Chương 7: Chapter 6: Loose Ends

Damn, this one's empty too. The afternoon had reached its crest, with the sun's dim form already on the descent behind a miasma of smog. Torin had taken the long way home, experimenting with his new Trait. He stared at another laborer, this time getting a clear result. [Green-Thumbed] (Rarity: Common. Tier: Unranked) – Vegetation grows more effectively under your caring hands. Do you want to mimic [Green-Thumbed]? [Yes/No] Torin disregarded the option, wiping the sweat from his brow.

This headache tormented him too much already. He did not need to add a useless Trait to the mix. Not when he had two decent options at hand.

"[Frosted]" provided resistance against the cold and turned Vrisgard's cooler climate into room temperature, while "[Strongarmed]" gave him a Strength modifier from the shoulders to his fingertips. He would have preferred to keep his first two Traits, but it could not be helped now. Learning how [Enigmatic] operated had taken trial and error, and Torin accidentally overwrote the previous options before discovering how to control the changes.

Just getting the box to appear without instantly accepting had taken practice. After dozens of attempts, he could guide the mimicked Trait into the position he wanted. For now, Torin hunted for something to replace [Frosted]. As much as he enjoyed the reprieve from the chilled air, [Frosted] was clearly the weaker of the two Traits. He also had a feeling he would need stronger arms before long. Another laborer passed. Again, the result came back empty. This had been another discouraging development.

Every State official he encountered possessed a Trait, but the same could not be said for the people they oversaw. The majority of regular citizens had no Trait of their own. If Torin had to guess, roughly nine-in-ten citizens were Traitless. Maybe the State had designed itself this way on purpose. Only raising those with extra strength made the rest easier to subdue. It also made Torin more isolated, knowing he couldn't draw power from the average person. Torin strolled past another guard.

[Quickdraw] (Rarity: Uncommon. Tier: Unranked) – You can draw weapons and equipment at inhuman speeds. Do you want to mimic [Quickdraw]? [Yes/No] Torin kept moving with a shake of his head, a sharp pain coursing through his scalp. Why did this keep happening? Perhaps his status page had an explanation. He pulled it back up and quickly found the source. His "infinite" mana jar fell to less than one-quarter its original volume, and had lost its white lightning, replaced only by the cerulean liquid.

How is that possible? His [Divergent Phoenix] Trait made it clear. He should have infinite mana. As if to alleviate his concerns, the magic jar edged up slightly, liquid refilling from some unknown source. Curious, Torin rounded the corner and tested against another small crowd. Pain spiked with each attempt, and nothing valuable ended up drawn. But once he pulled up his status again, his theory was confirmed. The jar had lowered, but still refilled before his eyes.

There was a limit to how quickly he could draw from this infinite well. All Skills required mana manipulation to function, and [Enigmatic] was no exception. By using it so frequently, he had overdrawn his well. He rubbed his scalp with a grumble.

"Magic fatigue" was not something Torin had ever experienced before, and now he understood why everyone avoided it. No limitless spell-casting for me. Still, while the mana jar restored itself, he found another answer to a question he had not yet asked. Not all Traits were equal. Drawing from some felt more difficult than others, as if a resistance sat within. Torin could not explain why this happened at first. However, now he understood.

Scanning an empty Trait caused the least mental friction, while Uncommons had taken extra concentration. This must have exhausted his mana to varying degrees, with rarer Traits requiring more mana to mimic. He also suspected that merely holding the Trait burned some mana each second, but with his jar so close to empty, he did not want to risk another attempt. With his curiosity sated and less than a kilometer until he made it back home, Torin considered what else he might have missed.

Information spread quickly thanks to the Parrots' squawking. The murders were already common knowledge across the Residential District, but no one had a description of his appearance or name. At least not yet. How will the Owls play this? Torin had to think like his enemies. The cloth mask would be his best defense. Because of the dust storm, Torin had entered and left the area without revealing his face. Even if they found the woman he saved, she wouldn't be able to describe him.

The same applied to other potential witnesses. In that part of the District, the dwelling-homes were reserved for farm workers. None would have been around during the fight, too busy working the crops beyond the wall. But then, Torin unwound the puzzle another step, thinking through loose ends. Where had he been before the fight? What was he doing there? How hard would that be to trace? A knot formed in his stomach as he thought it through.

