Chapter 9: Laughter (1)

Old man Bowan sat in his smithy, his expression blank. A somber sort of silence hung, only partially filled by the light crackling of a distant flame.

Before him sat three objects. On the wooden table that had been blackened to the point of ash, these three things appeared out of place. Yet, there they were, their surfaces reflecting the dim reddish yellows of the room.

A bottle. A cup. An urn.

The first two had long since run dry. Bowan's fingers, more wrinkled than before, took a swig of the cup beside himself as though trying to manifest another drop. For his efforts, he received nothing but the strong whiff of a lingering alcohol.

The old man suddenly chuckled, placing the cup down. His uncoordinated actions caused him to miss most of the ledge. In the past, his reflexes might have been strong enough to catch it before it hit the ground—heck, in the past, he wouldn't have been so drunk in the first place—but now, he could only listen for the sharp sound of scattering glass, his body too lazy to do anything about it.

"So many cheeky youngins out there these days." Bowan's words slurred, his eyes trained on the urn. "Don't worry, though. Your husband might be reaching the end of his rope, but he's still got a few tricks up his sleeve. If that brat knew who this old man was back in his prime, and how many enemies I have, he wouldn't have left with such a pep in his step…"

These were the words Bowan spoke. Or, rather, they were the words he thought he had spoken. But, since he made the mistake of drinking alcohol he had saved back from his days as a Mythical Master without an ounce of Spirit Energy left in his body, what he really said sounded like nothing more than baby babble.

Still, this didn't stop Bowan from cackling like a maniac. He had been worried for so long about what would happen after he died. Never did he expect that he would be so lucky to find such a sucker in his final hours.

Bowan's forehead crashed into the black wood table, his loud snoring filling the smithy not long afterward.

As he slept, his skin receded further and further from his bone and a fog of black hung around him. Despite the smile on his face, the old man didn't seem like he would live to see the next day. In his other hand, his grip on his pocket watch had never loosened.

**

Ryker trudged out of the city, something within him being pressed down again and again.

It wasn't guilt of conscience, empathy or even sadness. Rather, it was excitement.

The more steps he took, he found his placid expression distorting out of his control. He ducked his head down and kept it lowered, his fast muscle fibers twitching to force what should have been a steady gait into an awkward skip.

'Just hold on. Now is not time yet.'

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Ryker tried repeating these words to himself again and again. But, he could almost see the sparks flying in his brain. Every flash of emotion came with a stronger spike. The compulsion to raise his head to the sky and laugh like a maniac was so strong he felt like he was on the verge of losing his mind.

A strong force suddenly pushed Ryker from the front. Even without looking up, he could tell that the stimuli came from a person, so he tried to walk around, only to be blocked again.

"Sorry," Ryker said quickly, trying to maneuver around again. But, for the third time, he was blocked.

Ryker pulled at that collar of his shirt until it covered his cheekbones so that the twitching of his face was less apparent, only to look up and find a group of people he recognized.

"What are you hiding for, little merchant boy? You were so arrogant the other day, but now you're ducking and dodging?"

Ryker's eyes were excessively dilated at this point. A person who didn't know him would think that he had taken some sort of drug, and quite frankly, he wouldn't blame them.

Three men stood before Ryker, two large and sturdy and a last that didn't look to have experienced the sun for the past decade. It didn't take Ryker long to remember that the nightwalker amongst them was among the young men he had clashed with before. Now he had come with some beefier backup.

Ryker's small mirror hover to his back. There wasn't a hint of change to it. Just like always, it was silent and unassuming. Well, about as unassuming as a such an item following a young man around could be, anyway. This was despite the fact the materials the small mirror was made of were likely worth more than this entire world.

"Why aren't you saying anything? Hm?"

The young man had a certain boldness about him, one that Ryker was pretty sure had faded when he earned that bruise beneath his eye, the only bit of color on that pale face of his.

"Don't want to talk? That's fine. Why don't you just take a walk with us out of a city? I'll show you some nice sights."

If Ryker could control his facial expressions, he would definitely be rolling his eyes at this point. The day had waned to the point the moon was already high in the sky. He might believe such a line if the location was within the city, but there was nothing but darkness and danger outside of it around this time.

Ryker knew he was taking a risk even trekking outside right now, but he couldn't bottle himself up any longer. The more he tried to control it, the stronger the backlash would be and the more uncontrolled the result. This prick really couldn't have chosen a better time? He had been in this area of the city all day, after all.

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