Sylver Seeker

Sylver had discarded the crowbar a while ago and simply used his bare hands to tear the boxes open. Aside from the fact that he had already accidentally dented one of the barrels by putting too much force into the metal instrument, he also found it somewhat relaxing to rip something open.

“Do you need this treated too?” someone asked from behind Sylver.

He turned towards the old man, and it took him a second to focus his eyes on the item in the old man’s hand. It was a bulletproof shield, made out of something that looked a lot like glass, but stopped bullets even when one of the elves shot it at point-blank range. Each shield cost 125,00 cuts, Sylver bought 30 of them.

“Yes everything please, thank you,” Sylver said after a moment’s pause, as the old man nodded and turned away to continue to shout at his employees.

Sylver’s fully furnished house had cost him a total of 15,000,000 cuts, with a 650,000 per month rent. It turned out that owning property was mandatory for living with the Flowers.

After he had showered, shaved, and calmed down a little, Sylver decided against sleeping and instead checked what kind of weaponry the Flowers were allowed access to.

As far as guns went, they looked scarier, allegedly fired more bullets, and could handle more wear and tear, and quite a few even had auto-aiming functions. Considering the purpose with which he was planning to use them, Sylver refrained from buying anything high tech enough to have a built-in off switch and settled for the simple, gunpowder and flying metal, variants.

The bottleneck of having to manually check, maintain, lubricate, and prepare all the equipment was resolved by hiring an elf with droopy eyes from the Branches, who arrived with a team of rather short and muscular elves, who wordlessly got to work on making sure each gun was combat-ready, while Sylver worked on buying more guns for them to prepare.

And tore the boxes open, just because he found the process enjoyable, and relaxing. Like opening a gift, except it was filled with guns and ammo.

Armor-wise, the material inside Sylver’s robe turned out to be the pinnacle of the available lead-free protective technology. Everything else worked using some kind of forcefield, that Sylver found he could very easily disturb with very little magic. It might have been quite good to have just in case, but Sylver could already see the Garden turning it off when Sylver needed it most.

It wasn’t that Ria couldn’t theoretically hack and dismantle it, but Sylver didn’t want to take any chances. He bought 30 custom-made robes and asked them to be made in various sizes, so the shades could fit into them.

In an ideal world, Sylver would handle everything without having to fire a single shot, but it was better to be armed and ready, than not. It wasn’t as if his “cuts” would serve any purpose after he freed Chrys, so it made sense to spend them while he could.

Sadly, buying a “tank” was outside of Sylver’s budget. They also didn’t sell drones, Dandy-Lyons, and drew the line at some very strange places.

Buying enough armor, guns, and shields to outfit a small army was perfectly fine, but trying to get any kind of explosive stronger than what Sylver already had an infinite amount of was out of the question.

If the droopy-eyed elf was to be believed, there were ways of acquiring such items, but doing that had the risk of getting caught and exiled from the Garden, which wasn’t a risk Sylver was willing to take.

As for why Sylver appeared to be gearing out for some kind of war?

The answer to that was “self-defense,” followed by “I like to collect things,” neither of which were actually lies.

Sylver didn’t make any friends in the droopy-eyed elf’s workers, because a good half of them were grimacing as they removed anything that wasn’t essential for the gun to function.

They also didn’t quite get the purpose of replacing all the grips with a spongy wooden material that was very absorbent, but they were being paid very well, so the voiced complaints were kept to a minimum.

*

*

*

By the time it was “morning” Sylver was ready to take on the Garden.

All that was left to do was to summon the shades, have them put the reinforced robes on, and arm them with guns.

Or more accurately, use the two [Splinter Shade]s to have over 200 relatively weak shades storm the building where they were keeping Chrys.

As for stealing the book, there was a chance Sylver would be able to steal it without anyone noticing. Past experiences told him “no,” but it was important to remain optimistic.

Maybe the book will be in a pile on the floor, and Sylver would just walk in, hide it within the folds of his robe, and walk out, without anyone even missing it.

Maybe the owner would be willing to sell it?

