Chương 22: Chapter 015 The Baron Of Nightmares (Part 2)

Jack woke with an aching body after a few hours of restless sleep. The combination of being awakened by a nightmare, exercise, and a mattress-free bed left him achy and tender.

"Another day and my mattress will at last be dry." His body deflated as he remembered that the cruel nightmares hadn't ended.

"How do I break this curse of bad dreams?" Everyone he cared about was alive and well, and he still had his scribe class and skills. I shouldn't be haunted by nightmares any longer. I'm happy. He couldn't help but smile at the thought that he was happy. The smile faded as quickly as it had come. He remembered a night in a dim tavern, years ago. It was one of the countless nights he'd spent nursing cheap ale and trying not to think about the fire.

An old soldier had sat down across from him, his grey beard flecked with ash, his left sleeve pinned up where an arm should have been. Jack had been too drunk to remember his name, but he'd never forgotten what the man said.

"You think it goes away when the fighting stops?" The soldier had gestured at his missing arm with his remaining hand.

"This healed. Took 'em a few days to mend the flesh. What they don't tell you is that the other wounds." He tapped his temple.

"They don't heal so clean. You can be safe, warm, surrounded by people who love you, and still wake up screaming in a trench you left twenty years ago. Still smell the mage spells. Still hear your mates calling for help you couldn't give." Jack had asked him if there was a cure. The soldier had laughed, a hollow, tired sound.

"If there is, I haven't found it. You learn to live with it. You learn to see it for what it is… A wound, same as any other. And you stop expecting it to just… go away because you're in a better place." He'd tapped his temple again.

"The battle's in here now. And it doesn't care if you've made peace." Jack had thought the old man was just bitter. Drunk, like him. Spouting nonsense to feel wise. Now, sitting on the edge of his mattress-free bed with the morning sun warming his face, he understood. His family was alive. His body was whole. He was, by any reasonable measure, happy. And still Greaves' face swam behind his eyes when he closed them. He felt the phantom heat of flames licking at his skin and his mother's desperate screams.

The nightmare wasn't a failure of willpower. It was a scar on his soul, just as real as the burns that had once covered half his body. And like those burns, it would take time to heal; if it ever truly did. He took a slow breath and forced himself to stand. One day at a time. That's what the soldier said. You wake up, you breathe, you put one foot in front of the other. And you don't let the ghosts win. Jack couldn't help but smile at the thought that, despite everything, he was still smiling.

Perhaps in a few weeks the nightmares will pass. Stretching his stiff body and rubbing his tired eyes, he looked at the time. It was just past six in the morning.

"I'll get a few more scrolls done, then go bow shopping."

"Today's the day I become a real archer." He headed to his study area with the intent to create enough spell scrolls to sell so he'd have enough coin for a good-quality starter bow. Another [Chronos Sphere] spell scroll first, though. He activated his [Inscribe Spell] skill and put pen to paper. Just over four hours later, he'd had a relaxing breakfast with his parents and had crafted three more spell scrolls. On the other hand, Polly hadn't woken up until almost nine and hadn't left the house until ten.

As soon as she left, Jack was again sneaking into her empty room to borrow the valet costume. He glanced at her unmade bed and nightwear discarded on the floor.

"She does nothing but sleep," he mumbled, unimpressed with the mess. Having retrieved his disguise, he headed into Lundun to shop for scribe supplies. At least that's what he'd told his mother. Jack once again donned the valet costume in an alleyway and visited the Barker and Harker Spell Scroll Shop. He entered the shop to the same soft chime of a bell overhead and saw that the old shopkeeper was tending the counter. If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, it's taken without the author's consent. Report it.

Though the shop was busy, the shopkeeper wasn't serving a customer.

"Good day, young man." The old man smiled as he noticed Jack enter the shop.

"How is your young master doing these days?"

"Good morning." He emptied his pack of scrolls on the counter.

"My master is doing fine and was very happy with the agreement. He has produced more scrolls." Jack crossed his fingers. Don't ask me about the [Chronos Sphere] scrolls. The old shopkeeper adjusted his glasses and flicked through the small pile of scrolls.

"As expected, this is good work again." He nodded and pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose.

"Your master is a talented young scribe." Jack smiled at the compliment.

"Yes. He's working very hard to level."

"Hmm, hmm." The old man sorted the scrolls.

