Patrick Laplante
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PU Book 3 - Chapter 87: The Trappings of Deities
🕑 Added 2024-11-20 13:49:35 +0000 UTCI've been super busy, but there is light at the end of the tunnel. Here's two chapters from last week. I'll try to do another four this week.
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A familiar stench of dead flesh and treating chemicals hung around Sanderson’s Leather Outfitting, even more so in the original shop than any of its daughter locations.
It was still a small shop. Only a single counter could be seen at the back. But there were too leatherworkers, Old Man Sanderson and his oldest son, who went by Sanderson Junior.
The two were working in tandem as Sorin entered the shop, scraping at the potent flesh of a peak three-star myth. The skin was peculiar in that rock grew outside it instead of fur, feather, or scales. Which was likely the reason the legendary leatherworker was working with the piece in the first place.
“Can’t help you,” said the grumpy demigod from his leatherworking table, pointedly ignoring the redemption chit Sorin quietly placed in front of him. “Wait, cancel that. I won’t help you. Debts mean nothing when the world is ending, boy, and I can’t be bothered with mundane projects.”
Sorin’s eye twitched, but he schooled his expression. “Mr. Sanderson, I assure you that the project will be to your liking. And if the redemption chit and the promise of the Kepler Clan isn’t enough, I’ll make up the difference myself.”
The old man was clearly unconvinced, but his assistant, Sanderson Junior, gave Sorin an encouraging look. Sorin took the hint and placed his well-worn set of blood bound armor, his damaged Wraith Snake Boots, a large pile of Ouroboros scales he’d ‘traded’ for with his clan members, and a flask of his own blood to boot.
The old man’s eyes flickered toward the counter. He continued working, but his hands hesitated ever so slightly as they worked the piece of three-star leather on the bench. Finally, he put his hands up and barked out an order. “This thing’s more trouble than it’s worth. You’ll finish it up, yes?”
“Of course, father,” said Sanderson Junior, shooting Sorin a grin of confirmation as he took over.
“You have a soul-bound treasure, don’t you?” barked Old Man Sanderson as he approached the counter. “Take it out. I don’t have all day.”
Sorin obliged him and had Nemesis form a golden sphere. “You can observe it, but I’m not sure how the stubborn thing will help you. It refuses to eat any ingredients I offer it and seems to experience purely passive growth.”
“Really now,” said Mr. Sanderson. Sorin could have sworn he saw his eyes twinkle over so slightly. “Well, let’s start with the basis for our project, the armor. Interesting. This blood bound armor is a legacy item on three different levels.”
“Three?” asked Sorin.
“Three is a powerful number,” continued Old Man Sanderson. “And yes, three is completely accurate. I can sense the connections and their potency.
“The deepest and most recent legacy is from your father. Whatever remained of him in this world poured its entirety into this armor to support the growth of his greatest achievement: you.
“The next legacy is one passed through your clan. The core item used to imbue the leather was something passed down for many generations. At least ten.
“As for the last legacy, it’s that of your clan’s patron. Whatever was used to imbue the leather was either a part or product of that patron’s belongings. This is typically the strongest bond, but in this case, it’s the weakest. In That’s the real reason why your armor refuses to grow past its current level.”
Sorin frowned as he recalled Asclepius’s sacrifice to contain Azrakul. “Is there no way to supplement it?”
Old Man Sanderson ignored the question and turned his attention the Wraith Snake Boots. “These boots are garbage. I assume you want to replicate some of its abilities?”
Sorin shook his head. “Truth be told, I’ve designed my own method to walk through space. What I want is to use the boot portion of the armor to either reduce its costs reduced or amplify its capabilities.”
“Demonstrate,” said the man, moving on and picking up one of the Ouroboros scales on the work bench.
Sorin suppressed his annoyance at the man and used Dance of the Tail Biter to shift his position from the front of the workshop to back and then back again. Old Man Sanderson, the demigod that he was, would surely be impressed at—
“Cost reduction is impossible,” said the old man, putting down an Ouroboros scale and picking up Sorin soul-bound treasure. Surprisingly, the treasure didn’t react violently like it should have. A skill, perhaps? “The cost is fixed and scales inversely proportional to the strength of your poisons. The stronger your poisons get, the easier it will be for your ability to melt holes in space.
“That said—” he tapped the work bench next to the Ouroboros scales. “This material resonates with your technique. I take it it’s based on inspiration gained from the dead deity?”
“Indeed,” said Sorin. “I was fortunate enough to gain an epiphany.”
