NOVEL NEXT Chapter 128: Shopping
"At least pretend like you're eating," Valens said, stuffing another sausage into his mouth, the thick garlic sauce trickling down the side of his lips while Nomad poked a bored finger into his plate. "You can do that, can't you?"
"Old habits die hard," Nomad countered, false lips stretched into an unamused smile. "These are interesting times."
"I've been homeless before," Celme said, cutting expertly into the pastry, using the fork in practiced ease. "It could've been worse."
"Spend a dozen years in the Underworld, take in the stench of those demons, then you learn to cherish the little things," Nomad said. "A vacation, though? It's the worst."
"It's my first time," Selin said. Valens found it hard to believe how anyone could eat so little in such a long time after taking a look at her plate. "I enjoy it."
"I'm taking you to the shopping street tomorrow. They have everything there, including some interesting Artifacts," Valens said, smiling at her.
"Worthless," Nomad shook his head. "This little city has nothing to offer to a man like you. Money can't buy you a true Artifact. You can secure C or D-grade ones, but something like those Ancient Riftshards? Gotta work on dark things to get the good ones."
"I'm taking it step by step," Valens said. "Just a few tools to get myself familiar with certain concepts. We can get a set of armor for you two, as well. It'll help you protect your fancy skin."
"Uh," Nomad grunted, clearly uninterested.
"I think we can get an appointment for tomorrow, around late afternoon for the Class Change. Selin, have you thought about what sort of Class you're going to choose?" Celme asked.
"She'll get plenty of choices, you can be sure o' it," Nomad said. "A bunch of different ones, too, since not everyone has the chance to be taken by the Shadow and live through the whole deal."
"You mean like evil classes?" Valens asked, eyes narrowing.
"Depends on what you consider evil," Nomad shrugged. "You can't just go around with the common sense about these things, Val. In Haven's Reach most of the special classes are considered evil in one way or another. You yourself might've been taken as some twisted version of the Surgemasters by the Divine Orders."
"Yeah," Valens said. "I suppose you're right."
"What you need to consider with a Class Selection is first and foremost the character. Our little Berserker here, for example, has quite the head over those shoulders. She doesn't need [Battle Fury] to pump herself up during the fights. Something broken in her head does that for her. That's why the Class basically had chosen her, not the other way around."
"You think I'm some bloody maniac out for fresh blood?" Celme scowled. "That I've chosen the Berserker Class because I'm broken?"
"Are you not?" Nomad asked, smiling. "Then why in the nine hells would you choose a class specialized in bloody combat? Could've taken the Warrior and walked the justified path of chivalry."
"Like you?"
"We don't get to choose a Class," Nomad said, voice rasping. "Not until we Prove ourselves first. Then you'd become a Chief and work to be a good boy to your coven of Liches."
"Unless you broke the chains," Valens said, squinting his eyes.
"Easier said than done," Nomad said. "I've completed my First Trial and earned the right to call myself a Chief. Got the Class for it, as well, as if I need the reminder. But my Second Trial… That'll give me a real chance at breaking this circle." He looked at Valens. "With your help, that is."
"My service is needed?" Valens's eyes widened.
"You're a little Mage, Val," Nomad said. "A versatile, strong Mage, but still a budding seed. Your future, though… That's not something I nor anyone could predict other than knowing that you'll get closer to the Ancients as you complete your Trials."
"Ancients…" Celme muttered, looking doubtfully into Valens's eyes. "How could any man become… that? Those beings are impossibly vast and eternally distant. Even the mere sight of them could be enough to disintegrate our souls. Surgemaster or not, I can't bring myself to believe that Valens has that sort of a potential."
"You have that, too," Nomad snickered.
Celme frowned. Valens placed his fork on the table, crossing eyes with Selin before they both blinked at Nomad.
"What?" all three of them said.
"This ain't groundbreaking knowledge," Nomad leaned back in his chair, seemingly surprised that he got such a reaction. Then, his eyes fell as he rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "Hold on a second. Reckon it is. Been a little long since I talked about any of these, but it don't matter if you're a Berserker or a Warrior. If you could complete your Ninth Trial, you could call yourself a god."
"That…" Celme mumbled.
"Actually makes sense," Valens, instead, nodded when he remembered the Midnight Assembly. "Completing the Ninth Trial means you'll become Level 900. The sheer amount of stats one would get, let alone the skills and the titles, could alleviate one's foundation to an absurd degree. Though, would that be enough to call yourself a God?"
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"Mix some faith into the business, then you'll have it all," Nomad said, looking around the hall of the inn, taking in the dozens of people crowding the place. "Humans like to believe in a savior, and you can't get too many o' them. The Ancient Era was a time where gods walked among men."
"The Myth of the Ascendance," Celme said, voice heavy. "How do you know these things?"
"Experience," Nomad said. "And a great deal of blabbering by the Liches. They like to talk, those creatures. Not much else to do in the Underworld."
………
After the generous meal and a great performance by some adventurer groups who enjoyed the booze a little too much that they thought they should share it with the others, Valens and his group drew back to their rooms for the night.
There was a melodic rhythm to life here, almost too simple in comparison to the complicated workings of Belgrave. Little else was important to the adventurers when they lived their lives out around the Broken Lands, chasing after the monsters, clearing Rifts and getting paid for it, finding Artifacts and collecting materials, ascending through the Trials to become…
What, exactly?
