Chương 74: Chapter 047 The Hunt Begins At Dawn

Jack woke early the following morning feeling rested. The previous day with his family had opened his eyes to this new life. A true second chance. He had years to prepare for dealing with Baron Greaves. In the meantime, he could enjoy himself. Build stronger relationships with his family while training his new archery and assassin skills. As he lay in bed, just as the first cockerel crowed, he thought about all the things he could do. Spend time cooking with his mom and Zia. Making biscuits looked easy enough.

Go on walks with his dad, share time together while they sketch wildlife, or pen a poem. I missed Dad's last weekend walk. Jack was injured after fighting the goblin and the rat-faced rogue. Maybe tomorrow, if I'm not too sore from the hunt. When Richard got older, Jack could play 'soldier' with him in the courtyard. Maybe I can teach him how to use a bow, if Mom doesn't stop us. He chuckled at the thought of his mom's reaction. He thought about Polly. No idea what we'd do together.

She'd probably find something inconvenient and hilarious just to annoy me. He smiled.

"I can make some friends," he whispered while thinking about the people he'd met since returning to his sixteen-year-old body.

"Nessa and Ella seem nice. Toma's a little young, but I enjoyed teaching him." His thoughts drifted to the five young adventurers and the dungeon run.

"Ben is such an idiot." He chuckled as he remembered the partially paralysed teenager complaining.

"Though he was brave…" Jack heard his mom heading down the hallway. There was a light knock on his door before she pushed it open.

"Oh. You're up," his mom said as she saw his eyes open.

"Big day today. You up for a big breakfast?" Jack smiled.

"Morning, Mom." He sat up and stretched his shoulders. All the stiffness from archery practice was gone.

"A big breakfast sounds perfect. You want a hand?" Anna's eyes widened.

"Are you sure?" Her eyes sparkled.

"Always happy to have another pair of hands in the kitchen." He nodded.

"Give me a few minutes, and we'll cook breakfast together." Her smile widened as she stepped out of the room with an extra bounce in her step.

"Dip the toast in the bacon fat… it adds flavour," Anna advised.

"That's it, soak it all up." Jack smiled as he placed the slices of toast into the still-hot frying pan. A few minutes later, they had three steaming breakfasts on the table. His dad entered the kitchen as they were finishing up.

"Smells good." His father patted Jack on the shoulder.

"You ready for the hunt, Son?" Jack nodded as he cut into the bacon he'd helped prepare.

"I've got everything I need ready." His father gave a thoughtful nod.

"Remember, you're going to be dealing with nobility… including their children." He drummed his fingers on the table, a frown creasing his brow.

"They can be a… handful. Try to stay away from them and be respectful." Jack forced a smile. He was already aware of how entitled young nobles behaved.

"I'll try to steer clear of them, Dad." He thought of Baron Greaves. The man still cast a shadow over every plan. Even in the warmth of the kitchen, he felt that cold draught of what was coming.

After breakfast, Jack dressed in his new riding outfit.

"It feels really comfortable, even if I do look like an idiot." He studied himself in the bathroom mirror.

"I'm glad Polly isn't awake yet." He smiled, imagining what insult she might come up with on the spot. He returned to his room and added the six inscribed spell scrolls to his breast pocket; one [Chronos Sphere] scroll at the back, two [Fireball] scrolls in the middle, and three [Frost Breath] at the front. He patted his breast pocket before securing his dagger at his side, slung his quiver over one shoulder, and the bow over the other.

The white oak bow was hidden beneath a strip of dark cloth to conceal its distinctive colour. Jack, on the other hand, wouldn't be hidden beneath his mask and cloak. Today, he had to show his face. Jack looked at his pack. He rarely went anywhere without it; it held his scribe supplies. But his dad had advised him not to bring it to the hunt. Servants would be attending the hunt, providing refreshments and anything else the guests might need. He couldn't help himself.

He pulled out a small notepad and a few basic scribe supplies and slipped them into his inside pocket. He felt more comfortable carrying them, even if he didn't use them.

"Almost forgot them." He rifled through his other jacket's pockets. The smoke bombs went into the right jacket pocket, and the blinding powders into the left.

"Just gone twenty past five." Less than forty minutes remained before he needed to be at the Royal Library. The Baron had said six sharp, which, for a commoner, meant five-forty-five. He was expected to arrive well before any of the nobility. His father had explained that nobles would start appearing after six, with the hunt set to begin at seven.

"Damn it." He looked across at his bookshelf, where the evidence regarding Baron Greaves and the other blood mages was hidden. He'd almost forgotten to take it with him. Ensure your favorite authors get the support they deserve. Read this novel on the original website. He quickly grabbed the envelope and secured it in his hunting jacket. Jack took another glance at his bedroom and smiled.

"See you later, PenDragon." He headed to the door.

"Look after our family while I'm gone." The little dragon acknowledged his name with a puff of aether-steam and returned to his vigil. PenDragon had scribe supplies and a family to protect. Back in the kitchen, Anna admired her son in his new hunting outfit.

"I don't like hunting, but you do look smart in that outfit, Jack." Dad nodded.

"Thanks," Jack replied.

"I'm not looking forward to the hunt, but Thorn and Tallow are excellent tailors."

"They are, Son." His dad patted his own jacket.

"All my clothes are made by them." Jack headed to the sink for a drink of water, his nerves making him thirsty. As he filled a cup with water, he noticed a half-dozen glass vases sitting on the windowsill. Within one of them was the blood-red rose he'd picked up from Demeter's temple. His hand itched at the memory. Is it rooting? Small white roots were growing from the stem. He picked up the vase.

"Hey, Mom. The rose is rooting." Anna nodded.

