Chapter 52 - The Task, SC (Patreon)

NOTE: Very few recycled passages from the former chapter 50 that is no more at the end portion of this one.

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Explaining to Elora that the nice flower-selling lady was actually an insane cultist had gone over much better than Sunday expected. Mostly, because Elora had seen the lady’s charge, the twisted grimace of a smile on her face, and watched his reaction to it.

What hadn’t been so easy was preventing the girl from running to find a guard so that the worshipper could be safely contained and burned. It seemed to be the general sentiment that once one was touched by the Divine, they were a lost cause. So, burning it was.

It was a brutal way of dealing with things, and Sunday felt his perception of the beautiful city shift again. From his observations, the worshippers were not much more dangerous than regular people. Only Vela had become stronger due to the act, but it had still been strength leeched out of the rest. In his mind, spells or magi, or even the rare goliath slaves roaming about, could do much worse. Then again, everyone kept mentioning what a great place Blumwin was, and that corruption was weak here.

Perhaps it was like a larval stage – madness with a gestation period that if left unchecked could cause much more damage than Sunday had seen. He was far from the thought that the fear of the Divine was baseless, but he had a hard time trusting the word of mouth of people he barely knew.

The weakness of the worshippers simply rubbed him the wrong way. The hound was one thing – a hellish beast sent from who knows where to rip his soul to pieces or a mechanism that would facilitate his growth by putting pressure on him. It simply made sense, since he was a reincarnated abomination of sorts.

The two of them waited until the lady stirred. Sunday didn’t know how to look for signs of the Divine corruption, but some part of him guessed or hoped that it was gone. There was something poetic in the thought that his slaps could deal with religious fanatics. He wondered if those he had met on the way back from the Manor had died in vain. Riya and Kallus were in for a rude awakening if they had truly executed them in cold blood, and he wasn’t sure what to think of that.

The old lady looked fine, if a bit disoriented, and claimed to not remember what had happened. Frankly, Sunday didn’t care if it was a play or truth. There was no feeling of nausea or discomfort in him as he helped her stand or held her until they reached the stack of flowers. It had remained untouched despite the woman’s absence, and a few of the nearby vendors ran to check on her. It was his cue to exit.

Elora seemed hesitant but followed along. Sunday could hear the tens of questions running rampant in her head, but he wasn’t about to answer any. It was bad enough she had seen him heal a living person. Hopefully, the excuse that he was an alchemist would work again when she eventually forced it out of him. Thanks, Vyn.

“Are you sure about this? If she’s a worshipper she’s a danger to everyone around.” Elora said.

“So? Do you want us to execute a poor old flower seller just because she had a lapse of judgment? Come on, what can she do?”

Elora grabbed his arm once again and forced him to stop and turn to face her. “The Divine have done more harm to this world than anything else. I don’t know what your deal is, but leaving someone like that to roam free could threaten the safety of the city. Would you rather have tens or hundreds die because you spared one?”

Sunday glared at her and for the first time, he felt a tiny spark of anger worm its way into his heart. What did she know? He took a deep breath and the faint scent of flowers reached him again. The constant dichotomy of what was happening was weighing him down once again. So much for being relaxed.

“Are you not important? Rich? Pay someone to watch her or something,” Sunday said and ignored Elora’s frown.

He looked around. One woman with scissors was not a problem, but if he had to watch his back against anyone he passed on the street it would get tiring quickly. Is this the point? To make me break under the pressure? Hounds, visions of ghouls, crazy people? If they want me to succumb and pray, then they’d have at least given me a name to worship. This is personal in a different way though, nothing like what had happened in the swamp. The question is… am I the reason this is happening, or did Chaotic Step throw me in front of that cart because it was already happening?

“Why don’t you do it if you’re so adamant she’s fine? You’re the one who’s telling me to just leave her and let her live her life as if she didn’t break the most important rule of any society.” Elora hissed, her voice low and threatening. Her face quickly relaxed and Sunday saw a glimpse of excitement pass through her eyes as she once again invaded his personal space without a care. “Or perhaps you have a way to cure corruption? You seem to have no issue healing both living and death.”

Sunday didn’t even care anymore. It was natural for this secret to come out considering all he had planned. It was just happening a bit too fast. Maybe it would bring Elora and her knowledge or perhaps the potential resources she had access to closer to him. Such a wondrous thing, curiosity. Able to trump even anger and fear. Couldn’t I have run into someone dumber? Ah, life would be easier.

“Trade secret,” Sunday said, then moved to step away. Elora tried to grab him again, but this time he dodged with ease and winked at her. I should stop letting her touch me with that spell of hers. “When you take me spell shopping, we’ll talk further about me.”

“What are you?” she asked.

Can’t help yourself, eh?

“Handsome, mysterious, quite fun to interact with. Take your pick. Join me for a snack now, it’s time I ask some questions of my own that I’ve healed your friend.” Pull on those heartstrings, make her feel like she owes even if we had a deal. Ah, that’s why I had no success with the women.

She tentatively followed after him, and he could feel her eyes digging a hole in the back of his head. From what he had seen so far, and it had been barely a full day of knowing the girl, she was frivolous, compassionate, curious beyond what was good for her, and quite confident in herself. And she yearned for power just the same as him. Perhaps not exactly the same as he doubted others could boast of similar circumstances and rabid dogs in the shadows.

By snack, he had of course meant a good-sized wooden tankard of wine that smelled like a forest fire that he bought from a nearby stall. Elora seemed satisfied with a few strange-looking fruits. Sunday was jealous, but he didn’t show it. What good was being reincarnated into a fantasy world, when you couldn’t even eat the fantasy foods?

