“A Burendian ruin,” Eve explained. “And it’s not exactly a curse. We found a volatile compound in an alchemy lab and it spilled on us.”
He lowered his notes. “An alchemy lab? In a Burendian ruin? How unusual. I’ve never known them to practice alchemy.”
“That’s what I said,” Alex stepped in.
Raising his eyebrows, the gnome returned to scribbling away on his clipboard. “So what are the symptoms?”
Eve started from the beginning, describing the compound itself before going over the maelstrom of agony it had inflicted before fading to a gentle warmth in her chest. She told of finding the massive influx of Mana, as well as the growing fire beneath her skin leading up to the explosion that had killed the leygorged widow. She ended with mention of the secondary quest and the evolution of her metabolism skill.
“For what it’s worth,” Alex added, “my quest has a different name. It’s probably because only my hand got hit, but mine’s called ‘Hand of the Precursors.’ And it’s my Survivor’s Recovery that upgraded to give me Mana regeneration even though I don’t have a Mana pool.”
Eve cocked an eyebrow, wondering why Alex hadn’t shared that information with her. Come to think of it, she didn’t know any of the warrior’s skills.
The gnome’s voice ended her train of thought. “Curious. Mana overload is a known phenomenon, but I’ve only read about it in cases of mages trying to cheat their way to more power. Allow me to just…” he trailed off as he dug through his pockets to retrieve a shard of yellow glass. “Your hand, if you please.”
Alex obliged, holding out the afflicted appendage. The gnome peered at it through his colored glass, analyzing the jagged lines of glowing white Mana.
“Oh dear,” he said. “Oh dear oh dear oh dear.” He released Alex’s hand as he turned to gaze at Eve’s torso.
She tugged her shirt down as far as she could without exposing herself to the clinician. “What do you see?”
“As you may know, the Spirit stat represents one’s ability to open a space in their soul to contain Mana. When a mage casts a spell, they’re channeling it directly from that space into the world itself.”
The gnome shook his head, lowering the enchanted glass to look the adventurers in the eye. “Normally overload occurs when an idiot purposefully tears a hole in their soul to force more Mana in. The treatment is slow, but most patients recover. Your case isn’t normal.”
Eve furrowed her brow. “What do you mean?”
“The Mana isn’t in your soul at all. It’s in your body.”
Alex cursed.
“Moving past your friend’s foul language,” the gnome addressed Eve, “her sentiment is correct. The human body isn’t made to store Mana. Build up too much, and you’ll explode or burst into flame or experience any number of particularly unpleasant ways to die.”
“So we just need to be sure to drain any excess?” Eve asked, remembering how they’d killed the spider.
“That’s a start. It’ll keep you alive for the time being, but human flesh isn’t meant to channel Mana either. Regular healing might help, but you will eventually burn yourself out.”
Eve chewed her lower lip as she thought through the gnome’s words. Alex spoke up. “So what are we supposed to do?”
“My professional recommendation would be to replace the skill that’s generating Mana as soon as possible. Failing that—as I suspect you might—reach the fourth tier and unlock a magic class. I can’t say for certain, but we can hope that developing a natural pool might redirect the Mana into your soul.”
Alex scowled. “So your solution is to level up and hope the problem goes away?”
The gnome shrugged. “I’m sorry, but I can’t help you. You’re not cursed, and as far as your classes are concerned, this may even be a good thing.”
Eve exhaled. “Alright. Thank you. We’ll—um—we’ll figure something out.”
The vertically challenged clinician nodded, turning to open up the door back into the waiting room. “I wish you the best of luck. If you do find out where your secondary quests lead, please come back and let me know. It’ll be useful information should someone else turn up with your condition.”
“We will,” Eve said, ushering a still-smoldering Alex from the examination room. “Good—um—good luck with your other patients.”
He gave her a half-hearted smile. “Never a dull moment.” With a quiet shrug, he unceremoniously turned to call in the next unlucky patient.
