Counterintuitively, Luke felt his hands get clammy from holding the elixir.
This consumable in his hand was perfectly suited to him. If the gods in this world weren’t so twisted, he’d thank heaven. But in this case, thanking Brisen was preferable. Stopping himself from sucking in his teeth and letting slip the valuable elixir, Luke said, “I’ve lost count of how many times I wondered how ice affinity might help me. I owe you, Brisen, thanks.”
Laughing heartily, “This is my promised gift, but if you want to pay me back, young man, go figure out where my research partner was taken to.”
The reminder of his dad’s situation soured Luke’s mood, “I’d do it regardless, but thanks, this will help me. I’m certain of it.”
Faint light from the ceiling shone onto the Master Elixirist, portraying his age, wrinkles abound, and skin folds with a slight sag. Stress lines appeared over Brisen’s face, “Leera and Meera have had their work cut out for them. The store has been staked out multiple times, but no concrete attempts. This close to the Tides, whatever force is targeting the valuable crafters in the Duchy is doing it again.”
Putting a hand on Brisen’s shoulder, Luke said, “If I can help, let me know. We started off rough, but let’s say I have a bone to pick with these kidnapping fuckers.” Shifting the tension, Luke said, “Getting you to owe me another favor would be a good thing—if this potion is any indication.”
Following that, Brisen brushed off the hand, “If the old rely too much on the young, you youngsters will be worn out before it’s your time. Let this old man handle your problems, and you handle yours.”
“If you say so,” Luke uncorked the elixir cap, “Bottom’s up,” the light blue liquid with hints of white flowed into Luke’s mouth, drinking it all in one go.
As the substance coiled down Luke’s throat, an icy burn spread across the Reaver’s body, the sensations intensifying immediately and abruptly. Ice formed within, melting and reforming cyclically. You’d think it’d overly bother the Reaver, but the constant reforging of his vessel, or body, against ice, minimized the effects.
At best, a vague discomfort overtook him, soon replaced by a cold, soothing internal vibe. Luke felt more at home than anything with it, connecting closer with the ice, always within and around. An icicle formed over his arm, with a singular black streak to its top, before breaking apart moments later.
Against his will, mist formed through his eyes, and the perspiration from his mouth turned crystalline, glints appeared in the discarded carbon dioxide.
“Take care, young man. The stronger one is with their elementalization technique, the greater the first affinity boost will be. Avoid touching others until you can rein it in.”
Whispering Tome floated back avoidably, frost coating the fringes of the pages. Xera yelped in joy once her sword body turned into a blue-black ice mix, “Ice sword again! But better? What’s this black stuff? Master, did you learn how to dye your ice?”
Luke chuckled internally. I doubt it’s that simple. I’m as confused as you are, my bloodthirsty friend.
Undulating blue and white light overcame Luke’s eyes. Mist pulsed out his body, and suddenly, a stronger second sight, similar to when he faced the Doppelganger, came to fruition. The Reaver could envision two images next to Brisen, mirroring the monic’s subsequent actions with slight error.
Perhaps his technique was trying to ‘predict’ what his target could do. Or was going to do? That was the best Luke could gather from the phenomenon. Acutely aware that allowing the Ice to run rampant was not a good idea—around allies anyway—the Reaver shut out external influences, closed his eyes, and focused on reigning in the evolved ice.
You listen to me. You are me.
Advancing overly quickly had its drawbacks. The mist was stubborn—like it had a defiant will—one that Luke set about crushing with intention. Inch by inch, the fog receded into him, and the cold intensified within his body. The interaction was within an acceptable range, not that it was pleasurable.
The respiration was next. The ice crystals thinned, turning into smaller sparkles, before vanishing back into regular gaseous constructs. He heard Xera loudly complain as the ice rushing from his hand over the Sword Wand began to recede, cracking, falling, and reabsorbing into Luke.
By the end, the Reaver certainly felt freezing; blisters from the cold bloomed across his hands in particular.
