7:02 A.M.
March 3
Snowfall 5
Thornfield, Veotera
Gary stalked the streets of Thornfield, following a list of alchemy shops he’d been given at the tail end of yesterday. He had resolved himself to at least seeing what type of chemicals were available for him to try and make something for dealing with the Rockdiggers and their thick hides. Push came to shove he supposed he’d just have to find a local blacksmith and get himself a nice pointy war pick or some flavor of mace.
He came up to the first store with the alchemy symbol of a corked round bottle filled with a liquid and looked at the storefront. The design of the building was stone-heavy with wooden accents presumably away from the more volatile elements within, which was a design feature Gary approved of from a safety aspect. He didn’t know the exact types of substances they had available so a sturdy building was a wise idea. The storefront consisted of a iron-reinforced door with a keyhole lock and an open bar-style of opening; one where the flap that was on hinges up top served as an awning when the store was in business. The interior of the shop was visible such that the storefront section was divided from the back of the building by a dividing wall, shelves full of bottles of various shapes in glazed clay or cloudy low-clarity glass and simple symbols that reminded him very sharply of old alchemical symbology from Earth.
Gary strode up to the open but currently unmanned storefront and leaned onto the sill-cum-countertop to get a closer look at the wares on current display. A few of the glass bottles were within reach but Gary restrained himself from reaching in to bring one closer for inspection. The risk of being called a thief wasn’t worth it. The thought occurred to him that no one would steal reagents of common make, thus the lackadaisical approach to not having anyone at the counter ready to go. Gary loudly cleared his throat before calling out towards the guts of the workplace.
“Hello? Could I speak to someone, please?” A shuffle and swishing of a leather against cloth grew louder as he saw a figure round the corner of the dividing wall. The figure resolved into an older man in roughly his mid-forties seeing him at the counter and his neutral expression brightening at the sight of a potential customer. He doffed his worn-looking leather gloves and ran one of his freed hands through his cerulean head of hair as he approached the counter Gary leaned on.
“Good morning, young man,” came a steady but slightly raspy voice from the man. Gary noted it was probably due to exposure to chemicals without proper ventilation for years but chose not to comment or make it visible on his face. “How may I help you this morning?”
“Good morning,” Gary returned with a nod as he fished out his Delver medallion and let it hang in plain view. The motion caught the man’s darker blue eyes and he flicked his gaze back up to Gary’s gray one. It was clear he was here on business now. “I’m going around to all the local alchemy shops to get a list of the substances you all have available. I’m trying to assemble this list because there are tentative plans in the works for dealing with the Rockdigger dungeon roughly two weeks from now, and I’m heading an effort to find a faster way through their tough hides. My thoughts turned to some of the more dangerous concoctions your profession can produce that could at least soften the workload of the Delvers.”
The man listened to Gary’s purpose at his shop and his face became a mask of worried concentration. His answer came with a drawn-out tone as it was clear he was already running through a list of what he knew he had and what he thought his competitors had. “That.. That is an interesting approach, young man. Never occurred to me that I could be of that kind of service, but are you sure you don’t want to look for some people with magic Classes or Skills? Nothing I have is strong enough to burn through Rockdigger hides in any reasonable timeframe.”
“Already got the local guildmaster working on gathering mages for dealing with the Goblin dungeon beforehand. They can be repurposed once that one’s dealt with. I know a good deal about the substance side of alchemy, and I want to know what substances I have to call on for my plans. Right now I’m looking at mere fire and acid as options but I’m hoping something I can find amongst your wares might give me inspiration for something more effective than simply bathing them in caustic chemicals.” Gary winced as he realized he’d slipped back into English for the word ‘chemicals’ and the man gave him an odd look, but nodded somewhat as the context made the word clear enough.
“Even if you do, the whole city’s worth of alchemists doesn’t have anywhere near enough of things to clear out a decade-old dungeon.”
