Luke stepped past the south gate. By now, the sun was high in the sky, and Iona stubbornly remained with him. Timber snorted in dissatisfaction at Luke every so often, the bear upset that Luke’s meltdown had harmed Iona somewhat.
The Reaver could understand why Timber became wary around him, but that didn’t mean he’d regret what he did. He wouldn’t dare believe anyone could lose the person closest to them and remain stoic about it. From Luke’s perspective, trying to prevent him from venting was an incredibly foolish thing to do, and it nearly backfired, no matter what ‘good intentions’ there may be.
Moving on, Luke avoided small puddles on the road. Various hunter groups gave them a wide berth as they lined up to leave through the south gate. He caught sight of a group in a small plot, huddled together in war-torn clothes and too skinny to be healthy. Most out of place, these folks were caked in dirt, blood, and mud.
Glancing at them, he said, “Who are they? I’ve seen more and more groups like that pop up ever since I came here.”
Iona stared forward as she spoke with an edge to her voice, “Refugees from the villages and less fortified towns. Those places won’t be able to survive the Tide. Kelser is likely full by now. If they’re unwilling to place a risky bet hiding in one of the border towns, they must come here.”
Luke shook his head, “I didn’t see too many like that when I visited for my registration. Can things change that much in a handful of days?”
Shrugging, Iona said, “The tide must’ve begun to show up at the walls. Once word spreads, this always happens. Enjoy this short peace while it lasts, Luke.”
She stepped into a puddle in the street, eyes focused on things Luke couldn’t see.
“It won’t be much longer.”
Sensing that Iona’s mood began to plummet, Luke changed topics, “When I first passed the trial to join you guys, I vaguely remember you talking about a weapon someone had. That it was like Xera?”
Iona remained silent, her eyes clouded. Timber rubbed his head against her knee. “Sorry, Luke. You’ve had crushing news, and here I am, barely speaking with you. What did you say?”
The air around Luke dropped a few degrees at the mention, and people nearby parted as they passed. Unaware of the subconscious reaction, Luke said, “Originally, I asked about another weapon you said was like Xera. But now, I want to know what’s the next step for me. What would you do in my shoes?”
Veering toward the city’s eastern part, Iona ruminated out loud, “No different from what I told you. Become so good they can’t put you aside. For the raw power side of things, that’s tier three. For Runic enchanting, since that sub-type is rare, it is about tier two. Use the influence you gain from that, and take what you want.”
Luke checked over the Interface. He could see the Defier’s guild from his current view, “Musai mentioned something about a professions tab, but I’m not seeing it.”
“You’ll need the profession book to be absorbed and understood by your brain completely. Get a full night’s sleep. You should see it when you wake up.”
“There’s really nothing else I can do right now? Only wait and take things slow? Who knows what sick shit is being done to my dad. What would they want from him?”
Iona stopped in the street and turned to Luke. “Tell me, Luke, what stood out most about your dad in that report?”
“He rose the ranks of elixirist impossibly fast. Other than that, I’ve got nothing.”
Waving her hand, she said, “Think on it some more. That’s not the full answer. You’re not in any condition to fight, nor can you work on your new profession for the day. Knowing that, what can you do?”
Luke wanted to answer right away, but the vague body language around Iona stopped him. She had an idea but wanted him to think for himself. Luke kept along the road, deep enough in thought that he bumped into a tora playing an improv game of chicken, which he lost when Luke’s body smashed him to the side of the road.
The tora appeared angry, about to yell, but gulped when he glanced at Luke’s eyes and recognized Iona following this rude human man. The path around the two practically became deserted, with people relegating themselves to the sides of the road while the two Defiers took the entire center. Ice began to radiate off Luke, and the air dropped further in temperature.
Sighing, Iona said, “Luke, I know you’re barely containing yourself after our talk, but you’ll have to rein it in further. Your ice is dangerous to the average person in Sylen.”
Luke emerged from his unaware state, and his eyes darted as if he had forgotten where he was. White ice covered his arm. " I'm not sure if I should be proud it’s this easy for me to do now or scared that I didn’t notice.”
The environmental effects ceased at Luke’s command. He skimmed through his thoughts, and they all came to one conclusion after rechecking.
“Iona, where is Brisen Thundergast? That man owes me some answers.”
Iona smiled radiantly. “There you go, amazing what you can figure out if you use your head. He’s where all the top crafters are located, in the shops that surround the Silver-Black Tower.”
“I’ll put aside any other plans I had. This takes priority over everything else. Take me there.”
“Such a commanding man, not even a please for a beauty like me?” She laughed when Luke’s expression became minorly embarrassed. “I’m only teasing. You’ll have to get used to it if you spend time with me, Luke. Say no more; we’ll zip over to that old geezer, Brisen.”
