Touch Of Fate 55 What Am I Doing?

He glanced at his briefly and saw that his skills had returned to what they were prior to the strange skill's activation, with two noted exceptions. His Almiran Swordsmans.h.i.+p had risen a tier to Journeyman. Unfortunately there didn't seem to be any additional effects.

It was the other entry, however, that caught his attention. His Intermediate Healing Magic had advanced all the way to Rank 5, and had picked up another effect.

Rank 5 Effects: Return to Origin

-Return to Origin -

Pract.i.tioners of Intermediate Healing Magic gain instinctive understanding of the way living things function, grow, and heal. They can use this knowledge to overcome the usual hurdles in the healing process, allowing them to heal injuries above and beyond what is normally possible. Allows the user to replace lost body parts, regenerate lost limbs, and cure even congenital defects. Cannot be used to reverse the effects of aging.

Mike couldn't wait to try this on Morris once the other man had returned. He had been feeling guilty about the not being able to help his friend with his injury, despite the progress he had made with his healing skills. Now he finally felt he could do something to pay Morris back.

After this brief moment of excitement, his thoughts returned to the predicament he found himself in.

There were powerful people out there who knew his ident.i.ty, and where to find him. And they apparently wanted to capture him for some purpose.

Mike didn't want to imagine the reach of an organization or individual who had a fighter like Brutus at their beck and call. Hopefully Tier 4 warriors were rare enough that they couldn't afford to send another one after him.

The most terrifying aspect of this situation was that he didn't realy know who they were, what they wanted, or even how they came to know his ident.i.ty in the first place. He could reasonably a.s.sume that they were vampires based on Brutus's race, but he didn't know what that meant.

Were vampires a dangerous monster, like in the legends of his old world? Or were they considered as another race of beings like elves or dwarves. He didn't know, and had never thought to find out.

[I'm not strong enough. I don't know enough. I have been living my life in a carefree manner ever since I reincarnated here. Even when my life and the lives of others were in danger, I couldn't bring myself to believe that all of this was real, with real consequences.]

He had been thinking of this world and everything in it as some kind of story or game. Trusting in the blessings he had been given, Mike had simply gone with the flow, rarely seeking to do more than simply figure out what new thing to check out. He had willfully become a pa.s.sive observer in his own life.

He never stopped to think what effect his choices might have had. Who might get hurt in the process.

Mental images flashed across his mind. Morris clutching his severed arm. Devin lying in a shattered pile. A broken Philip trying desperately to cradle Kate with his useless limbs, as she died in front of him.

Sighing, he held his head in his hands.

[What am I doing?]

It was clear that he couldn't continue like this.

Mike started quietly muttering to himself. "If I am to live in this world, I will need to take responsibility for what I do, and what I set in motion. If I am to be the Hero that everyone seems to think I am destined to be, I can't simply keep going with the flow."

He stood, and the volume of his voice rose with him. "Alright, from here on out, I'm going to be better than before. I will become stronger. I will become smarter. And I will not let anyone else get hurt because of me!"

"Oy! Shut up already! Some of us are trying to sleep!" A rude voice came through the wall.

"Oops. Sorry!" Mike called, before remembering that it was still early afternoon.

"Hey, wait a minute..."

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Morris traveled through the Merchant District on his way to the slums. He had to admit, his father was every bit a crafty as his reputation made him out to be.

Even though the events of the Night of Wrath had largely distracted the populace, with one simple maneuver, Count Graveston had solved the problem that had been plaguing Morris for days.

As far as he could tell, Morris's father had only sent a single quickly written message, but before a day had pa.s.sed, the issue had been largely resolved.

A young and gifted member of the Church of Teun had come forward publicly to claim responsibility for the Saint of West Street incident. Supposedly, this young man had traveled the city in disguise, healing for a fraction of the normal price, as a means of training himself while inspiring wors.h.i.+p of the G.o.ds.

Morris reluctantly admired the move. In one fell swoop, not only did his father clear Mike of suspicion, but ensured that the temples were now happy with the current state of affairs. After all, they got a great deal of free publicity from the exchange. Add to that a 'Saint' that could be trotted out to support whatever decision the temple elders made, and their really wasn't a downside for them.

