Chương 35: Expensive Smoke

The sun wasn't up yet, though the sky faintly glowed with a dim orange. Any other day it would've been a beautiful sight from the castle courtyard. However, even three days after everything he'd been through, Joel could do without seeing the color orange forever. All it did was bring up thoughts of the sagani and the… daemon. He hadn't found the right time to ask anyone about daemons. It'd be bothering him for some time, when he had the time to be bothered.

He'd been visited by Al and Alis, on top of being constantly attended to by servants — the baron's expression of gratitude. At first, he'd appreciated the company; being bedridden for a day and a half wasn't particularly riveting. That said, it allowed him to ask about the others, especially Siv, who had borne the worst of it all. Last he had heard, the Freewalker's condition had stabilized through the physicians' best efforts. Hiding behind a hedge, he fiddled with the circular wooden box, no bigger than his palm.

Pain flared through his ribs, still not fully healed, as he flexed. The box refused to open, fighting against the grip of his sweaty palm. He cursed and resisted the urge to toss the box onto the ground, lest its contents spill. One of the kitchen cooks, Hamon, had grown fond enough of him to happily lend his pipe and smokebox. Joel imagined the cook would be far less pleased with his box coming back broken. Instead, against his better judgment, he spent 50 EXP into his MIGHT.

It was a drop in the bucket of the available EXP, and right now it was a very worthwhile investment. Strength surged into his fingers as he gained purchase. A weight lifted off his shoulders once the lid twisted away, the pungent, woody smell of dry reekleaf greeting him. He took a pinch of the shredded leaf, packing a generous amount into the pipe until satisfied. Dusting off his fingers, he brought the pipe to his lips. Perfect, now all he needed was a light.

He tapped at his pockets until his heart sank; he'd forgotten a light.

"Damn it," he muttered as he looked around. A tidy handful of lit torches were scattered around the dim courtyard, but none of them would suffice as a pipe light. His immediate thoughts were to go to Alis, but that seemed wildly inappropriate, both the request and the time of day. Dreading the trek back to his room, he checked his pockets once more. A folded parchment rustled against his hand. Pulling the paper out, he already knew he wasn't desperate enough to use it. Wirbald's parting gift.

Unfolding the piece of vellum, he examined the scribbles for what seemed like the thousandth time. Distant torchlight glimmered off of the iridescent ink. The entire page was filled with lines, a cross between hieroglyphs and braille. It was so tightly packed with calligraphy that it wasn't clear which side of the page was up or down.

There was a real temptation to grab other available languages through the [Homebrew] feature, in hopes that one of them would decipher the writing, but he had a suspicion that all of it was Wirbald's personal code. And he knew better than to ask Alis, considering how talking about spellbooks went last time. Hearing steps behind him, he quickly stuffed the parchment back into his pocket.

"What're you doing over there?" Al's voice rang out. Joel's shoulders relaxed, allowing himself to turn. Bag propped over his shoulder, Al was dressed the same as Joel, brick red tunics and fitted trousers, courtesy of Baron Valgruv. He'd been the first to make a full recovery, and if there was any lingering pain, one wouldn't tell from looking at the Freewalker.

"Are you here for morning training as well?" Al said, sounding hopeful. Joel hated to crush the guy's feelings, but surviving a life-threatening situation together aside, he wasn't about to endure an entire training session on aching ribs.

"Sorry," he said, revealing the pipe in his hand.

"You wouldn't happen to have a way to light a cold pipe?" Despite the disappointed sigh, Al reached into his bag and tossed over what looked like the long matchstick that the servants used to light candles. With a thankful nod, Joel moved over to a nearby torch. Setting the matchstick to the flame, he used it to light his pipe and took a few speculative puffs. He tried not to express how good it felt to fill his lungs with the acrid smoke. But it felt damn good.

He offered the smoking pipe towards Al, who politely declined.

"You've been restless as well?" Al asked.

"I guess you could say that," Joel said, though he felt admittedly better now. Reekleaf wasn't as harsh as tobacco and had a sweet aftertaste. More importantly, the simple act of smoking made him feel normal, though he was still getting used to pipes.

"You fared better than most Freewalkers may have."

"What?"

"The mines, the sagani, the Sanctum, all of it."

"Oh, that." Joel took another puff.

"It was… a lot. Not all the jobs are going to be like that, right?" Al let out a sardonic chuckle.

"I surely hope not. There's a reason why there's tiers among Freewalkers. Not only that, we were lucky that Wirbald was there."

"He was strong. Really strong."

"He was."

"We'd be dead without him."

"We would be, but we'd be dead without you too. You broke the conduit." Technically untrue. It was the monster's blow after all, but Joel wasn't going to be pedantic with the praise.