----------------------------------------
Two Defiers stopped in front of an oversized blue-green stone alchemist shop. Behind them was the silver-black tower. This piece of prime real estate was the innermost ring of buildings surrounding the landmark that created the city center.
On the building was a sign next to a cauldron and alchemist flame logo: Thundergast’s Elixirs.
“This is the place, Luke. If Brisen is on one of his self-imposed no-contact crafting sessions, you’ll have to come another time,” Iona informed Luke, stretching an arm behind her head.
Luke stepped with purpose, “I’m not leaving without answers.”
“Suit yourself if you want to risk making a mess. I’m only to make sure you come out alive. The rest is on you.”
The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.
“I wouldn’t expect you to hold my hand in everything I do, Iona, nor do I need it.” Luke stopped a yard away from the building’s arched doorway.
Two sentries for the alchemy store stood on each side of its entrance. Each wore a set uniform with the same logo, in pristine-quality chain mail, one with a spear, the other with an axe. The guards shook their heads at Luke when the Reaver tried to press on; one placed his spear in the way, and the other pointed his axe at Luke.
Their quality was either at the pinnacle of tier one or the bottom of tier two. Luke’s sense of power for higher-tier people was fuzzy currently. He blamed it on the persistent pain in the back of his brain.
While the spear-wielding sentry remained silent, the axe-wielder spoke up: “Master Thundergast is currently undergoing a critical session. He is refusing all visitors and customers until the session is over.”
Luke gripped his hands tightly, “And how long would that be?”
Wearing a smug expression, the axe user shrugged, a hint of disdain revealed through his eyes. “The master doesn’t have a set schedule, may be an hour, could be a month. Come check again tomorrow. Go run off and pray to the world spirit the master comes out in a week or less.”
Luke breathed in deeply, “Is he in there?”
The spear wielder spoke this time instead: “He is, but it's of no concern to you, citizen. Master Thundergast is an important man. If he’s not willing to see you, then all you can do is wait. Direct that anger all over your face to someone who cares.” The spear user spat on the ground.
“Alright, you two pretentious fucks, ‘Master Thundergast’ gave my father an invitation that-”
Both guards began to laugh. The axe user spoke after, clutching at his chest, “We don’t care whatever invite your daddy got, little boy,” the body-guard narrowed his eyes, “You better get out of here before I-” the axe wielder spewed blood from his mouth, and he looked down in disbelief.
Luke had covered his hand perfectly in frost, creating a clawed gauntlet—a feat he’d not managed since facing the Spectral Lord. With the frost creation, he pierced the armor protecting the man’s chest.
His hand clutched around the bodyguard’s heart. “This heart of yours, it’s a little too warm for my hand; let me cool it down.” Thin frost began to coat the beating organ, and the guard screamed in pain as blood splattered out his mouth at a set interval. In real-time, the heart started to pump at a decreasing rate.
Iona became shocked and unsure of what to do. She inspected the area and placed aura in a domain around the entrance, preventing a public showing of Luke’s insanity. She said, “Luke, what in the world are you doing? You’re not above the law, you know. If you kill him, it’s going to be a massive headache. Come to your senses before you do something irreversible.”
The spear guard yelled, “What in the world spirit’s ass are you doing to Plen, you crazy farworlder!” He aimed his spear at Luke, “Let him go, now. We can forget this happened as long as Plen comes out alive.”
A spear aimed at a man with no regard left for the rules meant little. Luke continued to pump frost essence, the guard’s axe clattered against the cobblestone street. With deadened eyes, Luke said, “Since no one cares about my father, why should I care for some trash standing in my way?” The Reaver brought his mouth close to Plen’s ear, “Do you want to live, trash?”
Plen nodded in horror, his eyes widened to the limit, and blood painted his throat. But he grew irate in the next second. He snarled at Luke, “Let go of me now, you filthy farworlder madman. I’ll see you in chains for this-”
Luke gently squeezed Plen’s beating heart, and the man screamed in pain, cutting off his words. More blood seeped from Plen’s mouth, his chest now drenched in the sanguine liquid. Luke intentionally slowed the bleeding, but only enough to use this man as a chess piece for his new game.
“You seem to have no idea what your situation is here, Plen. Since your brain is too delayed to grasp complex sentences, I’ll spell it out for you.”
The Reaver bore into Plen’s eyes, beginning to enunciate each word into a sentence, “Get. Me. Brisen. Thundergast. Or. You. Die.”
“How can I do that when you’ve got your hand in my chest? You’ve gone insane. Lenard, help me.” Plen started to gasp for air weakly.
“You there, man with the pointy metal stick. Get Brisen. Now.”
