“You’ll need that,” he explained. “In the town of Gothershall, seek out Alexander Tobias, he is the owner of the key. A collector, you see. Tell him you wish to make a bet against his tournament champion, The Tower Guard, for the key. Show him that book as collateral. The tournament is in a few days, so you still have time to get there before the festivities start.”
Somehow, I wasn’t surprised that his new quest now involved the tournament, but I was sure that sticking to it might be worth my while in the end. I would just have to find this Alexander Tobias first.[1]
“What happens if I lose against his champion?” I asked hypothetically. The Father went white as a sheet. Clearly, he hadn’t even considered that.
“Don’t lose,” he then replied. Great. No pressure. None what-so-ever…
After consulting my map pointlessly, and then asking him how far it was to Gothershall, some five-and-half hours of straight walking from the Church, I decided to return to the Village and see if I couldn’t procure some means of transportation, or, worst case scenario, supplies for the long haul.
I had only just triggered the banner for the Safe Zone, when a soldier approached me quickly. I recognised him too: it was the asshole guard from the camp…
“What do you want?” I said, before he had a chance to speak.
“We just received word from the scouts we sent to the south and, seeing how well you fared against Red Rian, we need your help. It’s the Red Runners again. We believe we’ve found their actual hideout!”
Is this a Main Quest or an Errand? I wondered. And the farmstead wasn’t their real hideout? But then, why was Red Rian there??
As though reading my thoughts, he said, “No one is safe on the roads leading out of the Village until this threat is dealt with.”
Main Quest it is, I realised.
“So, if you know where they are, why don’t you do something about it? I will remind you that I did your work for you in the farmstead, and again here in the Village… If you want me to be your mercenary who cleans up all the stuff you can’t be bothered with, then I’d like to see some actual recompense for my work…”
The soldier suddenly bristled at my words and found his snarky attitude from the first day I’d met him, when he was guarding the camp.[2] “I assure you we could handle them, but we have bigger problems right now. The Knights are on the move again. The Red Runner scum are nothing compared to them.”
“Are you sure about that? I just saw their leader manifest a new arm out of shadow yesterday,” I replied sceptically. Also, what Knights are he referring to?
The soldier ignored me. “The people of this Village depend on you, so you should hurry south to the village of Silt. It’s just next to the tributary lake of the Riven.”
Before I could correct him and say that technically the army and soldiers like him were who the villagers depended on, he was gone.
I let out a sigh. I had hoped I was done with the Red Runners…
I stopped by the decrepit, worm-eaten alchemy shop. Hopefully, the Alchemist would teach me what he knew so I could have an advantage in the coming fights, which would no doubt increase in difficulty as I progressed. I was sure that having the ability to heal myself in a fight would soon become a necessity, unless I could somehow go through every Stage without taking a single hit, which was a dubious strategy to say the least. While I’d gone through the Village Raid mostly unscathed, I couldn’t say the same for the Hideout.
Just like last time, I had to use both hands and pull as hard as I could to open the door to the shop. The whole thing creaked and cracked as if the rusty metal handle was about to pull free from the rotten wood, but just before I thought it would snap off, the door pulled open wide enough for me to squeeze through. I hadn’t made it a single step inside before someone pushed past me. I only caught a glimpse of the person beneath the bandages and hooded faded-brown cloak, but I could have sworn that I saw bright-red fur. The brief glimpse made a chill run down my spine, but part of me also wanted to follow them and find out who, or what, they were. But I didn’t, because it’d be creepy. Also, I had things to do…
When the excitement from this brief encounter subsided, I walked up to the counter, behind which the Alchemist was busily mixing the contents of various flasks, swirling them around, studying the changes, and taking notes in an immaculate notebook, which seemed the only nice thing in the entire shop.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
“I’ve helped Father Adam, like you asked. Can you teach me alchemy now?”
The Alchemist stopped abruptly, turned and looked at me, as if he hadn’t heard me struggle with the damn door for a full minute. For a moment, I also wanted to ask who the previous customer had been, but I doubted he knew.
“The Father has told me of your deeds.”
How? I don’t see any phones in here…
“My knowledge of alchemy is yours.” The Alchemist gave me a curt nod, and, for a second, I thought that was it. I almost asked how exactly he was planning to teach me, but then a rush of thoughts and images entered my mind, implanted there in the same way that knowledge of new skills was, though more extensively. Basically, if learning a weapon skill was like a handful of pictures; learning alchemy was like a collection. Everything from mixing, setting up a distiller, combining plant material and other ingredients into a mortar-and-pestle, experimenting with heat-sources and flasks, and so much more.
