Chapter 40 40: searching for arcane artifacts

------------------------- If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know. Leave a comment; support is always appreciated. I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see. ------------------------------- Pflugzeit 14-17th ,2488 IC When I finally felt I had enough control over these side effects, I decided to return to public life. At the very least, I could now choose when to use my abilities and when not to, which was enough... for now. I didn't like leaving everything without personal supervision, and I couldn't keep being absent without raising suspicions. So, once I felt safe, I began showing up again in the mornings. I tried to stay calm, to keep my emotions in check. I just had to avoid catching the eye of any Sigmarite priest or witch hunter who might be lurking around. In the meantime, I needed to find a way to conceal my magical presence. Some position. An amulet. Something that would draw attention away from me. The problem was obvious: those objects were not only extremely expensive, but also strictly controlled by the State to prevent "people like me" —that is, anyone wanting to hide a magical gift— from getting their hands on one. That left only one realistic option: the black market. But the first obstacle was finding it. I had no contacts in that underworld, not even a clue whom to ask. And the risk was even worse: some fool might offer me a cursed or corrupted object instead of what I was actually looking for. The more viable option was Marienburg. There, imperial regulations don't apply. Nothing does. Anything can enter or leave those ports... even what I need. But if I go, I must do it personally. I can't delegate. I can't let anyone know what I'm looking for. Because looking for something that hides magic... is like screaming that I'm a mage. So, whether I like it or not... I'll have to travel to Marienburg. It's that or lose everything. While I was isolated from the world, two letters reached me. The first came from the higher imperial courts. It informed me of the exact date when justice would be served: in three months. It also included a list of the judges who would handle the case, with a gentle suggestion of whom I should convince with generous gifts to help them conveniently understand that my claim was valid. Most important: there was a direct order to the Margrave prohibiting him from using State regiments to continue the conflict. In other words, he could no longer disguise his grudge as an official matter. It was now a private conflict between nobles... until the court delivered its verdict. The second letter was from the Margrave himself. Apparently, he had fallen for my lie. He truly believed his men had been ambushed and even sent troops to investigate. But when he received the letter from the court, he realized I'd made him waste his time. He must have been furious. Just reading the letter, I could feel the rage he must've felt realizing I had played him for a fool... and bought time while he exhausted himself chasing ghosts. He gave me one week to return to Helmgart and continue "my training." Obviously, I was going to ignore that order. I wasn't going anywhere. If he wanted to push it, he'd have to come himself. He would probably send scouts, and when he saw I had far more forces than he expected, he'd be forced to bring his personal troops just to have a proper chance of attacking me. But that's where the real danger lies. No matter how many soldiers I have... he has the upper hand in armament. And that, on the battlefield, can change everything. Fortunately, the training continued smoothly, simply by following the orders I had sent by letter. Nothing out of the ordinary. Everything proceeded as usual, though the man-at-arms I had left in charge probably didn't push them as hard as I would've—until they were utterly and absolutely broken. As for the rest, I gave all my pigs to some farmers who had arrived from Stirland, just as I had with the families handling the horses. A thousand pigs under their care, and full freedom to request whatever they needed to ramp up soap production on a large scale. And well... after two weeks buried in constant work —because that's what keeps me calm— I managed to produce large quantities of pigment. The week before my departure, I gave Rutger about ten kilograms, which brought in a huge profit: more than twenty thousand crowns. And according to him, buyers kept multiplying. I still had several more kilos left, so I gave another five to Rutger... and decided to take five with me. With that settled, I made the decision to leave for Marienburg as soon as possible. I needed something to help me camouflage my magical problem, even if it meant ignoring the audience with my family. If they waited two months to show up, they can wait a few more days. I took a group of