AoP | B1 | Chapter 18: Turning Point

Seth hammered the large door in front of him, holding Renwal tightly to keep him from falling. "Vandric! Wake up!" 

Silence. Before Seth could pound the door again, a faint groan escaped Renwal’s lips. His eyelids fluttered, and his face contorted in pain. "Seth…" he murmured, his voice barely audible, trembling like the rest of his battered body.

"It’s okay, Renwal. I’ve got you," Seth muttered, adjusting his grip to keep the blacksmith steady before slamming his fist against the wood even harder. This time a groggy voice echoed from the inside. 

"It’s ten-thirty, Seth! Come back tomorrow!"

"It can’t wait!" Seth shouted through the door. "It’s Renwal! A noble broke his arms!" 

A loud groan came first, followed by the thuds of footsteps, then the door creaked open. A skinny man with a horseshoe-shaped ring of gray hair appeared in its frame, clad in a white robe adorned with golden stripes on the side and at the end of its long, baggy sleeves.

"What happened?" Vandric asked, his eyes widening as he bent down to look at Renwal’s arms. "Let’s bring him inside."

Seth followed the Priest into his house and carried the blacksmith from the small lobby to the living room. A pair of portraits hung on the far wall above an old, worn-out couch; one was of Gaia in the forest, half-naked with thick vines covering most of her brown skin, and the other was of Hemeris, dressed in a gleaming white gown and standing in front of the blazing sun. 

Seth gently laid Renwal on the couch, then recounted the ambush by the noble and his men to the Priest.

"Breaking someone’s arms for such a reason." Vandric sighed, rolling up Renwal’s blood-stained sleeves. "That’s why I avoid cities."

"Can—can you fix them?" the blacksmith asked with a weak voice.

The Priest studied the man’s arms with a sharp eye before placing his hands above them. Almost instantly, a dazzling light erupted from his palms and enveloped the broken limbs in a white glow. Vandric’s hands moved meticulously from the blacksmith’s fingertips up to his shoulders while following every bone structure. As the light faded a few seconds later, the Priest’s brow furrowed deeply in concern.

"Most of the bones are shattered," he muttered. "It’s a miracle you’re still alive, my friend. The blood loss from an injury like this should’ve killed you. But somehow, your arteries and veins are intact."

"It’s because of the scroll I used," Seth said. "It stopped the bleeding and brought the bones back inside."

"A scroll?" Vandric repeated, visibly taken aback.

"Yes, a spell-scroll called Wound Cure," Seth explained. "The professor from Trogan Academy gave it to me after stopping the noble and his men so I could use—"

"Wound Cure?" Vandric exclaimed, seeming more terrified than surprised. "That man gave you an Iron instant spell-scroll to save a non-Wielder?"

Seth took a step back, startled by the Priest’s reaction. "I know it was risky, but it worked."

"That’s not the point," the Priest answered, pinching the bridge of his nose with an exasperated sigh. "That scroll is used by Wielders to heal their wounds when there’s no Priest around. It’s far more valuable than you think."

"Like, a few copper coins?"

"No, Seth. More like dozens of iron coins."

Seth’s jaw dropped in disbelief. Dozens of iron coins… that was more than the blacksmith could earn in a lifetime—all for a single-use scroll. Why would he give me something so valuable? To save Renwal’s life? Not a chance. 

If that had been the case, he would have used it himself rather than forcing Seth to learn on the spot. There had to be another reason.

Renwal’s quivering voice broke the silence, the man having gained some colour since being laid down. "Can you fix my arms, Vandric?"

"Yes and no," the Priest answered, pursing his lips together for an instant. "In theory, I could. But since you’re a non-Wielder, it would require a Silver healing prism to store my spell and slowly deliver it to you over the course of several months. Without it, the aether would just kill you.”

Renwal glanced down at his mangled arms, tears welling up in his eyes. "And I suppose that Silver thing costs… more than I can afford?"

"Unfortunately… yes."

Seth gulped. Each Copper prism for his mother’s pain treatment had cost a dozen common coins—he could already guess how expensive a Silver one would be. "How much… how much does it cost?"

"Twenty iron coins."

Seth’s eyes widened. "Is there a way to—"

"Seth, stop!" Renwal snapped, piercing him with his gaze. "I get it. You feel guilty for what happened. But there’s no point in pretending either of us can afford it."

"We can! Just give me a few months, and I—"

Renwal slammed the heel of his boot against the couch’s armrest. "A few months? You’re a damn Primalist, for Gaia’s sake! You couldn't make that kind of money in a lifetime! Instead of chasing some delusional goal, you should stay away from this town. The Faertis House will make every single citizen pay for your arrogance!"

"I—" Seth began, but stopped as Vandric put a hand on his shoulder.

"You’ve done enough, Seth," the Priest said. "Leave the rest to me. Go home and get some rest."

"They burned my home," Seth hissed before turning away and striding out of the house without looking back.

The moment he closed the door, Renwal’s enraged voice reached his ears.

"I don’t care if I was rude. I’m crippled because of him, Vandric! I won’t ever be able to hold a hammer again!"

*****

Seth trudged down the dirt streets, the setting sun dipping below the distant palisades of Sunatown. The weight of the day bore down on him, doubt clawing at his mind. Wouldn’t it be better to just give up on the academy? Staying away from nobles like Lucius, and hunting with Nightmare until he could afford the quiet, peaceful life he’d dreamed of since losing his mother? The academy had always been just a means to that end, and now with Link and the direwolf, he didn’t really need it anymore. 