It was more likely that it was going to be on a pedestal, surrounded by around-the-clock security, along with a bunch of other extremely annoying nonsense, but until Sylver knew for sure, he preferred to imagine it would be a walk in the park to get it.

And if not, he had somewhere in the realm of 200 something guns to use, alongside quite powerful shades.

If someone with magic power got in Sylver’s way, he’d use the bullets.

And if someone without any magic got in his way, such as the “high-elves,” bullets were almost as good as arrows.

Sylver didn’t like guns, but he had to admit they were very convenient. Especially considering how little strength it took to use one. They wouldn’t do much against a genuinely powerful opponent, but Sylver had more than enough ways of dealing with those.

Plus, it was more than likely he was going to set up a distraction somewhere far away from the book and Chrys so all the real threats would be too busy there to deal with him.

Sylver liked the idea of blowing a giant hole near the southern wall, but he preferred something with fewer civilian casualties. Something he was hoping the dark elves would be able to help him with.contemporary romance

As Sylver used [Deadly Darkness] to move the guns out of the living room turned workshop, he felt Ria move around on his arm for the first time since they left Chrys.

He hadn’t said a word to her, and she hadn’t said a word to him, in Sylver’s case because he wasn’t the one in the wrong, and in Ria’s case because she was still furious with Chrys’ situation.

“I would like to apologize… I still want you to save her, but I had no right to include you in my promise,” Ria tapped out quietly.

With all the practice she had gotten from talking to Spring, she had developed her tapping language ability to the point that Sylver almost had a hard time distinguishing her tapping from Springs. The shade was quite pleased with himself when Sylver later informed him.

“I accept your apology… But do you understand why it was wrong for you to do that?” Sylver asked, as his shadow lifted one of the wooden boards on which the guns had been very carefully placed so that Sylver had an easier time of carrying and sorting them.

“Because finding the book takes priority,” Ria said after a short pause.

“It does. But that isn’t the reason you shouldn’t ever make a promise the way you have,” Sylver explained, he moved several more planks of wood with guns laying on them out from the living room, into one of the many bedrooms turned store rooms.

“Because I said “we” not “I,” I know,” Ria explained, as her soul continued to shrink away from Sylver with a mixture of shame and irritation.

“That’s a different matter. We haven’t known each other long enough that you have the right to give my word to anyone. In the same way, I do not know you well enough to give your word to anyone. I was hoping to wait until you were a little older, but this can’t happen again,” Sylver explained, as his shadow coated the floor, and now simply slid the wooden boards where they needed to be.

“What do you mean?” Ria asked.

Sylver spent a few moments doing his very best to remember the last time he’d tried to explain this. The last time he welcomed a new immortal into the world was right after a corpse party. An unnaturally lucid ghoul that was given the name Wickel, it was also the last time Sylver had had the time to oversee a corpse party.

“You are functionally immortal. I can’t say for sure you can’t die, but from the shape of your soul, I can tell you have the capacity to be immortal,” Sylver explained, with a slight unconscious waving of his arms as he tried to recall the speech he gave back then word for word.

“Capacity to be immortal?” Ria asked.

“In the same way a body ages and deteriorates over time so does a soul. In your case, your body isn’t deteriorating, and luckily for you, neither is your soul. Undead have this problem more than any other race. Because their body is dead or damaged, even if their soul is initially perfectly fine, over the years it deteriorates until they are mindless husks. Or because their mind becomes jumbled up, they turn insane,” Sylver explained, as the speech he gave was at the tip of his tongue, but continued to elude him.

“I see,” Ria lied, and Sylver could do little but roll his eyes and move along. Even after all he’s shown and done, she still didn’t believe that magic was real.

“Anyway, the important thing is that you’re going to be alive for a long time. Now, not dying and being immortal is not the same thing, although it essentially is… Dammit! I used to be good at these,” Sylver cursed, as he could see Wickel’s face so clearly, it might as well have been in front of him, but he couldn’t remember a word he had said to the man.

