Chapter 55 – Mending
The wounds were healing.
The scars weren't.
Mountain wind bit at the cuts along my arms and side as we walked away from the Pact's ruined nest. The burns from Vera Flamma had already closed—S-rank cores were obnoxiously efficient at cleaning up their own mess—but under the skin, my mana channels still ached like someone had taken a wire brush to them.
Behind me, bare feet scuffed the dirt.
The elf girl kept close, just outside arm's reach, wrapped in my coat. The Awaken-corruption I'd stabilised pulsed quietly under her skin, no longer trying to eat her alive, but very clearly not gone.
[ System ]
[ Host Status: Stable ]
[ Phenotype "Awakened": Developing ]
[ Advisory: Monitor Over Time ]
Her, at least, I'd pulled back from the edge.
The burns in the chamber, the cultists we hadn't saved, the Outer thing that had stared at us through a hole in reality—those would sit in my head for a while.
One problem at a time.
I picked a flat rock overlooking the road and sat down with a grunt. The makeshift pack—cultist robes knotted into a sack—thumped onto the stone beside me.
"Stay where I can see you," I said.
The girl hesitated, then sat a few steps away, legs tucked under her, watching me with the wary focus of someone who'd learned that people go away when you blink.
Melody shifted against my back, her presence a faint weight through the sword's hilt.
"So," she said in my head, tone dry. "Loot phase?"
"Loot phase," I agreed.
I undid the robe-knots and spilled the contents onto the rock.
Gold hit stone with a satisfying, very irresponsible sound.
Coins rolled, clinked, bumped into each other and settled into a small, gleaming hill.
I stared.
"…That's absurd," I muttered.
The Empire didn't mint play money. Each coin was thick, eight grams of real gold, Argent Crown on one face, Vastriel's star on the other. Enough weight there to break a peasant's foot if you dropped it badly. Enough value to buy everyone in a village shoes and still argue over change.
I forced myself to start stacking them.
Ten to a pile.
It made it feel less like drowning in money and more like doing math.
One pile. Two. Five. Ten.
The girl's eyes followed every coin like she was watching a spell.
Melody hummed.
"Is it a lot?" she asked, just to be annoying.
"At home," I said, "if you had one gold, you were a 'rich commoner.' Two meant you could think about buying land. This is…"
I finished the last stack and counted them again.
Forty piles of ten.
Plus seven loose coins.
Four hundred and forty-seven gold.
I glanced at the smaller clink beside them—handfuls of silver and copper shaken out of various pockets and pouches.
"…and about a hundred and twenty silver," I added under my breath.
My brain tried to compare it to something concrete and failed.
Fifty gold could buy a decent town house in the capital. Maybe two, if you didn't mind questionable neighbours. A single gold could keep a family fed for a year if nobody got sick. At ten copper to a silver and a hundred silver to a gold, this pile… yes, if I squinted, it was basically like some smug duke saying, "My father gave me a small loan of half a thousand in gold," and expecting sympathy.
I ran a hand through my hair.
"This is the kind of money that makes people stupid," I said.
"Like walking into a mountain full of cultists alone?" Melody suggested.
"That was tactical stupidity," I said. "This is economic."
The elf girl spoke for the first time since we'd left the cave.
"…Is that… yours?" she asked, voice small.
Good question.
"No," I said automatically. "It belongs to the nobles who paid the Pact to do their dirty work."
I stared at the gold.
"They'll never claim it," I added. "Not without admitting they were paying cultists who consort with Outer things."
So, by the laws of narrative and looting and whatever twisted sense of justice Vastriel pretended to have, yes.
"It's mine now[1]," I corrected.
That felt like a sin. A delicious, useful sin.
[ System ]
[ Funds Acquired: 447g / 120s / 36c ]
[ Advisory: Resource Pressure – Significantly Reduced ]
[ Warning: Visibility – Increased ]
"Wonderful," I thought. "I'm rich enough to be a target."
