Chương 15: Chapter 010 PenDragon, Be Vigilant; There’s Evil Afoot

After a few minutes of rest from exercising, he had an idea.

"I'll sketch the twelve nobles." He sat in comfort at his old study desk, preparing to create a sketch of the dozen blood magic cult members. The familiar scent of aged parchment, fresh scrolls and ink filled his senses like a welcome embrace.

"This brings back memories," he murmured, running his hand over the time-worn surface. His fingertips traced the wood grain and the faint grooves left by years of scribbling and note-taking. Faded ink stains still marked the desk, little accidents of creativity from a younger self.

"This used to be Dad's." A frown crept onto his face as he remembered the fire that had consumed this and so much more.

"I have to kill him to protect my family, to protect this new life." Jack closed his eyes and bowed his head.

"Thank you for this second chance," he prayed to the Gods.

"I will not waste it." When he opened his eyes, a smile bloomed as he spotted a tiny figure perched at the corner of the desk.

"PenDragon." The name fell from his lips like a reunion with an old friend. The miniature clockwork dragon, no more than six inches tall, sat atop a little wooden pedestal, wings folded along its glittering blue back, its tiny jaw agape in silent vigilance. It was a mechanical toy powered by magic, a marvel of delicate rune enchantments and clever gears, and one of the finest presents his mom had ever given him.

At the sound of its name, PenDragon, the little dragon's eyes glowed bright blue, ready for voice-activated commands from its master.

"I'd forgotten all about you," Jack said, reaching out and lifting the tiny dragon into his palm. Before the fire that destroyed everything, he hadn't activated the toy in years, having grown beyond his childhood.

"PenDragon," he whispered again, stroking the tiny dragon's polished head.

"Still on duty, huh?" He placed the toy back on the desk, where it blinked once as if to acknowledge its master's return.

"What the hell, let's have some fun," he said, with a big smile.

"PenDragon, fly around the room three times and return." PenDragon's eyes flashed blue, acknowledging the commands. With a puff of aether-steam, the tiny mechanical dragon flew in the air and lapped Jack's room three times before returning. Jack laughed while recalling the hours of fun he'd had as a child ordering the dragon to fetch his crayons or to send his mom a message via the voice recording option.

'Mommy, me and PenDragon are hungry, can we have a snack, please?' was a popular one. He had an idea.

"PenDragon. Record the following message.

'Hi, Mom. I love you.'" Jack smiled. Mom will like that, he thought.

"PenDragon. Deliver the last message to Mom in the kitchen downstairs and return." As the little dragon's eyes flashed blue, acknowledging the command, Jack rushed to open the door; the toy couldn't open doors. PenDragon took flight, a puff of aether-steam in its wake as it navigated its way to the kitchen. Jack listened at the door. From the kitchen, he heard his own voice, 'Hi, Mom. I love you.' Followed by his mother shrieking in fright and the clatter of pots and pans. His mom yelled, "Fucking hell, Jack!

Are you trying to kill me?" Jack's eyes widened at the realisation; he ran to the kitchen, almost getting hit in the head by PenDragon as it returned up the stairs to his room.

"Sorry, Mom. I was, erm, being nice?" His mom looked at him while she picked an old pan off the floor.

"That's my cast-iron skillet; the good one!" She shook her head while checking the pan for damage.

"Aren't you a little old to be playing with toys?"

"Sorry, Mom," he said, feeling guilty.

"Do you want me to clean it?" Pointing at the old pan that was 'the good one', which looked no different to any other pan. She looked at him like he'd threatened to use it as a chamberpot.

"Do you have any idea how much effort it takes to maintain a good skillet like this one?" She shook her head again and added, "Barbarians, the lot of you. No respect for good kitchenware." She pointed at the door.

"Get out of my kitchen." Jack shrugged. As far as he was concerned, it was just another pan. As he returned to his room, he heard his mom say, "The idiot wants to clean my good cast-iron skillet. I failed to raise him right." He sat back down at the desk.

"PenDragon, be vigilant; there's evil afoot," he said in a serious tone, before laughing again. The little blue dragon's eyes flashed in acknowledgement. Jack took a deep breath and reached for a clean sheet of parchment and a well-sharpened pencil. He closed his eyes, letting his fingers move instinctively, guided by muscle memory and the [Draughtsmanship] skill.