Eve and Alex waited until they’d stepped back into the busy street before discussing the meeting. “Well that was useless,” the warrior started.
“I wouldn’t say that,” said Eve. “We learned the serum forced Mana into our bodies instead of our souls, and that we can fix it by leveling up.”
“We can maybe fix it by leveling up. For all we know we’ll keep getting abilities that generate Mana until we explode.”
“If that compound was a death sentence, it wouldn’t have come with its own quest,” Eve insisted. “We just have to figure out…” She trailed off as a notification flashed in her periphery.
“I got it too,” Alex said, her eyes turning blue with the screen’s reflection. Eve’s followed suit.
Secondary Quest Stage Complete: Discover the Serum’s Effects
+1000 exp!
Stage Two: Adapt to the changes.
“Well there you go,” Eve said. “The quest agrees. We just need to wait and level up a bit and make sure to vent any excess Mana when we build up too much.”
“I don’t like it. Just waiting and leveling up doesn’t sound like much of an adaptation to me—we were already doing that.”
“In that case, you can start worrying about how to get rid of built-up Mana without a huge explosion.” Eve didn’t wait for a reply as she turned to stride down the cobblestone road away from the institute.
“And where do you think you’re going?” Alex called after her.
“I need a new weapon, and I still have some silver left over after that fine,” she answered over her shoulder. “I’m going shopping.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
Shopping!
EVE FOUND WES waiting for her at the mouth of Emerald Street, so named for the viridian hues that glimmered across the cobble. The other colors of the rainbow as cast by the towering glass walls were still present, but this particular avenue’s position within the city lent itself to the greener tones. Eve couldn’t begin to understand why.
The “how was the clinic?” was only half-formed in Wes’s mouth by the time Eve stepped right past him to attack the pack on his back.
“What are you…” the bulky mage managed as Eve rooted through his belongings.
“Ah-hah!” she cheered as her hand found one of a half-dozen parchment-wrapped parcels. She gave him a victorious smirk as she unwrapped the strawberry scone. She took a bite.
The perfect blend of juicy strawberries and soft pastry and oh so much sugar washed over her tongue. Her head lolled back and her shoulders un-tensed and she let out an exaggerated moan.
Wes rolled his eyes. “Who’s overdramatic now?”
“I think I’m the perfect amount of dramatic.” Eve blew through his incredulous look. “Did you really think you could hide them from me?”
“How silly of me.” Wes shook his head. “How could I forget your Scone Detection passive?”
Eve swallowed her second bite of scone, reaching up to pat Wes on the back. “That’s why I’m the hero and you’re the trusty companion.”
“Last I checked, you’re the one who can’t even step foot in a bakery.”
“Which is exactly why I need my trusty companion to run errands for me. To hells with the blightmaw dragon, your real quest is to keep me supplied with scones.”
“Something tells me killing the dragon would be the easier of the two.” Wes laughed.
“Maybe for the low cost of a lifetime supply of strawberry scones, I, the legendary hero, will help with your little dragon
problem.”
Wes snorted. “Why don’t you worry about that once you’ve fixed your little exploding problem?”
“What do you think we’re doing here?” Eve stopped outside a simple shop with a picture of an anvil carved into the door. “This the place?”
Wes nodded, swinging open the wooden door to usher Eve inside. “Yep. I stopped by four different smithies while you were at the clinic. She’s the best.”
Eve surveyed the array of weapons and armor lining the walls as she stepped up to the unmanned counter. “Did you judge them based on some secret blacksmith’s son knowledge or by just Appraising them and picking the highest level?”
“A little of both. Half the smiths in this city are too high level for me to Appraise.” He unceremoniously picked a bronze bell off the countertop and rang it.
The woman who appeared was perhaps the most stereotypical blacksmith Eve had ever seen. Her black hair was cut short to keep errant sparks from igniting it, her skin coated in a thick layer of black soot, and her frame stout enough Eve might’ve thought her part dwarf if such a thing were possible. Her Appraise was promising.
