Chương 35: Chapter 022 Truth Before The Lie (Part 2)

While waiting for breakfast, Jack recounted the events of the previous day to his silent father, with his mother interjecting as she prepared the meal.

"Your plan leaves a bad taste." His father tapped a finger on the kitchen table.

"But I agree with your assessment, Jack. The adventurers could argue they technically did nothing wrong and were defending their kill. The guards won't act on that information." He stroked his neat beard in thought.

"We'll send the information anonymously to the city guards. They probably won't make any arrests, but at least they'll be alerted. If other adventurers meet the same fate around Lundun, these individuals might be considered suspects." Jack nodded as his stomach gave an impatient growl, lured by the enticing aroma filling the kitchen. Mmm, pancakes and bacon…

"I'll record everything I remember," he licked his lips, "without including any identifying details that could link it back to us. I'll let you review it before I send it off, Dad." His father smiled.

"I'm proud of you, Son. You managed a difficult day and showed real courage. Not many without a combat class can claim to have bested a goblin single-handed." Touched by his father's proud words, Jack felt his eyes well up with tears.

"Thanks, Dad." After a brief pause, his father drummed the table again and continued, his voice softening with nostalgia.

"Your grandfather was a wandering scribe who embarked on more adventures than anyone I've ever met. You remind me of him. The tales he told of battling goblins and pirates still echo in my memory." He chuckled.

"I'm not sure whether I believed all of them, mind you. But he swore blind he once encountered a sapient dragon. Said it spoke to him in perfect Common and called him by name." His dad shook his head, smiling at the absurdity.

"A talking dragon, no less." Jack laughed. Dragons hadn't been seen in thousands of years, and the few records that remained described them as bloodthirsty engines of destruction, not conversational beings. It was probably just a story, a father trying to impress his young son. But it was more than just stories for him. Though Jack had never met his grandfather—he'd been born a few years after the man had died—his legend loomed large in the family.

He was said to have travelled far beyond the borders of the Kingdom of Mercia, exploring ancient ruins, collecting forgotten tomes, and penning scrolls that were still kept in the family's collection. His journals were filled with meticulous notes, maps, and sketches, and they had fascinated Jack as a child. They were what sparked his passion for magic, scrollcraft, and the idea that knowledge itself could be an adventure. Jack used to dream of becoming a powerful mage and scribe.

Someone who would journey across the known world, unearthing arcane secrets, unlocking long-lost spells, and ancient tomes. Over time, however, reality had tempered that dream. He'd come to realise that he was more suited to the comfort of a well-worn chair and the loyal company of ink and parchment. Yet a part of him still held onto that ember of fire, that curiosity passed down through his blood. His mother interrupted his thoughts by placing three plates on the table.

Each was loaded with fluffy pancakes, crispy bacon, scrambled eggs, and golden hash browns, accompanied by tall glasses of freshly squeezed orange juice. The perfect Sunday morning breakfast. Jack smiled and sat up straighter. Whatever else the day held, it was off to a good start.

"Thanks, Mom." He inhaled, savouring the aroma.

"It smells amazing." He sliced into a thick stack of fluffy, golden-brown buttermilk pancakes, drizzled with rich, amber maple syrup that seeped into every crevice. A pat of butter melted on top, glistening as it pooled into the soft sponge beneath. The smell was divine, but the taste was even better. He gave a soft, appreciative moan as the warm flavours of maple and butter mingled on his tongue.

"So good," he murmured between bites. I still can't believe I used to take Mom's food for granted… I was such a fool, he reflected, cherishing every bite like it might be his last. His mom chuckled as she paired crisped bacon with a forkful of pancake.

"Hmm…" Even she groaned in delight at her own cooking. Meanwhile, his father began on the fried hash browns, crispy on the outside, soft and buttery on the inside. He nodded in silent satisfaction. After breakfast, his father prepared for his early morning hike. Jack, still sore from the previous day, was in no condition to leave the house. He remained behind with his mother, his still-sleeping sister, his baby brother, and the newest addition to their household, Zia.

