Chapter 761 (Patreon)

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Few people noticed Archie.

He was easy to miss. Sure, his skin was dusky and he carried a pair of giant knives, but that described about half the people in the crowd around him. People were covered in armor and bristling with weapons, and that wasn't even counting the patrols of blue-jacketed Legionnaires. The only real thing that set him aside was his height, being more than two thirds shorter than the average citizen, but even that only made him easier to miss.

Just like Birchstone, he thought, taking a bite out of a red vegetable. It tasted like a zucchini somehow crossed with a porterhouse steak. It was weird but delicious. Dwarves couldn't be bothered to notice a Gnome.

Dwarves grumbled all the time about being underestimated by the taller Races, but couldn't wait to look down their noses at anyone that dared to be shorter than them.

Stupid Delven Body.

That particular thought had a lot less heat in it than it had in the past. Archie had reason to regret his choice of Race many times, but without it he wasn't sure he would have survived working as a thief in Birchstone, fleeing the Titan when she came for him, and all the battles he'd fought since. Without Stoneswim and then Primeval Drift, Archie would've been dead a thousand times over.

Now that he'd evolved it, the Skill was even more useful. Archie had always been hard to pin down, but now his capabilities had grown by incredible strides. With a single breath he could phase through entire buildings, feeling the optimal path through wood, stone, and plaster. Nothing could stop him.

Except Fiendstone.

He'd run into it shortly after heading out to explore, and it had been a rude awakening. His Primeval Drift had grown so capable that Archie had begun to believe he could walk through anything. Sure, he hadn't tried things like acid, and high Tier materials still gave him trouble, but the common stuff folks built their houses out of? Easy peasy.

Then, once he'd dodged that Chanter Isla's attention, he'd run afoul of a wall made entirely of blue-black rock, veined with glowing red. It had been like running face first into a steel door, which was an experience he hadn't expected to make outside the Cask.

He'd very nearly lost his hold on Primeval Drift, which would've been bad; soldifying while inside a stone wall was probably one of the worst ways to go. He'd maintained it, thankfully, but emerged into an alleyway with a bloody nose.

Stupid fucking rock...

That had been hours prior, though, and while Beef was caught up with more of those nosy Chanters he was free. He walked now among the streets with everyone else, nose healed but still stinging when he recalled the experience.

How much Fiendstone did he put in this city?

He knew what to look for now, and with a little effort Archie could pick out Felix's special material throughout the district. Most buildings were made of regular granite or some sort of wood, but every once in a while there would be an entire house done up in blue-black rock.

He avoided those. His focus was better spent on the market around him.

For all that he walked around unnoticed, it was decidedly different here than in Birchstone. Busier in some ways, but also with different pressures. There weren't any Dwarven matrons eyeing you as you approached a stall, no cutpurses underfoot, and especially no armed enforcers, looking to spill your blood or your coin.

There were a few beggars, but even those looked well-dressed and often as not had small instruments. It wasn't nearly as seedy as he'd expected.

Humans, Hobgoblins, and Henaari were all over the place, even a few non "H" Races like Elves and Orcs.  There were a few Dwarves, but they smiled wide and chatted eagerly with patrons. Even with him, when he wandered close to their stalls and shopfronts. Nothing like the dour-faced factions in the Rimefangs.

It was, all things told, a remarkably pleasant experience.

Why am I on edge, then?

Archie didn't believe in good things just happening to people. Bad things happened to people. That was the way of the world, and it was your own responsibility to avoid those as much as you could. If you didn't? You couldn't blame anyone but yourself.

We only have ourselves to rely on. Everything else is pointless.

Living in markets his entire life had only proven that adage to Archie, time and again. Even here in fantasy land. The shops that attracted customers did well, the ones that didn't failed; that was on the shop owners. If they couldn't handle their business, then they shouldn't have it.

Archie felt a pressure in his chest. He knew, instrincally, that it was his core space. It was reacting to the Scale District much like it had back in Birchstone. He could feel it, the low pulse all around him. For all its differences, it was the same.

There was an ebb and flow to people. The crowds moved in chaos, but it was ordered, funneled between walls and cobblestones. Their eyes were drawn to this sign, or that voice, encouraged by polished wares or enticing smells. They were rebuffed by ill-kept storefronts, or rude hawkers, or countless other tiny things that added up to loss. Money changed hands, a stream of coppers and silvers that flashed in the sunlight.

He could feel it all like an echo in his chest. Archie focused on that echo and tried to follow its meaning.

Felix had taught him a few techniques to refine his core space, and Archie had taken to them quickly. It was about stealing the right details. Walking through the Scale was like stuffing his pockets with impressions. The shape of this stall. The feel of the air, warm but with a lingering coolness. The feel of a cloth passing through his fingertips.

All of it added to the pile.

"No. Get away!"

Archie opened his eyes. He stood near the intersection of five streets and tall people surrounded him entirely, but their voices were a dull murmur compared to the high pitched shout. He flared his Perception.

"We just wanna talk."

The familiar sound of fist on skin slapped across his awareness, and Archie shook his head. Damn kids are fighting. He looked up, judging the sun at a bit after noon. He needed to get some food soon. 

