“Why do I have to wear this costume?” Ripley grumbled.
The blonde in the overalls admired the new Nightjar smith, who had changed from his daily rags into a long-sleeved buttoned shirt, desert-colored trousers, and leather shoes. They had found the set in the War Room, and it came with a leather belt that slung from the shoulder to the waist.
“Well,” Marlowe beamed, “I think since you’re the owner of something from the old times, you might as well look the part. It’s a shame I couldn’t find the hat.”
“There’s a hat too?!”
“Anyway. To review. Your dad once worked for the Bulwark but decided to run away and live a peaceful life with you, his son. And now, the Blue Army has got him. He also left you with a magic-enchanted box that apparently only you can open, and inside was the relic and a manual on how to use it. And now you’re getting back at them bystorming their place to rescue your dad?”
“It might sound ambitious, but at least I gotta try,” Ripley declared.
“As dangerous and stupid as it may sound, count me in!” Marlowe agreed enthusiastically. “I want to see you square off against the Blue Army.”
For some reason, Ripley felt braver. While he knew it was the complete opposite of what his father told him, but with theclockwork hammer in his possession, he thought that he can use it as a bargaining chip. He would rather have his father, even if it meant living in a dungeon cell with him. That, or the aether from the unlocking got into his brain and warped his way of thinking.
“Well, we better restock ourselves first,” Marlowe proposed. “It’s already dark, and it would be better if we leave at first light with a fresh outlook of everything.”
“Do you have the money for such supplies?”
“Trust me. I can handle it. You can wait in the usual place.”
“Just don’t come back there with nothing but bruises on your face and cuts on your limbs.”
But as the two headed for the Palmetto, Ripley spotted a glint in the cover of night. It was a glint that he recognized all too well. To the naked eye, it was only a speck of light, but thanks to the aether, his eyesight allowed him to discern a familiar shape.
“Hey, you!” Ripley called out, and the tall figure turned around and approached him.
Against the bright visage of the Palmetto, he looked menacing, but he answered with a voice of playfulness. “Yes?”
“That sword, where did you get that?” Ripley asked. He was starting to get furious.
“I found it in some wreck in the mountain just northeast of here. Why?”
Upon hearing the words wreck and mountain, Ripley’s temper flew.
“That’s the work of the Nightjar household! In other words, my sword!”
“Whoa there, little one,” The man stopped the irked boy. “What Nightjar household? Sorry, dude, but I have this little policy of mine. It says ‘finders keepers’. Ever heard of it?”
“You may have picked it up someplace, but that’s still my sword! No one picks up a Nightjar sword and gets away with it!”
“Well, the Blue Army may have,” remarked Marlowe.
“You’re not helping!” Ripley barked back. He turned back to the sword thief. “Each Nightjar sword has a six-layer enchantment to prevent theft, and only my father and those of his bloodline can unlock it. And before he sells the sword to the customer, he never releases the lock, but adds the customer’s mana signature to it so that he and he alone can use it. If he didn’t, the customer’s arm would get zapped, or worse, explode. So tell me. How are you able to bypass the magic lock on the sword?”
“I have no idea what you’re talking about there,” he scratched his head, “So I can’t answer that question. Now if you’ll excuse me.”
And he turned his back on the two and left.
But Ripley wasn’t going to let him get away.
Still intoxicated with aether, he brandished the relic from his waist and pointed it at the sword thief.
“Don’t you dare move from that spot! Or you’ll suffer the consequences!”
“What are you doing, Ripley?!” Marlowe called out worriedly. “A sword’s nothing to get angry about!”
“No, but he might as well steal my life, and I can’t have that.”
“What’s this?” The man laughed. “Aren’t you getting ahead of yourself? I can sense some aether particles on you and your friend there.”
“Oh yeah? How would you know?” Ripley pressed on, pointing the relic at the man.
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“I don’t just know, I have felt it before. It feels good doesn’t it? That rush of energy may give your mind a boost, but it will ruin you if your mind is weak. I’ve seen people turn into monsters after whiffing the blue smoke for weeks. But don’t worry. Your friend has already recovered from it. Not sure about you, though.”
“Say what you will, but upon my pride, I will not give you that sword.”
“Listen to yourself, Ripley!” Marlowe implored. “You’re not like this! It’s the aether from before! That relic you’re holding is dangerous, not just to him, but to you too! You can kill someone with it!”
“Yeah, what’s he gonna do with that tiny hammer? Throw it?” the shadow ridiculed. “If he’s gonna throw it at me, he’s holding it the wrong way!”
It certainly seemed that way, as the young smith was holding the hammer by the head and not the handle that was currently free and pointed at the man, but Ripley and Marlowe knew better.
Below the supposed head was a complex mechanism comprised of two finger levers and a chamber with six hollows, all filled with special nails that they came with the box they had opened.
Without hesitation, Ripley pushed at the lever located below the chamber, and a sound louder than thunder cracked the night’s silence. The force on Ripley’s hand almost knocked the relic in the air, but it stayed on thanks to a firm grip.
“You were saying?” Ripley smirked. He could not see the face of the man, but he thought the action earlier gave him a shock.