Lines flowed across the page with practised ease, each stroke capturing precise detail: the nobleman's refined features, the sweep of his long silver hair, and the tall, ostentatious top hat. Without the burn scars hindering his right hand, everything felt amazing. His palm itched a little from the rose thorn, but that was nothing compared to how it used to be.

"I forgot how good this feels without the damage." The sketch began to take life. Shadows gave depth to cheekbones; the curl of a sneer shaped his lips. His waistcoat was richly embroidered, marked by traces of red, a subtle but deliberate indication of wealth and power.

"Based on the way he carried himself," Jack examined the haughty tilt of the head he'd drawn, "he might've been the leader." He paused, studying the finished sketch.

"I wonder if he was Viscount Tides?" PenDragon puffed a tiny cloud of aether-steam as if sharing his suspicion.

"That is really high-quality." He was admiring the finished sketch.

"It's so life-like." Jack laughed when he realised why.

"It's my higher Compatibility score." It was now 70%, up from 43% before he died. The higher affinities would have helped a little as well. The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

"Whichever Gods have given me this chance, thank you. Thank you so much." As he completed the last noble's likeness, Baron Greaves, his [Draughtsmanship] skill levelled up. He dropped the pencil.

"I got a level from a simple sketch, and it's a scribe skill!" In shock, Jack stared at the System Message for over a minute. [System Message-Internal View] [Apprentice Scribe Skill Levelled] [Draughtsmanship (7)] After the first couple of levels, it was rare for a skill to level from performing a basic activity like sketching a dozen faces.

Of more importance, Jack had assumed his scribe skills would be frozen like what occurred when someone hit a levelling milestone—level 25, level 50, level 75—and chose a new novice class. At level 25, Jack had a choice when he placed his hand on a Choosing Stone. He could've continued his journey as a scribe and chosen Apprentice Scribe, or another novice class at level 0.

Of course, in his past life, he chose Apprentice Scribe, but had he chosen Novice Explorer, for example, his Novice Scribe class and skills would've been frozen until he again reached level 25. At that point, he could've chosen another novice class, Apprentice Scribe, or Apprentice Explorer. Whichever class he chose last would be the only active one capable of levelling. The others would still be useable, but they wouldn't level.

Elves, with their long lifespans, tended to take a convoluted route to power; they combined multiple novice and apprentice-level classes for their synergistic skill combinations. Humans, however, could not afford any diversions if they ever wanted to master a class. Had Jack's assumptions been correct, he'd have been able to use his scribe skills at their current levels, but only his new archery skills would level up.

Jack couldn't sit still due to excitement as he looked at his scribe skills list to confirm the new level. [Class Screen-Internal View] Class: Apprentice Scribe (49) Compatibility: 70% Novice Primary Skills —Draughtsmanship (7) [Draughtsmanship] was now his highest-level skill. Jack stood in shock.

"I-I must have been close to a level before I died." He paced the room, still excited at what this meant.

"I can still level my scribe skills; I can level all my skills." Levelling two classes at the same time was unheard of. Realisation hit.

"I can become a Journeyman Scribe." He'd assumed his scribe skills would be forever locked at their current level for the rest of his life, and so he'd never have the choice of becoming a Journeyman Scribe at level 50. In his past life, at age forty-one, he should've been at least a level 63 Journeyman Scribe when he died. With his prodigious early levelling speed, perhaps above level 75 and into the realms of Expert Scribe.

However, with the death of his family and severe burn scars, coupled with depression and alcohol abuse, his levelling speed plummeted to well below average. His scribe skills had all but stagnated. With wobbly legs, he sat down in even more shock than before.

"Will I be able to choose journeyman now?" Normally, when reaching level 50, a person would go to a temple and use the Choosing Stone to select either the journeyman version of their class or a new class at the novice level. Jack was in a unique situation. It could be that when he reached level 50, he could use the Choosing Stone immediately, or perhaps he'd have to wait until his archery class reached level 25 before choosing a new class.

"It doesn't matter; I can eventually choose Journeyman Scribe." Jack smiled.

"After dealing with Greaves, I can carry on my life as a scribe." He pumped his fist in the air in celebration and shouted, "Yes!" A few moments later, he heard his mother call from the bottom of the stairs, "Are you alright, Jack?" He calmed down.

