With practiced ease, Brad brought down the axe, splitting what must have been the millionth log in his life.
[+1 Endurance]
Even his stats mocked him. For months he’d failed to gain the necessary spiritual attributes of an alchemist’s apprentice. He’d poured over tomes and tomes of alchemical knowledge, but his Wisdom never budged from a measly four. He’d invested all of his life savings for the chance to work for an Alchemy Master. Day in and day out, for almost a year, he’d followed all of the Capital’s Alchemist’s order to a tee. He’d scrubbed floors, gathered herbs and concocted basic potions, but all he had to show for it was one attribute gain in Intelligence.
It was always the stats he didn’t need that advanced. Brad cleared the notification away and brought his axe down on the next log. It was his second physical attribute gain in as many days, bringing his Endurance up to fourteen. The next log went flying when the axe came down with a lot more force than necessary.
“That axe didn’t do ye nothing,” said a no-nonsense voice, instantly recognizable as Brad’s father.
He was a stocky man, probably the largest man in the village; even the blacksmith’s large arms were nothing compared to the tree-trunks the man wielded as arms.
“Just chopping wood,” Brad said in a tired voice that was almost drowned out by the early morning birdsong.
Brad’s father looked the reedy youth up and down in the dim morning light. His coppery red hair was exactly like the boy’s mother has been, but other than that his son was an exact replica of what he had been like at that age. Tall as sin, but skinnier than an unstuffed scarecrow. The older man sighed with a tinge of sadness, the boy had left more than a year ago at least a foot shorter. Pants that had once been too long now exposed the entirety of the boy’s ankles and he’d missed all of it.
“That’s enough fer now,” the man said, trying to focus on the present. He wasn’t sure yet how he would find his son in this returned stranger, but he would do his damnedest, “let’s git the fire goin’.”
Misinterpreting his father’s expression for one of disappointment, Brad bristled, stiffening his spine in defense.
“Yes, sir,” he gritted through his teeth before slamming the axe through one final piece of wood, securing it into the chopping block below.
[+1 Strength]
----------------------------------------
“Say what now!?”
His father’s unexpected exclamation nearly made Brad drop the entire tray of loaves he’d just pulled from the oven. Glancing over to the doorway that connected the bakery to the shop, he almost expected to see his father standing there. Instead he found only an empty doorway that carried bits and pieces of a conversation between his father’s raised voice and what seemed to be like the garrison’s quartermaster.
“By tomorrow?!” his father was saying.
“… finished the wall and… king ordered retreat.”
“What about the town?!” his father asked as Brad approached the doorway in an attempt to better hear their conversation; it was strange for his old man to get this heated up about something, especially when it came to the king’s soldiers.
“The town council has already been advised, and from what I’ve heard it seems like they too are retreating behind the wall.”
“How can ye expect these people to leave their lives behind like that, at a drop of the hat?”
“Come now Vincent, you know this has been a long time coming,” the old quartermaster said in a measured tone, as if he’d already parroted the same line a thousand times. “Less than half the town is left as it is, people have been retreating behind the new boundary for months. The Baron is being extremely generous in providing the refugees with shelter and—”
“But at what cost?” his father cut in, fuming.
Brad was standing in the doorway now with a clear view of the two men. His father had a rigid stance, with balled fists at his side, veins bulging at his forehead. He’d never seen his father that upset before, not even when they’d had ‘the fight’ before he left; the sight caught him off-guard.
“He’s not doin’ it out of the pure goodness of his heart now is he?” his father asked. “How much he charging on the coin? These people are going to be indebted fer life if not generations!”
The quartermaster stared him down as if not sure he should pretend to have some kind of allegiance to the Baron. Eventually the old man sighed, apparently deciding it was beyond his pay-grade.
“Ye be careful with what you say now, especially in front of that young one of yours,” he nodded in Brad’s direction without taking his eyes off his father. “Thing is Vinny-”
“Don’t Vinny me, I’m not a-”
“Sht, be quiet and listen for once, ye hot headed oaf.”
His father glared, but surprisingly kept his silence and the leathery old quartermaster continued.
“Tomorrow the garrison is pulling out, that’s final. King’s orders. The border losses have been too many here on the Shadowlands. King has decided he’s got enough problems with his human neighbors, he doesn’t want to deal with the growing unrest of the monsters as well.”
“But-”
The old man held up a finger and said, “Not finished.”
Brad’s father snapped his mouth shut.
The old man nodded and continued, “Now. The men are bringing all our grain over today and all I ask is that you bake as much bread as you can in the next two days. We are going to leave in three days and I expect that the rest of the town will want to follow. It’s going to be a long three week journey on foot and we will need as many dry rations as we can get. Of course, you’ll be compensated accordingly… Now, questions?”
Stolen novel; please report.
----------------------------------------
“…Pa,” Brad braved for the first time since the quartermaster’s visit the day before. They’d been baking nonstop, milling the grain, tending the fire, kneading the dough, firing the ovens, chopping wood… Brad was exhausted. “Pa… what is going on? Are we… leaving as well?”
“NO!” his father shouted and the storm clouds that had nearly dissipated from his eyes were back in an instant.
Brad shrank back, and the older man realized he had unintentionally leaned forward menacingly.
“Sorry…” the nearly sixty year old man said, wiping a hand over his face. He never looked his age, but in that moment it looked like the years had finally caught up to him. “Sorry son…” he said grabbing Brad’s shoulder. “It’s just… a lot. But I’m so glad you’re here. So glad you’re back.”
