Chương 12: Chapter 11: Renwal

Seth stood up and gently woke Nightmare, then checked once more to be sure the pup would stay out of the Wicked Forest while he was gone. Afterwards, he grabbed his old leather bag, which contained everything he needed for his trip: clothes, his father's encyclopedia, his hunting knife, bow, quiver, and some arrows. Since he would be away for at least three days, Seth covered his small shelter with branches and leaves, hiding it the best he could.

With a sigh, he slung his bag over his shoulder and left for Sunatown. For the past two weeks, he'd managed to avoid almost everyone except Sericar by going to the market early in the morning. But his awakening wouldn't stay a secret forever—sooner or later, word would spread. And he knew it would be better if he told Mael himself. After the selections, he thought.

Sticking to his usual routine, Seth practiced his aether control as he walked, casting Identify on various things around him while keeping his Well below twenty percent. The moment Sunatown's wall came into view, he changed course to head toward the west gate—the meeting point with Renwal, Mael's master and the town blacksmith. The man visited Arthuri once every four weekends to sell his extra tools, which, unfortunately, happened to coincide with the start of the selections this month.

As Seth reached the large wooden gate, he spotted Renwal standing beside an old, covered wagon, two brown horses harnessed at the front. The bald man was short but massive—thick thighs, broad shoulders, and a sizable stomach. Probably from too much beer. It would be a great idea to switch to drinks made with Marcus' pure alcohol instead.

"Hey, Renwal," Seth said, approaching. The blacksmith turned, and Seth noticed instantly how the buttons of his linen shirt struggled to somehow contain his belly, receiving barely any help from the two loose suspenders attached to his belt. Sadly, the man's long, braided, red beard only covered the top half of the shirt's bulging gaps, leaving his hairy belly button exposed for all to witness.

"Hey, boy. Good to see you."

"Good to see you too," Seth answered.

"Need help with anything?"

"No, I was just waiting for you. Let's get moving." Renwal climbed up onto the front seat behind the horses, where his large hips took ninety percent of the available space. Obviously Seth would have to walk.

"It would be best if we get there before dark." Seth dropped his bag under the wagon's worn white cover, which was riddled with holes.

"Have there been any recent attacks?"

"There have, yes. So better be safe than sorry," Renwal replied, tugging on the leather reins. Both horses instantly began to advance, dragging along the loaded wagon. Looking at the blacksmith and the goods behind, Seth felt bad for the horses. That's quite a lot of weight. Walking beside the left front wheel, Seth stayed close enough to Renwal to converse. It would be better to tackle the inevitable questions about the incident with the tax collector now, rather than endure twelve hours of awkward silence.

Despite his looks, Renwal was known for being quite a talker— especially when it came to others' lives. His smithy was practically a rival to Sunatown's tavern in terms of gossip and news, covering everything from the local love affairs, to serious matters like conflicts between Kastal's royalties and the nobles.

"Everyone's been guessing at what truly happened," Renwal began, his voice carrying evident concern.

"You disappeared, and the next thing we know, your house is seized and up for auction. Are you okay talking about it? People are worried, myself included." Seth's footsteps faltered for a moment, and his shoulders felt more heavy as he took a deep breath in. Two weeks hadn't been enough to completely dull the guilt, grief, and burning anger.

"I got fined for something absurd," Seth said, keeping his golden eyes on the road ahead.

"The tax collector thought I was lying about something and demanded I pay an exorbitant sum on the spot."

"You should have asked for the community fund!" Renwal exclaimed.

"We would have covered it until you got back on your feet… Did you try to explain yourself? Even if he's serving that nasty House, the tax collector is sometimes reasonable."

"I did, but... things got out of hand," Seth replied, recalling the scene in front of his house.

"He suddenly got... scared? I think he spotted someone from House Faertis or something. After that, he turned into a complete prick." Seth paused, rubbing the side of his neck.

"He seized the house and wouldn't even let me grab my things. Then he burned the only painting I had of my parents. Probably to impress those nobles. And he declared that anyone who'd shelter me would be fined too, so I left. I didn't want to drag others into this mess."

"He burned your parents' painting?" Renwal's voice cracked with disbelief, his knuckles whitening around the reins.

"That's... that's evil."

"Yeah."

"You should've fought back!" the blacksmith snapped, throwing one hand in the air.

"He always has that fancy sword right? Bet you could have chopped that bastard's hand with it."

"Forgetting for a minute that I'd have no chance of actually disarming a wielder. I'd still have ended up like the Iron Thief the moment I swung that sword." Renwal's eyes widened, and a look of embarrassment spread across his face.

"Oh, right. I forgot about that." Saying the name instantly took Seth back to his childhood, seeing himself in bed while his mother sat next to him, a book in her hands. How many times had she read him that story? He could almost hear her voice now, recounting the tale. During an after-war celebration, when everyone had been distracted, a Rank-60 Rogue had stolen the Platinum sword of Kastal's king.

