After using his tempering technique, Robert made a horrifying discovery. For every injury he had, he would either heal it as quickly as possible or endure the pain during the entirety of his next trip to the liminal void. Depending on how long he spent in the real world, it could mean weeks with an open, throbbing wound. It happened with his hand as his talent triggered on its own and dumped him in the grayscale dimension.
Vitae infusion was supposed to be one of the easy tempering techniques. He had no idea what chronal shear would do to him but wasn't too keen on finding out.
He needed an even softer tempering technique; one he could use without consequence. It didn't matter if it was slower, he had all the time in the world and ninety-nine times that in the liminal void. Robert was starting to understand why fictional elves were so laid back and appeared to be lazy. Why bother hurrying now if you could finish the task next century?
The throbbing hand resonated with his head and soon he was having a major headache. Trapped in the liminal void, Robert rolled and writhed in bed, clutching his hand. The only conscious action he could muster was to keep the hand from even brushing against any surface. His purple skin was too sensitive and tender.
All he could do was wait. Wait until his time was up and he returned to the real world.
*
*
Once he was back, Robert spammed mending pulse over and over on his hand. His mind and spirit were tired of repetitive casting and living on a depleted Ether pool.
Minimal healing was good only for the most basic magical first aid. Not only it did do nothing to lingering or chronic injury but it also didn't close the wound. It just stopped bleeding and halted infections and contaminants. You still needed to dress and treat the wound properly at a later date but at least it wouldn't aggravate. In other words, you could keep applying minimal healing to a wound until you reach a proper medical facility; the healers and doctors there could then treat the wound as if recently been inflicted.
On the other side of the spectrum, supreme healing would not only close the wound straight away but also regrow lost body parts, remove scars, cure chronic diseases, fix birth defects, and even revert aging. The difference in costs and pricing was even greater than the difference in effect. It went without saying but getting good enough to provide supreme healing was the goal of every healer that ever lived.
Hours later and two more weeks hurting in the liminal void, his inability to heal himself left Robert thoroughly pissed. His hand was better, thanks for asking. Though he was this close to tearing down the shells for his skills, thinking they were useless.
But Robert had a bit more than thirty thousand dollars in his account. His living accommodations weren't high-class but they were free. He could afford some shopping to fix the glaring issue of being a healer that couldn't heal shit.
At least he didn't have to go too far. District twenty-four had a shopping mall that catered to low-level Archhumans near a gated community. Before he went, he changed into some dirty and bloodstained clothes he found. He didn't have good clothes so his best bet was to sell a narrative that he was coming back from combat. The first visit had to be to a clothing shop.
"Hey, you! Stop!"
The guards at the entrance were about to give him trouble when he showed his Archhuman ID.
"What is this about?" One of them asked.
"Look, I need a new change of clothes, if you haven't noticed. Please don't ask how I ended up this way."
"Are you hurt?"
"Not anymore," Robert instinctively clutched his hurting hand. "Or nothing that time won't heal by itself. I don't want to cause trouble. Just point me to the nearest clothing shop and I'll get decent clothes. New clothes. Clothes that don't smell of death and decay."
The guard winced at Robert's insistence. "Just make sure to ask the shop clerks to dispose of this clothing as cursed material. It will become if it isn't already."
"Gotcha," Robert made a show of sniffing his shirt collar. "Yeah, definitely cursed."
The guards made way for him. Robert expected he'd cause a small commotion once he reached the shop. The mall guests were all giving him weird looks, except for the veterans who were looking at him with respect. The dichotomy was baffling.
A woman in the shop's uniform flagged him from afar as he approached. "Mr. Blaze? Mr. Robert Blaze?"
"Yes, that's me."
"The security informed us of your plight, sir. Please, if you would follow me, we already have a set of basic clothes ready for you to change into."
That put a smile on Robert's face. "Thank you."
"You're most welcome, sir. Here at Peabody's, we have a deep respect and understanding for the Archs that are out there defending our realm in the passages."