"I know. I plan to pot it up when the roots are better established. It will make for a nice addition to the garden if it survives. Those petals might make some lovely rose petal jam or a nice rose tea." Jack smiled at his mom, incorporating everything she could into her cooking. He put the vase back and noticed that the red petals were as vibrant as they were the day he acquired the rose. Is that normal?

Jack walked through the early morning city fog towards Royal Library Square. The air was still, tinged with the faint ozone-like scent of spent aether-steam. It would clear soon after sunrise. Despite the hour, the city was already active, merchants and vendors setting up stalls for the Saturday crowds. Carts and wagons rolled by, delivering goods to various businesses across Lundun. Relying on [Shadow Veil], Jack kept to the back alleys and shadowy streets to keep himself partially hidden.

As he crossed a main thoroughfare, a sleek brass delivery drone—modelled after scarab beetles but about the size of a cat—buzzed over his head on its way to deliver whatever goods it held within. Powered by rechargeable aether capsules, no larger than a walnut, the larger drones were capable of transporting lightweight parcels across vast distances. The drone bore the gilded crest of the Mercia Royal Courier Service and was guided by precision tracking runes embedded in its bronze shell.

As he neared The Square, Jack noticed a boy a little older than Zia, huddled in a shop doorway. Wrapped in a threadbare blanket, the child shivered while trying to stay warm. She was probably like that a few days ago. He cast [Assassin's Mark] on the boy. Malnourished, hungry, wary, no protections. He paused and dug into his coin pouch.

"Get yourself something to eat." He flipped a silver coin the boy's way. The boy's eyes widened at the spinning coin. He dropped the tatty blanket, snatched the coin midair, and clutched it to his chest.

"Th-thank you, sir." The boy glanced up and down the cobbled street in case anyone had seen. Jack walked on and rechecked the boy's information. Malnourished, hungry, hopeful, no protections. A couple of streets before his destination, he stopped outside an unassuming building. There were dozens of these locations scattered throughout the city; they were places owned by the Inquisition where Lundun citizens could approach them.

He paused, glanced up and down the street, before retrieving the envelope from his jacket. He pushed the envelope through the letterbox and gave a wry smile. I hope you all fucking hang you murdering bastards. Minutes later, he arrived at The Square. He paused to take it all in. The handful of vendors allowed on the plaza were setting up their stalls. Arman was already there, firepit glowing, a spit-roast lamb sizzling away.

In the cool air, the rising steam from the meat looked like the breath of an ancient serpent. It was five-fifty, and The Square was filling with wagons and horses in preparation for the hunt. Jack hadn't seen any nobles yet, only the commoners tasked with organising and supporting the event. At seven, the procession would leave Lundun and travel to a private forest, where the nobles and other riders would mount their horses and begin the hunt. He made his way to Arman's stall and joined the short queue.

The least he could do was enjoy one of Arman's delicious wraps before enduring a day in the company of nobility. Arman greeted each customer like they were an old friend. When Jack stepped forward, the vendor chuckled.

"Jack. Joining the hunt, no?" the old man asked. Jack laughed.

"Baron Greaves invited me, so…" he lowered his voice, "not much choice." The old man gave a nod.

"Be careful with the young one, yes," Arman warned. Jack nodded.

"Dad warned me," he whispered back.

"Hmm… what will it be?" Arman asked, grabbing a soft flatbread.

"One wrap? Or are we planning to feed all the orphans again, yes?"

"Just one, thanks," he chuckled.

"The last one I fed moved in!" Arman's eyes widened.

"The little, shy, helpful one? Yes?" Jack nodded.

"Zia. When Mom saw her…" He trailed off, shrugging.

"She sort of just stayed." The old man roared with laughter.

"Young Jack, your mother is an angel, yes. Such a kind woman. Your father is a blessed man, yes."

"Yes," Jack agreed. A customer behind them cleared his throat; subtle but pointed.

"Yes, yes, yes…" Arman sang.

"Too much work for one old man, and my help is late again." He handed Jack the wrap and accepted his coin.

"Thanks, Arman," Jack said, glancing at the meeting point a dozen metres away. A few steps on, he spotted the man overseeing the registration. The hunt secretary was a narrow-shouldered, older fellow with an angular face, trimmed white beard, and small, round spectacles perched on the bridge of his nose. He wore a long brown coat trimmed with bronze. He held a brass information tablet, its surface humming with runic script. As Jack approached, the man didn't look up.

"Name and class?"

"Jack… App-Novice Scribe," he replied.

"Novice Scribe." The older man finally glanced over his spectacles, activated a few runes on the tablet, and gave a single nod.

"Jack. Novice Scribe. Son of William, one of the Library's Expert Scribes. Starting work at the Library on Monday. Congratulations, boy."

"Thanks… that's me," Jack confirmed.

"I'm looking forward to working in the Ancient Texts Department." Despite everything that had happened in his past life, he meant it. He was looking forward to being a scribe again. The secretary made another note.

"Hmm… looks like you'll be with Baron Greaves' group." He gave Jack a measured glance.

"You must be special to be granted such a privilege." Jack frowned and shook his head.

"There must be a mistake. I assumed I'd be with the younger riders." At sixteen, he'd be expected to ride and hunt with the other youths. The older nobles wouldn't want to be bothered by a teenage commoner. The older man double-checked.

"No. No mistake. Personally invited by the Baron. It's been made clear you are to be in his group." Jack didn't know what to say. He nodded with his mouth open. This made no sense. Being invited at all was an honour—one he didn't want—but to be assigned to the Baron's personal group was an extraordinary privilege. A dangerous one; nobles could make or break a person. With no other option, he found a public bench, sat down, and ate his wrap from Arman while waiting for the nobles to arrive.

Why has he invited me to his group?