Hunger: A LitRPG Adventure (Unbound Book 3), page 11
The other two went quiet, and even Atar paused and looked back. "Careful what you say, even here. The redcloaks have ears in many places. Especially in the Wall Quarter."
"Of course, Professor," laughed Alister. Felix couldn't see him or the other jerkholes ruining his work, but he heard the boy hop off his perch and land lightly on the wooden floor. "Then we best look harder. Right? Hm?"
With a chorus of groans, the other two teens started combing the shelves. Felix could hear one of them heading for his aisle.
"What are we even looking for?" whined the girl.
"A book, you clod," quipped Alister.
"It should have the sigil for etiin on the binding," Atar added, then under his breath: "Not that they'd know what that was."
Alister gave Atar a smirk and kept looking.
Felix let loose his breath, and his skin rippled and became noticeable. Quick as he could, he took another, re-upping his Abyssal Skein while a wave of weariness crashed over him. Putting a hand to the ground, Felix let the dizziness pass and scurried forward, careful to keep himself as quiet as possible.
Abyssal Skein is level 10!
Etiin? Despite never hearing the word aloud before, his sigil Skill translated it for him. Heart? What sort of book would the Guild library ban?
The thought intrigued him, and if he were being honest, Felix didn't want them to have it. Sure it was a little petty, but he hadn't barged in and insulted all their hard work.
"Aha! Here it is!" Felix's head swiveled to the right, where Atar stood just beyond the hollow shelf. The fire mage tried to reach through the space, but his hands were just slightly too big. "Damn. Gotta go around."
Quick as he could, Felix padded over and snatched up the book Atar had reached for; it was a dark brown with a silver sigil stamped into the spine. It indeed did have the etiin sigil on it, along with a few others. Just as Atar rounded the corner, Felix tucked the book away into his nigh-invisible jacket. Slowly, ever so slowly, he moved away from the shelf and the mage.
"Damn, damn! Where is it? I just saw it!" Atar fretted visibly, and Felix could see sweat beading on his brow. He crouched down and started rummaging through the books on display. His hands were shaking. "Not here. Not here!" Felix noticed bags under the fire mage's eyes, dark circles from lack of sleep. Something haunted the teen mage, and the book was connected in some way.
What the hell happened to you, Atar?
Atar's friends soon joined him, and he bounced back up to his feet in an exaggerated huff. "It's not here either. Sorry for making you come all this way, Alister."
The brown-haired boy waved his hand and scoffed. "And miss you growling at some decrepit books in the Dust? Wouldn't have missed it for the world, Professor. Next time, however, let's leave my cousin out of it. Agreed?"
"Hey!"
Atar smiled, worries seemingly forgotten for a moment. "Agreed."
They all started moving closer to the door, Atar in the rear. Lilith's piercing laugh sounded as Dabney made a tepid joke about poor people, but Felix wasn't listening. He was too busy staying stock still while Atar scanned the bookstore one last time. The blonde mage frowned and bit his lip, but eventually turned back around and followed his friends. They didn't bother closing the door.
Abyssal Skein is level 11!
A little more than a minute later, Felix released his breath. The oily coating of the Void retreated, and he sat heavily on the ground, taking a deep, steadying breath through his nose.
That was worse than usual. Dropping it and reactivating the Skill hadn't felt that bad so quickly before. It had felt just as hard as the day prior, when he was entering the city. The Void was difficult to access, and it was straining parts of him he didn't fully understand. Felix grimaced. And I'm gonna have to use it again.
Zara still wasn't back, but he'd completed what she'd asked of him and more besides. I'll stop by tomorrow though and see what she can teach me.
Felix stepped to the door and gave the shop a once-over. Aside from a few books thrown on the floor, it wasn't too bad. In fact, thanks to his reorganization, it looked two hundred percent better. Smiling to himself, Felix closed the door securely behind him. With a brief pulse of Reign of Vellus, he shoved the lock home from the outside of the door. He only managed to knock two rows of books over in the process.
Reign of Vellus is level 36!