Nothing a potion or bandages couldn’t fix. That was beside the point. Did his ice evolve so quickly that his body struggled to handle it again?
Luke certainly hoped not; getting hypothermia from your own abilities was not a fun experience. He would know that happened after fighting fleshy bat-men, Camazotz. So be it to say, he would avoid that repeating.
Playing into that, Luke slowed the conquering of the ice essence around, the pace suited him. Roughly ten minutes later, it had all come under control, and as a side benefit, his body felt more resistance to the cold once again.
Opening his eyes, two log notices confirmed Luke’s thoughts.
[Ice Affinity Talent Elixir consumed, gaining twelve ice affinity. Your ice related abilities, techniques, and skills become significantly more potent. Understanding of ice has furthered]
[Your body successfully adjusted to your newly evolved ice. Frost resistance increased by 18]
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.
Luke observed his hands. The blisters there moments ago closed up, and pale snow-white skin had reclaimed the area.
Shifting Xera to wand form, just for the heck of it, Luke pointed Xera up toward Brisen, “I can see why people go crazy over these Elixirs now. Too bad I can only enjoy one of those, a couple and I’d break through to Master in Ice elementalization.” Twirling Xera through his fingers, Luke eventually taped the wand head under his chin, “In my eyes, I owe you. Call, and I’ll come running, Brisen.”
Pausing a moment, Luke became self assured the ice behaved itself, touching him now safe for the untrained. The Reaver stood up and offered a hand to Brisen, “You’ll have to tell me the price of those other permanent and temporary increase ones now that I’ve got a taste,” Luke signed, “might be a little too addicted. Power increases without real struggle is damn near euphoric.”
“I knew we would see eye to eye, master. That’s how I see things when you soup me up with your spells and ice. You’re my favorite! Don’t tell the other seven I said that, though.”
“No promises.” Luke joked, figuring the seven previous Reavers he knew of wouldn’t rise from the dead.
The intent went right over Xera’s wand head, “Have pity—“
Ruffling through his beard, Brisen interrupted, “Your artifact is quite different in temperament from Annika’s weapon, Cedric.”
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Anyway you take it, Sword-Wand young lady. Could you share your gains with me, young Luke? I take a craftsman’s pride in knowing the results of my creations—to the important users.”
Calling Xera by her preferred moniker had the incredible effect of getting her melt away and previously bubbling feelings. Luke could feel the Artifact switch her opinion of Brisen in real time.
Mirroring the attempt at persuasion, the reflective walls changed scene, an inviting sky blue above green lake waters, soft sun shining as if mid-day. The sound was absent, which created an off-putting feeling.
Going for a give and take, Luke said, “Answer my question first, could you?”
Displaying a sly grin, Brisen said, “Another has fallen to my creations, I see. The temporary ones have a caveat, your body can only adapt to one at a time. Stacking multiple is less than useless—it’s worse—you’ll actively harm your body doing that and gain no extra effect. For the price…” Brisen pinched two fingers together, “Permanent ones are always dozens of times more expensive, ranging from fifty gold to several hundred. On the other hand, temporary kinds tend to run from ten gold to thirty, depending on needed materials and how in demand the boost is.”
Falling to subdue the shock at the price tag, Luke raised both eyebrows, eyes blinking a little too rapidly, “At that price, how do the tower teams afford to go in each time with them?”
Laughing proudly, Brisen said, “They tend to keep them as backups, used in emergencies— tower teams can afford it. The dungeons teams, not so much, barring any sponsorship or those stuck farming Crystal Demon Point.”
Muting his expression, Luke found it acceptable, but likely not the entire picture. After placing Xera into her holster for wand form, the Reaver informed Brisen what he gained from drinking the Elixir.
Unexpectedly, Brisen’s eyeballs threatened to pop out, and the runes etched to his cheeks flashed rapidly, “You underwent a small evolution? Gaining resistance of that magnitude is not normal, young man. I’m beginning to feel sorry for any fool standing in your way.” Coughing to regain himself, Brisen said, “Best you be off, Defier. As much as an old man like me enjoys a nice chat, the demands on my time are much too high during these times.”
