meant. Was it normal to have a title of your own name? I wanted to ask Isul, but even though I was already asking about what was common knowledge in this world, I was afraid of going that far. I mean, if it wasn’t normal to have your name as a title, then…

Honestly, I didn’t want to think about what Isul could infer about me from my questions. It was kind of sickening.

Isul took a slow sip of his cup of tea before giving me a sly look. “It seems to me that your friend is a more unusual case than mere title inheritance troubles.”

“Um.”

“Is your friend struggling with a mismatch between their ‘history’ and their vessel? Soul walkers, astral travelers, and people with similar capabilities can run into this issue when possessing others or creating avatars. If the vessel is not strong enough, or its compatibility is poor, then the titles that can be expressed are limited.”

I’d been an ordinary person in my past life, unlike a prophet and noble brat like Acacius, so it was probably my strength limiting his titles, right…? I mean, it’d be crazy to think it was the other way around.

“So how can my friend increase his existential weight?” I asked. “Or his realm?”

“The accumulation of titles will always increase your existential weight; consolidating them under the Tripartite’s power will lead to a qualitative difference in power, and a corresponding rise in your realm.”

At my clueless look, Isul gave me a more thorough explanation.

Under the Tripartite’s system, there were five realms: Record, Chronicle, Epic, Myth, and Legend. It took three achievement titles and a ritual under the Tripartite to advance one realm. Everyone started life at the Record level, which had nothing special going for it. Since it was a challenge to earn even one achievement title, most people stayed there all their life.

At the Chronicle level, a person would condense the seed of their inner world, or domain. At this level, people could start saying, “Because I recognize it as true, it is true.” The usage of aura, elemental magic, or other frames was no longer dependent upon the external world, its artifacts, or its common frame; it could be entirely driven by the user’s self-recognition.

However, the more complex principles of one’s inner world could not yet be expressed. Therefore, a Chronicle rank would choose one of the Tripartite to act as their inner world’s “doorway” to connect with the external world. To gain the Tripartite’s recognition, you had to pass their inquisition and their trial; then, and only then, could you advance to the next rank. Therefore, this realm was also known as the Realm of Trials.

At the Epic realm, each achievement title could be connected with two other titles to create a unique “law” to your inner world. The law would be influenced by your answers from the Tripartite’s inquisition as well as which of the Triarchs’ paths you strode. These special laws could be projected into the outside world, though typically under certain conditions and constraints.

At the Myth level, the inner world was strong enough to be temporarily manifested. Within your domain, you were akin to a god. In other words, a Myth-rank could temporarily pull others into their inner world, where what they believed in was true.

As for Legend-ranks, they no longer needed to pull others into their inner world; they could directly impose their inner world on the external world. At this level, their world was strong enough to become its own frame. Apparently, the aura force frame that was so popular today had been created by a legendary swordmaster over two thousand years ago.

It would be a lie to say I didn’t want to grow stronger, and the path towards advancement was clearer now, but I felt deeply uneasy.

“Is there a way to increase in realm without going through the Tripartite…?”

Isul gave me an amused look. “Are you nervous? It’s not such a bad idea to make their acquaintance. Besides, haven’t you already met them in a dream?”

Did he have a screw loose or something? I never wanted to repeat that experience again.

Isul set his cup down and focused on me with great intensity.

“Now that I’ve answered your questions, I’m afraid I can’t hold back my curiosity any longer. Which Triarchs came to see you? What form did they appear in? Which symbols did you see?”

Haltingly, I recounted the appearance of the three headed statues, the door it came from, and the objects that it had held in its arms. As for what we discussed, though, I said nothing.

It didn’t matter. By the time I finished describing everything, Isul’s eyes were shining.

“To think you’d see the Tripartite in their conjoined form,” he said softly. “And they showed their dual faces, too! How rare to attract the attention of all three at such a low rank. You’re a lot like me, in that way!”

I forced a smile. “If it’s happened to both of us, how rare can it be?”

His eyes crinkled as he smiled back. “I am an apostle and apostate of every Triarch, my friend. I’m as unusual as they come.”

“Why would you want to do that?”

Isul laughed.

“You seem a bit unfamiliar with the Tripartite. How about I tell you a story?”

According to Isul, the story went like this.

Once upon a time, when nothing was yet written and everything had already happened, before the Tripartite created Kosmonymia and breathed life into its names, they wandered through the dreams of space and chaos of time, observing the struggles that bound human life.

After watching kings and emperors rise and fall like the shifting tides, the Tripartite laughed and asked each other who humanity’s true ruler was.

The Signifier said, “Humanity is ruled by appearances; they can only believe what they see, and they always try to appear as what they cannot be. Their life revolves around such foolish and unending deception.”

The Secret-Keeper said, “No, humanity is ruled by what is hidden from them. They shape their lives to hide their secrets, while unaware of how they are affected by the secrets around them; they stumble and fall trying to explain what they do not know. Their life revolves around such laughable ignorance.”

The Scribe said, “No, humanity is ruled by the past. What they do once, they will do again. One moment of cowardice births a coward; one lie births a liar; one murder births a murderer. Their choices define their patterns, and their patterns define their life. Their life revolves around such a pitiable existence.”

“And yet,” said all three, “the struggle to break free is the most pitiable thing of all!”

