Johan tugged on his tunic and then collar, before his hands shifted down to his belt and pants. Before they reached, his mother was there, smacking his hands aside.
“Stop it. It took the tailors and servants ages to get it right. If you could just stop growing . . .” his mother hissed with disapproval.
Johan frowned but let her fuss, a light blush threatening to creep up his face. He did not need to turn much to see the looks the other courtiers were giving him, the way they sneered a little at the scene his mother was making, at the way he dressed.
“You . . . you know I Leveled . . . right, Ma? I . . . I had to put mmhhmm . . . more points into Strength and uh, Agility. If I’m to do my, umm . . . job . . .”
“Of course you need to do your job. I never said you shouldn’t do your job. Did I say that?” His mother replied, grey eyes narrowing at the young nobleman and forced out a reluctant shake of his head. “I just wish you didn’t have to keep growing. It’s so . . . so . . . athletic.”
“Yes, he really is, is he not?” The voice that cut across the pair’s conversation made his mother and Johan stiffen, if for different reasons. His mother turned, a smile on her face of both chagrin and delight, while Johan eyed the older matriarch staring back at them. Behind her, the trio of guards that watched over the group glowered at Johan, though the Master of Arms realized he felt little fear at their regard.
Out of training, paper Levels. Those were the words that ran through his mind and that showed in his eyes as he stared back at the three, and his disdainful regard was enough for them to stiffen. Yet they said nothing, like the good bodyguards that they were.
“Johan, you haven’t greeted the Viscountess Walraus,” his mother said, forcing Johan to turn. He offered greetings, including the ritual bow and kiss over the hand with his usual grace, though he did note the conversation that broke out over their company.
Once he had done his greetings, his mother and the Viscountess Walraus dismissed him, nattering on about clothing and balls. He half-listened, though most of it was unimportant to him or his own concerns. Still, being forced to party with the prince and Lady Nyssa meant that he had a better grasp of most events in the capital than most.
Including . . . “I . . . I won’t be . . . ummm . . . attending, uuh, Mother.” Johan interrupted smoothly.
“Whyever not?” His mother turned. “Do you expect me to go alone?”
“Nuh . . . nuh . . . no. I’m . . . perhaps . . . umm . . . perhaps Lord Smith?” Johan said, somewhat placatingly he thought only for his mother to shoot him a frown. Ah, it seemed he had missed the point where his mother had moved on from Lord Smith then. “I . . . the prince. He, ummm, he invited me. To an event.”
That last sentence was enough to quieten both his mother and the viscountess. There was little to be said, at least, little of substance. Not that the pair did not try to continue to speak of things, which he had to admit, drove him mad. Still, boredom and repetition was something that his martial training had offered him in spades, and this conversation, like pain, was a passing thing.
When the viscountess finally left them, Johan could not help but turn to his mother and lower his voice, even as they continued to wait in the room. He hated that they were forced to wait here, but even for nobles, bureaucracy ground on. And at least this time, they were paying off one of the imperial loans on their meager holdings rather than begging another extension. Being an Adventurer, one running Master Class and Advance Class Dungeons really was profitable.
Still. “I wish . . . wish you’d stop. Umm, speaking. With her.”
“The viscountess has been a good friend to us in the past. It’s always good to keep up such connections,” his mother chided.
“But . . . but we don’t need her. Not anymore.” Johan tapped his coin pouch.
He was rather jealous of the Adventurer’s Inventory, his own version only allowing him to store weapons and armor. On the other hand, he could equip them at a moment’s notice, unlike Adventurers with their own Skill Proficiency, so there were advantages. Still, it made them hard to pickpocket, unlike him.
“And what if you, like your late father, just leave me again? How am I supposed to get by, hmmm?” his mother said waspishly.
Johan could not help but wince and lower his head a little at her correction. After all, she was right; his father’s death had been the reason so much of their troubles had begun. Then again . . .
“I’m not . . . not going to . . . umm . . . die. And you know, you know, uhh, the sides. You know, which one she’s on . . .” Johan muttered. “It’s . . . it’s bad. For us . . . to owe her.”
“Oh, pish tosh. Your prince knows better than to hold that against you. And it’s good to keep options open. Now, I think it’s going to be our turn next, so get ready . . .”
Sighing, Johan straightened and nodded to the servant who appeared at the doorway to wave them in. It was, he decided, worth being forced to dress up in too-tight clothing to pay off another debt. Now, if they managed to keep up their current rate of earnings, he might even pay off the family’s debts to the viscountess and the other noble loan sharks.
