The Resigned Dilettante
patreon
Chapter 118: An Unexpected Tenderness
🕑 Added 2025-11-07 02:38:47 +0000 UTCI try desperately to go to sleep before the boon fades, hoping to acclimate to the slowness and weakness while unconscious. Not that there’s much chance of that. So, I just lay there, staring at the cave ceiling whose darkened details I will shortly not be able to make out.
I always feel like I’ve lost something irreplaceable when coming out of a particularly powerful boon. That I’ll always be lesser than I am right now. I usually tell myself that this isn’t true, and that I’ll snatch even more power someday. But I can’t bring myself to believe it this time.
Very few Anar cultists ever find themselves sacrificing anything near the quality as the Mynharan, and I have no reason to believe I will do so again. It’s a bit sad to think about… If I had snatched such a prize in the capital, could I have killed the empress? Probably not – she doubtlessly has protections that I don’t even know the theory behind. I could have done a lot of damage though. Enough to maybe be worth my mission. Enough to cause Hyclion to declare war at the opportunity.
… I didn’t even think about that. What I could have done with it instead of helping Ser Terry. I probably would have chosen the same either way. After all, while I could have done a lot of damage, it wouldn’t be enough to guarantee Caethlion independence, so no reason to throw my cover away by making a scene.
Still, it’s a bit disconcerting that I didn’t even think about it until it's too late.
My breathing intensifies as I feel the last threads holding the boon in place begin to fray. Then they snap, and I plunge into darkness. Perhaps I should have lit something before it faded, but no reason to attract attention. I suppose I could cast a light orb and limit its intensity and direction, but I’d risk biting my tongue with how clumsy and numb it feels. Not actually numb, of course, just in comparison.
Despite not having sense stimuli, everything still seems to be moving too fast. The darkness is moving too fast. I can’t sleep like this, so I just stare blankly at the ceiling. It swirls around, and I begin hallucinating shapes that turn into figures. No specific person, just blurry images. There’s a violence to them, but nothing directed, just general.
Everything hurts. Not because of any innate property of coming out of a boon, but because I haven’t slept for three days, and even then only a few hours. Yet I’m unable to sleep. Sensing the futility of trying, I turn on the light item, but instantly regret that as the dull ache turns into a sharp one, driving knives behind my eyeballs. Still, I force myself to leave it on as it’s necessary to acclimate to my diminished self.
There’s a fly buzzing around the cave. Rationally, I’m certain I can catch it between my fingers mid-flight. I’ve done so many times before I sacrificed the Mynharran, and I should technically be faster now. Yet right now it seems to be shooting about the cave like a bullet, slipping through my grasp each time I try.
Finding it a good acclimation exercise, I keep on trying to snatch it out of the air. After what must be a few dozen attempts, I finally manage it. I stare triumphant at the pest between my fingers, hopeful for some reason, as if it’s somehow symbolic of some greater struggle… only for two more flies to start buzzing a moment later.
By the time I catch the last one, the sky outside is beginning to lighten. Refusing to slack on my studies, I attempt to go out the mouth only to immediately trip and fall on a rock. I nearly hit my head, but my cloak automatically forms a barrier that gives me time to catch myself.
Undissuaded, I continue to climb the hill, falling only two more times by the time I reach the top, making it just in time.
I make glacial progress… or so it seems. I’m sure the session is within the normal range for progress, but it just seems so slow compared to the lightning sprint of the last two days.
After negotiations with the Eye, I feel oddly relaxed – the opposite of normal. Or rather, not relaxed, but more able to rest. More exhausted in a way that finally allows me to sleep. I wrap myself in the bedroll and close my eyes, finding comfort even on the hard ground.
I still feel tired when I wake up, finding that only a few hours have passed. I try to go back to sleep, but find my muscles far too stressed and can’t manage it.
Sigh. All right, I’ve operated on less… I think. I have enough to at least ride for a bit without falling off Pelliphos until the next town. I ride for a few hours, then stop at an inn and rent their best room. There’s still a few hours of light outside, but the comfort of a bed (even if it’s not up to my recent standards) and the increased exhaustion of my journey finally allows me to sleep long enough to recover. I don’t even wake to learn spells at sunset and nearly miss sunrise too.
When I finish the matutinal session, I’m presented with a problem: I still have one person left to kill. Bart’s agent that I interrogated said that he had already contracted a fallen knight in a previous town with the epithet of ‘Briarhart’. He didn’t say much about them, just that they were discharged from their post in the army due to some scandal they were part of in Caethlon, and they’ve taken such contracts before.
There’s no guarantee that Ser Terry will pass through that town, and no guarantee that he would be spotted by Briarhart if he did. Still, there’s only two roads that it would make sense for him to return by, and that town is one of them. Ser Terry might be able to handle them even if caught, but then again, I doubt Bart would have bothered if they had no chance, and one of Ser Terry’s companions is incapacitated and is a vulnerability.
So that means I have to deal with them. How though? Ironically, I have a few methods now that I would have killed (hundreds of souls) for back in Caethlon, but none of them are really appropriate as I need to do it without drawing attention.