That made Robert feel a little ashamed. Goosebumps formed around his neck and forearms as the emotion in her voice felt real. She was either telling the truth or was a master actress. As he followed her into the changing rooms, the people in the clothing store all stared at him with either admiration or curiosity, especially the staff. He half-expected everyone to start clapping like he was some kind of hero returning from a gruesome war.
"Here, a basic set of shirt, pants, underwear, socks, and shoes. Everything is clean and pre-washed, Robert. Is your shoe size an eleven?"
He was impressed by how close they got just from observing him. They could have an Arch whose talent was measuring people's sizes, though. "Ten and a half but some brands are too tight."
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"Then our estimate was correct. If you find this eleven too loose, please tell me. There's a black bin, you can discard your current clothes there."
He took the bundle and entered the changing room. The bin had a thin band of glowing runes around it. He assumed the runes’ purpose was the containment of cursed items. Robert wasted no time taking off the borrowed clothes he scavenged in district nineteen.
Looking in the mirror, Robert saw he hadn't changed at all in these subjective months. He bit his lower lip and huffed. Two days. His perception of time was completely skewed. Only two days separated his parents' death from that moment. He hadn't been to their funeral. He hadn't grieved. All this time, he was in survival mode, living in denial. Seeing himself in nice, clean clothes reminded him of the normal world he used to live in and cracked the facade.
It all came crashing down. To avoid weeping in public, Robert entered the liminal void. He fell on his knees. He punched the mirror.
*
*
"Mr. Blaze, is everything alright in there?" He heard the clerk's voice and stirred awake.
Robert had overslept his way out of the liminal void once more. Without an alarm. Before he answered, he dove back into the void.
There, he punched the walls to no effect. Then he punched it one more time, then a dozen. His blows didn't ring in the void, nor did his knuckles break and bleed. As he kept striking the wall, he didn't grow tired.
The liminal void was a realm of stasis. Of permanence, eternity between moments. Were Robert to shed a drop of sweat, it would hang in the air the moment it dripped from his brow.
He was about to deliver yet another punch when the colors returned. Robert halted mid-swing and still knocked on the stall's divider wall.
"Mr. Blaze?" The concerned clerk asked again.
"I'm fine", his exasperated tone hinted he was anything but fine.
"Did--"
He rudely cut her, "The clothes fit perfectly, thank you. I'm just... (sigh) how much for this set?"
"I'm sorry for your loss, sir."
What surprised Robert wasn't that she correctly assumed he was grieving. It was the calm, empathetic, and friendly tone she used. It soothed his aching mind and heart so much he would bet she was an Arch with empathy powers.
"Thanks," he vented and felt the pressure escape him like a steam engine that opened up suddenly. Along with it most of his stamina also went out. Robert's limbs felt ten times as heavy now.
"With the discount I got you, it will be twenty-three hundred dollars."
Robert laughed. A fortune, for a set of clothes. Hell, he bet that was more than the "employee of the month" Freddy Stern made in a month at that supermarket.
"I'll take them."
"You better," the clerk said, in a hushed and conspiratorial voice. " Because they are discounted by fifty percent."
Robert tried to laugh, choked on nothing, and wheezed.
"Don't forget to put your old clothes in the enchanted bin, sir."
*
*
The clerk also gave him a voucher for a hair and beard stylist session at a nearby barbershop. Even if the clerk wasn't an Arch, the geriatric barber surely was. A retired Arch.
His plentiful scars, toned body even at his age, and a scowl that could kill just from intensity alone made Robert sure of it. The way and speed he handled blades around Robert's face and neck also screamed of his ability with them.
As Robert stared at himself in the mirror, he could barely recognize himself. His beard was shaved to the point of disappearing. The skin of his face felt and looked like a baby's butt cheek. No nicks or cuts either, despite the breakneck speed of the shaving service.
He even got a coupon for twenty percent off on his next shave, good for a month.
