Scourge of Chaos: Savage Healer

Practice felt better this time around although not by much. Jishu’s scribblings were hard to understand, and while Sunday was sure he had made some progress, his lack of focus was a wall difficult to climb in a moment or two.

He was nothing if not stubborn though. However, as it was with any practice rest was important. The Black Breath was exhausting as his mind struggled to keep up with all the components he had to pay attention to. Sleeping didn’t seem to be an option. He had fallen asleep exactly once, and that had been shortly after breaking through to rank one and casting the Omen of Duality on Jishu for the first time. Since then, the Black Breath had been enough to sustain his essence and him.

That, and supposedly murdering worshippers of the so-called Divine. He hadn’t wanted to think much of it, but he had to. Killing Vela had changed him for the better. It was a viable option and seemed to be specifically designed to force him to seek out and kill followers of the Divine. A shortcut to power, in a way. Was that to be his purpose? A spell-slinging terminator? He laughed. I might just do it for the hell of it.

Sunday briefly considered perusing the books he had taken from the hut too, but it didn’t seem like a good way to get rest. He eventually took them out and opened them one by one checking between the pages just in case he had missed some secret. Unfortunately, it was just a lot of words and some weirdly detailed pictures of ghoulish anatomy in the case of ‘The Common Ghoul: Rearing, Uses, Spells’. The ‘spells’ part was what interested him, but the text seemed to flow as a whole, without breaks or chapters.

‘Undeath’ held depictions of symbols, and even a few maps that made no sense. The further into the book Sunday looked the more complicated the language seemed to become. As if it was designed to be understood only as one advanced through it. What language could even achieve that? He briefly considered it might be a sort of textbook but shelved the idea for now.

Grunting in frustration he put the books back into his bag and stuffed the latter under the well-built wooden bed frame. He deemed it safer to leave most of his possessions in the tavern, rather than meet any thieves sporting spells or talents surpassing his expertise. It was a new strange world after all, and one had to expect the worst.

Locking the room with the key he had been given Sunday made his way downstairs. The tavern was quieter now, but there were still quite a few patrons sitting at the tables. Mostly undead, watching over a few drunk humans. He paid better attention to the patrons for the first time and noticed that no one looked relatively normal. Not that was much of a tell considering everything.

Sunday had no clue what time it was as his room had no windows, and practicing the Black Breath was an activity that made one quite unaware of things.

“Back already?” a voice called to him. Riya was just where he had left her, behind the bar. She was cleaning glasses in a basin of crystal-clean water.

“Sleep is no friend of mine it seems,” he said, before sensing how weird that sounded coming from an undead.

Riya only looked at him weirdly. “Want a drink?”

God, yes. “Something normal. I think I’ve had enough revelations for a while.”

She put a few bottles before him, uncorking each. They were of various shapes, sizes, and colors. “Normal is all I’ll suggest for a while. See what smells good to you.”

They all smelled different, but familiar at the same time. One bottle smelled oddly like the swamp and he pushed it away. Briefly, he wondered if this was another test and if the woman was trying to sniff out his kind like Jishu had.

That would be ridiculous. Not everyone’s out to use me. I hope.

“This one,” he said. It was a darker liquid that smelled of barbeque and apples.

“Smokey and dark, good choice. It runs two copper a glass.”

Sunday nodded and took out the coins. He had left part of them in his bag, stuffed two of the few golden ones he had in his boot, and carried a variety of bronze and silver on his person.

She poured, and he drank. It was delicious but hard to describe. His human self had certainly never tasted anything similar to it. What surprised him was that there was a bit of essence inside of it. It spread around his body, making him feel a bit livelier. Is this how undead sustain themselves? Alcohol stuffed with death essence… Straight-up poison for regular living.

“Are there any open clothes shops around?”

“Sure. Most businesses are held by the living, but some undead do like to entertain themselves. We don’t tire easily. If you look around you will find what you need at all times.” Riya responded.

