Chapter 180: Just a Case of Bad Food

Aside from its name: the Kurashinpi, and the way it absorbs mana, Ned doesn't have any idea how the mask works. He couldn't use the Inspect skill. Since, as ICE has figured, Kurashinpi's Grade was way above the level of Inspect, and way above the level of his cloak. And the materials used were unknown, at the moment.

It has been two days after Ned fought Thirteen, a member of Ghostblood, and precisely two days that he has not seen Sasani, or Twali, or the people below Forgotten Pint. Ned was only served food in his room, all but the same roasted meat.

It has also been two days that he did his daily routine. Which, in return made his body, a mana storage, steadily increasing. Ned prepared for the raid and he won't return empty-handed. So he prepared. The cloak, which he didn't bother to name, could also absorb mana. Not just from his own mana, but also from the stone. Magical items absorb mana for a lot of reasons. Just like blades that needed sharpening, magical items were useful with enough mana infused. Without mana, they were nothing but a mere tool that easily broke. Once broken, a good crafter, or blacksmith, was needed to repair the item.

Magical items needed mana to use skills. Without it they were useless. Ned assumed that a magical item's mana absorption depends on its Grade. His cloak, which was Grade C, consumed a tiny amount of mana. Tiny that Ned couldn't even feel the absorption. In that case, the rate at how Kurashinpi absorbs mana, which was ridiculous, indicates that it must be between Grade B or A.

Without additional knowledge, from books, Ned couldn't just assume how the mask was made. Books were one of the sources to gather information in this world. Claims like Storing Spheres (which stores mana), parchments with scribbles, even books could be fabricated. Once fabricated, the information could be misleading. That's why Ned couldn't just gather information from any sources, it could be authenticated or falsified. And at his current situation, the only way to have authentic information was from the libraries. Not just any other libraries. It must be well organized, and well maintained, and well trusted, and well guarded. Like the Sudden Plate's Dex Arcanum.

Arcanum was both for public and privy use. Arcanum was like a library, but more sophisticated. For public use, one need only to pay a proper amount to enter the establishment (first level, lower level, or public level). And if one decided to gather knowledge that the public couldn't offer, then, one must be with a title lower as Silver for Hunters, and Barons for Nobles. If one was closely related to the Great Houses, like the Great House of Soak, then they have immediate access to the Arcanum, and the level of knowledge they could access would, still, depend on how much they could offer.

And thanks to Su'aya for bringing him this news or information vice versa, and roasted meat every day per se. This information about Arcanum rose an idea to Ned to form plan B if ever his raid went south. Somewhere inside the Dex Arcanum, or any Arcanum of the Kingdom, they must have stored information about the Marks.

The Mark, Mark of the Knight, or any other Mark there were, were all a mystery to Ned. How did ICE understand them if Ned was not an inhabitant of Earflgard in the first place? The question remained the same: Who created the Marks? And why were they on this planet?

Ned paused the thought, lifted his forearm covering his eyes, and laid stretch over the white linen bed. His figure formed an L shape over the bed. The rain had stopped a day ago. Unnatural rain that lasted almost two days made the Bogblot Region soaked-in with knee-high water.

Ned woke up before dawn as what he has been doing for as long he could remember. He did what his body needed, freshened up, and stretched one more time. His right hand wasn't swelling anymore, yet, it felt heavy after his morning exercise.

He left the room with things prepared. Kurashinpi inside his pocket dimension, same as the cloak. He decided to use the mask and cloak at the same time, he can't afford to be tracked and noticed by the Ghostbloods. But, as Ned remembered, even without the mask, he was being followed by them in the first place. Who in the Sudden Plate would mark him, he as an outlander. Have I offended someone? Ned thought, climbing down the wooden stairs. The stairs made no creek as if it was made recently. The smell of old wood and vanilla whipped the air around him. Of course, it was only Liv the hunter. Ned shook his head.

Clad in black, and black, boots even black. Some straps around his waist, brown and leather straps that connect his black belt.