Thus uplifted, Robert went shopping for manuals, spells, and any guidance on how to grow stronger and smarter.
*
*
Robert decided, after seeing the prices of basic spells and tempering techniques, that he would get a bank balance on par with his new park hobo lifestyle.
Six hundred and thirty-seven dollars bought him a scroll for the soft Life tempering technique called Lavi Flows, which did little more than just cycle life force around his body to make him feel good. Allegedly, it could accelerate his own recovery but it didn't say by how much. Then a "complete" guide on Life magic for three thousand.
"Do you have any starter-level Life spells that aren't healing?" He asked the salesperson.
"Sure. We have Life Sense, Life Ward, Alleviate Pain, Diagnosis, and a few others," she answered as she led him down the aisles of books. Did any one of these interested you?"
Robert sighed, thinking of his bank account balance. Yes, all of them interested him very much. But everything he learned said that getting a substantial number of spells was detrimental to one's evolution. You needed to create, train, and grow all those shells and while you could discard them it was time and Ether that could go into strengthening your more used abilities. The collective understanding was that people needed to specialize.
But did that apply to Robert? He thought of it as he piled the scrolls. He had a hundred times more time than a normal person. He couldn't train the spells in the liminal void because his Ether didn't regenerate in there, but he could surely study the scrolls until they faded to dust in his hands. This wasn't happening either because objects in the liminal void didn't decay. It was a strange dichotomy. Objects in his possession accelerated infinitely, but those that were not stayed frozen in time.
Robert tallied the price of the items he had. Six thousand, three hundred, and fifty-five dollars. He still had money to spend, his resolve to burn it all in learning aids unwavering.
"Do you have any of the same on the Ti—"
He abruptly clamped his mouth shut as a stranger approached. A man in crimson robes, with an ominous aura of power about him. He was bald with tattoos all over his exposed skin.
"Hello, good sir," the interloper said with a friendly smile. "I couldn't help noticing you are buying a lot of spells of the Life affinity."
The shop salesperson glanced between the newcomer and Robert, noticing the discomfort on the latter's face. She was about to intervene when her eyes focused on a pin adorning the lapel of the robe. She paled, used a gracious step to sidle away, and vanished behind a bookshelf in silence.
Robert hung there, baffled by the treason. He tried to school his expression.
"What is it to you?"
He botched the delivery regardless of his efforts. His line came out more confrontational than he wanted. In hindsight, it couldn't be helped as he felt distressed and skittish, spending more money than he ever had at any singular point in his life.
"I come in peace, with an offer for you. Say, how about I pay for your purchase here, as payment for just hearing my pitch? It won't take more than a few minutes."
Six thousand and something dollars just to have Robert lend his ear for a few minutes? The man was insane. Either mentally, or insanely rich. Robert knew this guy was a powerful Arch. At least two stars, and not a new one. He had grace and majesty. His voice was well-modulated, showing he had experience in public speech.
"I can afford this," Robert's voice came out nervous, almost breaking.
"I have no doubt about that," the reply came as if it was a matter of fact. "Are you affiliated with any clan or corporation?"
Some clans were extremely aggressive in their recruiting drives. With the new passage open, many of them would try to expand into the realm on the other side. While it wasn't a brand new and unknown realm, the direct one-step passage represented unparalleled opportunity. The most direct path known before took a month or more of travel through several realms, a few of them cavernous or otherwise inhospitable to the transportation of large amounts of goods. This passage was like connecting the country with another continent through a portal. Instead of hours, one could cross the same distance in seconds.
"Just the pitch?" Robert asked.
"On the honor of my patriarch," the Arch replied.
"What's your clan?"
"We are the Kraven." He sounded a bit offended that Robert hadn't recognized them.
But even though Robert hadn't recognized the heraldry, he knew of the Kraven clan. A bunch of crazy Blood Archs who were as cutthroat as they were mysterious. The honor of the Kraven patriarch was worth shit but Robert couldn't afford to offend the annoying Arch.
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