Chapter 060 The Murderer in the Mirror

Day 6. Tuesday 6:45pm.

Jack stared at his reflection in the mirror, his hands gripping the bathroom sink. Staring back was the same teenage boy he’d seen in the mirror that very morning with wide, cobalt-blue eyes and dark, curly hair.

“Who am I?” he whispered. His hands trembled, the faintest shiver rippling through his arms.

I’m a cold-blooded killer. He couldn’t even say it aloud.

Killing the mage had been cold, calculated, and he believed necessary. But the guilt and shame still twisted his gut into knots. He glanced down at his shaking hands as they gripped the sink. This was not who he wanted to be.

Jack’s face creased as he fought down a wave of nausea. He wanted to smash the mirror, to shatter the reflection staring back at him.

“I’m a scribe,” he whispered, squeezing his eyes shut. “I want to be a scribe.” Tears slid down his cheeks. He gritted his teeth. “Not a murderer. Not this. I’m not a murderer.”

He took a deep breath. “But… but I had to do it. I had no choice.” He felt like he had to kill the mage to protect his family.

“If I die, they die,” he whispered, touching his face with a trembling hand where it used to itch due to the burn scars. If the four remaining adventurers killed him, there would be no one left to stop the Baron from killing his family.

He remembered watching the Baron kill his father and his failed attempt at trying to save the rest of his family from the fire Greaves had set. “Never again. I’ll never let it happen again.”

Still conflicted about killing the mage, but resolved that it had to be done, Jack washed the tears from his face.

***

When Jack entered the kitchen, the rich, savoury aroma of roast venison hit him like a comforting blanket. His stomach gave a loud, traitorous growl. For a moment, the guilt and shame on his shoulders lightened just a fraction.

“You’re late, Jack,” his mom said, rising from her seat to pull a plate from the oven for him.

“Sorry, Mom. I lost track of time,” he lied, sliding into his usual place at the table. “Hey, Dad.”

His father gave him a nod.

Zia was enjoying her meal; she had a gravy smile that Jack couldn’t help but smile at.

Anna set the steaming plate before him: thick slices of tender venison, glistening with rosemary-scented gravy, alongside buttered carrots, mashed potatoes, and little herb-dusted dumplings.

The scent alone nearly knocked him over. His hands shook as he picked up his cutlery. He closed his eyes. You had to do it. With his hands still trembling a little, he dug in, trying to keep his face composed even as his taste buds rejoiced at the first bite. “Gods, this is so good,” he said, concentrating on the moment rather than the past.

His mom’s home cooking always made him appreciate what he had.

“Are you alright, Jack?” his mom asked.

Jack nodded. “Just a bit tired.” He lied between chews. “This is incredible, Mom,” Jack murmured after swallowing, his mind calming in the presence of his loving family. I did the right thing. I have to keep them safe.

Anna smiled, eyes crinkling at the corners. “You should take a rest, Son. You’ve been non-stop on the go since choosing day.”

Jack nodded and took another forkful, closing his eyes as the flavour spread across his tongue. She’s right, I should take it easy tomorrow. The perfect balance of herbs, the richness of the meat, and the warmth of the gravy soaking into fluffy mash. This, he reminded himself, is what you’re protecting. Family. This is why you fight.

As he raised his fork again, his father spoke.

“I hear congratulations are in order, Son.” His father offered a rare, broad smile as he set his knife and fork on his empty plate.

Jack blinked. “What for?”

“You’ve been invited to the hunt… by the Baron,” his dad continued. “What an honour at your age.”

Jack nodded. “Yeah… I ran into the Baron in the city, and he invited me.” He hadn’t stopped to process how he was going to deal with the invite.

“This is a big opportunity,” his father said, folding his hands on the table. “It’s the Baron who decides which projects we get to work on. Secure the right kind of work, and you’ll be an Apprentice Scribe in no time, Son.”

Polly wrinkled her nose. “Why’d the Baron invite you?” She smirked. “Are they planning to hunt you down like the mangy fox you are?”

