Heading outside, evidence in hand, Brennan looked left and right as if the shadows were going to jump out and eat him alive.
Needless to say, no such thing happened, but he was already feeling paranoid just thinking about what he was planning to do. Realistically, they would simply send him away without a second thought. Unless he was missing something vital, that was the most probable scenario.
Of course, he couldn’t only prepare for “probable” outcomes here. That was a surefire way to get killed or punished because he did not have the tools available to improvise, at least not to a reliable degree. If he was going to make a risky play, he needed to consider the consequences.
Maybe he was dramatizing it in his head, which made sense, because it would give him more motivation not to go through with it.
But he had stalled for a day. Given the bastards running their illegal trading ring too much time to get rid of implicating traces of their crimes. Having considered it for a while now, he decided that it was on him to ensure his environment remained stable so long as he couldn't fend for himself yet.
Like it or not, he relied on the people of Craswidge to maintain a community that could support the development of ambitious children like him. If something terrible happened and they couldn't do that anymore, he would be in deep shit, for lack of a better term.
With that in mind, he marched resolutely to the watch post. He was going to do it. Despite his doubts, he was going to do it.
What if he’s in on it?
That line of thinking had plagued his thoughts the entire night prior. He couldn't know if the guards were aware of all this and he wasn't sticking his nose where it didn't belong. His situation sucked.
Either route was a risk. One way was inaction, letting things spiral out of control with potentially no one else being aware of it except the people whose business he probably didn't want in his village. The other way was action, potentially at great risk to himself even if his actions would be an indirect way of dealing with the perceived problem. What to do?
No one's gonna spoonfeed me a right answer.
The choice was up to him, and he ultimately decided to chance it. It had consistently proven to be the more favorable mode of operation in his second life. Perhaps that was due to the relative safety net he had enjoyed thus far. If so, he really hoped it would hold up this time as well.
Otherwise? Sprinting was over halfway to the next rarity. It might allow him to escape a bunch of grizzled second and third strata veterans with Classes geared for combat.
Not.
The bottom line was, he was putting his faith in other people against his better judgment. This had better work out, or he was going to be cursing his stupidity on his way to the third life, assuming one would come.
He wasn’t some reincarnation expert; the only way to find out was to die. And that didn't sound like a particularly appealing option to him at the moment. Or ever.
Brennan's feet carried him across the paths of clumped dirt that could generously be called roads until he got to the main square, then turned left, away from the biggest crowd. The watch post was a few houses down from the Village Hall, closer to the exit of Craswidge itself.
He almost paused in the middle of his walk when he realized that word was entirely nonsensical. Both gates of the village permitted people to leave—both could be called an “exit” in that sense, similar to how they both served as entrances.
Upon further consideration, he realized that he'd subconsciously attributed the title of exit to the west end of the village in light of his venture out of Craswidge with George. They had left via that gate, and he vividly remembered being as mystified as he was powerless against the magical barrier of that Zone he'd been taken to. He associated that direction out of the village with danger.
The experience had taught him a lesson about the gap between where he was and the starting line. He couldn't even enter a Land Zone of the lowest rank, never mind clear it. How much clearer could the Paths make it? He wasn’t ready.
All the more reason to bring his hard-earned information to people who were. Seeing as there existed individuals with Strength stats monstrous enough to rip him in half, he deemed it best to leave law enforcement in their hands.
Still, it was a hassle. He would've preferred if the smugglers had gotten caught on their own and left him with a chest full of shiny rewards. Even better: the Goddess herself should just hand him a birthday present already, complete with a personal cheerleader. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping(.)com.
On today's episode of things that will never happen…
Back in the real world, he glanced at the last of the houses before he passed before reaching his destination. None of them seemed to be suffering from the wear and tear he would've expected in a settlement like this, not due to a surplus of materials but rather the disproportionate level of craftsmanship and maintenance available on a regular basis.
Among others, his father made up part of the group of individuals responsible for fixing and making residences around the village. And that was just one of the applications, with many different structures around here needing upkeep. Such was the versatility of the Builder Class.
In the domain of the guards, however, those skills didn't matter. He couldn't rely on his parents to solve his entire life. He'd never expected them to, after his rebirth. No matter what they decided to do when they found out, it would happen in the future.
He bit the bullet, taking the last steps onto the hard cobblestone. The watch post loomed over the other buildings, looking a lot like the guard towers on each end of Craswidge, just slightly taller and significantly broader. A fitting size for the local equivalent to a police force and military.
Doubling as the protectors from internal and external threats, one might think they were understaffed. That was true, to a degree. Though what they lacked in quantity, they made up for in quality.
As the group with the most people in the third stratum, they were doubtless the most powerful faction in Craswidge. He'd once heard someone claim they could defeat the whole population of the village by themselves, although he hadn’t necessarily believed them. Hearsay wasn't the greatest source of information.
[Lucent Comprehension (Uncommon) Lv. 2] -> Lv. 3
Really, off of that? Going by how slowly his first Uncommon skill leveled, he hadn’t been holding his breath for quick progress here. Looked like it went faster than expected.
