Thief of Time

Claud Primus, self-proclaimed master thief, got up from his bed, his face set. “Now then, the first mana-users with some really special skills should have found a hint of me by now. It was Redgott when I left that dump; I expect there to be at least tens of mana-users there in the three days I lazed around.”

He checked the calendar once more, and nodded. It was indeed Greengott, the fourth day of the week, and unless everyone investigating Tot was an imbecile, there was definitely a clue about him here and there. Once the rainbow — the days of the week were named after the colours of the rainbow for some reason — was out, even those who were late to the party would flock to Licencia, and the city would tremble in earnest.

From the very start, Claud knew that he could never fully conceal his traces. Skills were tied to the foundations of one’s existence; when they were used, they drew from the world itself. His preparations and gimmicks, any that would have stonewalled people searching the conventional way, would falter in the way of such transcendental abilities.

I just wanted to work towards living forever. Is it really that hard for you guys to give me a break? Restraining his frustration, he rolled on his bed a few times. Two days had passed since he arrived at Licencia, but there were already some mana-users that were snooping around.

Law and order had shot up, as a natural result. The news of mana-users congregating in the local areas was enough to make even the evillest of villains into tame cats; recent intelligence by the Profiteers’ Guild branch here — the bartender — showed that every single one-folder had flocked towards Pletsville, like moths to flame.

Still, it wasn’t all that bad. Due to the overwhelming number of folk heroes in the vicinity, some merchants had seen it fit to send out as many trade caravans as possible, in this unprecedented depression of crime rates.

Today’s goal for Claud was on one of them. A caravan bound towards a county was going to depart at night, with minimal escorts. His prize was a chest of lifestones, middle purity ones.

Claud licked his lips at that thought, taking out the small box that had contained a Pure Life Gem. Or rather, the box that was capable of turning any lifestone into a Pure Life Gem. Details about this unparalleled treasure had leaked out from the Dukedom of Lustre; Duke Lustre was probably making some moves there against his Istrel counterpart by releasing this news.

That, however, was none of his business.

He opened the little box, and felt his face light up at the sight.

What made a Pure Life Gem special enough to have a name was the fact that it was the only lifestone that could grow in efficacy. The longer it sat around, the greater its effects when finally consumed.

[You have met the requirements to learn Life Appraisal. Learn it?]

Making a mental note to check what Life Appraisal was — it had appeared enough times to make him curious — when he next talked to the bartender, Claud removed the Pure Life Gem from the box, fitting a low-rank lifestone in its place.

“Still, for a treasure like this to be unnamed…you’d think that someone would name it after a while, right?” Claud played with the newly-formed Pure Life Gem, which currently only contained a day’s worth of life energy.

It would increase in strength over time — every thirty days would net it one day's worth of ultra-pure life, unlike its other counterparts, which held a fixed amount of impure life energy. As for how this growth was made possible, Claud wasn’t quite sure, but it probably had to do with either the gods, the Moons, or both. If Claud hadn't been scared by the prospect of someone tracking him down through the Pure-Life Gem he'd filched from Duke Istrel, he would have kept it for as long as humanly possible.

“I should name it, at least. Feels so distant calling it ‘the box’ all the time, right?” Claud looked down at the little thing, which grew cuter by the minute. “Erm…I’ll call you Crown.”

“Crown…” Claud repeated the word thoughtfully. “Yes, a word suitable for the Emperor of Thieves. From now on, little treasure, I’ll call you Crown.”

He chortled, but a moment later, he halted. His body began to convulse, and a huge amount of life energy began to leak out of him. An immense weakness flooded his nerves, and his vision dimmed as a ball of purest life floated out of his trembling frame.

Moons, what’s going on? Why do I feel like I’m about to die? Claud reached out to grab at the ball of green life, only for his hands to pass through it helplessly. Before his very eyes, the ball floated over to the treasure that he’d named Crown, vanishing inside it.

His skin shrivelled up immediately, and tufts of white hair fell in front of his face. Even without asking the Goddess’ blessing to know how long his lifespan was, Claud could tell that it was probably less than a year…maybe even a minute.

The box lit up a moment later, and the deathly weakness that suffused Claud’s body vanished. His skin’s condition improved rapidly, but it didn’t return to the same condition it had been just three minutes ago.

