6 months until Vincent’s system unlock.
The day I’ve long been waiting for is drawing closer every minute. Just a few years ago, six months felt like an eternity, and now I wonder if I’ll have time to do all the last minute preparations I’ve thought of. Somehow though, I’m filled with a warm confidence that all is well. The system unlock will be eventful if nothing else.
My current goals are threefold. I want to begin transcribing spells in earnest to lay the foundation for a wizardry focused class rather than a catch-all mage. Second, I plan to go through as many individual spells and rituals as I can recall, casting each of them. My hope is that at least a few of the spells are too advanced for this era and will earn some form of reward from the system. First time bonuses aren’t unheard of. Finally, even though I’m level one I need more combat practice. Several events have proven to me I won’t always be able to rely on minions.
The bandit run-in with Dad, Leigh’s reaction to Cain, and the logistics of a sizable undead force all suggest there will be times when it is either too costly, or too dangerous to rely on an army of minions. Even if my instincts scream at me otherwise. Perhaps if I build enough reputation as a force for good the common folk can overlook such issues? I digress.
While not directly tied to preparing for system unlock day, I also want to experiment with the strange sensations I’ve been having lately. The buzzing in my head and swelling anger are concerning, and even if I can’t truly solve the issue, learning what causes it will help me better control any episodes.
With such a full list of ideas, time is quickly becoming a sparse resource. I regret having not prepared in more depth sooner, being content in practicing my skills from memory. I suppose that would be fine if I just want to live as Andras Gregori again, with the same class and skills, but that would be a waste of my second chance. I want to be better. I will be better. It has just taken me a while to realize that ambition fully.
As such, I have no time left to waste. The largest hurdle to spell transcribing is writing materials. Parchments and ink are fairly expensive, hence why Neia used slate and chalk to teach me reading. In the worst case scenario I can use a similar method, or even charcoal and tree bark, but truly written paper and ink spells is my current goal. System interference can be strangely semantic about methodology, and I don’t want to risk anything.
To that end, I’m making my way to the edge of the village. I want to find Dad and ask him for a few favors next time he rides to Alberack. My wanderings are peaceful, and I find father at the edge of the village helping one of the Prescot brothers tie a fresh boar onto a branch for carrying. It’s a sizable beast, with a fresh puncture wound near the neck that tells me father has been hunting today.
I hope Cinder doesn’t freak out if they see a dead pig.
Regardless, I stride up to the hunters and call out. “Dad! Good morning.”, even though it was almost noon already.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Dad finishes tying a knot around the boar’s ankles before turning to greet me. Mr. Prescot’s younger brother, also Mr. Prescot since I’ve never bothered to learn their first names, grabs the branch and braces against his shoulder. Daniel approaches me as Mr. Prescot effortlessly carries the boar into town.
“Hey bud, What's got you out here so far this morning?” he asks, gently clasping me by the shoulder and turning to walk us around the perimeter of the village.
“Well, I just didn’t know when you’d be going to Alberack next, and I’ve been thinking about my system unlock lately. I could use a few things for class experiments…” I explain, and dad just laughs and ruffles my hair.
“Somehow I knew it was going to be magic related. You never get so driven about anything else.” Indignant, I huff slightly and voice my second request for Dad.
“I also want to get more combat practice, before and after the system unlocks. Do you think you could give me a few pointers on form? Maybe do a few sparring sessions?” I look up at dad, hopefully.
Despite my recent growth spurts, dad still looks down at me from his height, and at this point I’m not sure I’ll ever catch up to him. “I’d actually really like that Vincent.” He smiles. “I always enjoy getting to spend time with you, and if I can whip you into shape while doing it, all the better.” Dad smirks, and I suddenly regret my decision in asking. “Gotta make up for all that time you’ve skipped practicing since unlocking your [Combat Footwork] skill.” I couldn’t help but shudder. When it comes to combat training I’d either describe Daniel as brutally effective, or effectively brutal. The end result is the same.
“Tell you what bud” Dad sighs as we near the house. “I was actually planning to head to Alberack in about three days. A couple folks around town are needing me to pick up some things, and while I’m there I’ll see what I can do. Meanwhile I’ll get one of the Prescot boys to carve up some training weapons. Gives them time to get it done before I’m back.”
We enter through the garden and pause outside the kitchen door. “That’d be great dad!” I tackle Daniel into a hug, and he pretends my measly 10 strength is actually affecting him. We leave the conversation there and head inside for lunch.
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The days leading up to Dad’s departure, and the wait for his inevitable return are excruciating. I know that no amount of anxious anticipation will bring him back any sooner, but for the first time in a long while I actually find myself looking forward to my day to day activities. Every sunrise brings me closer to my ambitions.
Nearly a full tenday after he originally left, Dad finally returns home, much to the excitement of the village. He has new bolts of fabric, a few treated hides and leathers, some metal for Leigh, and specialty tools from across the country. Even with his system boosted strength the sheer quantity of items he was conveying required Dad to pull a small cart behind him on his return.
He makes his way slowly through the town square, stopping frequently and delivering parcels like a common courier. I can see him in the distance, and hear the frequent chatter echoing up the hill to our house. Barely restraining myself, I continue peeling onions at the kitchen window like Mother asked me to. Tossing the discarded papers and skins into the garden for mulch.
Daniel arrives home much later than I expected, after I had zoned out of focus and lost myself in my task. He shakes me from my haze with a loud thud, placing a stack of three leather bound tomes on our shared table. A small handful of quills, and two bottles of ink follow shortly after. Now my experiments can truly begin in earnest.