Chương 137: The Weight of What's Left

The ceiling beams over his head swam into focus slowly, their edges blurred and soft. Cal lay perfectly still, his body a slab of lethargic meat pressed into the mattress. His eyelids felt weighted with sand. His thoughts moved in sluggish, disconnected loops, each one dragging the tail of the previous before it could fully form. The sunlight slanting through his bedroom window was bright and golden. Dawn had passed hours ago.

Aurum hung somewhere past its midday zenith, which meant he had been unconscious for the better part of twelve hours. The only stimulant I ever want to take again is coffee. Don't do drugs kids… He groaned and rolled onto his side, the motion requiring a concerted effort. The formula had been buried in Aurelian's recipe book that Cal had affectionately started calling the Concoction Compendium. The alchemist had named the draught scholarly folly with the dry annotation,"It's effective and irresponsible.

Only included for completeness." Cal had brewed a batch and proceeded to ignore every warning in the margin notes, burning through the entire supply over the course of seven days. For science. Well, maybe ignore isn't the right word. More like informed. Those scribbled cautions informed him how far he could push things, so Cal had been without sleep for a week and didn't feel guilty about it at all. Nope. No recklessness here.

Just seven days of splitting every waking hour between the forge and the cauldron, fueled by a concoction that turned fatigue into a distant rumor and turned the inevitable crash into a freight train. He'd nearly finished his project for Mira, too, waiting only on a few final pieces from the local tailor and carpenter. The crash had finally arrived last night, and it was a doozy. He forced himself upright, bracing his palms against his knees as the room tilted and steadied.

His muscles ached with overwork, and he didn't want to waste consumables as a shortcut. The forge had carved that particular misery into his shoulders and forearms. Yorrin's instruction had graduated from"pump until I say stop" to actual hands-on tutelage only after Cal had demonstrated [Forge Breath] for the first time. He smiled despite his sorry state. The Spell had been born out of bored necessity.

One day of pumping the bellows had been more than enough and left him with a visceral understanding of what the forge needed: a consistent, directed flow of air at variable intensities, delivered without interruption. The runic structure took some time to assemble but, fortunately or unfortunately, he'd had a lot of time to think.

He'd borrowed the sustained airflow mechanics from [Air Orb]'s [Ventus] and [Continuance] runes, layered in the rune-stacking amplification principles from [Immolation], and married the whole thing with some tricks he'd developed for [Earth Manipulation], allowing him to route the Spell's origination point through the forge's nozzle. The result was a Spell that let him regulate the forge fire with Mana alone, leaving his hands idle while his mind controlled the airflow.

Yorrin had watched the demonstration in disgruntled silence. Then the smith had snorted, pulled a stool to the anvil, and said,"Right, well. Now I gotta teach ya to hit things properly, eh? Have a seat." Cal warmed at the memory, but it faded quickly as he stood and looked toward the corner of the room. Two large burlap sacks sat propped against the wall beside his dresser. No more excuses, mister. You need to stop avoiding it.

He crossed to the sacks and knelt, loosening the drawstring on the first one and looking inside. Senna's shortsword lay on top, its leather-wrapped hilt faded by the healer's calloused hand. Beneath it was her satchel with the flap buckled closed. He hadn't opened it. Amina's compound bow was wrapped in a separate cloth, along with her quiver and the remnants of her dark leathers. There was more besides and the second sack held the rest, with Kamari's heater shield supporting it all from the bottom.

Cal sighed as he tightened the drawstrings on both sacks, stood, and began to dress. He pulled on a clean linen shirt, warm coat, thick wool cloak, and simple trousers, forgoing his armor entirely. The bags were heavy enough without adding the weight of his legionary armor and trying to juggle his spear. He left with only his new harvesting knife that he'd procured from Jakob, finally replacing the one whose tip he'd broken off beneath the Rootbound Depths.

He hefted a sack over each shoulder and walked out into the grey light of a late winter afternoon. The Adventurer's Hall held a midday crowd of scattered regulars nursing drinks and studying the contract board. A pair of adventurers argued in low voices over a handful of spirit stones spread across their table. Someone at the bar laughed, too long and loud for this early in Cal's day. He shouldered through the entrance, the two sacks shifting and clinking with the muffled percussion of bundled steel.

