The Beginning After The End 08

by Turtle Me

  For a moment the two of us sat silently, gauging each other. Finally, he broke into a wide grin, revealing a set of surprisingly white teeth underneath his unkempt beard.

  “So… what continent are you from?”

  292

  A Mutually Beneficial Partnership

  “This is why you need the expensive stuff!” the drunkard emphasized as the glass hit the sticky bar with a thud. “Come on, pretty boy. Take a swig!”

  I glared at the grizzled old man, who had caramel-colored liquid dribbling down the sides of his

  mouth and into his beard, and wondered how I had ended up in this situation.

  After the drunkard, who introduced himself as Alaric, interrupted me in the library and asked what continent I had come from, I promptly dragged him outside for some answers.

  Alaric refused to say anymore without something in return, and so had led me to his favorite drinking establishment, which was surprisingly upscale for a man who wasn’t even wearing shoes. We had been there ever since, sitting at the far end of the bar, well away from the handful of other patrons sprinkled throughout the room.

  Letting out a sharp breath, I lifted my own glass and gulped down the rum.

  A smooth burn washed over my mouth and throat, followed by a sweet and oaky wave of flavor that lingered on my tongue.

  “There, happy?” I challenged as the drunkard waved his hand at the bartender for a refill.

  “I’d be happier if you ordered the entire bottle,” the old man said with a nudge.

  “How about this?” I took the refilled glass in front of him and began slowly pouring the rum into the sink on the other side of the wooden counter.

  “No!” Alaric pulled at my arm, which made me spill even more of the rum. “Fine, fine!”

  I placed the half-empty shot glass back in front of the man, and he quickly snatched it away from my reach.

  “What kind of sick bastard throws out good rum,” he grumbled.

  Cocking a brow seemed to get the message across that I was no longer in the mood to humor this old drunk.

  He quickly shot what was left in the glass, then leaned toward me. “You see…” Alaric whispered, glancing around the room suspiciously. “I have a crest that tells me you’re not from around here.”

  I stared at the old man, deadpan.

  He winked. “Just kidding.”

  My annoyance boiled over into anger. I should’ve known that the filthy old alcoholic was just messing with me. Wordlessly, I stood up to leave, but the drunkard kept talking.

  “I don’t need magic to tell that.” He rolled his eyes dramatically. “Anyone with half a brain would be able to tell if they spent some time watching you.”

  “You were watching me?” I asked, sitting back down.

  “Only because you stick out like a sore thumb. You carry yourself like a seasoned warrior, but your build and flawless skin suggests that you’re either a noble, Caster, student, or even all three.” Alaric licked the last dribbles of rum in his glass before continuing. “As if that’s not strange enough, you look and act like a tourist visiting from a faraway outpost.”

  He waved his hand up and down as he examined me casually. “You’re a walking bundle of inconsistencies. Now if you were in a more military or politically inclined dominion, like Vechor or the central dominion, I’d put my nonexistent money on you getting cuffed in less than a day.”

  I let out a scoff. “So why haven’t I drawn suspicion until now then?”

  “Oh, you probably have,” he mused. “Suspicion, curiosity, interest—all of the above. It’s just that Etril has always been such a hub for diverse travelers that the worse they’d do is wonder and judge silently.”

  After surveying the establishment we were in more carefully, I turned back to Alaric.

  “Assuming what you said was correct, what is your reason for making yourself known?” I lowered my voice into a more threatening tone. “Haven’t you thought of the possibility that I’d just get rid of you?”

  “In this place, where there are witnesses?” he asked, batting his eyes. “Trust me, kid. If I wanted to turn you in, I would’ve done so from a safe distance, but what does that do for me?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “I don’t get anything out of turning you in.” Alaric paused, leaning in closer for dramatic effect. “If I were to, let’s say, help you instead, I’m sure we could come up with some sort of deal.”

  I scoffed, shaking my head. “I think you’ve had one too many drinks. Besides, I don’t have much money.”