That was the question that got stuck in Valens's mind. In a way, he supposed this practice had an insidious inevitability hidden inside of it, represented as a glamorous reward of fame and power. Renowned adventurers were told to be figures of mighty deeds, heroes to the songs sung in the taverns, saviors of humanity reaching for more, and never quite being satisfied by their own enormity.
Their light paved a way for the youngsters, and Valens could sure understand why even though the dwellers were a terrifying bunch, the people were still coming here to challenge them all.
Because life in Haven's Reach lacked color. In itself that life was a lie, wrapped around by fancy ribbons, protected by the sacrifices made by the Divine Orders and these glory-chasing men. Therefore, while working in a mine as a miner was honest work, claiming that you'd outbested a Hollow the other day with a sword through its jaw was ultimately a much grander feat to boast about.
Not to mention the exhilaration of it that sent a shiver down one's spine. Valens found himself thinking about those times every now and then, and he was rather surprised to see his introspection scarcely moved to the gory parts of his short past. No, what he reminisced about were the times when he stood tall over the endless swarms, Inferno blazing around his hands, its biting light staving off hundreds of shadows with ease.
He was now more or less sure this was what Master Eldras had been talking about when he said Warmagic was dangerous. It was a drug not to be taken lightly, for even a singular use of it left an unerasable impression in one's mind.
It changes who you are, in a way, eh?
And yet, Valens figured for himself that striking a balance was possible. He proved it in Belgrave when he had the chance to burn everything rather than helping those in need. He had decided to focus on the Shifters, saving the innocent people taken by fog as a Healer should.
So then, while Warmagic had changed him as a person, he was, in his core, still a Healer through and through.
.......
The next day Valens took Selin to the shopping streets of the Second Ring where life was a lot less chaotic, but more colorful in various ways. Early in the morning, the crimson sun accompanied them in their stroll as the sight of stalls bloomed in the distance.
Familiar faces from the inns were already out and about securing important supplies for their next ventures. Ropes for steep climbs, sheaths and new weapons. A Blacksmith worked the grindstone by the side, muscled arms bulging with the effort, skin slick with honest sweat. He was a Proven, shown clearly by his Level, which made him a hot commodity out here in the Broken Lands.
Across the side were Herbalists tending to their herbs with gentle care, but when Valens peered into the dark of their shops, he saw giant cauldrons brimming with bubbling liquids.
Potions?
It was a rather contested topic of discussion back in the Empire since it was ultimately a primal practice in the face of modern medicine. While effective, especially if it was prepared by a Master Herbalist's hand, it couldn't hold true value against the care of a real Healer and their repertoire of drugs.
And yet, thanks to the time he spent here in this world, Valens now knew the importance of keeping an open mind. There were Ancient Riftshards and tools that could pry into one's fate. By that logic, having a bunch of miraculous herbs would be nothing extraordinary.
Indeed, when he approached the Herbalist stalls, the frequencies that rushed at him told him that these herbs were anything but ordinary. Some of them brimmed with lifemana so thick it even tingled the back of his neck. By squeezing them clean of their juices, and drinking them in plenty, one could aid the body's effort at tending the wounds by a lot.
"I have never seen those things in my life. They are beautiful!" Selin chirped as she reached for a purple plant, rosy petals dancing gently in the wind. Cut high from its stem, the plant seemed more for adornment purposes than being of practical quality.
I sense a strong fire mana inside of it, though. Interesting.
The interesting part was that the plant had already processed the ambient mana and turned into firemana, making it ready for use in fire-based spells. The amount was scarcely enough for an Adept-grade Fireball, but for ten Caligian crowns, its price was quite fitting.
Valens fished for the Caligian notes in his pocket, forking out a hundred crown note and stretching it to the black-haired woman tending the stall. Some of the stalks in the stall shaded her face from the street; her busy hands didn't seem aware of the newly arrived customers.
"Can we get a pair of those?" Valens asked, to which a small head jutted out from between the plants, green eyes widening in surprise. "And some of those as well. I'd like a pair of each of them."
There were four different plants of elemental quality, each holding a different type of mana inside. It would take too long for an outsider to learn how to wield mana by old methods, but with these plants, Valens could teach Selin a few tricks as a start.
If she can get a Mage class, she wouldn't need to spend years learning the Mana Manipulation.
Getting skills from the System was a boon and a crutch, depending on the purpose. For Selin, though, it would give her something to work with right away, which would be the best scenario they could hope for.
Getting a few levels shouldn't be a problem, as well. She will stay by our side.
"I'll prepare them in a second!" came the high-pitched voice of the shopkeeper, who began wrapping the different plants with a speed that betrayed the shocked look on her face.
"You didn't have to—"
"Nonsense," Valens raised a hand to Selin, smiling her a good smile. "We're buying these for academic purposes. You'll see soon."
"Ah, okay…" Selin nodded sheepishly, then reached out and took the wraps with both hands.
With that, they moved onto the other stalls, taking a little tour across the street. By the end of it, the change in the Resonance told Valens they were nearing the main attraction of the street. Seris's shop was there, but hers was solely focused on utility-based, rather simple tools.
While in some of the shops, they sold dangerous things. Dark things, as Nomad said it, and Valens couldn't wait to buy a bunch of them. All for academic purposes, of course.