And wouldn’t that be a day to celebrate?
***
“This . . . this is too much,” Daniel said, eyeing the steel-and-gold bracer that was in his hand. He turned it over, again and again, his skin prickling a little at the buzz of magic that washed across his aura. This was no plain enchanted item, but a Master Work. It had been so well crafted that even his numerous enchantments that he wore interacted only subtly with it, allowing him to hold it without a concern.
“Too much, you say,” the old man said, peering at Daniel from the bed he had propped himself up on. “Tell me, how often have you visited me?”
“Uhhh . . .” Daniel paused, wracking his brain.
“I do not need a full count. Just a general idea, fool child.”
“Well, I guess once a week for the last three months, that’d be—” Daniel stuttered.
“Too much! And we’re barely paying you for your time,” the old man said grumpily.
“The amounts are negotiated with—”
“The rates are garbage. Just like your modesty. No Healer—not even Rotfield—can do what you did.” The old man waved a hand at Daniel. “Any rate your guildmaster negotiated is insufficient in light of that single fact.”
“I haven’t cured you though, Lord Krout,” Daniel said sadly.
“But you’ve cleared my mind, given me another three months—maybe more—that I would never have had. I’ve managed to clean up the house finances—something I should have done a long time ago, and don’t you dare tell my son I said that. He’d never let me hear the end of that, having me admit to it.” Lord Krout sighed. “You’ve given me time to see my grandchild grow. All of that is worth more than the handful of gold we’ve given you.”
“But this bracer . . .”
“Is useless to my scions.” Krout shook his head. “I’ve added more than enough items to the family vault. This one, they have no use for anyway. Not as though they go delving.”
Daniel nodded a little. It was true. Krout had been one of the first Adventurers to find a new Advanced Dungeon, and with his team, had fought deep within to clear it. They had proceeded to station themselves there for the long six months before a proper Guild presence had been established, clearing the Dungeon over and over again.
In the course of such clearing, they had managed to earn their fortunes along with the bounty that the kingdom offered such location of new Dungeons. It had turned around the fortunes of the once-ailing Krout noble House and reestablished it all. And now, the Mountaindale Dungeon was run on the regular, with a small-but-growing village forming around it.
Still, all that said, Daniel turned the bracer around in his hand and peered at the information it provided once more.
Bracers of Bleeding Thorn (Master Work)
The Bracers of Bleeding Thorn is a dual-enchanted equipment with the ability to inflict minor, but consistent, damage to enemies within the aura of the wielder while siphoning and storing a small portion of its wielder’s life force. This siphoned life force may be returned to the wearer upon command, creating a short-term healing effect.
Effect 1: Deals 5-7 damage per second to enemies within the user’s aura.
Effect 2: Siphon and store a maximum of 47 Health Points. These Health Points may be returned to user only upon triggering of the effect.
“This is a dual-enchantment item. And a powerful one. You can’t even buy this kind of work,” Daniel muttered, staring at the bracer.
“No, you can’t. It’s a good thing I just leveled with the maker.” Krout smirked. “Anyway, if you won’t take it as payment, consider it insurance on my part.”
“Insurance?” Daniel said.
“Of course. I need you to keep coming back, and you can’t do that if you die to a bad block. Or a dagger in the dark.”
“Most of my attackers come from the front,” Daniel said. “And no one uses daggers in the Dungeon. You know that.”
“Hah. So innocent.” Krout eyes narrowed, then he shook his head after considering. “Either way. Keep it. Come back. Next week! Now, I want some roast chicken. Your healing always leaves me hungry.”
Already, he dismissed Daniel, roaring his order for ale, roast chicken, and potatoes in large quantities at the servant while the Adventurer just watched. After a second more of hesitating, he made the Bracer disappear into his Inventory.
Even if the old man thought it was no big thing to give away, perhaps flaunting the new acquisition in front of his children was not the best option. He could always admire—and equip—it later. Their next run was tomorrow after all.
Offering one last nod and slight bow, Daniel saw himself out. Lord Krout was not the only individual who needed healing and who couldn’t make it to the Guild Hall.
***
Asin growled low, watching the quartet of thugs stalk down the street from her perch. She sniffed a little, catching their scent, the acrid stench of old alcohol being sweated out of their pores, the lack of washing that was so common among humans. Why did humans—men especially—refuse to take proper care of their hygiene? She would never understand. She did not expect them to lick their own asses like the Caninekin, but at least wipe more than once . . . !!!