  “Oh I don’t doubt that,” he agreed. “But I can recognize a golden ticket when it’s fluttering in my face.”

  By this time, I was growing a bit uncomfortable, afraid that people would overhear. Alaric must’ve noticed because he waved his hand in dismissal. “Relax. I’ve been obstructing the sound around us, so no one has heard a thing we’ve said.”

  Is that why Alaric had been gesturing for a refill instead of asking for one?

  Disappointed in myself for failing to notice, and frustrated at how my lack of mana perception was hindering me outside of the Relictombs, I let out a sigh. “So you’re saying that even though you think—”

  “Know,” he corrected.

  “—think, that I’m not from here,” I stressed, “you’d rather try and strike a deal with me rather than turning me in?”

  He gave me a sleepy look. “Is that so strange?”

  “It’s just that the people of Aramoor seem so reverent of the High Sovereign,” I said.

  “What does my respect or disrespect of the Vritra have to do with helping out a refugee?” he quipped.

  “Fine,” I acquiesced. “Let’s assume that your suspicions are true. What can you provide for me and what exactly would you want in return?”

  “You’re an ascender, or at least you’re trying to pass yourself off as one, right?” he questioned.

  This insight surprised me more than anything else Alaric had said. Outside of Stormcove Academy, no one in Aramoor could’ve known I’d been in the Relictombs. “How did you know?”

  “The inn you're staying at caters mostly to visiting ascenders,” he answered dismissively. “Now, onto your first line of questions: I’ll help you blend in so you don’t stick out like an armored troll in a doily shop, no questions asked.”

  “No questions asked?” I echoed, interested despite not quite trusting the old drunk.

  “Frankly, I don’t give two shits about who you are,” he answered, swirling the caramel liquid in his glass, which had just been refilled yet again. “That’s not it though. I’ll also help train you for ascents.”

  I stared at the inebriated man, whose entire face was ruddy with drink, and his eyes unable to focus on one thing for more than a few seconds. “Why?”

  “Well, you’re going to need to be a successful ascender in order to make me lots of money, right?” He let out a disbelieving scoff, like this was the most obvious thing in the world. “Good alcohol doesn’t come cheap, you know.”

  Admittedly, I was intrigued by his offer. The strange gazes I attracted had been growing more frequent over the past few days, and it was much more difficult to probe for information in the city, where I didn’t have kind-hearted people like Mayla and Loreni to answer my unasked questions.

  “So all you want is money?” I asked, still suspicious. “How much of it, exactly?”

  “Sixty percent of all of your earnings in the Relictombs, as well as any form of ancillary promotions or winnings you earn while you’re on the surface,” he answered as if he’d had the figure set before we even sat down.

  I gaped. “Sixty percent?”

  “Hey! I’m uprooting myself from my beloved home and travelling with you to offer my tutelage.”

  I cocked a brow. “You have a home here?”

  Alaric let out a cough. “The city is my home.”

  I rolled my eyes. “So no home.”


  “Don’t be so whiny, kid. Besides, Stormcove Academy takes around thirty percent of their graduates’ profits from selling accolades or other precious material found only in the Relictombs, and that’s for the first five years after graduating. That percentage is even higher in Vechor, Sehz-Clar, and the central dominion,” he informed me with an innocent expression. “But since you’re from Alacrya, you already know that, right?”

  I actually didn’t know. Much like the rest of the information about Alacrya that I did know, it consisted of tidbits that I had picked up here and there by eavesdropping on conversation or asking questions like I had in Maerin Town.

  “Forty percent,” I countered after a brief pause.

  “Deal,” he replied immediately, grabbing my hand to shake it roughly.

  “Stormcove only charges five percent, while even the most prestigious ascender academies charge twenty percent,” he said, shooting me a wink.

  This bastard…

  Regardless of his deceit, it highlighted exactly how much I needed help outside of the Relictombs if I didn’t want to draw attention to myself.

