Kryos wasn’t quite sure what to say. “I . . . uhm . . . maybe. I don’t really know how the whole process works.”
She nodded and gestured to the side of the Guild Hall. “Walk and talk.” She led the way, and Kryos followed a step behind and to her right. “We worked well together,” she said with a backward glance. “Granted . . . we lost our Mender. But, I heard you explaining your Skills, and, well, all of what your Skills do—particularly that field you send out—amplifies the damage I deal to monsters.”
“Good to know,” Kryos replied, feeling pleased that his Skill wasn’t just hampering foes but actually enabling allies to do better in combat. “You did a good job capitalizing on me grabbing the thing.”
“That was the other point I was going to make,” Leona said as they rounded the front and stopped in front of the Guild Hall proper. She turned around and crossed her arms again. “We have good teamwork. You kept your greed in check.” She frowned, but there was an understanding behind it. “I saw how difficult it was for you to hold yourself back in that treasure room, but you did, and even when I was showered with a ton of silver which would have probably hurt me, instead of grabbing it . . . you protected me.” She lightly punched his bicep. “That’s good Anchor instinct.”
Kryos cracked a tiny smile at that. “Well, that was a compliment.”
She matched his little smile. “Don't get used to them. I’d rather work with someone I know rather than someone I don’t.”
“How’s it work then?”
“We both go to the Quest Board and touch our tattoos to it at the same time, and just declare our intent. It’s that simple.” She raised her arm in front of her and pulled her sleeve up, revealing the Irontrail name on her skin. “If we are in the same area, and a Rift opens, and either of us are called? It will make sure the other is in the same call.”
“Any downsides?” Kryos asked as she rolled her sleeve down again.
“You can’t reject the call unless everyone in your Party does,” Leona replied. “And, parties can only ever be three large—one of each role.” She crossed her arms once more, the neutral look returning. “So, how about it? Are you willing to work together?”
I mean, this is the best opportunity I could have hoped for, Kryos thought. At least if Gary was on point. Leona was great in the Rift, also. She knew how to deal with all the traps, led the way without issue, divided up the loot evenly, and capitalized on the openings I made. Yeah . . .
“Yeah,” Kryos said as his smile widened to a grin. “Sounds like a good time.”
She frowned a bit at that. “Hey, it’s a business arrangement, okay?”
Kryos’ smile faltered. “Oh, urm . . . right.” He glanced back at the side of the building. “I didn’t mean it like that,” he mumbled. “I didn’t enjoy that part.”
Leona shook her head. “You are so naive,” she whispered under her breath, so quiet that he barely caught it. She turned and opened the door, then said louder, “Come on, let’s do this.”
Kryos followed her to the Quest Board. She held her forearm up to it, and he followed her lead. “So now what?” he asked.
“Just say what you want,” she replied. She cleared her throat. “I want Kryos to be in my Party.”
Kryos nodded. “I want Leona to be in my Party.”
He felt a dull heat on his scales, right where the wrist flexed next to the palm. Leona hissed and pulled her hand back, muttering, “Fuck! That stings.”
“I didn’t feel anything,” Kryos replied as he pulled his hand away and examined it. Right above the Irontrail name tattooed on top of his scales, he saw another mark in the magical ink. It was a triangle, with the point facing down toward his arm. His name was at the bottom, with a letter ‘A’ under it, and Leona’s was on the top-right spur, with the letter ‘B’ under it. “I assume that’s for Anchor and Breaker,” he said as his eyes skipped to the to-left spur, which had an ‘M’ and an empty spot.
Leona nodded. “Yeah, that’s what I was told.” She looked at him. “So, we can still take Quests on our own, but Rifts will automatically group us in the call. I’d prefer to do Quests together.” She looked down the length of the board and frowned. “But it looks like there’s none right now.” She shrugged. “It’s late. Let’s get some shut eye.”
Kryos glanced at the stairs. “Do I have a room?”
“Same number as your locker, and same key.” Her eyes drifted to the lockers, and Kryos followed hers, to the empty one that Tavan’s used to be.
“Do we . . . should we—”
“Pavish will clear all the stuff out and try to contact next of kin,” Leona softly said in response to the unfinished question. She shook her head and walked to the stairs without another word, ascending them rapidly.
Kryos looked at the locker one more time then followed Leona, going down a hall and finding a room that was labeled with his locker’s number and fit his key. He went in, undressed, and got under the covers, letting sleep take him.
Kryos woke up as the sun filtered in through the slatted, wooden window. He rolled up and heard the wood creak under him, and yawned. His body was still sore, but not nearly as bad as before.
