Chương 6

Rufus Down poured all of his dissatisfaction into his glare toward the spoiled Albion kid. Across the medical area, the bastard had the nerve to blink at him, as though he didn't even remember him!

"Don't glare," Next to Rufus, his childhood friend Clara chided. Even while cradling her wounded arm to her chest, the flesh flayed back and revealing her bone. A whole new volcano of fury erupted in his chest.

"He skipped the line of those waiting for healing! We all need-""You saw. He could barely walk. Young Master Albion needed to be carried." Clara frowned at him. Then she looked back toward Kirkland Albion and blushed.

"Allowances are made for more serious injuries." Rufus couldn't trust himself to speak at that moment. But just like Rufus knew Clara so well he noted the infuriating way she flushed when she looked at the blonde-haired, blue eyed hellspawn, she noted the bulging veins of his neck.

"Why do you dislike him so much anyway?" Clara shook her head.

"He was so nice, when we went together to veil for the first time. Even though he was clearly nervous, so much so that he collapsed." Rufus just clenched his jaw. What am I supposed to say? That the previous night he offered to share a skin of wine with me and I confessed I had feelings for you? And then, the whole journey the next day, he blatantly flirted with you? To the point he offered to swap positions into our group? Which was a gross breach of protocol?

But even our Drill Sergeant couldn't do anything but watch as he played around, because he's Kirkland fucking Albion? That all his kindness is a ruse? That he's a vicious snake- When that very same blonde boy drifted past, his eyes up toward the clouds, Rufus couldn't help it; he spoke.

"Are you satisfied?" Clara gasped and slapped his arm. Meanwhile, Kirkland stopped and looked around, as though surprised to be addressed. The handsome young man tilted his head to the side.

"Everyone keeps asking me that. Were you waiting?"

"Yes," Rufus hissed. Then, completely deadpan, Kirkland had the nerve to nod to himself and say.

"That's not very fair." Rufus barely kept himself from stamping his foot at the blatant arrogance. Yet suddenly he wished he had said something, because, without missing a beat, Kirkland turned and looked at Clara.

"You are very pretty." Even as Clara blushed, Kirkland Albion walked away.

"He acts like he doesn't even remember us!" Rufus growled. The Conduit in front of them grunted.

"Seems like young Albion remembers the girl." Clara remained silent, her red face facing the ground. Meanwhile, Rufus fantasized about rearranging Kirkland Albion's face with his fist.

Kirk felt a strange unease in his chest as he returned to his tent. It was guilt. The fragile purpose he had found cracked as soon as he came back to the world. He had been unfair by receiving immediate healing. He hadn't known at the time, but they had allowed him to skip the line. His wound wasn't so bad that he couldn't have waited there, with the others. Kirk looked up at the low clouds above Peakhold. Today, the sky was not just. So long as that was true, people would continue to grieve and weep.

The Beast Archetype growled and Kirk nodded in agreement; it was not in their nature to dwell. He couldn't do anything about it now. Better to just remember this and make sure it wouldn't happen again. The first thing he did when he returned to his tent was strip off all his armor. He collapsed onto his bedding, releasing a massive sigh. He would have likely just collapsed into unconsciousness had not someone knocked at the front of his tent.

"Young Master Albion." Kirk pushed himself up onto his elbows, sighed, then got up the rest of the way. His whole body ached. He poked his head out of his tent.

"Yes?"

"I'm here to take your armor to be cleaned," The boy outside said. He was young, perhaps only fifteen, and without the scent of energy.

"And the bathhouse has been cleared for your use." Kirk narrowed his eyes.

"Do most people have this done? Is this fair?"

"What?" The runner seemed confused.

"Do you clean most people's armor like this?"

"Well…" The runner hesitated.

"Sometimes. But usually they pay."

"How much?" Kirk asked. This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author's work. The runner calculated.

"One silver?" That amount Kirk at least recognized, from buying supplies. His eyebrows rose.

"A whole silver?"

"Eheh… no, of course not," The runner flinched.

"Six copper is fine." Confused, Kirk went back inside and found the proper coinage. He passed the coins over, along with the dirty clothes and armor.

"In the future, you don't need to shut down the bathhouse for my use. But can you show me there now?" The runner nodded. A half hour later, Kirk sank into a luxurious tub of hot water. He scrubbed off all the sweat and geo blood that had lingered on his skin, even after the rest of the monsters had faded. And his careful movements meant the wound on his thigh didn't tear open. When he stumbled back to his tent, he fell directly forward and into sleep. His stomach woke him by clenching later that night.

Knitting together flesh took calories. Yet he turned his mind toward a different issue; funding his expenditures. He had three more pieces of silver and now a dozen or so copper coins. That would be enough for a few more trips, but beyond that, he would run out. Unfortunately, his memories remained inert whenever he thought about earning more coins. Eventually, he scrabbled and found the cores he had harvested. Because not all geo-3s produced a core, he only had 6.

