pdf-ebookys Chapter 148 - Potential for Retreat
Chapter 148 - Potential for Retreat
He need not detach from the world to feel how it narrowed, warping irrevocably, as if all that existed in that moment were himself and the sibyl reaching out?So what if losing was inevitable? Veit could not, in good conscience, let go without a fight. Not when there might be people in danger—people he knew all too well he would never get to.
“That mind of yours, if it exists,” he tried anyway. “I know for a fact you felt that, a Devil’s reservoir being drawn upon.”
“True,” the sibyl conceded without hesitation. “Little baby Devil. Lost. Curious that it is. Here.”
“I to check on my charges,” Veit insisted. He might have been stretching the definition of both what the people at the estate meant for him and just what his responsibilities even were, but appealing to that was the only thing he could think of. “Surely, we can resume… whatever this is, once I have confirmed their wellbeing.”
What had the world come to, that he was trying to reason with ? He doubted it would take things well if he tried to use such a window as an attempt to escape—as much as he prioritized his own safety at times, he couldn’t justify risking this creature’s ire in a more populated area.
But he need not even lie about this—people could be in danger, and the situation might be worsening further, the longer he remained too far to act.
“No.” The sibyl was dismissive, going so far as to mimic the waving of a hand, as if this were insignificant. Its jerky movements were even more discomfiting up close, an eerie reminder of how this thing’s false life came off as. “Little Devil gone. Already.”
In her not-so-long life, Luitgarde Maryem had found herself learning about many things she had no interest in. Well, ‘learning’ might have been an inaccurate term for that, but many tidbits of knowledge had made their way into her head entirely against her will, and without her even always knowing how or why she’d even found that information.
She was not a scholarly woman. Scholarly people were so Devilsdamned pretentious. They made her want to avoid anything that could be even misconstrued as studious by default.
One of those things she had learned against her will were phrases that otherworlders had popularized, some translated, some not. It wasn’t as astounding as people oftentimes treated it as, usually when first finding out even strangers off the street probably had a general idea of how to curse. She thought most came from some otherworlder language called ‘angrish’ or whatever, but she wasn’t really sure.
Luitgarde wasn’t about to deny their other phrases had their uses—because otherworlders could show up almost anywhere, at least in theory, those cultural fragments they brought along were probably closer to being universally understandable beneath the waves than some other things their different countries had in common.
As for why Luitgarde, self-professed hater of self-reflection, was currently hiding under her bed and thinking about this all?
Well, it really came down to, one knew, those phrases. To ‘mess’ up was an interesting way of putting things, especially since she was pretty sure messes were things, not actions. One simply couldn’t walk around messing— actually, couldn’t they? She probably had not chosen the best analogy for that. Besides, there was no one around, and, again, these things were acceptable. Her father was neither around nor alive to complain about their precious language being tainted by external influence. She was allowed to muse about the origins of the word ‘fuck’ as much as she wanted. Still, a particular phrase kept coming to mind.
{Sunset} had no eyes, or thoughts, but she could have sworn it was staring judgmentally at her.
Luitgarde gulped, still hugging her knees as she rested.
Today, she had fucked up.
For once in his life, Anselm Rīsan felt like he might have lucked out, after all. He knew for a fact that all who’d lingered after what had been a perfectly great event might as well have been thrown headfirst up to the waves—and time was of the essence if they were to get anything done about the officiant’s final death before his sister and her husband returned to see how everything had fallen apart.
He might still have had it in him to feel bad about himself were the reveals not coming so easily still—yet always off the mark.
[Toll] Multiplier
If applied to an object capable of absorbing mana, this token will immediately meld into it, allowing for the next use of it to surpass normal limitations. Only mana stemming from accrued [Toll] maybe qualifies, and additions from external sources will case render the token invalid. During said next use, all mana absorbed by the object will be between 1% and 10% more than what the source would normally allow. The percentage increase will be determined by gap between the object's mana capacity and the user's maximum [Toll] capacity.
This was precisely the type of harvestable reveal that would have proven useful had the officiant’s obit not been dunked in seawater by Baldur Maryem, the mayor of Beuzaheim. That mad was someone Anselm had only ever heard of in passing, understanding only that he was extremely disliked despite how those who had encountered him previously been all too eager to be thin on the details as to why.