I scooped the coins back into the robe-sack, tying it tighter this time, then slung it over my shoulder.
"Come on," I said, standing. "We're going to the capital."
"The… capital," the girl echoed, as if she'd forgotten the word.
"Big city," I said. "Lots of people. Lots of places to spend stupid amounts of money on basic necessities I should already have."
"Like food," Melody supplied.
"Like food," I agreed. "And clothes. And somewhere that is not a mountain cave under a cult."
The elf girl flinched at the word "cult", then swallowed and nodded quickly.
I picked up my sword.
We walked.
***
The outer ring of the capital welcomed us with the usual mix of noise and suspicious stares.
Merchants shouted about fresh bread and older fish. Children darted between legs. Guards slouched at their posts, pretending not to see pickpockets as long as the victims didn't look rich enough to complain to someone important.
I adjusted the weight of the robe-sack on my shoulder and scanned the street.
"First priority," I said quietly, "food."
The elf girl's stomach answered for her with a small, desperate growl.
Her cheeks went red.
I pretended not to hear.
A stall up ahead smoked pleasantly, skewers of meat sizzling over an open grill. The smell of fat and charcoal hit hard enough to make my own stomach remember it existed.
I stopped.
"Sit," I told her, nodding to a bench near the stall. "Don't wander."
She hesitated, then obeyed, perching on the farthest edge of the bench like she expected someone to tell her to get off.
I went to the stall.
"Six skewers," I said, sliding a silver onto the counter. "Two of your bread rolls. And whatever you use as vegetables around here."
The vendor eyed the silver, then me, then the thin girl on the bench.
"Charity?" he asked.
"Investment," I said.
He shrugged, took the coin, and worked fast.
When I returned, I handed the first skewer and a roll to the girl.
She stared at them like she'd been handed a holy relic.
"Eat," I said.
She took a bite.
Small at first, testing, as if she needed to be sure it was real food and not some cruel trick. Then bigger. Then faster. Grease ran down her fingers. Crumbs caught at the corners of her mouth.
For a few minutes, the world shrank to the sound of her chewing.
Melody's presence warmed a little.
"You're doing it again," she said.
"Feeding people?" I asked.
"Picking up strays and trying to fix them," she said. "You realise you have no exit strategy, right?"
I chewed my own skewer thoughtfully.
"If I pretend there is one," I said, "maybe I'll believe it later."
Logical fallacy: appeal to future ignorance. Fine.
The girl slowed down by the third skewer, clutching the bread more gently, as if afraid it would vanish if she finished it.
"Hey," I said.
She glanced up, lips shiny with fat, eyes still foggy with hunger.
"What… is your name?" I asked.
She flinched like I'd hit her.
"I…" Her brow creased. "They called me… 'half-breed' sometimes. Or 'asset'. Or 'subject three'." Her breath hitched. "Before that… I think there was… but I don't remember."
So: we had a nameless, half-starved, half-corrupted elf girl I'd dragged out of a cult lab and tied my own mistake-riddled mana to.
Fine.
Names mattered. Vastriel was obsessed with them. The System liked putting them in brackets. People needed them to stand up straight.
I leaned back, watched her for a second.
Blonde hair, now that some of the dirt had been wiped away with a rag the stall owner tossed us, was very close to mine in shade. Her eyes were brown, still unusual for an elf, but not wrong on her.
In another life—later, much later—I remembered someone on the fringe of an underworld deal, a half-elf enchanter with Awaken-like traits who called herself Julia because she couldn't remember what she'd been before.
Coincidence?
Maybe.
Or maybe the world liked reusing pieces.
"How about Julia," I said.
She blinked.
"Julia…" She rolled it on her tongue, slow. "Is that… my name?"
"Could be," I said. "You don't like it, we can change it later. But you need something to answer to that isn't 'subject three'."
She stared down at her hands, at the bread they held, at the rough coat around her shoulders.