-----
HP: 223 / 230
-----
Wow, he thought as he got up, Marcella’s healing really does wonders. A day for broken ribs?
He stood up fully, stretched, and was able to see the graveyard from his window. He saw Tavan’s grave marker, and grimaced as he was once more reminded of his failure in the Rift. “Never again,” he muttered as he closed the wooden slats and secured them to keep the room sealed up. After tucking in the sheets and making his bed, he pulled on his shirt and pants, and then headed downstairs.
There were a handful of other early risers it seemed, and a few looked at him, gave a brief wave, and then went back to their breakfast. Kryos’ stomach rumbled, and he walked over to another Adventurer—a middle-aged woman who had on a simple set of clothes and was eating porridge. “Excuse me.”
“Hmm?” she looked up at him. “Foundling,” she said in acknowledgement.
“Where can I get some?” Kryos asked, nodding toward the bowl.
She pointed to the back equipment room. “There’s another door. Kitchen’s through there. The Guild covers basic food.” She glanced at him up and down. “You got the same hospital clothes from when you first arrived.”
“I . . . well, except for my Trader’s Pouch, I really don’t have anything. My dad’s sword broke in the mines when I was teleported here, and the armor my mom made for me was wrecked by the monsters I fought there.”
She sighed and returned to her porridge. “You got Rift money now, yeah?”
Kryos felt an almost visceral reaction to what she was implying. Spend his hoarded wealth? It seemed completely antithetical to his entire being. But, he did need to live among these people. Still, he had no clue how rich he was. “I do . . . but I’ll be honest, I don’t really know much about the money system. I grew up . . . isolated.”
The woman looked at him with a confused expression. “Whatcha mean?”
“How much does an average miner make? Or a shopkeep? A guard? An Adventurer?”
She let out a snicker, which turned into a laugh, then she calmed down and returned to her porridge with a head shake. “Ask your friend. I’m busy eating.”
Kryos was about to open his mouth, but thought better of it, and instead walked back toward the equipment room, found the other door she had mentioned, and entered the kitchen. A middle-aged man was standing at a stove, stirring a large pot, and a young girl was sweeping the floor. “Pardon me,” Kryos said. “I was told there’s food here.”
The girl looked up at him and let out a gasp of fear, then hid behind the central island counter. The man wheeled around with a spoon in hand that dripped some porridge onto his hand—the steaming hot oats not seeming to bother him. The cook scowled. “Yeah . . . food for Adventurers,” he gruffly replied.
Kryos held up his forearm with the tattoo visible on top of the scales. “Well, I am one. Mind me asking your names?”
“I do,” the man replied. He grabbed a bowl from a stack of them, poured a ladle of the porridge into it, then slid the bowl across the island counter to Kryos along with a wooden spoon. Then he pointedly turned his back to the half-dragon.
“Thanks,” Kryos mumbled as he turned and went back to the central room of the Guild Hall, found an empty table in the corner, and stirred the thick sludge. He took a bite, and found that it was just as he expected—bland, gloopy, and starchy. Nonetheless, he scarfed it down, making sure to not waste a single bit. Following another Adventurer’s lead, he returned it to the kitchen and dropped it in a sink.
Now . . . what to do today, Kryos thought. He scanned the Quest Board but didn’t see any slips of paper or other indications of open jobs. I suppose I could go into the town and talk to that blacksmith Gary pointed out. I need to get my armor repaired. And the chitin I harvested from that monster might be worth something. Plus, I have the sword and whatever Skill it has to test out.
Kryos went to his locker and slid the key in, removed all of his gear, and piled it on the floor. He re-locked the locker, then shoved as much as he could into his Trader’s Pouch. He had to carry several armor pieces and his mace, and as he headed toward the door, he spotted Leona coming down the stairs. “Oh, hey,” he said.
She made eye contact and then raised a quizzical brow. “Going into town?”
He nodded. “Quick question—how much money does an average person make?”
Leona blinked a few times, then walked over to Kryos and gestured to the door. He went outside, and she followed him, then crossed her arms and stood in front of the building’s entrance. “You really should try and hide your naivete more, otherwise people will take advantage of you.”
Fair point, Kryos thought. Not everyone is going to be an ally. Even other Adventurers in the same Guild aren’t necessarily on my side. He nodded curtly.
“Now, to answer your question: it depends. Someone who is living on the outskirts of Suncrest proper, in the shanty town and scraping by? A silver a day. A farmer makes about twice that.”
Kryos’ eyes went wide. “And, uhm, how much is a gold worth?”
“It’s a base-ten system,” Leona said. “Ten copper to one silver, ten silver to one gold.”
Drakemount overhead . . . I’m already so rich, Kryos thought.
