(TLO) Chapter 126: Support To The Support (Patreon)

“You sent me into a mad house!” Seth growled, discarding his twin swords on Jim’s table.

Jim spared him the briefest look, perhaps contemplating an accurate response to his outburst. In the end, he chose calm. “And what exactly do you mean?”

Seth ran both hands through his hair then took off his shawl. The action did nothing to organize his unkempt hair.

“All of them,” he repeated slowly, as if explaining a complex equation to a child, “are mad.”

“All of them?”

Seth turned away from Jim and walked out of his office and into the tiny living room. He dropped himself onto one of the couches and sighed.

“All of them.”

Slowly, as if a child savoring a sweet meal, he began disassembling his sniper rifle.

They’d gotten back from the expedition this morning and made their report to the guild before coming here to make their report to Jim. They’d intentionally left out the altercation; every single detail of it. Through their report, Jim had listened with a minute level of interest. In a fashion Seth had seen in the Reverends at the seminary, he listened with only half a mind, asking questions simply because it was expected of him.

When they’d left, Seth had stayed behind. Now that he was alone with Jim he was free to pour out his mind.

“Were they this bad before Rick?” he asked, sliding the rifle parts into the briefcase it had come with on purchase.

Silence replied him.

He waited a while longer, and when no answer came, he turned to look at Jim. He found the priest looking at him as if he was asking a stupid question.

His eyes narrowed and he stared at the man with a terrifying suspicion. “What’s that look mean, Reverend?”

“Do you know how many teams I serve as a patron to?” Jim asked.

“Twenty-eight?” Seth guessed.

Jim reeled back in surprise. “That was a quick answer. Wrong but quick. I thought you’d at least think about it.”

Seth shrugged. “I do too much thinking already.”

“What are you; seventeen; eighteen?” Jim disagreed. “It can’t be that much.”

If only you knew, Seth’s minds laughed.

“Ah, I see,” Jim mused. “You’re talking of the voices in your head.”

Seth took in a deep breath. “I don’t have voices in my head, Reverend. I just have a lot to think about. The side effect involves not having enough space for all my thoughts in my head.”

“So you say some out.”

He nodded. “So I say some out. But that’s not what we’re here to talk about. How many teams do you sponsor?”

“A hundred and fifty-two.”

Seth’s eye widened in shock. “That’s a lot.”

“I’ve been here for almost eight years.”

“But a hundred and fifty-two?”

“What can I say? It’s a lucrative business. I bring in a lot of money to the seminary. You think all that good food you eat just falls from the sky?”

“I think there are other ways the seminary makes its money. But that’s not why I’m here.”

“Yes.” Jim interlocked his fingers and rested them on the table. “You’re here to know if your team was this bad before they lost Rick.”

“Were they?”

“I have no idea.”

Seth’s face fell. His suspicion was true. The man had tossed him into any random team without putting any thought into it.

“Do you know they almost tried to kill each other during our last expedition?” he asked. “And if you don’t know them well, how do you know they lost a teammate.”

“Because all my teams report to me when they get back, and I have their files updated each time. Sometimes I enlist the help of the adventurer’s guild for that.”

“And you decided to suffer me for an entire year with them.”

Jim took in a deep breath and let it out. It was his turn to be tired of the conversation.

“Do you know how absurd the request for your pastoral year is?” he asked. “Faust was asking me to place an Iron authority mage in a team of silver mages. You,” he pointed at Seth, “were not going to get the best I had. In fact, you weren’t going to get average. Do you think I’d risk putting you in a silver team good enough for me to remember their names and know about their activities off the top of my head?” he scoffed. “No. That would ruin me. Ruin whatever credibility I have with the team.”

He took another deep breath and calmed himself before continuing. “So, no. I don’t know what kind of clusterfuck of a team they are. I remember Rick simply because his death was born from the kind of mistake even Iron mage teams wouldn’t make. I mean, they dared him to walk into an Iron nest and he expected to survive? I’m gold and I wouldn’t walk into a nest of silver beasts alone. Take the team you’ve been given, Oden, and make the best out of it.”

Seth looked at his handler, mouth agape. “How?”

Jim shrugged. “Not my problem. Think of it as a leadership skill building exercise. From what I hear you had something of a subordinate in the seminary, and your set was equally messed up. Figure it out.”

