“So,” Aleph began, her arms crossed as she eyed him warily. “You’re telling me that your Soul Card allows you to, quite frankly, literally become someone else? Perfectly copy their appearance, accent, speech mannerisms and even the clothes and equipment they had on their person?” She asked, unable to keep the incredulousness out of her tone.
“Well yeah,” Tom sheepishly conceded, long having discarded Arenev’s guise. “Though it’s not like I’m actually copying the effects of their artifacts, just their look and feel,” He lied almost effortlessly, suppressing the twinge of guilt that he felt deep within the recesses of his heart. If what he had revealed to Aleph had already left her gasping in incredulousness, disclosing [Fool’s Gold] to her might very well just earn him an arrow in the back.
“I know that,” Aleph retorted. “I know that but…,” she repeated, her tone softening as she realized that she had come off a little abrasive,”....It’s just, I’ve heard of illusion cards that could replicate the illusion aspect. There are cards that induce hypnosis in others, but those tend to have a very limited effect. Scent, Accent, Appearance—- all those things can be modulated, but that would require a dozen cards, working in tandem. And you’re telling me that it’s not an illusion….”
“You pulled on my blacksmith garb. Did it feel like an illusion?” Tom asked, doing his best to keep Aleph’s focus on his shroud ability. “Plus, you already know that I can change my display name. As synergistic as that seems, can you imagine how frustrating it was to try and survive with a Soul Card that could only change how I looked and fiddle with my status a little?” Tom voiced the rhetorical question, letting his own, genuine frustrations with [The Fool] card seep into his words.
“I suppose it would have been. And I also suppose that you won’t be telling me anything more about your past?” She asked, the wariness in her gaze shifting to a warmer curiosity.
“I’m sorry,” Tom replied. “I’ve gone to great lengths to distance myself from my past,” Tom almost wished that he was lying. Some nights, he dreamt of his life back in the small town he’d grown up in, spent most of his life in. Sure, it was safe. His bed was comfortable, his food, loaded with enough chemicals to make it scrumptious and he didn’t exactly have to worry about Phantasmal Beasts lunging for his neck.
But in Artezia…
He had done so much. Met so many interesting people. Every day he spent in this world was like a die cast by fate— he couldn’t be sure where he’d end up landing or who’s side he’d be fighting side-to-side with.
Thomas Lowe didn’t want to go back to his old world.
“I guess I can relate to that,” Aleph sighed. “Fine, fine, don’t make that serious face. I won’t press you on it.”
Tom let go of the breath he had been holding, allowing himself to relax.
“That trick,” Aleph began, taking a moment to raise the wooden mug in her right hand and imbibe a sip. “With the blood vial. How did you come up with that? It was quite creative.”
“Truthfully?” Tom asked as his lips curled up in mild amusement. “I stumbled upon a butcher that had a bunch of live beasts stocked in the back. The man seemed quite taken aback when I asked him to, well, fill up a few glass jugs with blood, but he didn’t ask any other questions. I’m guessing that the person I was impersonating ended up being an important one,” He answered, choosing to keep out the part where he had to be the one to personally slaughter the beasts— a major limitation of his [Lifeblood] card that was best kept concealed.
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By storing the jugs full of blood in his inventory, Tom was also testing out a theory. He wasn’t sure how the inventory worked. Was it time that was frozen? Space? Or something else entirely? If it was the first one, then technically, the jugs of blood he had stored within were no longer bound by [Blood Scion’s] twenty four hour limitation.
“That makes sense,” Aleph replied. “Few have the luxury of training to be a blacksmith, especially if they’re desperate enough to come to the Nameless District. I doubt this blacksmith of yours could have worked on anything but common artifacts, but even that makes him a valuable commodity in this place.”
“So,” Tom could feel his throat tightening as he spoke the words out loud. “About the plan.”
“Yeah?”
“When we first met, you told me that you were tracking powerful dungeoneers in the Nameless District,” Tom recounted.
“I was and likely would have continued if you hadn’t lived up to, actually, surpassed my expectations,” She conceded.
“So,” Tom leaned in conspiratorially. “What if I told you that I needed to find someone that’s uh, morally dubious. You know, the kind of person that I wouldn’t mind….
“Killing?” Aleph chimed in enthusiastically.
“What? No!” Tom protested, his gaze conveying his horror at the idea.
A moment of silence passed between the two of them, before Aleph’s eyes flashed in realization.
“You really don’t like the idea of killing other dungeoneers, do you?” She asked, her gaze locking onto Tom’s own.
“Yes. I mean, no. Not unless it’s to protect someone else, someone innocent,” He flubbed his words, almost equally taken aback by Aleph’s words. The time he had spent with the seemingly easy going woman had made him forget her background, her true identity as the scion of a fallen Noble Clan, out for revenge.
“Hah. Fancy yourself a hero, do we?” Aleph teased, clearly trying to lighten the mood.
“Is it that surprising for someone as young as me not to be open to the idea of….,” He trailed off, not wanting to voice the thought. Taking another sapient being’s life? He really didn’t want the situation to devolve to that point— not unless the world forced himself to choose.
“Others? No, not really. But you? Look at yourself—- you’re a walking font of trouble. And now, you’ve got enough valuables stashed on you for almost any dungeoneer in the Nameless District to bare their fangs at you. Simply coveting others’ possessions is enough to initiate a battle in the dungeoneering world, you know,” Aleph animatedly explained, clearly unfazed by the idea of taking another life to defend her own.
“I… suppose you’re right,” Tom reluctantly agreed, his thoughts flashing back to Jayce’s memories— how viciously the lone dungeoneer had carried out a counter-ambush and how he thirsted for power—- to the point where he was willing to loot and kill for the chance a valuable card or artifact.
“Capturing someone is a lot harder than killing them,” Aleph continued, taking note of the reluctance in Tom’s gaze. “But it’s not impossible. Not with the two of us working in tandem.”
“Do you have someone in mind? Someone…. terrible enough. Because odds are, once I’m done with the Noble’s District, every Royal Knight in the area is going to come swarming for him.”
“Someone you don’t mind completely screwing over then. Hm,” Aleph took a few moments to contemplate before responding,”There is one. A dungeoneer that mostly operates alone these days. The reason? He’s survived two squad wipes.”
“You mean…?”
“I’m not certain. One squad wipe can be attributed to bad luck. A second time though? People avoid you like a plague. But nobody would complain if he went missing and he’s powerful enough to survive solo down there.”
“What’s his name?”
“Riven. But there’s another name he goes by.”
“Oh?”
“Blackheart.”