Thief of Time

The red moon, who had been the recipient of heavy-duty magic, didn’t look as bad as Claud felt, but the master thief still had things to do.

On his way back, Claud checked through his skills. They were represented as little squares on the top right of his vision. If they were available, the squares would light up; if they weren’t, they would be dimmed out. Legend had it, however, that skills on cooldown could change to their empowered form, a permanent upgrade. For that reason, Claud would check through his skills after going through something big, like a heist, in the hopes that something that miraculous would happen…

Needless to say, he hadn’t seen it yet. But there was no harm in hoping, right?

The first, and most commonly used, was Presence Nullification. For that reason, it was at level eight, which took away a grand total of sixteen hours from its cooldown. For thirty minutes, he would not be noticed by the mortal world, but if he did something that would alert someone or instil a fear of death or injury in them, it would wear off immediately.

Incidentally, for every level a skill was at, its cooldown would be decreased by two hours. Level zero skills, the baseline all new skills started with, had a cooldown of twenty-four hours. Theoretically, at level twelve, a skill would have no cooldown whatsoever. However, the highest level ever recorded was ten, and the only reason why Claud dared to call himself the greatest thief was because his Presence Nullification was at level eight.

But all things considered, it was quite the weak skill. It simply erased one’s existence for thirty minutes. Though the concealment was absolute, it would not throw off anything imbued with divine power, like that Grand Cross earlier.

Flight was the second one, at level five. Quite self-explanatory; it enabled flight for thirty minutes, at the speed of a horse. Unfortunately, it had been used earlier to enter the Duke’s floating tower, or else Claud wouldn’t have had to use Absolute One.

The third skill was Binding Order, at level seven. When activated, it would prevent up to three people from moving for three seconds. It was good for killing, running and winning dance-offs at tavern floors.

Cleanse was next, at level six. When activated, it would remove all effects on him…including Flight. It would also weaken any debilitating skills cast on him by eighty percent for thirty minutes. Useful…and for that reason, he had used it earlier while escaping Duke Istrel’s men.

The last skill was Absolute One.

How he got that skill, even Claud himself didn’t know. The rest were by training, or by a god’s blessing, for Binding Order and Cleanse, but Absolute One just popped up one day on his status. Everyone had six skill slots, as a rule of thumb, but Absolute One took up two on its own.

“Still level zero, though.” Claud glanced at the skill sadly, before looking away. It had incredible effects; when used, it would turn him invulnerable to all damage for ten seconds, while granting him an overwhelming combat sense and unlimited mana…although unlike proper swordsmen and mages, the only thing he could do with mana was to make his hair flutter stylishly in the wind. To use mana, one either needed the Mana Manipulation skill, which was somehow a skill exclusive to nobles, or one could burn mana circuits onto their body, and thereby become a mana-user.

Washing his face at a nearby river, Claud looked down at the water and sighed at his handsome visage. Clear, unblemished skin. Hair that was constantly windswept. A cloak that hid his slender visage. And a sword that was actually used. Plucking out leaves caught in his hair, Claud let the wind caress his face for a minute or two, and then took out a cylinder the size of his balled-up fist.

The sweat, grime and blood on him vanished when he pressed the button on top. At the same time, the bar of blue light on its side drained out completely. The Refresher, an artefact created by artificers, had been emptied of mana once more.

It was a faulty version; the real deal could clean him up ten times in a row without needing to recharge.

Straightening up his appearance, Claud looked at the town gates, where anyone who looked shady, unkempt and suspicious were whisked away for some cold water and hard bread. Istrel had clearly gone all out to retrieve that Pure Life Gem, but as to why such a person would do that was a question Claud couldn’t quite answer yet.

142 years…A gentle smile on his face, Claud repeated his current lifespan in his head over and over as he made his way towards the town gates. The guards there all looked like men and women in their prime of life, but Claud knew that they would probably all die off at around forty or fifty years old. The privilege of increasing one’s lifespan was something reserved for the lucky and the bold.

The former were nobles, who had an average lifespan of a hundred and eighty years. The latter were thieves and rulers, who, depending on how much they plundered from their targets, could live for thousands of years. After all, emptying the treasury of a foreign nation was the key to immortality.

Thieves just operated on a smaller, more consistent scale.

“Hey, you.” A burly guard walked up to Claud, a spear in his right hand. “Report your whereabouts in the last twelve hours to me. Try anything funny, and you’ll get free food and lodging.”

“O-f course, sir guard.” Claud placed a simpering expression on his face. “I’m a vagrant who was working the fields on hire earlier. The Duke’s farmlands are rich and lush, which is why there are commissions for even lowly people like me to bask in his grace.”

“Proof of commission?”

“H-here, sir guard.” Claud took out a piece of paper. “By your grace, sir guard, witness my loyalty to the Duke of Istrel.”

“Yeah, yeah. Hand it over, and keep your hands where I can see them,” said the guard. Holding it up to a flickering candle, the guard peered at the words printed on them carefully, and then snorted twice.

“Alright, everything’s in order.” A touch of approval snuck into the guard’s work. “Nice to see someone who understands the Duke’s benevolence, though. Most vagrants just abuse him whenever we’re in earshot. Of course, since that’s a crime…”

The other guards laughed.

Repressing his distaste, Claud laughed along with them. Anyone in the employ of the dukedom’s administration were rotten eggs, and for good reason. Anyone capable of sympathising with the poor folk in the Istrel Dukedom would be backed into a corner after a few days’ work.

Claud, who had taken up a clerical post to gain intel about Duke Istrel’s house, could attest to that fact.

“Alright, you may pass through, and remember to keep the Duke’s benevolence in your heart,” said the guard, waving him through.

“Of course, sir guard.” Claud bowed deeply, and after making a mental note to burgle the guard’s house tomorrow night, he walked into the town, where a rank stench immediately assaulted his nose. It was a mix of decaying flesh and faeces rolled together and drenched in urine.

This smell was a barely-adequate state of affairs for this barren town, Pletsville. Badly governed by a relative of Duke Istrel, Baron Aoro, most of the people living here were only here because of the low cost of living here…that is, if one could call eating mouldy hardtack and polluted water ‘living’.

Dodging into an alley, Claud hid into a corner. His disguise — one of ragged shirts — came apart a moment later, and a small column of smoke rose from one of his many pockets.

“That’s five silvers,” Claud muttered. Fortunately, this tool was something he could create, but the materials themselves were enough to feed a family for a week. It was something he picked up from a bootleg workshop of a mage; tools were essential to successful heists and thefts.

Tossing aside the now ruined device — the Transformer allowed one to change their looks for thirty minutes — Claud wrinkled his nose and left the alley, looking like a person of high importance now. People who saw him gave him a wide berth automatically, which was a good thing when he wanted to seem important.

Making his way to the best inn in Pletsville — the only inn in this town — Claud looked around with indifference. Most of the people here were reliant on foreign aid the Duke deigned to send down every month; there weren’t any noteworthy people of character here.

The citizens of this town had been long resigned to their fate, having lived a life of reliance on meagre handouts. If one wanted to find a place that had living humans in it, the only place that one would find them would be the inn, where curious visitors to the town stayed at.

It didn’t take long for him to reach the doors of the brightly-lit inn.

“How may I help you, good sir?”

“Get me a warm meal. The best you have. And then a room.”

“Very well, sir.”