He had well over five-hundred silver in his bag, plus gems that were valuable. But the way that the SAVE System calculated effective hoard value was not quite the same as the base-ten system of currency that Leona described.
“You okay?” she asked, voice hinting at concern. “You look . . . off.”
Kryos shook his head. “I’m fine, thanks. Just . . . processing.”
She nodded. “Rifts make you rich. We don’t need to take a Quest for a while.”
“We?”
“We’re a Party. Ideally, we team up consistently and improve our teamwork so the next Rift we tackle is even easier. If we can, we ask around in Irontrail and see if any Mender wants to join up.” She glanced over her shoulder. “Given what happened to Tavan . . . I wouldn’t count on that happening soon.”
Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.
Kryos deflated a bit at that reminder, but nodded curtly. “Well, I’m sure eventually we’ll find someone who complements our setup.”
Leona nodded. “I’m going to get breakfast. I may see you around town—I have some shopping to do. Don’t go blowing all of your money.” She looked him up and down. “You should get yourself some clothes. Lucky you, no boots, eh?”
Kryos chuckled at that. “Yeah, lucky me.” He turned and gave her a wave as he began the walk towards town.
Kryos’ treasure sense picked up the little ‘pings’ of warmth all around, and he was able to more readily identify locations. Just as an experiment, he tried pausing his walk toward the smith here and there to shut his eyes and focus on the sensation in his torso. He found to his satisfaction he could suppress the feeling, or focus on one particular source, and hone in on it, and almost get a stronger sense of it.
The whispers still met his ears: word of him had spread across the whole town by this point, he was sure. Whether from the mine venture or the recent Rift, he had no idea, but judging from the various reactions he received—open hostility with jeers and name-calling, a few words of encouragement and thanks, and then some silent or completely ambivalent folks—his reception in town was about evenly split between those who were welcoming, those who seemed aligned against his presence, and those who didn’t care in the slightest.
He reached the blacksmith’s forge: a long, squat, single-story building which took up almost a half-city-block on its own. Smoke puffed from several chimneys, and one end of the building had a large, wooden panel that opened up to reveal a store front. The sign on the back of that flipped-up panel read BERT’S BLACKSMITH.
Behind the counter were several soot-covered, burly elven men and one woman—swinging hammers and drawing out metal. An older gentleman who was also elven stood at the counter itself, and gave Kryos a nod as he approached. “You’re the half-dragon everyone’s been buzzing about.”
Kryos smiled as he approached. “Seems like it. Hi. You wouldn’t happen to be Bert, would you?”
“The same,” the man replied. “And you?”
“Kryos,” he replied, holding out a hand.
The man shook it, and Kryos’ realized that the smith’s grip strength was far greater than his own. Triggering his HUD, he glanced at the man’s readout, and was gobsmacked as it read Forgemaster (VIII), which meant he was between levels seventy-one and eighty. The man before him was the level of power as his dad, which meant that he was someone who would be nationally renowned.
Bert chuckled. “My, you’re a big lad, aren’t you?” He then frowned. “Sorry, I assumed your age. For all I know, you’re centuries old if the stories are anything to go by. I just assumed because of your Tier.”
“No offense taken,” Kryos replied as he pulled his hand away. “I’m young. You . . . you’re quite the impressive master smith.”
“Indeed.”
“Pardon my asking . . . why are you here?”
Bert chuckled at that, and hiked his thumb back behind him. “Family. My son and his wife and their kids moved out here. My wife passed, and I’d rather be near family than living in some fancy mansion making blades for lords that’ll never use them. Steel should be used. Speaking of, that mace looks like it has seen some use.”
“It has,” Kryos replied as he set it down, and began pulling the damaged armor and shield out of his bag. “I need repairs. Oh, and I have some chitin from a monster that broke my dad’s sword, so I thought it might make for a better shield.”
Bert looked over everything and nodded. “Well, we’ll need to take some measurements—I can tell by looking that you’re too big for this suit. Recently improved your Strength?”
“Quite a bit,” Kryos replied.
“Mhmm. So we need to have enough room for expansion in the future,” the man replied. “Irontrail?”
“Yes.”
Bert then grabbed the chitin shells and rapped them with his knuckles. “These can be made into decent shields. For the entire repair job, and customizing the armor with more buckles and straps to allow for growth when you do improve your Strength, and a custom shield job? That’ll run you six gold.”
Kryos felt a bubbling heat in his stomach that was unlike anything he had felt before. He felt like he wanted to strike the man for daring to ask for even a fraction of his wealth, his precious hoard. How dare a lowly elf ask a dragon to part with even a single coin? It was his!
