Accidental Reaver

Chapter 217 - 216: Out of the Rest Into the Rest

Stern words greeted Luke. "You're awake. Lady Cyrn will need to be notified."

A persistent buzz rang in Luke's ears. He groaned, pain wracked his body and soul. Mint, mana, and used bandages formed a pungent, although not entirely unpleasant smell. Magelight lit the way for his blurry vision.

He turned his head to the quick beat of wings. Sooty smothered the Reaver. Their link told him everything he needed to know. While out, the connection definitely deepened, from Sooty's efforts, it seemed. Questions crept into his hazy mind; they could wait. Smiling slightly, a finger ran of its own volition, comforting Sooty—companion, buddy, family. Wayfinder tugged to greet him. Whispering Tome circled him, and Xera came out her sheath, transformed into a wand, and tapped herself against his chest.

"Would it kill you to stop ending up a mess after a fight? What are Sooty, Sword Book, and I supposed to do if you die, huh? Huh? And…" The sword-wand covertly pointed a wand point to the involuntarily silent compass. "That one is starting to question his own guidance after this!"

Pain dug deeper as Luke laughed, from the unlikely sight, and pride at Xera's change. He had the battle of her life, something he knew the artifact dearly enjoyed. Her mind and wants took a turn, or she valued another aspect of life now.

"To have the excitement driven, combat hungry Xera worry about me, over the fun of it. You've changed, Xera—in a good way."

"That's not what this is about. Things came close this time! All those healers whispered to themselves about possibly slipping into a soul coma. I don't even know what that is, but it sounds terrible. Months, months of you staying in this stinky, sterile, stable bed if that happened."

"Duty to defy comes steeply."

"What sort of excuse is that? No 'sorry', or 'I'll do better'? Lilly drowned in guilt, and the others came with their own desires. You know how many times Sooty and I had to drive them away? Stupid master!"

Standing up from the nearby chair, rolling her shoulders, Jordis cut in. "Keep the reunion after I've said my fill to the Defier."

Whipping around, Xera gathered essence. "Can't you see we're having an important conversation? Wait your turn, all you sword mites should leave him alone."

Sooty sat on Luke's shoulder and cawed loudly to back Xera up. Whispering Tome started to write in runic to record the Reaver's history again.

Above arguing, Jordis locked her attention on Luke instead. "You've been out for five days. Healers said it's a miracle you avoided entering a soul coma. Overdraw, resource reflux, constitution reformation, Concept condemnation." She sighed. "No doubt it saved your life many times, but leveling repeatedly in a short time gap also strained your body from artificially restoring the extreme damage you did to yourself. What you do isn't my business, Defier. Just stay intact enough to do your duty to the city. Until the next, other tasks call."

Bowing with a slight incline, she said, "A pleasure to watch over you, Ninth Defier. Thank you for your service to the city during the Tide." The giant of a woman stalked off, leaving the medical ward. When she opened a white cloth flap, twin moonlight shone through, and Luke fought the urge to face palm.

A crowd of people awaited outside, no doubt told to stay away until he recovered. After a rapid exchange of subtle glances and nudges, two of them stepped into the ward. Luke wondered the where the healer, nurse—or whatever their position would be—was at. The bay appeared cordoned? Sealed off? This entire place held no other patient in recovery. The answer literally walked up to him.

An elf man, with a rarer skin tone of purplish-white, summoned a seed of life. Fitting to his wood-woven and antler cloth garb. "My name is Jorlain, tier 3 druid, commissioned by the Defiers and City Lord Cyrn to guide your, and Defier Jovan's recovery. How are you feeling, Defier Luke? You gave your previous healers quite the scare when they saw the state of your insides."

The other person the Reaver recognized. Brown hair hugged against her face. An owl prodded at her tapered ears. A black pentagram pulsed on the opposite side of her palm.

"Look who's finished their nap?" Iona smiled, taking one hand into the other behind her back and leaning forward. "Something you want to tell me? I counted at least nine other ladies coming to visit while you recovered."

Luke nodded toward Jorlain. "Thank you for your help, can't say I'm feeling all that wonderful, but I'll live." Raising an eyebrow, the Reaver asked Iona. "Said I had visitors? Why is there a line outside, anyway?"

A bit of an airdrop cleared the room. Flecks of the nature element floated from Iona. Taking the hint, Jorlain left after a hurried instruction to Luke, asking him to call if he needed any further medical attention. A natural gust opened up the cloth flap for an easy exit. A hot flash seared onto the back of the Reaver's hand, as the Defier's Mark twisted. Iona set up an aura veil to forestall any eavesdroppers.

"Recovery comes with its own set of problems, Luke." Iona began taking the nearest chair against the back of the infirmary tent. "Sorry, we probably could've transported you to somewhere more…upscale, or private, but the City Lord insisted on keeping you here, under Jordis' watch."

"To keep me here, well, that doesn't seem so bad. Jordis, though, she guarded me. There a reason for that?"

"Many, but none too important. She did assign you one of the better tier 3 healers, patched you up as best he could. Take it easy for the next day or two, Annika informed me elemental humans bounce back quick, but quick isn't instantly."

