Chương 9

Administrator Ranya looked out from the tower, the highest point in the Peakhold Garrison next to the rift, and toyed with the letter. She looked out over the pale, starlit stone of the hold. It was mostly an acknowledgement of her banal report about the recent batch of Conduits, but in the margins- Inevitably my youngest son's behavior will worsen. The best recourse is to ignore it. Administrator Ranya tapped a finger against the glass window. Her expression was sour. As though my plate isn't overstuffed already.

Peakhold, although small, sat as the northernmost hold of the Lor Kingdom. Perched on the southern foothills of the great Sicletooth Mountain Range, it also served another important function. A guardian shield for the Kingdom's east. Perched on its ridge, it overlooked the Rhinegeist River. Fueled by mountain snowmelt, that chill river served as the primary border between the Lor Kingdom and the Imperial Sanctum.

Plus, stationing Conduits here stemmed the flow of monsters leaking in from unlocked Rifts beyond the mountains. They didn't wander down often, but when they came, they came in waves. A shout from outside drew Ranya's attention. She leaned out the window and peered down. The moon was bright, but also several guards with torches hurried toward the rift. Ranya felt her heart begin to pound. If it was another accident- The commotion drifted closer. Ranya shook her head. Then she glanced once more down.

And immediately froze. Kirkland Albion, she could recognize him of the glittering of his golden hair in the torchlight, staggered forward, carrying a Larian Saber. Several guards milled around, talking to him, but the boy appeared to be ignoring them. Hearing the commotion, other Conduits began drifting over, observing the whole process.

"Larian Saber?" Administrator Ranya blinked several times.

"The one wielded by Luehold the Slayer? One of the missing Silver Rank Conduits? Why the hell is the Albion brat becoming involved in that?" At the sound of crumpling paper, Ranya looked down. Almost instinctively, she had crumpled the letter in her frustration. She forced her fingers to relax.

"Truly," She muttered.

"The father understands the son. The best recourse is to ignore it, huh?" There was a knock at the door. Grateful for a distraction, Ranya said.

"Enter." An aide strode inside, carrying the report.

"Last week's extraction information." Ignoring the growing headache, the Administrator peered at the paper. The numbers of rare Rift geodes, luminous moss samples, geo cores, and vein marrow eased her worries, at least somewhat.

"We are over quota, by at least a third," The aide chuckled.

"Let's see the Maester Council find fault with that." Ranya offered the aide a smile, even while her mind whirled. True. Seems like we've seen a surge in materials forming in the Rift. The numbers look good now. But we've had at least 10 Conduits incapacitated this week; geo activity is increasing as well. Damn the Maester Council. Only allowing us to maintain eight staffed Troops is insane. Another two Troops- But of course.

With an effort of will, Ranya prevented her hand from closing once again, crumpling this report like she had the letter. This is on purpose. Half-staffed, relying on independents for the rest, so we struggle each quarter to meet the Maester Council's Quota. No energy to focus on anything else- The Administrator cut off that train of thought, realizing the aide was still lingering.

"Was there something else?"

"Ahem. I don't know whether this matters, but…" He licked his lips.

"This morning, a Conduit failed to turn up for their patrol shift. It was Kirkland Albion."

"Indeed?" Administrator Ranya's eyes glittered.

"Well, well. Some things could be ignored… but others will not be."

Even after returning from the Rift, Kirk didn't have time to be frustrated about the aborted Ascension. There was work to do. First, he hauled the Larian Saber back to his tent. The weapon was frustratingly heavy, but he didn't wish to lose this prize. The Beast growled and hissed at the weapon, quite obsessive over it. So he endured the weight and, for lack of a better option, stuck it blade first into the ground. Hope I will be able to pry it out later, Kirk considered the massive weapon, then shook his head.

For now, let's see what we can do. Before heading to the shopping area, which remained open and active despite the late hour, Kirk combed through his tent once more. And the search paid off. Sewn into a spare pair of boots, Kirk found two gold coins. Old me kept money in boots? Kirk wondered. The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation. Kirk returned to the portly merchant, although he hesitated by the door to his building. He heard voices within.

"You are retired," The merchant said.

"I don't understand why this is a conversation again. Giving materials to the Administrator barely earns any-""It's not about the money," A woman sighed. There was a beat of silence. When the merchant spoke, he squeezed words out between clenched teeth.

"Is life with me such a cage?"

"What life with you! You lurk here from dusk until dawn. You barely spare me word, between reading missives before bed-" The woman huffed.

"You know what? I'm done." She walked out the doors, past Kirk. She was up and wrapped in bandages, but it was the injured woman from the bed. The merchant stomped out after her.

"Wait. Talk to me! We can come to an agreement."

"You know what's sad, Tafaro? The only force that can move your heart is loss. Loss of profit in a trade. And that's what happening here. I get one wound and you start fussing around. After practically ignoring me through five years of life together."