“I know it isn’t good to lie, but you were going to save Chrys either way, what’s wrong with-”

“Because your word has weight. The longer you live, the more weight it carries, and the more responsibility. Think of it this way… Imagine there was a king that lived for 1,000 years. Over those years he swore alliances with the kingdoms surrounding him. There is peace, but it hinges on that king’s word being good enough for the other kingdoms,” Sylver tried to explain, as the speech just kept getting further and further away from him.

And it was a damn good speech, short, sweet, to the point, and Sylver had even heard that it was so good that other immortals used it from time to time.

“Alright, I’m imagining it,” Ria answered, as Sylver closed both eyes and really dug deep in his memory.

“Now imagine that that very same king declared war on one of his allied kingdoms. What do you think the other kingdoms will think of such an action?” Sylver asked.

“They’ll think they will be the ones that are going to be attacked next,” Ria answered.

“Yes! Now, you’re thinking to yourself, “I’m not a king, nothing will happen if I break my promise,” and you’d be right, you’re not a king. And this isn’t true for all immortals, there isn’t exactly an agreed-upon book of rules to follow. But the amount of long-lived creatures is very small, they don’t all know each other, but they’re all connected to one another,” Sylver tried to explain, and felt Ria just quietly playing along with his ridiculous talk of immortality.

“Let’s say there is a person you need help from. Call him person C. Now, you don’t know person C. But you know person A. And person A knows you, and person A knows that if you give your word, you will stick by it. But person A doesn’t know person C, but person A knows person B, who knows person C,” Sylver explained and had to pause for a moment to make sure he hadn’t mixed something up.

“Now, because person A knows your word is good, he has no problem telling person B that your word can be trusted. And because person B trusts person A, by extension he now trusts you too,” Sylver explained, but could already feel the metaphor falling apart.

“I think I get what you’re trying to say… It’s like a trust currency. The longer you go without breaking your word, the more valuable your particular currency is, and the better the exchange rate. So while person C might not trust you, he trusts person B, who trusts person A, who trusts you,” Ria said slowly as if she was making sure the words she was saying made sense to her.

“Yes! Exactly! It’s a currency, it’s the only currency you can use with other immortals. They don’t care for money, tools, weapons, armor, there’s nothing you can offer them, that they couldn’t get on their own. The only thing you can offer them is your help, which relies on them being able to trust you. If they can’t trust you, they can’t ask you for help, which means you can’t ask them for help,” Sylver explained, and almost mumbled out loud as he excitedly remembered a big chunk of his speech.

There was a short pause, during which Ria considered Sylver’s words.

“But you’re going to save Chrys, which means I didn’t do anything wrong?” Ria half said, half asked.

“Define “save.” Is she saved if I manage to get her out of the Garden? Is she saved if I repair all the damage they did to her? Is she saved if I just kill her? Is she saved if I bring her back to my world? Which save did you mean? Which save do you think she thought you meant?” Sylver counted out, as the last of the weapons were moved out of the way, and he started moving the furniture back into place.

“The uh… I don’t know,” Ria admitted, as Sylver nodded at the honesty.

Even if she couldn’t actually lie, Sylver still preferred it that people were honest with him.

“That’s the problem, you don’t know. But you have to know, when you give your word to someone, it has to be specific, it has to be possible, it has to have an end, and you have to be very careful to whom you give your word,” Sylver counted out.

“What if Chrys decided that she isn’t “saved,” unless everyone who knows where she went is dead? Myself included. To keep your word, you would have to kill me, and then yourself,” Sylver explained, and got a little too into it, as the whole speech came back to him, along with the mental note to write it down so he didn’t forget it again.

“She wouldn’t do that,” Ria argued.

“How do you know? All you know about her is that she’s a little girl who is being kept under lock and key and can see the future. I know why I trust her, but you can’t see her soul. Every time you give your word to someone, you put yourself at risk. You said currency, I normally say craftsmen trading their wares with another craftsman. You’re a baker, trading with a blacksmith,” Sylver explained, as he gave his guns, shields, and neatly folded robes one final look over, and closed the and locked the door.