With the new weapon at his belt, the man had begun to pillage towns and cities; the citizens fleeing without offering any resistance, afraid of the blade's might. One day, a Wielder had decided to stand up against the Rogue and fight, forcing him to use the sword. But halfway through his first swing, the thief had suddenly died. In the version of Seth's mother, his body had turned into dust before being swept away by the wind.

Mael's mother, on the other hand, claimed a gigantic flame had shot up from the ground and burned him down in seconds, leaving only a pile of ashes behind. Every mother had their own version, but despite the differences, the end was always the same: the thief died. And it had been entirely his fault. Wielders could use many enchanted items and spells, but they couldn't go above their Tier. The thief had learned that the hard way.

Even for a Rank 60 at the peak of the Iron Tier, using even a Silver weapon would have been fatal—let alone a Platinum one. As they continued down the road, the initial tension eased, and Renwal's natural inclination toward small talk kept the silence at bay. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Mael's pretty jealous of you," Renwal said with a crooked smile.

"He's been asking me all week to bring him along so he could come watch the selections with you." Seth bit the inside of his lip. Lying to his only friend made him feel awful.

"Sericar told me the first ones of the year are quite boring," he said, trying to make sure the blacksmith stayed away from the selection.

"Only the weak Wielders participate in those. He'd be better off coming next month to see the good ones." Renwal chuckled.

"You'd better watch that mouth in Arthuri, boy, or you'll get your ass kicked. There's no such thing as a weak Wielder. They're all powerful." Seth and Renwal had covered a little over three-quarters of the total distance in the last nine hours, yet the monotonous landscape remained unchanged. Flat, weedy plains stretched endlessly to the horizon, devoid of any hills, trees or streams.

Since they had left, Seth had been discreetly using Identify on herbs and rocks along the dirt road, hoping to improve his aether manipulation without Renwal noticing. So far, he'd made good progress; the spell now only took him three seconds to cast. Sure, it wouldn't be useful against rich nobles with concealment artifacts, but he knew it would make a difference in the Wicked Forest.

"Hey, boy," Renwal said, still sitting on the wagon's front seat.

"How much longer are you going to keep your awakening a secret?" Seth's heart skipped a beat.

"What are you talking about?"

"How dumb do you think I am?" Renwal asked, smirking.

"You've been staring at random stuff every few seconds ever since we left. If you aren't Identifying them, then you need Vandric's help, and fast." Seth gulped and gave the man an awkward smile. There was no point in hiding it any longer.

"Sorry, I just… didn't want anyone to know yet." Horizontal wrinkles appeared on Renwal's forehead.

"And why's that?" Seth turned his gaze to the road ahead. In the distance, he saw how numerous tall trees rose on both sides, forming a dark wall along the horizon. Finally, they would get some time away from the relentless sun.

"I don't know, I… uh, I just didn't want to deal with people's reactions on top of everything else," Seth said, hesitating.

"Despite my efforts I awakened as a Primalist, and you know what people think of them. All that nonsense about being cursed and being madmen." Renwal turned sharply toward him.

"That's your reason? Because you awakened as a Primalist? That's ridiculous. Folks in town wouldn't react that badly." Seth let out a dry, humorless laugh.

"Really? Old Hemsley has been telling everyone that Primalists bring death wherever they go. And plenty of people seem to believe him."

"Hemsley's a superstitious old coot," Renwal answered while throwing his hands up.

"Maybe. Still, I figured I'd tell people later," Seth said as he looked at the forest ahead.

"And… it wasn't just the class. If I told anyone, I'd have had to explain the whole thing with the tax collector. I know you and a few others would've made a fuss. There's no doubt someone would've offered to shelter me, fine or not. And I didn't want to drag anyone into my mess." Renwal stared at Seth for a long moment, the reins loose in his hands, before shaking his head with a heavy sigh.

"So because you didn't want us helping you, you decided to isolate yourself completely instead?" The blacksmith clicked his tongue.

"You did the same thing last year. Skipping meals and refusing food people offered you." Seth's mouth twisted to the side.

"That's just how I am, I guess."

"Then you should change that," Renwal answered bluntly.

"Accepting help isn't a weakness." The creaking of the wagon's wheels and the steady clops of the horses' hooves filled the following silence, occasionally joined by the sound of crates bumping into each other in the back whenever the cart ran over a rock.

"You're right," Seth said at last before looking at the blacksmith.

"Could you still keep my awakening to yourself for now? I'd like to tell the others myself."

"Sure. Just don't wait too long. Especially not with Mael. He'll be furious."

"Yeah, I know." After a moment, Renwal spoke again, changing the subject.

"From what I've heard, Primalists have their strengths," he said, trying to sound encouraging.

"High risk, high reward. A lot of hunting." He then snorted.