"We'll take all of these. That's seven [Chronos Sphere], three [Fireball], and three [Frost Breath] unimbued spell scrolls for 64 silver." He smiled and pointed to the stack of [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls.

"We don't have many scribes capable of this scroll. We run out frequently." He looked at Jack over his glasses.

"Please inform your master that we will purchase all the [Chronos Sphere] scrolls he can produce." Shaking his head, he added, "Supply never meets demand." That explained the high price for a relatively easy spell scroll. Jack breathed a sigh of relief. I was right; he doesn't care where the scrolls came from. He smiled at the good news.

"I'll let my master know." The old man passed Jack his payment.

"Don't forget, you're entitled to a ten per cent discount on all items in the shop." He gestured towards the scribe supplies.

"Might I suggest a pack of high-quality pencils. We've had good feedback on their quality, and they are perfect for sketching wildlife. Your master might appreciate a pack." Jack placed the silver in his coin purse and nodded.

"I was instructed to purchase some supplies today." He now had 89 silver, more than enough for a bow, arrows, and scribe supplies. You can never have too many pencils. He'd taken to sketching wildlife in the forest while resting from training to assassinate Greaves. It made him feel closer to his late father, who loved to sketch animals and nature. In fact, in the year he spent failing to master a melee weapon, he'd spent more time sketching birds and other wildlife. It helped calm his rage and frustration.

The old man nodded in approval as Jack went to the display of scribe supplies. After a few minutes, he returned to the counter with a small pile of items. The shopkeeper totalled his purchase.

"That's forty medium-quality blank scrolls." He tapped the pile of blank scrolls with an arthritic finger.

"Hmm, a good choice, a very good choice. Although you could use lower-quality scrolls, this is preferable. Many noble houses won't purchase spell scrolls on lower-quality material." He went back to calculating the price of what Jack was buying.

"A pack of high-quality pencils," the old man was smiling like a Cheshire cat at the upsell.

"And two pots of medium-quality scribe ink. That will be 10 silver before the discount, so 9 silver, young man." Jack nodded and paid the shopkeeper. He could have gone for the cheaper blank scrolls and ink, but he knew from experience that it was more enjoyable to work with higher-quality materials. Plus, the cost was only a couple of coppers extra per scroll. After exiting the shop and retrieving his normal clothes, he started scouring the merchant's stalls and shops for a suitable bow and arrows.

He had 80 silver to buy what he needed.

"You can't be serious?" The young weapons merchant complained while shaking his head in disbelief.

"53 silver for such a beautiful work of art would be daylight robbery. It would be worth several gold if it weren't for minor staining." He pointed at the bloodstained, white oak bow in Jack's hands.

"It has all the standard runes, and look at the intricate, detailed carvings. A true artisan made the weapon. It could take a good hit from a sword and suffer no damage." Jack was standing in front of a small stall, negotiating the price of a bow that would more than meet his needs. The merchant wanted 90 silver for the weapon, a dozen basic arrows, and a cheap quiver. He grinned.

"It's covered in ugly blood splatters." He didn't care if the bow was stained. It was a good-quality bow that would last him until he reached level 25.

"Good luck selling it to someone else. 53 silver is a fair price." He put the bow down and turned around to leave. The teenage merchant scoffed.

"I can go as low as 80 silver, but that's it." He mumbled something about his grandfather under his breath. Jack paused. That would empty my coin purse. He thought back to the Arman wrap incident. I won't make that mistake again. He glanced back at the young man, who he guessed was a Novice Merchant.

"Still too much." He took a step away from the stall.

"I'm sure I can find a better deal elsewhere."

"Fine." The merchant sighed.

"75 silver is my limit. I cannot go lower. My grandfather would be furious and string me up by my…" he trailed off, not finishing the sentence. Jack spun on his heels towards the dejected young man.

"That's a bit better." He'd have 5 silver left, more than enough to visit Arman. His mouth began to water at the thought of one of his sumptuous wraps. He could always earn more coin selling spell scrolls.

"70 silver sounds even better, though." He decided to push his luck. The young merchant raised his eyebrows and crossed his arms.

"75 silver is my limit." It was clear it was the lowest he'd go. He's not very good at this. Jack smiled.

"Good doing business with you." While claiming his payment, the young merchant scoffed.