I walk downstairs in the inn. Somehow, in the time I had laid in my bed, my room had moved one floor higher. There was now an inn-between (heh) floor.
One full of rooms with injured minotaurs.
As I walked downstairs, it was a simple change of feel. My [Intuition] told me things were different before my mind had caught up with it. Looking at the patients, I find Amelie wrapping a bandage around some of the wounds.
Her eyes trail to me in the hallway. “Ah, Snow, good to see you again. Art thou alright?”
I nod. “Yeah,” I say. “I’m okay.”
She eyes me up and down, raising her eyebrows. “Really?”
“Really,” I nod, amused. “Didn’t take you for the motherly type.”
“I’m not,” she admits readily, with a bright grin. “I’m the haughty, arrogant type.” She pulls the bandages a little too tight around a minotaur’s arm. The woman huffs slightly.
Shaking my head at her antics, I kneel down next to the patient. “Alright, show me what we’re working with.”
The minotaur eyes me at that, distrustful. “You. Slept while we escaped,” she snorts with derision.
“That’s true,” I nod. “I also stabbed the mindbreaker to death.”
Her eyes widen. “Oh,” she says.
“Yeah,” I shrug. “But y’know. I did take a nap, so feel free to hate me. I don’t care.” And I mean it. Then, I wave a hand over the bandages, casting my spell. Mana clings to her flesh, and the wound knits closed quickly.
I’m putting a lot of the lessons the unmaker so graciously taught me into practice. There are new inscriptions inside my missing arm, already. My skin itches worse than before, which I take as a good sign. “You’re healed,” I tell the minotaur woman unceremoniously. “Next.”
Amelie looks at me with a gentle frown. “I wish to punch your shoulder,” she says.
“Please don’t,” I reply, waving another minotaur over. This one has a large scar across his stomach, not unlike my recent stab wound, though wider and more shallow. It’s half-healed, with a lot of unaddressed damage beneath the skin. I look at him. “Do you wanna keep the scar?”
His eyes glisten. Slowly, he shakes his head.
“Alright. Then this’ll take five minutes. Maybe a small incision, but I’ll make sure it’s painless.” [Suppression] slowly hums into activity as I manifest a scalpel with [Deconstruction]. My skill breaks apart the scar tissues and lets healthy ones regrow, and the muscles beneath reconnect with the skin.
It takes a chunk of mana, and I hold out my core to him. “Donate your mana for the other patients,” I request. He does so without hesitation. “And if any of you have minor favours, you’re free to upgrade the core. It’ll help me heal you more easily. Next!”
- - -
A handful of hours later, I’ve run through all of the minotaurs, and administered whatever help I can. Their mental scars won’t disappear as quickly, though I’ve cleared away a chunk of the physical ones. Some chose to keep them, and of course, I didn’t object.
That’d be entirely silly. But I took the scars off of those who simply wanted to forget and move on. That was their prerogative, after all. And it was easy enough to clear them away, by now.
[Biological Restoration 14 > 15]
My healing improved even more, as I embraced a few more lessons from the unmaker. It was funny, really. I think the whole flesh-and-blood stuff was mainly fed by their epitaphs and mantle, rather than their skills. It was more part of who they were than what they could do. And yet, it was also very firmly writ into the functionality of their main anti-magic.
So now, I learned from them. And perhaps, they’d learn from me, too. After all, they looked mostly like a sleepy mercenary, so I don’t mind letting them go too much. There is little chance they’ll come after me again. I really feel rather safe.
As for the minotaurs: Most of them head for the undergrowth. There’s… a lot of movement going on, right now. A few are becoming adventurers, getting adopted into mostly trustworthy groups. Harry and Michael have gotten involved in the vetting of people, and so, we’re spared a lot of the trouble that might come with that.
As far as I’m concerned, my part of it all is done. I’ve freed them, opened up the cages, and helped them get out of that miserable place. I’ve healed their wounds, dozens of them, and only gotten a single upgrade to my mana core in exchange. But that’s fine. It’s the kind thing to do, so I do it.
There is, however, one tidbit that bothers me.
[You have destroyed a guildhall. You have killed a (local) guildmaster.]
[Your party has created a guild.]