"We were trying to start-" The merchant said, but the woman had kept walking. The night became very quiet, without their conflict. After a long moment of staring after her, the merchant swiveled and looked at Kirk. His eyes were red.

"What do you want?" Kirk looked at the merchant. Despite his relative lack of memories, Kirk could recognize a man on an emotional cliff when he saw one. But he didn't know what to say. In the end, he cleared his throat and spoke.

"To make a deal." The merchant pursed his lips. But he turned away.

"Well then. Right this way." Kirk upended his small bag of non-fire cores. They clinked as they rolled out on the wood. He added.

"If you have any fire attribute cores, I'd like to trade for them. Or purchase them. And I wish to pay a fair price."

"Hum." The merchant stared over Kirk's shoulder, toward the empty threshold. His eyes were glacial as they shifted back to the present.

"How many do you need?"

"As many as you have," Kirk said. The man's tension broke; he snorted.

"Heh. Young Master Albion, no offense, but the rift in Peakhold is valuable, despite its relatively remote location, because the cores are pretty balanced. Almost all the elements can be found here. So I do a fair bit of business- just today, I have almost 50 fire attribute cores. You want that many?" After thinking about it, Kirk nodded. The stronger the fire he could cultivate, the better.

"How much would that cost."

"I'll be generous. With these few you are trading, oh, I don't know, a gold coin?" The portly man chuckled, but the sound took on a darker tone. A little bit of that redness returned to his eyes. Kirk knew that the man probably quoted an unreasonable price. But honestly? For Kirk, for his enthusiastic Beast, in order to obtain the strength necessary to make the world a fairer place- Kirk clicked a gold coin down on the wood between them. The man winced.

"Ah. Of course. Young Master Albion." The merchant fell silent and gathered the materials. As he left, Kirk glanced over his shoulder before he wandered away with a sack of fire attribute cores. The merchant stared out into the night sky. But his unfocused gaze didn't catch any of the stars. Kirk felt a deep empathy for the lost look in the man's gaze. He turned away. That's why you need purpose.

Kirk stopped to refill his food requirements, bought a secondary water skin and slung that across his chest, and was considering the problem of a having two Archetypes as he went back to his tent. If both advance at once, both need Feats and Feat stars. Kirk frowned. Should I just split them in half? With 10 stars today, four are going just to Ascension. Refinements require two a piece, that's three Refinements split between two Archetypes… is that good or bad? It feels bad.

Kirk drew up short, snapped out of his thoughts by the Beast. Although his tent was shrouded in shadow, he could feel someone nearby. As Kirk carefully set down his sack, hands tickling, that stranger chuckled.

"You have sharp senses, for a recent Conduit. Looks like the problematic son of a dragon isn't as much of a wastrel as claimed." A figure stepped forward. Kirk narrowed his eyes. A serious faced woman examined him, her hair done into a long braid down her back. On her arm glittered a silver band. She gave him a slow nod.

"Well met, Kirkland Albion. I am Muytta. Of house Larian."

"Like the weapon." Kirk blinked. Muytta smirked.

"Indeed. As I'm sure you've been told, we monitor those who have been gifted weapons crafted by our smith. They have the heart and souls of my Clan poured into them, so we do not allow most to wield them. Because one was lost here in Peakhold, I was preparing to head into the rift to retrieve it. Yet just as I arrived, I heard news of you wobbling out with one. How lucky for me." Kirk frowned.

"You want the saber? But…" His thoughts spun in a circle. He had traded supplies for the saber. Well, he had offered supplies freely, because he should be generous to his fellows, because it was fair. And he received the saber in exchange. So he should be able to keep it. Especially, after going through the effort of carrying it out. Yet Kirk could understand it was more complicated than that. The saber had been made by this woman's clan, this woman's family. And it was a very nice saber.

He could understand why they might want it back. Kirk rubbed the back of his head. The woman's smile deepened, as she considered him.

"You want to keep it, I expect."

"Well, yea. But I'm not sure whether that's fair or not." Kirk admitted. For the first time, the woman's expression shifted; she seemed surprised.

"Why do you want to keep it, Young Master Albion?"

"You should just call me Kirk," Kirk said. He didn't really like when people called him the Young Master. He knew they were talking about the old owner of the body, not the current him. He shrugged.

"Honestly? It sounds almost stupid. I like how heavy and strong it is. And I saw someone swing it once. It looked… really cool."

"Hah! It looked cool? Bahaha." The woman slapped her knee. When she straightened, she grinned at him.

"You have surprisingly good taste. It is really cool, isn't it? Okay, Kirk, for now, feel free to keep my family's saber. I will tell you, there are a few rules. But you satisfied the most important one, which is why we are even having this conversation."

"What's the most important rule?" Kirk asked.

"Carry your own weapon." Muytta said. Her eyes flicked sideways, to the hilt of the saber sticking out of the ground.

"I do have some notes about its storage, however."