Seth stepped out of Jim’s house and into the hot day’s air not long after. The sun had begun its descent from the sky that shifted the skyline colors to something on the dimmer side of itself. However, it was still high enough for a healthy argument of the time of the day. Without looking at a clock one could certainly fumble an argument between it still being afternoon or evening. Seth thought of which of his brothers would make that argument and smiled. Salem was the only answer he could find. Sadly, Salem had long since embraced death.

Yeah, I wonder who was responsible for that one, one of his minds answered.

Outside the conglomeration of houses, Seth hailed down a passing taxi and made his departure, ignoring his thought.

A month ago, after making the acquaintance of his teammates, Jim had Seth rent a place on the outskirts of town somewhere—to his displeasure—closer to the location of his former home. It was a room in an inn named the The Willow’s Tripe and his taxi charged him exorbitant prices to take him there every day.

The inn was one of many buildings not repurposed from the old world. It was a building three storeys tall and built from wood and brick and touches of runework here and there and he stepped into it with the mental and physical fatigue of the day closing in on him in a pincer attack. As if it wasn’t enough stress for the day, the strong stench of alcohol assaulted him like an angry physical lover. It wafted the air and drained it of breathable oxygen.

For the briefest moment Seth fought against the urge to gag.

The room was hot as he stepped inside, the heat of countless adventurers either stopping by before their next assignment or closing for the day adding to the fire of the day. The sound of constant chattering and bellowed laughter stung at his ears and made listening an annoying task. Still, his minds grabbed snatches of conversations against his wishes as he weaved his way through the sea of filled chairs.

“Good evening, Mr. Jabari,” a serving girl greeted as she spun around him, serving tray full of drinks in hand.

“Evening, Mindy.”

She was gone before his greeting finished and he gave it no thought.

“—They say it’s a fissure nest,” an adventurer was saying at one of the tables.

One of Seth’s mind had picked it up and the words sufficed for Seth to hold on to it. His senses pooled in the general direction of the sound as he turned in search of the owner of the voice.

He found him almost immediately.

He was an average built man with a buzz cut of black hair. Light armor protected what little it could of him in the vestige of leather gauntlets and an outfitted vest. A great sword rested behind him, strapped to his back, too large to allow him a proper chair so that he sat on a stool amidst a group of six other men all in varying attires. The scar that ran down one side of his neck had its origin somewhere behind his ear and he seemed unbothered by it.

Seth found himself wondering if the scar was something he’d gained during his current rank, which by the color of his adventurer’s badge hanging from a rope around his neck declared him silver or a different sort of scar. The possible other alternative, one so rare he didn’t really believe it the answer. was a reia wound. According to what he knew, reia wounds were injuries that broke the physical realm to harm the soul. Most of them came from injuries inflicted by powers far greater than a mage had any right facing. Only a handful of mages could say they dared to attempt a stand against far greater opponents. And of that handful there were far too rare tales of those who lived to tell it.

Seth slipped onto a stool at the bar quietly. Off to his right, four tables removed, a man continued to spread rumors of a fissure nest, carried on the fastest means of transport known to man: word of mouth.

“So what exactly are you trying to say?” one of the table’s occupants asked. He was a man with a thin sabre at his waist and a hair of deep blue.

“I’m saying,” the owner of the story leaned conspiratorially, “that we do a bit of recruiting. Strike before it becomes official news.”

“And you fancied an inn would be the best place to talk about it,” a man with heavy set brows asked.

“Cause no one listens in an inn. Look around you. No one cares.”

Every man at the table turned their heads, as if compelled to. The action didn’t bother Seth. He’d been facing his front the entire time. As if in humor of their search he gave the innkeeper, a corpulent man named Tanner who often gave him free food, a nod. Tanner acknowledged his nod with one of his own.

The men returned their attention to their table.

“See?” the scarred man smirked. “Only reason adventurer’s come to this inn is ’cause hunters don’t come here.”

“Don’t forget the cheap bear,” another added.

“And the fine serving girls,” the heavy browed man said.

“I told you man, keep your eyes off Seline. She’s younger than your sister.”

“So what. Don’t make no difference.”

“Dude, you’re ten years older than your sister.”

“Age is just a number.”

That’s a large number, one of Seth’s minds chuckled.

Especially when you consider Selin’s only eighteen, another replied. Isn’t she too young?

Seth didn’t bother telling them she was still older than them. Rather than engage them in a debate of age and maturity, he kept his attention on the conversation.

