Rat was dragged up from the basement after Abraham and his son’s exchange. Jack could clearly imagine what had happened through the wounds and bruises on the bandit’s body. Blood was leaking out from his swollen slips as he couldn’t stop his constant painful moaning. Still, Rat was the last one here to be worthy of any compassion.

After making it back to Oxdale in the middle of the morning, Abraham took Rat to an official interrogation session in his final attempt to reduce the family’s sentence. Of course, the head of the Harper household had carefully put the words inside the bandit’s mouth so no particular name would slip out. Abraham knew all too well not to make more of a mess out of this, lest it become unsalvagable.

As for Jack, he sought out his family’s new shelter. It was an old wooden house right next to a bakery owned by the chef, Stefan. It had all the basic necessities, including a kitchen and two bedrooms. A bit cramped it was, but Jack would prefer the word “cozy”, especially when the smell of freshly baked bread visited the house through the small windows that faced the main road leading to the center square.

Sophie was standing at the front waiting for Jack, arm crossed and a scowl on her annoyed face.

“I’m sooooo sorry,” Jack quickly leaned forward and bowed his head down before his mom.

Sophie giggled, then spread her arm out and embraced her son, raising her eyebrows a bit when she saw the dirt and stains on his body, obvious proof of a rough night. Still, she quickly put a smile again when they separated, not letting Jack see the unpleasant expression.

“You must be hungry, right?” She asked gently.

“Starving,” Jack smilingly said.

“Now, come in. I’ve already prepared a hefty meal. You don’t have to wait for my good-for-nothing husband.”

“Can’t wait to try out your cooking skill again, mother.”

Jack entered the house, and the kitchen table had already been filled with delicious and fancy food. A plentiful menu, it was, with eye-catching savory dishes, food, and all kind of vegetables, colorfully decorated. Jack jumped forward, pulled the nearest chair for himself, sat down, and grabbed his all-time-favorite fried chicken. Exhaustion and fatigue melted away as the flavors melted in his mouth.

“C’mon, mom,” he reached out to his mother, “join me.”

Sophie found herself a chair, quietly scooped a bowl of soup, and put it next to Jack, for she knew he would have a hard time doing so with one arm.

“Slow down, son,” she lovingly scolded him.

Jack nodded, still putting as much into his mouth as possible. He hadn’t eaten any proper food for days. Sophie joined her son, snatching a chicken wing right before Jack’s eyes, all the while joking with him and asking what had happened. Jack knew how anxious his mother had been, so he only told her just enough.

After finishing his meal, Jack went to wash himself and, as Sophie insisted, decided to go to bed. Lady Harper then cleaned up the dishes and walked through the backdoor into a small yard shared with the next-door bakery. She sat down on a stool, setting her emotionally exhausted pair of eyes on the apple trees standing tall on the other side.

“Has the boy finished his meal?” Stefan asked, seeing the dismayed lady.

“He has,” Sophie answered with a sigh.

She put her hand into her pocket, picked up a few gold coins, then gave them to Stefan.

“Thank you,” Sophie said.

“No need to,” Stefan put his hand up, rejecting the payment. “I’m indebted to your family a lot more than this. How guilty of me if I take this from you during these hard times.”

“Just take it!” Sophie raised her voice. “I’m not that short on money.”

The chef shook his head, then walked forward and received the coins.

“But, was it all necessary?” Stefan asked. “It’s wasteful to keep the same extravagant menu. My lady, you should really consider spending sparingly.”

“Oh, that was absolutely necessary,” Sophie said without a shred of doubt. “This is the least I can do for my little boy.”

“He will understand it for you.”

“I know, but who will understand it for him, Stefan?”

The chef fell silent, unsure of how to respond.

“The boy has never stopped trying since the day he woke up from that seemingly endless two years coma,” Sophia confided, “as if he carries some sort of otherworldly dream or burden. All I have ever hoped was for him to be a normal kid, for him to talk, to laugh, to train with his father, to go to school, to make friends, to enjoy the meals…. and here we are, just less than a year later, and I feel like he has seen enough for one life. My hard-headed husband and stubborn son want to hide a lot from me, things that I’ve already known. Oh, I knew it all, depressing and terrible stuff. But, somehow, there's my little Jack, facing them, no tears, no complaints. He just… endures it. I’m not sure what has happened to him, but, at the end of the day, he’s only a child. Maybe his mind is more mature than those of his age, but I still want him to have a normal, peaceful life of a ten years old. That’s all the peace I can give him now, a warm meal with his mother every time he returns home.”

Stefan walked by her side and patted her hands to comfort the troubling woman, then went inside his bakery, leaving the noble lady to have a moment of her own.

 

Sophie had left the house when Jack woke up in the late afternoon. The need to scratch the left side of his head reminded him of checking on Bastian.

As Jack approached the forge, he could see Jasmin Hensley standing in front of the locked door with some of her servants. Without hesitation, he walked straight toward the woman, who was still in her usual slender and flexible clothing with her hair tied up high.

“Miss Jasmin,” Jack greeted her with a bow as if the assassination attempt had never taken place.

“Hello, Jack,” she smiled in response. “Bastian won’t be welcoming anyone today. You should go home.”

Jack shrugged, ignoring the Hensley lady’s words, and knocked on the door.

“I’m here!” He shouted out.

After some clanking sound, Bastian unlocked the door and signaled Jack to quickly enter.

“You….” Jasmin tried to force herself inside.

“Tomorrow!” Bastian slammed the door hard.

Jasmin was left standing outside in disbelief. She was about burst through the entrance but thought better of it.