Perhaps it was just another way they chose to make life hard for Beastkin. That was, strangely, a more palatable thought than the fact that humans just chose, willingly, to walk around in that unhygienic mess that they were.
“These three?” Asin asked, knowing it was them. Still, better to be sure.
The young Monkeykin that hung beside her nodded, his tail wrapped around the support post. He was cradling one arm, bandaged and splinted after his latest encounter. Damn humans . . . then Asin shook her head. Not all humans, just some of them. Some were good—like the one who promised to swing by the place after his rounds. If he did manage to make it, she’d need to make sure young Apollos beside her was seated close. Even if Daniel was out of Mana, that Healing Aura II could help, especially with the minor infection the Monkeykin had picked up.
But before that, she needed to handle this problem.
Judging the trio had made it far enough into the alleyway, Asin launched herself off the edge of the building, leaving the jutting roofing timber to tumble through the air. She landed with nary a sound, the simple Cat’s Grace Skill more than sufficient to deal with the twenty-foot fall.
Behind the trio, she unsheathed her claws and moved forwards. Crouching low—and holding her breath—she struck fast and hard. Scratches across the back of legs, severing tendons and tearing skin and ligaments with the minimum of blood. The first went down almost silently, the second barely turning to see what the problem was before she took out his back leg and then had to switch to a throw.
The third was the fastest, the Thug swinging for the fences and nearly catching her with Sucker Punch. The Skill made it very hard to dodge for your average person, fooling their sense of timing and distance. Asin was not a normal person though, but an Adventurer. And high-Level Thug or not, he was still facing an Adventurer who faced death every other day.
She leaned back, feeling the wind of the haymaker pass her by. Then, before he could attack again, she lashed out with her claws, tearing at the arms. To her surprise, her claws slid off the skin, barely leaving a mark.
“Hardened Skin, fool! You think being an Adventurer means much in a fist fight?” the Thug snarled before lashing out with a Flurry of Blows.
Flipping backwards, Asin put herself out of the way of the attack, knowing that such a close combat series of blows would quickly tire him out. Then, making a quick decision, she pulled out her Amulet of Lightning, equipping it again by the simple expedient of letting it slide over her head. She shivered a little, feeling it connect with her aura once more, charging it up.
After that, the fight was pretty much over. He might be faster, perhaps even better than her in close combat. But she was in an alleyway strewn with debris and had an enchantment that allowed her thrown weapons to be charged with lightning. Lightning her opponent had no actual defense against.
Of course, she made sure to give him a good few kicks once he finally went down, cracking a couple of ribs before she sauntered out, the trio’s meager purse in her hands. They would not be coming back to the Beastkin quarters any time soon.
Not that made the others happy.
“That’s the third group this week.” The voice cut across to Asin as she was taking a seat by the roadside stall and paying for lunch for everyone with her ill-gotten gains. Best to spread the funds around fast, before they came looking for it.
“Third group sent off too,” Asin answered.
“You swanning around with the prince is what brought this on us. You getting ahead of yourself, making the nobles remember we’re around.” The Boarkin that accused her sat down opposite Asin without asking, the big tusks from his chin waggling with each word. “You should quit. They’ll forget about us again, soon.”
“Not going to quit. I told you already. That’s my party. Anyway, you’re a fool if you think they ever forgot us. They just ignored us, because they’re too busy fighting one another. But if we ever get too big, they’ll just remember and tear us down.”
“Exactly! And we shouldn’t be rocking the boat.”
“Living is rocking the boat for them,” Asin snapped. “This way, we might at least remind some of them that we’re not that different. And a prince, one who likes us, can do a lot.”
“Don’t be a fool, child.” Another voice, this one older and kindlier.
The pair of arguing Beastkin stood up and turned to the speaker, offering deep nods of respect to the Ratkin that walked up to them. He had a staff in one hand, helping him walk along in his little brown robes. “Expecting humans to help us is always a fool’s expectations.”
Asin eyes narrowed, only for a commotion up the street to draw their attention. It was quite a distance, but even from here, Asin could catch his scent, his jovial voice as he chatted with those around. Soon enough, Asin knew, he would be down the way with his Healing Aura (II) turned on at full blast, offering what little aid he could to those around.
The Ratkin paused, eyes lingering at the disturbance before he turned to the smirking Catkin and added, “As I said. A fool’s expectation.” Then, the old and stern visage softened. “But thank QuanEr for the fools.”
To that sentiment, the group of Beastkin around could only nod in agreement.
Thank QuanEr indeed.