"Erm, yes, fine." He took a deep breath.

"I got a little excited about using my new scribe skills." His mom laughed and went back to whatever she was doing. Cooking.

"I'm going to be a Journeyman Scribe and have a good life." Jack couldn't stop smiling.

"I can't waste any time." Jack took a quick look at the sketches of the twelve nobles before hiding them in a book and placing it on the bookshelf.

"Mom won't check there." His bookshelf was one of the few things his mother wouldn't 'dust' while cleaning. After spending thirty minutes drawing the nobles' likenesses, he'd recovered from his earlier exercise. Jack strapped the dagger under his top, so his mother wouldn't see it and went for a jog through the city. Having realised he was unfit, his jog was on the slow side; it was more of a brisk walk. As Jack 'jogged' through the city, he considered ways to earn gold fast.

If everything went like his first life, he'd be working with his father as a Novice Scribe in a couple of weeks. The pay for a novice wasn't great, just 25 silver a week, meaning it would take at least a few weeks to save enough to afford a bow. I need a bow. If only I could tell the Royal Library I'm already an Apprentice Scribe. Apprentice Scribes earned at least 1 gold a week, so with that pay, a bow would be within reach in no time compared to the meagre wages of a novice.

As he neared home, Jack slowed his pace; he couldn't let his mother see him out of breath.

"What can I do to earn some coin?" he muttered to himself. Jack opened the door and had an epiphany. He almost slapped himself in the head for being so dumb. Why am I trying to reinvent the wheel? He shook his head. I'm already an Apprentice Scribe; I can make spell scrolls and sell them for good coin. He had spent most of the past twenty years surviving almost exclusively on the profits from selling spell scrolls.

At first, he crafted just enough scrolls to pay for food and cheap ale, but for the past ten years he worked twelve-plus hours a day to afford the drow dagger and poison. The welcoming aroma of his mother's cooking pulled him inside.

"Hey, Mom," he called out, stepping into the warm embrace of his home. His mom looked him over as he entered the kitchen.

"Why do you look so sweaty? Are you coming down with something?" she asked, reaching out to check his forehead.

"Hmm. You do feel a little warm." With that, she moved towards her herb supplies, leaving Jack both amused and reassured.

"I'm fine. I walked a little fast and became hot, that's all." He needed to work on his lies. His mother ignored him while adding something to a bowl of soup.

"Eat this. We need to keep you healthy and strong." She handed him the bowl, which had a slight medicinal smell.

"You know, your second uncle Elijah, twice removed, came down with a fever and died the following week." She shook her head.

"If only he hadn't ignored the warning signs," she muttered to herself.

"If you start seeing colourful spots floating before your eyes, tell me immediately." She pointed the wooden spoon at him. Struggling to control a smile, he took the soup and nodded before sitting at the table.

"I mean it, Jack." She leaned over the table to look into his eyes.

"Any spots. Promise you'll let me know." Jack smiled.

"I promise, Mom." He changed the subject.

"Where's Polly?"

"She's gone to meet her friends," his mom explained as she returned to stirring a bubbling stew.

"She won't be home for at least a few hours." Turning back to face him with an exasperated look in her eye, she continued, "That reminds me. That annoying sister of yours will be doing the washing for a month as punishment. I can't believe she thought drenching you would be funny. Well, I can tell you 'Little Miss Laugh Out Loud' ain't laughing now. She'll be elbow-deep, scrubbing stained gussets and your brother's dirty nappies until the next full moon."

Jack laughed as one of his previous life events repeated itself. I'll have to find some spider egg sacs over the weekend. Those tiny spiders resulted in so many good memories. For almost a year after the spider event, Polly had not pranked him. It was a memory he had to replicate. His mom noticed the expression on his face as he remembered his sister running from her room, screaming because she'd found a few harmless spiders in her hair.

She narrowed her eyes and ordered, "You're the older brother and a man now, Jack. You will show some maturity and not respond."

"Of course, Mom," he said.

"I'm a responsible adult now; the punishment you gave her seems fair and appropriate." He looked down at his soup and smirked. There was no way he wasn't going to reciprocate. The game is on.

"Hmm." His mother went back to cooking.