The second awakening in Ephraim's hut was much worse than the first. Back then, adrenaline and shock held me in a knot.
But now... no.
Every cell of my body rebelled. The skin on my back, tightened by burns, turned into dry, brittle parchment. Inside the "clay cocoon", there was an unbearable, putrid heat.
Besides, Ephraim approached the pallet, and without warning grabbed me by the stump.
"Time to get up."
He took a chisel and began to chip away the dried clay.
"Ah... Easy..."
"Endure," he cut off. "Just a little left."
A few minutes later. I almost threw up at what I saw.
Pink, oozing flesh, dark spots of necrosis on the phalanges and a distinct smell of rot.
"[Will to Live]... report," I ordered mentally, holding back the urge to vomit.
"Decomposition process localized. Deep tissue damage: 62%. Immediate cleaning and cell stimulation required. Recommended: use of concentrated mana."
Ephraim splashed some alcohol tincture onto the wound. I arched like a bow, a hoarse sound tore from my throat.
"Endure, kid," grumbled the old man, wrapping the hand in clean rags. "Want to eat?"
He threw a bowl with gray porridge on the table. Something floated in it but I didn't care.
After some time.
"Well, we had breakfast," said Ephraim.
Now it's time for work. He cleared the table, brushing the leftovers onto the floor. "Here is the steel safe of the Order."
"Found it half a year ago. Tried to open it — almost burned my beard off," Ephraim crossed his arms on his chest, waiting for my verdict.
I leaned closer.
"Object: Field communications safe. Protection class: B-2. Internal cavity: concentrated mana essence."
Essence. If I get to it, I will be able to restore the channels faster than mana.
"This safe has a self-destruct, Ephraim," I whispered. "Hit it with a hammer, and a thermal charge will trigger. Everything inside will turn to ash, and us along with it."
"And how to open it?" the old man frowned, his hand instinctively resting on the hilt of his knife.
"Bring the tools. Thin needles and copper clamps."
We started. It was like defusing a bomb.
"See the swirl on the right?" I nodded with my chin. "Insert the needle three millimeters. No more. Feel resistance — freeze."
Through the interface, I saw how the magical threads of the lock glowed red.
"Stop! Too deep! Shift to the left by a hair!"
"How do you see this, kid?!" hissed the old man, but obeyed.
We sat like this for three hours.
Everything swam before my eyes, [Will to Live] blinked with warnings about critical fatigue.
"Now the clamp," I whispered. "Pull the central rune toward yourself. Slowly."
A dry musical click sounded. The red threads on the lid grew pale, became sky-blue, and then disappeared entirely.
The lock surrendered. The lid slid aside with a quiet hiss, releasing a small cloud of cold vapor.
Inside lay three glass vials with blue liquid, leather scrolls, and a small crystal, pulsating with an even inner light.
Ephraim immediately reached for the crystal.
"Mine!" he barked.
I intercepted his wrist as best I could.
"Stop. Touch it — and you will die. This is an officer-rank communication drive, tuned to the magical signature of the Order. It will burn out your channels. But the vials — these are stimulants. Drink one, and you can run for two days without sleep and food. This is your share."
Still, the experience in the Order yields its fruits, I thought.
Ephraim looked at the blue vials, then at the crystal.
"And the crystal is for whom? For you?"
"For me. My payment. With it I will be able to work twice as fast."
The old man remained silent for a long time, peering into my face. But soon blurted out.
"So be it, take it."
At night I sat on the straw, pressing the crystal to my chest, and felt how my torn channels were restoring.
It was painful.
But it is better than nothing.
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