Returning to his room, he closed the door and jammed the back of a chair under the handle. He needed privacy. It was time to sort through the spoils he'd taken from the rat-faced rogue's corpse. He emptied the contents of his pack onto the floor. The unpleasant iron tang of dried blood made him gag.

"Maybe I shouldn't have kept his gloves and arm guards." They were covered in blood. Scrambling across the room, he threw open the window, and the fresh morning breeze rushed in. The corners of the papers on his desk lifted and flapped in response. As he breathed in the fresh air, he spotted the two inquisitors and their beastkin guards passing by. The male inquisitor paused and looked at Jack for a long moment before continuing on his way. Shit. Jack went weak at the knees and had to steady himself.

What if they come back? Will they find ou t I have two classes? He took a deep breath to calm his rising panic. He had no idea if an inquisitor could scan for multiple classes or only the latest one. Jack looked at the pile of loot.

"I have to get rid of it. What was I thinking?" First, he gathered his scribe supplies from the mess on the floor and placed them on his desk. Thankfully, none of them had been ruined by the blood. Next, he began sorting the loot he'd taken from the rogue into two piles. In the keep pile, he had a pair of arm guards, a lockpicking kit, a small bottle of poison, a whetstone, and a few other bits and pieces that might prove useful later. Jack inspected the pair of leather arm guards designed to protect the forearms.

"They'll be good for archery training." They were scuffed but functional, with dark metal inlays for added defence against blades. They needed a good cleaning and a new leather cord for the left one. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on Royal Road. The old cord had been severed where Jack's dagger had pierced the rat-faced rogue's wrist. Thank the Gods these didn't deflect my dagger.

Had he struck an inch lower, the arm guards might've changed the outcome of the fight entirely. He didn't even bother testing the gloves, they were clearly too small. With his choices made, he repacked the items back into his pack and slid it under his bed to deal with later. He remembered the rogue's cloak, bow, and shortsword, still outside.

"Damn." He sighed.

"I'll deal with all this in a few hours when the house is quieter. Maybe Mom will go out…" After washing the blood from his hands, he returned to his desk and settled into his scribing, hoping to relax. No exercise today, he thought with a small smile.

"I'll write down everything I remember about the adventurers," he murmured, "and then craft a few more spell scrolls." As the light filtered through the window and the chaos of the past day receded to the edges of his thoughts, the quiet scratch of pen on parchment took his mind off what he'd had to do the evening before and the looming threat of the Inquisition. For the moment, at least, he was just a young scribe in his childhood bedroom using his [Draughtsmanship] skill.

Three hours later, Jack had assembled a modest stack of papers containing high-quality sketches of all six adventurers, each accompanied by any names or relevant details they had let slip. He had also drafted a concise cover letter for the city guards, outlining the adventurers' actions and subtly implying a pattern of similar crimes. Nothing too bold, just enough to raise eyebrows. I'll have to do something similar regarding Baron Greaves and the other blood cult members, he thought grimly.

I hope the Inquisition executes the lot of them. Jack leafed through the pages once more, scanning for errors or inconsistencies. Finding none, he neatly stacked the documents and slid them onto a safe spot on his bookshelf; they were tucked between two old tomes on regional law and monster classifications. That should be enough. I hope Dad approves. The thought of his father reading through his work, evaluating it not as a parent but as a fellow scribe, filled Jack with both excited anticipation and unease.

His father's opinion mattered more than anyone's. After the fire that had destroyed his home and claimed his family, Jack had spent years drifting, aimless and embittered. He'd never found another figure to look up to. His father had been his guiding star and role model, the man who had shown him, by quiet example, what it meant to live with dignity. A gentleman not in title, but in conduct. His father was honourable, principled, and in his own way, brave. I want to be like him.

Jack swallowed the lump rising in his throat. Jack picked up his smaller notebook and turned to a fresh page. It was time to record the fight with the rat-faced rogue. A few minutes later, the memory was etched in ink. Every misstep, every hesitation, every lucky stroke. He read over it, committing each detail to memory with his [Perfect Recall] skill, and marked the mistakes he'd made. Not to dwell on them, but to learn and improve. Next time, he told himself, I'll do better.