  “Will you be coming with me on my ascents?” I inquired.

  “Are you crazy? Of course not!” Alaric sputtered. “Does this look like a body fit for that godsforsaken place?”

  I nodded. It would be easier that way.

  Money wasn’t something I had any greed for. It was the relics that I needed, and that would be something I could store in my dimensional rune. Even if Alaric’s training was utterly useless, as long as he could help me acclimate to Alacryan lifestyle without prying too deeply into my background, it’d be worth it.

  I didn’t trust the drunkard, but at least his intentions were straightforward. I trusted human greed more than kindness, and if he had any other ulterior motives… well, hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. If it did, I was confident that I could remove him as a threat.

  “You done introspecting?” Alaric interrupted, holding a new bottle of liquor in his hands.

  “What’s that?” I pointed at the bottle.

  “Oh this?” He gave me a wide grin. “Down payment.”

  I resisted the urge to bury my face in my hands. Of all the kinds of people out there, how was it that I got stuck with the alcoholic version of Regis?

  Suddenly, Alaric jumped out of his barstool, stumbling to gain balance before turning to me. “Anyway, we should get moving. Lots of things to do and we’re burning daylight.”

  After paying the bartender with my runecard, I followed after my unstable new adviser. Our first order of business was getting “my story straight,” as he called it. To do this, we went back to my inn.

  I opened the door to see Regis waiting by the entrance. I probably should have warned Alaric, but after the day’s events, it hadn’t occurred to me that Alaric might be surprised to find a black wolf waiting patiently in my room, a mane of purple fire blazing around its neck and shoulders.

  My companion and drunken man stared at each other silently for a minute, as if still processing what they were actually seeing. Then Alaric wobbled over to Regis and… patted him on the head.

  “Good dog, there, aye,” Alaric slurred.

  Regis turned to me, his baffled expression almost comical.

  “It’s fine,” I said to Regis. “This inebriated gentleman will be working with us for the time being.”

  Regis shrugged his lupine shoulders and turned to Alaric. “Ah, well in that case. What’s up, old man?”

  Alaric gasped, stumbling back behind me as if to use me as a shield. “It talks!”

  Regis glowered at the drunk, his upper lip curling to reveal huge white fangs. “How rude. I’m not an ‘it’! I’m a ‘he’…” Regis cocked his head toward me. “Or am I a ‘she’?”

  With a smirk toward Regis, I said, “Does gender matter for a ‘mighty weapon’ such as yourself?”

  “I’m a ‘he’,” Regis decided.

  Behind me, Alaric continued to mutter curses to himself about how he regretted all of this.

  Once I was able to drag my drunken advisor inside the room, I began to explain my situation, though many of the details were omitted for safety’s sake.

  Alaric himself said he wasn’t interested in my past. He just needed enough to go off of in order to come up with a story.

  “Okay, Grey. You did a good job not telling people your blood name. That carries much more importance than your given name,” he acknowledged, his voice strained and his eyes darting between me and Regis. “First things first: I don’t know how you got well acquainted enough with a Denoir that they’d be willing to give you this medallion—”

  “Lend,” I corrected.

  “Lend. Whatever,” Alaric dismissed. “The important thing is that you don’t tie yourself up with Highblood Denoir. While it’ll definitely get you out of some sticky situation, it’ll also draw too much attention—especially once we get into bigger cities.”

  “Then what do I do?” I stared down at the white dagger in my hand, the Denoir medallion still tied to the handle. “Without this, I have no identity here.”

  “That’s where I come in,” Alaric replied. “I have an acquaintance that’s an accomplished artificer capable of forging you an identity. You’ll be my nephew, whom I have taken under my wing because you didn’t want to follow after your father in the merchant business.”

  “You just happen to have an accomplished artificer friend that’s able to forge identities?” I pried. It seemed too convenient.

  “Accomplished, yes, but gravely underpaid,” he chuckled. “Two clients make him more gold from this side business than a year’s wage he gets at the fancy laboratory where he works in Sehz-Clar.”

