To ensure Rettucia truly had ti to finish the Anchor—and that he wouldn’t arrive prematurely—Percival spent the night at the inn.
But that wasn’t his true reason.
After a purchased al of roast fowl glazed with honey and a mug of sugared ale, he found himself with strength enough only for a body-soothing sleep.
It didn’t interfere with his plans. The day was already spent, and beginning the journey at dawn would be better.
Dawn ca.
Through the shutters of his room, the sun casted long dusty beams, one of which ran over his eyes, waking him up.
Percival’s grip tightened on his sword hilt which lay flat on his chest. He squinted as he pulled himself up from the comfort of his pillow.
He felt fully replenished. Both his mana and his health were fully recovered after days of spending and barely refilling.
After showering, he put on his armor, tightening the cap of his waterskin and hanging it by his waist.
He raised Lightpiercer and sheathed it into the swordhold on his back.
Percival had stayed in the village long enough.
In the two days since he had saved them from the spawns, the people had done little else but praise him, sotis with words, sotis with gifts.
Today, he would be leaving.
When he turned toward the door, Elise was there.
Percival paused. He hadn’t seen her since the Demonspawn stabbed through her shoulder.
She was leaning against the fra, her shoulder bandaged tight, watching him with a gentle smile on her face.
"You look better," Percival throated. "How is the wound?"
"It’s fine," she said softly. She took a step into the room. "I woke up to see that the village is fine, too. We’d all be dead if not for you. You’re a good person, Mr Awakener."
Percival looked away from her eyes, adjusting his gauntlets. "Don’t praise too much. We all have our reasons for doing things. Heroism isn’t always the intent."
He moved to leave, stepping toward the doorway, but Elise sidestepped, blocking his path.
She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face, looking for the cracks in the stone mask he wore.
"But doing it is all that matters, right?" Even though it was a question, she sounded assured. "It doesn’t matter why we do good things. Doing good things is what makes a person good, not the simring thoughts behind it."
She poked a finger gently against his chest, right over his heart. "Not the things you keep hidden in that dark, curious mind of yours."
Percival froze. Her words struck a chord that vibrated uncomfortably deep within him.
They gazed into each other’s eyes for a long mont. Hers were quivering and his were stagnant and deadpan, although nearing their breaking point.
The silence stretched for a while longer. Still, Elise didn’t look away from him.
"If you leave," she whispered, her voice trembling slightly, "will I see you again?"
Percival stared at her. The possibility of him returning to this village, although not completely zero, was extrely low.
"No," he said.
Elise licked her lips sadly, looking away from his face. "That’s unfortunate."
Percival wanted to attempt walking away again, but she suddenly pushed herself into him and wrapped her arms around him.
A hug.
Not a demanding one. It was soft, grateful, and warm. Her arms locked around his midsection while her face was buried in his chest.
"Thank you," she said, "for saving my life. For saving my village."
Percival stood rigid, his arms hovering uselessly at his sides.
He was terrified that she could feel the frantic, heavy beating of his heart against her cheek.
He was terrified that she could sense how deeply, painfully touched he was by this simple act of human connection, and how much he hated himself for wanting it.
Percival gently gripped her shoulders and peeled her off him.
"Goodbye, Elise," he said.
He walked past her and went down the stairs without looking back.
In the common room, the innkeeper was waiting.
The man looked brighter than Percival had ever seen him, and he held out a bundle wrapped in oilcloth.
"Take it," the man insisted. "A warm Venison Pasty and dried fruits. It’s not much, but it’s as much as I can give you for a farewell offering."
Percival stared at the bundle, then at the man. "You don’t need—"
"Please, Mister Awakener, it is the least I can do," the innkeeper cut him off, his voice cracking with emotion. "You saved us from damnation. Please. Eating will help you gain back your strength as you continue the journey."
Percival looked at the man’s earnest face. He sighed, defeated by kindness where threats would have failed. He took the package.
"Thank you."
He headed to the front door, but before pushing it open, he turned the innkeeper and his daughter.
"My na is Percival."
The man’s eyes widened. Elise’s cheeks reddened.
"Ahh," the innkeeper bowed. "Many thanks, Master Percival."
Elise waved at him.
Percival turned back to the door, pushing it open and stepping out into the streets of Cuttleham.
"Co, Argus."
With a loud neigh piercing the morning silence, the Skeleton Steed manifested from a blaze of blue.
Percival mounted the horse and rode to Wolsend.
Now in the city, he moved with intent to avoid the crowd. His face was obscured beneath the hood, and he skillfully navigated the streets like an Assassin.
There was no ti to be delayed by the grateful commoners shouting "Spawnslayer" or "Hero of Cuttleham."
He returned to the rudintary workshop area of the city, finding Rettucia’s shop in no ti.
He entered the small building.
Inside, a dejected-looking Awakener was just turning away from the counter, carrying slumped shoulders .
"I understand," the Mage muttered, clutching a light pouch. "I... I just can’t afford that right now."
"Quality demands a price, darling. The mana weave won’t hold on cheap threads," Rettucia’s lodic voice replied.
The Mage brushed past Percival, shaking his head, and exited into the street.
Percival stood still for a while.
Rettucia glanced up, and a genuine, intrigued smile brightened her face.
"Well, well. Just the person I was waiting for," she said, setting a gem down. "My most interesting custor. You’ve beco quite popular here in Wolsend, Percival. And look at that..."
Her eyes narrowed, scanning his crest. "You’ve already climbed six Levels since we last spoke."
Percival lowered his head and stepped forward, ignoring the pleasantries. "Did you make it?"
"Did I make it?" she chuckled. "Of course I made it."
She reached under the counter and pulled out a small, heavy case. She opened it with a flourish.
Resting on the velvet cushion was a ring. It was a masterpiece of artificing. The band seed to be forged from dark Star-Iron, with runes inscribed all over them using Spirit Stone.
Percival didn’t recognize the gem in the center however.
"A ntal Construct Anchor Ring," Rettucia introduced it, pride coloring her voice. "It wasn’t simple. I had the Blacksmith mould with Star-Iron to handle the physical stress and I inscribed runes using Spirit Stone to conduct the mana frequencies.
"After infusing an Aspect into it, I used the beast core of Scent Wolf, re-making it to act as the capacitor."
She pointed a manicured nail at the swirling stone.
Percival narrowed his eyes at the blue stone. "A capacitor?"
Rettucia humd yes. "You told you needed a channel for two extrely powerful sources. This stone is the buffer."
"Watch it closely. When the ntal channel is stable, it will maintain a flow of azure blue; the color of your Class. But if the channel overheats—if you push too much conflicting power through it for too long—it will turn angry red."
Her expression turned serious. "That is your warning. If it goes red, stop using the separate powers imdiately. If you don’t, the gem will shatter, and the backlash will cause a Core Splinter."
Percival gazed at the Artifact.
A Core Splinter. The fear of that happening was enough for him to know to keep his usage of the dual Classes in check.
He reached out and picked up the ring.
⸢Item: ntal Construct Anchor Ring (B-Grade⸥
⸢Type: Accessory⸥
⸢Aspect: Stabilizes ntal constructs created during ditation as long as ring is worn⸥
⸢ 5 Dexterity⸥
Percival closed his eyes, creating the ntal bridge between his two rivers, and the funnel that drew from the bridge to fuel his Skills.
Then he slid the Anchor Ring onto his finger.
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