The big man’s voice cracked with emotion on the last word and Brad was completely taken aback. These weren’t the kinds of words his father used… ever, and he wasn’t quite sure what to do with them. Part of him nearly broke down at the words that nighed on approval, but the bigger part was wary and afraid of how often he’d managed to disappoint this man.
All Brad had ever wanted was to make him proud. As a boy he’d tried to emulate him as much as possible, followed him around every second of the day. He’d learned all there was to know about bread, people in the town joked that he could bake before he could walk. Growing older though, he became more and more aware of the fact that there was so much more to the world than just bread and one day he realized that he didn’t want to follow in his father’s footsteps; he didn’t want to be a baker.
He wanted adventure, like his mother. For years he had to glean information about his mother’s life as an adventurer, and adventurers in general, from others in the town. It wasn’t very hard, the woman was somewhat of a legendary mage and over time he realized he wanted to be exactly like her.
It took him months, but when he turned of age at sixteen he finally built up the courage to confront his father about his dreams. At the time he’d wanted the man’s support, but things ended up going a lot worse than he’d expected. In weeks Brad was almost completely estranged from the father he’d once been so close to. It all went downhill from there until the day of… ‘the fight’.
It ended with Brad leaving for the capital. In the end, things didn’t work out as he had hoped. Brad was ashamed of his failure, but with nowhere else to turn to… he came home. He’d come back weeks ago almost certain his father would kick him out. Instead, the big man had broken down into tears and taken him into his arms in a hug so tight he almost heard his bones cracking.
Their semi-mute coexistence in the weeks that followed almost had Brad convinced he’d dreamed the encounter, at least until now. It was the first time he’d been welcomed back in words and he was almost unable to hold the emotion that slammed into him back. He wasn’t twelve anymore, he couldn’t cry about things like this.
“M-me too pa… me too.”
They were silent for a moment longer before his dad spoke up, “I’m not sure yet what we’ll do, but we got te finish processin’ all this grain either way. We’ll need the bread if we go and we’ll need the gold if we stay… and if we go.”
Brad nodded, looking around the bakery he grew up in. It was one of the only stone buildings of the town. His father had once had big aspirations. The shop had seen better days, but it was still a sturdy enough, especially when compared to the other rundown buildings of the little town. Brad sighed, he’d never considered abandoning this place, not even when he’d left a year ago. He’d always known he could come back if he wanted, but now…
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The next couple days went by in a blur. Brad was hit with a tiredness debuff early on but kept gaining attributes in endurance as a result. By the end of the ordeal he’d gained another three points in endurance, bringing him up to seventeen. It was hard to rejoice in his remarkable growth when the town was in a panic all around him.
By now everyone already knew that the garrison was leaving, but most weren’t waiting for them. No one wanted to be left behind and most weren’t sure they’d be able to keep up with the soldiers’ pace. Traveling this close to the Shadowlands, this close to the full moon wasn’t a good idea and everyone knew it.
“Everyone but the king apparently,” his father muttered under his breath, looking about as tired as Brad felt.
They’d never made so many sales in such a short amount of time before, but in the same way Brad found it hard to celebrate his growth, he did not see his father happy about the unexpected windfall.
“What’s going to happen if the beasts attack in th—”
“When. Not if…” his father said, not taking his eyes off the racks in the oven.
Brad’s display still showed him the counter on each of the racks; it was a perk of the Bakery Operations skill-tree. It contained most of the skills he’d learned while baking: Baking, Kneading, Firemaster, Milling, Bartering and even Concocting which he’d learned in the capital but had somehow ended up inside the skill-tree. Brad never told his father about it. At the time he’d only seen it as an anchor, trying to tie him in place when all he wanted was to flee. Now, he wasn’t quite sure how to bring it up or even if he did; he still didn’t want to be a baker.
The timers counted down slowly, but his father still refused to look at him while he spoke.
“A lot of people are going to die,” he said in a slow and measured voice, “all we can do is help as many as we can.”
His father pulled out a tray and dumped the fresh loaves on a counter before rapidly placing the raw loaves in their place; the tray was out of the oven for less than a minute and forty new loaves were already being baked, his agility had to be at least in the thirties. Brad often wondered what his father’s stats were, but he’d never worked up the courage to ask.
“Help?” Brad asked with a chuckle, “with bread? What’s bread going to do against a monster?”
He regretted his words the moment he spoke them, but it was already too late to take it back. He hadn’t slept for three days and the fatigue was catching up to him; he’d never meant to antagonize his father. This was the most they’d interacted with each other in a long time. It almost felt like it used to between them, but then he had to go there and stick his foot in his mouth. He cringed, expecting his father to blow up at him.
Instead, the man’s reply came stone-cold, his father staring right through him while he said, “There’s power in bread, don’t forget that.”
Brad frowned, but his father was already kneading the next batch. He didn’t have time to reply before heading out to mill whatever else the soldiers had brought. The rest of the day continued in much the same way. Any baker would have been envious of the Bakery Operations progressions of that day. He’d have killed for that kind of progression in Alchemy.
Bakery Operations [Novice 04.2%] (+2.9%)
- Baking [Beginner 28.1%]
- Kneading [Beginner 15.7%]
- Fire Mastery [Beginner 59.4%]
- Milling [Beginner 63.3%]
- Bartering [Novice 55.9%]
- Concocting [Novice 08.2%]
[Bakery Menu: UNAVAILABLE]
[Requirement: Functional Bakery]
He’d already gained a nearly whopping three percent skill progression. His eyes kept veering to the words ‘Functional Bakery’ and he knew exactly what it meant. He could never let his father know that he’d acquired the necessary skill-tree.