Leaving the deserted hamlet behind, I walked along the well-trodden path, half-expecting the young avenger to chase after me. But he didn't; he just remained in the clearing between the houses, watching me leave with a puzzled expression. He didn't even call out to me. Even if he had, I wouldn't have responded. Not because I had nothing to say to him. Quite the contrary. For some reason, this fairly typical story deeply affected me. Listening to the stranger's short, pain-filled narrative, I felt as though I had lived through it myself. It was odd. It was as if I had caught a wave, resonating with this young man.
Judge him? No. Anyone but me. Those who use children, whether related or not, as bait for wild beasts, or possibly the monsters that inhabit the local forests, are the real beasts themselves. Beasts in human guise. The prematurely gray-haired stranger did what he felt was right. On Earth, he would be judged severely, and depending on the country, he might even be sentenced to death. After all, he killed five people. But we're not on Earth, and I am not a judge who follows the letter of the law, even though my position as the Sheriff of the Book grants me certain rights in this matter.
I continued along the path, leaving the deserted hamlet behind, and I shuddered. Not from residual adrenaline, though it was certainly present, but from something else. In that stranger, I saw a reflection of myself. Not the me of now, but who I became in the Last Cycle.
The young avenger achieved his goal. He took his revenge. But his gaze... In it, I saw no relief or joy. Not at all. Only pain and emptiness, tied to a sense of inner righteousness. For many years, he pursued his goal. And... he reached it. He killed those who tormented him and drove his sister to suicide. But his gaze spoke louder than any words. He would probably even have been happy if I had killed him. Because now, after what he had done, his life, the path to which he had dedicated himself, was over. And can he find a new purpose for himself? Something to live for? I think even he doesn't know the answer to that question. From the wounds I noticed on him, the man endured a severe fight; probably, the uncle he mentioned was also on Wootz and didn't accept his death without a struggle. The graying avenger likely came here not expecting to return. He walked towards death, ready to exchange his life for vengeance, and did not think about the future.
This reminded me so much of my "former self." Back then, I too was heading towards the finale of my vengeance against the questers, thinking that I would perish in the execution of my "mission." Essentially, that ritual in which I destroyed the quester was also a sacrifice of "myself." Trading "my" life for the life of a quester. And I only survived because of the intervention of the Echo of Antares, which took pity on "me" and spared my life. Had it not been for the global war with the demons, to which I gave myself wholly and completely, I don't know if I could have lived on with the burden I had placed on my shoulders. With all those deaths on my conscience, for which I became the culprit while seeking a way to destroy the quester.
"Revenge as retribution" - I remember these Aun's words. I still agree with the boy on this matter, but now, after this chance encounter, I understand more clearly that revenge is a path of destruction, primarily killing the soul of the avenger himself. And the example of my "former self" is a perfect illustration of this. Right from the beginning, when I received the "memory of the future" in the skyscraper with the Hellhound, I felt... It's indescribable, but I understood it right away. I realized with some deep intuition that my "former self," having achieved his goal, having done, in essence, the impossible, and ultimately killing the quester, broke down. When he didn't die as a result of the ritual, when the Echo of Light saved "me," when he felt all the weight of the souls of those he sacrificed on my way to the goal, my "former self" couldn't bear the weight of his actions. He broke down. And now I understand this clearly. Because "back then," rising to the top from the Inverted Tower of Antares and going out for the last battle, I was seeking death and was glad that it came.
I looked at my slightly trembling fingers and couldn't stop the shaking. It's as if I peeked into the distorted mirror of my soul and saw the truth in it. The truth about myself. About what I can become if, like last time, for the sake of efficiency, I abandon the humanity in my soul. The young avenger couldn't even imagine that I understand him, probably better than he understands himself. That's why I couldn't judge him, as it would have been a judgment of myself, albeit not directly, but in some metaphorical sense.
I touch the Guild Sign again; it's still cold and indifferent. I wonder how the Book's Symbol would have behaved under different circumstances. If the stranger, so to speak, fell under my "jurisdiction." That is, if he had been one of the sortudo and belonged to the Tunnellers' Guild? For some reason, I don't want to know the answer to this question.
As soon as the path turned and the hamlet was out of sight, to calm myself, I loaded myself with four Auras at once, leaving no free space in my mind for thoughts. This, for the moment, maximum concentration quickly calmed the trembling in my fingers. So, thanks to this simple trick, when I emerged onto a relatively wide track about half an hour later, I felt quite normal.