Thus, Isul explained, each Triarch had two aspects.

The Signifier, who created meaning and all its distortions, was also known as the Deceiver.

The Secret-Keeper, who both kept and revealed what was hidden, was also known as the Betrayer.

And the Scribe, who perpetuated and opposed the cycles of history, was also known as the Obliterator.

A Triarch’s apostle drew power from their emergent aspect, and their apostate drew from their inverted aspect. One could be both an apostle and an apostate, though it was somewhat unusual due to the difficulties of committing to even one.

Even if Isul looked happy explaining all of this, I didn’t like the sound of any of these gods ruling the world, okay?

“And you like being involved with all three?” I confirmed.

“I do.”

Okay, so he wasn’t just a suspicious priest, he was also crazy.

“Do I have to choose a Triarch to increase my realm?” I said gloomily.

“Normal people do,” Isul agreed. “But you don’t.”

He smiled.

“After all, the Tripartite has already chosen you.”

Isul wouldn’t explain anything more about reaching the Chronicle realm under the Tripartite’s full attention, just saying that it would be a fun surprise for me, which did basically nothing to reassure me at all. He also said he was still going through all his trials and was excited to have a peer, which made me feel worse.

Still, my recent experiences had made it abundantly clear that I was too weak for Kosmonymia. Since I wanted to become stronger, I’d just have to grit my teeth and muddle through the Tripartite’s attention somehow.

With that decision made, I inquired with Isul about obtaining titles, particularly achievement titles. Evidently, it wasn’t that simple to do.

“Achievement titles will never be easy to earn,” Isul told me. “What’s difficult for a child is easy for an adult, and what’s impossible for a commoner can be done by a king with a wave of his hand. An achievement for a Myth rank is naturally different from a Chronicle rank’s.”

The only achievement title I had was earned after nearly dying in KP-04. Just the thought of what it’d take to reach Legend made my stomach hurt.

“It can also be challenging to earn unique titles. After all, as you grow, instead of earning a new title, one of your preexisting titles may evolve with you,” Isul explained. “For example, one of the most common evolution lines is from novice to mastery. A sword user would go from [Sword Novice] to [Apprentice], [Adept], and then [Master].”

I thought back to Acacius’ [Poison Adept] title. It granted me resistance to any poisons I could identify, which meant it was nearly useless for me, but it must have taken him a lot of effort to get there.

“Additionally,” Isul continued, “If you earn a new title, but a previous one is similar, the two titles will consolidate. Usually, they combine under the rarer title, increasing its effects or adding secondary skills.”

That explained the recent change in [Inevitable Survivor]. Had all my assortment of survival skills been absorbed by that title, too? I had to admit that its effects were good enough to give up any extra bonuses to my knife or trapping skills… but it would’ve been nice to have it all.

My habits in acting and deception had probably crystallized into [Honest Man’s Deception], too. I sighed inwardly. It seemed like my current titles already covered most of the things I hoped they would do.

Now if only they could help me resist mind-warping effects better. But considering what it would take to earn that kind of title, I wasn’t sure it was worth it to get one.

“You should also be aware,” Isul continued, “the more titles combine, and the more powerful the titles, the more likely it is to gain spirituality.”

I fell silent for a while. [Honest Man’s Deception] was inert most of the time, but when I had it take the form of [Devourer], it had gained a spirit that acted willfully. Maliciously, even. So did my World Proof have a spirit or not?

“I met someone whose World Proof was sentient,” I said finally. “But it didn’t get along with its wielder.”

“They must be a very divided person.”

“What should I do if one of my titles develops a spirit? And… what happens if a spirit conflicts with the title holder?”

Isul didn’t answer me right away. He refilled both our cups with hot tea before sitting back and savoring his cup a while longer.

“Consider, if you will, who you are as a person,” he said. “Are you the thoughts that you have? Are you nothing more than the actions you have taken up until now?”

I didn’t get where he was going with this, but I answered honestly. “No. You can always choose to act contrary to your thoughts, or to break away from what you’ve done in the past. It’s just not that easy to do.”

Isul nodded and set his cup down.

“And do you know how cuckoo birds reproduce?”

Where the hell was he going with all this?

“The cuckoo lays its eggs in another bird’s nest. The cuckoo egg looks like the host’s eggs, and when it hatches, it looks like the host’s children. It begs for food and huddles for warmth just like the others. For those early days, in appearance and behavior, it seems just like the host species. But it is a cuckoo. It will take and rob from the other children, spurn its host family’s grace, and abandon them.”

For whatever reason, I thought about how these days, when I looked in the mirror, it was Acacius who looked back.

“But is it the cuckoo bird’s fault?” Isul asked. “Even if it can fight its thoughts and change its actions, what can it do about how it was born into the world?”

In just one moment, it felt like the tea lost all its taste.

“A title spirit is born from your actions, embodying a role you have played, following the thoughts that someone who plays that role should have,” Isul said. “It embodies an aspect of who you are — at least, at the time that it is born. If you want to change, though, you best keep a good relationship with your title spirit, so that it will change alongside with you. Otherwise…”

He smiled. In that moment, sitting under the Secret-Keeper’s relief and cast under his lamp’s shadow, that expression looked just like the Tripartite’s.

“Even if you don’t mean to, someone might end up just like that cuckoo bird.”

Chapter 42 Back to Index