After a long travel, Percival arrived at the spine of the Ironcrest Mountains, a vast land area for battle in the great province of Northmarch.
From his height, he could see the town of Wolsend. It was a fortress, a sprawling expanse of black stone, reinforced with gold plating and brown timber.
The city appeared impenetrable, an army in the form of buildings. It was where the Human Kingdom of Valoris trained their Soldiers in the War Academy, and where Awakeners challenged the popular Gate Worlds in the great Gate World Hall.
The latter was why Percival was here.
He sat atop his mount, the cold gray wind whipping at the dark scarf he had wrapped around his neck.
He looked down at the burning horse beneath him. "Argus."
He had named it after his mount in his favorite ARPG game from his old life. It felt fitting.
When he had resurrected the beast back in Metrodorian, it had been a spectacle.
The stableman had nearly fainted from rage and terror when the dead horse's skin sloughed off like a wet coat, leaving a boneless husk of hide and hair on the muddy ground.
The bones, however, had risen, now encased with an ethereal blue energy mimicking the form of a horse, while the mane and tail were blue fire.
Argus was a terrifying, magnificent sight.
Knowing that riding a flaming skeleton horse would draw unwanted attention from citizens, the Crown and the Guilds, Percival journeyed on foot through the main roads.
Once he was in the outskirts, he summoned his Skeleton Beast and rode the mountain ridges until Wolsend was in sight.
He swung his leg over and dismounted, landing on the rocky floor with a crunching.
The dusty wind was strong, so he pulled the scarf up, covering the lower half of his face against it. Then, he placed a gloved hand on the skeleton's nasal bone.
"Return," he whispered.
Argus dissolved into motes of blue light, vanishing into his Summon Space.
Percival adjusted his scarf and began the descent toward the city gates.
A line of travelers and merchants waited at the entrance, permits in hand. When Percival's turn came, a husky guard with a thick beard and eyes that had seen too many winters looked him up and down.
"Entry fee is ten silver," the guard grunted.
Percival fished the coins from his pouch and dropped them into the guard's gloved palm.
As he accepted the coins and handed him a permit, the guard's gaze caught the floating crest above Percival's shoulder.
He wasn't educated on crests so he didn't know which one it was, then his gaze fell and lingered on the scabbard at Percival's hip.
"An Awakener! Going to challenge the Gate Worlds here, lad?" He chuckled, elbowing his partner. "I'll tell you now pal, you're going to need more than that old rusted piece of iron if you want to survive Wolsend's dungeons."
The other guards laughed, their yellow teeth advertised.
Percival said nothing. He simply walked past them, the laughter fading into the ambient noise of the city before him.
Inside, Wolsend was exactly as he remembered.
He didn't need to ask for directions. He walked through the streets, recalling details of the place as much as he could from his days past.
A city like this was intimidating to anyone. The buildings were tall and angular, built for defense first and comfort second.
Everything was reinforced.
There were many Blacksmiths and Armories. Wolsend was known as the World of Weapons so this was expected.
The air was covered in the smell of coal dust, heated steel, and the sweat of ten thousand Smiths and Soldiers.
Percival's memory was rusty, but he recalled his first visit to Wolsend when he came to challenge the Gate Worlds to level up.
All the streets looked the same, but using this memory, he navigated through them until his feet finally came to a halt.
A workshop.
Hanging on chains above the door was a sign that read: Rettucia's Artifacts.
Percival's search was successful. He moved forward and pushed the door open.
The doorbell sang.
Inside was as he remembered. The colors of wood and gold painted the place, the timber floors and gilded plating gleamed under the light of two hanging magelights.
Glass display cases ran along the walls, filled with rings, necklaces, and bracers, humming quietly with the magic they contained within them.
A female Ranger with a [Lvl. 36] hovering above her shoulder, walked past him, clutching a newly purchased Threat Compass.
Percival's eyes followed her as she left, remembering when he once shared that excitement about Artifacts that could help him level up.
Once the door closed, he regained himself and turned to the woman behind the counter.
Rettucia was already looking at him, a playful smile on her face.
She wore a work apron over her purple gown, her curly red hair was tied back in a messy bun and her fingers were stained with mana residue.
Percival knew Rettucia. He had fond memories of her. In his past life, she was the one who had infused the Aspect of a difficult Gate World he cleared into a necklace for him.
She had been kind, fair, and crucially, she had been just an ordinary person.
Rettucia had no hand in his betrayal. As far as Percival knew, she was innocent.