Now that the minotaurs are dealt with, I walk downstairs, into the actual inn part of the inn. I hand Harry a few chips, and order a meal made from some tower-specific, mana-rich vegetables that can be metabolised more efficiently and that aid in training. Then, I take a deep breath, and sit down next to Thatch.
“Hey Snow,” he says, innocently. There’s paper on the table in front of him, and a brush in his hands.
“So,” I say slowly. “A guild, huh?”
Instantly, he places the brush aside, and drops his head into his hands. “Damn it,” he whispers.
“Yeaaaaa, suck it, handsome bastard,” Opal jeers. “Hand over my chits.”
Begrudgingly, Thatch places a few silvery coins in their hand. Opal tosses me one, as tax for being the subject of their bet, probably. “You couldn’t have waited five minutes?” Thatch complained without any heat.
A small smile grows on my lips. “My curiosity is my greatest flaw.”
“Nerd,” Sylves huffs from above me. I look up, only to see her standing, upside down, on the ceiling. Somehow, her dress is perfectly arrayed.
“Huh,” I note.
She grins. “Oho! So you do notice! Yes, indeed, this gravity defying fabric has been woven to interact more with skills! Now, whenever I float, my dress shall adjust properly! No more trouble of it falling over my head! Only graceful, fairy-fair floating!”
I snicker at her. “That’s lovely, Sylves. I’m happy for you.”
And even just at those small words, her face lights up, and her smile grows even wider. “Why, why! Even the great devil of the third floor, Ion, breaker of magic, killer of cruelty, praises me!”
“Really?” I ask. “Great devil?”
Opal nods. “That’s what they’re calling you now, y’know. The only surviving member of the guild knows that Ion did it. And that you were, apparently, terrifying beyond belief. Ahhh, wish I coulda seen it.” Then, they flash a bright grin. “‘Cept I did! I did see it! You really fucked that guy up!” they cheer.
Gently, I shake my head. “You’re all silly. Stop trying to distract me from the guild thing.”
Thatch gives me a guilty smile. “About that,” he says. “Yes. We made one.”
Sylves smiles brightly. “We’re the Crybabys!”
I blink. Then I look at her smile. Then at Thatch’s awkward glance. Opal’s proud grin, moments from a guffaw. Inu, who sheepishly looks away. I can’t hold back a smile. “You’re so silly,” I say. “How does a guild work?”
“Well, there are two main features,” Thatch says. “The first is a voting system for communal management decisions - we chose to have a leadership council model. You’re on it.”
“Alright,” I say.
“The other,” he continues, “is a distress beacon. Anyone can sound it, and it reveals the floor and approximate location of a guild member to the rest of us. There’s… a good bit more. Some inherent messaging system, if you have someone with the job to support it - Norman’s been working towards messenger, so that might unlock soon-ish. It also offers a marketplace… somewhat. Periodic auctions, interfacing with other guilds.”
I tilt my head. “A lot of half-half stuff, huh. What else does it have, an experience sharing system?”
“Not yet…” Thatch says. “But it’s an upgrade option.”
With a small sigh, I shake my head. “Alright. Two features. We vote on decisions. You call me when you need someone killed or saved. That’s what you want my takeaway to be?”
He wears that embarrassed smile again. How dare it look so charming on his unreasonably handsome face. “Yep,” he admits. “That’s… it.”
“It also marks the guild you are part of on the leaderboards,” Dar interjects with a brutal sabotage. He smirks. “You are Ion of the Crybabies, now, Opal’s friend.”
A long sigh escapes my lips. “I sure have a habit of picking troublesome friends.”
Inu, Thatch, Opal and Syvles all shrug, raising their hands. “Oops?” they give.
I shake my head. Well, I suppose I don’t mind being part of the guild… I sigh, softly. Then I wave them off. There’s a short round of smiles, and I start digging into my food when the door to the inn opens again.
This time, it’s a tall scithian man. Amber wings folded tightly behind his back. He has short cropped white hair, a nicely groomed beard, and piercing yellow eyes.
Also, I remember him from the second floor. The mana around him twists all wrong, too. My eyes narrow.
[Intuition 2 > 3]
His face turns to mine, and his expression turns into a bright grin. “Ahhhh, Ion,” he whispers. “Found you.”
With a gust of wind, he stands right in front of me. Close enough to touch. His mana brushed against mine.
[Bright Priest of the Hunt, lv. ?]
Well, heck.
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