Anselm would have expected an unpleasant man at worst, with his hopes being low to start with when this was someone the people who seemed to consider the worst of the two, but never would he have predicted something like this. That kind of behavior probably fell under the umbrella of psychopathy, or whatever the term was. No one in their sane mind, no one with a regard for the value of life, would weaponize like that. The worst—for them, anyway—had presumably been averted when the man had failed to reach Abelard, but his abrupt decision to kill the officiant and try to blame Kristian for it had been executed with mechanical precision.
As he kept prompting the harvestables he held in one hand while imagining he could tug at the Blessing he now loved as much as he hated with the other, Anselm’s scowl deepened. he prompted. He had been thrilled by his ability to all but create custom items, but even this much stolen power from a deity could not accomplish something as ridiculous as just bringing the man back. All he could do was prompt it openly, and hope something useful would come of it.
Still, the man’s obit was lost…
So just did every harvestable he revealed seem intent on ignoring that fact in its entirety?
Obit Lifetime Extension
If wrapped and tied around an obit, this ribbon will be consumed to add 300 days to the duration for which the obit will endure in its current state of functionality. This addition may be stacked with other extensions so long as they are used at least 10 days apart.
He didn’t have the obit! It had been destroyed! If the obit had been around, Anselm could just have filled it. It would have been an incredibly difficult stunt to pull off without drawing attention, but he could have topped the damn thing off himself! Certainly, the officiant had likely been a peak Tree Veins individual, but it wasn’t as though logic or limitations were to be considered when Anselm’s [Toll] seemed utterly incapable of capping out.
Truth be told, under different circumstances, he would have been losing his mind at the sight of that reveal. He was in a position where he could simply no longer relate to that kind of helplessness, the sort of hurdle against resurrections that laid most low. Obits were nigh impossible to actually use despite all the dead dropping them, if only because the average individual couldn’t gather the necessary mana to resurrect someone before the obit became unusable. Save for the inevitable outliers, people fell under one or the other camp—either you had the resources to resurrect someone or you did not. There was no real ground between.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
Something like this… It would undoubtedly be of use, unlike the several multiplier tokens he had already sent into his inventory, to be lost the moment he forgot about them. Despite his annoyance, curiosity gnawed at him—Anselm would allow himself to indulge , if only to know if it was possible.
A small part of his mind wondered if he should have been concerned about pushing too far and drawing that god’s attention again, but something told him such concerns were likely pointless—surely, they would have stopped him by now if they disapproved, and it wasn’t as if the connection wouldn’t have existed for a purpose.
With a thought, he refocused on the cottony ribbon between his fingers, willing the next revealed harvestable to be .
Obit Lifetime Extension
If wrapped and tied around an obit, this ribbon will be consumed to add 7,500 days to the duration for which the obit will endure in its current state of functionality. This addition may be stacked with other extensions so long as they are used at least 10 days apart.
So he push this. It would have been quite the incredible discovery under other circumstances—and 25 years was well over twice the usual time before dissolution that the average Mortal Esse obit got!—but Anselm told himself he would have time to think long and hard about what to do with this revelation he had come up with something that could actually help them out of this mess.
If simply wishing for a harvestable that spawned an identical officiant out of thin air was not an option, and prompting the reveals without further details kept leading him to items to boost a nonexistent obit, then perhaps he was approaching this the wrong way.
Right now, their biggest concern was twofold—Thekla and Abelard would soon exit their display home to find their wedding utterly deserted, his father was likely facing a scenario where one of the few arguable figures of authority out here would try and pin a murder on him. Trying to defend Kristian Rīsan from murder accusations, false or not, would be too much of an uphill battle to consider facing it head-on.
That left him with few options, though it was mostly a lack of imagination that stumped Anselm. Far too many possibilities lay bare before him, but he hadn’t the faintest clue as to what how to start. Should he try and delay the man somehow? For all he knew, he might have gone into hiding—or he might be heading straight for Beuzaheim, for his seat of power, in order to escalate this matter.
With a slow exhale, Anselm revealed the harvestable he had just now been fiddling with.
A translucent sheet no bigger than the palm of his hand replaced the harvestable.
Steps That Bind
Lay in the path of an opponent for best results. This sheet will become part of the ground beneath it. When stepped on by anyone other than the one who placed it there, it will be consumed to apply a Debuff to the target that will impede their stride for the next 100 minutes. All movement speeds will be affected, including those that rely on mounts or abilities. Vehicles cannot be affected.
This wasn’t something he could use. Again, he had failed to be specific enough. There was a noninsignificant change he might run out of harvestables if this continued—carelessness could ruin everything.