"Hello?" she said. "Are you shy?"
Percival agreed in his mind that he was slightly nervous to speak to her. "No," he muttered.
Her smile grew, an expression that seemed out of place in this grim city. "Welcome to Rettucia's Artifacts! I am Rettucia, a Level 69 Artificer and the proprietor of this fine establishment."
Percival's eyes slowly moved to the crest floating beside her head. A shining gemstone.
[Class: Artificer]
[Level: 69]
For a non-combat Class, that was an absurdly high level. To reach Level 69 merely by crafting meant she had created hundreds of artifacts, honed her craft to a master's degree, and likely understood the flow of mana better than many Mages.
It wouldn't be long before she reached Level 80. Once she did, the Crown would step in and mandate her service. She would lose this shop and be whisked away to the capital.
Percival walked to the counter, resting his hands on the polished wood.
"I need an Anchor," he said, his voice muffled slightly by the scarf. He pulled it down. "An Artifact capable of being the physical representation for a mental channel that connects two distinct, high-density mana types."
Rettucia didn't immediately respond to the request. She first gave him a once-over, then leaned back against the shelves, a smile on her face like she knew something.
"You're the Summoned Hero, aren't you?"
Percival stared at her, his expression unmoving. "My name is Percival."
"Percival," she tested the name, her smile widening. "The Unwilling Hero of Evernia. The one who told King Alfred to shove it. Really, it is an honor to meet you."
Her eyes drifted past his face, to the space above his shoulder.
"And what they say is true," she mused. "You awakened a new Class. Necromancer."
She looked back at him, her eyes twinkling with intellectual curiosity. "Mind telling me what it means? It's been many years since anyone awakened a new Class."
Percival remained still. He liked Rettucia, but he didn't have the time for small talk, nor the desire for it.
"Wouldn't it be better," Percival said flatly, "if we focused on what I'm here for?"
Rettucia laughed, a hearty sound that filled the shop. "You are quite monotone, dear Hero. But you're also being very vague."
Percival raised a brow.
She leaned over the counter, propping her chin on her hands. "You want me to create an Anchor for a mental channel, but you haven't told me what the two magical units are that the channel is supposed to bridge."
Percival paused, though he wasn't completely taken off guard. He'd expected this question and had a perfectly reasonable lie.
"They are two very powerful Artifacts that I wish to use simultaneously."
"Go ahead then," she gestured with her hand. "Tell me about them. I'm an Artificer, remember? I'm all about Artifacts."
"I… I can't tell you what they are," Percival lied again. "But they possess extremely high concentrated mana."
Rettucia raised an eyebrow. "Intriguing. You've been in this world for less than two days, and not only are you already in Lvl. 15, but you've also acquired two Artifacts of such power?"
"You shouldn't worry about how I got them," Percival said. "Can you do it?"
Rettucia looked at him for a while then sighed. With the sigh, her playful demeanor vanished, replaced by the seriousness of a master craftsman.
"Let me be honest with you, Hero," she said. "I can create this Anchor. But if I can't pinpoint how powerful the two magical units you're trying to connect are, it's risky. If the Anchor is too weak, the connection will snap. The backlash could harm your Soul Core."
"Then you have to make it as strong as you can," Percival insisted. "Build it for the highest mana concentration possible."
He paused, thinking of his future growth. "And if the Artifacts contain more and more mana over time… can I come back to strengthen the Anchor?"
Rettucia stared at him with sudden wide eyes.
"What kind of Artifacts increase in mana concentration over time?" she whispered, half to herself.
She looked at him sharply. "Come on, I am sizzling in suspense here, Hero. What exactly did you find?"
Percival said nothing. He only stood there holding her gaze and offering no answers.
After a moment, Rettucia gave up. She smacked her lips and sighed, shaking her head. "Fine. Go ahead and keep your secrets."
She pulled a fresh sheet of parchment and dipped a quill in ink.
"The Anchor will be finished in three days," she said, writing down dimensions. "The price is twenty gold."
It was a high price but Percival knew that purchasing a custom job from a high-level Artificer would be expensive.
He reached into his pouch and counted out ten gold coins, placing them on the counter.
"I'll pay half now," he said. "The other ten will come after."
Rettucia swept the coins into a drawer. "That works."
"Thank you," Percival said. It came out a little awkward. He wasn't used to gratitude anymore.
He turned and walked toward the door. As he left, Rettucia watched him with silent curious eyes.
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