Lenard, the other guard, readied to thrust his spear at Luke. The Reaver shifted Plen’s body between him and the spear. “Look, you negative IQ meat bag. Wear a tinfoil hat later.” Luke squeezed the heart in his hand again, and a musical scream rang out from Plen: “That’s my last warning. Next time, I’ll crush it. Thundergast. Get to it.”
Shifting his eyes from Luke to Plen a few times, the guard gave in, “Ah fuck, fine. You’ll not walk away from this, you maniac.” The guard went inside the alchemist store, shivering in his boots.
Iona slapped a hand to her forehead, “What a mess, Luke. Couldn’t you have handled this another way?”
“Sometimes, the only way to deal with unreasonable people is to be even more unreasonable.” Luke exaggerated how he saw things, “A random elixirist is so very important, no no, you’ll have to wait for months potentially to get the ‘honor’ of speaking to the dumb ass. He sent an invite that got your dad kidnapped? Oh well! Teehee.” Luke’s expression darkened after his angry imitation.
“You know, Iona, thanks for the cover, but I’d rather this be seen.”
“What, why? You’ll be put into jail if this gets out.” Iona was befuddled by Luke’s desire.
“No I won’t. The Tide is nearly here, and they’ll sentence the newest Defier in the city when they need him most? They don’t have the guts to put Chander Pyrite behind bars; whoever runs this shitty city will, at best, give me a slap on the wrist.”
The racket of an older voice scolding the spear guard to the nine hells inside the store could be heard. Luke kept his conversation with Iona going, ignoring Plen’s pleading for mercy as his consciousness slipped.
“This city, and probably this entire Duchy, is covered with rules for thee, but not for me. I’m sick of it. Want me to play by the rules? Then follow them in the first place.”
Luke ripped his hand out of Plen’s chest and iced over the gaping wound. The bodyguard had left the conscious realm. Luke tossed him onto the cobblestone road. Just as one would to the trash Luke considered him to be.
Iona reluctantly agreed, “You’ve got a point, Luke, but too many greater powers are here for you to throw caution to the wind like this. The Pyrites are above the ducal law, but you are not. Not yet.”
“I’ve killed no one, squeezed a heart a little, and demanded to be seen by the man who invited my dad to this place. What ‘law’ was broken? Any more hypocritical standards I need to be aware of?”
The Beastmaster kept to herself and instead muttered, “My newest brother-in-arms has a few screws loose. Like every Defier.” The day’s events had gone in an unexpected turn, and she could only attempt damage control for the fallout.
An elderly monic man stepped out the alchemy store with a fierce expression. An alchemist flame followed behind him. Green runes pulsed on his cheeks while he stroked a white beard that fell to his stomach; he scrutinized Luke, “The disrespect you’ve shown, young man.” Glancing at Plen, he said, “If you took his life, I’d take yours right here and now. Consider yourself lucky that you’ll be sent to the prison mines for five years after this-”
Luke stared at Brisen Thundergast, “Shut up and listen, fool.”
Brisen’s face began to redden with anger, “What gall. Make that seven years. I know the chief justice quite well. He’ll have a hay day with you.”
Luke unsheathed Xera, “You done?”
“Luke, don’t! This is fixable, but killing Thundergast is not.” Iona panicked. She tapped on Timber, who moved to protect the Master Elixirist.
The Reaver stepped forward, “Move aside, bear. Unless this man has clues for what happened to my dad, his life is forfeit today.”
Lenard, the spearwielder, pointed his spear toward Luke and said, “Come quietly. You’ve let Plen live. That’ll be taken into consideration for your case.”
“My case? This geezer invited Paul Wallace to this rotten city and can’t be bothered to see his son? If I’m going to jail for something so ridiculous, let me take his life first.”
The Spectral Heart began to beat rapidly. Luke prepared to unleash every move in rapid fire to secure his goal.
Brisen Thundergast became astonished, “Did you say Paul Wallace is your father?” Disregarding the threatening atmosphere coming from Luke, the elderly monic stepped up to Luke, closely inspecting his face, “The resemblance from the sigil image is there.” Brisen put a hand on Luke’s shoulder, “Young man, every day I regret my negligence, which put your father in unknown hands. Before we bring this to the point of no return, would you listen to an old man’s words?”
Taken aback, Luke struggled internally before remembering his original goal. Brisen Thundergast appeared open to a discussion. Luke’s extreme actions gave him the desired result. Why not listen?
Luke put Xera up; he relaxed his tensed body.
“Fine.” Luke pointed at Lenard, “I’ve frozen over the wound I gave to Plen. If you get him a potion or healing magic, the worst thing he’ll have is a scar.” He flicked the spear’s metal tip, “Point that useless stick at someone who cares.”