I pulled up the progression menu and, in the ‘Crafting’ tab, found that the previously greyed-out ‘Alchemy’ was now lit up. Its levelling system consisted of varying degrees of expertise, with my current one, the first on the list, being ‘Apprentice’, followed by ‘Journeyman’, ‘Artisan’, and, lastly, ‘Master’. After cross-referencing other crafting skills, I could tell that the same manner of expertise levels was employed throughout, though with varying contents. I quickly realised that in order to craft a healing potion with the same name as the one Kerebor had given me, I needed to reach the ‘Artisan’ level, since the only healing potion I could craft right now was a ‘Weak Healing Potion’ like the one Jakob had given me the day before, but, it was still better than nothing. I wasn’t sure how I’d go about advancing to the next mastery rank, but I guessed it probably involved making potions and experimenting. Aside from the healing potion, I also had the ability to make poisons, antidotes, a handful of augmentatives, and rare potions.
The poisons listed had various effects, such as paralysis, bleeding, vomiting, confusion, and more. As for antidotes they came in pretty much the exact same variety as the poisons, serving as direct countermeasures, but there was also a general antidote, which it seemed could be adapted to any given poison by mixing it with the player’s own blood. Though, as a caveat, a general antidote was less effective than the specific antidotes. The general one seemed more like it was useful for when you were poisoned by something unknown.
The augmentatives were things such as increased stamina regeneration, faster run speed, faster swim speed, heightened awareness, quicker reflexes, and so on. The rare potions listed were all marked ‘????’, and I wasn’t really sure how I’d go about unlocking them. For now, I just wanted to focus on making the healing potions, but later I would have to explore the many possibilities alchemy offered.
“What do I need to be able to make these potions?” I asked the Alchemist. He had returned to whatever studies I’d interrupted earlier, and once again looked at me as if it was the first time he’d seen me. It was quite a disturbing thing to be immediately forgotten like that, but I guessed that was the norm with the Husks not associated with specific stories and whose sole purpose was to either act as a vendor or to teach players. The marketplace vendor who had bought both of my rare daggers did seem to remember me though, and was possible to barter with, so perhaps the Alchemist was simply this way because his shop wasn’t frequented, as evident by its dreadful state and singular purpose. Then again, I still didn’t know if the vendor I’d dealt with was a Husk or a player.
“I sell basic alchemy kits, or you can utilise my setup over in the corner for more advanced formulas. I also sell common ingredients, but rarer ingredients are only sold by certain vendors. If you feel adventurous you can try searching for ingredients in the world yourself.”
“Do you have the ingredients for a healing potion?”
The Alchemist knelt down behind the counter, and I heard him rummage through various cupboards, clinking flasks together and muttering to himself while trying to find something.
When he reappeared, he placed an empty flask, a corked bottle with an oily substance inside, and some thick, sad-looking dark-green leaves with weird saw-like teeth along their edges.
“Eight silvers.”
“Actually, can I have a basic kit as well?”
The Alchemist sighed and knelt down behind the counter again and re-emerged with a wooden box.
Perhaps this shop is such a dump because he actively discourages customers…
He set it down on the counter with a thump. “Thirteen silvers.”
It honestly didn’t seem that expensive, but I also didn’t really have much to compare it with. Although for the price of being able to make a healing potion I could spend two nights with dinner at the tavern. That said, I was also loaded with money right now, which might’ve had a negative impact on my perception of value.
I laid the coins on the counter and stored all the items in my inventory. The ingredients didn’t have a weight, except for the glass flask, which weighed 50 grams, but the basic kit weighed 0.7 kgs and nearly put me at the limit of my weight class, and that was something I didn’t want to sacrifice for anything, especially considering how my current speed was ideal for my fighting style. As for the potion, I’d worry about actually making that later, as I didn’t have the time to experiment right now, since I wanted to find Jakob and have him accompany me to Silt, where the next Stage would take place.
Pushing the heavy and decayed door open with my shoulder, I came out into the fresh air, which felt like silk when inhaled; a stark contrast to the suffocating damp and acrid shop air. Without a second to spare I set off in the direction of the marketplace.
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[1] But I would have to be careful, because you know what they say: never trust someone with two first names.
[2] I.e., yesterday. So much had happened in a short timespan that it felt like days since I’d been at the camp.