Fissure nests were something no soul mage could ignore. The dangers were almost insurmountable, but so were the possible rewards. Artifacts, potentially new runes. Rumors existed that they were good ways to evolve. None of them spoke of evolution to Barony, but anything below that was a possibility.

If he could get in on the recruitment plan, it could work wonders for him.

You do know how fissure nests work, right? a mind asked.

Seth ignored it, allowed himself fall into a wanderlust of thoughts. Everyone knew how fissure nests work. To be a soul mage without that knowledge was unforgivable. The excuse of living in a cave was not even acceptable.

Every nest had a beast that stood at the top of its hierarchy. It subjected every other beast in the region, native or otherwise to its command. Each one obeyed, fell in line or suffered a wrath very few witnessed. Often times nests were found inhabited by animals that had no reason sharing a territory. Whenever such nests were discovered, it was proof a superior beast, most likely a soul beast had taken to ruling it. In such instances, gold mages were sent to clear it.

But fissure nests were an entirely different concept. Deadlier even. A fissure nest had at its heart an active fissure. The consistent presence of reia beasts making a nest of the environment hid the reia signature of the fissure, veiling it from notice until someone ventured too close. The reason it was rumored to help with evolution was the constant fighting surrounding it. For every beast killed, two would return in only a matter of time. It was like a video game with monsters respawning every set amount of time…

If the monsters slain didn’t disappear, his mind thought with disgust. It would be putrid and disgusting.

And there in laid the second benefit of a fissure nest. As long as whatever beast stood at the top of the hierarchy was not slain, there would always be beasts to be killed, cores to be looted, corpses to be had and sold to the academy or some private or government lab or the other.

Unlimited cash flow. At least until one of the organizations or the government found out.

“So how are we going to get people recruited,” another of the six asked. He was speaking for the first time and his voice was reminiscent of every girl Seth had heard.

“Davi makes a good point,” heavy brows said. “It’ll be hard to recruit silvers without the guild finding out. And we all know hunters can’t keep their mouths shut.”

“Why don’t we just do it ourselves?” blue hair asked.

“Cause it’s a fissure nest,” the man with the scar replied. “If the fissure decides to expand for some reason we’ll need to be able to escape. For that, we need numbers.”

“But do we have a dilator?” Davi asked.

Each man looked from one to the other, finally all eyes settled on the origin of the idea. “You have one, Spike?”

Spike shrugged. “We’re there to make a killing not close a fissure. Once we’ve made enough, we can alert the guild and leave all the soulsmithing mechanics to them.”

“But do you have one?”

“What do you think? The last time I was among a fissure raid I wasn’t even a front liner. I played support to the support.”

Davi turned to the heavy browed adventurer. “This is a bad idea, Sam. Bad idea.”

“Slow down there, buddy,” Spike rushed to reclaim the rhythm of the conversation. “I’m not some arrogant adventurer who can’t see when the reia in the air’s too heavy for his lungs. I know my worth, and that’s why we’re going after a fissure nest. The beasts are still weak, and all the fissure serves as is a respawn point. We just have to stay clear of the leader of the nest.”

“There’s no such thing as weak reia beasts, Spike,” Sam said. “You know this as well as I do.”

Spike sighed. He ran a hand over his buzz cut and took a swig of whatever was in his wooden cup. Cups went up from the table as if having been forgotten, the single action reminding their owners of their existence.

The men drank as if suddenly parched.

Spike dropped his cup as if rejuvenated and looked each man in the eye. “We’re silver mages with needs. We don’t go hunting for too many contracts, and for good reason. But it doesn’t mean we don’t need the money. My swords getting old and soulsmiths are beginning to tell me I’ll save more buying a new one.” He looked at the blue haired adventurer. “Your daughter’s trying to get into the academy and they have no plans of getting her a scholarship. You’ll need money to support her, Solan.”

He turned to Davi.

“No,” Davi said. “I don’t have any problems that require I risk my life fighting beasts of those numbers.”

“The numbers aren’t that high.”

“It’s a freaking fissure nest, Spike. The numbers. Are. That. High.”

Spike picked up his cup and drank again. “You know you’re a real buzzkill, Davi. I already told you we don’t have to worry about that. There’ll be other silver adventurers, not just the seven of us.”

“And you’re sure we’ll be able to recruit them?” Sam asked.