"What happened back there? Was that magic?" he asked, thinking about how they'd violently shook. Al winced at the memory.

"I'm not certain myself. It was like a flood of voices crashing against your mind, with my own leading the charge. Half of it was gibberish."

"And the other half?" There was a pause before Al answered.

"A condemnation." Joel wasn't stupid enough to take that as an invitation for more probing questions.

"Well, it's a blessing that the gig isn't usually this then," he said, moving the conversation along.

"I'm guessing getting a feast in your honor isn't a regular thing either?"

"Nobles will go out of their way to reward you, but feasts tend to be about them as much as it is about us. Sometimes, they want to make a show about rewarding you. Most folk we help can't afford to repay us like this. So no, not a regular thing at all."

"I won't have to do anything though. I'm just a porter." Al gave a sympathetic smile.

"Sorry, but Alis has already been bragging about you with everyone who'll listen, and plenty of people have been listening. You might attract a bit of attention at the feast, so make sure to play nice." Joel didn't know how to feel about that, so he took another smoke.

"Have to say," Al continued.

"Calling yourself just a porter seems a tad disingenuous. I saw you fight out there, under real pressure. You move like someone who had formal instruction."

"It's hazy," Joel lied.

"I think my dad enrolled me into some training early on. He thought learning to fight was a good way to get me to focus my energy." He had been anticipating questions like this since they'd arrived at the keep. Ultimately, he'd decided it was smarter to be preemptive with half-truths. The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. It wasn't a far stretch either. From taekwondo to boxing, his father had pushed him to learn to defend himself.

The fact that it got him out of the gaming chair seemed to be a bonus. That said, he doubted that he'd remained relatively calm in the mines without his experience in the game. Those countless, late-night dungeon runs had been worthwhile after all.

"You must miss your family," Al said. Joel nodded. He missed them dearly. Dad, mom, sis, they'd always been his safety. Pillars that he could always rely on. He missed his younger sister's incessant text messages, updating him about every facet of her life. Hell, he'd even take his parents chewing him out for smoking. What pained him the most was that their faces were beginning to blur more. Had he been stuck in this game for so long?

"It isn't easy being so far from home." Al looked out at the courtyard. If only he knew how far that was.

"Do you remember what your home is like?"

"I know it was a happy place." Joel didn't like how he said that, like he was resigned to never return. Thankfully, Al seemed to back off, not wanting to press with further questions. Less thankfully, they proceeded to stand there in silence. Joel took the time to enjoy deep puffs of the rich reekleaf. Al finally broke the quiet.

"Well, I should get to training before it starts getting busy around here."

"Break a leg." The Freewalker blinked. Joel chuckled, realizing the confusion.

"Oh, that means 'good luck' where I'm from."

"Ah, I see." Al turned before pausing and coming back. The former knight ambled up closer to Joel and gave him a stiff pat on the shoulder.

"Thanks for your help, sincerely." Even awkward, Al was still a handsome devil. Joel smiled back, nodding understandingly.

"I'm glad you're our porter." Al gave a firmer pat before heading off.

"Hopefully, we both break many legs." Stifling his laugh, Joel decided to let Al leave without correcting him. The sky was beginning to clear by the time Joel finished his smoke. Ashing out the pipe, he sniffed himself. He knew the scent would linger but it felt best to avoid smelling like burned reekleaf. A stroll would air him out. He took one of the many pathways cut through the courtyard, past trimmed hedges and ornate marble statues. He ran his hand across the hedge's leaves while walking.

After their underground ordeal, it was soothing to touch something verdant. Whether it was the smoke or the walk, his mind felt clearer. He summoned his [Status] screen to tackle the other question that'd been on his mind. — Name: Joel Early Class: Classless Level: 1 HP: 95% MP: 100% MIGHT: 302 DEFTNESS: 505 VITALITY: 553 FOCUS: 600 SPIRIT: 140 RESOLVE: 205 Anomaly: 2 — His eyes scanned across the translucent screen. He'd had too many close calls. The Burton Gang, the Sanctum.

If he was going to charge head first into danger, he needed to take these numbers seriously and figure out what they meant. He didn't want to be what Wirbald or that daemon had called him — he wanted to be more than empty. And that started with figuring out what to do with the other 3000 EXP available. Originally, while still hazy from his injuries, Joel had considered leveling up immediately. A simple solution. That was until the nightmares of the Sanctum made him question any quick decision.

The dreadful dreams reminded him how helpless he'd felt without EXP to spend. Not only that, in the restless time he lay awake in bed, all he could ponder was which 'investments' were mistakes. He took the smokebox out again, considering another pipeful, before thinking better of it. Moping about mistakes felt stupid, of course, either way he had to live with his choices. He stared at his level 1. Even with a clearer head, the idea of levelling up still seemed decent.

