Chapter 77 - Another Simple Morning

Wiping away the steam fogging the mirror, Vern leaned into the basin and stared at his own reflection. Damp and dark tousled hair framed his pale face and sharp features, primarily those intense eyes. The black pupils within them expanded to allow in all the light needed to focus on the dim surroundings lit only by the sunlight seeping in from the small ventilation.

Nothing seemed out of place until—

Balance.

And like a phosphorous match struck inside an abyss, his iris flared. They didn't burn bright orange or some fiery hue but instead embraced a white-hotness.

It was, however, a little more complicated than that. A ring of white had etched itself within his iris, bringing light to his otherwise inky eyes. Yet, this wasn't the extent of this pattern. The white ring had some width to it, and within even that was a circle of darkness.

He didn't know if it signified anything but was happy it wasn't just white—one 'extreme' of the spectrum that depicted his Viewpoint.

Steam from the bath he'd just taken began reclaiming the lost surface of the mirror as he continued to scrutinize his eyes. They made him look…distant and…detached. And would obviously make him stand out, which was enough reason for him to want to keep them hidden. It was either looking cool or being unable to use his powers discretely.

It was a cruel choice, but what could he do? There was a reason he had spent the past couple of days cooped up in the hotel room while the Vigil cleaned up the mess at the Steamscript relay station and handled Asea's believers in the city.

Vern's actions in the station weren't anything too outstanding for those not in the loop. Luckily, he hadn't painted too big of a target on his back as a blasphemer, unlike some loudmouthed dancer he knew. However, Captain Akira had his plans, for he made Vern wait until the situation had calmed down entirely, and he wasn't on anyone's radar.

Apparently, Asea's believers weren't very happy when the blame for the destruction of a big chunk of Starfall Heights fell upon their lap. Yet, nothing came out of it because a good number of the jury were believers of Asea themselves.

A lot of them had surely benefitted from the 'healing,' after all.

At least that's what butler De Flanc's last letter had said. Vern had been told to lay low until the dust settled down and those mother-lovers calmed their boilers. The only time he'd been out farther than a couple blocks was when De Flanc had taken him to meet Lady Amelia, or…umm, Master Amelia? Mistress Amelia?

He still didn't know what to feel about having a literal and actual reaper as his mentor. Not that he had received any classes just yet. When they'd met, she had glanced at him once and nodded before zipping off to somewhere else—probably to reap more souls with her scythe.

De Flanc said she wanted to meet him before actually accepting him under her fold, and apparently, that one glance was all she needed.

But, it let him gauge exactly who he would be learning from. It would be an understatement to say he was honored as well as terrified. Training regimes of armies were never easy, much less that of Kingsmen. He could only hope he wasn't about to be forced into years of grueling training. He didn't have time for that.

Not when there were religions to be upended.

Drying himself with a towel, he walked out of the bathroom and threw his sweat-soaked shirt in a basket.

He had rearranged his hotel suite quite a bit. There was now a lot of space in the center of the room, allowing him to use all the makeshift contraptions he had created to train his body.

Five days were obviously not enough to bring about any tangible changes in reaction speed or the like, but he had at least gone past the stage of his muscles being sore the next morning.

He had quickly realized the utility of Stability Inducement in helping him relieve the aches, but after careful deliberation, he chose not to abuse it.

The Vision forcefully stabilized his body's structure, which helped alleviate the pain, but he wasn't an expert on human anatomy. He was surely creating more problems than he was solving by randomly applying Visions with unclear effects on himself.

So he only used it once a day, but even that was a great help for someone like him whose extent of exercising until last week was moving stacks of books from one place to the other.

But he definitely felt the progress. Hopefully, he can learn more ways to go about enhancing his physical abilities from the Vigil or Mistress Amelia today.

He had finally received another letter from De Flanc last night, prompting him to visit the headquarters. It would be a lie to say he wasn't excited. He was finally going to get his hands on the Vigil's library, and after that, he would have his first task assignment, too.

He was practically oozing with energy. He had waited long enough. A lot of answers were close at hand.

Grabbing a loose-rimmed stretchy shirt from the closet, he draped it over his lean muscles and buttoned it close. He furthered his attire by following it up with his most flexible pants.

Then came his pocket dweller for the day, for one can never have enough pockets in their coats. He didn't need it for the cold as much since shading the perception came with more than a mental upgrade. It was a navy blue peacoat that only had two pockets outside, but the interior had over six!

He combed his hair with his hand as they naturally settled into that messy side part. Then came his genius invention. Opening the drawer on the table, he pulled out a pouch and relaxed its string, and out came a pair of glasses.