Orienting myself by the cardinal directions, I turned west and started running. Thanks to some rethinking of my plans after retrieving the Boundless Pride from that arse where the sword was, there was no reason to rush to Deytran. So, I ran lightly, relaxedly, simultaneously engaging in the training that had become so familiar. This time, I practiced Illusions and Shadows, trying to combine one with the other. I'm sure the "Shadow Cloak," with the addition of Illusion magic, will be able to hide me in the half-light from prying eyes far better than the "basic" skill. Moreover, this training didn't require full concentration, which allowed me to ponder.
My thoughts returned to the recent encounter. But this time, in a different light. At that moment, I acted more on intuition than on precise calculation. Yes, it brought results, but everything could have gone in a completely different scenario. The young avenger, noticing my Guild Sign, was ready for the trial and definitely was not going to accept the judgment without protest. The matter could have easily escalated into a real fight. I had no doubts about the outcome of this hypothetical duel that never happened. Reaching the Wootz Stage at twenty-five is a good achievement by local standards. But truly talented people by that age have already passed the First Wall. For example, the alchemist I met in Tries, Kiadi from Mundi, who was about thirty and already at the Legendary Rank, was clearly talented. As for the gray-haired man, despite his extreme motivation, he only reached Wootz by his age. So, he likely had at most three Stars of Talent in Sword and, possibly, in Air, no more. Although, judging by the pattern on his cotta, he was part of a guild specializing in "headhunting," that is, he trained to counter not monsters but people. Which was actually a logical and justified choice on his part, considering his ultimate goal. And still, for me, he would likely not have been a serious opponent. Had the stranger shown aggression, I would not have been shy and restrained myself, as in the duels in the Tries Arena. I would have simply switched to Dance mode and surrendered to the will of the spear. After which, the avenger's chances of coming out alive from a duel with me would have been close to absolute zero.
Back then, sitting down on the bench and calmly placing my spear on my lap, I was fully confident in my superiority. The question that occupied me was somewhat different. Not who would have won, but would I have killed him, or could I have stopped myself? And... I had no answer to that. Now, having cooled down and subdued my emotions, I would most likely have just disarmed and beaten him, leaving him alive. But what I would have done at the moment, I really don't know. The pain in his eyes seemed to beg for death, and perhaps I would have given in to that suffering and could have killed him. Would I have regretted such a thing? I know the answer, and I don't like it because it sounds like "I would not." And that means Ain is changing me irreversibly. The me I was on Earth and who I am now, even without the burden of the "memory of the future," are entirely different people.
Heavy thoughts were dispelled by an encounter on the road. With a leisurely run, I caught up with a cart full of hay and questioned the old peasant driving it, learning that not far away, about ten kilometers down the road, there was a large village with a decent inn by local standards. Speeding up a bit to reach the settlement well before sunset, I ran ahead. On the way, I encountered a leisurely walking bard. He was clearly in no hurry, walking calmly and measuredly, occasionally sipping from a flask that, judging by the smell spreading in all directions, contained some low-grade hooch.
On one hand, there's no one better than bards to ask about fresh news and tales. On the other hand, this bunch is so clingy, as if each of them had met Larindel and was shamelessly trying to mimic the elf with their behavior. As we leveled, the bard gave me a glance, and his eyes gleamed greedily. Right, it's not every day you meet someone running somewhere in such an extravagant outfit as a gambeson adorned with asses with wings, hovering with fart propulsion. To avoid conversation, or rather a curious interrogation from the singer, I sped up as much as I could, leaving the bard standing with his mouth open. He didn't manage to ask his question, which was for the best. I was lucky that he was only a Bronze, as a bard of the Precious Ranks could well have caught up with me to satisfy his curiosity.
Ah, I definitely need to do something about my gambeson! Maybe just paint over those butts? Douse them liberally in bright paint and just let it dry? However, other methods could be used too. For instance, making a poncho out of a piece of fabric. This idea seemed pretty good to me. Because if I make the poncho a bit longer and draw something on it, it would essentially be a classic cotta, similar to the one the young avenger had thrown over his chainmail. In fact, that's a sound idea. I even visualized the design for this cotta. A white raven soaring in the sky, hurling a spear downward from its claws. I wasn't planning to repeat my "past" mistake by making the image black. It is even better to make the raven in the color of noble and wise gray. And add a motto running down just below the left clavicle, one word per line: "Came. Saw. Conquered." If a skilled artist does the drawing, it should turn out quite dignified and beautiful. Just need to choose a fabric color that suits, so the road dust doesn't spoil both the cotta and the design on it. I think a gray raven would look good against the background of dense, dirty-blue storm clouds. It would even be quite symbolic in many ways.