"And you're the best hunter I know. I've never heard of a fourteen-year-old killing a damn bear. Danger doesn't scare you. I'm sure you'll find your Path." Seth forced a small smile, remembering the day he'd brought the beast down—and his mother's furious scolding afterward, despite the townsfolk's praise.

"Yeah," he muttered.

"I probably will." Back to his usual chatty mood, Renwal immediately followed with another question.

"Mael mentioned a few weeks ago that you were still short on coins for a stone. So, I'm guessing you awakened with your very first one?"

"Yeah, exactly," Seth answered, glancing at the forest now looming ahead.

"I told you the tax collector thought I was lying about something and fined me for it? The truth is that he didn't believe I awakened with a single stone. So he wanted me to pay fifteen coppers… the cost of ten stones and the awakening tax."

"That's even more infuriating," Renwal said, shaking his head before looking at Seth with a new measure of respect.

"Still… one stone. How long did you hold the damn thing?"

"Thirty seconds? Maybe a little more?" The blacksmith let out a low whistle.

"You're good at handling pain. Better than most men twice your age."

"I've been injured plenty of times in the woods," Seth replied with a shrug.

"You get used to it, I guess."

"I've been injured plenty at the forge too," Renwal retorted as he lifted his calloused, scarred hand.

"Burns, cuts, smashed thumbs. And still, I only ever managed to hold those things for a few seconds before it felt like my hand was being dipped in some flames."

"Each time?" Seth asked, raising an eyebrow.

"How many have you used?" In Sunatown, anyone with the coin had tried at least once, clinging to the hope that people exaggerated about the pain—that fate might be kinder to them. But they all eventually learned the truth: there was a reason it took at least ten stones to ignite a Well. And for most townsfolk, saving for even a single stone was already a lifetime effort.

"I've been trying for the past twenty years," Renwal said with a heavy sigh, his gaze drifting to the clouds above.

"This weekend, it will be my fifteenth."

"What?" Seth's head snapped toward the man. Besides Vandric and Marcus, who were non-combat Wielders, the blacksmith was clearly the highest earner in town, but fifteen stones was a lot. He had always assumed the man was wasting it on beer and food. Renwal chuckled quietly.

"Selling extra tools and weapons in Arthuri helped quite a bit. Enough to buy one almost every year and pay the awakening tax." Fifteen stones. If Seth hadn't been paying for his mother's treatments, he might have earned fifty common coins a year at best. Renwal was making nearly three times that. One copper coin per stone, plus fifty commons for the awakening tax—every single year.

"I've even tried lying to the tax collector once," Renwal added, shaking his head.

"Never again. That man can sense when your Well's been worked on. Like something's melted inside, or shifted. I don't really know."

"But I guess he can't tell how many you've used," Seth said, passing an exasperated hand across his face.

"Yeah, but no one I know has the patience to stockpile them and use several at once," Renwal said.

"They want to awaken as soon as they can."

"And yet he thought I did exactly that."

"You just turned seventeen," the blacksmith said with a shrug.

"He probably figured you'd saved a few before reaching the required age for your body to handle those."

"Probably," Seth answered. He then muttered under his breath.

"Fifteen stones…" Renwal rubbed his bald head, clearly embarrassed by the number.

"Have you ever been to Arthuri?"

"No," Seth replied, frowning in confusion at the change of subject.

"Why?"

"You'll see when we get there that making money is a whole different game for Wielders," Renwal answered before pausing to duck under a low-hanging branch as they entered the forest.

"If I somehow awakened as a real Blacksmith, I could easily make ten to twenty common coins a day with my craft. And that's nothing to what I could make if I somehow managed to get a Weaponsmith or Armorsmith subclass in the following years." Even though Seth had never left Sunatown, he knew that was true—anything infused with aether sold for far more than normal equipment.

Often, he had questioned Marcus about the reason why he had set his shop in a town without any deep-pocketed nobles, and the Alchemist had always given the same answer: to stay away from trouble. To him, Wielders were a constant source of headaches— especially the nobles. And based on the tax collector's behaviour, it made total sense. As Seth and Renwal advanced deeper into the forest, the trees grew denser, causing the sky to vanish behind a dense canopy of leaves.

Giant bushes and the thick undergrowth lined the dirt road, obscuring everything except the sharp turn ahead. Renwal tried to cheer him up while slowing the horses.

"We'll be there in less than two hours, so keep—" Suddenly, the blacksmith pulled hard on the reins.

"Stop!" Frowning, Seth took a few more steps forward to see past the wagon.

"Why did you stop? Is there—" A girl and three—no, four—men were running toward them. The girl was out in front, gripping a bow, and kept glancing over her shoulder, her red ponytail whipping wildly each time. He noticed a dark stain across the side of her leather armor, and his stomach tightened—she seemed injured. Seth's focus quickly moved to the men chasing her. All four were armed—two with pitchforks, one with a dagger, and one with a short sword. Bandits.