Framing the bridge of somewhat rectangular glasses above his nose, he looked at his reflection and invoked his perception again.

Balance.

This time, however, the glow that made him look ethereal didn't shine through the glasses. His reflection looked back with a gentle, scholarly aura as he checked it from multiple angles.

This was his method of staying discrete. Not a perfect one, but this was all he could manage with his limited resources.

They used a photochromic lens that absorbed any light beyond a certain threshold. It was perfect for him, whose eyes weren't too conspicuous except for the glow. It would still look weird if one paid attention, but it was about balance. He felt these precautions were enough for the situations he might encounter.

Strapping the vapor blaster he received as a gift in the mail—probably from Cera—to the holster, he picked up his notepad. He had replaced some pages within the notepad with ones from Convergence Note.

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

He could always differentiate them from regular pages because those golden glyphs were a little too eye-catching to not notice—only for him, though. He had done it more for the sake of convenience than hiding some secret, though he didn't mind that it worked both ways.

Finally, he hung the badge of vigil around his neck and tucked it inside. Slipping his feet into a pair of socks and then onto his boots, he locked the room. No top hats this time, sadly. He didn't want to lose more of them.

His stay at the hotel had been quite serene, and those two memory wipers hadn't really bothered him. Not that he would be none the wiser if they had cleaned his memories. But he liked to think that he now had some kind of resistance against others' Observation now that he was a proper Observer himself.

With these random thoughts in his mind, he walked through the corridor towards the grand staircase that cut through all floors of the hotel.

Bright sunlight shone through the glass roof, and chatter and gossip filled his ears as he descended past the many groups that hovered around their respective landings. However, today was far more boisterous than usual because it was the—

"Happy New Year, young man! Care to join these old people for a chat?" came the gravelly voice.

A polite smile appeared on Vern's face as he looked at the group of two men and a woman. He had chatted with them a couple more times since that morning, and talking to them had become something of Vern's pastime.

When his Thought Space became too dim to envision anything, and he was too tired to train anymore, he would come down and talk to them about the city's happenings.

Following the etiquette of juniors, he spread his hands a tad and bowed as he replied to the group, "A very happy New Year to all of you as well."

The calendar had indeed begun its new cycle. The month of Winterveil was the last month of the year and had thirty-two days, whereas Luminar, the first month of the year, had twenty-nine, just like every other month.

This stray thought, however, led him to a saddening realization. If things hadn't gone the way they did, and the world hadn't spiraled down such a disturbing path, this would've been his last day in Elmhurst, and he'd probably be spending it with Ari before taking the train back to Nvoria.

.

.

.

Not letting any of his somber thoughts appear on his face, he stood back up and looked at the flattered couple Benedict and Martha and the government servant Wilfred, who, again, had too much energy for it being so early in the morning.

"You, too, young man. You, too," Benedict chortled.

And Martha interjected as usual, "A new look? Glasses, huh?" A teasing smile formed on her face as she narrowed her eyes, "It's a girl, right? Who is she? You can tell me. I can give you lots of tips on how to properly court ladies. I am sure you'll do a far better job than Benedict right here."

Wilfred, Martha, and Vern chuckled as Benedict ignored them and pulled a cigar from an antique case.

Already knowing them enough to not be awkward, Vern relaxed and teased back, "Well, I was hoping to find someone that can match your class and poise, lady Martha. But it seems I am either down on my luck, or there aren't many like you."

Martha scoffed, grabbing Benedict's arm, "Hahahah. Sorry, but I like tobacco money more than young ones like you."

Vern simply shook his head and asked, "Anyways, what are you all planning for the day?"

Putting the cigar in his mouth, Benedict replied, "Well, I fancy sitting here by the balcony to watch the police being just as lazy as me. However, my friend Wilfred here thinks I am wrong."

"Hey, let's not act like you didn't lose this argument already. Right, Martha? Well, you tell me, Vern, what else can we expect the police to do in this situation? Go into every house and interrogate the civilians and check if they're sheltering any insurgents?"

"He's not wrong, Benedict," interjected Martha, a knowing smile on her lips, "I would rather not have them come check our rooms."

Vern acted like he didn't hear that and simply watched as the men bickered. Benedict Harrumphed and lit his cigar as he continued, "You're ignoring the truth, Wilfred. Caladian Empire is not what it used to be a decade ago. The rot that has infested the parliament hasn't cleared up even after such a divine intervention. What else would it take for them to finally come to their senses?"