The only cause for hesitation was getting locked out of the [Homebrew] or some other feature he was overlooking. Losing [Homebrew] would be particularly brutal, but it also didn't make sense that he'd be locked out for leveling up. He couldn't acquire level 2 class features yet, so it felt reasonable to assume that one had to level to gain access. Keeping his hands running against the tall hedges, he summoned the [Ability Score Upgrades] menu.

Aside from certain class features, upgrading his stats felt like the most cost-effective investment. The physical upgrades were particularly useful, but it was clearly a different progression model than in his gaming days. Back then, the stats were limited to a hundred per level, which he'd largely blown past. Not only that, he could feel the difference; he wasn't getting as strong as he recalled, though he wondered if that was tinged with nostalgia. So what was the limit?

He had the EXP and it was prudent to figure that out. He looked at all the numbers on his [Status] screen, searching for the highest value. 553. VITALITY. It was the perfect ability score to test on as the stat determined his HP. What else was more important when it came to staying alive? Still, that didn't mean reckless spending. Best to test the waters carefully. A twinge of guilt nibbled at him regarding the 50 EXP he'd used ten minutes ago. Like making a risky bet at a poker table, he decided to start low.

[+50 VITALITY] would work for now. The ache in his ribs lessened slightly. He looked at his VITALITY again. 603. No limit yet, so maybe they could use a healthier increase. [+150 VITALITY]. The ache in his ribs faded completely as he watched the number rise to 753. Still, there was nothing limiting him. Was there no limit? Feeling more comfortable, he chose to experiment with a larger sum. [+300 VITALITY]. Any trivial feeling of discomfort disappeared.

He could feel his body becoming dense and refreshed at the same time, as if he'd recovered from an intense session at the gym while returning from a spa. It felt… great. Two alerts jotted onto his notification screen. [WARNING: Ability Scores cannot exceed the limit of three levels above your current level.] [NOTIFICATION: Overflow EXP has been refunded.] Huh, interesting. So the [Ability Score Upgrades] had already been allowing him to go past conventional limits. Joel peered back to the [Status] screen.

His VITALITY sat at a clean 1000. That meant a stat's limit, at a single level, was 250. In terms of pure numbers for some of his ability scores, he was already punching way above his weight class. It was also another factor that made him worry about leveling up. Maybe he was being too paranoid about worrying that he'd be locked off by leveling up, but all his gaming instincts were screaming at him to optimize his stats before doing so.

After all, he could level up once all of his stats were properly maxed out at their current limits. He still had a hefty amount of EXP to use, though not enough to cap all his ability scores. In which case, what was the correct ability score to focus on next? He looked towards the leftover physical stats, MIGHT and DEFTNESS. It felt prudent to allocate EXP there. He knew that DEFTNESS was a direct contributor to his [Martial Arts Proficiency], but the benefit of MIGHT was obvious improvement as well.

He could split the difference, but that felt wasteful. His gaze drifted down to the other stats. FOCUS helped with his perception, but it seemed more like than just that. Meanwhile, he guessed that SPIRIT might have to do with his MP. RESOLVE was trickier. Was it conviction? Confidence? Mental resilience? Magical resilience? That was the problem with some of the non-physical ability scores, even when upgraded, he couldn't tangibly sense their improvements all the time.

The thought of Wirbald and Alis, their devastating power, entered his mind. He knew better than to judge off the feeling that the upgrade gave. Magic was undeniably useful. It was an avenue that he was going to have to eventually explore. Loud steps, on the other side of the hedge, interrupted his thoughts. He quickly swiped away the several screens, hoping it wasn't a servant looking for him.

"Apologies, my lord, we had anticipated an afternoon arrival, as per your messenger." It was the voice of the baron's steward, Lester, though he was blocked from view.

"Worry not," replied the soothing voice, calm and assured.

"I rode ahead on my own accord. My people will be here at noon. Is it too soon for the baron to be awake? I can wait."

"Lord Valgruv would be greatly displeased if I did not stir him to greet you, my lord."

"Very well, I'll be at the solar." Their steps softened as they headed towards the castle keep. Joel realized he'd been holding his breath, as if they'd hear him otherwise. He wasn't necessarily sure why. Anyone could be in the courtyard after all. It's not like he was sneaking around to eavesdrop on purpose. Feeling like he'd been pressing his luck enough, he decided to go back to his room. The servants were bound to bring him his breakfast soon. No reason to cause panic with an empty room and a missing guest.

He called on his [Homebrew] screen to check his EXP. — … [Total available EXP: 2, 553] … — The smokebox poked him in his pocket. He took it out, trying to open the lid again. Now that his palms were no longer sweaty, it twisted off easily. He really should've not spent that 50 EXP.