Downing his drink and feeling as if he had just taken a shot of espresso he stood up and headed out without a word. He wanted to rid himself of the clothes stolen from Jishu’s hut and check out the city on his own.

He had no plan of action surpassing the purchase of clothes. Finding contact with some sort of an underground world was one venue he could pursue, but it seemed like it would be much more dangerous than what he had known on Earth.

Additionally, he was growing more and more wary of showing his Omen of Duality to the world. I need to ask around about magi and spells. Are there others using life and death essence, or would I stand out too much? I’m sure there’s a market for spells somewhere. There’s gotta be.

There were too many factors to consider. Too many differences he was not yet aware of. He had done it in the swamp, but asking questions about the most mundane things was dangerous now. He had the vague feeling that Riya was already suspecting him of something.

Lost in such thoughts Sunday left the Wayward Rat.

The streets were still lively despite the dark of night. There was a general sense of eerie quietness created by the unhurried undead walking or gazing at the night sky. Sunday took it all in slowly as he looked around for any places that seemed to sell clothes.

He caught a few weird gazes but that didn’t bother him. He was bound to stand out. Jishu’s sword was resting comfortably on his hip as a deterrent.

After walking for a while and admiring the many street cats that passed him without a care, he finally ended up in a small shop. ‘Clothes’ a simple wooden tablet on the door said. The proprietor was an old undead who approached the look of a classic zombie the most out of anyone Sunday had met. He, however, proved to be more than helpful. The old undead didn’t seem to care about the current Sunday’s appearance and assisted him with the utmost politeness. It seemed like judging one based on their clothes was not a thing here, considering how he had been treated so far.

In the end, Sunday left dressed in a well-made blend of cotton and leather that mostly varied between green and dark brown. The clothes were made for travel, and quite sturdy. He got a few small pouches and a set of spares as well. Choosing the cheaper options had been a given, as he didn’t know how far his small fortune would go. The clothes were quite expensive nonetheless, but their make didn’t seem worse than those on Earth.

He decided to make use of the night and continued taking in the city for a while longer. The moonlight reflected in the distant lake made it seem as if they were on the edge of a large dark sea filled with mysteries and the lamps hanging from windows and roof beams made the sight all the more beautiful. It helped him scratch an itch of anxiety that had appeared after drinking the magical alcohol. He hadn’t thought much of what he had lost by being undead, but he didn’t find himself overly sad about it.

Returning to the Wayward Rat proved to be a small issue as he got distracted and lost a few times on the way, but the building was hard to miss even in the dark of night. Sunday decided to sit on a bench and look about before returning inside. Getting used to new environments was the first step of making use of new environments.

Sometime later a movement at the entrance of the tavern caught his eye. Vyn? What is he doing? Looking for me, perhaps?

The man looked around and then disappeared into one of the nearby streets in a hurry. Sunday, of course, followed. It was in his nature to be curious, and the fact that Chaotic Step had brought him to meet Vyn was a reason enough for him to be conscious of anything weird going on.

Sunday was careful as he stopped softly upon the cobbled streets. Vyn wasn’t quite as silent and seemed to be in a hurry. After a few twists and turns, the man stopped in an alleyway that neared the high walls. A few figures crawled from the darkness around and stopped some distance away, holding a single lamp.

Sunday did his best to get as close as possible without being seen. He had to take into account that his eyes were much better in the darkness than a human’s so if there were any undead in the group, they would be able to spot him from much further.

There was no undead there though. Sunday recognized them quickly, as the bare feet of the one in front were like a lighthouse in the darkness. Well, well, if it isn’t the former owner of my boots. I knew something wasn’t right. What did they have to win by playing that theater though?

Sunday crept a bit further until their voices reached him.

“You said it would go smoothly!” one voice said.

“Look, I didn’t know we’d meet that guy. Nothing bad happened though, did it?” Vyn argued back.

“We got robbed!”

“It’s just a pair of boots...”

“That leather was softer than a whore’s ass! They were worth a fortune!”