forty guards and twenty men-at-arms. We loaded a carriage with plenty of gold and the remaining pigments, just in case I ran short of money in the city. The journey on horseback would be long and dangerous —bandits, goblins, orcs— so I preferred to play it safe and paid for passage by ship to save time and avoid trouble. We arrived in the afternoon at Schilderheim, the nearest trade city to my domain. We went directly to the docks, ignoring anything else the commerce-rich city had to offer. I left a few guards to tend the horses, and the rest of us boarded the first ship heading to Marienburg. The trip was supposed to take two days, maybe less. Once aboard, I focused on not vomiting. First experience on a ship... and it was not pleasant. In addition to keeping my stomach under control, I had to suppress my emotions to avoid losing control of the Winds surrounding me. Sleeping was going to be difficult. My men were in the same state, only worse. Many lost the fight and emptied their guts directly into the river. We passed several riverside towns soon after: Uder, Merxheim, Schinfeld, and Zandt, just as the sun began to set. The night dragged on. Trying to sleep while the river rocks you every few seconds is no comfort, but I eventually managed to fall asleep... though I woke up several times, convinced I'd fall off the bed at any moment. I finally got up when sunlight slipped through the shutters. I sat up, looked out the window... and there it was. Marienburg. A monstrous city stretched out before me. The river was already turning into sea. And there it stood: endless rooftops, towers, smoke, sails, cranes, warehouses, barges... trade as far as the eye could see. For a moment, I lost focus. The metallic smells around me overwhelmed my senses. It was as if every metal in the world were right there, crashing into my awareness all at once. I forced myself to calm down, took a deep breath, and waited patiently until the ship docked at Suiddock. Several dockworkers boarded our vessel and began questioning me. "What are you bringing with you?" asked a customs worker. "Imperial legal currency, and blue pigment," I said, trying to hide my face as much as I could under my clothes. "Ah... so you're planning to buy. How much pigment?" the customs worker asked. "Exactly five kilograms," I said, showing him the jar I had brought with me. "Bah, that's not much... that'll be two crowns in your case to unload your goods," the worker said, extending his hand. I reached into my pouch and gave him the coins. In return, he handed me a stamped paper confirming I had paid the necessary duties to sell in Marienburg. As we unloaded our cargo, I couldn't help but notice the stares aimed at me. I had removed any heraldry or symbols from both my men and myself. Ideally, as little as possible should be known about this trip. With the gold and pigments unloaded, we began moving out of the port. I noticed several hand signals between locals and guards. Clearly, something was being exchanged in their palms. "...Bribes. Common practice... or are they planning something?" I murmured, watching men in black hats being slipped little pouches. Once everything was unloaded, the cart secured, and the horses under control, we began to move forward. I tested my conversational and bartering skills as we went, trying to get the attention of anyone we came across. But all I got were warnings not to mess with the kind of people I was asking about—or that such people could kill me... or attract the attention of others far worse. The number of eyes on us grew with every block. So I decided not to push my luck further and headed toward a more discreet area to ask questions and do business without unnecessary witnesses. We were just about to leave Suiddock when a group of three men blocked our way, brandishing long daggers. They didn't say a word. Just stood there, intent clear. I slipped my hand into my coat and showed them my flintlock pistol. My guards, without needing orders, did the same—hands moved to the swords hidden beneath their cloaks. The would-be thieves fled the way they came. It was still early, and I quickly made my way to a safer district like Guilderveld. The trade here looked far more promising, and once again I began inquiring about local prices, presenting myself as a new merchant looking to learn. I gradually steered the conversation toward what truly interested me: who could help me acquire arcane items. Several times, I was pointed toward a magical emporium. Apparently, there was a mage in the area who enchanted objects. But when I reached his workshop, he simply told me he didn't work without an appointment—and the earliest one available was in three weeks. That left me stuck. I kept going like that until midday, going from shop to shop, getting turned away over and over. In one store, there were magical objects, but when I