“Just need something to take the edge off the blade, so to speak. I’m fully expecting it to be a slog with blunt weapons. Anything I can do with a bit of material is further the strength of arms can go.” The shop owner made an appreciative noise as he rubbed his clean-shaven chin in thought.
“It’s good to see a Delver using their head for once. Most of your brethren have it in their heads that we can work miracles with a jug of cow piss and weird-colored dirt.” Gary laughed a little and responded with a smile.
“Depends on the health of the cow and exactly what kind of dirt it is,” Gary said amidst a cheeky shrug. “But I come from a place that is intimately aware of the power lurking within good sir’s profession. I may not be able to make miracles out of your goods, but I can ease burdens depending on what you’ve got. Do you have some sort of master list of what you keep in stock or can quickly get a hold of?”
“I do. Wait here, please.” The man disappeared back around the dividing wall and Gary quickly called up his references that he’d already bookmarked in his Virtual Network. He’d cross-referenced a list of things he’d expect a society of Ridiana’s sophistication to reasonably have, and had added a few outliers based on assumptions that magic had interfered with discoveries for good or ill. There were also some substances - mainly poisonous gasses - that he’d put on a separate portion of his list as last-ditch options to try, mainly because he lacked the supplies to make a gas mask that would be good enough to save him from their deployment. In addition to all of that he wasn’t exactly a genius chemist in his own right and gaining the proficiency would cost him time he didn’t have to make the really dangerous stuff.
The shopkeep rounded the wall again and thankfully interrupted his thoughts as he came with a ledger-like thick book in one hand and a large clay jug that looked very secured shut and that had a symbol on it that Gary immediately worried about. What he could see of it looked like a jagged starburst with a simple dot in the middle of it, and Gary’s heart started to sink. Only a certain type of substance warranted such a jagged symbol. The book was put onto the counter and turned towards Gary, but the man simply held the bottle in his hands with the care of something he really didn’t want to drop.
“My stores are listed in here, as well as concoctions I already have on hand or can make. Hopefully you find what you’re looking for.” Gary nodded a silent thanks to the man and opened the book. It was largely written like a modified ledger: the first portion was a list of chemicals and substances listed by what his language Skills translated as various old-timey names for a lot of substances he was aware of by more modern names. The list was checked and compounds sprang to prominence as Gary cross-referenced and confirmed what the man had available. Nothing much was off-kilter; no silly concoctions that required some bizarre elements like a wyvern’s left testicle harvested under the light of a reverse full moon or some such fantastical bullshit.
A few options presented themselves as reasonably viable, consisting mostly of oils and ingredients that could be added to them in order to produce flammable tars and the like, or simple but potent acids like sulfuric acid. Gary had expected this and nodded a little to himself as the list boiled down to essentially what he’d thought was going to be his options, chiefly firebombs or splashing acids. He’d noted the ingredients for gunpowder available, but he didn’t want to bring that insidious horror into the world. Gray eyes flitted up to the man and Gary nodded to him.
“I figured as much. Looks like it’s sticky fire and acid for my plans. Nothing here is stronger without risking serious injury to allies.” The man grunted in assent with the consideration, but he quickly noticed the man fidgeting with the container in his hands. Time to bite the bullet, then. “So what’s in the container, sir? You’re clearly nervous about it.”
“Ah! This? It’s a substance that alchemists are only allowed to produce for nobles and the army.” Gary’s heart sank further. The man undid the secure closure of the container and proceeded to tip some of the contents out into his hand carefully. A very familiar black large-grained sand poured into the alchemist’s waiting palm and despite himself Gary let out a sharp curse in English. The man had a small jug of black gunpowder. The teenager’s scowl made the shop owner smile sadly as he gently moved his hand bearing the powder up and down in emphasis. “I take it you know what firepowder is, judging from that reaction.”