Then, Kryos shook his head. I need this, he thought as he shoved that bubbling, hissing heat down. If I don’t have armor and a shield, I can’t do my job. And my job will lead to more money. A little sacrifice now for a bigger reward later.
He cleared his throat. “Is there . . .” he swallowed the lump in his throat and said, “is there anything you can do to make the armor more protective? Or improve the mace?”
Bert grinned. “A lot, it all depends on how much coin you are willing to part with.”
Kryos grimace and bit his tongue, then shook his head. “On second thought, just the repairs and what you said. Sixty silver?”
Bert’s grin vanished. “Ah, so I see some of the rumors are true. Half-dragons don’t like parting with money, eh?”
Kryos didn’t say anything, and just reached into his bag and gingerly removed the coins and stacked them neatly, then closed the bag and shoved his hands next to his ribs, pinning them under his biceps, to prevent himself from trying to snatch the coins back—a primal instinct screamed at him to grab them, to recover his precious hoard, but he needed this.
Bert swiped the money, and once it was out of sight, the feeling vanished. “It’ll take us about six hours. Mind coming inside to get measured?”
Kryos shook his head. “I don’t mind at all.” He walked around to a side door that was pointed out to him, entered the space, and another elf man came over.
Bert gestured. “This is my son, Bert the third. Junior? Take his measurements.”
The younger Bert nodded and looked Kryos up and down, who easily had two heads on the man. “I’ll need the stool,” Junior said.
It took a few minutes, but Kryos’ measurements were taken, and before leaving, he asked Bert, “Where can I go to get some clothes tailored?”
Bert pointed across the street. “If you just want some stock clothes, you can get them for cheap over there. A silver should get you a few pants and shirts.”
Kryos gave him a bow of thanks and departed. Going across the street, he managed to part with a silver for some clothes and shoved that into his bag, and then dipped into a side street to take stock of his hoard.
So how does this work? he thought. I know that Artifacts add to my hoard’s value, and also give me a Skill, but how exactly does this work? I probably shouldn’t pull out a weird-looking sword here in town. For Artifacts in general, that’s a Guild question. I suppose I should go back to the Guild Hall: I need to wait out the time for my gear to be fixed, anyways.
Kryos headed back to the Guild Hall which took him a bit of a walk, and when he got back, he sought out Pavish. The man was on the bottom floor, polishing a sword. “Excuse me,” Kryos said.
Pavish looked up. “Yes, foundling?”
“I had a question about Artifacts. How exactly do they work?”
Pavish chuckled, and set the cloth and sword down. “Come outside, and we’ll see how yours works.” He stood up and waved for Kryos to follow him. Kryos did so, and both men exited the building and went outside of the gates, until they were standing in a tamped-down grassy field outside of the property. “Pull it out of your little storage bag.”
Kryos removed the khopesh, and Pavish let out a whistle. “What?” Kryos asked.
“Never seen a blade like that before. Curved sword. Those are tricky to wield.” He tapped his temple. “Now, Artifacts aren’t like Magic Items. You have to ask your SAVE System to tell you what they do. Just ask.”
“Okay . . . SAVE System, what does this do?”
[Artifact Name: Sobek’s Khopesh.]
[Grants the Skill: Sobek’s Wrath.]
[You channel the harm you have suffered in the last few moments into your next strike.]
Kryos read all of the details aloud as they flicked across his vision, and Pavish’s eyes went wide. As Kryos finished, Pavish let out a whistle. “Damn, foundling, that is a great weapon for an Anchor. You could intentionally open yourself up to a few hits and then deliver a devastating blow.” Pavish walked forward. “Want to try it out?”
Kryos raised an inquisitive eyebrow. “Sure?”
“Okay then.” Pavish walked to the edge of the tamped-down grass, squatted down, and came back up with a log that was covered with moss. He slid it into a hidden hole, which held it upright. “Here’s a training target,” he said as he wiped some moss away, revealing metal. “Go ahead and take a few practice swings.”
Kryos walked over and took up a stance like his dad had taught him. He slowly pantomimed a few swings, trying to get the distance right for the outward-S-curve part of the blade, and then pulled back and swung.
Clang!
The weapon impacted and bounced back, sending a little vibration along his forearm. “Strong metal,” Kryos commented.
Pavish walked up next to him. “Okay. Hit it as hard as you can.” He pointed to a spot just below where Kryos had hit it. “Try to go right here.”
Kryos nodded and did so, releasing a strike with all of his might, and carving into the metal on the wood a good inch. He had to wrench the blade free with his other hand on the hilt of the sword. “Like that?”
“Yes,” Pavish replied. He pointed to a spot above that cut. “Now, here. But, I am going to punch you in the face.”