"…Julia," she said again, softer.
A small, cautious smile tugged at the edge of her mouth.
"I… accept," she whispered, as if it were an oath. "Julia. That's me."
[ System ]
[ New Flag: Companion – Julia (Awakened) ]
[ Route Entanglement: Increased ]
Melody chuckled.
"You're naming them now," she said. "That's dangerous."
"I'm just catching up," I replied.
Julia looked up again.
"Thank you," she said.
"You're welcome," I said, then clapped my hands lightly to break the mood before it got too heavy. "Next: clothes."
She froze.
"I… I can make do with this," she said quickly, clutching the coat tighter. "You don't need to—"
"I do," I cut in. "You look like a kidnap victim."
Her eyes darted away.
"I was a kidnap victim," she muttered.
"Exactly," I said. "We're changing that. Come on."
***
The clothing stall we found was tucked between a tanner and a cobbler, bolts of cloth fluttering in the breeze like tired flags.
A woman with pins in her mouth and chalk on her fingers looked up as we approached.
"Buying?" she asked. "Or browsing without paying?"
"Buying," I said, hefting the robe-sack just enough to let the clink of silver speak for me. "We need a set of clothes that fit her. Something she can move in. Nothing that screams 'noble' or 'problem'. And a mask."
"A… mask," the woman repeated.
I tapped my own face.
"Something simple," I said. "Half-mask. Upper face. Plain leather. Ten copper at most."
"Planning a life of tasteful crime?" Melody asked.
"Planning not to be recognised everywhere as 'that crazy kid from the duel boards,'" I answered.
The woman shrugged.
"Mask I can do," she said, rummaging in a crate under the counter. She pulled out a simple leather half-mask, the kind travellers used against sand or smoke. "Nine copper."
Fair.
I placed the coins on the counter.
"Clothes?" she asked, turning her gaze on Julia.
The girl shrank under the scrutiny.
I nudged her forward.
"Something you like," I told her. "Within reason."
She stared at the racks like they were a test.
Her fingers touched rough wool shirts, stiff trousers, plain skirts. Then they paused on a dress hanging a little higher than the others—someone's attempt at "nice" in the outer ring.
It was simple: soft, sturdy fabric dyed a muted forest green, long sleeves, a laced bodice that could be adjusted as she grew, hem just past the knee. A thin, cream-coloured underskirt peeked out at the bottom. No jewels, no embroidery except for a few stitched leaves at the cuffs.
Functional.
Pretty.
Her, if she let herself have anything.
She glanced at me, as if waiting for permission to even look.
"That one?" I asked.
She swallowed.
"I… it's fine," she said quickly. "Too much, I don't—"
"Try it," I said.
The woman shooed her behind a hanging cloth, muttering about measurements and children who didn't eat enough.
Melody hummed.
"You're spoiling her," she said.
"I just bought a 'beautiful clothing' for two silver," I said. "That's not spoiling. That's baseline."
The curtain rustled.
Julia stepped out in the dress.
It hung a bit loose on her still-thin frame, but the laces pulled it in enough that it didn't look like she'd stolen someone else's clothes. The green made her hair look more golden; the cream underskirt softened the sharpness of her knees and elbows. The Awaken scars along her neck were still visible, but framed differently now—less "injury," more "odd pattern the eye slid over."
She tugged self-consciously at the sleeves.
"…Is it… okay?" she asked.
"It fits," I said.
It did more than that. It made her look like a person, not a patient.
The woman named a price—two silver for the dress, a few coppers for underthings. I paid without haggling.
"Overpaying," Melody said. "Rich boy."
"Time is worth more than copper," I said. "And I want this woman to remember us as 'those polite weirdos' and not 'the cheapskates with the haunted child'."
We left the stall with Julia in her new clothes, my coat still draped around her shoulders like a cloak, and the mask tucked into my belt.
"Now what?" she asked quietly.
