The Broker watched the young man exit the alley from his hidden observation point. The spy hole was virtually undetectable from the street, and was typically used by the door guards when observing visitors. Once the youth had passed from view, he made his way back to his office. There was much he needed think about, and a report he needed to make.
The Broker placed the scroll on his desk, taking a mont to revel in the elegance with which the disparate elents blended to form a composite whole, before removing the silver goblet from its hidden compartnt.
Taking a stoppered vial from another, similar compartnt, he poured its crimson contents in the vessel. Channeling a few fetid wisps of mana, all he could manage in his current state, he began to whisper. "Mistress, your servant calls."
After a few monts, a mature feminine voice erged from the goblet, distorted as if the speaker was underwater. "What do you have to report?"
"He has sought us out in his quest for knowledge and power, just as you have anticipated."
"Good," the voice purred. "Tell , what do you make of him?"
The Broker's gaze briefly slid over to the scroll before he answered. "A young man of power and potential. One capable of creating miracles. He will be a force to be reckoned with, as soon as he learns to wield the authority his abilities gives him."
"Excellent. Make every effort to accommodate him, but don't tip your hand. He needs to depend on us if we want to succeed. We cannot risk him becoming to wary of us."
"As you wish, Mistress." The Broker spoke again.
"What did your appraisal tell you?"
The Broker rembered the initial look he'd taken before ever entering the negotiating room, as was his habit prior to engaging in business. With the exception of his unusual class the youth's status had been disturbingly unremarkable. Especially so, considering what the Broker knew about the one known as Michael Rasmussen.
"He bears a class called Skill Master, which is unknown to . More troubling, however, is that he's found a way to hide his titles, and not rely with a high rank Appraisal Resistance, but in a manner that lets him display his current title as None."
There was a pause, "Interesting. It seems the Hero has been blessed by more than just the gods. Keep inford on this subject." The voice issued once more, as the crimson fluid in the goblet evaporated, leaving it spotless once more.
With practiced ease, the Broker replaced the items in the secret compartnts, before once again returning his gaze to the scroll. He'd watched the young man make it, barely daring to believe his eyes.
The spell itself was impressive, but there have been a number of mages throughout history who could accomplish such a thing. Refining a base material through the application of mana, however, bordered on the realm of the divine. The Broker had understood imdiately upon looking at the finished product. That youth had, to an admittedly minor degree, manipulated reality itself using only pure mana and willpower.
He felt the stirrings of an old excitent, long lost in the tedium of his service to his immortal patrons. Perhaps, this Mike was the key to everything he'd been hoping to achieve.
------------------
A shiver crawled down Mike's back, leaving him montarily wary of his surroundings. Scanning the nearby crowd, he didn't see anything to explain the sensation, and chalked it up to his imagination.
He'd decided that, after missing a few classes, why not take the whole day off and use the ti to accomplish so of his other goals. At the mont he was sitting in the market district, going over the Smithing guide. After reading about the optimal temperature variance used in the slting and forging of different tals, Mike realized he'd underestimated the complexity of the skill.
Much like with the other crafting skills he'd accumulated up to this point, acquiring the skill itself was only the first step. Understanding the craft enough to use it seed to be another thing entirely. Deciding that so more practical experience was probably necessary, Mike headed over to The Cracked Anvil for round two of Smithing practice.
After paying Gearhart two gold for two hours, and enjoying the crestfallen look on his face as he did so, Mike got right into it.
"Put so muscle into it. You got to hit it like your life depends on it." Brigitte was yelling from a corner of the crowded smithy, where she was repeatedly dunking a lump of coal in so viscous liquid, inspecting it, and then repeating the process.
He'd quickly learned that his smithing guide contained only a small fraction of the information necessary for a master smith to pursue their craft, and that a lot of that extra knowledge could only be acquired by experience. Although, that assumption might have just been a product of the kind of learning environnt he was currently in.
"You'll need to heat it again when the tal starts going 'clunk' and not 'clank.' Make sure it's good an' hot before hitting it again." Brigitte continued to offer advice in her usual cheerful tone.
Sighing, Mike tried to interpret the sounds the steel was making, while he attempted to bludgeon the lump into the shape of a horseshoe. It was still glowing with heat, but it'd lost the brightness it had when he first pulled it out of the forge.
[Maybe it needs to be reheated again? I think the book ntioned that you have to carefully analyze the relative heat of the tal, and perform the majority of your work while it is at an optimal temperature.]
Thrusting the vaguely curved blob of tal back into the forge, he stepped on the bellows a few tis to increase the heat. Almost imdiate, Brigitte walked over and started explaining how to do it properly, in her usual confusing manner. It took him a few minutes to understand what she was getting at, but he adjusted his rhythm accordingly.
After a few hours he left the smithy feeling worn out. While his skills had definitely improved to the point that he was able to make sothing resembling a horseshoe by the end of it, he nevertheless had a long ways to go.
