Chương 26

Step after pained step, Kirk staggered back to his tent. Two young girls giggled as they hauled buckets of water from the well. One yelped and dropped her bucket when Kirk stumbled sideways. They both watched wide eyed as he swayed, righted himself, then forced his body forward. Behind him, Kirk could hear them whispering.

"Was that…?"

"Yea, Kirkland Albion. Was he…?"

"Yea, so drunk he couldn't even walk straight."

"It's not even sunset!"

"Well, have you heard the rumors…" Kirk wanted to scream. But he could barely breathe. On his meandering, miserable journey back from the Healer's tent, he had already vomited twice. The second time was mostly lightheaded dry-heaving, and Kirk realized that unless he wanted to be found passed out in his own sick, he needed to hurry. His breath rasped through his throat. Although he knew that nothing was physically wrong with him, it felt like he was about to suffocate.

He had experienced the sense of having no energy before, but this was so much worse. A mix between drowning and crippling hunger. After Healer Michaels had sucked Kirk's Runic Battery II dry, he had slapped Kirk's back.

"Go, get some rest. Sleep is rejuvenating, even for Archetypes. A few hours and you'll be perked right back up, Albion." He groaned and swayed on a less busy patch of dirt. For a moment he had to stop and pant as a Troop marched past. Then Kirk continued. When he arrived at his tent, he swiped to open it but missed. But the haphazard controls of his miserable body meant he already leaned forward, as though toward an opening. Kirk flailed and fumbled, using his face to open the tent flap.

He collapsed on the ground, breathed for a while, then dragged himself over to the bed. He couldn't undress. He just squeezed his eyes shut and hoped the suffering would pass. He could feel his Archetype's twitching, attempting to activate, but unable to draw in energy either from his reserves or the air. When he finally slept, he didn't dream. Like a cadaver baptized in electricity, Kirk Albion croaked and sat bolt upright. He was covered in a cold sweat. His muscles complained.

Yet as he came awake, he released a groan of pleasure.

"By the Great Wound. That… was miserable." Relief and recovery flowed out from his head to the soles of his feet. After a period of deprivations, his Archetypes could operate. Energy flowed through his body, repairing and accumulating. Kirk muttered, "Did that Healer take all of my energy out of spite?" Kirk scowled as he thought about. But immediately, his aggravation faded. Replaced by pride. Because even if it left Kirk scraped raw, he had helped.

All in all, the energy of Runic Battery II fueled six casts of Heal. Several wounded individuals, who were being monitored overnight, were restored. Kirk stood by their bedside and watched the lines of agony fade from their expression. Their slumber became blissful. Their pale faces filled with blood. Last night demonstrated two truths: healing costs a lot of energy. And by donating his energy, Kirk could make a difference.

"Just wish it wasn't so miserable," Kirk sighed. Yet it was also what he had been looking for: a way for him to improve the lives of the Conduits here. To improve Peakhold, to make the world a fairer place, Kirk supposed he was willing to endure discomfort. Kirk scratched the back of his neck. In his mind, the real puzzle was something else entirely: why did sleeping restore energy to his Archetypes? Energy came from the Rift, as far as he could tell. Or from catalytics, which were harvested inside of them.

Kirk felt a pang in his heart. If Maett and Zuri were still here, they would explain. He closed his eyes for a second. But then he opened them. He understood- everyone in life walked a different path. Hopefully, they would see each other again in the future. His thoughts turned to the day ahead as he got up and got dressed, but he was surprised to find that, when he exited his tent, a healer's apprentice was there, waiting. The girl, perhaps only fifteen or so, bowed.

"Healer Michaels wants to know when he can expect you, Young Master Albion." Kirk opened his mouth and closed it, suppressing a shiver as he recalled that sense of misery. Definitely, the Healer's brusque manner and assumptions could rub one the wrong way. But Kirk loosed a snort. After so many individuals treated him strangely due to his family, it was almost a relief for those factors to become irrelevant.