Felicity Lynwood stood behind the quartermaster's counter, her dark hair pulled into its customary severe bun. She was mid-sentence with a young adventurer holding a fistful of spirit stones, her pen hovering over a receipt, when she glanced up at the sound of his approach. She offered a professional smile that held for exactly one second. Then she registered the burlap sacks on his back.

Felicity quickly finished the transaction with the young adventurer in three clipped words, handed back his receipt, and turned her full attention to Cal. The welcome in her brown eyes cooled into something knowing and somber.

"Hello Cal..."

"Hey Felicity." She studied the sacks for a moment longer, eyeing the shapes pressing against the rough fabric as the freckled skin around her mouth tightened.

"Selara left us a letter… I know what happened well enough, at least the broad strokes." Cal nodded. He'd expected as much. Felicity gestured toward the door behind the counter.

"Follow me. And Cal—" She paused, meeting his eyes.

"Thank you. For bringing them in." He followed her through and down the familiar hallway. Felicity opened the last door in the corridor before the armory and ushered him inside. The room was small, windowless, and lit by a few runelights spaced evenly around the ceiling. A large wooden table dominated the center, its scarred surface cleared and clean. Felicity retrieved a thick leather-bound ledger from a shelf near the door and laid it open on the table.

She uncapped an ink pot and selected a pen; looking to Cal like a woman who had performed this ritual too many times.

"Whenever you're ready." Cal set the first sack on the floor and began. Working methodically, he drew each piece of equipment from the burlap and placed it carefully on the table. Felicity's pen moved in steady counterpoint, scratching across the ledger in neat columns. Eventually, Cal reached into the second sack and lifted out Kamari's heater shield. The weight of it surprised him, even now. It was a slab of riveted iron plates over a hardwood core, built for a man who used his body as a fortress wall.

Cal set it on the table, and the thunk filled the silent room. A jagged gouge scored the shield's upper face, running diagonally from the left edge nearly to the central boss. The metal around the wound was bent inward, compressed by a force that had come close to splitting the shield in half. He knew exactly when that gouge had been made and recalled the memory. The groveback tortoise, enraged and bellowing, lunging with its beak-like mouth at a speed that defied its size. Kamari planting his feet in the creekbed.

The shield rising to meet the strike. The sound of that impact, a concussive crack that shook the ground beneath Cal's boots. And around Kamari, his team. The warrior stood rooted in front of the monster, facing the danger head on to shield and protect his people. That's what I want to be. The thought carried a swell of quiet admiration and the sting of loss. Cal ran his thumb along the damaged edge, feeling the torn metal catch against his skin. He thought about Corinne, and the reason they had been out there.

He thought about the simplicity of that first adventure, when the biggest danger was creatures that they could actually manage. Before Mycari ambushes and mob assassins. I miss her, he thought, shaking his head. I miss them both. He set the shield down gently and stepped back. Felicity's pen had stopped moving. She sat with the nib hovering a fraction above the ledger, her hand perfectly still. Cal watched as she drew a slow, controlled breath through her nose. Then she wrote Kamari's name in careful script.

The letters were flawless, but the stroke that formed the final letter of his surname wavered, just slightly, before the pen lifted. If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation. Five names. Five sets of gear. Five lives distilled into columns of ink on ruled parchment.

"He was a good man," Cal said. Felicity set the pen down and pressed her fingertips against the edge of the table. She didn't look up right away. When she did, her eyes were dry, but her jaw was clenched.

"One of the best we had," she agreed.

"Always willing to help out the new people and never turned down a bounty we requested in all the years I'd known him. Not once. He did turn down three offers to transfer to larger branches because he said—" She smoothed the page with her palm.

"He said this village needed steady hands more than those cities needed another sell-sword." She picked up the pen again and slipped the professional mask back into place, though her eyes glistened.

"The Guild has a process for this, Cal. Each piece of equipment is cataloged, appraised, and held for three months. If next of kin are on file we send notification through the Guild Relay, and the nearest branch will contract local runners or send letters with merchant caravans. The family can claim the gear, or request that the Guild liquidate it on their behalf and forward the proceeds. Typically, when we can't find a buyer within the three months the Guild will buy it out and send the proceeds."

She tapped the ledger.

"It's a small thing, but it matters. Some of these items and their value are the only inheritance a family will ever receive."

"That's… a pretty admirable service. I had no idea the Guild did all that."

"We take our commitment to our adventurers very seriously."

"Of course. Out of curiosity, Felicity, which way do families tend to lean on collecting their claims?"