Level ?? Arcane Smith
Rare Tier 4 Class
How does a blacksmith even get to level fifty? Eve wondered.
The woman’s gruff voice pulled her from her thoughts. “What do you want?”
Wes fished the three remaining Burendian Mana cores from his pack while Eve explained, “I need new weapons. A sword for me and a spear for my friend. They need to be able to store and discharge raw Mana, hence the cores.”
“No.”
Eve furrowed her brow. “What?”
“I said no,” the woman barked. “I’ll do the spear, but there’s no way in hells I’m letting you leave with a sword in your hand.”
“Then I’ll go somewhere else.”
She shrugged. “Any smith worth their salt will tell you the same thing. I’m sure some idiot will take your money, but the smart ones don’t let buyers make that kind of mistake. Dead adventurers don’t make good return customers.”
“What are you talking about?”
The Arcane Smith leaned in, looking at Eve dead on. “You’re a Striker. Means your entire class is built around dashing in, getting a few quick hits, and getting out. At that kind of speed, a sword’ll get stuck in the first thing you hit.”
Eve’s eyes widened as she remembered the fight with the managorged hares, when exactly that had happened. “Um—okay—no sword. What do you recommend?”
The woman looked her up and down. “You don’t need reach because you have mobility, and you don’t need a long blade because you won’t be parrying any time soon. Since you got three cores there, I’d say a spear for your friend and a pair of daggers for you. I’d also recommend a mace or flail to go with them, but that’ll be more expensive, and you wouldn’t want it enchanted like that.”
“Why not?”
She slammed a closed fist into her open palm. “Blunt weapon explodes with Mana, you’ll lose half your force to just knocking it away from whatever it hit.” Her two hands flew away from each other at equal speed.
With a nod, she replaced the fist with a pointed finger, sticking it between those of her open hand. “Stick a blade in ‘em, and more of the blast will deal real damage.” She pantomimed a blast forcing her fingers apart.
Eve shook her head, understanding the logic and feeling the meager supply of silver in her pocket. “Alright, no mace for now. And wouldn’t a dagger get just as stuck as a sword?”
The Smith snorted. “Not in anything you’ll be fighting. Least not for another tier.”
Eve raised an eyebrow, thinking of Alex’s knife getting stuck in the carapace of the leygorged widow. Then again, she shouldn’t have attempted to fight that monstrosity. “Okay, daggers it is. How much would it be to make two knives and a spear with the Mana cores?”
“To make? A hundred silver. More if you want anything fancy. A third of that to modify some pieces my apprentice made for practice with those cores of yours.”
Wes stepped in. “I’d like to see those pieces.”
She gestured to a table near the back piled high with simple blades. “O’ course. They’re good work; just every adventurer in this gods-damned city thinks they need their iron dagger made by a master smith.”
Wes rummaged through the pile, looking over each piece for little details Eve never could’ve gleaned. He returned to the counter with two ten-inch daggers and a basic spearhead.
“You’ve an eye for quality,” the smith admitted as she glanced over the items. “That’ll be thirty-five silver—twenty-two for the daggers, thirteen for the speartip. Forty-five if you want a steel shaft on that spear.”
Eve balked at the steep price tag but nonetheless reached into her pocket to dig out all but three of her remaining silver. “Can you cover the spear and shaft?” she asked of Wes. “Alex will pay you back.”
He grumbled as he counted out the requisite coin but deposited them on the counter all the same.
“Good,” the woman huffed. “Come back tomorrow and I’ll have your weapons.”
Eve thanked the Arcane Smith for her quick work and sound advice before leading the way back out onto the green-tinted cobblestones. She instinctively wrinkled her nose at the city’s oppressive stench for the few seconds before she grew re-accustomed to it.
Wes squinted as the crystalline walls refracted sunlight directly into his eyes. “So where to next?”