"We going to beat around the bush, or get to it?"

"Eldacar is dead. Jovan is in a spirit coma—the months long recovery process you narrowly avoided—and well over half of all hunters died. This Tide, one of the shortest in recent memory, also ended up being particularly deadly for the lower end of the hunters and city defenders."

Luke hadn't known Eldacar long, but his warnings rang in the back of his mind. The elf told his own omen, and the Reaver himself came within an inch of joining that corpse pile. He sent silent respects to all who gave the ultimate sacrifice, with a special mental send-off to Eldacar. From the results at the Western Front, he knew the casualties had to be tremendous. As, except for himself, any who failed to escape back to the walls died on that front. The Reaver couldn't say for the Central Front, but the east likely fared little better.

"What did Eldacar in? When is his funeral?" Strain set in as Luke sat himself up further on the bed, creaking the worn mattress and twisting the sheets.

"Two Diplomats. There was little choice left, but what a choice he did make—to take one with him. A Diplomat is equal to seven or so Envoys on the weaker side, and many more on the higher end. Annika is the only one of our number who could take on two and come out alive. Musai goes without saying." Iona glanced down for a moment, letting out a sigh. "He had no remains, so we buried his chain weapon. That licentious bastard had a suitable inheritance for the wives and kids he left behind. You missed the funeral. Musai held the rites two days ago."

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

"Where was he buried? I didn't know him long, but—"

Iona shook her head to interrupt. "The families wish him rest. He had a private compound outside the south gate, miles out from the central path. They're turning away visitors, and unless they're close friends or similar, want nothing to do with us Defiers. We sent him off to die. I never agreed with Eldacar's love style, but many of those women cherished him dearly, if their anger at us eight still alive is any indication. To make it worse, the Defier closest to Eldacar, Jovan, is going to be out of commission for months."

"If that's their wish." Luke supported his chin with his hand. "I heard something about a spirit coma? Didn't know that sort of thing was possible. What is it, exactly?"

"It's the backlash from overuse of your soul to the extreme. Impossible to reach for most. Takes connecting to the Soul Plane at tier 2, and often dragging away more of a technique, Domain or Concept than you have any right to naturally. When people use special means like an elixir or…" Iona got up and tapped a finger on Luke's sternum. "This. It's a risk they take each time. The more you ask beyond what you are actually capable of, the higher the chance it happens. Annika thinks the only reason you avoided it is because an Exalted Heart is better ingrained, and that your higher life rating took some of the burden. That brings us to another of the problems popping up, now that the aftermath of the Tide is beginning to settle down."

"It does?"

"It does."

"Can I get out of this stuffy place, at least? A walk should do me wonders."

"We can see to that, just know you might upset some impatient 'visitors'. Stubborn ones have waited for three days now."

In one ear, and out the other, Luke discarded the minor issue. He got up, keeping on the white cloth someone must've exchanged him in. He panicked for a moment, thinking he lost his gear, until Sooty communicated through Reaver's Link that she swiped it into her Spatial Feather. Relieved, Luke slipped on some woven sandals. Stretching, he popped enough joints to think he was getting on in years, despite definitely being in his twenties still.

Trotting beside him, Iona let him leave the medical ward. Another healer on duty urged him to rest, and multiple guests waiting outside asked for a moment of his time. Thankfully, Iona managed to bat them away with a glare and leaking a bit of aura—save two. Janeus, and Veyri, for some odd reason. Starlight glittered in the night scape, and the ting of hammers, and the patting of masonry ran even at this hour. Artisans returned to Sylen, repairing the walls, restoring the collateral damage to the homes, and bringing life back to the city after the recent exodus. In forlorn corners, the ugly price of the Tide left its mark. Sobbing in homes, children asking where their mother or father was. Monics held communes at night, usually in the Eastern Quadrant. Luke had to shut off most of his hearing. After reaching tier 2, the auditory range expanded to encompass entire sections of the city.

Before leaving for the wall, Luke looked over his shoulder at Janeus. "We can talk another time, Janeus, and…Veyri. Why are you here?"

His memory during the Pupilless State was spotty to say the least. Few details beyond the absolutely most critical for survival stayed with him under the Spectral Heart's influence. As such, he vaguely recalled meeting Veyri at some point. Janeus would be someone he expected, as his First Sinned. Maybe something to do with the contract between them? Or the Azure Drakes team he still vice-captained?

A quaking rippled in Veyri's eyes, colored by effort. She peered, not at Luke, but just above him, in a mix of awe and intrigue. The Reaver became wary subconsciously. Eventually, Janeus clasped a hand on Veyri's shoulder. "We had a proposal to make to you, Lord Luke."

Catching herself, Veyri dusted off her arms and scoffed. "Moniba wants an answer soon, and I do too. But I understand when I'm not wanted around, send a sigil link when your head isn't so stuck up your ass, Wallace."

The red-haired woman confidently waved as she dipped into the streets, heading to the Silver Black Tower. She called out, "Oh, and you're one of the last alive that hasn't claimed their position at the Stele, better hurry it on up, it disappears after a week, and it's already been five days."