Blowing out a puff of smoke, he pointed at the streets past the window and said, "You see those policemen down there? They have not seen war. Heck, they haven't even seen real criminals. The worst they handled in those inner districts from their sand castles is probably some dishonest merchant or a sexual deviant."

Wilfred couldn't hold himself back and butted in, "Well, that's what we have Kingsmen for! Police have their own jurisdiction and boundaries in which they act."

Benedict sniggered, "I don't see any Kingsmen in the party that Duke Neagan brought to 'claim' back the borough. Nor do I see the 'state-of-the-art' weapons you were so excited about. Surely, there's no reason for them to not be here. I wonder why they wouldn't participate in such an important mission?"

"They're busy, obviously! Haven't you heard?" Then, he suddenly tamped down on his loud shouts and continued, "I don't remember which one, but a whole outer district had to be cut off from the rest of the city. Not figuratively, but literally. Since no one could put a dent in the bridges, they had to set a burning barricade at every entrance and monitor all the periphery waters. Who do you think is handling all that? It's obviously the Kingsmen."

Vern asked, curious, "Why is that? And how's it any different from the general inner-outer district situation? Aren't most of the outer districts barricaded in one sense already? No one can enter into inner districts from there, after all."

A complacent smile etched itself on Wilfred’s face as he replied with faux-arrogance, "You didn't know either, huh? Well, since you're more affable than this odious tobacco consumer, I shall tell you the news I heard from the grapevines."

Wilfred motioned for all to come closer. Benedict rolled his eyes while Martha leaned in with great interest. A smug smile from Wilfred, two puffs of smoke, a nagging look from Martha, and a deep sigh later, Benedict leaned in as well.

Ensuring no one was paying them much attention, Wilfred spoke in a low voice, "I heard from my sources that the whole district has caught a plague."

"A plague?" Martha's face turned pale with fright at the mere mention, and she clenched Benedict's hands harder, who himself had turned aghast.

Vern wasn't unfazed either. Plagues used to be the primary cause of the end of cities and empires before Alchemical Fundamentalists or simply Alchemists delved deep into related fundamentals and found cures to some of the most deadly threats.

Wilfred nodded and continued to whisper, "Indeed. No one knows for sure what it is, but rumor has it that it's the same plague that ended the reign of Empress Sinatra."

Hmm, isn't she the empress that built Eleonora's archive and catalyzed the acceptance of Fundamentalists in the society? How is she related to any of this?

"But did those alchemy Fundamentalists, or whatever, not manage to find a cure in all this time?"

To this, Vern shook his head and added, "Some plagues simply don't have a cure. The best one can do in these situations is quarantine it." Such was the way of life for the alchemists.

Benedict asked, not in a mood to joke anymore, "How does it spread? Can we do something to avoid it?"

Wilfred shook his head, "We don't even know what it is exactly. How can you avoid it? If I get any more news, I will share for sure."

After another round of paranoid queries and circular discussion, Vern bade them farewell and made his exit. He would get far better information about things like these at the Vigil than listening to gossip from some bored upper-class men.

Descending all the way down the lobby, he motioned for Butler Beaumont to open the door, and the old man in black and white overalls hurried over.

"Happy New Year, Master Vern. Hope this year treats us better than the last."

"A great new year to you, too, Beaumont. We can only hope."

Beaumont opened the door without wasting any more time, and Vern let himself out, bidding farewell to the good man.

Not needing to block the sun rays because of his masterful glasses, he walked through the foggy street towards the bridge to Mosaic Miles, the same one he had crossed in a deadly situation last time.

He won't have to do that anymore, though. For, even though Benedict derided the Police, they had managed to reclaim the market area of this borough from multiple unsavory factions in just a couple of days. This meant Fulham Borough was once again connected to Mosaic Miles, and he wouldn't have to risk his life just to cross the bridge.

His destination today was Ferrovane Heights, all the way towards the center of the city. There were no carriages in Fulham borough just yet, but he could surely find one once he was in Mosaic Miles.

Not having much else to do other than surveying the streets tainted by the blood from the bloody struggle last week, he slipped into his perception. A ring appeared within his iris, and the world took on new shades.

He had figured out many new details about his perception, like how his Balance sight had multiple facets, and if he figured out their essence, he could see far more than harmony or disharmony or fulcrums in a structure.

He could—

TWEEEEE

The piercing trill of the whistle came from behind him, "Hey you! Stop right there." Vern froze in his tracks and lamented his bad luck. Footsteps of authority drew near, thumping on the cobblestone street with mighty vigor.

Go arrest some insurgents. Why waste your time on me? Maybe Benedict wasn't wrong after all.