"In the afternoon," He chuckled. The attendant bowed and returned to the healer area. First, Kirk went to the bathhouse; it was sweaty work, being physically uncomfortable. Several Conduits shifted and widened their eyes when Kirk came into the bathhouse, but he ignored them. He found a hot tub and soaked for a while, then scrubbed away the residue as best he could. Then he trained. First with the Larian Saber, although he quickly realized it might have been a bad idea to bathe before exercise.

Even if summer leaned more and more toward autumn, with frequent breezes, he labored in the sun. The blade gleamed, his arms trembled, and the weapon fell. He swept it sideways. He stepped forward, learning how to keep his center of gravity balanced, so he could swing again. More and more, he incorporated movement into his strikes. Two stumbles in a row drove home how critical it was to have solid footwork. Stolen novel; please report. As sweat started to trickle down his back, he repeated those movements.

The Ancient Bladed Beast whispered that these three were the most important. If he could master these, everything else would fall into place. So even though his shoulders and wrists ached, even if his biceps trembled, he kept moving. After using the Saber, Kirk fetched himself a bucket of water and splashed it over his head, just for a few blessed seconds of cool. Individuals at the well bowed and gave him strange looks. Kirk grimaced: maybe those girls he had almost collapsed on had spread rumors.

But compared to the feeling of satisfaction from helping six individuals… the attention seemed small. He returned to his tent: time to practice Runes. Enunciation proved a fickle quarry. He said the syllables with small variances, but because each phrase required a dozen syllables, it was difficult to isolate the mistakes and successes. It's almost as if… A possibility occurred to Kirk as he went through the Tenacity I Rune. Earlier mistaken syllables shift what is considered the 'correct' syllable later.

But that would make it almost impossible. Right? Kirk eventually ceased his efforts, gave his body and mind a chance to recover, and broke his fast. Then he went to the healer area.

"You are late," Healer Michaels informed Kirk. Kirk's lips twitched.

"I am not. I said when I would be here and came here at that time." The Healer pressed his lips into a thin line, but did not argue further. Instead, he just dragged Kirk to the first patient, a man whose legs had been thoroughly mauled by geo-3s. Kirk had to avert his eyes as his stomach turned, looking at the ribbons of bloody meat that should be thighs.

"You are not cut out to be a Conduit," The Healer growled at the man. He raised his hands and Kirk felt energy whooshing out of Runic Battery II. Kirk leaned forward, listening. But the Healer's syllables were quiet and quick, impressively so. After the Rune popped into being, it floated down and dispersed golden light across the wound.

"Maybe not now," The man coughed.

"But I'm getting closer to my Ascension. If I can make it to Tier I-""You are weak. And if you continue, you will die, leaving everyone who cares for you abandoned and grieving. Is that what you want?" The man flinched and lowered his gaze. Still muttering to himself, the Healer led Kirk away. Only when they had made it a short distance did the Healer round on him.

"You came to me half depleted! What were you thinking?"

"That I want to help, and am willing to, but I'm not willing to completely cease my own practice," Kirk replied.

"Fucking child. You think you can become strong enough to affect as many lives as I do every day? And in your selfishness-" The Healer bared his teeth. Yet Kirk didn't flinch. He lifted his chin and said, "If you have another volunteer waiting to take my place, I'm willing to cede it to them." I'll give what I can, but my goal is not just to be your battery. I'll keep growing. The Healer's eyes bulged. Yet in the end, he just cursed and twisted away.

He lashes out because he is alone here, the only bulwark keeping all these Conduits alive, Kirk mused. His energy can't keep up with all the wounds he sees every day, but his heart has witnessed everyone. And weeps blood at the futility of it all. In a way, it was chilling. And the Healer had a point; this wasn't sustainable. But rather than becoming bitter, Kirk wanted to try a new strategy. If the world isn't fair, let's just change the world. Of course, it wasn't an easy process.