When the runner came back with the cleaned armor and clothes, Kirk asked about where to sell the cores. He followed the runner deeper into the settlement. Kirk looked around with wide eyes. Night had fallen and the area was lit by campfire and torchlight. Individuals laughed and bartered. Conduits slapped coins down on wooden tables and received food, weapons, bandages, and various little tinctures in exchange.

He didn't like the way everyone took a second glance at him, but his Heightened Senses floated above that to touch on the other notes in the air. The smell of sizzling meat. Of ripened fruits. The sour aura of sloshing wine. Kirk's stomach gurgled another reminder. The runner led him to one of the buildings in the area. Customers loitered around, waiting for their chance to walk up to the desk within and make their trade.

Kirk approached with the express intent to wait in line, but as soon as he walked up, the other Conduits, even a Conduit with a silver band on his wrist, turned, noticed him, and made way. He sighed, but approached the vacated space around the desk.

"What can I do for you?" A portly man in an expensive robe turned around to face Kirk, but then froze. Kirk blinked in recognition- this was the second man from the healer's tent. The husband of the wounded Conduit. The man flushed.

"Why are you here-""How's your wife?" Kirk asked at almost the same time. Both fell silent. With his Enhanced Senses, Kirk felt the eyes of the surrounding Conduit suddenly shift to the merchant with a strange, prurient intensity. The merchant's face flooded with blood. He trembled.

"You have no right to know, boy. If you don't have other business, I must insist that you leave my shop." Kirk shrugged and dumped his six cores onto the desk.

"How much can I get for these?" The small bits of crystal glittered, cobalt with gold secrets, in the torchlight. The man leaned forward brought a small lens to his right eye and examine them. His antagonism faded- he was clearly more comfortable talking business. In about ten seconds, he leaned back.

"A silver and fifteen copper."

"So little?" Kirk frowned. Was making money as a Conduit, difficult?

"You-" The man seemed to flinch somewhat.

"W-well. To ensure the that public and private matters remain separated. I could make some allowances. Two silver?"

"Huh," That would purchase a fair amount of food, but Kirk felt he was missing some subtext. The Beast snorted in distaste; it hated subtext. Something occurred to Kirk before he could agree.

"Are any of these fire-aligned?" The merchant hesitated, but nodded and pointed to one. Kirk felt a thrill of triumph. The small vibrations from the cores hadn't been clear, but his senses had hinted that one had felt like fire. At the very least, that meant he could find more in the future.

"I'd like that one," Kirk said. The man's smile turned strained.

"Then, for the good of our relationship, I'll let you keep it and still pay you 2 silver, shall I?" After handling the cores, and replenishing some of his money, Kirk proceeded around to the other stands. For a few copper, he bought several cheap meat pies that he happily devoured. Plus, he was delighted to find that the prices of food here were much more reasonable, for dried meats, cheeses, and breads. So he could last three times as long for the same amount of silver.

You pay for the convenience, if you buy supplies by the Rift, Kirk noted. He spent the two silver he had earned for a bunch of provisions and carried them back to his tent. He walked to the well by the wall, where one could fill their water skin for free! All his plans came together, as he prepared to head back into the rift and continued to improve. Then he frowned.

"Ah. I'm healing. Two days of rest…" He filled his days in two ways. He had first intended to practice his Rune, but ceased after a single attempt. Unlike the other side of the rift, the ambient energy here was thin. A single failed Rune left him gasping and drained. That practice could wait until he was back inside the Rift. For his eventual Ascension, Kirk attempted to cultivate fire via the book he had found in his tent. He even found chalk and a blank piece of slate, to draw the ritual.

Unfortunately, there were two problems. The book listed out the syllables required, but it was still a ten-syllable phrase he had to recite perfectly from memory. Second, after he stumbled his way through and drew the fire out, the result was pale and wan. The Beast Archetype phantom manifested in the interior of the tent. It sniffed the fire and turned its head to the side; this small wisp of fire was pathetic. He checked his band and was somewhat disgusted to discover that this would satisfy the Ascension.

But he banished it, allowing the wisp of cultivated flame to vanish.

"I'll improve my pronunciation." Kirk muttered to himself.

"Archetypes grow via the Ascension. If I try and grow them with a small fire like that… no thank you. Plus, I can gather more flame cores." As Kirk drifted to sleep, a strange distinction occurred to him. Why was his Beast Archetype so vocal, while Spark Mage was just that bit of warmth? In the morning, he stood and tested his thigh. Because stepping still caused pain, he resigned himself to waiting another day. For that day, he spent the entire time practicing with his shield and spear.

The muscles of his arms and shoulders complained, but repetition inside the Rift, in real battle circumstances, taught him a few lessons about his grip and the angle of force to apply to attacks. As always, the Beast Archetype had many opinions on how he could improve. So for the day, he tested and experimented, honing the physical mechanics of his movements. After recuperating and purchasing supplies, Kirk headed back into the Rift. He placed his hand against the swirling vortex of energy and vanished from Eira.