The problem is that the place in question is a major satellite to the capital. An obsolete fortress town, still mandated by law not to expand past its walls. Meaning that it’s densely populated, and so hard to kill someone unnoticed. It is about as shady as an imperial settlement gets, but not to the point of a low security section and not to the point that murders go unreported.
So, that eliminates the safest options: Lightning bolts are too loud and bright; heavy crossbow through a wall too associated with me and prone to collateral fatalities; and liquifying beam too risky to be seen, takes too long to cast and, as it turns out, alters the ground in a more noticeable way than I thought.
…Perhaps I can find some way to suspend the body off the ground. Ropes should work for now, but I should look up a spell when I get back, since that won’t help me for more robust materials. Not that it would help me in the initial subduing.
I suppose that leaves poison and poisoned dagger. The first one runs into the problem of getting the poison to them, and the potential that their healing is just good enough to survive it. The second has the problem of getting close enough to use it.
Ideally, they’ll go into some dark abandoned alley where I can throw a few projectiles into their back from the roof, but I doubt I’ll be so lucky. It’d require stalking them until a chance presented itself, and even then, their senses might be enough to overcome the concealment spell.
… Actually, how did Briarhart intend to kill Ser Terry under the same constraints? Perhaps they just didn’t care with so much coin being offered, but they should still need some way to do it without witnesses if they were to hope to make it to the princep for their reward.
For that matter, what about their other contracts they’ve taken? The town is only a dozen miles away from the capital, making it unlikely that Ser Terry would stay the night. Meaning they must know of places where they can attack people without notice, likely on the road. Places that they have done so before and intend to do so again with Ser Terry. Moreover, I doubt they’ve been surviving just on death contracts this close to the peaceful capital. Meaning they must make some side coin, robbery being my first guess.
So, all I need to do is convince Briarhart that I’m someone worth robbing, then go to their hunting ground. No witnesses for them means no witnesses for me too.
I arrive in town near dusk and rent a room in one of the three inns where I stable Pelliphos. I take my crossbows and other items to my room and bundle them all in one of the blankets with a concealment rune, then I try to divine my target.
I don’t have much to go on, just an epitaph, vague description (tall, lean, scar over the right eye and chin) and the tavern they frequent, but it’s enough. I find them (her, I find out, though they lean androgynous but not so much that I think it’s intentional) looking out the window of the ‘Yawning Milkmaid,' obviously on the lookout for Ser Terry or other prey.
She also has three others with her, who I take to be apprentices. From watching them move, though they are obscured by the window, I would guess two squires and a page. Well, that would explain why Bart thought she could win. It, of course, complicates matters. Not least of which it dictates which spells I’ll have active going into this.
Fortunately, none of them have magic armour, though I do spot chain mail under their tunics. Doubtlessly, they had to sell their gear to make ends meet after the discharge. Lucky for me. I was planning on using the power version of guidance on the knight, but I’ll also need to use the multi-target version on the squires. Which means I can’t use a shield spell, as that would be too much strain. Not ideal, but then again, would it even help me against a knight?
First, I take the syranthuse from earlier and smear it on the poison dagger and the two throwing knives. The latter won’t keep it fresh, but I’ll be using them before it’s an issue. Then I cast the power guidance on Briarhart and multi guidance on the apprentices, dropping concealment and myself off the roof I was observing them from as I do. Finally, I change my outfit’s colour to something bright and obviously expensive, loosen my sword belt to seem less ready for violence and step out of the alley and towards the inn with a slight swagger as if already a bit drunk.
Briarhart watches me as I approach with obvious interest. Is it enough? I walk past with a half-empty bottle of wine in my hand and feel her gaze move with me and my obviously displayed fat coin pouches. I don’t know where her hunting ground is, but it shouldn’t be too hard to find out. She probably has at least two: one in town and one out. Might as well try for the in town one first.
I hold my breath as I wait for her to move and sigh in relief as I track her walking out with the guidance spells. The knight is following me, while the others circle around.
“Hey, where’s my inn? My inn?” I mutter pathetically at a random passerby who promptly ignores me. I stumble across the street and repeat my question to the page, who’s too stunned to evade.
The page, a boy perhaps a year younger than me, recovers quickly and greedily grins. “Why of course. I know exactly where your inn is. Just keep going down the street and turn left into the alley by the green apothecary sign. It’ll bring you out to it. You can’t miss it.”
“Thank you so much,” I slur. “Here, have a silver.” I fish into my coin purse and give him a medium silver, knowing I’ll be taking it back shortly. It has the intended effect, and he stares at it, then the purse it came from with obvious hunger, but controls himself for now.
I stumble slowly to the alley, giving them plenty of time to get into position. It’s a dank, dark, narrow, smelly thing, immediately twisting to lose sight of the street, no squatters and the only windows being high up and small, clearly only used to dump chamber pots out of. In other words, it’s perfect.
I’m about halfway through when Briarhart blocks the exit and menacingly walks towards me with a smug grin. I stumble and turn around to see the squires and page blocking my retreat. I make a face indicating fear, stumbling again, then I spring into action, all trace of stupor suddenly gone.