And the Healer, faced with Kirk's stubbornness, lashed out the only way he could. Once more, Kirk felt like an emaciated raisin. It wasn't even supper time and his Runic Battery II had been hollowed out.

"You should be thanking me," The Healer Michaels crowed. Despite Kirk understanding the man, it was annoying to see how pleased the Healer was as Kirk groaned.

"After all, each time a Manifestation is fully expended, it deepens, just slightly. I've probably doubled your speed of improvement."

"Doesn't that only matter for manifestation with potential?" Kirk frowned. The Healer rolled his eyes.

"You don't even know this? Truly, the education of the youth is the first luxury discarded. This is different. That is an Archetype judging the worth of the body, unable to fully deliver its possibilities all at once. This inverse of Accumulation- a sufficiently demanding body will reshape the Archetypes. Obviously, you'll need to labor like this for a year or so to see any benefit-""Really?"

"Really. How long do you think I have used Heal to stitch together the world's fools?" The Healer crossed his arms.

"In the beginning, I had to cast twist to close a wound like that man's legs today. One for each leg. But after I used Heal a hundred times, a thousand times, ten thousand times, it takes one." Kirk was still dubious.

"Didn't you just get better at your enunciation?" The Healer scowled.

"I'm formally trained, you noble brat. My enunciation started perfect." Kirk wandered away, his muscles aching, his Archetypes trembling from lack of energy. The second experience wasn't as overwhelming as the first. The feeling wasn't pain, not exactly. It was like nausea. Like something was about to happen. Kirk's instincts informed him that his Archetypes would starve this way, slowly weakening, but he believed that was just panic.

Healer Michaels might be rude, but at the very least, he always acts in a way that benefits the patient. Hopefully that care extends to me. Kirk arrived at his tent craving a meal. But as he stumbled past the opening of his little home, he tripped and fell over the Larian Saber. With his numbed senses, he hit the ground hard. Rolling over, his eyes widened. He squeaked and scrambled sideways as the massive saber leaned and then collapsed sideways, like a felled oak tree.

It hit the ground with a loud boom that buzzed through Kirk's bones. For a moment he looked at the Larian Saber with the intent to leave it there, but he remembered that representative from the Larian Clan, with their very specific rules.

"Shit." Groaning, Kirk got to his feet. He shuffled over and crouched next to the handle of the weapon. He released a breath. His fingers reached out and laced around the grip. Kirk threw all his effort into lifting the weapon. With his Archetypes drained dry, the feeling of pushing his muscles to the limit was not a good one. He very much felt like an engine without fuel. He grunted, the veins of his neck bulging, his legs twitching.

Suddenly, he very much wished that he hadn't exhausted his body this morning, wielding the weapon. But the thought of waiting until after I'm empty of energy and training- Kirk grimaced. His legs flexed, raising the saber to almost 45 degrees. Yet there, he felt his strength failing him. The weight- Kirk clenched his jaw. His eyes blazed.

"Sooner I do this, the sooner I eat. Raaaaah!" As he bellowed out his hunger, the head poked out of the nearby tents. A few cursed Kirk. He flashed his teeth, almost incorporating the surrounding annoyance into the effort. With a last push, he leveraged the weapon up into a straight position and allowed the tip to stab into the dirt. Just as he collapsed, his copper band vibrated. He checked his info. You have gained the Feat Strength ✷! Your Manifestation Bestial Strength I has grown to [3/6]!

Kirk looked at the change for several long seconds.

"Compared to how long it took to grow from 1 to 2, that was fast. Then, the strain from physical training while my Archetypes are drained…" Kirk could practically picture Healer Michaels' smug look. He scowled and swore to himself he would never reveal this added benefit. At the same time, it became one more kernel of satisfaction in Kirk's chest. It would be horrible and exhausting, but the more ways he discovered to improve, the better.