บท 45: Bloody Sight!
The 'Sleeping Spell' required 47 nodes to master, an unusually high number for a zero-level spell. Its complexity hinted at its potency.
This realization didn't discourage Leonard. Instead, it motivated him as he pulled out the 'Lesser Fireball' spellbook and memorized all 27 nodes; a far simpler framework in comparison. Sitting cross-legged on his bed, he began meditating, constructing the nodes in his mind. This time, the process felt smoother, faster, thanks to his prior experience.
As Leonard worked, he noticed something intriguing: the speed at which nodes were constructed seemed directly tied to his mental power. The stronger his focus and will, the quicker the process unfolded. By the time evening rolled around, Leonard had completed four nodes, a marked improvement from his earlier struggles.
'At this rate, if I push myself a little at night, I could finish constructing the entire spell framework in three or four days,' he thought with satisfaction.
When he heard voices from downstairs, Leonard paused his meditation and joined his family for dinner. The table was filled with laughter and lively conversation. His parents, buzzing with excitement, shared their plans for a new venture; a low-cost tailor shop aimed at serving the common folk of Bangor Port.
"We've been looking into the market," his mother said. "Most tailor shops here cater to the wealthy, leaving regular folks without affordable options."
His father nodded. "We'll offer good clothes at low prices. People need practical, affordable options, especially in a city like this."
Leonard found their idea refreshingly forward-thinking. Bangor Port wasn't like other places in the Kingdom. Even the poor here had better incomes compared to inland towns, though the high cost of living often left them struggling. A reasonably priced tailor shop could meet their needs and thrive on repeat customers. His parents' optimism was contagious, and Leonard couldn't help but feel hopeful for their future.
After dinner, Leonard excused himself, saying he was going for a walk, and made his way next door to David's house. Once inside, he recounted the events of the day, including his meeting with Beauvoir. David listened in silence, his expression a mix of worry and hesitation.
"She said she doesn't care about your current appearance," Leonard pressed. "A relationship needs closure, David. Are you ready to give her that?"
David hesitated, his gaze dropping to the floor. He clenched his fists, his uncertainty plain.
"Don't let this end in regret," Leonard urged. "You'll live far longer than most. Do you really want to carry this decision on your conscience for the rest of your life?"
David's jaw tightened. After a moment of silence, he nodded, determination flickering in his eyes.
Leonard didn't need to know how David planned to approach Beauvoir or what he would say. He trusted David to handle it in his own way.
Returning to his room, Leonard resumed his meditation. When his mental energy was exhausted from node construction, he turned to his books for a brief reprieve before diving back into his practice. This rhythm of study, growth, and progress filled him with a deep sense of purpose.
The winter in Bangor Port was nearing its end when shocking news swept through the city. The influential Borrent family, who had recently requisitioned a fleet of ships for a grand venture, had suffered a catastrophic loss. A violent, unprecedented storm had struck at sea, sinking nearly every ship in their fleet. Only a handful of sailors, clinging to small boats and aided by sheer luck, managed to survive.
For a time, grief hung heavily over Bangor Port. The city, reliant on its thriving fishing industry, was shaken to its core. Many families had lost their breadwinners, sailors who had perished when the storm claimed the fleet. For these families, the sky itself seemed to have collapsed.
The tragedy didn't stop there. Whispers circulated that Viscount Bolt, the head of one of Bangor's most influential families, had also died in a recent accident. With the younger head gone, the aging patriarch, long retired; had resumed leadership. He had personally led the ill-fated voyage, taking with him many strong, capable men from the Bolt family. None returned.
The Bolt family, once a cornerstone of Bangor Port's stability, was now in disarray. As the remaining family members vied for the title of Viscount, infighting erupted. Their turmoil spilled into the city, throwing public security into chaos. Prices for essential goods, such as linen, wool, and leather, began to rise, impacting even those on the fringes of the crisis.
At Leonard's home, the chaos felt distant, though occasional mentions from Anika at the dinner table reminded him of its ripple effects. Fortunately, as the Bolt family settled on a new patriarch, order returned to the port. Prices stabilized, and Bangor once again became the steady hub of trade that the kingdom's nobles relied on for wealth.
---
Down by the harbor, life for the city's fishermen remained largely unchanged. While Bangor's development had brought riches to some, the grassroots fishers still toiled day after day, hauling in their catch to sell at market.
Among them was Bayer, a reclusive old bachelor known for his love of drink and his surly demeanor. To his neighbors, Bayer was a familiar sight: a lonely man with little ambition, more likely to be seen nursing a bottle than doing anything productive.
On this particular day, Bayer, bundled in his felt hat and ear flaps, struggled with his fishing net. Something heavy weighed it down, and whatever it was, it didn't move.
"Damn it, did I catch a dead body?" Bayer muttered, heaving the net onto the boat.
What he found wasn't a body but a bronze statue, half as tall as a man, tangled in the net. Its intricate design caught the light, gleaming with an otherworldly allure. Bayer's irritation faded into awe. He untangled the statue with trembling hands, holding it close as if it were the greatest treasure he'd ever seen.
"This is it," he whispered to himself. "A real treasure. I need to hide it before anyone else sees it."
Abandoning his fishing, Bayer steered the boat back to shore. For the next few days, he disappeared from sight. The man who couldn't go two days without buying alcohol suddenly stopped leaving his house. His absence didn't go unnoticed.
Concerned, his neighbors knocked on his door, worried the old drunkard might have taken ill or worse. As they approached, a foul, metallic stench hit their noses. Blood.
Alarmed, they gathered more people and forced the door open. What they found inside was beyond anything they could have imagined.
The room was in shambles. The floor had been cleared and smeared with blood, forming what appeared to be an eerie sacrificial pattern. In the center of the grotesque design lay a woman, her body twisted in terror. A gaping wound ran from her throat to her belly, her chest cavity hollow, her organs gone.
The scene was nightmarish.
One of the neighbors gagged, clutching their stomach as they vomited violently. The others could only stand frozen, horror etched across their faces. The once-quiet Bayer had vanished into something far darker, leaving behind a gruesome mystery that would haunt the harbor for years to come.
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