Thief of Time

After spending five minutes on musing about whatever he’d forgotten, Claud came to the conclusion that since he could forget about it, it probably wasn’t that important. Besides, a far greater crisis was at hand; lots of people would be enticed to use their skills to ferret him out.

To date, no one had any clue on how many skills actually existed. Other than the documented or famous ones, like those that were granted by gods or those that functioned as occupational keystones, there wasn’t a compendium of skills. It was entirely possible that skills that pinpointed the exact culprit behind any crime actually existed, and that he was in big trouble right now.

Of course, if such skills existed, were extremely common, and their users were somehow still alive, Claud would have given up on his trade long ago. Getting caught and executed for crimes against nobility at a young age was in no way preferable to living out his natural lifespan. As proof of his hypothesis, the thief trade was still flourishing in Grandis…but he couldn’t rule out that it was because the owners of such skills just couldn’t be bothered to track down petty thieves.

Claud, however, knew that he no longer fell into this category of petty thieves. Right now, he was essentially the most popular man on Grandis; capturing him was equivalent to securing an entire dukedom. In fact, Claud also wanted to turn himself in for the reward, if not for the fact that doing so was an utterly suicidal and illogical act.

Shaking his head, Public Enemy Number One peeked out of the window, where a huge commotion had stirred up. Even the poor and weak-willed of Pletsville had started to walk around the town in groups of three, carrying torn nets and sticks in their hands.

Furthermore, in a rare show of cooperation, the soldiers that had been dispatched here last night were now talking amicably to the people of Pletsville, and it didn’t take a genius to know why. The inhabitants of this poor city were the best source of information; ferreting new wanderers and vagrants through them was the fastest way of looking for suspicious people.

In fact, a few such people were already trapped in nets and dragged over to the town square, where various tables manned by different groups of soldiers had been set up. After a brief exchange of prisoners for money, the captured fellows would be carted away to places unknown, presumably for interrogation followed by summary execution.

Claud shuddered at that terrifying sight, and then resolved to keep his head low for as humanly long as possible. As he was about to leave, however, his eyes fixated on a particular person being dragged along in a net, and Claud abruptly remembered what he’d forgotten.

It was that flamboyant fellow who had visited him last night. Claud had poisoned him with the venom of the Hypnotic Bee, an insect whose stings made one hallucinate. The unconscious fellow had been stripped to boot, leaving only some undergarments to protect his modesty.

“Huh.” Claud shook his head. “Well, that’s at least one thing taken care of.”

Removing his outerwear, the thief sat down on his bed and took out three sticks of wood and a stack of parchment. The wood was special; it came from the mana-retaining Elysia tree, a protected commodity in every self-respecting tributary in Grandis. By using a skill while holding on to Elysia wood that was at least eight centimetres long, the mana within the wood would reshape itself to the structure of the skill in a process called skill-imbuing.

Snapping skill-imbued sticks into two would activate the stored skill immediately. For days where one was not expected to use skills, storing them into Elysia sticks was recommended; they could be used when needed or sold on the market.

One could also do the same with parchment the size of an adult palm, but skills retained in them would only last a week, before a reimbuing was needed. Either way, however, Claud was going to spend his next few days creating skillsticks. Taking a peek at the mad town to motivate himself, Claud breathed in deeply and began to work.

[You have met the requirements to learn ‘Imbuing’. Learn it?]

Claud ignored the textbox that had shown up on the bottom of his vision and continued to work. Imbuing was a skill that could be replicated with a suitable investment of time; it also enabled one to imbue skills into more permanent mediums like swords, armours and shields. Almost every blacksmith worth their salt would have this skill, and for those that didn’t, they definitely had an assistant with it.

There was a more practical reason as to why he didn’t pay attention to the textbox. The Goddess of Learning and Water was a very persistent fellow in life; rejecting her suggestion would make her ask her believers over and over, until they gave in. Rather, it was wiser to let it sit there and let the Goddess of Learning feel satisfied at the notion that you were pondering her words seriously.

This automated system of hers had replicated this really annoying character trait of hers to a tee, long after she died during the Second Godsfall.

Setting aside the first skillstick, which was imbued with Presence Nullification, Claud worked on his second one. The sun continued to rise, and he had barely finished it when the innkeeper dropped by with a tray of food in his hands.

“Good afternoon, innkeeper.”

“A good afternoon to you too, Primus.” The old man passed him a tray of food and a small bag of herbs. “It’s now madness out there.”

“Did the madness affect the apothecary?” Claud asked.

“The ruffians know not to disturb him,” the old man replied. “And besides, he offers free treatment on a daily basis. It’s paying off now.”

Coughing twice, he picked up the small bag of herbs and looked at the strip of paper hanging on it. “Thanks, innkeep. I owe you one. If anything happens, call me. I’m quite a fair hand at a sword. Just don’t call me if a mana-user comes.”

“I’ll be creating a new poster if a folder actually drops by here,” said the old man, referring to mana-users by their more formal name.

“True. There aren’t really that many people with enough lifespan to burn, after all.” Claud carried the tray over to his bed. “Do I pass it to you when you come by tonight?”

“Yes. And don’t dirty the place, or you’ll have to clean it up. Water ain’t free round here, laddie.” The old man gestured at the smaller room attached to the side. “Bathroom has a meter.”

“Got it, innkeeper.”

“Enjoy your meal, then.” The old man closed the door, and Claud locked it. Setting the tray onto his lap, Claud began to scoff down the generous helping of potatoes and meatballs; the old man clearly wasn’t holding back with his share.

Once he was done, Claud returned to his preparations. Two hours later, he’d completed all four skillsticks. Storing them away, he turned to the stack of parchment. Presence Nullification was already off cooldown, which meant that he could imbue it into parchment to create a skillslip.

“Feels like a waste to create skillslips, though,” Claud mused. “But I’m absolutely, positively certain that a place like this won’t sell Elysia wood.”

Clicking his tongue a few more times, he stole yet another peek outside, only to see that stakes had been erected. Over fifty people had been tied up on them, men and women alike, and none of them looked like they were in good condition at all.

Once again, Claud was forcibly reminded of the fate if the people here caught him. He didn’t even want to think about the horrible things that would be done to him if he was ever outed as the real culprit; Emperor Grandis was a six-fold mana-user, a person close to the gods.

If he ever landed in the damn Emperor’s hands, death would be a kindness.

Shivering, Claud began to create a skillslip for Presence Nullification. Most of his skills were rather high-levelled, which meant that he could create multiple skillslips and skillsticks in a day, provided that he had enough resources. The only thing that was sacrificed was sleep, but that was nothing compared to his tiny life.

Claud really, really didn’t want to die. At all. Or even be captured and tortured, for that matter. He just wanted to live forever; why did so many people want to interfere with that little dream of his? And why would so many people hoard lifestones and not use them anyway?

He really couldn’t understand the proclivities of the nobles and the rich, but there was one thing he knew.

The journey to living forever was a dangerous one. Only with overwhelming preparations could one succeed.

Steeling his resolve, Claud worked through the afternoon, the night, and the two days that followed, making sure to keep up his masquerade at all times possible and peeking out at the maddened townspeople occasionally to remind him what was at stake.