“Let me let you in on a little secret. There are already eight of us minus you guys. So if all of you agree, that makes fourteen of us.”

“We’re not the first people you’ve gone to?” Davi asked, confusion mixing with a touch of offense.

Spike waved aside his offense. “Coming from a guy I have to work this hard to give a chance at a good life. No. You guys aren’t the first. And before you get testy on me, remember I wasn’t the one who found it.”

“So why aren’t you trying to convince us with the guy who found it?” Solan asked. “Why isn’t he here?”

Spike gripped his cup tight and made an annoyed sound. Under the weight of silver strength, the handle shattered in his grip. He raised his hand, looking at the pieces of wood that had failed to pierce his skin.

“He’s not here because I have no idea where he went,” he said, dusting his hand. “He’s an Iron adventurer with little to no friends who needs the money. Just like the rest of us.”

“Nope.” Davi got up from his seat. He took a final sip from his cup and cleaned his mouth. “Too many loopholes in this story. There’s no way something good comes from this. Let’s go, Sam.”

“How about you go alone,” Spike scowled. “You don’t have to be a part of this but don’t go deciding for someone else. If Sam chooses not to come along it’s his choice.” He turned to Sam. “But I’ll have you know I checked it out myself. It is a fissure nest. I can bet my tag on it.”

“Sam!” Davi snapped.

“Bring your voice down,” Spike scolded. “He’s not your kid you have to drag around. Or are you going to help him with his problems?”

“Sam,” Davi continued, ignoring Spike. “Your problems are going to be worse if you die. Who’ll take care of your dad if you don’t come back.”

Sam looked up at him. “Can I ask you to do that? Will you take care of pops if I don’t make it?”

Spike opened his mouth to speak but Davi beat him to it.

“You can’t do that, Sam. You can’t put that on me. You know I’ve my own mess to deal with.”

Whatever Sam had been expecting, those were not the words. But they played in Spike’s favor as he turned away from Davi and asked. “When do you plan on doing this?”

“Sam,” Davi gasped. “You can’t.”

“You can leave, Davi. My burdens are mine alone. Which makes them mine to deal with how I please.”

One of them, an uninteresting looking man who hadn’t spoken yet finally asked, “And how exactly are we splitting the profit we’ll be getting from this?”

“We’ll have a meeting for that before the raid,” Spike answered. “Right now, what’s important is getting the numbers.”

Ooh, one of Seth’s minds cooed. Haven’t seen one of those in a while.

Seth turned his attention to it and pinched the bridge of his nose in mild annoyance.

New Event: [Beast Glade]

There exists out in the calmness of a nest, a crack in the world. It is the world broken, unable to heal. From it spawns greater wounds and greater rewards. Find this crack and heal it.

Completion time: 4,463:32:08:74

Objective:

[Find a Clue of the Glades] 1/1

[Find the Glades] 0/1

[Play a part in Clearing the Glades] 0/2

[Exterminate Soul Beasts] 0/4

Reward: Possible Skill

Consequence: Possible Death.

Do you accept: Y/N

Consequence for N: Death.

There’s a lot of things wrong with this, one of his minds thought.

Seth almost laughed. “You don’t say.”

He read the notification again and tightened his hold on his humor, dark as it was. So every fissure was a wound in the world. Which meant closing each one was healing the world. He spared the notification one more glance and willed it away. It remained like an annoying child.

Why give him the option of refusal if the consequence of refusal was death. As ludicrous as it was to believe the notification was capable of killing just like that, it hadn’t proved itself wrong yet.

We take it we’re going with yes, a mind thought. It came out more as a question than a simple statement.

Seth shrugged. “Not like we have a choice.”

He returned his attention to the notification and found it counting down. “Is it safe to assume those are hours, minutes, seconds, and nanoseconds?”

Very.

“And four thousand, four hundred and sixty-four hours is…”

Six months, a mind answered. One hundred and eighty-six days. Give or take.

“So we have to find this fissure and close it in a month.” He rubbed a hand through his hair, frustrated. “Any thought this might be related to what I was listening to?”

Possibly.

Seth nodded and got up from his stool. “Remind me never to eavesdrop again, alright?”

“Sure thing, sir.”

Seth looked to the innkeeper who’d spoken and the man gave him a warm smile.

“And remind me to talk more quietly,” he said in a lower tone.