Noting the bags under Brisen’s eyes, Luke scratched the back of his head, “I’ll leave you to it, Brisen.”
The old monic man grasped Luke’s wrist and shoved another elixir into him, “Take this; it’s not free, but you can pay me after the Tide is over. A temporary battle elixir, use it as a last resort. After five minutes of battle talent beyond your capabilities, you'll be drained body and soul.”
Nodding firmly, Luke took the battle elixir, put it into the Inventory, and left the store, biding Brisen goodbye with a simple wave.
______________________________________________
In Sylen’s northeast section, Luke felt a mix of melancholy, elation, and introspectiveness.
Melancholy due to a certain feathered friend’s absence from Luke’s shoulder, elation from the recent rocket-like progress with his techniques and overall stats, finally, introspectiveness when he realized one could often tell what type of people lived in an area based on the building’s appearance. It wasn’t an iron-set rule, though it frequently held true.
The Defier's guild stood a few miles out in the distance behind him. The black metal architecture peaked between inhuman vision and the building’s grandeur relative to the rest of Sylen’s eastern half.
Only to be shadowed by the Silver-Black tower looming overhead, as it did to the rest of the city. Luke came to this section of the city to stop procrastinating. It’d been days, perhaps longer since he swore to visit Celen, the nice old monic man he met while guarding the Fasa caravan to Sylen.
That felt like ages ago to him.
He hoped Celen would treat him the same. The hopeful eyes of refugees, townspeople, and guards around bore a certain pressure. One he would like to be directed elsewhere.
It all spoke the same intent: Will he save us?
The dichotomy in movement bedazzled Luke for a moment. Hunters, craftsmen, and even guards rushed from place to place, eking out final objectives before time was up. Others floundered on the streets, coming to accept fate and stagnate beggars panhandled in the alley corners.
A few ‘preachers’ stood atop stack boxes, passing along sermons of the coming god beast’s wraith. They, too, were split into camps, one for the salvation of the World Spirit, the other to prepare for the gluttony tribute soon to be upon them.
At least the sun shone warm rays on the city rising in turmoil.
Luke thought it ironic this city, Sylen, poised to hold such a burden, yet he saw little signs of the other five major Duchy cities he came to learn about. Where were hunters from those cities? Resources? Royal Forces? Other Defiers?
Surely they couldn’t all be at the border, could they? Luke was prone to think, at best, a quarter of such forces were there. Provided by the fact that he had never seen any significant flow of forces coming from the interior while rushing out to the border.
No, it was always the opposite, people fleeing the outer edges of the Duchy, cramming into Sylen, and often leaving shortly after. “To the safe five” became a common saying lately. Being that the Duchy had six cities far larger than any other, that meant Sylen had to be the odd duck out.
Was their purpose to be a safe haven while Sylen was to be the sole shield? And what if such a disastrously lousy policy led to the ‘Bulwark City’ folding in half from the Tide’s relentless assault?
The Reaver found his opinion of Duchy dropping once again. Shaking his head, he swirled Xera in small circles, coming down the paved road. The buildings were well-made with signs of magic ingrained within most of the construction.
In the back corner of the street he’d just come upon was a house appearing startlingly close to what Celen described in the past. Blue oakwood, purple shingles, two stories, crystal windows, and a portcullis-like gate, with a small garden sporting various common herbs.
The scent was akin to what one would find from wet pine with a pinch of cinnamon.
Ambling up to the gate, Luke slowly pushed it open, finding it unlocked, as Celen swore it would be. Something about being the ‘loved grandpa’ of the neighborhood meant he feared no harassment from Sylen’s gangs at night.
Luke reckoned he gave the big three underworld groups larger issues to deal with lately without including the headaches the Tide must also be mounting on them.
Careful to stay on the short brick path up to the sizable but still quaint home, Luke knocked gently at the plain white wooden door.
“Anybody home? It’s Luke, I’m here to visit Celen.”