At full speed, it took me only a few minutes to "fly" the distance to the village called Flourmillton, as indicated by the peasant. The settlement, located in a valley between two high hills on the bank of a small, almost perfectly round lake, was far from little by Ain's standards, definitely more than two hundred houses. Moreover, it seemed pretty prosperous, with neat and tidy houses, though not very large. And it apparently got its name from the two large windmills on both hills, overlooking the settlement like winged watchtowers.
The inn the peasant driving cart of hay had mentioned was quite extensive and capable of accommodating at least two, if not three, large caravans. But now, there were no horses or wagons in sight in front of it. Most likely, no caravan had stopped here today. This was a plus for me, as I wanted to spend the night comfortably on a soft bed. And since there was no visitor rush, I could take the best room and also have a bath. Or rather, a tub of water, but for me now, it was a minor difference. Washing off the dust after the excavations in the ruined city was definitely a good idea, as I was starting to itch under my clothes.
To avoid shocking the locals, I took off my gambeson before entering the village and packed it in my shoulder bag, leaving myself in just a shirt and travel pants. Fortunately, the weather was warm, and a light northern breeze added a touch of freshness.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
The inn, as expected, was located right by the road for the convenience of caravans stopping by. The first people I saw were a small group of children, ranging from three to ten years old, being chased around the inn's front yard by a balding old man, clearly annoyed by their antics. Noticing me, the kids immediately quieted down and collectively hid behind a large pile of firewood. The old man, seeing my Wootz-colored Guild Sign, bowed deeply and gestured invitingly, as if to welcome me in to rent a room. Which I did.
In the large hall just behind the inn's front door, there were precisely a dozen sturdy wooden tables capable of comfortably seating about forty people. But now, all these tables were empty. The only person in the hall was a portly middle-aged woman sitting on a high chair, busily embroidering something. I noticed that she was a true master at her craft, as the pattern of storks nesting she was creating looked as good as a painting. Moreover, she was using Illusion magic to aid her work, as well as at least an Aura of Acceleration, making her hands fly over the fabric like the shuttle of a sewing machine, with the design growing visibly by the second. As I approached the counter, she managed to stitch at least three lines and, finishing a stork's wing on the embroidery, looked up at me.
After she greeted me, I introduced myself and requested the best room available, as well as a heated tub of water and a hearty dinner. Perhaps due to the scarcity of guests that day, the prices for the services were almost half what I had expected. Not that I minded sparing an extra silver coin, but even such a small saving was somewhat pleasing. The woman at the counter, who introduced herself as Valena, turned out to be a retired Steel Rank tunneller who had opened this inn five years ago after retiring from her main profession. We had a pleasant chat while a young servant girl, not even fourteen, prepared my room.
"Ma'am, could you tell me if there's a master woodworker in your village?" I inquired, sipping from a clay mug of cool berry drink offered by the hostess while waiting for my room.
"There is one," Valena nodded, standing up from her chair and pointing to the wall behind her, adorned with beautiful carved wooden reliefs. "Master Solkar, he's well into his seventies, but his hands are still steady and precise. Lives just three houses down from here. I can send for him if you need."
"Thank you, but I'll go myself and say I was referred by you if that's okay."
"Of course, I don't mind," the plump woman smiled. "Is there anything else you need?"
"Yes," I didn't deny. "I need to buy sturdy fabric for a new cotta and have a design applied to it. Although the design can wait, I can find an artist in the nearest city, but I'd like to buy the fabric in advance."
"Fabric? For a cotta?" Valena perked up. "Come with me!"
She led me to a storage room at the inn, which, to my surprise, contained a vast selection of various fabrics. The assortment on the shelves along the walls could rival Aunt Zian's shop!
"I love to embroider," Valena shrugged, noticing my eyes widen in mild surprise. "So I often buy interesting fabrics from traders passing by. But there's often not as much time for embroidery as I'd like, so it all accumulates here." It seemed she was somewhat of a hoarder, gathering so much just to let it gather dust in a storeroom for years. "The heavy fabrics suitable for a cotta are in that corner," she pointed.
I quickly found what I needed. A roll of very dense, thick, yet light material. Running my nail over it, I noted that even a sharp knife wouldn't cut through it easily on the first try. The color was almost exactly what I wanted, the hue of gathering storm clouds.