It was past sunrise when Ned came down the tavern. He nodded at the busy people of Forgotten Pint: Master Claire threw an unobservant nod to Ned, while the twins—Su'aya and Su'ayun—gave a graceful smile, then proceed to accommodate the hungry eaters, while the rest of the team enthusiastically smiled attending the rest of the guests. The back of the house sizzled with oil accompanied by the smoke that made the guests growled in excitement. It was just days ago but Ned remembered how the Lampaca meat melted on his palate.

Quentin Soak was nowhere to be found at his usual table (at the far corner, the right side of the room). While Bilbao—the hunter with a twin blade—and his team has been long gone and nowhere to be found as well. Hunter they were, busy ranking, hoarding golds, or taking raids. Sooner, they would bump with each other eventually, as Forgotten Pint was commissioned as one of the Quests Provider by the Hunter's Guild Association.

As soon as Ned exited the tavern, he was immediately approached by a carriage. This carriage stopped across Ned, metal casing with iron handles and silver roof in a square shape. Like a tiny house, in a tiny town, owned by tiny people. The door was adorned with sleek wood, brown almost orange under the beam of the sun. The door opened from the inside, and Ned was approached with a ginger hair spotted with soft black hair, and honest eyes with a smile: genuine, and free.

"Sasani," Ned whispered and gave back a smile almost immediately. And immediately closed his lips, trying to focus on the task at hand. Do not be swayed, Ned thought. Being unlike him. His mind obeyed and went back thinking of his Master. He nodded instead.

As soon as he stepped over the metal stairs, his mind with blank, spun like he was being thrown from the top of the building while the wind slaps him, left and right, before falling against a cobblestone ground. His stomach turned up-side-down. Bile ran out his mouth, almost throwing, but forced to stay back as Ned gritted his teeth. His knee snapped, almost throwing himself on the ground, but stopped midway as he pulled himself up, holding the iron railings over the window of the carriage.

Ned remained to close his eyes, thinking of only one thing that would make him feel this way.

Fuck, he thought. Shaking his head.

Prime Evolution, he added. Fuck. Why now.

[Ned.]

ICE chimed, soft, and caring, and worried. Like that of a lullaby, but softer, and deep.

"I'm fine," Ned said before even Sasani could speak.

A warm sensation touched his hand. Sasani pulled him inside the carriage, and Ned did as what the gesture told him to, eyes squinting. He sat across Sasani over a brown cushioned bench, cotton probably as Ned gripped his hands over the soft chair. His head tilted upward, seeing no sun, or sky, or birds, or leaves falling, but the carriage's ceiling adorned with the fake sun, fake sky, fake birds, and fake leaves falling. Ned smiled. What an irony, he thought. He then heard a faint cry.

Sasani shook his shoulders, her hands were warm over his thick leather clothing.

"I'm fine," he said in response to Sasani's series of crying.

"What happened?" Sasani asked, eyes looking honest, and now worried.

Well, I fought a hideous skeletal dragon. It was otherworldly, and it Devours everything on his path, be it human, beasts, or your cute little dress, it Devour all. But with the help of my Plat Armor, Holy Hand Grenade, and the Butterfly—my Master gave me. I, Ned of O'rriadt; Ned of Sskat; Ned the clone, defeated the dragon. Or so I thought. It fucking went into me, and slowly, maybe thrice a month, four, or five I need to Devour to regain my sanity. But I am fine, cause I have my system, whom I could talk to and assess what's happening within me. And surprisingly, I have made friends, which helped me in some ways but can't tell them what my thoughts are, or what my feelings are. Simply because I am different. Different that all I can think about is getting stronger and vengeance. And now, the feeling that I must find something, someone to Devour is back. And I can't hold it any longer, Sasani. I need to Devour. Ned thought, gritting his teeth.

Line formed under his jaw. And beads of sweat as big as kernel molded over his forehead. He shook his head and said, "Bad food, just a case of bad food."