Ideally, his luck would persist and the rest of his skills would see comparable jumps when he upgraded them. Focus and Writing sat right underneath the threshold, making those two skills the ones he would concentrate on leveling first. Writing had a clear path for what he wanted to do with it. Focus, not so much. Did that leave the general upgrade? Would he even get to choose anything else?
He put it out of his mind for now, walking up to the door and opening it. Downside of being four, he could barely reach the handle. But he managed, entering the watchroom with a sense of trepidation.
The smells of leather, sweat and oil hit him immediately, his eyes screwing shut out of reflex. He forced them open again in time to see six armored men sitting around a table on mismatched stools and chairs. They played cards, one laughing while clapping another on the back.
All of them saw him, mostly ignoring him after a brief glance. The casual dismissal of his presence made him wonder if kids entering the watch post was a regular occurrence. Then he remembered that it certainly was.
The building adjacent to this one served as training grounds for employed guards and aspiring children alike. Many young boys and girls would apply for a mentor here, waiting to be scheduled in later if the roster allowed it.
From that alone, Brennan knew the place was organized, if unpolished and rough. Behind the guards taking time off, weapon racks with spears, swords and axes leaned against the drab gray wall. This number of weapons could arm a tenth of Craswidge, he estimated, excluding what they had in storage out of sight.
Egbert the Blacksmith must be their main supplier.
That also explained why the smithy didn't have too many weapons in it. They went here instead.
And yet the guards didn't have a monopoly on arms. Did they not feel threatened by the possibility of a revolt? That lent some credence to the “stronger than the collective populace” theory, he supposed.
It made no difference to him, given that he was facing this alone. He hadn't bothered to take Agnes along today, largely due to there being no point. And her father worked here, which could be awkward.
Brennan made his way over to the duty desk and had to tap on the table to draw the attention of the guy manning it. In terms of gear, nothing distinguished him from his colleagues. Brennan guessed this was a rotation duty, with no permanent fixtures for the position.
“Always good to start swinging steel early,” the guard commented, eyeing him up and down.
“I'm not here for that, sir,” he replied. “I want to report a crime.”
“You’re in the right place,” the guard said without missing a beat. “Tell me what happened.”
For a moment, Brennan wasn’t sure what to say. He’d expected to be laughed at or ignored right out of the gate. That might still happen, the guy’s straight face was just throwing him off. If he wasn’t being taken seriously, he couldn’t tell.
He handed over the paper with the sketched contents of the enchanted chest and said, “The grain merchants are smuggling weapons and potions through the village. I drew some of the things I saw in a chest in the back of one of their wagons.” Visit novelping(.)com for the full chapter.
“Right. They just showed this to you?”
The excuse he’d prepared came to mind. “I was playing hide and seek.”
“Then you got away without being caught, eh?” That neutral expression had shifted to downturned corners of the mouth, eyebrows raised as if to say impressive.
“That’s right,” Brennan said, understanding how ridiculous it sounded out of context. He wasn’t going to tell them about Sense Magic though.
“Sounds like you’re a tough one. I’m sure your parents would love to hear all about it,” the guard responded, handing back the paper he had barely even glanced at.
“Okay, thank you sir. I will,” Brennan said, stepping back. Of course no one believed him. He sighed after turning away. To think he’d genuinely allowed himself to believe they might kill him—
“Hey boy.”
The sound made him turn. It came from the table, one of the female guards who now had her gaze fixed on his drawing. “...Hey?”
“Come here for a bit.”
He obliged, unsure what would happen if he didn’t. The woman took his paper unprompted, eyes roving over every small detail. As he stood there uncomfortably, he noticed the other guards barely paid them any heed. Now that he inspected them all more closely, he realized the one who’d called him out had some serious muscle packed under that steel armor, even more than some of her male colleagues.
“You made this? How?” she asked.
“I just drew what I remembered from inside one of the merchants’ wagons. He was taking stuff in and out of the granary yesterday.” He tried to sound indifferent, but it was hard not to let his voice shake under such intense scrutiny. Maybe he really should’ve taken Acting.
The woman listened to his story, and grimaced in a way that made him think she was going to punch his skull clean off.
“Wait here,” she commanded, and blurred out of her chair. The wind left in her wake made him cover his eyes and sent a bunch of cards on the table flying all over, causing the others to cry out in annoyance.
The rapid footsteps on the stairs faded quickly, so much so that he was somewhat dumbfounded. All in all, she had probably crossed an entire room in a second or two, if that, from a completely stationary sitting position.
Ever since coming to this world, Brennan had witnessed casually superhuman feats of strength, but speed was somehow rarer to see. It reminded him that he no longer lived on Earth, and he shouldn’t assume things would play out as if he were.
Oh, and she had taken his sketch, he realized belatedly.
He’d lit the fuse now. No use running away. If they wanted him dead, he would be pushing up daisies by tonight.
Pretty sure they don’t have daisies here, actually.
Using the most inane thoughts to distract himself, he swallowed his nerves when he heard two people coming down the stairs. The guard from earlier, and a man he knew meant business the moment they stepped into view. Sword at his waist, scar on the side of his face, intense expression.
Kane, the guard captain of Craswidge.