[ Restoration System ] [ Unique ]

[ Carrier ID: H-U-1]  

[ Daily Task: ]

Duel With a mage of equal rank or above for 12 turns (minimum) 

[ Reward: Hallucination Points (HP) based on any one of the opponent's spells. The amount may vary based on overall performance. ]

[ Special Task: ]

 (+1 HP) Punish a Rank-1 mage for using magic

 (+2 HP) Punish a Rank-2 Mage for using magic

 (+3 HP) Cripple a Rank-1 Mage from using magic

 (+5 HP) Cripple a Rank-2 Mage from using magic

[ Total HP: 00/25 ]

Merrywick shifted his focus from the principal panel of his system and observed the spot where they had just stopped.

The driver banged the car door open and walked out, facing the large building in front of them. 

Merrywick followed him out of the car before he was even asked to. An area so close to the Stadia, a hotspot of crime, was just perfect for his purpose. There were no empty streets nearby. Every shop, every food stall was filled with people entering and leaving.  The street by which the house stood was packed to the brim with passersby, mainly laborers, visitors, and business attendants. A permanent stink of oil, sweat, and mud seemed to have blended into the air.

The building ahead was relatively new, with two floors and a layout that suggested that it hadn't been constructed for residential purposes. The ground floor sported a non-operable, semi-transparent window on each side of the square-shaped building. The upper floor had a round structure, seemingly made from cheap, lightweight materials. It left plenty of space for an open patio atop the first floor.

"Nice place to keep a lookout," Merrywick commented in a satisfied tone. His nonchalance had been the source of a strange mirth to his 'kidnapper'. And the man laughed once more. Placing a heavy palm on Merrywick's neck again, he 'guided' him towards the building.  

"Come, come, you'll love it even more inside," he said, almost sounding like he was coaxing a baby. The metallic door had a heavy padlock slung on its latch. The man pulled a rusted key out of his pocket and opened the door. The two of them attracted quite a bit of attention from the streets nearby, especially from the shops. But Merrywick did notice that in whichever direction his guide gazed, people quickly looked away.

Wondering whether he was still being followed by the men from the Church and the law enforcers, Merrywick stepped into the building through a wide, iron-wrought doorway.

As it turned out, the building could be called a storage house. The entire bottom floor was just one large hall, filled with crates of all sizes. Some of them were open, exhibiting dry food, intoxicants, and small, sealed packages with no labeling. Some of the larger boxes contained long knives, electric batons, and polished canes.

There was a workshop of some sort in a corner. Merrywick recognized some of the devices on it. A Runescape, welding devices, and mana-resistant gloves, among others. Was someone building low-level artifacts here? 

That indicated the existence of a mage, definitely an enthusiast of Runic magic. 

So it didn't surprise him when he noticed a large bookshelf, half-full behind a large crate. Merrywick recognized many titles on it. His ten years of education had forced him to memorize numerous pages from them.

"Sommer! Tiffy! We're here!"

The man's shout caused several faces to pop out from amidst the rows of crates. Four men and a woman walked out from behind a tall stack, their gaze glued to Merrywick.

"Tiffy, trace his identity. I've already tested his mana affinity. It's between commoners and Rank-1 mages. He should've become a mage in the most recent batch. So look up the registers for half-circle citizens first."

The woman nodded hurriedly and ran back behind the stack of crates. Merrywick twisted his neck to give the man an impressed look. When had he been tested? He hadn't noticed anything during the ride.

"Jonsie, The voidcoils are active, right?"

"Yeah, I just charged the biggest one up an hour ago."

"Good. Then nobody needs to fear a magical interference. Cuff him, confiscate him, and keep an eye out for enforcers. I've made sure no one was around while I brought him in. 

And Sommer, try having a conversation with him, maybe he'll feel less ballsy with a couple of conversation tools stuck up his knee."

Shoving Merrywick forward, the man turned to leave, only to stop at the doorstep.

"And for the last fucking time, don't screw up the order of things! I don't want to deal with another pissed aristocrat because his twenty-seventh son was feeling adventurous."

Merrywick put up no struggle as his clothes were searched for devices. Nor did he protest when his comcell and two trackers were taken away and he was forced to sit on a metal chair, hands and feet cuffed. The five young gang members looked nervous upon realizing that their hostage had multiple trackers on his body.