Yes, State Intelligence would start asking those kinds of questions the moment they exhausted the initial inquiries. Torin picked up his pace at once. He would have to go back. His jar remained unfilled by the time he reached the manse. Even then, Torin took a moment to grab a fresh tunic off the clothing line. Others might not question a burnt tunic, but Cornelius would see right through it. Torin quickly buried the destroyed article in the loose soil nearby. He would have dug deeper, but he was in a hurry.

"You're home early," Cornelius said when he entered, only briefly looking back.

"I'll be leaving early as well," Torin said.

"There was a problem at the statue… I need to borrow the prying bar. The black iron prying bar, that is."

"They don't have a prying bar now?"

"Not enough to go around. I said that I would run home and grab one." Cornelius shrugged, eyes on his book.

"Well, you know where to look." Torin moved quickly. The bar's coarse surface was icy to the touch, and he gave it a swing to assess the weight. Hopefully, he would not need this instrument, but if a door was locked, or the shop had closed early, this prying bar would get him in and out without friction. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. The more important tool waited in the other room, however.

Torin peeked through the study door, watching Cornelius from behind. At this point, no one had detected him using [Enigmatic], but that didn't mean he should get careless. With Platinum, Cornelius's senses greatly surpassed an ordinary human. Just need to be quick. He focused on Cornelius and concentrated hard. His Trait did not respond immediately. The resistance he experienced with Uncommons was nothing compared to this.

Like trying to drag a boulder from the bottom of a lake to its shore, Cornelius's Trait resisted every centimeter. The sweat built on his scalp and his head throbbed, but Torin did not relent. He needed this Trait. With one final push, it tumbled into his vision. [Battle-Sighted] (Rarity: Mythic. Tier: Unranked) – Attacks striking you will be predicted 5 seconds before they arrive. Do you want to mimic [Battle-Sighted]? [Yes/No] Torin claimed the Trait at once. Wait, why is it so low?

Cornelius claimed to see more than a week into the future. He noticed the tier and remembered what his [Enigmatic] told him. Mimicked Traits must have a Rarity and Tier equal to or below your current [Divergent Phoenix] Trait, it said. [Divergent Phoenix] sat at an Unranked Tier, which lowered the Tier for [Battle-Sighted]. Another limitation.

"Are you alright?" Cornelius asked, staring at him sideways.

"Yes," Torin wheezed.

"Maybe a little winded, but otherwise fine." The old man watched for a few moments in silence.

"If you insist."

"I should go." Torin went for the door, almost forgetting the prying bar altogether. The pain throbbed, and he dared not see how much mana he had expended to get this Trait. He quickly tossed it into a backpack. As he entered the street again, he knew which loose end needed to be cleared. The cobbler may not have seen him, but she still had Thaddeus's boots, his sigil present for any who looked. It would not be long for an Owl to track him down through that. Torin would just have to get to her first.

* Cornelius stared at the empty space where Torin had once been. What's gotten into him? Cornelius wondered. He almost looked drained of mana. Could that be possible? The boy was as stubborn as they came, but he would not be so foolish as to steal nymstone and cultivate outside State scrutiny. That would be tantamount to suicide, and loathe as Cornelius was to admit, Torin knew how to temper his worst instincts. Unless… Cornelius paused, a feeling stirring deep within.

Cornelius perked his ears beyond their natural threshold. With so many points placed in Perception, he could hear even tiny vibrations from kilometers away if he knew where to concentrate. Not that he wanted to normally. The Parrots drowned out so much with their empty noise. Yet Cornelius found himself eavesdropping on the Parrots, regardless. The script held the usual bombastic tenor, but something else had seeped into their choir.

Murders on the eastern rim of the Residential District, a pyromancer killed amongst them. The State would provide its own mandated version in a day, but until then, these organic outbursts would be the most authentic. His nose strained further. The familiar ash of the War District roared eternally in the distance, but something else had eclipsed its proximity. Something close. Cornelius rose to his feet. He was no longer a young man. His joints creaked. His bones ached. He had gout.

