Alberto Boss was sipping his coffee, watching the Cathedral of the Revenants tremble. He had started work on the Champion's outfit as soon as he had left his workshop. The old man had always had good instincts. This ti, it whispered to him not to disappoint his new client.
The tailor looked down at his coffee. Black and sugarless, it reminded him of Anatole. The master of the Revenants was not a man to be crossed lightly. Alberto didn't consider himself a coward, but rather a pragmatist. Yet he had to face the truth: he was afraid of Anatole. The man was crazy, and you didn't negotiate with the mad. You didn't try to understand them. You ran away from them.
The craftsman had almost succumbed to his fear. He had thought of running away from Viracocha - he was rich enough for that - and then waiting for the end of the Reunion, in hiding. His instincts had prevented him from doing so, and Alberto now understood why. Priam was fighting to be the sole master of his destiny.
The old man wasn't that ambitious. But if he had to be a piece on the chessboard, he might as well not be a pawn.
A new tremor shook the Revenants' lair. So violent was the shock that the craftsman thought for a mont the cathedral was about to collapse. The stained glass windows at the cathedral's base glowed red before exploding. Alberto realized why he had decided to create the outfit in the first place. Anatole was a fool, but Priam was a drear. He wouldn't let anything co between him and his dreams.
"You can kill a madman," he muttered. "But you can't kill a dream."
"... aning?"
Alberto Boss turned back to the woman who had co to disrupt his work. "aning I'll deal with your King's request when I've finished the Champion's."
"You would put a Baron before my King?" asked the assassin in a neutral voice.
"A Viscount."
"He draws light to himself. He'll burn his wings in the end. We can kill dreams now, Master Boss."
"With the System, maybe. But I doubt you could kill the Viscount so easily," Alberto smiled. "That said, I'd be honored to take care of your Kings request as soon as possible."
The tailor had rubbed shoulders with enough dangerous characters to know when to back off. Besides, the work promised to be interesting. Whoever this Protheus was, he'd gathered an impressive amount of different materials. Nothing Viscount-level, of course, but the amount of resources from Barons was truly mind-boggling. Faced with the assassin's silence, Alberto continued.
"It'll be ready before the end of the Reunion, don't worry. Your King won't have any complaints about the quality of his attire."
The assassin nodded. Alberto blinked as he felt a draft around his neck. A warm sensation made him frown. Did I drink my coffee wrong? He touched his neck for a mont before checking his hand. It was blood-red. Alberto looked up at the assassin, but she had disappeared. A voice rang out in the workshop.
"He's also your King. Protheus is the only one who will save us. You have until the end of the week."
Alberto gritted his teeth. Outside, the cathedral trembled. In his hand, his coffee was getting cold. Its surface was agitated.
Priam opened his eyes. The explosions had stopped, and the cathedral was no longer shaking. His haze told him that he had dropped one level. He was now in the treasure room. The thought made him smile, but not as much as his last notification.
You have gained the skill: [Tribulation Piercing spear - Rare].
He had nad the attack himself. Right now, it was a little presumptuous, but Priam knew he wouldn't always be this weak. If he didn't die on the way, he'd eventually reach the Zenith.
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