Everything would be safer and so much easier—but that bastard also would remain unpunished. The Faertis House would keep suffocating every commoner with their taxes, squeezing every last coin from them, burning their homes, and crippling people whenever they pleased. Could he really just walk away from all of this, on top of leaving Renwal damaged for life over a few arrows? Was there any way he would let those rotten nobles rule and dictate everyone’s fate?

No, he couldn't.

His father had left him something that could propel him to greater heights, make him rise above the others—he couldn't just leave and hide. This wasn’t his Path anymore. He needed to thrive, to become strong enough he could just crush the Faertis House under his boot. 

Even if it took twenty years, he had to make them pay.

As Seth passed near Marcus’ shop, a flickering light behind one of the stained windows caught his eye and an idea sprang in his mind. Hunting Red Foxes would be his next step—not just for coins through the Adventurers Guild’s contract, which could help him buy spells, but also for attributes. Each beast he slain, each stone he fed Nightmare, would bring him closer to the power he needed. 

If Marcus has Baiting Potions for Red Foxe, I could hunt more of them, and faster, he thought.

Even if the shop was likely closed, Seth still decided to give it a try and grabbed the rusty handle. To his surprise, the door opened with a single push. The musty smell of the interior hadn’t yet reached his nose when Marcus’ dry voice echoed through the stop.

"We are—" The old Alchemist stopped mid-sentence when he saw him. "Not you again."

"I’m here to—" Seth began.

"Nope. I won't give you more Healing Potions."

"Can you let me finish!" Seth snapped. 

Marcus’ wrinkled eyes widened and he took a step back. His expression began to harden, but then immediately softened as his gaze fell on the bloodstains covering Seth’s shirt. "Is that your blood?"

"No, it’s Renwal’s," Seth said, regaining his composure. "A noble shattered his arms because he assisted me and gave me arrows between my selection’s fights."

The old Alchemist let out a long sigh and sank into the chair behind his counter. "I’m sorry to hear that, boy," he said, his mouth twisting awkwardly within his white beard.  "But none of my potions can heal non-Wielders." 

"I’m not here for that," Seth answered, walking over to the shelves filled with crimson vials. "I want to buy Baiting Potions."

Marcus crossed his arms. "You won’t find any for arcane beasts on those shelves. They expire after a few months, so I only make them on request."

"Can I make a request, then? I need them to lure Red Foxes."

"Uh, sure." The old Alchemist cast a quick glance toward the back of his shop, probably thinking through his inventory. "I should have all the basic ingredients, but you’ll need to bring me the main one. Either a beaststone of their usual prey or one of their favorite berries."

Seth thought for a moment, trying to recall what he had read about the foxes the previous night at the inn. "Would those be Redsun Berries?"

Marcus shrugged. "I don’t know all this stuff by heart."

"Alright, I’ll double-check in my father’s encyclopedia." 

Seth turned to leave, but then abruptly halted—it was time to confirm once for all the suspicions which had been growing in his mind the past two weeks.  "My father… he was a Primalist as well, right?"

The old Alchemist's lips tightened for a moment, then he leaned back, his posture stiffening as if bracing himself for an unpleasant conversation. "Yes."

"He wrote in a letter that he ran away from a war, but—" Seth started, his voice growing heavy. "Was he killed by the Bridan Empire?"

Marcus shook his head. "No, he was wanted by another country. One far from here. When he found out that they’d discovered his location, he went back there… to protect you and your mother."

"Why didn't he just stay and fight here?"

Marcus sighed, his shoulders sinking as he looked away. "Your father was powerful, but he knew stronger Wielders would keep coming. If it weren’t for you and your mother, I think he would’ve stayed… set a trap, taken down as many as he could with him."

Seth absorbed the information and nodded, but then frustration flared up within him. "Why didn't you tell me this before? I’ve always assumed he died while hunting."

"For the same reason your mother never did," the old Alchemist answered, meeting back Seth’s gaze. "We knew you’d dig into his past and put yourself and everyone in danger."

Because I’m not strong enough, Seth thought, his core throbbing inside his ribcage. Whether out in the wild or in human society, it always came back to that same thing. Power.

"If I get stronger than those who killed him, will you tell me who they are?"

Marcus let out a long sigh, rubbing his worn face and pulling at the loose skin down. "Mmm, sure. But don’t fool yourself, boy—it’ll take a lot longer than you think to get there."

"It doesn't matter," Seth said, heading toward the door before pausing for a brief instant. "I’ll come back as soon as I get the berries."

"Sure, close the—" 

Before the old Alchemist could finish, Seth stepped out of the shop, fists clenched and nails digging into his palms. There was only one thing to do now. 

Hunt.

*****

Seth ran back to his shelter outside the Wicked Forest under the rays of the twin moons that shone through the dark sky. As he arrived and started removing all the branches he had used for camouflage, Nightmare burst out of a nearby bushes and rushed to him. 

'You back!' the direwolf exclaimed, bouncing around before suddenly freezing. His red eyes locked onto the bloodstains. 'Hurt?'

Seth shook his head, removing his boots and stepping into the shelter. 'No, it's not mine. It's a friend's.'

'Dead?' the pup asked, his ears drooping on the side as he sat beside the firepit.

'No, but he won't ever be able to… hunt.'

'That terrible!' Nightmare sprang to its paw and let out a low growl. 'Kill who hurt friend?'

'No, I wasn't strong enough.'

'Then, we go hunt! Get stronger! And kill who did!'

Seth took off his leather jacket and stared at large crimson stains on his linen shirt underneath. Link might get exposed at the academy, nobles might try to hurt him—or even kill him—but he no longer cared. 

He’d get in and crush every one of that noble bastard’s bones, one by one.