[Severed Divinity] 70. Spoils

Isen stood on renewed feet and tugged the cushion to the room’s center, leaving it the way he found it. He returned to the main chamber and his eyes fell over everything, considering where to start.

First, he went back to the pill box. Isen wasn’t completely selfish—he knew the coming storm would turn Eldrassin upside down, and that the city’s peacekeepers—the police—would be responsible for mitigating as much chaos and destruction as they could.

He found it distasteful to take more pills than he could reasonably use now, and in turn doom someone seeking aid in the midst of cataclysm. So instead of taking them all, he took six, slipping them into a small pouch on his belt.

He replaced the box where he’d originally found it before rifling through the rest of the room. Inside various boxes—and even mounted on one of the walls—were various weapons. He picked up a pair of covert throwing daggers that could slip into his sleeves for easy access. They were solid matte black, unenchanted but sturdy.

What interested him most was a spear that folded in half. When straightened, the hinge disappeared, so its integrity wasn’t compromised, so far as he could tell. This one was controlled by enchantment—Isen had to vent energy into two handholds on opposite sides of the shaft. Activating the enchantment was a bit unwieldy, but it made sense that the folding mechanism’s trigger be inconvenient, so it wouldn’t be triggered by accident.

Isen couldn’t help but think of the boat tethered to the pier outside the Compass of Legacy. The steering yoke had, in hindsight, been enchanted. How strong must the enchantment have been for his tier two self to be wholly unable to activate it?

Isen discovered a small washroom, outfitted like others in Eldrassin with a sink, mirror, and toilet. There was even a tall, square rectangle in the corner with a shower head and a drain. The purpose of it was obvious, though Isen had never seen a shower without a tub.

Since he didn’t sweat and just generally didn’t produce much waste as a tier two, Isen didn’t need to do a full wash all that often to remain acceptably clean. But it had been a few days since he’d last bathed at the hotel, and he felt filthy from the fight.

It was time.

One blissful shower later, Isen moved to a rather large closet carved into the main chamber’s wall. It featured numerous shelves full of different styles—perhaps disguises?

Isen’s sect clothes had been ruined, especially the tunic, so he’d need to take a shirt before making the journey back. The closet had multiple sizes for selection, but even the smallest black shirt was big on him. At least the sleeves seemed to resize themselves to fit tighter against his arms.

He gave his still intact pants a glance... and decided to pull a pair of dark, loose-fitting trousers from the closet as well. His clan uniform pants were dusty and he could swear there were spatters of blood that had seeped into them. He could smell the iron tang.

Aside from clothes, he also found a stack of gloves and masks. Perfect for a disguise, if he needed one going forward. He got the sense that the cloth gloves could be worn on their own, but were intended to sit under gauntlets to prevent chafing.

He slipped on the gloves and tried to form an energy ball. He nodded when the energy flowed unimpeded. He also noted that they had a slightly grippy surface, so they should help him climb.

The masks all appeared identical and covered everything below his eyes. What they didn’t cover were his eyes and ears, which was unfortunate.

He continued to search the closet and little house, opening every drawer. He found a few pills in one cabinet, though he didn’t recognize what they were. He also found a box full of armor, but it seemed like spare equipment, nothing too great, and probably wouldn’t fit him.

Finally, he found a black cowl that sat over his shirt like a scarf, but could be pulled up over his head. When he wore it like a hood, the fabric tightened, covering his ears. It still didn’t do anything for his eyes, but at least it occluded them depending on the viewing angle.

In the end, his main spoils were the healing pills, the unspecified pills, the twin throwing knives, the collapsible spear, the shirt, pants, gloves, mask, and cowl.

He bundled his soiled clothes and stuffed them into a bag, along with the spear and knives, which he didn’t intend to use before he could practice with them. He kept the gloves and pulled on the mask.

He left the way he came without trouble. It was still dark, so Isen sped through the streets until he returned to the wall he’d originally taken down from the upper level. Going up was harder than down, but still downright leisurely compared to climbing the Lift of Legacy.

After taking a moment to catch his breath, he ran to Clan Femera’s perimeter. In the still, empty night, with its closed front gate, it looked unwelcoming.