"Now," I said, hefting the heavy robe-sack of coin again, "we make sure I have somewhere that isn't a rented inn room to hide you when everything goes wrong."
"Comforting," Melody said.
***
The land office for the capital's outskirts was a squat stone building that smelled like ink, dust, and quiet desperation. Scribes hunched over ledgers at long desks, quills scratching. Maps of the surrounding region covered the walls, coloured pins marking who owned which patch of dirt.
A clerk with thinning hair and a talent for looking unimpressed looked up as we stepped in.
"Yes?" he asked.
"I want to buy land," I said.
That got his attention.
"Oh?" he said, sitting up. "How much land?"
I pointed at a section of the map—a strip of not-quite-forest, not-quite-field on the outskirts, near a minor road but not on it.
"About fifteen acres there," I said. "Bordering the creek."
He followed my finger, hummed.
"That's currently held by Lord Vessier," he said. "Low-value, little development. He's been trying to offload some of it. I can request a meeting. Price will be… negotiable."
"Translate 'negotiable,'" Melody said.
"'He'll try to rob you,'" I thought back.
The clerk scribbled a note, sent a runner, and within an hour we were sitting across from Lord Vessier in a small side room.
Vessier was exactly the kind of minor noble who collected useless titles and useless land. Soft around the middle, rings on his fingers, eyes that did quick math the second he saw the robe-sack on my shoulder.
"Ah, young…?" he began.
"Milton," I said. "Erynd Milton."
His eyes flickered.
"The duelling boy," he said. "Divination campus. Interesting. You wish to buy land?"
"Yes," I said. "Fifteen acres on the outskirts, near the creek. Enough space for a few houses. I'm not picky about the exact boundaries as long as they're not marsh."
He smiled.
"For a young man, you think ahead," he said. "That parcel is… worthless to me, I admit. But land is land. Call it… fifty gold."
I let my eyebrows rise very slightly.
Fifty was technically fair if you were putting a proper house and fields there.
For raw, unused scrub that he'd probably inherited by accident?
He was still trying to rob me.
"Forty," I said.
Somewhere, my father's ghost sighed at my lack of subtlety.
"Forty?" Vessier repeated, folding his hands. "My boy, the soil is decent, the location—"
"Needs work," I cut in. "No road access without paying the neighbouring lord, no existing buildings, no wards. You're selling me dirt."
His smile twitched.
"Forty-eight," he said.
"Forty-two," I replied.
We danced.
Not elegantly.
But I'd watched enough nobles argue over smaller things to know how the rhythm went. Point. Counterpoint. Pretend to care about different numbers than you actually did. Act offended at random intervals.
In the end, after much sighing and a dramatic moment where he pretended to consider standing up and leaving, we settled at forty-five gold.
I counted it out on the table, the sound of each coin hitting wood making the clerk's eyes widen incrementally.
[ System ]
[ Resource Expenditure: -45g ]
[ Land Acquired: 15 Acres – Capital Outskirts ]
[ New Asset: "Milton Outpost" – Unbuilt ]
As the ink dried on the deed in the clerk's ledger, Vessier gave me a curious look.
"Most boys your age look for tall towers and famous mentors," he said. "You buy dirt."
"Tall towers fall," I said. "Dirt stays."
Unless an Outer thing ate it, but that was my problem.
Vessier chuckled, pocketed his gold, and left.
I took the deed.
Julia watched everything without a sound.
When we stepped back out into the street, she tugged at my sleeve.
"You own… land now," she said, like it was witchcraft.
"Apparently," I said.
"What will you do with it?" she asked.
"Build something," I said. "And then build under it."
***
Weeks blurred.
The fifteen acres started as exactly what it had been on the map: scrub, rocks, and a strip of creek that tried very hard to be a river and failed.
I hired labourers from the nearby village with the kind of coin that made their eyes suspicious first, then grateful when it actually materialised as wages.
I let them build the visible part.