Firepowder. He grimly filed that away for his growing report to Earth before composing himself over the course of a few long moments. He ran his hands across his face and sighed heavily before speaking up. “I was really hoping not to see anyone having figured out that substance, to be honest. I’ve seen what it can do in the hands of idiots and those who worship evil. I apologize for my outburst.” Gary waved at the man and he quietly slid the powder in his hand back into the container and resealed it. “That certainly opens options up. I think I’ll need to visit the local blacksmiths as well, then. Some ideas of how to use that stuff comes to mind and I’m gonna need metalwork to utilize it.”
Gary turned his attention back to the ledger, now scrutinizing the sections that contained the amounts of sulfur, carbon, and saltpeter the man had available. He noted down the amounts in a separate text file only to look back up and note the look the man was giving him. “You seem sad, lad. It’s not as bad as you think.”
“I’m a bit sad because firepowder represents the death of an age where I’m from. Honor and respect for personal strength perished with the roar of its ignition. I was vaguely holding out hope this world I’m in now could have avoided that path but it looks like it’s simply a question of time at this point.” He shook his head vigorously to get the morose approach out of his mind. “But I can mourn it later. There’s work to be done. You said that you can’t produce it legally without permission, right?”
“Aye. You’ll need to get the permission of the local highest-ranked noble and the commanders of the camps that guard the dungeons. Depending on how you handle the blacksmith part, you may have little trouble or find yourself blocked completely. I know we don’t have enough in Thornfield to fight two dungeon’s worth of monsters.”
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“Oh, there’s already a plan for the Goblins. This stuff’s all for the Rockdiggers.” Gary closed the ledger and slid it back a tiny bit towards the man. “Thank you for your assistance, good sir. I will be back soon, hopefully with everything I’ll need.to raid your stores and deal with those monsters properly.” Gary took a couple of steps back and gave the man a simple bow, right arm folded across his chest such that his hand rested over his heart during the gesture. “Have a good day.”
The man slid the book into a waiting hand and nodded to the teenage Delver. “I’ll be here waiting for your success. Good hunting.” Gary turned and strode further into the agricultural city, his face a careful mask to cover the worried thoughts of a world burning in the fires of war once gunpowder really started taking off in use.
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His excursion across the city complete, Gary had acquired a slate and some simple white chalk on his way back to the Delvers’ headquarters. He sat at a table in the lobby and moved between drawing on the slate and writing an identical four-deep set of letters outlining his proposal for the dungeons. Tarrence joined him out of his office and watched the teen bounce between his works without saying anything. The silence in the room was perfectly fine by Gary’s standards, as the work let him keep his mind occupied.
“You don’t have to rush so much, lad,” Tarrence finally said to break the silence. Gary looked up into the man’s eyes before he shrugged and went back to his work.
“I’m under a partial time crunch, actually. I have a few months until my eighteenth birthday, and a year past that before the System potentially kills me for not having a child. The proposal I’m drafting and this weapon I’m designing for use against the Rockdiggers will take time to be mulled over, approved, and implemented. Since I found out firepowder’s a thing here this proposal has to be flawless to justify the mass expenditure of what the government is gonna consider strategic resources, and I have no idea how well it’s going to be received because I don’t have time to play nice with local politics.” Gary paused at his rant as if realizing how hard he was pushing himself and sighed heavily.
“Breathe, Gary. Breathe. You have plenty of time. You’re going to need at least two weeks to deal with the dungeons anyways, remember? That number hasn’t changed in your calculations, has it?”
“..No,” Gary admitted. He set the quill down once he got the ink off of it back into the inkpot he’d borrowed, capping it off as he stared down at the drawing he was roughly working on for a weapon against the armored hides of the beasts he’d had trouble with. “I just.. I feel like I need to be doing something. Idle hands are the Devil’s playthings. There’s things that can be done and should be done, and some of them are things it seems only I can do. Time is lives, potentially.”
Tarrence gave a dismissive gesture as he leaned back in his seat and regarded Gary. “Time is always lives. The sun rises, the sun sets, monsters kill and defile people even as we speak. You cannot be everywhere and do everything all at once, so you need to calm your mind.” Gary ran his hands over his face as he leaned back into his own chair and glanced up at the modestly-decorated ceiling. His expression was something he felt change as he looked away from human interaction.