"Most of the time families request the coin; especially those far from a branch. They often need the money more than a dead relative's sword." She glanced toward the hallway, in the direction of the armory.

"The gear we can't sell goes into the Guild stores, which you are acquainted with. It's available to loan under certain circumstances—" she gave him a meaningful look, "—but mostly there for adventurers to purchase as needed. The other way gear gets in there is when it's sold to use directly. Which is sometimes the other way lost adventurer's items turn up…" She shook her head.

"That's a different matter entirely. It's frowned upon, deeply, but it happens. An adventurer sells their team member's sword to us, only for us to resell it and people recognize the weapon and not the wielder. Suddenly there are questions about where it came from, and what happened to the original owner. Hard questions." Cal absorbed that in silence before speaking. It sounded like a situation that could get messy fast.

"Well, I just wanted to do right by them, you know? Kamari and his team gave their lives protecting me. Returning their belongings in the hopes it might help their families felt like the least I could do." Felicity studied him for a moment. Whatever she found in his face seemed to satisfy something, because the tightness around her jaw eased by a fraction.

"It is the least, Cal. And most people don't even bother with that." She returned to the ledger, cross-referencing each entry against what must have been an internal registry. After several minutes of scratching pen and turning pages, she looked up.

"Everyone here had next of kin on file. Everyone except Amina. Per Guild policy, unclaimed effects default to the individual who returned them." She looked up at Cal.

"Her gear is yours… if you want it."

"Y-Yeah, I do, if that's ok? Is it wrong? It feels kind of wrong."

"There's nothing wrong with it at all, but I can understand the idea of using a dead companion's items being uncomfortable. Many adventurers struggle with it and choose to sell." Cal thought about it for a moment longer before letting Felicity know his decision. She finished processing the formalities, documenting the armor and the small coin pouch that had been tucked into a pocket of the archer's leathers. The coins were few and worn, and Cal pocketed them without counting. Then his attention settled on the bow.

He'd unwrapped it from its cloth and laid it on the table with the rest of Amina's kit, but now he reached for it intentionally. The weapon was a recurve of dark, laminated wood, its limbs tapering to horn-capped tips. The grip was wrapped in cord that had been darkened by years of use, molded to the specific fit of Amina's grip. Cal closed his fingers around it. Through [Spiritual Perception], the bow's aura brushed against his senses. A deep, potent resonance, the kind he'd only felt in the ka-se'thril ore.

Some excitement stirred within him. The analytical part of his mind cataloged the bow's potential as a devastating ranged option, complementing his spear work at distances where— He squeezed his eyes shut, remembering why the bow was now in his grasp. Gently, he drew his finger over the cord grip, feeling the impressions Amina's fingers had worn into it. The shy woman who communicated in as few words as possible. Who kept her eyes lowered and could put an arrow through a feral goblin's eye at sixty yards.

Thank you, Amina. I'll be sure to learn to use this properly. Felicity closed the ledger and studied him a bit longer.

"Your aura's shifted since I saw you last. When did you break through?"

"Uh, about a week and a half ago."

"Well, then some congratulations are in order." She stood and pulled a runic slate Cal recognized from a shelf, along with a blank bronze disk.

"Give me your badge, please." Cal unpinned the iron and set it on the table. She placed both the old badge and the bronze blank on the slate, then pressed a rune at its edge. The runes along the surface briefly glowed purple. When the light faded, the iron had gone dull and inert, and the bronze bore the shrouded spruce with the outline of mist at its base. Felicity slid the new badge across to him.

"Bronze for E-tier, and still a Proven of the guild. Try not to trip over your own feet at the new rank."

"Ha, no promises." Cal pinned it to his shoulder where the iron had been, then he slung Amina's bow across his back and attached the quiver to his belt as Felicity put her things away. They exited the room and hallway together, Cal adjusting the bow on his shoulder as he rounded the counter to the client side. He caught movement in his peripheral vision. A man at the nearest table, his chair angled toward Cal. Scarred hands wrapped around a clay mug.

A weathered face was framed by close-cropped grey hair, and his bronze guild badge was pinned to the breast of a battered leather jerkin. Cal noted the badge's emblem was shrouded in silver mist that enveloped the trunk and crept into the lower branches. The man was Veteran rank, same as Kamari. One step below Honored. The adventurer had been watching the hallway door.