“I know things didn’t go exactly as planned. I’ll pay you back, alright? Plus, I think that guy’s someone special. Just look at him. A highborn undead wandering around this region? He paid for my room and then some despite being dressed in rags. And Riya was kind to him just after one look and let me back in! You also saw how he handled you, right?”

“Yeah…”

“He was scary…” a girl's voice said. Sunday didn’t remember there being a girl, but he had somewhat of an idea who that was.

“The issue is,” Vyn continued, “that you lot got recognized. We wanted to take attention away from the Manor and get some of the guards out there. And I need to make a name for myself if I want to get jobs… It seems like beating up a bunch of fake bandits is off the table for now.”

“Why don’t you give up Vyn? Live with us. You barely survived the trip to the belt…” the girl pleaded.

Vyn’s shoulders slumped. “I can’t do it alone but I can’t give up.”

“I still don’t understand why you want to cross over…” another voice sighed. “We can deal with your sister’s debts eventually… if they find out you’re here…”

“No. That’s my burden. We can’t let them know about you, or they will bring the manor crashing down. Too many rely on it and the security it provides.”

They know each other well. I wonder what’s that all about… Sunday wondered, and then a lightbulb went on in his head. Wasn’t this what he wanted? Those guys were incompetent at best, and tragic at worst. And they were just on the right side of the law for him.

Then again, Vyn had been mostly good to him so he didn’t want to make it too difficult for the guy. Sunday wasn’t offended that he was a subject in their discussion. Everyone wanted to make their way up the world and meeting the right people was a large part of the process.

It took him a second to reach a decision and he walked out of the darkness, “Gentlemen,” he said loudly, mimicking Vyn’s tone from the day before. His voice made the group turn in surprise and fear. Someone yelped. It wasn’t the girl. “And ladies,” Sunday added.

They seemed terrified to see him but Vyn was fast to react. He put himself between the group and Sunday, as if the latter was a dangerous beast. “Sunday! What a surprise! I heard you were out clothes shopping and I was just about to go and find you when… when… uh.”

Sunday showed his teeth in a wide smile. “When you met the bandits that tried to rob us and decided to hand them over to the city guard? What a brave soul you are. Come, I’ll help. Let’s clean these streets!” He reached for his sword.

“No!” Vyn stepped forward in panic and looked around and up. The rooftops? Sunday frowned and followed Vyn’s gaze. There was nothing there.

“No?” Sunday tilted his head. “But Vyn, they’re criminals, aren’t they? I don’t understand.” I almost feel bad about doing this. It’s kind of fun though.

“He’s playing with you, brother Vyn,” the girl from earlier spoke with a shaky voice. She stepped forward. Without the smudges and the bandana, it was obvious she was just a young girl and not a bandit. Her bow was strapped to her back. None had drawn their weapons, as if afraid that would escalate things.

“What makes you say that?” Sunday asked. A perceptive one, aren’t you?

“Just a feeling,” the girl responded. “Drawing the sword will be bad. They can sense bloodlust.”

“Who can?”

The girl tilted her head. “The night guard.”

“Hm, is that so? You’re right. I’m just playing. I’m not here to fight or rob you.”

“Oh, so… can you give me back…?” what had been the bandit leader started with hope. He was just a tall young man with a strangely shy disposition now. A total opposite of the character he had played.

“I’m not here to return the boots either. They were stolen fair and square,” Sunday instantly rejected. They were great boots.

“Then… what do you plan on doing?” Vyn asked.

“That depends. I’m quite lost, to be honest, but I think you lot can be useful to me,” Sunday responded. “See, I come from very far away, and I need some help navigating the local scene, so to speak. Enough so that I don’t get myself killed, or worse.”

“What’s worse?” the girl squinted.

“Oh, I’m sure there are worse fates. Death’s been kind to me so far,” Sunday smiled.

“We’re not criminals!” The former owner of his boots protested.

Sunday waved a hand dismissively. “Of course you aren’t. I’m not stupid enough to entertain the possibility that bandits of the world are as inept and terrible at what they do as you guys were. Now, who will join me for a drink?”