Felix took off after Atar, weaving through the evening crowds. He didn't bother to notice however, that the rafters of the bookstore were entirely empty.
CHAPTER TEN
After catching up, Felix made sure to keep a solid distance between himself and the group. The Wall Quarter was busy, though it mostly seemed to be revelers passing by than laborers or Guilders. Shouts and catcalls echoed from the street corners, and the constant press of bodies was a distraction. Felix found himself wanting to pull away from anyone who got too close; a vague sense of unease built up within him.
Calm down. This didn't bother you earlier. Focusing was the easy part, Felix found, his Mind, Skills, and stats primed in that particular direction. His Bastion of Will rose up around him, inspiring a blast of mental clarity that scoured the unease from his mind. There was a growling sense of irritation from beneath his Bastion, and Felix narrowed his eyes. I'll deal with you later.
The group had managed to extend their lead, and when Felix caught back up, he found them parting ways. The two rich cousins and their burly friend went one way, while Atar continued on, deeper into the Wall Quarter. Felix didn't hesitate and kept following the fire mage.
True night had fallen, though the time was something approaching nine o'clock during the warm summer's evening. Lampposts were everywhere, lighting up the night, and a few carriages rattled up and down the thoroughfare. Atar kept to the main streets of the Wall Quarter, places filled with people out for the evening. Doing what, Felix wasn't sure.
They were moving parallel to the western wall, where Felix had entered the city, and closer to the higher-tiered sections. Folks were dressed in fine clothes with vibrant dyes and complicated embroideries. Women wore dresses of various lengths, or even pants in many cases, while men were bedecked in colorful jackets and waistcoats. Atar blended in with these people with ease, his fine robes and glittering bronze medallion worn openly on his chest affording him appreciative glances from passersby.
Sticking to the shadows, Felix avoided such gazes as much as he could, more interested in remaining as unobtrusive as possible. He kept Abyssal Skein inactive, as being nigh-invisible didn't help with crowds, and the toll it was taking on his mental acuity was becoming concerning.
Atar meandered through the streets, not stopping anywhere but definitely searching for something. Four times he paused near public seating like benches or tables near some sort of bistro. He would pace like a cat kneading its bed, moving around the area in clear dissatisfaction. Each time, he moved on again. As they walked further and further, Felix heard strains of up-tempo music and good-natured shouting, while the streets were slowly filled with the sizzling sounds and delectable smells of food stalls.
We're closer to the Crafter's Quarter than I thought. Where is he going?
Only a few more minutes later, Felix found out. Outside a tavern called the Bearded Trout, an array of outdoor seating was placed, and Atar finally huffed and chose a table furthest from the tavern itself. Felix paused at a nearby stall and watched. The fire mage pulled several books from his robes, far more than Felix would have guessed. He placed them all on the table in front of him and began thumbing through the pages.
You came all this way to read some books? Felix furrowed his brow. Why bother—?
"Oi! You gonna buy or just stand there?"
Felix started and turned. He saw a number of annoyed faces glaring at him, some next to him and the others behind the food stall counter. A Hobgoblin in a grease-stained jacket stared at him over an impressive looking mustache. Behind him, two line cooks were cooking a variety of vegetables and some sort of blue meat in large pans. The smell was powerfully good. Felix's stomach made an impressively loud gurgle, and he grimaced in embarrassment.
"Oh, uh, yes. I'll have the uh," he glanced at the menu, which had been drawn in grease pencil on a board. "Onion and… this bowl. Please."
The mustachioed Hobgoblin grunted and shouted the order to his assistants. "That'll be three stone."
Felix reached into his satchel and pulled out some coins. He had made change at the tailor's and had plenty of silver and copper coins now. Too many, he felt. Felix counted out three copper coins and handed them over. By the time the Hobgoblin tucked the copper in his waistband, a huge steaming bowl of noodles topped with onions, peppers, and shredded blue meat was placed on the counter. A large wooden fork-like utensil was planted in the center.
"Pleasure doin' business. Next!"