Kryos balked at that. “Pardon?”
“I’m going to punch you in the face,” Pavish said. “And I’m going to punch you hard. We have to test the Skill, right? So we’ll see if the harm I inflict to you causes the cut to go deeper.”
Kryos looked between the older mentor figure and the target, then down at the blade. “Okay,” he muttered.
The older man cocked back his fist, and Kryos braced himself.
Crack!
Kryos winced as the man’s fist impacted his cheek, and heat bloomed across his face. Kryos pulled the sword back, and delivered a strike, spending the thirty MP to activate Sobek’s Wrath. The blade glowed a deep, dark blue flecked with gold, trailing the colors with the strike.
Ring!
Kryos’ sword sank an inch-and-a-quarter into the metal and wood of the target, and he had to use two hands to rip it out once more.
“Look at that,” Pavish said as he shook his hand. “It does work.”
Kryos chuckled as he rubbed his bruised cheek. “You hit hard.”
“Be happy I’m not a Breaker,” Pavish replied. “Any other questions?”
Kryos put the sword back into his bag, and was about to ask something else, but a notification popped up in the corner of his vision that he had never seen before—a circular icon. “I’m good,” he said. “Thanks.”
Pavish walked away.
Okay, Kryos thought, go ahead and show me whatever it is you have for me, SAVE.
[You have successfully attuned to an Artifact!]
[It has now been placed into your hoard.]
[While it is in your hoard, you may use its Skill or Trait as if you had it on your person.]
[If it is removed from your hoard, you lose access to the Skill or Trait until you recover it.]
[If you use the Artifact, it functions how it would for any other person on Vorunor.]
[If you use the Artifact, it no longer counts toward hoard value.]
[Do you wish to calculate this object into your hoard value?]
Kryos grinned. Yes, he thought. Do that. If I can use that Skill while using my mace? That would be my preference.
[Confirmed.]
[Your Hoard has reached the EHV (effective hoard value) to qualify for a level up!]
[You have gained 2 levels! Level 13, Level 14!]
[Choose 2 Stat Points to Allocate!]
Let’s put both into Essence.
[Confirmed!]
Kryos took in a deep breath and looked at the practice target. He saw the two cuts, and then the more glancing blow above it, and sighed. Having more wealth felt good, and having access to a Skill, without having the item on his person felt very unique. It would doubtless raise questions, but he could just say he sold it . . . or tell the truth. Probably tell the truth, to Leona at least, if the trust kept being built up.
Still . . . he looked back toward the backside of the Irontrail Guild Hall. Toward the grave site. He grimaced as he recalled the price paid for this new power.
I’ll make sure I use it to keep other people safe from monsters, Kryos thought.
He headed back toward town, wanting to walk around a bit until his gear at the smith was ready. He chose to walk around the lakeside edge of town, and see a bit more of the water’s edge. The boats going along the surface of the rippling expanse were mostly small fishing vessels with two-to-three anglers apiece. Some were trawling with nets, a few looked to have anchors set as divers descended and came up with crates that looked like net-lined cages, and a few cast rods out with strings attached.
Closer to the fishing hamlets proper was something Kryos had not expected to see: rope-lined sections of the water’s surface, kept still between small-rock-jetties, where what appeared to be water-based-vegetables were growing. He inquired with one person he passed by who seemed to not shy away or sneer at his presence, and she politely explained that it was a plant called watercress, and they grew it by making beds of soil that were partially submerged, the rippling of the lake constantly watering with its ebb and flow.
Heading into town from that side, he had to meander a bit to find his way to the smith, but once he got there, Bert and his son Junior explained and showed him how to equip and strap on all the pieces himself, as well as how to adjust the straps to accommodate for increased muscle growth once his Strength stat increased. The mace had been polished and a counterweight added for better heft, and lastly the shield had not just been repaired, but the chitinous shells had been layered on top.
“It was a fine job to do,” Junior said with a smile as he wiped the sweat and ash from his brow. “I have to say, that’s the biggest breastplate I’ve worked on in a long time. You’ll be a monster once you get to a higher Tier. I doubt you’ll fit most buildings!”
Bert chuckled, then added, “Come back anytime, Kryos. We’re happy to arm and armor you up.”
“My thanks,” Kryos said as he looped his mace through his belt loop. As he was about to say something else, movement out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, and as he turned, he heard a grunt of disgust from Junior.
“Gah,” the younger Bert said. “Why in the hell is the Mayor’s lackey here?”
The woman half-dryad guard that Kryos recognized from the hospital walked up to him. “Half-dragon, the mayor wants to see you.”
“Me? Why?”