tried to approach one of them, I felt a violent sense of repulsion—as if they smelled rotten. If there was a rogue mage in this city, he worked only by commission. But something else troubled me: every mage I met looked at me with visible surprise. For now, I was managing well. I kept myself under control. But whenever I lost it, the sensations were so intense they forced me to stop, rest a bit, breathe. I kept searching. I asked alchemists, mages, apothecaries... I covered most of the district without finding anyone who could help me right away. The fatigue was starting to show. It was getting harder to stay focused. I had already explored nearly the entire district. I was about to try my luck in the temple district, as many had recommended, when it happened. I lost control of my abilities more than ever. A brutal migraine pierced my skull. I was completely overwhelmed by metallic smells—weapons, armor, coins, tools... it all hit me. Every smell was like a blade stabbing my senses, and it felt like my head was going to explode. "Hey, you, back off!" shouted one of my guards just as I felt a finger press against my forehead. "Someone with your affinity shouldn't be here... or terrible things might happen," murmured an old man while keeping his finger against my brow. I focused immediately... like that time in my lab when I nearly collapsed. But this time, I noticed something more—something was flowing from the old man's finger into me. "Tha... thank you..." I muttered, slowly regaining control. "By any chance... do you have arcane training?" "Of course not," he replied in a raspy voice. "I'm just a goldsmith... But tell me, what's in that box?" he asked, pointing to the box of pigments. I signaled one of my guards, who took out a jar and showed it to him. "Fascinating," the old man whispered, reaching out with his one working hand. "Give it to him," I ordered, and the guard obeyed. The old man took the jar with one hand. He observed it closely, as if analyzing a jewel. "Where did you get this?" he asked, genuinely intrigued. "Do you have somewhere we can speak in private?" I asked, locking eyes with him. "Of course... follow me," said the old man, beginning to limp toward an alleyway. I noticed his other arm hung stiffly, like it was dead. We reached a building incredibly well hidden among Guilderveld's alleys. I ordered my guards to watch the entrance. This conversation wasn't meant for outsiders. The old man hobbled toward a table covered in rings and strange jars. He placed the jar of pigment on the stone surface without a word. "Are you a mage?" I asked bluntly. "I was. Magister of the Golden College in Altdorf... until I stopped being one," the old man answered as he opened the jar. "Now it's my turn: where did you get this? This pigment resonates with the Wind of Chamon... the wind coils around it... just like it does around you." "I made it," I answered directly. "And now it's my turn again. I suppose, being a former Imperial Magister... you must have some amulet or method to control this... the wind around me." "I do," the old man said, revealing a pendant hidden beneath his clothes. "But I'm wearing it." He fell silent for a moment, then raised an eyebrow and looked at me. "I want to challenge one of your claims. Self-taught, you said? Who taught you?" he asked skeptically. "I did," I replied firmly. The old man gave a soft nasal laugh—more astonishment than mockery. "Would you teach me?" he asked, his eyes full of genuine interest. "If you give me an amulet that helps hide my affinity for the Wind of Chamon from other mages... and especially from Sigmarite priests, I'll teach you everything I know right now," I answered, not breaking eye contact. "What you're asking is unwise... that kind of amulet only hides partially. It's a crutch, not a solution," the old man said, shaking his head. "Young man... you need to learn to control your affinity. It's a wonder you haven't attracted a daemon yet. The wind practically spins around you like a living cloak." "I don't have that luxury," I replied, gritting my teeth. "If I go to the College of Magic in Altdorf, they'll make me surrender control of my lands. They won't let me go. Or have you forgotten the terms of your own exile?" The old man went silent for a few seconds. Then, with a sigh, he nodded. "Yes. I remember. They controlled me too much. Watched me constantly. Now that I'm old, I understand why. My experiments were madness—I tried to combine different winds..." he said, lifting his dead arm and letting it fall with a dull thud onto the table... revealing that his skin was bronze-colored. "And can you be my teacher?" I asked. ------------------------- If there are spelling mistakes, please let me know. Leave a comment; support is always appreciated. I remind you to leave your ideas or what you would like to see. -------------------------------