“It’s the same thing,” Ria said, as Spring informed Sylver that someone was walking towards the house. Sylver turned into fog for a couple of seconds, passed through the holes he had asked one of the gunsmiths to make, and materialized under a cover in the master bedroom.

“It is, but here’s another way to look at it. When you give someone your word, imagine you’re giving them a loaf of bread. Now, because you’re a master baker, the loaf of bread is perfect. And you traded this perfect loaf of bread for a very nice knife from a blacksmith. But… the blacksmith doesn’t like you, and he wants to hurt you. So what can he do?” Sylver asked, as he peeked out of the window, and couldn’t see anyone out there.

“He ruins it, and tells people that that’s the loaf of bread I gave him?” Ria guessed, almost perfectly.

“Exactly! Who you give your word to, is equally important as how you give your word. I know I’m being incredibly pedantic, but this needs to be something you don’t even think about. It has to be as instinctual as walking, you are 1 mistake away from going trust bankrupt,” Sylver explained, as a muscular human-looking man without a shirt turned the corner, and looked up, and immediately made eye contact with Sylver.

“Who is she going to tell? And you’re not going to tell anyone either,” Ria tried to argue, as Sylver once again turned into fog and funneled down to the front door.

Spring couldn’t see the human-looking high-elf, he could only vaguely feel a shadow moving towards the house.

“Of course I’m not going to tell anyone. But the faster you get into the habit, the easier your life will be. Ask me later to tell you about the time I swore to kill a woman that didn’t exist,” Sylver said, as Ria tightened around his arm so as not to slip off, and Sylver opened his front door before the man even had a chance to knock.

[High-Elf (Warrior+Warrior+Warrior) – 223][HP-24,000][MP-0]

The high elf placed a hand on Sylver’s shoulder and tried to push him inside his home, as he spoke.

“Morning! I’ll let myself in,” the man said, as he made an effort to shove Sylver backward to get him out of the doorframe that he was blocking.

Thanks to a mixture of [Deadly Darkness] reinforcing his arms and that Sylver had preemptively glued both his hands to the doorframe to prevent this, the man hadn’t managed to get him to budge.

“I would prefer it if you let me in,” the man calmly repeated with a toothy grin, as Sylver just stared up at him.

Now wasn’t the time to start a fight with anyone, with the party at Demor’s house being only 4 days away.

Luckily, Sylver had had a very long chat with the droopy-eyed gunsmith and had been warned about this man and thankfully he had no connection to Demor.

If anything, he was a bit of a thorn in her side.

“I would prefer if you remained outside,” Sylver offered, as the man’s skin appeared to tighten around his body slightly, as the amount of force he put onto Sylver’s shoulder increased.

“What if I insist?” the man asked, as Sylver closed his eyes for 2 whole seconds, in an attempt to remain calm and collected.

It wasn’t his brightest idea, but as far as plan As went, it wasn’t half bad. The fridge had already been emptied anyway, so he wasn’t going to feel too bad about it.

Sylver opened his eyes as he released his hold on the doorframe, and allowed the man inside.

The shirtless man had to crouch a little so as not to hit his head on the doorframe, and even with how high the ceiling was on the first floor, he looked like he would be able to reach it quite easily.

The inside of Sylver’s house matched the outside, polished burned charcoal wood, that from certain angles looked a bit like black onyx. All the furniture was lined with a tasteful amount of some sort of almost bone white wood, along with cushions that were a very pleasant grey.

“Nice place you got here. You know, I’ve had my eye on this property for a while, but never really bothered with it. Smells a bit, like blood and shit, but then again, you’re probably used to it,” the man said, as he walked around the house, and plopped himself down onto one of the couches.

It creaked from the sudden weight. He kicked his feet up onto the coffee table, and rubbed his shoes against one another, and sent bits of mud flying everywhere.

“Now, since you’re new, so I’m here to make sure…” the man stopped talking as he looked around and…

Saw that he was completely alone.

The front door was wide open, and he saw Sylver in the distance turn the corner, and completely disappear from view.

