Chương 110: Chapter 068 Home Is Where…

Jack stepped out of Baron Greaves' carriage and thanked the driver before walking across the cobbled road to his home. [Assassin's Intuition] pinged. He paused and looked towards the direction from which someone must be watching. I'm being watched from the shadows. He took a few moments to compose himself before pushing open the door to his family's courtyard. Despite the late time, he could see the damage to his mother's herb garden thanks to his [Night Vision] skill.

"I'm sorry, Mom," he whispered while heading towards the front door. He took a few moments to compose himself. Despite being told his family was safe, until he saw them in the flesh, it felt like he'd already lost them all over again. His heart was pounding like a drum as he pushed the door open. Please be safe. The first thing he noticed was the smell of cooking. Thank the Gods, M om's safe.

Relief washed over him, and all the anxiety and stress he'd been holding in while dealing with the Inquisition and the blood mages overwhelmed him. He dropped his pack and fell to his knees, sobbing.

"Jack?" his father asked.

"Are you alright, Son? We were so worried." His father dropped to his knees in front of him and hugged him.

"Everything is going to be alright." Jack continued to sob. They're safe. He couldn't manage to speak a word through the flood of emotions and tears.

"Thank the Gods!" came his mother's relieved voice.

"I knew it was all a misunderstanding from the start. I kept telling the inquisitors they must be mistaken." She also dropped to her knees and hugged him.

"We were so worried for you." Jack tried to contain his emotions.

"Is-is ev-everyone… al-right?" William nodded.

"We're all fine. It's you we've been worried about." He stood and pulled his son to his feet. His mom kissed him on the forehead and wiped away some of his tears with a tea towel before wiping her own tears.

"Have you had something to eat?" Jack shook his head. The last thing he'd eaten was a couple of gristly mystery meat pies that barely registered as food. His parents led him into the kitchen, which almost looked back to normal. He couldn't help but smile when he realised all his mother's kitchenware was in the process of being cleaned. Mom's probably furious at having strangers touch her pots and pans. He sat at the table and took a deep breath.

"Did they… hurt you?" He clenched his fists in anger when he recalled his father's bloody and bruised face. He took a good look at his dad; there wasn't a hint of bruising. His dad shook his head.

"Not really, son. I suffered a few bruises, but they paid for an Expert Healer." He looked angry.

"I was annoyed at the inquisitor accusing you of killing two guards and holding your mother and the girls without informing me. What a preposterous idea that you'd kill someone." He shook his head and clenched his fists.

"I told him as much in a heated exchange, and called him a moron and a disgrace to the Kingdom. And well, you know how the Inquisition can be. They are a law unto themselves!" Jack felt a deep sense of pride rise within him from knowing that his father had taken such a risk to stand up for him.

"I'm sorry, Dad." He ignored what his pseudo [Rogue's Tongue] skill was manoeuvring him to say. He needed to say sorry.

"I-I didn't mean for this to happen. I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Jack." Anna filled a bowl with hot food.

"The inquisitor told us it was a case of mistaken identity and that they were very sorry for the mix-up." She shook her head.

"The lead inquisitor even gave us 100 gold as an apology and to pay for any damages. They put us up in a lovely inn while they cleaned up most of the mess they'd made. We've had a very strange day." She placed the bowl of hot food in front of her son.

"Eat up while it's hot, Jack." She placed a warm hand on his shoulder and squeezed. Jack smiled.

"Thanks, Mom." He wanted to tell them the truth, but couldn't; it would destroy their relationship.

"How are Polly and Zia?" He held his breath while waiting for an answer.

"They're asleep." William frowned.

"The girls were quite upset, but settled down after we got home." Jack breathed a sigh of relief.

"I'm so glad you're all safe. I met with Baron Greaves." It was time to tell some lies. Some more lies. He took another deep breath before continuing while allowing his pseudo [Rogue's Tongue] skill to guide him.

"We have to thank the Baron for helping to sort out the unfortunate mess. When he heard one of his scribes was being held, he interceded." William nodded.

"The Baron is a great man. He really does care for the people under him." Anna nodded in agreement.

"I should cook him something special as a thank you." Love this story? Find the genuine version on the author's preferred platform and support their work! Jack clenched his teeth for a few seconds before continuing.

"He helped sort out the… misunderstanding, and I told him about the vision I'd had." He watched his father's eyes widen.

"The Baron was disappointed to discover I wouldn't be starting work at the Library, but he offered to pay for the tuition to the Academy." He forced a smile. At least they don't have to worry about that anymore.

"What a generous and kind man." Anna was nodding.

"You don't see many nobles caring about the lower classes very often." She patted Jack on the shoulder.

"Perhaps the Gods intervened to make it possible to attend the Academy with no financial concerns." She nodded.

"Yes. They do work in strange ways. You need to eat."

"Perhaps it was the Gods," Jack lied before taking a spoonful of stew.