Fighting was good for kids. He knew that from personal experience. It taught lots of important lessons. Life lessons. Like how to take a hit, how to stand up for yourself, and when to stay down.

Metal scraped against metal, ringing slightly, and Archie frowned.

Wouldn't hurt to just take a look.

He walked between rugs laid onto the ground, ignoring the alarmed looks of merchants, and slipped into the wall. Their voices faded away, turning to tremblings against his skin as he skimmed blindly up the surface of the building, his Blindsense flaring hard.

He emerged from the top of a two story building like a ghost and craned his neck over the edge.

He saw the kids now. They were situated in the back of a blind alley, obscured only slightly by the lines of drying laundry hanging above. It was eight against three, and of course the larger gang were bigger kids. Considerably so.

That's how it works, he thought with a twist of his lips.

An Orc, some Humans, and a Dwarf surrounded a trio of Goblins. Often as small as Gnomes, Goblins were among the most disliked in Birchstone, and these three were scrawnier than most.

They all had instruments. Flutes mostly, but the Dwarf had a stringed thing that looked like a skinny banjo.

The Orc, though, had a sword.

"Just give us yer spot, Mikkel. Ya don't need it," the sword wielder said. The others chimed in.

"Yeah! There's tons of us, and we need the money way more!"

"The richies in the Scale pay good, but not so much if you ain't in the square."

"We earned that spot, Dobren! The fountain's ours for the next week!" the one he assumed was Mikkel said. He was clutching his own flute so hard Archie was surprised the wood hadn't snapped.

"Well, I says it's ours now," Dobren the Orc said. He had pimples on his dark green skin and wasn't nearly as brawny as a grown man, but that sword looked sharp. He lifted it up, pointing it at the Goblins. "You gonna argue?"

The other two Goblins cowered, huddling behind their apparent leader. Archie could feel their Spirits as if they were shouting. They're terrified. Mikkel is too, but he straightened his spine and squared up against the Orc. "It's ours. Go away."

Anger. It rolled off Dobren like a red fog. He lifted his sword. "You stupid Goblins. You don't deserve it."

He swung.

He froze, arm's half extended as a molten dagger poked up at his gut...and throat.

Primeval Drift is level 80!

"Think about that move real careful," Archie said, loud enough that everyone could hear him. "If you swing that sword any further, this knife's gonna skewer you and cook you all in one."

Dobren panted. The sword dropped to the cobblestones.

"Smart." Archie shifted his eyes to take in the others. "Now, run away."

All eight scurried off, their Spirits screaming in fear. In seconds, they had vanished around the corner and into the streets beyond.

Archie let out a small breath and resheathed his daggers. No one had to get hurt. The kids hadn't been much taller than him. If he'd been fighting adults, he'd probably have had to lop off some limbs to make his point.

"Master Gnome, you—" Mikkel started before his throat caught. He coughed. "You saved us. Thank you."

“Don't thank me. Here," he kicked the sword—which Archie could now see was more rust than steel—and it slid across the cobbles to the Goblins. "Take that. Learn how to use it. Save yourself."

Mikkel reached down and picked it up, staring at it like it was a snake about to bite him. "How? I don't know anythin' about usin' swords."

Archie groaned. "What you want me to give you lessons? I don't have the time."

He walked away, eager to be done with the whole affair. He'd stopped a potential murder; he'd done his good deed for the day.

"Mikkel...they took our money. How're we gettin' food?"

"What if Dobren's waitin' at the shelter?"

"I...I dunno. But we can do it. We got our instruments, right? We got...this sword." Mikkel's Spirit strained with false cheer. "We can figure it out."

Archie had made it almost to the end of the alleyway. So close to continuing about his day.

Shit.

He turned around. "Lesson one, kids, is don't start a fight you can't finish."

"Sorry?"

"You're not taking down eight other kids with one rusty sword and a pair of flutes. That's stupid. You gotta pick the right battles to fight, or else you'll lose everything. Got it?"

"And—and lesson two?" Mikkel asked tentatively, resting the rusty sword against the ground.

Archie rolled his eyes. "Lesson two is follow me. You can't defend your turf if you're starving."

The three Goblins traded excited looks and hurried after.

From within a dark chamber in the Bastion, Mauvim and Zara stood around a dish of beaten copper and stared into the water. Images played across it. A Gnome stood in a dark alleyway, leading a trio of Goblin children into the light.

"A moral center," the old woman said with some surprise. "Tzfell was right."

"Archie appears to have a soft spot for children and the elderly."

"Still, there is a strong streak of contrariness to the man. After the Minotaur boy rejected Isla's aid, I am noticing a trend among the Unbound."

Zara frowned. "Yes, they have strong personalities. They are from another world. You cannot expect to harness them like Avum."

"Their leader is an undue influence on them," Mauvim groused. "And far too powerful for his own good. Tzfell's report is unbelievable but—"

"I believe it. He has done too many impossible things to cease now."

"Eating a god, Zara? What does that make him?"

Zara swallowed. "Something that I fear must return.”

Mauvim's old, watery gaze met hers. They seemed like a normal woman's eyes, but Zara knew they were filled with an uncommon strength. Still, they sang with the same fear that was in her own heart. "May the Grand Harmony fold us into its chorus, child, for the verses have already begun."