Unexpected Encounter with Six Adventurers Location: Forest clearing outside Lundun Duration: Under an hour Weapons: Dagger. White oak bow with a quiver of ten cheap arrows Summary of Events: Failed to avoid a potential confrontation. Critical error. Surrendering the goblin's ear and sword to the adventurers was the right choice. Choosing to run created the time needed to hide and plan. Absolutely the right move. Hiding in the root-ball hollow was a sound decision.

Successfully used [True Aim] on the first shot despite difficulty breathing. Valuable skill in high-stress situations. Missed or fumbled two follow-up shots. Fear and breathlessness played a significant role. Switched from long-range to melee when the bow proved ineffective. Necessary, if risky. Became tangled in roots. Costly mistake that nearly resulted in death. Headbutting the rogue. Created a crucial opening. The dagger was decisive. Close combat ended the fight. The melee was brutal, chaotic, and terrifying.

Did not hesitate to finish the rogue once the opportunity presented itself. Notable Factors: Luck significantly influenced the outcome: -Rogue froze after first hit; unexpected advantage. -Rogue flinched when loosing arrows; his accuracy decreased significantly. -Rogue's arrows caused minimal damage; fortunate, given my lack of armour. -Ended up on top during the final clash; sheer chance. Returning to the root-ball hollow to avoid the remaining adventurers was the correct call.

Observations and Lessons Learn t: Should have hidden in the forest upon first hearing voices; my pride nearly got me killed. Life is more important than dignity. Though costly, carrying [Chronos Sphere] spell scrolls could have allowed a safer escape or battlefield advantage. Cardio endurance is poor. I struggled to breathe after a few minutes of running. I must begin physical training as soon as I'm healed. A dark cloak will improve concealment. Invest in high-quality armour as soon as funds allow.

Consider acquiring stealth-based gear or scrolls for evasion. Carry healing spell scrolls at all times. One good heal could be the difference between survival and death. Continue practising with the dagger. Close-quarters combat is inevitable. Consider choosing another combat class. Jack rubbed the back of his neck as the weight of his luck finally settled in.

"So many things could've gone wrong." He destroyed the already memorised note with a sigh. Out of curiosity, he opened his status to check his Luck affinity, comparing it against what he'd recorded in his notepad a few days earlier. To his surprise, his Luck affinity had risen by 1% to 14%.

"That's… unusual." He frowned. It was rare for affinities to shift so quickly. A person of his age might, for instance, subject themselves to regular doses of poison and only see their Poison affinity rise by a single per cent over the course of a year. Even then, that was considered fast. Intrigued, Jack scanned through the rest of his affinity values and was startled to find additional changes. He grabbed his notebook and noted the discrepancies.

Table of Affinities Affinity | Old Value | Increase Fate 71% +1% Earth 25% +1% Blood 18% +1% Luck 13% +1% Poison 10% +1%"That is so strange." Jack scratched his head.

"Five. Why?" He stared at the table, trying to make sense of it. Everything he'd ever read about affinities made one thing clear. They were slow to change. Years of dedicated training or repeated exposure to the appropriate elements were typically required to shift a value by even a single per cent. Significant changes tended to occur after major life events, such as nearly dying from poisoning or undergoing a magical transformation. A single affinity increase after a fight might be explainable, but five?

That wasn't how affinities worked.

"Not unless…" Jack's eyes narrowed.

"Something's different about me." A chill ran down his spine. This wasn't something he could risk anyone else discovering. Not the Inquisition, the Guild, or even his own father. If someone learnt that his affinities were shifting like this… well, it wouldn't take much for the wrong sort of attention to find him.

"Hmm… I should destroy any notes about my affinities." He ripped the page out of his notebook and destroyed it.

"I can't let anyone see this information," he whispered.

"I'd better destroy anything that seems out of place as well." He destroyed almost everything he'd written in his notebook since waking up in his teenage body. He had them memorised, so he could recreate them at any time. But for now, they were better forgotten. Having no answers, Jack finished reviewing his notes to help cement the fight in memory, then turned to a task he enjoyed. Crafting spell scrolls.