But rather then growing fearful, they seemed to grow more eager, running around the hall with lots of energy. 

Sommer, a young man in his mid-twenties, sat right in front of him, just beyond arm's length. Both stared at each other, seemingly scrutinizing every visible detail. 

"What if the law enforcers sent me to bust your gang? I mean, you should probably be familiar with government issued trackers." Merrywick finally broke the silence. "Plenty of people know I've been brought here. So even if you 'shut me up', it seems like you're gonna be at a disadvantage."

"I haven't even started, and you've already moved on to nonexistent threats?" Sommer replied in a disappointed tone. 

"Man, I was looking forward to seeing another tough cookie have a breakdown. You're making this too easy."

"Nonexistent threats?" Merrywick said. "What makes you so sure that I'm not a bait sent by law enforcers?"

Sommer didn't answer. From nearby, Tiffy, the woman walked over with a relieved expression, holding an old data terminal in her hands.

"Good news. It's just as Baron guessed. This kid is a resident of sector-3. His ID is listed in the latest batch of students sent to the Lord Sunbreaker's Tower in Magetown. It has been less than four days since he awakened his ability as a mage. Both of his parents are commoners, so no connection to Aristocrats there unlike the last time."

Sommer's countenance suddenly shifted from disappointed to thrilled.

"Good! Now we can have a real conversation..." Trailing off, he grabbed the backpack at the foot of his chair and took out a long, thin screwdriver from it.

Placing the metallic head of the tool on the back of Merrywick's palm, he gently pressed down, not hard enough to tear through the skin, but just enough to cause pain.

"Baron told me you were trying to snoop around the Stadia, using Lehmann and Earl Declan's name. Why?"

Merrywick rolled his eyes. "I confessed way earlier, my friend. Put that thing aside. I came to sector-4 to buy a property, more specifically a building of some kind. Lucky me, I met that helpful fellow named Baron who led me right to a perfect choice."

For a moment, a blank expression covered both of his interrogators' faces. And then...

Squelch.

The screwdriver penetrated half a centimeter into his palm, poking the skin on the other side. A little more push was all it would take to completely pierce his palm.

Merrywick's gaze shifted between the screwdriver and the man holding it. 

"Quote a price," he said in a placid tone.

Fairly impressed by the display of pain tolerance, Sommer pushed the tool in further.

Squelch.

Now the metallic head of the driver was touching the handle of the chair beneath his palm. Blood began to soak the handle, large drops dripping down onto the floor.

"My friend, I asked you to quote a price."

"A price for what? Not to do the same to your other three limbs? A price to let you go? Make yourself clear, kid," Sommer replied in a relaxed tone.

"Quote a price for this building, my friend. I told you I'm here to buy it."

A cautious look finally dawned on Sommer's face. He took his hand off the screwdriver, letting it tilt over. But it didn't fully fall off, its bottom end stuck pressing up on Merrywick's flesh and muscles.

"He has received some training, at least. Your data about his identity as a commoner is likely forged. The trackers make this more suspicious," he said to Tiffy. "Call Baron and tell him. Kid might really be a bait."

As Tiffy rushed out of his sight, Merrywick called Sommer back.

"Hey, my friend, which one among you is a mage?"

Sommer ignored him and proceeded to stand a good distance away behind a large crate as if Merrywick was a ticking time bomb.

"Oh well, I guess I'll have to find everything out myself," Merrywick said with a sigh. 

Focus moving back onto himself, Merrywick recalled the sensation of controlling mana. 

"Forti-Mus-Haima!" 

Sommer chuckled as absolutely nothing happened after the incantation. 

"The fuck are you trying to do? There's an active voidcoil here, little mage."

"I know. I'm just hoping for a miracle. I know God never disappoints his devoted ones! Forti-Mus-Haima!"

"...." 

Sommer's countenance went from derisive to a look of alarm and pity. Perhaps he thought Merrywick was mentally challenged... which wasn't really an illogical conclusion in the situation.

"Forti-Mus-Haima!"

For the third time, nothing happened after his energetic shout.

"Kid, shut-"

"Forti-Mus-Haima!"

With the fourth ear-splitting scream, the muscles in his hands and feet began to struggle against the cuffs, swelling up to a dangerous degree. The clothes he was wearing began to show tears.

The first time he had cast this spell on himself, it had been fully focused on his feet. This time, he drove the charged mana through his entire body!