Simple houses. A well. A communal storehouse. Nothing fancy. Nothing that screamed "secret lair."
Above ground, my own house was the smallest of the lot: a single-storey cottage with whitewashed walls, a sloping roof, and a door that creaked just enough to sound harmless.
Underneath it…
That was mine.
Concrete did not exist here.
Not as a concept.
Stone, yes. Mortar, yes. People mixed lime and sand and pretended that was modern.
I remembered better.
Lived and died in cities with grey bones and steel veins, once. Watched buildings fall and learned, in a very practical sense, what held them up and what made them crumble.
One night, I stood by the half-finished well, watching the labourers pack up, and quietly diverted the last of the day's water into a side pit.
Lime, ash from Vera Flamma burns, crushed stone, sand. Water to bind. Mana to brute-force the mixing until it flowed smooth and thick.
[ System ]
[ New Material: "Concrete" ]
[ Structural Integrity: High ]
[ Local Understanding: 0% ]
[ Advisory: Abrupt Tech Introduction – Risk of Attention ]
"Don't care," I told it.
Under the little cottage, I dug.
Not with shovels.
With hands and magic and occasionally Melody, turning earth and stone aside, smoothing walls, pouring concrete into moulds I carved with Vector manipulation, letting it set, layering stairs and corridors.
The result, after weeks of work and too many late nights, was a honeycomb.
A mansion turned inside-out and downwards.
First underground level: living space. A kitchen that didn't smoke, rooms that stayed cool in summer and warm in winter, a training hall big enough to swing Melody without decapitating anyone.
Second level: storage. Food. Water. Books. Weapons. Coin. A small room full of things I didn't want Julia to touch until I'd properly labelled them.
Third level: the messy one. Workbenches. Half-finished devices. Runes on walls that tested how far I could push the local understanding of enchantment without getting a priest at my door.
Deeper still: plans.
Nothing built yet. Just space carved out and tamed, waiting.
From above, it was a tiny village with a slightly weird viscount's son living on the edge.
From below, it was… the beginning of something.
Something that could survive Outer attention.
Something that could shelter people I refused to watch die the same way twice.
***
When the last of the workers left one evening, crossing the newly laid stone bridge over the creek, I stood just inside the cottage and listened.
Silence.
The good kind.
Julia emerged from the stairwell, wiping dust from her hands onto her apron. The dress we'd bought was now accompanied by sturdy boots and a belt pocked with little pouches—she'd taken to "helping" without anyone asking, fetching tools, holding lanterns, scribbling notes in a handwriting that was slowly becoming less shaky.
The Awaken scars along her neck had changed again. Finer now, like faint branching lines of darker skin, half-hidden under the collar of her dress.
She walked to the middle of the room.
Then, very suddenly, she knelt.
Both knees on the smooth floor, back straight, brown eyes bright.
"Master," she said, voice clear in the quiet house. "It's ready."
The word scraped something in my chest.
Not because of the "Master." I'd heard that title shouted in fear, spat in hatred, whispered in desperation. It was the way she said "ready," with a mixture of pride and relief, like she'd been holding her breath since the mountain and only now felt air properly filling her lungs.
I looked around.
Tiny cottage. Hidden door in the floor. Concrete bones no one else would understand. Land outside starting to sprout more houses, more lives.
I rolled the graduate rune-stone between my fingers.
[ System ]
[ Status: Imperial Academy – Graduate ]
[ New Asset: Milton Outpost – Operational (Initial) ]
[ Advisory: Scars – Unmended ]
[ Potential: High ]
The wounds were healing.
The scars weren't.
But for the first time since I'd stepped back into my twelve-year-old body, I had a place that was mine.
A base.
A village.
A girl with a new name, kneeling in front of me with her eyes full of impossible trust.
And a sword on my back that hummed quietly, eager for whatever came next.
"Good," I said.
It wasn't enough.
But it was a start.
[1] Hehe boy