“Now, why don’t you tell me what your friend's deal is, what makes those practice rooms of the Arcanum so special, and what’s your favorite color?” Sunday asked after they had settled on a bench to watch the flowers.

Sunday wondered if there was a better way to spend the morning after smacking an old lady so hard she cracked her skull. Probably not.

After a few hours, Sunday was pretty satisfied with the conversation with Elora. It was past noon now, and he was now slowly making his way back to the Wayward Rat, careful to pick densely populated streets as his essence was running somewhat low and he was in no mood to dish out more quality than strictly necessary.

The undead girl he had healed, Suile, was the daughter of a rich merchant close to Elora’s mother, who despised all things undead. She had lived her life with some sort of illness which eventually took her life. Her family had mourned her loss and refused to accept her second chance as anything but a mistake against what was natural.

Elora had tried to skip the more gruesome details with not much success. Still, breaking the legs of your own child and throwing her out on the street to rot just because she was undead in a society full of them was quite disgusting, to say the least. Sunday couldn’t help but feel some pity for the girl. Knowing human nature it made sense that there would be many rotten enough to not appreciate the status quo, even if mad gods were knocking on the door.

As for the practice rooms of the Arcanum, which had piqued his interest, Elora had struggled to give a good description. In her simplest words, it was a place that forced the essence to concentrate and made it easier for one the practice their art. In her experience, a day in there once in a while was the greatest boon to her practice. She had awakened only a month prior, and she was already at the second step, largely giving credit to the practice rooms and the ‘enlightenment’ they brought along.

The issue was that a full day in one cost twenty gold or the equivalent in contribution points. Sunday once again admired the Arcanum’s business model. So far all he had gotten out of it were a few passages from a book that cleared nothing and a lighter pouch.

I have to have a good honest chat with Zihei when I get the time.

The next Spell Market was a week or so away and Elora promised to bring him there. Sunday wasn’t sure he would have the funds by then, but it gave him some time to adjust and perhaps fleece someone. He could also sell some of the Repel Dirt spells he still carried in his bag. The thought of ‘contributing’ them to the Arcanum had passed through his mind too. They had shrunk somewhat but otherwise seemed fine.

He breathed a sigh of relief once he was back in his room at the Tavern. There had been no sign of Riya and Kallus. Maybe switching taverns would do me good, although I want to know what those bastards are scheming…

Tomorrow was another big day, and Sunday was excited to get on the road and do some good honest adventuring just like in the stories. He was uncertain whether he hoped for there to be dragons or not, but ultimately not being turned into an undead torch or in the worst-case toothpick, was preferable.

******

After spending the night wrestling with the thick tome of ghouls and his own practice, Sunday was glad to be out of the city.

Dawn was a special time and he appreciated nature more and more, despite the attempts of the beast beneath him to ruin everything. He had already fallen off the hired horse a couple of times and was pretty sure something inside of him had broken. A cracked rib, a spinal fracture, or worst of all his ego – it was all the same. It didn’t help that the sword handle was stabbing into his side with each step of the horse and no matter how Sunday tried it always turned just enough to hurt him.

At least he had plenty of drowned moth alcohol to go along with it. Vyn's flute also helped the mood a bit, although Sunday was more impressed with the ability of the man to both ride and play an instrument.

Sunday cursed and held onto the reins with both hands as the horse stepped over a small rock. The music paused,

“It gets easier. You just need the practice,” Vyn said from the side. The man was having the time of his life, although he hadn’t been informed what they were doing or where they were going. The very idea he was finally doing work for the illustrious Arcanum had made the human giddy with excitement and he had taken care of hiring the horses and acquiring provisions – mostly for himself – without a word of complaint.

The small village they were headed off to was only half a day away on horseback, which was a terrifying thought as even an hour on horseback seemed like it could bring the mightiest transmigrators to their knees.

“Why’d you come back to Blumwin anyway? With your debt and all?” Sunday asked trying to distract himself from the eventual failure to stay on the horse. He was pretty certain not falling for the past fifteen minutes was some sort of an achievement worthy of song.

Vyn took a minute as he stared straight ahead. “There’s nowhere for me left,” he said. “There are towns and villages where the vampires won’t bother searching, but it also means giving up on my goals. In the end, it’s mostly about toying with me and letting out some of the frustration. They won’t go looking for my sister, because she’s either dead or successfully crossed the belt.”

“So, it’s just… pettiness?” Pour out their frustrations on an innocent party because of their inability to fix the issue. How human of vampires.

“Kind of. It’s a debt – one I certainly don’t have a way of repaying even if we were to rob the city’s vaults.”

Interesting. Good luck to you then.

After what seemed like an eternity the two finally saw the first signs of the village. It was nested between two flattened hills, bordering a small forest that stretched into the distance. Sunday was pretty sure Emiel’s cart had passed close by the place, as it was not that far from the edge of the forest that led to the swamp. I wonder if it's Hark roaming the woods. That fucker will get to know my palm even better then.

Few people were milling about but as soon as their horses approached, they rushed off somewhere, probably to gather a mob of angry peasants. Sunday was far from hopeful there would be a warm welcome, but then again… he had a legend to build.

Let’s hope there are people in need of healing. Ah, no. What am I saying… That’s mean. I hope everyone’s alright, but if some might need healing… well...

He leaned dangerously on his saddle and once again hugged the damned animal’s neck with full strength. He had a role to play and an image to cultivate, and starting it by falling off his horse was the worst thing that could happen.