“My lifespan…what is it?”

Claud trembled.

“Lyceris, Goddess of Learning, Fount of Knowledge,” he muttered, “I beseech you, show me my status.”

A small screen opened up immediately, and Claud inhaled sharply at the box of text.

Name: Claud Primus

Lifespan: 104 years

Active Skills: Presence Nullification (8), Flight (5), Binding Order (7), Cleanse (6), FiBod;E??? (0), FiBod;E??? (0)

Passive Skills: DiLCl1∞

Mana Circuit Superimposition: 1.0

Mana Control Proficiency: Novice

Comments: What’s with this weird skillset? Mana-users should specialise in one aspect for skills, not look like some hodge-podge. It’s been nice knowing you, I guess. I’ll understand if you stop calling on me one day. And what’s with those odd skills? Do you need help?

Claud stared at the page for a moment. It was far bigger than it used to be; it used to only show his lifespan in detail and his name. More importantly, things like his skill names and their proficiencies were included in it, along with his name, and some rather weird things. He repeated the words over and over, but he couldn’t quite get it. And yet, Claud had a feeling that he actually knew something about this phenomenon.

“Wait. Don’t tell me…”

The flustered master thief clenched his fist and tried to relive the feeling he got whenever he activated any skill. A moment later, lines beneath his skin glowed with a fey blue, revealing a complex network of lines and circles underneath his skin. For a moment, his mind went blank, and then he turned to the box again.

“Mana Circuit Superimposition…don’t tell me…” His mind churned madly, finally stopping on a memory of a dialogue he shared with the bartender a few years back.

At that time, they had been swapping stories about mana-users, especially a super pretty Princess Dia from the neighbouring dukedom. During their conversation, the bartender had brought up an urban legend, about how mana-users were able to see a more consolidated version of personal information when they invoked the Goddess of Learning’s honorific name.

It was something anyone could do, but for normal people like Claud and the bartender, they would only see their remaining lifespan. Letting them know about their lifespan was a grace granted by the goddess, to inspire them to use whatever remained to learn as many things as they could.

“By the Moons…does that mean that I’m a mana-user? A folder?” Claud gripped his heart, and felt it clench up. “Moons…why did you play this prank? You guys know that I didn’t want to burn my life on becoming a mana-user! Do you think that burning a hundred years just to become dregs—hundred?”

Claud stopped his moaning. “Let’s see here…154 minus 104 equals 50. That’s odd. Did…I luck out?”

He looked at Crown, and the little box, laced with green lines, jiggled happily.

Wait. It’s…jiggling? And happily at that? The master thief picked up the box and brought it to his face, only for the little thing to rub itself against his cheek. For some reason, Claud likened it to a kitten, and now that he looked at it, the box seemed far more adorable than it was minutes ago.

Moons…what a weird day. Should I have slept in instead? Shaking his head, Claud turned to the box. “What exactly did you do to me?”

Crown jiggled in response, and Claud slapped his face. “Right. I’m talking to a box. The box jiggles in response. I shouldn’t think too hard about it, should I?”

The little fellow jiggled again, before hopping onto his left shoulder. Snuggling up to the nook of his neck, Crown rolled around a few times, before a gentle…breathing came from it.

“Did it just fall asleep on me?” Claud tried to move, but some instinct took over and stopped him from removing Crown from his neck. “Why am I treating you like a baby? Is there something wrong with me? Or am I just crazy?”

After spending a few minutes to think about it, he gave up, and returned to the screen in front of him. Apparently, this was the true form of the status, and since he wasn’t an expert in words…he would make do with it.

“Passive Skills?” Claud muttered. “What’s that? And what’s with this odd thing on it?”

Again, no one replied him, so the master thief moved on after a moment. He’d already noted the oddity that was his Absolute One, but he’d grown numb to how weird it was in the first place.

“And also…who in the name of the Moons is writing these comments?” Claud tutted. “Haven’t you seen my track record? I’m a bona fide professional when it comes to living safely!”

The little box jiggled on his shoulder.

“…or not,” Claud completed. “What should I do now? Is there a manual or something?”

[You have ascended in the hierarchy of life. Initialising tutorial for mana-users. Start?]

“Huh...”