A pair of coins, now.
Debuffer (Paired, Specific)
Select a target for a Debuff to be applied. Upon selection, one coin will find itself inside the target's pocket, or any available carry space in their person. If none is found, the coin is lost. If the coin is found and disposed of, or its location ceases to be in contact with the target, effect will be lost. So long as the user is focusing on applying the Debuff to the target, it will be maintained. Lapses in focus will interrupt the effect.
Remains functional for: 1200 minutes after initial activation
Specific Debuff: -20% Speed
Finally, something useful—if only marginally so. Anselm locked in on Baldur Maryem immediately, watching as one of the coins indeed disappeared from his grasp. To his understanding, the man was but a mortal, so he was unlikely to notice. The Status Effect not being of the visible sort could only help. In the end, it cost Anselm nothing to just activate it and contribute at least slightly towards inconveniencing the man. Regardless of what happened next, he would gladly go without sleep—which he barely needed any off anyway since his death—just to keep this up, and one could be Devilsdamned sure he would have a new one revealed and at the ready the moment this one stopped being functional.
He briefly considered just getting something to track the man with, but actually using it would be impossible without stepping out of his comfort zone. Any course of action that required interacting with others would be too risky, especially since he was already testing his luck by revealing such a ridiculous amount of high-rarity harvestables within the spawn of minutes.
Forcing his stiffened lungs to draw in a fresh breath of air, far deeper than necessary, Anselm paced the area. Bernie and his father were engaged in a heated discussion with the estate’s butler—he didn’t even bother trying to parse their words out. He was somehow more afraid of any plan any combination of those people could come up with than the worst case scenarios he had pondered in his mind.
No, there had to be something he could do. Narrowing his eyes, Anselm examined the structure his sister and her husband were currently decorating, as a single fact struck him like an epiphany—it was . In a sense. There was nothing stopping him from just labeling it a single within the confines of his mind, and that just led him down a train of thought that might have otherwise been ill-advised. Probably even dangerous.
His understanding of magic theory was limited, as most of what he knew came from either what he had overheard or the answers Hanne gave him whenever he asked—which he now suspected had been curated to a fault—but he had a general awareness of the fact that magic that affected time and space was rare for a reason. People couldn’t touch those, generally speaking. Most Affinities were , and while something like a Skill to increase the speed of one’s thoughts would be perfectly mundane, there was no such thing as a Skill to actually speed time up for someone. It could be replicated in a myriad ways, as effects out there were basically limitless, but no implementation could actually rely on time itself, only in facsimiles. Regardless of what was done achieve them, no effects that slowed or sped time up could be achieved through individual power—at least according to conventional wisdom.
But most importantly—and at the crux of the utter that had taken root in his mind—it was certainly possible for artifacts. The few known to exist were coveted and closely guarded, with many an institution out there treating items that could turn a single room into a space of time dilation as irreplaceable treasures. It was the stuff of legends, not in the sense that it was fantastical or unlikely to exist, but in that no one could expect to just casually encounter such things in their lives.
The point remained—artifacts existed out there. Their limitations were something he could extrapolate based on that, both from what little information he had and maybe a recollection or two of how these things were depicted in fiction. If Anselm had to guess, part of what made their existence possible was the very fact that they were limited—their effects were either combined to anything that remained in contact with the pertinent artifact, or to a specific place. He almost laughed, positively giddy, because as far-fetched and arguably dumb as this idea was, it could certainly solve one of their problems—and it was .
Sure, sure, it would be incredibly strange to be caught with a rod drawing a few circles around the structure where the bride and groom remained, but it was nothing he couldn’t explain with an offhand comment about how he was just revisiting all possibilities by confirming whether or not the obit truly had been destroyed. The rod was just for balance, seeing as his legs just weren’t what they used to—a truth, admittedly.
Anselm’s mind was still going in far too many directions as he continued making the area a more distinct —to his surprise, no one actually seemed intent on questioning him. They were likely too preoccupied with the same concerns as he was, especially the staff, who may very well find themselves caught in the crosshairs of something they had nothing to do with just by virtue of having been on the family’s employ today.
He might also have been struggling to keep his laughing fit contained for much longer, but it hardly mattered by when he finished setting things up. There rest would be up to luck, but Anselm felt oddly confident about his chances.
After all, it wasn’t as though anything was stopping him from using all this hijacked power to just reveal an artifact that shouldn’t exist, and he had just the thing in mind.