"Thanks, Mom. It's delicious." After explaining the fabricated version of his day to his parents and eating some more of his mother's delicious cooking, Jack headed to his room. He hung his bow and quiver on the vent before throwing his pack next to his desk with a thud. He noticed everything on his table had been returned: inks, parchments, quills, and… PenDragon. Additional expensive-looking scribe supplies were stacked beside the toy dragon, courtesy of the 'generous' inquisitor. Jack chuckled.

He's afraid I'll retaliate. Maybe I should. He shook his head. T he inquisitor's [Shield] would protect him. He might be harder to kill than Greaves. He picked up the toy dragon and realised it wasn't the same toy.

"They replaced it with a new one." He clenched his free fist in anger at the loss of memories.

"PenDragon." The toy reacted like normal, its eyes lighting up with a soft blue glow before releasing a puff of harmless aether-steam that smelled of ozone.

"They must have salvaged the memory crystal." He was conflicted about the toy. It's not the same. There was no scratched wing from the time toddler Polly hit it with a bat as it chased her. Still, muscle memory kicked in.

"PenDragon. Fly around the room three times and return to protect my scribe supplies." PenDragon's eyes flashed blue, acknowledging the commands. With a puff of aether-steam, the tiny mechanical dragon whirred to life, its wings unfolding with a click. It zipped through the air, lapping the room three times in graceful arcs, dodging the dangling bowstring, before settling back on the desk with a protective puff, eyes dimming to sentinel mode. Jack frowned.

"It feels different somehow." He couldn't quite put his finger on it, but something felt off. He put the toy under his bed where he wouldn't have to look at it. He tipped out his pack and sat at his desk, sorting through his scribe supplies. The scruffy-looking leather armour, boots, and cloak sat in a heap on the floor with his two masks.

"I really need somewhere to hide my stuff." He shoved most of it under his bed to deal with later; the high-quality mask was hung on a valve near his bow.

"Mom will find it eventually anyway." Next, he emptied the coin pouch the Baron had given him. Gold coins clinked onto the desk, gleaming under the dim aether-lamp. A minute later, he was staring at eight neat piles.

"Damn! 75 gold." He shook his head, stacking them into a little tower.

"Pocket change, he said." It was enough coin to live well for years, and Greaves had treated it like a handful of coppers.

"Why does he not pay for food?" Jack's mind flashed to memories: the Baron snatching wraps from street vendors, their eyes downcast as he walked away without paying a copper.

"It makes no sense?" He put the coins back in the pouch and stored it on his bookshelf above his bed. He groaned when he realised his books were in the wrong order again.

"I'll deal with it later," he yawned and sat on his bed.

"Is that a new mattress?" He lifted the bedding to find a new, thicker mattress than his old one; it was also dry. With a wry smile, he tested his bed.

"It's softer." Feeling exhausted from the day and having an important appointment in the morning, he got ready for bed. What am I going to do? Jack lay there, staring at the faint cracks in the ceiling, trying to force sleep. But his mind was too active, pseudo [Multitasking] humming like an overworked aether-engine. My family is safe, and as long as I act the part, I can live a good life.

He could go to the Academy to study and ignore the problem that there were at least two circles of blood mages in the city, and the Inquisition was corrupt.

"I have to kill all the blood mages." He shook the intrusive thought away.

"Why does it have to be me?" They're going to sacrifice someone for the young blood mages at the hunt. He sat up in bed.

"Oh, fuck." He'd realised that as the twenty-fourth blood mage, he'd be expected to participate. He held his head in his hands.

"Damn it. They're going to invite me to the hunt again." He imagined participating in another blood magic ritual to harvest the skills of an innocent person. It shouldn't be Cain, at least. He'd redirected the adventurer away from confronting Viscount Rowlings for leaving him and Zia to die on the road to Lundun. Jack swung his legs out of bed and paced the room in bare feet, the floorboards cool and creaking under him.

Pseudo Administrator [Multitasking] worked overtime, splitting his thoughts into two threads to offer solutions. I can't r efuse the invite. I can't e xpose the circle… The Inquisition would bury it. Again. He couldn't see any way out of it.

"I can't refuse." He stopped at where his bow was hung up safe from little hands; it was still wrapped in material. They already believe I'm a murderer. He touched the dark cloth before unwrapping the bow so it could absorb ambient mana overnight. Could I kill enough of them? Jack was considering the option of killing some of the younger blood mages. If he could kill some of them over the next week, perhaps they'd cancel the ritual.

He pictured Fenton looking down on him after the young noble had cut off his left hand. He rubbed his wrist, a phantom ache flaring.

"They all deserve to die," he whispered as he climbed back into bed while planning how to murder a young noble without getting caught. But doubt crept in. It won't work. He sat up again.

"They've been planning it for months. Even if I kill a few, they'll drag in older mages to fill the spots." Fenton would still be a future thorn in his side. If he's at the Academy, it's going to be hell. What if he goes after my family? He thought of how easy it would be for Fenton to kill one of his sisters or his little brother.

"I should still kill that asshat."