"I bought it four years ago from a trader from the far North," Valena explained, noticing my curiosity. "Very durable fabric. That trader assured that in the north, they use it for sails."
"Would you part with it?" I asked.
"I will," she nodded in response. "It's just lying around taking up space anyway." She sighed heavily. "I never came up with a design for this color... Nothing came to mind. Three silver coins, that's what I paid for this roll, and I'll charge you the same."
In the roll, about a yard wide, there was a little more than three meters of fabric. After some thought, I agreed to the offer. The material really appealed to me and was even better and denser than what was used for my multi-layered gambeson. As for the price, it was somewhat high, but if the fabric really came from the far north, then it was reasonably priced.
"I'll take it," I agreed and then continued. "I couldn't help but notice that you embroider very professionally. I haven't seen such speed, precision, and clarity of work in a long time."
"Thank you," Valena blushed, apparently not used to receiving compliments.
"Would it be impolite of me to ask you for a favor?"
"What kind?" Valena asked.
"I need the fabric cut like this," I indicated the exact dimensions so that when thrown over the shoulders like a poncho, my future cotta would cover the whole body and two-thirds of the thighs. "Also, make a cutout for the head and stitch all the edges for durability, adding a border."
"What color for the border?" the innkeeper immediately inquired.
"Like this," I pointed to a spool of thread on a separate shelf.
"Mithril color…" Valena's face lit up with genuine amusement. "I see, Mr. Raven, you are planning to go far."
She guessed right. A cotta is an item of clothing that first catches the eye, and every detail in it is essential. And edging the fabric with mithril-colored thread is a kind of hint that the person wearing such a cotta aims to reach the highest peaks of the Spiral of Elevation.
"I'll try my best." I returned her smile, and, taking the fabric, we returned to the main hall.
By this time, the servant girl had prepared the room for me.
"You can go upstairs; Makina will show you," Valena nodded to the servant. "But you'll have to wait a bit for the tub of hot water. I'm not skilled in Fire Magic, so we'll have to heat the water in kettles on a regular stove."
"That's fine," I shrugged, "I'll just go to the woodworker first. I'll drop off my things in the room and then head there. And by the way, will it bother anyone in your village if I walk around with a spear? I feel uneasy without it."
"Go ahead," Valena dismissed. "Whether you have a spear or not doesn't matter; I'm the highest Rank in Flourmillton, and you are a Wootz. Armed or unarmed, what's the difference?"
There was a certain pragmatic, village practicality in this. As they say, "What is meant to be cannot be avoided."
After requesting a spool of plain thread, I followed the servant girl upstairs. The room I was given turned out to be quite lavishly furnished. There was a large bed, painted curtains, and carved nightstands. But the main decoration was the embroidered canvas on all the walls. Apparently, Valena was inspired by the local landscapes, as she had embroidered them with hilly terrain, green grass, and field flowers, achieving both beauty and harmony. It was clear that the innkeeper had not only an inclination but also a talent for her hobby.
After dropping off my bags, I removed my spare clothes from my artifact sword and measured it with the threads, marking the dimensions with knots, and then wrapped 'Pride' back. Then, taking my backpack with the avalonium dishware and bringing the sword along, I went back down to the hall. Valena was evidently waiting for me and immediately asked what I would like for dinner, offering a choice of several simple but clearly hearty dishes. Having made my choice, I was ready to leave when the plump woman, a bit shyly, inquired:
"Mr. Raven, what design would you like to see on your cotta?"
I could have ignored her question, but I thought it necessary to answer.
"It's easier for me to show you." Saying this, I created an illusion of a raven casting a spear downward on my palm. "Only the raven is not black, as in this image, the color is closer to gray hair," I explained. "I'm just a beginner in Illusions, so I'm not very good with colors yet."
"If time allows," Valena said, "just a moment." Saying this and waiting for my nod, she went to the storage room and brought back a large lacquered box, placed it on the counter, and took out a spool of thread in the shade I described. "Does this look like gray hair to you?"
"Yes," I agreed.
"Mr. Raven," Valena said, slightly embarrassed and lowering her gaze to her hands, "are you sure you want to paint this design on your cotta? Wouldn't embroidery be better?"
Why didn't I think of that right away?!
"Embroidery would be much more practical," Valena continued, not raising her eyes as if embarrassed. "Paint can wear off, but embroidery, it…" The woman blushed, struggling to find the right words in her excitement, but I understood her.