“It doesn’t help that I know if I stop moving I’ll think about someone I lost recently. I’m a fucking idiot for not letting the stages of grief play out, but she’d understand. You can’t fight the tide but it makes me feel a little better, you know?”
Tarrence made a sympathetic noise and quietly spoke. “How?” Gary immediately understood the meaning.
“..Womb fever,” he responded quietly. Gary didn’t elaborate on the fact that he’d murdered a dying Delilah. Technically it was an assisted suicide, but he had willingly used 「Quintessence Vivisection」 on her. A ragged huff of air came out of him. What was he supposed to have done? The problem had been a part of her. That monstrous Skill took a part of something and the rest of that something paid the price by crumbling to disintegrating ash. He couldn’t just pick and choose. It was all or nothing when he did it.
“You haven’t properly mourned,” Tarrence said quietly. Gary’s head tilted down to regard the man with a neutral expression. “Like you said, you haven’t gone through your grief properly, and if this continues you’re going to make a mistake. I’ve seen too many of our brothers and sisters fall into this trap to not know it on sight. Finish your letters, set aside the drawing for now, and figure out how to properly mourn. You’ll feel better for it; trust me.”
Gary regarded the older man for a long time before letting out a growling sigh and rubbing his left hand over his face. “You’re right. I should do something about it. Been pushing too hard.” His hands moved back to the letters he was writing and spread the semi-finished documents out a little to look at their state. He was getting a lot of calligraphy practice in this world, and his Skill with the local language helped him make the writing as smooth as he could write in English. The documents themselves looked professional but not yet finished.
“I’ll leave you to it, then. I’ll make sure they’re delivered once you’ve written them out… Though I’m curious as to why you’re writing four? You only need three; one for each camp commander and one for Earl Thorne.” Gary filed the name of the head noble’s family name away for future reference, smirking a little at the way the naming scheme was pretty literal around here.
“The fourth is for you. You’re an equal part of this overall plan, and it won’t do for you to not have a formal understanding of my strategy to discuss with them, because they’re definitely going to question you intently. Probably call on me as well; hell, they might send for Jack, though that’ll take too long unless they travel cross-country like I did getting here from Limeroom.”
Tarrence gave a sardonic look at that but bobbed his head at the appreciation. “I’d appreciate that. It’s nice to know you’re thinking of me in all this.” The branch manager got up out of his seat and waved to the parchments before Gary. “Don’t let me keep you, then.” Gary nodded and picked the quill back up. Time to finish this part of his work, then he would sit down in his room to sort out his feelings properly.
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The proposal written out and sent to be distributed to the authorities, Gary retreated to the storeroom that he’d been lent. As he closed the door, a mental impulse brought up his Virtual Network’s recorded images of Delilah. Another and different thought made his status screen flare to life; one hovering before his body as he sat down on his spread-out bedroll and the other dancing on his visual cortex’s neurons. And he forced himself to stare at them.
His gray eyes flicked between the section of his status that held the 「Sewing」 Skill he’d gotten from consuming Delilah in those final moments together and the still image he’d taken of her from the first real encounter in The Unusual Huntress. Gary felt his mood souring but he continued to stare between them. Thoughts of warm and inviting flesh against his invaded his headspace, a ghost of sensation on his lips and the flitting flash of honey blond hair at the edge of his vision tempting him to turn despite knowing he was truly alone in the room.
Text files sprang to life slightly superimposed over the right side of his image of Delilah, scrolling gently under a mental brush of virtual fingertips to reveal psychology texts about the five stages of grief. Despite himself and the angered twitch of his face as his outward look was one of a distracted thousand-yard stare in the gloom of the room there was an understanding inside him that Tarrence had been utterly right. This was too early but he had to deal with this now. It was a distraction and was going to get him killed… But it wasn’t like he could just stop thinking about her.