Felix scooped up his bowl and found a place to sit where he could still keep an eye on Atar. Though the mage had been alone for some time, Felix had found himself reluctant to approach. What would he say? Then, as Atar took longer and longer to settle down, he simply grew curious. What, exactly, was Atar doing out here? Studying in the evening air?
Maintaining line of sight, Felix absently nibbled on a piece of shredded meat. He blinked in surprise at the bowl in front of him. It was delicious. The flavors exploded on his tongue, salty and savory, the meat cooked to perfection. He looked back at the food stall he'd purchased it from and saw they only had one or two people in line.
Why isn't the line a mile long? He shoveled more of it into his mouth. It's so good!
The bowl was gone in seconds. Felix checked to see if Atar had moved anywhere and, noticing he had not, he returned for more.
A few minutes later, Felix's table was filled with seven different bowls, each heaping with rich, savory sauces and strange spices. He hadn't eaten since that morning, and the Nym made up for that oversight with gusto. Felix gorged himself, engaging in the wholesale slaughter of noodles, vegetables, and meat. There were no survivors.
While he ate, Felix kept a wary eye on Atar, always waiting for the young man to get up and leave abruptly. He never did. In fact, the fire mage looked increasingly ensconced at his table, the books around him forming a small fortress behind which he furiously scribbled on a sort of notepad. From this distance, Felix could see the sweat beading on Atar's forehead and the dark circles under his manic eyes. The mage seemed frantic and stressed, now worse than ever.
Felix finished slurping down the last bite of his final bowl when Atar shifted the books before him, nearly toppling the small tower he'd made. During his recovery, he exposed a book that he'd been furiously referencing, one with a beaten leather binding that looked extremely familiar to Felix.
Hey! Felix stood up at his table, chair scooting backward. That's my journal!
A few patrons nearby looked askance at Felix, but he paid them no mind. Atar didn't notice, and Felix had decided he was done with watching.
Why the hell does he have my journal? Technically a dead Henaari's journal, but many of Felix's early ramblings and questions were jotted down in those pages. Felix started walking toward Atar, watching as he stared with frustration between the journal and some other books. He clearly couldn't read Henaari or English and was trying to decode it. But why? Why would—
Atar pulled some loose paper from the back of the journal, and his face paled. Felix clenched his teeth.
The Archon's papers. Great. He has those, too.
Distantly, Felix felt Pit stir in their room, a faint pulse of concern. He sent back an answering pulse of reassurance before striding up to Atar's table. He pulled out a chair next to him and sat down, as nonchalant as he could make it.
"Hi, buddy." Felix grinned. "Long time no see."
Atar was staring at a ghost.
Mouth gone dry, hands shaking, the mage tried to stand up but only managed to knock his own chair backward. He would have fallen were it not for the ghost arresting the chair, his grip like steel. The man had grown stronger since last they met, and… yes, of course, he'd undergone his First Temper.
How? Atar boggled as he was righted by the musclebound youth before him. How did he survive?
"Not excited to see me?" Felix asked, and Atar pushed back his mussed hair in a bid for more time to think. "I get it. Not everyday you run into the person whose belongings you stole."
Quick as a flash, the journal was in Felix's hands. The cracked, beaten, tormented journal that Atar had spent the last two months attempting to decode. The one that, were it to be taken away, he'd lose all chance at easy advancement.
"Wait! Don't! You don't know what you have there!" Atar made a halting grab for the journal, but the blue-eyed man kept it easily out of reach. Atar wasn't so far gone as to lunge across a table for it.
"I don't? Looks to me like the journal of a Henaari Farwalker." He flipped the journal open, landing on a section written in grease pencil in a hand much different than the beginning. "And here is where someone wrote in English. Do you know this language?"
"Ah no, bu—"
"Didn't think so." Felix closed the journal with a clap and fixed Atar with a bright blue gaze.
Weren't his eyes darker?
"You don't understand, Felix. I need that journal. It's the answer!" Atar's bewilderment burned away under a dawning realization. "You can read it?"