I spin at the knight, throwing the toxin dagger in a sideways motion. She’s surprised, but very skilled. She dodges agilely, but halfway to her the dagger suddenly accelerates again and changes course to follow her before driving itself into her heart to the hilt.
The squires charge, so I draw the throwing knives with wrist flicks and turn and throw overhand. They dodge while blindly swinging their swords at the invisible blades, but it’s not enough and the knives bury themselves simultaneously into their exposed throats. They clutch at their wounds in surprise, gurgle blood and fall to the ground.
Only the page boy remains, looking at me in terror. “Thanks for the directions, but I’ll be taking that silver back now, please,” I say, smiling pleasantly.
He, very rationally, runs. So, I throw my iron phasing dagger in his back – piercing his heart and instantly dropping him.
I move to collect my blades, but am alerted by footsteps rapidly advancing from behind. I try to turn, but too late as pain pierces through my enchanted clothes and into my back. I leap forward and turn to see Briarhart, her face in agony, her off hand clutching her wounded heart.
Shit. I guess her resilience is a lot higher than her healing, so the syranthuse isn’t as effective as with Clara. I really need to not underestimate knights. I thought I learned that lesson… or maybe my brief time being stronger than them has made me unlearn it. Sigh, I thought I was acclimated to my lesser state, but I guess not.
I stumble back, for real this time. My right leg is wobbly and numb; did she hit my spine? Shit. I continue to stumble back, casting my upgraded healing spell as I go. The pain somewhat goes away when I finish, and my leg is less wobbly, but there’s still a numbness. Oh well, the residuals from Anar’s boons should heal it in a few days at most.
She stumbles after me, a look of disgust at my casting. “A mage? Seriously? A mage thought they could ambush me in my own hunting ground?”
“I’m pretty sure I did,” I mock, “that blade had syranthuse on it, plus a few more choice herbs. Might as well give up, unless you happen to have the antidote on you?”
She laughs. “No. I used to keep a vial, just in case, but ended up selling it. Didn’t think I’d need it anymore. Bet you have some though.”
I laugh back, still reduced to a limp from the numbness. “Not in a usable form, I’m afraid.”
“Pity… who are you anyways? Who sent you rather? I thought all my enemies no longer cared about me.”
I shrug. “No one. I’m just someone who didn’t want you to complete a contract, is all.”
She laughs. “The academy pups? Seriously? You could have just asked. I would have even considered it, professional courtesy and all that.”
“Somehow, I doubt that. Besides, I think you mistake my line somewhat. Enough about me, though. I heard you were in Caethlon until you got caught up in a mess. Mind telling me about that?”
“Why do you want to know?” she asks, now leaning against the wall for support, waving her sword vaguely in my direction.
I shrug. “Just idle curiosity. Nothing important.”
“…Heh. No reason not to, I guess. It’d serve them right to let people know. I was part of a special project run by one of the chimera masters that turned out to be slightly less sanctioned than I was led to believe. Don’t know what it was about, just that they had me capture research subjects. Lots of them.”
“Caethlian’s?” I ask.
“Who else?” She shrugs.
“Good.” I state, coldly.
“Good?” she scrunches her face up, as if she didn’t hear me correctly.
“It makes killing you more satisfying. A sort of incidental vengeance, I suppose.”
“… A rebel? Hah! Who would have guessed? So far away. You really can’t escape your…” she collapses to the ground.
I stumble forward to loom over her. “Former rebel.” I lie. “It’s not important, but who else would know about this ‘special project’?”
“Don’t know.” She sputters. “I was the only empowered on the team, and I heard the mundanes under me all got killed. They hanged the guy who got me into it. Never learned the name of the chimeric master, though I heard they survived your attack on them.”
“Is there anything about it you can tell me at all?”
“… The name of the project was Green Dawn.”
“…Right. Never heard of it. But it might be worth looking into. Thanks, I guess.” I go past her to retrieve my dagger, which she had pulled out and dropped.
“Hey!” She calls after me.
I stop and give her a ‘what’ shrug.
“Will you… will you forgive me?” Her voice cracks as tears go down her cheeks.
“What? Why? For what?” I’m completely baffled by this sudden request.
“You know… for the stuff I did back there. To your homeland.”
“…Why do you want it? Do you think one Caethlian granting absolution will get you a better afterlife or something?”
“Eh,” she tries to shrug, but stops midway from the pain, “who knows. I just… I just want it. Okay?”
I bite my lip, feeling… something. Uncertain as to how I feel on the matter.
“You don’t want to? Do you still have nothing but hate for us, even living among us?”
“I’ll always have hate.” I snap, realizing that it’s true the moment I say it. I always thought of myself as being colder than that, but there’s embers there that won’t go out.
“But it doesn’t have to be the only thing, does it? I mean, you killed me, didn’t you? What’s the point of hating me even afterwards?”
I stare at her, trying to think but failing to. It’s not a thing of thinking that she’s asking of me. Maybe she’s right, there’s little point in refusing. After all, I’m not going to offer her – it’d be too risky to get close while she’s still alive.
I gulp, having to wet my throat to speak. “Fine,” I gasp, turning away. “I forgive you.”