Isen squinted, and noticed that there were a few cultivators up on the walls. They were all probably hiding with shadow cloak, though Isen’s energy perception saw through it. Kelsina and Jorin had held their shadow cloaks for the entire time Isen had followed them, so it was clearly possible to hold the technique for extended periods, even if Isen currently struggled doing so.

Isen didn’t know if it was normal to have cultivators stationed on the walls like this—they’d need over two hundred to cover the sect’s full perimeter. It didn’t sound sustainable.

Maybe... this was in response to Welco’s theft of the cosmovault. Or maybe it was just a natural escalation of the cultivation force as the day of reckoning drew nearer.

Isen circled around until he returned to the part of the perimeter he’d originally departed from, where his bow was propped up on a tree. The only question was how to get back inside the sect without revealing himself.

In his experience, shadow sight caused the user’s eyes to glow, so he was fairly confident the cultivators guarding the wall weren’t using it. Half elf tier twos had excellent eyesight. While they couldn’t see as well as elves in the dark, they could see well enough not to waste energy on the technique.

Shadow sight would reveal anyone using shadow cloak, but the guards probably weren’t worried about people with that technique slipping in.

Assuming shadow cloak hid him, he’d need to climb the wall without stirring the banner stretching across it or making noise, and before the technique ran out. Holding it for more than thirty seconds was still a stretch.

Isen waited patiently until he felt it—a subtle urge to go, now. He cycled and activated the cloaking technique, sprinting for the wall with light steps. If he wasn’t worried about making noise or a disturbance, he’d jump and propel himself up with an energy ball. Instead, he slipped under the banner just when a breeze ripple the cloth.

He dropped shadow cloak and activated shadow step to spring halfway up the wall. It was made of smooth, solid white rock, so there was no good way to grip it, even with the gloves. In a moment of panic, he dug his fingers into it. His nails cut straight through the gloves and scored indents on the rock, halting his fall.

He breathed deeply to calm his nerves, his muscles starting to ache from hanging by his fingertips. He cycled for a minute, waiting for his energy to recover enough to cast another shadow step.

The second invocation was a bit awkward, since the technique worked on his legs. He had to angle himself in a sort of crouch, which was hard to do without bulging the back sect banner and causing his fingers to quit.

He pulled it off, though. Shadow step took him to the upper right edge of the banner, away from where the guard stood. He re-engaged his shadow cloak and emerged on top of the wall on shaky legs. He flexed his fingers and jumped off, somersaulting on the forest floor to bleed his momentum.

He quickly located his bow, then ran away as fast and silently as possible. When he was far from the wall, he dropped shadow cloak and removed his mask, cowl, and gloves, stuffing them into the bag strung crosswise over his body. He hoped that nobody would notice his non-standard shirt and pants as he walked back to his room. It was late—Isen didn’t even know what hour it was—so hopefully, nobody would be out.

His luck held. He didn’t see anyone, shadow cloaked or otherwise, as he walked back. Upon returning to his room, he tore off his clothes and collapsed in bed, beyond exhausted.

What felt like only seconds later, he heard a knock and a cheery call outside his door. “Isen!”

He jolted awake and sat up, chest heaving, his thoughts scrambled. Freyan...?

“We realized you probably didn’t know about the morning weapons training, since it’s optional for everyone second clade and older. We’re going now. Are you ready?”

“Can you give me five minutes?” he called back. He wanted nothing more than to take an easy morning before heading to class, but how could he give up weapons training now that he knew it was a thing? He’d been wondering how Freyan and Arthum knew how to fight, since that wasn’t covered in classes or the afternoon cultivation lesson.

“Okay, we’ll wait outside.”

Isen lay in bed for two of those blessed minutes, collecting his thoughts. Then, he forced himself up, dressing in record time—in a fresh uniform and pair of underwear and socks—and washing his face and mouth. He fastened his belt, added the sheaths for Druinala’s sword and the Shard of Erasmus, quickly remembered to untie the pouch containing the valuable pills, and burst through the door.

Time to see what else Clan Femera could teach him.