When he and Cal met eyes, he took in the new bronze badge on Cal's coat, then glanced meaningfully at the door Cal had just exited and then back to Cal, dipping his head in a slow nod. Cal returned it and the man went back to his drink. Huh. I guess Felicity isn't the only one that appreciates me returning the gear of the fallen. Glad I didn't try and just sell it off, as wrong as that would have been.

He said his goodbyes to the quartermaster and was three steps from the Hall's exit when the front door swung open and two figures stepped inside. Cal stopped dead in his tracks. Astrin Kaelix entered the Adventurer's Hall the way a cat enters a dog kennel: with complete disregard for the hostility of the environment and total confidence in her own superiority. But the visual was all wrong. Gone was the practical combat attire he had seen her wear every time before.

In its place, she wore a dress of charcoal silk, its high collar trimmed with silver thread and the Kaelix crest, a golden scale over a silver sword, embroidered over her heart. Her black hair was down, falling past her shoulders in a straight, glossy curtain. Beside her, Lyraethis was a study in contrasts. Where Astrin's elegance was severe and architectural, the Mycari girl radiated a softer warmth.

Her gown was a vibrant forest green that complemented her pale jade skin, and her long dark-green hair was braided with polished river stones that clicked faintly as she moved. She found Cal immediately and smiled like she was excited to see him. Several adventurers glanced up. A few did double-takes. Cal blinked, still processing the shift from somber bureaucracy to... whatever this was.

The two of them looked like they'd walked out of an Illuminet social function and gotten thoroughly lost; and in winter, no less. Spring was approaching, but how were they not freezing? Astrin spotted him at once, steel-gray eyes locking on without a wasted glance across the room. She crossed to him determinedly, Lyraethis flowing along in her wake like a happy shadow.

"Valorn." Astrin stopped at a distance that was precisely correct for formal address and not one inch closer.

"You and I have a matter I wish to settle."

"Good afternoon to you too." She ignored this.

"I do not enjoy carrying debts, particularly to—" A brief pause, as though she'd caught herself before saying something reflexive.

"— acquaintances. I have arranged for time with the best armorer in the village. You will accompany me so we may get this over with." Cal parsed the statement twice to make sure he hadn't misheard.

"You... want to do this now?"

"Obviously." Lyraethis slid forward, neatly inserting herself into Cal's line of sight. She tilted her head, her braided stones clacking, and the kindness in her expression was a stark counterpoint to Astrin's arctic formality.

"I wanted to see you again," she said simply, grinning wider.

"Astrin needed to come here and I thought it would be a fine excuse." Before Cal could formulate a response to either of them, Lyraethis reached out and hooked her arm around his just above the elbow. She tugged gently, already turning them toward the door.

"Come on! It will be fun." Cal wasn't sure how this could get much worse when Magalie, the grizzled woman who had bought him his first drink in the Hall, naturally chose that moment to heckle him from across the room.

"Careful there, Valorn! Not all battles are fought with a spear!" Ohhh, I'll remember that Magalie! he thought, as he turned to glare at the cackling woman. Astrin, running out of patience, said, "Come. The armorer is expecting us." Cal took a deep breath. Okay. So, this is happening. An overly friendly teenage girl is pulling me by the arm through a public building while another one wants to dress me. This is... definitely an HR situation. Yup.

This is an HR situation or something that calls for a 'talk' with the wife. If Evelynn could see this, she would— He didn't finish the thought, because just then someone else came through the Hall's entrance. Corinne stood in the doorway. She held a small, wax-paper-wrapped package in one hand, the kind that usually contained one of the Hearthsong Inn's sweet rolls. Her chestnut ponytail was wind-tossed, her cheeks flushed from the cold, and she scanned the room with bright, cheerful energy. Until she found him.

Oh. Oh no.

"C-Corinne!" he stammered.

"I was just thinking about you! How have you been doing?" She looked from Cal to Lyraethis' arm in his, then across to Astrin standing at his other side in her silver-trimmed charcoal silk. The sequence took less than two seconds. The smile that had been forming collapsed, like a shelf giving way under too much weight. She gripped the package tighter, crinkling it with an audible crunch. She set her jaw and frowned, a look that neither of Cal's sets of memories had ever once seen directed at him.

For one disorienting moment, Cal saw the scene from Corinne's perspective. She hadn't seen him in over a week and had probably come looking to try and reconcile, because she was just that great of a lady. And then she finds him like this: flanked by two beautiful, elegantly dressed women, one of whom was holding onto him. He sighed. Crumb.