Felix frowned and tucked the book into the satchel at his side. Atar's eyebrow raised at the quality of it, at the quality of everything Felix was wearing aside from his coat. That had the air of a laborer's best evening jacket, but was hardly equal to the rest of his ensemble. Atar flared his Analyze.
Analyze...
A flash of pain lanced through Atar's brain, but it was gone in a moment. Some fools in the tavern started singing. Ridiculous. He focused on the window that popped up before him.
Name: Felix Nevarre
Race: Human
Level: 22
HP: 250/250
SP: 234/234
MP: 310/310
Lore: Humans are multitudinous on the Continent. They are statistically weaker than most Races, especially at lower levels.
Strength: More Data Required
Weakness: More Data Required
Atar frowned at the information before him, not because it was wrong per se… but it was underwhelming. The fire mage assumed Felix had advanced much farther, at least to what the Guilders would consider Bronze Rank. This suggested Iron, at best. "How do you know that language? The Henaari tongue, yes, that's esoteric, but there are scholars for it. But that, no one knows that language." Atar folded his arms to hide their shaking. If he knew that strange script, then perhaps—!
Felix stood a moment longer and eyed him. Then, with a hefty sigh, he scooted out one of the wrought iron chairs and plopped down in it. The metal groaned in protest, and Atar was surprised that only made Felix sigh louder.
"Atar, that's my handwriting." Blue eyes fixed on his own. "Why do you care? What's so interesting about a journal?"
Atar's head spun. No, that can't be it. It's all I had to go on.
"A journal." He sat back in his chair, and, for lack of a better word, slumped. "And I assume what you've written here is...?"
"My personal thoughts about the Foglands, notes on monsters, that sort of thing." Felix leaned forward. "What's going on? You look exhausted."
Atar rubbed his face and gestured to the books scattered about the table. "Research. Since we returned from the Foglands, I've been under the wing of one of the Guild Elders. Elder Teine has been a boon to me. He sheltered me from the fallout of that preposterous mission, as well as provided much-needed actual instruction in the time since."
"Fallout," Felix murmured, his lips twisted in a grimace. "I'd heard bad things about Magda and Harn since I've been back. What about the others? Are they under this Elder, too?"
Atar twisted in his seat, not quite meeting Felix's eyes. "The others have gone a different way."
Silence reigned for a bit, and when Atar risked a look up, he saw Felix considering the other books on his table. He ran a surprisingly gentle finger along the spines of several, mouthing something. "Research. Into what?"
"This," Atar took a breath and slid one of the papers toward Felix. It contained the single greatest find he'd ever made… but it was hardly news to the man he took it from. "I found this in your journal there. I had thought that the indecipherable writing would shed light on these pages. You've dashed my hopes there."
Atar looked at Felix and saw him blanch, but his jaw also clenched, and his brow furrowed. With a swift movement, Felix flipped the thick sheet of vellum over.
"That's not a pleasant thing to be looking into. I'd suggest not going down that rabbit hole."
Atar gaped before retrieving the paper and stowing with the paltry few others. "And that is not an attitude I expected from a Magician Omen, Felix. This is a remarkable work of sigildry! It's unknown, clearly powerful, and..."
"Dangerous. And that's being generous. Can't you feel it?" Felix tilted his head curiously at Atar. He nodded, acknowledging the odd pressure from the sigils. "Is that all it is? School work?"
Atar frowned at the unfamiliar word. "If you mean training, then yes… and no. This has a practical application, too. A month ago, I encountered markings remarkably similar to these here, in the city itself."
Felix's face went stony, and Atar leaned back.
"Where?"
"Across the city. In the Dust," Atar gestured vaguely north. "You've heard of the murders? The one they're calling the Butcher? These were found… carved into one of their victims."
Another sheet of vellum was placed on the table, this one with several scratched sigils that radiated a similar sense of unease Felix's papers did, but shallower. Atar had tried his best, but they were inadequate copies. Felix considered it for a moment before turning that one over, too.
"I haven’t heard of this Butcher. You're trying to catch the killer?" Felix's voice was skeptical, though Atar thought he noted a sense of disquiet. The man seemed… twitchier than before.