The shirtless man jumped off the couch, and one of the legs snapped, as he stood up and tilted his head at the open door. He approached it but heard a sound on his left, where the kitchen was.

More curious than anything else, the man walked away from the front door and entered the kitchen. It was as standard as standard went, big bowls of fruit on the table, a sink full of unwashed cups, along with several equally unwashed plates, from when the gunsmiths had lunch during the night.

With a shrug of his shoulders, the man sat down on one of the stools. It creaked under his weight, as he grabbed a mango from the fruit bowl, and extended his pinkie’s nail to peel it, and then cut himself a slice, and used the same long fingernail to poke it and eat it.

His form blurred as he turned around at a sound behind him, and saw that one of the cupboards that had been previously closed, had opened. The man stared at it for a few seconds, before he returned to eating his mango.

Another cupboard on his left opened, but there was no one there. He stood up from the stool and closed the cupboard, but as he tried to walk back to the stool, it reopened. The man closed it, and a plate fell down from somewhere behind him and shattered on the floor.

“I’ll wait all day if I have to, I’m not going anywhere,” the man said with a bored tone, and a yawn, as he ignored another cupboard being opened, and watched as another plate miraculously slid off the pile of plates, and shattered on the floor.

He continued eating his mango, peacefully and silently, and blissfully unaware of the fact that Spring used the sound of the shattering plates to hide the sound the stove’s gas pipe made as he broke it.

Then he very very quietly closed the front door.

*

*

*

“I sincerely apologize for bothering you, but I quite literally became a Flower last night, I have no idea how I’m supposed to deal with these sorts of situations,” Sylver complained meekly, as he and the guard walked down the long street, and the guard turned left at a house that looked like someone had made it out of melted chocolate.

“To be perfectly frank with you, you need to get yourself a bodyguard. Altercations between Flowers come down to one of two things, either who is the stronger fighter, or in the case of low-level Flowers, who has the better connections,” the armored up Bark explained.

Sylver had the feeling this was a man, but it could have very easily been a woman, considering he couldn’t feel their soul, and only had the way they walked to go off. The woman that spoke to him through the speaker on the guard’s face didn’t sound the least bit amused.

If anything she sounded disappointed.

“I would have thought that up here things would be a little more civilized,” Sylver said, as they turned the corner and could now see his house.

“They are, but believe it or not, there’s a hierarchy within the Flowers. The VIPs, so to speak, don’t even leave their homes, they just teleport wherever they need to,” the woman explained, as the Bark reached up towards his helmet, and adjusted what looked like a collar around his neck.

“What is the purpose of having guards everywhere then? If two Flowers start fighting, are you not going to intervene?” Sylver asked, still keeping up his frightened facade, that through sheer body language he could tell was pissing off the person inside the armor.

“No. They’re there to make sure a stray bullet doesn’t accidentally kill someone. In the event two Flowers decide to let their bodyguards fight it out, they’re also able to apply first aid,” the woman explained, as the guard lifted his hand and showed Sylver some sort of foamy liquid coming out from a small hole in his wrist.

“I almost feel like it would be safer to have stayed down in the Trunk,” Sylver asked, as the guard got in front of him.

“In some ways, it is. On the other hand, you never have to worry about the you know what’s during the night. The lights dim, but never all the way,” the woman’s voice explained, as the guard reached down towards his thigh, and pulled out a blunt piece of metal, that looked like a mace with no head.

“Just so I understand clearly if I am to be attacked, you’re not going to help me?” Sylver asked as he had initially.

“We will attempt to resolve things peacefully, but other than that, no,” the woman confirmed.

“I see… What if-”

The guard remained glued to the spot, while Sylver was nearly flung backward from the sudden shockwave of air.

The glass ceiling above darkened as the fire below covered it in soot. Some sort of pale blue gas leaked out of the glass hexagons, and in mere seconds the fire below subsided until the coal just barely glowed.

Sylver turned to the right and walked through his weed-covered, and now mildly singed, lawn, and stood over the burned screaming man lying in the tall grass.

Sylver glanced at the guard on his left, and he just stood there, completely motionless.