It simply impressed Morris that his father had sufficient pull with the temples to make such a thing happen. For all that he hated the man, it was hard not to respect his abilities.

The Serpent, as the Count was called quietly behind his back, was renowned as a skilled politician and master of intrigue. There were even some rumors that he served as the King's spymaster, at least in this region of the Kingdom.

[And all it took to get his help, was to sacrifice my freedom.]

Morris grimaced at the errant thought. He'd live with the consequences of this decision. After all he had value to his father as the sole remain heir. Surely, this time things would be different. Wouldn't they?

He had been given a month to put his affairs in order, before fully returning to the family. Morris suspected that there were other factors in play that kept his father from immediately enlisting him in whatever plot was underway. Regardless, he was now on his way to meet up with the old friends he'd reached out to in his desperation.

[If I am to be sent to war as some sort of token representative of the family, Mike will need all the help he can get. He will need some allies, even if they are criminals.]

The friends he sought out now couldn't be considered the best of company. Indeed, they were pretty much a gang. However, among the various groups that vied for power in Wyrport, this one was probably the closest to honorable that Morris had seen.

After leaving his family three years ago, Morris had quickly become dest.i.tute. Without an official license from the Bardic College, it was largely impossible to make a living with the skills he had. At least legally.

Morris still remembered the first time he had been approached for a job. He had been chased out of the small town square in the poor section of town for the third time, and was seriously debating giving up and going back to his family, when a man had approached him with tempting promises and silver in hand.

At first it had all been so easy. Morris would serve as a simple distraction, drawing a crowd with his performance, and the other man would pick their pockets. Then it evolved into picking their pockets himself.

Before he knew it, Morris had become a inner member of one of the criminal gangs that moved in the shadows of Wyrport.

Thanks to his skills and knowledge, he excelled on this new path. In the short span of a year, he had risen to a position of prominence within the gang. The leader was even grooming Morris to become his successor. If not for a particular incident, he might have taken over and become the boss himself.

Morris shook his head, clearing away the distracting memories. He needed to focus on the upcoming meeting.

He had intentionally worn old, ragged clothes, not wanting to gather the attention of the local thieves and beggars. There was a long dagger hidden in his waistband, just in case. Eventually he arrived at his destination.

[I haven't talked to them since I left Wyrport almost two years ago. I'm surprised they were willing to meet with me after all the harsh words.]

He briefly considered the possibility of this being some sort of trap. It would be out of character for the group, but a lot can change in two years.

Quas.h.i.+ng his fears, he firmed his resolve and entered the tavern with no clear name. The one known to the locals as The Watering Hole.

The common room was full of tense looking men and women in grey clothing. As Morris entered, silence descended. Every eye turned to watch him as he self-consciously walked up the bar.

Morris's instincts were screaming at him, but he knew that if he left now, it wouldn't be long before he was tracked down by the Grey. There was no other path but to continue forward.

"I'm here to see Adrian." Morris spoke to the bartender with more confidence than he felt.

The scarred and stern faced man answered with a thumb hooked back towards a doorway. "Back through there. He's expecting you."

Morris took a deep breath before opening the door and entering.

Adrian was standing next to a table. Something that looked disturbingly like a strangely flattened body, was lying on top of it, covered by a sheet. Lorik was sitting in the corner, head propped up on one hand, looking quite worn out. Julia was pacing along the back wall, her tail flipping with agitation.

At the sound of the door, Adrian looked up and smiled wearily. "Morris, lad. I would say that it is good to see you, but you've come at a bad time."

Morris felt a hint of unease at his old mentor's words. "What do you mean?"

Adrian pulled the sheet from the table, revealing a burnt husk of a man. What ever had killed him had not been gentle. It looked as if his innards had burst into flame, cooking the poor soul from the inside out.

Recoiling, Morris couldn't help but exclaim, "Ugh! What is this? What happened?"

Adrian just focused a tired gaze at him. "War, lad. War happened."