The old man nodded. “Working this in will be no problem then. The only question then is how we incorporate it.” He ran his hand along the rough, scaly leather of Sorin’s armor. “This piece is a work of art. It’s priceless due to its historical connections. That gives it power. Significance. By using divinity and these scales, it’s quite possible to patch up its flaw and bring it up to the Demigod Tier.
“Its potency would be enhanced. Your poisons would become more powerful, and the scales would naturally increase the amount of life force syphoned from your enemies while simultaneously increasing the damage they take, irrespective of your poisons.
“The upgrade would grant your poisons aspects of perpetuity and infinity. Destroying or neutralizing them would be extremely difficult. Even demigods would have difficulty managing it.”
Sorin considered this for a moment before asking the obvious question. “What’s the second option?”
“The second option,” said Old Man Sanderson, “Is making it a set item, and keeping the boots distinct. But to do that, I’ll need a lot more divinity, and two demigod-tier cores aligned with life and death.
“This would happen to bring the number of significant items you posses to three. You’ll have Nemesis, Hubris of the Healer—that’s the name this item sings to me, and whatever the boots decide to call themselves.
“By linking these three items, you’ll have a generated yourself pseudo-regalia one cultivation realm early.”
“…Regalia?”
Old Man Sanderson scowled. “Do they not even educate you God Seeds anymore? It’s like they assume you can dredge everything up from your old connections. Regalia, boy, is what deities use as armor and weapons. They are intimately connected to the deity’s body, soul, and authority.
“Like your soul-bound treasure, they don’t need any nurturing beyond the deity’s existence. Instead, they can be considered manifestations of the deity’s power, a crystallization that makes their natural actions more efficient.”
Sorin pondered this fact. “Are you saying that Nemesis already functions as a regalia?”
“Barely,” grunted the old man. “You’ve reached the bare minimum requirement, item co-dependency, which is the only reason I brought up this option to begin with.”
So, Nemesis is a manifestation of my natural powers? thought Sorin. Interesting, but confusing. While the name made sense in describing both poisons and corruption, he was certain there was another aspect to the name. A key detail at the core of the soul-bound treasure.
“Aside from the two strong cores and the divinity, what else do you require?” asked Sorin.
“Your clan has Asclepius’s three regalia,” answered the old man with a grin. “I’ll need one of them to fuse with the armor. What’s more, your clan will need to grant it to you willingly.”
Sorin raised an eyebrow. “That’s very unlikely to happen.”
“Which is why I said it was only an option,” said the old man. “What kind of clan in their right mind would be interested in a gamble like that? You’re far better off combining the boots and the armor. Converting it to Regalia later on won’t be impossible, just difficult.
“Besides, it’s still too early to begin the process. In addition to those two cores, you’ll also need something far more important: completion.”
“Completion,” muttered Sorin. “You want me to reach the peak of Flesh-Sanctification?”
“Correct,” said Old Man Sanderson. “At least to 90% sanctification. Ideally, you’ll balance out opposing forces in your body to the point that you can ignite your god fire and become a demigod.
“Demigods are perfect. Regalia are perfect. What they’re missing is connection and significance, which is what Authority is based on. Once a demigod gathers enough oof these things, and condenses their regalia, they will gain the qualifications to claim a Throne.”
“I see.” Sorin considered the items on the table and made his choice. “Then I think I’ll wait. I’m not the strongest in Olympia currently, but I’m no slouch. Gathering the life and death cores isn’t impossible.”
Old Man Sanderson shrugged. “No skin off my bench. Either project is interesting enough. As for the cost… I’ll need about a barrel of your blood to experiment with as a treating agent.” He frowned when Sorin’s eye twitched. “Is there a problem?”
Sorin quickly shook his head. “I just find myself bleeding out into barrels more often than I feel comfortable with.”
“Well, blame your Patron for passing on his poisonous blood,” said Old Man Sanderson. “Oh, and one more thing. While I’d love to work on this project, there’s still the possibility that I might unavailable. It’s not so much a question of scheduling but of physical access to our shop.”
Sorin took the hint. “I’ll stress to my clan that protecting this shop is of vital importance. I’ll also mark the area to warn me if enemy forces ever attack it.”
Old Man Sanderson winked. “I like talking to reasonable people, even if they are whelps. Now if you’ll excuse me, I need to work this stubborn piece of stone for one of Benjamin Riss’s generals. He’s my biggest customer, and I don’t like to keep him waiting.”