She's certainly in a bad mood.

Writing off her attitude as post Tide shock, the Reaver gestured for Janeus to cease the boiling rage. A connection linked him to Janeus, and the other sinned, Calista. When nearby, he intuitively understood their emotional state, and not much else beyond that. By now, he'd seen that emotion on people's faces enough to pierce the thin veil of haughtiness Veyri used to keep it under lock and key—fear. She became afraid of something.

But that wasn't his problem, so the Reaver headed deeper into the city, away from the Northern Quadrant. Iona stepped in place with him, most in the city minded their business, except the usual unscrupulous still scoping him out. For a time, he thought about the choices he made during the Tide. In hindsight, they went about as well as reasonably able. By all means, handling multiple Envoys at once usually resulted in death, so coming out alive was a win in his book.

And what a win it had been.

Strength thrummed, more resonant than ever before. Agility rivaled Iona's already, and intellect honed essence control and information processing to entirely new levels. Allowing himself just one moment of weakness, the Reaver sifted through the pile of log notices and picked out one for confirmation purposes.

[You have reached the limits of the 2nd strength threshold. Must ascend once more to grasp further strength]

Concerned for survival, the Reaver hadn't fully quantified how fertile a field for growth the Tide ended up. An all you can eat attribute buffet for the Reaver, one that wanted to eat him back. It wasn't just the primary four attributes, but most affinities as well. With a cursory glance, he found some completely new ones in the affinities line. Iona poked his side, earning her a look.

"What? Staring off into the night while inviting a lady out for a walk? Clueless." She took on a playful grin. "Sure you should be seen like this with me? Think of all the heartbroken men from my end, and ladies from yours."

Fire files drifted in the city streets. Smaller celebrations were held in various corners, where Luke had only saw grieving before, gave way to happiness. Lovers reunited, homes kept upright, businesses restored. Celebrations of the next predicted peaceful years. Only in the Southern Quadrant, held in the grasp of the criminal underworld, did its conditions paradoxically get worse, and the rest of the city move on. Aside from that sore point, to see the sacrifice pay off reinstilled purpose, beyond personal motivations.

Not at all falling into Iona's teasing, Luke changed the subject before it could even veer into complicated territory.

"Iona, how many people reach the limits of a second threshold?"

Consternation crossed her features, and the elf woman threaded her hair. "A specific number is hard to find, people aren't exactly open about their attributes and Interface panel if they can avoid it. For any of the three primary attributes, that's usually in the thousands. Color Lulu and I shocked if the city had more than twenty like that, all of them Tier 3 or better."

Not anymore then. Tier is almost a suggestion at this point.

Observing under the veil of night, Luke blinked away the last of the bleary vision. He could use something like the Mist Shroud to see without eyes, but that was more trouble than it was worth around civilians and weaker hunters. Up ahead, etched into the Silver Black Tower itself was a titanic stone tablet. Runes illuminated in gray or deep purple waxed and waned. Able to read runic, Luke made out various names, but the symbols shifted too erratically to get a solid sense of their categorization.

"The city changed while I was out." He pontificated with an index finger at the symbols on the Silver Black Tower. At this size, combined with the Spire's central position in the bulwark metropolis, made it hard to miss. "That have a story behind it? Definitely wasn't there last time I checked."

"Tides are abnormal, Luke. The creatures are manipulated at their ether roots by the Blessed Banner, sending them all into a rage that replaces their usual instincts. It also unfortunately ends up turning their corpses into pure ether, meaning no drops. Our Tower takes all that energy and feeds itself. Calculates it and gives a contribution ranking. The higher it is, the better the reward you'll receive." She gazed up at the moving runic language and chuckled as if remembering something. "Aruna about cried when she found out you beat her in rankings. She won't live that down for ages."

Quickly embodying the 'trust but verify' notion beaten into his head during service, Luke inspected the Interface log. True to Iona's words, the Reaver failed to find a single drop notice; instead, they were replaced by contribution point numbers. Since there were well over ten thousand such notices for him, Luke glazed over them. The ranks should tell him enough, anyway.

Curious about this sort of thing, Luke asked, "Highest points wins for the rankings? Are the rewards any good?" Flicking Sooty when she pulled on his black hair a little too hard, the bird reminded him of something else. "Do companions get their spot by themselves? Or baked into the owner's numbers?"

"Over analysis, Luke, companions have no such thing. It's divided by the raw number of contributions the Tower appraised. The higher you are, the better a chance you get of the Tower gifting something valuable to you. It varies per person. People rarely receive the same thing even if their point total is similar." She elbowed Luke, asking a question of her own. "How many did you deal with? Envoys and the higher Tide affected monsters, I mean. A fool or two is saying you tricked the Tower, with a ranking like that."

"Was it all a big deal? The tier 3 hunters must've done quite a number themselves, right?"

"All I'll say is, some of those same tier 3 hunters issued an arena challenge out of pride."

"Not this shit again."

"May as well see the reward you get in return for that sort of attention." Iona rubbed Luke's upper back to cheer him up.

"No rest for the weary."

"Rest is for the dead, Luke, and Defiers are quite good at living against the odds."