Chapter 128: Masks

Chapter 128: Masks

“Jude!” a thick bearded man screeched like he’d seen a ghost.

Roy Brown was shorter than his wife, but every bit as excitable, maybe even too excitable. A curly brown beard fell from his chin, reaching far past his chest. It was unkempt and sprawling, with enough dirt, food, and debris within to start a general store. His eyes, however, were what called attention. Through his glasses, they looked manic and beady especially as the lenses enlarged them to the size of grapefruits.

He hopped up from the couch, spilling his drink and activating a Legacy ability. He suddenly appeared next to Jude, having traversed the room of tables and chairs with impunity, before engulfing his son in a mighty hug.

Diana Brown was the next one to stand, having been sitting next to her husband and second to notice the newcomers. She, however, didn’t instantly go for Jude, but instead scowled at Roy for spilling his drink on her.

As she activated an ability of her own, her long braided ponytail flapped in the windless room. She blurred over to her son, rage falling away instantly as she hugged him. She was the tallest of the parents, and by far the strongest. Countless battles had left her scarred like her husband, not along her face but rather her arms where her sleeveless armor didn’t reach.

They were trophies to her, examples of toying with armies and striding through numbers usually unachievable by a single individual. She moved like a wave full of glass shards, deadly and unstoppable. At least to her enemies, to everyone else, she was just another mom.

A crack of lightning landed beside Leland, blinding him momentarily before a person crashed into him.

“Hi mom,” he muttered into her shoulder, swept away by an ambushing hug. He blinked rapidly to regain his vision.

Lucia Silver was, by all accounts, one of the best mages on the continent. And her lack of physical strength proved as much. While Jude was being crushed by his parents' hugs, Leland simply felt warm and happy. Lucia was older at this point, the telling signs of age and stress appearing through gray roots and a sprinkling of wrinkles.

“Good to see you,” she muttered into Leland. “You’ve grown so fast...”

At some point Spencer had placed an arm on Leland’s shoulder, patting him proudly. “We get the evening off, honey, by orders.”

Lucia’s eyes widened a bit, pulling away to look at Aunty P. “Thank you!”

The First Princess waved her hand. “It’s the least I could do.”

The small reprieve was enough for Leland to notice an inconsistency. Glenny was missing. “Uh, where—”

Abruptly the lights flickered and Glenny appeared behind a man with blades for clothes in a flash of sparking metal. Carmon Red was a man of quiet tastes yet wicked showmanship. Like his son, he wore a parasitic item. While Glenny’s currently took the form of a cloak made of living shadows, Carmon’s was a weapon that decided it wanted to be worn.

The weapon was, for all intents and purposes, a set of swords. But a weapon that was sheathed by casting around Carmon’s shoulders and back. It didn’t protect him from the sun or rain, as it was blades woven together to imitate cloth. Gaps between hilts and blades left plenty of room for air flow, however.

Leland frowned at the display, but the father and son were muttering quietly to one another, so he figured they were fine. They had a lot to discuss, after all.

“Have you boys eaten?!” Roy belched looking around. “It is almost six!”

Jude’s eyes went wide. “Dinner! I almost forgot!” He strutted into the room, taking a seat where his parents were previously sitting. He then tore into a roast chicken sitting on the nearby table.

Roy and Diana followed along, also sitting and also tearing into the meal... despite already eating for the evening. There could never be too much food for the warrior types.

The longer he stared at them, the more sure he was that they were making the exact same motions over and over again. And just like that, Leland’s mind filled in the gaps, erasing the illusion from his sight. Aunty P. sat where the illusion was, smiling at him.

“Good work, Leland! You solved one of this room’s mysteries!” she announced, pulling the attention from everyone in the room.

All of the parents looked over, then back to what they were doing. Jude and Glenny, however, stared at the table in the corner before their eyes glazed over and they returned back to eating or talking.

“Guess they didn’t break the illusion,” Spencer said. “Oh the limitations of being a punchy-type.”

Lucia gave him a look and then turned back to her son. “What else can you see?”

As Leland thought about it, there was something nagging in the back of his mind. He couldn’t quite figure out what it was, and that truly bothered him. He scanned over the room again and again. He was sure something was out of place, but the longer he looked, the more his eyes went out of focus. Nothing immediately jumped out at him, not like the fake officials, which meant one of a few things.

First, there was an even stronger illusion going on. If there was, he didn’t think he’d be able to find it. Not without a clue to go by. Second, there was someone, or something, invisible sitting right in front of him. He’d spent long enough with Glenny to recognize a few of the inconsistencies with invisibility.

Usually these inconsistencies didn’t matter in battle. Glenny moved too fast and too irregularly to properly track, even if there was an occasional flicker of something visible. It was always a somewhat opaque fold, like a ripple of texture that wasn’t supposed to be there. But as Leland looked through the room, he didn’t find any inconsistencies like that.

So that left him with the third option. He wasn’t looking in the correct spot. There were a few rituals that would help him solve this problem, none of which he had the reagents for. So that left good old fashion guessing and checking.

One by one, Leland began to mentally go over every item in the room, focusing intently on what said item looked like and what it was meant to do. A fork was a small metal pitchfork made so people wouldn’t have to touch food with their hands. A goblet was a flared metal cup, allowing people to drink from it.

Eventually he went through more than half the room before landing on a quilted chair. He couldn’t think of what it was. He knew he was supposed to, just he... he...

His vision glazed over.

It took a few blinks and a moment to realize something had happened. As he categorized each and every item, he numbered them systematically. A hole in his system alerted him to foul play.

“The chair,” he grumbled, a headache forming.

“Good,” his mom sang. “What about the chair?”

He forced himself to look, finding it easier now that he knew something was wrong with it. “There’s an impression on the cushion. Someone is sitting in it.”

“And who would that be?”

His first guess was Princess Sybil, but he didn’t dare suggest such an answer. Not without being sure. The worst thing right now would be to be wrong, to give his mom more fuel to embarrass him with. So, he stared. He looked and looked, he tried to see through whatever was obscuring him. Eventually the headache became too much and he looked away.

“It’s okay sugar,” Lucia whispered. “You are trying to fight a divine artifact’s power. Even to identify something’s off is greatly impressive.”

Spencer spoke next, “Can you remove the mask, Sybil?”