“Fine,” the man sighed. “I didn’t want to do this, but I will have to knock you off your stupor.”
He readied himself and pulled the sword from his back. The Nightjar sword started to emanate a blue glow.
“Wait, that crest… Ripley! He’s from the Blue Army!” Marlowe warned, and Ripley let loose another blast from his weapon.
But the target rapidly changed stance, holding the Nightjar sword as a shield to defend himself from the blast, but while it was a strange gesture that seemed to do little in terms of defense, it did the job. A faint sheen had covered him, rippling like water as something small appeared to hit it.
The man had erected a barrier, which didn’t sit well with the irked shooter.
“Close,” he spoke, “but no. I have nothing to do with them. I have split my ties with them a long time ago. Right now, I’m a mercenary.”
And he closed the distance by dashing forward. Ripley attempted to create some more distance by releasing a volley of blasts, but the man weaved between them, running in a zigzag pattern.
Marlowe also tried to help Ripley create some distance by throwing whatever he pulled out of the overalls, but the man hacked and slashed his way through the projectiles. When he noticed that he had nothing else to lob at the dangerous individual, he desperately pulled outthe blue vials, all eleven on them.
The mercenary did a strong, horizontal sweep, slashing all the vials, and a puff of blue smoke had covered him, instantly erupting into a blue flame in the next second.
But as they swirled and burned, they gathered in a single spot and had engulfed the Nightjar sword. With another sweep, an arc of blue flame shot forward, heading towards the twoopponents. Ripley and Marlowe jumped in opposite directions and dodged the flame arc, which hit a shack and erupted in a bright, blue light.
“How did he do that?!” the one with the goggles quickly stood up. “And that was all of my vials!”
“A lesson in magic, young one,” the swordsman explained. “While it’s true that liquid mana explodes in contact with air, you can attune it if you’re skillful enough and then you can use it for your own spell!”
“Shit, he’s a magician as well!” Ripley cursed as he lay down in the dirt.
“Are you done?” questioned the magic mercenary, swinging the sword back into his back. “Or should I say, down? I’m gonna say that it’s a loss on your part. And with that, I’m gonna leave. The sword is mine, and that’s that.”
After a few paces, while the swordsman’s back was turned, Ripley crawled and used the clockwork hammer to fire some more, but instead of a loud bang, he heard a click. He continued to push at the lever a few more times, but nothing happened.
“Like I said, nobody steals a Nightjar sword and gets away with it!”
He shouted, and prayed to the goddess to smite down the man who casually picked up a sword from the wreckage that was once his own home. His prayer was immediately answered.
The magic swordsman collapsed, curling his leg as he howled in pain.
“What was that?! You actually hit my leg!” he cried out. “You didn’t use any dirty tricks with that hammer, did you?”
“It’s an old relic called a revolver,” Marlowe replied. “Basically, it fires a metal projectile at the speed of sound, and you can clearly see the damage on your leg. How did you not feel any pain earlier?”
“He cast a basic enhancement spell on him,” Ripley explained this time. “It boosts his senses and inhibits pain. Sometimes, it can boost speed and strength.”
“You’re good,” the mercenary complimented him, but he shrugged it off as he wrenched off the sword on his back.
“The magic lock seems intact,” Ripley examined the sword. “I’m gonna ask you again. How did you bypass it?”
“I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about.”
And Ripley pressed on the mercenary’s wound, which caused him to scream.
“Okay, okay. You really want to know? I just picked it up in the mountains! As soon as I touched the sword, I felt a spark, so I overloaded the spell circuit with my mana! Honest! That’s all I know!”
“Didn’t he do the exact same thing you did on that box?” Marlowe wondered.
“What?! But that was smalltime compared to this sword. This requires ten men’s worth of mana to overload just half of the lock!” Ripley exclaimed. “Not to mention he was able to reroute the aether explosion on the sword and create a fire spell out of it! Without incantations!”
“Incantations are bad! They complicate spells!” the mercenary smugly responded.
This man was no ordinary man, they both thought. He was clearly older than them by a few years, his sharp gaze countered by a constant grin and his red hair, spiky and neatly parted to one side, was now mixed with desert dust, but for someone so young, he was able to counter the heavy lock on the Nightjar sword.
“Alright,” Ripley gazed at him. “You can keep the sword.”
“Wow, really? You should’ve just let me go! Why did you have to injure my leg?!”
“I can’t even lift the sword off your back! The lock my father set is just too strong! But I still stand by what I said earlier. You will not walk away with that sword…”
“Yeah, he’s gonna limp away with it,” Marlowe offhandedly commented.
“…unless you pay its price,” the young smith completed his sentence. “And you have paid it with your leg. Well, almost.”
“What do you mean?” asked the mercenary.
“You’re a mercenary, right? For today onwards, you’re working for me. Consider that sword my payment to you!”
“Hold on. Are you joking?”
“In exchange for allowing you to wield a Nightjar sword, you are going to accompany me to rescue my father. He’s the only one who can unlock it. I’ll explain more in the Palmetto. You need to heal that leg of yours.”
The young smith turned around and headed for the large building, but as soon as he took a step forward, he staggered and collapsed on the desert floor.