Denial. Anger. Bargaining. Depression. Acceptance. A lot of people made the error of assuming the stages came in that order, and the texts scrolling at more mental flicks warned almost universally against it. Self-diagnosing was also a legitimate danger here. He had no psychiatrists or therapists to consult, no medications to take to numb the mental pain. Alcohol had given him nightmares when consumed in strong enough concentrations so that was out even if it wasn’t a depressant in itself. He didn’t really have much of a choice in the matter, though. In-field triage was going to have to do until he found something better.
Denial first, then. What was he denying? Delilah was dead. He had willingly taken an innocent life; that blood was on his hands. 「Manslayer」 and 「Sewing」 were proof of his murderous deed. That she had assured him it was a mercy he was doing the scream from his tearing her essence apart was still echoing in his skull. He’d been a coward for doing it that way, despite her wish to come with him in some capacity on his journey. Perhaps it was that he’d denied his feelings for her; dismissing the movements of his emotions as the rampaging hormones of a teenage boy presented with a bottomless well of sexual pleasure that had turned out to have been doomed from the jump? He had denied love, then?
Anger second. This one was easy to grasp. His anger at this ‘womb fever’ that had robbed her barren, his anger at the System for handing her a death sentence just because she couldn’t propagate the species for it to influence future generations, his anger at her for getting into his heart so easily, his anger at himself for being unable to resolve an impossible situation. There was plenty of anger to go around, plenty of blame to spread far and wide. She could have still lived a long and fruitful life, if not for the System. He wouldn’t have killed her if not for the System giving a death sentence to an innocent young woman, making her seek suicide to avoid a more gruesome death. The blame rested squarely on the System, so his anger was legitimate and he could get revenge there by getting stronger to thwart it’s plans for Earth.
Bargaining third. Was there anything to bargain for? There was no resurrection magic in this world. Would it have even worked for someone whose essence he’d stolen if it did exist? Right now he felt he’d happily give up a lot for her to be back with him, though. Was this what this stage was? What ifs and scenarios plagued him for longer than he wanted to admit in the gloom. But in the end there was no bargain to be had here.
Depression fourth. This was going to be the sticking point, he could already tell. He searched his feelings and thoughts for far longer, but came up mostly empty of most depressive symptoms. Persistent Depressive Disorder - or Dysthymia as a ‘convenient’ text file popped up to cheerfully inform him - seemed to be the greatest danger, but as he read the symptoms most of them didn’t line up with how he felt and had acted in the last while. He hadn’t lost interest in activities, no low self-esteem, no low appetite or level of energy for activities. Sleep changes may have been a thing but that was going to require a long-term self-study, but poor concentration and hopelessness? Those were going to get him killed.
If anything he was more towards a state of manic; trying to keep himself busy to drown out the hopelessness of what he knew the truth to be. Poor concentration could manifest in the fact he was trying to do too many things all at once which was slowing them all down. Surges of adrenaline helped but that was an unreliable crutch. He had to have his head in the game and.. Gary stopped and shook his head vigorously to stop that mental spiral. This wasn’t going to be fixed so easily. This was the danger of self-diagnosis.
Acceptance was fifth and last. Some parts he accepted, others he was working on. It was far too soon, the wound still raw in his heart. This one was going to be a marathon and there were no shortcuts. With a silent snarl of his lips he flicked his hands in the air to dismiss the status screen and texts about the stages of grief and depression symptoms. He got himself ready for an early bedtime by stripping down to his undergarments and climbing properly into his bedroll on the floor.
He thought about dismissing the image of a smiling Delilah in her barmaid outfit hovering in his HUD. After some contemplation Gary instead chose to set a timer for the image’s dismissal and settled in to try and sleep. It wasn’t medication, it wasn’t healthy for getting over the loss. It was a bit of a balm for his aching heart, though. For now, it would be enough. Gary drifted to an uneasy sleep to the picture before the blissful void of dreamless slumber took him fully.