“The boy’s aura…,” a servant opened his mouth.

“I know,” Jasmin tiredly shook her head. “We need to inform Arnold about this.”

Inside the house, Jack and Bastian went to the workbench in the inner room. On its surface, there was already a wooden arm, polished in appearance, carefully crafted to the tiniest joint. By its side were three big jars the size of an adult’s fist containing a blue cooling liquid that instantly caught the eyes.

“That is?” Jack pointed at the glassware.

“Mana potions,” Bastian answered, waving his hand, signaling he was focusing on something else.

“Mana potion?”

“Yes, fifty crystals for a jar. Damn me for the loss on the deal.”

“The price of a Crusader stun grenade?” Jack tried to avoid the topic of profit.

“That’s right, kid, and it’s not just about the cost. Those Maesters always make a big deal out of producing one of these. Money aside, you have to promise them some favors too. Damn opportunistic hypocrites.”

Jack took a step back just in case Bastian’s rage got out of hand. He opened his Maester item list to check, for he remembered having seen one of these before.

After a while, the information appeared before him.

Lesser Mana Potion (Consumables, Herald, Uncommon)

Description: The faster way to refill mana.

Effect:

Gradually replenish your mana until depleted and increase the mana absorption rate by at least 5 times.

Core Material: 10 Lesser Mana Crystal

*Absorption rate can be increased up to 10 times with proper processing.

*Material of equivalent value can be used interchangeably.

*Medium or Higher Mana Crystal will increase the chance of enhancing absorption rate but decrease the mana amount refill per use due to inappropriate crafting material.

Jack contemplated the description. The overall production cost would be a little more than ten mana crystals considering the additives and equipment required. Still, this could prove a valuable trading item in a time like this. The marginal profit would grow significantly if he had more time to perfect this craft. 

The idea of financially helping his family with the Artificer and Maester’s faction skill had been lingering in his mind for a while. Still, until now, the only thing he could think of was to work for Bastian. This info could potentially open up a new possibility for him as the gears in his head started shifting toward a very profitable future. It wasn’t just about the money, though, for Jack was seeing how it could even help him grow in strength.

Bastian took out some kind of green slimy, stretchy material. Then, the smith put on the bench a spherical device supported by a rather sophisticated pedestal, from which protruded small metal spikes, claw-like, with pointy ends like needles, poking into the sphere atop.

“Kid,” Bastian called out, “come and watch closely.”

“What is it?” Jack asked.

“Simply call the micro-adjuster. Stole it from my former master.”

Jack knew better not to let his opinion about Bastian’s proud voice be known and nodded his head instead.

“Alright, let's get started,” Bastian told himself.

The old man flipped the switch behind the machine. The sphere brightened up, and the metal spikes started to move around inside. Bastian carefully opened the glass cover of the sphere and put the wooden hand inside it, where the item was delicately caught by the needle-like ends.

Bastian stepped back, took a deep breath, and rhythimized his breath. Then, he stepped forward, channeling mana from the palm of his hand to his fingers and pointing them at the equipment. A flame burst out inside the transparent sphere, rolling at Bastian’s will. 

“I need to heat up the right spot in the right order for the material to be flexible enough to work with.”

Jack wasn’t sure Bastian was talking to his apprentice or to himself. Still, he listened and learned.

With a wave of the hand, Bastian cut out a small piece of elastic material, floating it in the air. Bastian curved his left thumb, and a corresponding spike reached out, stuck itself to the material piece, then brought it inside the sphere. The magical flame disintegrated it, turning the once stretchy substance into tiny particles. As the smith danced with his finger, the needles did their job, grabbing these tiny bits and spreading them across the wrist of the artificial arm.

It took a while for Bastian to finish this initial step, and when he did, sweat was all over his face. After a moment of respite, he chucked down a jar of Mana Potion.

“The first phase is very demanding,” Bastian explained.

The old man continued his work, adding and fusing the special substance into every part of the item, from the forearm to the fingers. The last one was where Bastian saved most of his mental strength for, so much so that the second jar of Mana Potion was barely enough for him to keep it together.

“Jack, help me a bit, will ya,” Bastian called out with a pale face. “You only need to use your mana. It self operating now.”

Requiring no further explanation, Jack stepped forward and complied. He put his hand on both sides of the sphere, feeling the item, then released a sufficient amount of mana for the machine to function while Bastian took his precious time. The amputated arm was once again giving Jack some trouble adjusting the mana flow.

“I only need some ten…. twenty seconds… to replenish my mana for the final phase,” Bastian said, breathing heavily.

As the last Mana Potion was running down the smith’s throat, Jack slowly understood how mana-demanding this process was. For comparison, a couple of seconds of keeping this thing running equaled a use of Black Flame. The taxing amount of energy was converted into the movement of the flame and pointy ends of the spikes inside, which broke down, fused, and spread the materials at the exact where, when, and how.

As a quarter of a minute passed, Bastian was still yet to be ready. Jack could feel the exhaustion creeping into his body. Turning his head around, he found the smith with his eyes closed and arms leaning on the table, seemingly dozing.

“BASTIAN!” Jack shouted.

The old man was caught off guard, blinking his eyes rapidly.

“I’m here,” Bastian frowned. “I was just focusing on manipulating my mana, not passing out or anything, so stop yelling. If this turns out wrong, then it’s your fault.”

Bastian pumped Jack aside, replacing the boy’s hands with his own. This time, it was a stream of cool liquid and air that was rolling inside the sphere, making the final adjustment.

Ten minutes later, Jack now had a new arm.