He caught a carriage back to the University, using the ti to scan through the rest of his newly acquired books. Coupled with the ones from the library, he had a lot to work on. With the tasks ahead of him, and the amount he would need to do in the next few days, he decided to work an all-nighter, sothing he'd been a little hesitant to do prior to this.
While his regeneration eliminated the physical effects of fatigue, the ntal stress remained, and as a result, he had co to see sleep as vital to maintaining his sanity. This was sothing he'd never really put to the test, so if rest truly proved unnecessary, then it would open up a large amount of ti to pursue his various interests. However, he'd unconsciously shied away from taking this step so far.
With all his various skills and abilities, he'd long ago entered the realm of the superhuman. Sothing that he enjoyed a great deal, but recently he was beginning to feel the separation it caused, especially in the case of his companions. Every ti he gained power or accomplished sothing seemingly impossible, he felt the gap grow a little larger.
If he didn't need to sleep anymore, how much longer before he passed so invisible threshold and ceased to be human altogether? Would he even notice? Would he even care?
These thoughts were still rumbling around in his head when the carriage pulled up to the front gate. The walk back to the dorms gave him ti to think it over, or at least it should have.
"Excuse . Can I have a mont of your ti?" A breathless female voice called out to him while he was crossing central campus.
Princess Andrea was standing there, panting, as if she'd just run a great distance. Mike could see a retinue of bodyguards moving swiftly to catch up. A golden-armored female knight was in the lead, and was already glaring at him intensely.
He briefly resisted the urge to flee, not wanting to deal with any of this right now, especially after everything that had happened with the elves. However, he figured that expressly insulting the Princess by running away would cause more trouble than it was worth, so finally he replied. "What do you need, Your Highness?"
She took a mont to fully catch her breath, and waved off her guards, who reluctantly ford a periter around the two of them. Leona took so convincing, but eventually the two of them were left more or less on their own.
"I needed to speak with you, but first, please let apologize for the troubles you experienced while you were the guest of my uncle. I hope that you do not hold him accountable for my ineptitude in handling the situation." She replied quietly, while her gaze searched his face for sothing.
Sighing, Mike shook his head. "I understand that you were in a trying situation, and were forced to play along with the elven envoy's demands against your will, so I will not hold it against you nor your uncle. While I might wish that you had taken a different path, you were acting in the interest of the nation, and I cannot bla you for that."
She bowed slightly, "Thank you." Straightening, she gave him another hard look, but remained silent.
"Was there sothing else?"
"Yes, although I'm having a hard ti phrasing my question in a manner that won't sound crazy. Do you, by any chance, have a habit of running around in a mask?" Andrea asked while scratching at her cheek, a slight flush of embarrassnt plain against her pale skin.
[Ah, so it looks like my secret is finally starting to be revealed. Now, how should I play this?]
Deciding to tease her a little, Mike responded politely, "That's a deeply philosophical question, Your Majesty. Don't we all wear masks? Forced to hide our true thoughts and feelings deep inside as we go about our daily lives. Unable to reveal ourselves, save to a precious few who may accepts us for who and what we are." He spoke dramatically while nodding, as if her words had given him an epiphany. "Indeed, an astute observation on the human condition, Your Majesty."
Andrea blinked at him, obviously confused and a little flustered. "What? No, I anuhwere you the one thatyou knowrescued that one ti?"
"You'll have to be more specific. I have rescued many people at many tis." He answered with a straight face.
Her expression was calm, but a bulging vein in her forehead revealed her burgeoning anger. "Let put it this way. Are you the Dragonknight that saved during the Tennundian attack?"
Supposing that he'd had enough fun for one night, he gave her a serious look. "I never claid to be a Dragonknight."
Her breath hitched, "You're so young, but when I saw you at the party, I thoughtand then the way you foughtgods, I've caused you nothing but trouble."
Mike laughed at that. "Trouble has a way of finding on its own. Don't let it bother you."
"That doesn't change the fact that you saved . I need to do sothing to thank you." There was an insistent tone to her voice.
Rembering his advisor's off-color joke about joining the royal family, Mike cut her off. "I've already been rewarded by the Pri Minister for my actions. There is no need for you to do so as well."
"Still, it would be the height of ingratitude to do nothing for one who spared from a fate worse than death." Andrea spoke while taking a step forward.
Thinking quickly, Mike answered while backing up. "Why don't we say that you owe one?"
She frowned, "What do you an?"
"Well, I don't really need anything right now, but I might in the future, so why don't we put off all of this talk of rewards until then? It'll just an owing a favor. Does that work for you?"
"A favor?" Andrea repeated, as if mulling over the answer. "Very well, I shall, as you say, owe you one."
"Great, now if you'll excuse , I have so things to take care of." Mike began channeling mana into his Air Magic, suspecting that a quick exit was going to be necessary soon.
"Wait! There is so much I want to ask you!"
"Another ti, perhaps. See you, Princess." Mike gave a quick wave while launching himself into the evening sky.
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