Chapitre 80: Micah - 9.0
As I turned a corner, my eyes fell upon a figure collapsed in the street, his form slumped and motionless.
It was Lucius.
I hurried over, my heart pounding with concern. His eyes were half-open, gazing up at the sky with a starry-eyed expression, but his exhaustion was evident. I knelt beside him, gently shaking his shoulder.
"Lucius," I called softly, "are you alright?"
He blinked slowly, recognition dawning in his eyes. "Micah?" he murmured, his voice weak and raspy.
I pulled him up, supporting his weight as he struggled to stand.
"You look like you haven't slept in a fortnight," I said, concern coloring my tone. "You really outdid yourself. The craftsmanship is incredible."
Lucius's eyes flickered with a mix of pride and weariness.
"Th-thank you," he stammered, his usual nervousness amplified by his exhaustion. "I-I-I j-just... I-I-I had to get it r-r-r-right."
Before I could respond, Master Beswick and Uncle Ulysses approached, their expressions softening as they took in the sight of Lucius. They quickly walked up trying to embrace the boy of the day.
"Ah, Lucius!" Master Beswick exclaimed, his voice warm with approval. "Your work is truly remarkable. You've given my city a new life."
Uncle Ulysses nodded in agreement, his usual stern demeanor replaced by a rare smile. "Indeed. You have a gift, lad. Quite the inexpensive way to build a whole city. Could this be used on a smaller scale? Say one building?"
Lucius's eyes widened, overwhelmed by the unexpected praise. His breathing quickened, and he glanced around as if seeking an escape.
"Lucius, you did a fantastic job," I added, trying to reassure him. "You deserve some reward."
But the compliments, instead of soothing him, seemed to push him over the edge. He shook his head frantically, his eyes darting around as if the world was closing in on him.
"I-I can't..." he muttered, pulling away from the group.
Without another word, Lucius turned and bolted down the street, his movements unsteady but driven by a desperate need of some sort.
"Lucius, wait!" I shouted, but he was already disappearing around a corner, lost in the labyrinth of Aetherhaven's streets.
"He said he cannot tolerate working with others... I guess it's a little more severe than he led on." I said concerned.
As I made my way back to the old barracks, I couldn't shake the concern I felt for Lucius. His reaction earlier weighed heavily on my mind, and I hoped to find him there, maybe to offer some more words of encouragement and gratitude.
Pushing open the creaky door of the workshop, I immediately noticed its emptiness. Lucius was nowhere to be seen. Instead, a small piece of parchment lay on the workbench, held down by a simple stone paperweight. I walked over and picked it up, reading the neatly written note:
Payment can be sent to the Hadriana family.
A sense of deflation washed over me. I had hoped to speak with him, to thank him properly for all he had done. The city he helped create was nothing short of a marvel, and I wanted him to know how much it meant to us all. But, it seemed he had already moved on.
With a sigh, I set the note back down and forced myself to refocus. There was still much to be done, and dwelling on Lucius's departure wouldn't help anyone. I delved back into my work, spreading out the blueprints and plans across the workbench, trying to lose myself in the familiar comfort of design and creation.
As the hours ticked by, a thought surfaced, pulling me from my work. The basement. I tried to continue my work, but now the curiosity gnawed at me. I had to see if it had survived, or if it had been filled in with the magic.
I grabbed a lantern and made my way outside, tracing my steps back to where the entrance to the basement should have been. It took some time, but I finally found the spot. A small, inconspicuous metal door, blending seamlessly into the stonework of a building just like the rest. I pushed it open.
The sight that greeted me took my breath away. It was a beautifully furnished living space with two floors. The upper floor housed a cozy living area with comfortable furniture, shelves lined with ample space for books, and even a small wood oven. It felt warm and inviting.
The basement had been transformed into a lavish workshop. There were anvils, forges, tables, whetstones, a plethora of tools for every syndicated trade, and a generous amount of empty space for my own possessions. The walls were lined with shelves holding every conceivable mundane material and natural reagent, with room to spare.
I walked through the basement, running my hands over the tools and materials, marveling at the sheer completeness of it all. It was perfect, more than I could have ever hoped for.
I took a deep breath and rolled up my sleeves. It was time to make this workshop truly my own. I carefully unclasped my storage bracelet, feeling the familiar weight of its contents shift slightly. One by one, I began to withdraw my tools and equipment, each piece holding its own memories and stories.
First came my trusty hammer, worn smooth by countless hours of work. I set it down on the anvil, the metallic clang echoing softly in the spacious basement. Next, I retrieved my collection of specialized chisels and tongs, arranging them neatly on a nearby workbench.
From the depths of the bracelet, I reached in again and retrieved a set of vials filled with various reagents—powdered brimstone, crushed vexcrystal, and the precious mana crystals. Each barrel found its place in the room and each vial its place on the shelves, sorted meticulously by my logic.
Next, I unpacked my blueprints and schematics, carefully rolling them out on the large drafting table. The familiar sight of my detailed drawings brought a smile to my face. They were the foundation of everything I had built and everything I aspired to create.
The furnace in the corner of the room beckoned to me, and I approached it with a sense of reverence. I retrieved the purification balloon and the other components I had used to modify it. With practiced ease, I set up the furnace, ensuring that it was ready for the tasks ahead.
Finally, I pulled out a small, intricately carved wooden box. Inside were my personal trinkets—a piece of flint from my first forge, a small shard of metal from the first blade I ever made, and a tiny vial of the very first mana crystal I had successfully harnessed. I placed the box on a shelf near my workstation, a reminder of how far I had come.
I filled the shelves with my book collection. One corner housed my mannequin for my armor.
With everything in place, I took a step back and surveyed the room. The basement now felt complete, a perfect blend of the new and the familiar. The tools and equipment from my storage bracelet seamlessly integrated with the state-of-the-art workshop that had been crafted in the reconstruction.
I ran my hand over the cool stone of the workbench, feeling the smooth surface beneath my fingertips. This was my space, a sanctuary where I could bring my ideas to life and push the boundaries of what was possible.
État de l’alimentation hebdomadaire
-- Classement
Power Stone 
-- Power
stone