"I would gladly agree, especially if it were embroidery done by your hands," I smiled, but then added, "I just know how much work it is…"
"I won't charge you for it," she hurriedly replied, misunderstanding me. "Just for the materials."
"It's not about the money," I shrugged. "It's just that it's really a lot of work, and I'm in a hurry. I don't have a week or even a couple of days to wait for the result."
"But you're staying with us until morning, aren't you?" the hostess inquired.
"Yes." I doubted that the woodworker would finish the case for Boundless Pride in a couple of hours, so I would have to wait anyway. I could also get a good night's sleep in a soft bed, resting my head on a down pillow.
"Then I can finish it by morning!" Valena brightened. "It is indeed a lot of work, but I'm used to it, and such work is a joy to me. It will be a pleasure to know that someone is walking the roads of Ain in a cotta embroidered by me, that my work will be seen not only in our village..." Saying this, she blushed even more.
"If it will be ready by morning, I will happily accept such a gift from you."
"Don't say that, Mr. Raven, it's hardly a gift…" Valena mumbled, still embarrassed.
"Alright," I nodded with a smile.
"Then," Valena bustled, "I'll cut it to size and finish the border first, and when you return from the woodworker, we can discuss the design details while you have dinner."
"Agreed," I quickly consented.
Leaving Valena, who immediately began working, in high spirits, I stepped outside. A couple of broad-shouldered men immediately fell in behind me, maintaining a respectful distance. They pretended to be just strolling but had clearly come to keep an eye on the stranger. Since they weren't bothering me, I didn't shoo them away. They were only at Bronze and wouldn't have been able to hinder me in any conflict.
I didn't have to look far for the woodworker. He was sitting on the steps of his porch, carving a small figure with a knife. After greetings and introductions, I asked him if he would take on a simple but urgent order to make a long case.
"Only if it's something simple, and it depends on the length of the case, as I'm not sure I have the right materials." I showed him the threads stretched out in my hands. "I'm not sure," said Master Solkar, scratching the back of his head, "I have materials of that length, but I'm afraid I don't have anything that thin."
I suggested to him to look at the wood he had in stock together, to which the old man agreed, and we went to the shed attached to his house. Like any self-respecting carpenter, he had a decent stock of various kinds of planks and logs. A thick beam of dark pear wood caught my eye; it seemed its color would excellently match the matte steel of the Boundless Pride. Initially, the old man refused, saying that the beam was too large and would produce too much waste, but seeing the silver in my hands and my readiness to pay for the entire beam, he agreed. He even offered to decorate the future case with figurative carving, asking for a pittance by Pentapolis standards. Having confirmed with the old man that he would manage the case-making and carving by dawn, I agreed readily and paid a deposit. Then, I left him the threads with the measurements and returned to the inn, where a hot dinner was already waiting for me.
While I was eating leisurely, Valena joined me at the table with a board and chalk, and we discussed the details of the drawing on the future cotta, such as the span of the raven's wings, the expression in its eyes, and even the curve of its claws. By the time I had finished the main course and was drinking berry juice, the embroidery enthusiast, holding a piece of fabric on her lap, asked:
"Mr. Raven, you are a spearman, am I right?"
"Exactly," I agreed.
"I know many spearmen study Lightning..."
"Yes, it's my main Element," I answered honestly.
"In that case..." She unfolded the fabric and placed it on the table, already cleared of dishes by the maid. "The dark color of the fabric is uneven, like blurred spots, and it very much resembles a stormy sky."
"I thought so too," I agreed with her.
"And the raven you want doesn't take up much space, no more than a third of the cotta. I would suggest embroidering lightning that rages as if in the distance." Saying this, the innkeeper showed a silver thread, "It will be very symbolic," and she drew on the board with chalk what she meant.
"A raven flying in a storm..." I clicked my tongue, showing that I favored her idea so much. "I like it!"
"The embroidery will be the same on both the chest and the back?" Valena clarified another detail.
"Yes, except for the inscription, which will only be on the front," I corrected her.
We spent more than half an hour refining the slightest nuances and managed just in time for the tub for bathing to be ready. I luxuriated in the hot water for another hour, soaking. I didn't want to get out until I was almost dozing right in the tub. My eyes were literally closing, and wrapping myself in the towel provided by Valena, I went up to my room, fell onto the clean, chamomile-scented sheets, and almost immediately fell into a pleasant, soft, down-like sleep.