Sylver’s robe placed the [Accursed Shard Spewer] into his hand, and Sylver placed the barrel directly against the screaming man’s knee. The trodden grass turned a brighter shade of green, and wrapped itself around his thighs, biceps, and limbs, and tightened until the man was near motionless.

His skin was missing, Sylver could see the man’s skull on account of his scalp having been completely seared off, and his left eye appeared to have melted away. With his lips missing, he continued to scream, while gurgling on his partially melted tongue, mixed up with his shattered teeth.

Sylver did his best to prepare for the recoil, but as the man’s knee became a pink mist, the gun still flew out of Sylver’s hand, and he just barely caught it with his robe. The man’s screaming became even louder, and it was possible he was now trying to say something, but Sylver knew firsthand how difficult it was to speak without a tongue.

His robe placed the gun back into his hand, and Sylver aimed it at the man’s other knee, and glued the gun into the palm of his hand, as he pulled the trigger.

As the man’s other knee became a small cloud of pink mist, and the bone and ligament disappeared into the soft soil below, Sylver let go of the shotgun and rubbed his palm to relieve the numbness.

“Maybe less powerful rounds might be a good idea…” Sylver said, mostly to himself, as the guard was now standing a few meters away from the two of them.

While Sylver rubbed his bruised palm, his robe removed the brass coated bullets hidden in one of his pockets, and slowly loaded them into the gun.

[High-Elf (Warrior+Warrior+Warrior) – 223][HP-4,711][MP-0]

The reloaded shotgun was placed into Sylver’s other hand, and the robe extended out slightly to pull back the gun’s forearm.

The noises the man on the ground was making almost sounded like words, but the vines forcing themselves into his mouth and down his throat made it difficult to understand what exactly it was that he was attempting to say.

Sylver aimed between the man’s left shoulder, and elbow, and on account of all the muscles, had to make an educated guess as to where the humerus was.

Sylver found that if he treated the shotgun like a mace, and let go of it slightly, the recoil wasn’t as bad. The man’s bicep was torn into pieces, and after the pink mist had had time to settle down, Sylver was disappointed to see that the bone had simply been shattered, and wasn’t completely severed.

[High-Elf (Warrior+Warrior+Warrior) – 223][HP-1,277][MP-0]

Sylver flicked his hand towards the man, and the vines slithered out of his shredded mouth, as Sylver placed the still hot barrel into his lipless, and partially toothless, maw. The blood sizzled a little.

Sylver turned his head towards his blown-out kitchen, which was still smoldering slightly, and then looked back at the man on the floor and stared him right in the eye. It was jumping around wildly, and surprisingly enough, appeared to be in one piece.

“My house is currently not in a fit condition to receive guests. I would prefer it if you came at a later date,” Sylver said, as the man tried to lift his head, but the barrel pressed up against the back of his throat kept him pinned in place.

Sylver lifted the gun out of the man’s mouth and moved it to the right, and at point-blank range missed the man’s other humerus entirely. It didn’t even get any of the melted flesh, Sylver couldn’t understand how he managed to miss.

Somewhat awkwardly Sylver put the smoking gun back into his robe.

“I’m in a generous mood today, so I’ll leave you one arm. Don’t worry, you aren’t cursed or anything, just a few weeks of intense healing and you should be good as new,” Sylver said, as he brushed off some of the soot that was already falling down from the ceiling on account of all the small drones crawling on it and cleaning it.

He walked towards the man’s legs, and kicked the left severed leg to the left, and kicked the right to the right.

Sylver turned away from the man to see a large group of high elves wearing suits and dresses of various colors, staring at him.

Sylver almost said something to them but decided against it, and simply turned around and went back to his house. The room with all the guns was thankfully untouched, almost as if someone had preemptively set them up in such a way.

Initially, Sylver was worried he would do something stupid during his dinner with Rouge, but he felt like he had calmed down enough to not rip her head off.

He was still angry about Chrys, and he doubted he would be able to do anything with Rouge while that was on his mind, but at least he’d managed to get some small part of it out of his system.

done.co