  I frowned. “Sehz-Clar? Isn’t that the southern dominion?”

  “Relax. He has a tempus warp anchored to this city,” he answered, taking a swig from his newly acquired bottle of alcohol. “Anyway, I need to know a bit more about your… abilities.”

  ‘How much are you going to tell him?’ Regis asked.

  Just enough to give him something to work with.

  “Augmented regeneration, strength, speed,” I listed off.

  “How augmented? And no elements? You’re strictly a Striker then?”

  “Very augmented,” I said confidently. “No elements, and if you’re asking if I have any long-range spells, not yet.”

  “Have you gone on an ascent before?” he asked, clearly deep in thought.

  “Just once,” I admitted.

  Alaric nodded, undeterred. “That’s better than nothing. How big of a group did you ascend with?”

  I tilted my head. “It was just me.”

  “Just you…” Alaric repeated slowly, his brows furrowed.

  “I did team up with a few others in a convergence zone, but we parted ways after,” I explained.

  Alaric let his head fall, and for a moment I wondered if he had fallen asleep. His shoulders began to shake, then finally he burst out into maniacal laughter.

  Regis and I exchanged a glance and my companion twirled a paw beside his head.

  “I’m not crazy!” Alaric howled through his own laughter. Perhaps in an attempt to exert some control over himself, the old drunk took a swig form his bottle, but since he was still laughing he ended up spraying booze all down his front. “I’m allowed to be happy,” he told Regis with a grin, his beard still dripping alcohol.

  He looked at me like I was made of jewels. “It’s not every day that you can strike gold like this. A Striker capable of not only surviving in the Relictombs, but who has gotten far enough to reach a convergence zone!”

  “Maybe you should ease up on the alcohol,” I warned, but before I could take the bottle away, Alaric shoved it in his stained pants.

  “Don’t you dare, pretty boy.” He narrowed his bloodshot eyes. “Take this away from me and I’ll be nonfunctional, and there’s still too much to do.”

  Heaving himself out
of the little chair he’d claimed upon entering our room, Alaric teetered toward my companion.

  “How did you manage to hide this creature of yours, anyway?” he questioned, studying Regis. “I’d expect him to draw attention, especially in these parts.”

  “I usually just hide inside him,” Regis answered in my stead, demonstrating this by leaping and disappearing into my body.

  Alaric just stared at me for a few moments, opening his mouth at one point only to close it again. He repeated this a few times before deciding to take another gulp of his rum, which he had to free from inside his pants first. “I’m not even going to ask. Just… make sure that when your companion—”

  “Regis,” I cut in. “His name is Regis.”

  “Just make sure Regis doesn’t talk a whole lot in front of other ascenders.” The old drunkard gestured grandly while rolling his eyes. “While there are accounts of rare regalias capable of conjuring elemental summons that borrow the Caster’s sentience, this obviously seems a bit beyond that…”

  I decided not to mention that a handful of other ascenders had already witnessed Regis speaking, but took note of this restriction for future forays into the Relictombs.

  “So it’s fine to fight alongside princess here?” Regis asked as he slipped back out of my body. He looked rather excited by the idea.

  “I don’t see why not. There are quite a few documented emblems and regalias where elements take on the form of a beast.” Alaric shrugged. “Those summons, however, are basically just animated puppets that can be provided with a certain set of instructions, so no talking, and it’s best not to stay out for that long.”

  “Hell yes!” Regis whooped. “No more twiddling my metaphorical thumbs while watching princess here have all the fun.”

  “Now!” Alaric declared. “Since I have the basic run down, let’s head to our first destination.”

  “Which is?” I asked, suddenly nervous about trusting the old man again.

  “We need to get some new clothes on you,” the drunkard sang as he did a sloppy twirl to demonstrate his point.

  “If you’re talking about armor for the ascent, I already—”

  “Bah! Not that, you wogart,” Alaric snapped.