“I need clothes,” she replied, “but between the speeding ticket and those daggers my cut from the dungeon job is down to three silver. Maybe I could find someone with some hand-me-downs or old rags they’d be willing to sell. Anything would be better than what I’ve got.” She tugged at the torn and stained blouse she’d worn since leaving Nowherested.
“Yeah,” Wes said, extending a hand to gesture at a ragged boy picking pockets in the street. “I think that street urchin is better-dressed than you.”
“Well, we can’t all leave home decked out in ancient heirlooms from half the town.”
Wes pointed where his left shoulder pad was coming apart at the seam. “To be fair, most of this shit is barely fit for a vagabond.”
“At least you can afford to replace it. Hells, for a hundred silver you could get some enchanted armor. I can’t even buy clothes.”
“Well… technically you can.” Wes stopped short below a sign reading Thander’s Threads. He reached into his pocket. “The bakery isn’t the only stop I made this morning. It turns out one minor dungeon core and two Burendian Mana cores sell for a grand total of sixty-five silver. I spent one on strawberry scones, so your cut comes out to—”
“Sixteen silver,” Eve finished for him, her face already splitting into a wide grin. She leapt at him, wrapping the oversized mage in a tight hug. “Thank you, Wes.”
He stiffened under the embrace. “It’s—um—really, I didn’t do anything. Hells, we wouldn’t have any money if you hadn’t talked us into going to the ruins.” He pulled away, handing over her share of the silver. “Now go buy whatever you need.”
Eve placed a hand on the doorknob to the clothier’s before turning back. “Why didn’t you lead with this?”
“I was going to,” he said, “but you skipped straight to the scones. Besides, I wasn’t going to miss an opportunity to make fun of you for looking like a street urchin.”
She laughed, “Just like I wasn’t going to miss a chance to say you look like you’re wearing the guild’s trash heap.”
Wes smiled. “On that note, I’ve got some shopping of my own to do. I’ll see you back at the guild hall. We just cleared our first dungeon, after all—first round’s on me.”
Eve watched him turn and stride down the emerald street, waiting for him to disappear around a bend before stepping into the shop herself.
The look of disgust the man behind the counter gave her was all the salesmanship he needed.
Eve’s nineteen silver bought her four
simple but well-made blouses, several sets of undergarments, a new belt, and two pairs of sturdy ‘adventuring pants’ as the flamboyant tailor had called them. Thander, as she assumed he was named, even insisted she purchase an above-the-knee cotton skirt for nights on the town, citing that there was more to life than gritty dungeons and deadly combat.
Or, rather, his exact words were more along the line of, “Girl, those hips need all the help they can get. What you have is legs—use them! You gotta have some fun before you’re an old fart like me.”
In her state of combined embarrassment and shock at the tailor’s outrageous comments, Eve neglected to mention that with his dyed hair and pierced ears, he didn’t look a day over thirty.
Unfortunately, her limited funds didn’t stretch quite far enough to cover a replacement for her rapidly degrading boots, but they at least would last for another job or two. Thander, of course, made a point of recommending “the greatest cobbler of all time” and assuring she would visit as soon as she returned from whatever deadly mission came next.
In the end, she left Thander’s Threads in a fresh blouse and her new skirt, the clothier stepping away to burn her old clothes the moment she left the changing room. Arms laden with her purchases and pockets once again weighed down with only two copper pieces and an ivory knight, Eve weaved through the crowded Emerald Street.
She made it less than two blocks before a familiar voice drove her to halt.
“Fifty silver for a fucking spear? What kind of scam are you running?”
Eve paused, cursing to herself as she realized her mistake. Of course Alex would go shopping on her own. With a sigh, she stepped into Armelia’s Weapon Emporium. Sure enough, she found the Survivor yelling at the clerk.
“Alex…”
“Hold on, Eve,” the warrior snapped. “I’m negotiating.”
She cocked an eyebrow. “Negotiating? It looks like you’re waving a spear at the poor man.”
This Quest is Broken! (This Trilogy is Broken (A Comedy Litrpg Adventure) Book 1) Page 19