But he would be damned if he couldn't walk outside unassisted. With each whiff, Cornelius narrowed in on the source. The yard remained as barren as always, but some earth had been moved near the edge. Traces of burnt flax emanated from within. He held up Torin's tunic, burnt to a crisp. Torin's skin had not been burned when he saw him. Cornelius swallowed the lump in his throat. To experience magic fatigue… To run off without another word… To not suffer a burn, even with burnt clothes… A pyromancer had died too…

Two of these details made for a random coincidence, but all four? Cornelius waddled back inside, now focused on the letter he had been ignoring. It still sat on the dining room table where it had been, State seal and all. He opened the letter.

"You have been selected for the Rite of Passage," it said.

"The Avinum State thanks you for your service." It went on from there, detailing the time and place he would have to go. Just as he suspected, he still had a month to prepare. Despite his Platinum Rank, there was only so much to be done against his aging body and mind. After more than a century of life, his reactions had slowed and thoughts became muddled. Were it not for being [Battle-Sighted], Cornelius would struggle with basic routines. He had become entirely dependent on it. A colleague must have noticed this.

Maybe during a session using nullium weapons. Maybe he had just slipped up. It did not matter. Someone figured out he could no longer keep up with State demands. Cornelius supposed that everyone had their time, including him. When soldiers became too old, the experience they awarded upon a killing blow decreased with them. Worse yet, the mana released from their ruptured cores would float through the atmosphere before either condensing into fresh nymstone or getting lost to the Mire.

The State had created the Rite of Passage to solve this problem. Once a soldier reached this threshold, they entered a death match against ascending warriors. The younger ones believed their lives were on the line, but this was mere subterfuge to maximize benefits awarded by the System. The battles were pre-arranged. All experience would be absorbed by the younger warrior, just as the older soldier once gained their experience from someone stronger than them.

The State even constructed the arena with a mix of nullium and magical arrays to redirect ambient mana into nymstone veins they controlled. Just as the State had given Cornelius his power, so too would he be forced to give it back to them. It could not be helped. Even if he ascended into Diamond, that would only buy him a few decades at most. The State could tolerate many things: deceit, disloyalty, cowardice, laziness. But the one aspect they could never endure was a member of their regime achieving immortality.

Nothing was more powerful than the State. Cornelius sighed. No matter what he wanted next, he would be dead in one month's time. Still, his impending demise did not trouble him half as much as the other he faced. Normally, he went through his days with little friction, the benefit of [Battle-Sighted] predicting the outcome of every training exercise a week before they happened. Lately, however, Cornelius foresaw nothing. Not after tonight. He had not thought much of it originally.

Issues occurred at the Roost that forced time off, and the visions would return soon after. Sometimes, his colleagues brought in nullium weapons for training, which also disrupted the premonitions. But there was a third option, one Cornelius had not confronted until now. Someone else possessed [Battle-Sighted], and he would soon face them directly. Cornelius strolled back into his study, sifting through mementos from a different era. He thought back to a time where he had been far more rebellious.

Oh, Eleanor, what should I do? he wondered. He had his own answer, but his deceased wife had always been the more tactful of the two and knew when to stand against the wheels of fate, regardless of which way they turned. At least their grandson had survived those decisions, as estranged as he became through them. But now, Cornelius had another choice before him, this one as distasteful as the last. Taking Torin as his ward had been born of personal interest. Cornelius was old, and he did require assistance.

No one in State Intelligence could claim otherwise. That he also wanted to monitor Torin in case his Trait surfaced was irrespective. That had always been a minor suspicion, at best. Until now. To ignore this development would be a disservice to everyone, Torin included. Even without proof, his instincts screamed that this cursed day had come. Damn it all. Cornelius always knew he could grow to respect the boy in time, but he never expected to love him as his own. Cornelius went for his armor and weapons next.

They were all simple and unadorned, lifetimes of service dedicated to causes greater than himself. Even if he remained trapped between two in his final days, he could not allow this problem to go unchecked. Not while he still drew breath. He gripped his sword, his heart heavy. If the Phoenix had truly arisen, then Cornelius would put Torin down himself.