Jack groaned. “Yeah. That’s it. I’m going to dress up like a fox and run through the forest while a bunch of nobles take potshots at me. You want to come too?” He smirked, the banter helping to calm his nerves. “I’m sure the Baron can spare a few arrows for your fat arse.”

Zia giggled into her hands, and Polly snorted so hard she sprayed fruit juice across her empty plate.

“Jack!” his mom chided, though her voice carried a hint of amusement. “Don’t be mean to your sister.”

“She started it,” he grumbled under his breath, stuffing another forkful of venison into his mouth. By the Gods, I’m acting like a child again. He glanced at Polly, then Zia. Oh, Gods, she’s going to be such a bad influence on her young mind.

Their father ignored the bickering, focused as always on what mattered. “You’ll need to behave properly around the Baron and the other nobles.” He drummed his fingers on the table. “I put a book on your desk regarding proper etiquette.”

Jack gave a small nod. “I’ll be sure to read it before Saturday. Thanks, Dad.”

He already knew the book. The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness. In his first life, his dad had gotten him to read the book after making a silly mistake. The Baron didn’t seem to care, but his father was mortified. He’d insisted he read the book and put its teachings into action.

As the meal continued, Jack allowed himself to relax. The laughter, the clink of cutlery, the warmth of good food and good company filled the room. For a while, he allowed himself to drift in the comfort of home, where things felt safe and whole. For just a little while, he could pretend everything was simple again and that not two hours ago he’d killed a man in cold blood.

But only for a little while.

***

Later that evening, Jack sat at his desk, sorting through the loot he’d stripped from the dead mage.

A mage’s wand, a pocket watch, a folded map and letter, two coin pouches, a small velvet box, and a bronze ring. Beside them sat the etiquette book his dad had left for him.

Jack smiled as he glanced at the cover of The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness, remembering the first time his father had given him that book. He’d been sixteen in his first life as well, a freshly hired Novice Scribe on his first day at the Royal Library. That morning, full of nerves, excitement, and determination, he’d spent extra time polishing his boots, straightening his cuffs, and rehearsing polite greetings in his head. He knew the basics of noble etiquette, how to bow, how to address the Baron, and how to stand properly when spoken to.

And yet, when the moment arrived, he’d stumbled. He remembered the grand oak-panelled corridor where he’d met Baron Greaves, the noble overseeing the library’s most prestigious projects. Jack had been heading to the Ancient Texts Department with an armful of freshly copied scrolls, and he’d turned a sharp corner and come within inches of colliding with the Baron himself.

Heart racing, Jack had dipped into a respectful bow, head lowered, as was proper. But when the Baron extended his hand, a courteous, informal gesture for such a lofty noble, Jack, flustered and panicked, his mind went blank.

Instead of shaking the offered hand, Jack had grabbed it, bent over it like a courtier, and kissed the Baron’s knuckles. Just like he’d seen in old storybooks. In the process, he dropped all the scrolls he’d held at the Baron’s feet.

The Baron had stared at him in baffled amusement. Jack, realising too late that hand-kissing was something noblemen did with ladies. His embarrassment had made him wish the floor would swallow him whole.

Greaves had chuckled, patted Jack on the shoulder, and carried on with his day like nothing had happened.

That evening, when his father heard what happened, he had gone pale, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Jack,” he’d murmured with a heavy sigh, “we’re not courting him.”

The next morning, The Gentlemen’s Book of Etiquette and Manual of Politeness had been waiting on his desk.

Now, flipping the cover open, Jack gave a bittersweet smile at the memory. The Baron had never mentioned the incident again, and none of the other scribes had witnessed it. But he’d read the book cover to cover that week, determined never to make such a blunder again.

He closed the book. “I already know this by heart, Dad,” he murmured. Years later, he’d reread the book in memory of his father, and the Perfect Recall skill had done the rest. “But thanks anyway.”

He moved to empty the coins from the two looted coin pouches. “9 gold, 42 silver, and 14 coppers,” he murmured, separating the gleaming coins. He stashed 7 gold in the finer-quality purse and hid it on his bookshelf. The rest went into his own pouch. “Dealing drugs must pay well.” His short-term coin problem was solved.

He examined the pocket watch next. “Not bad craftsmanship.” He smiled, knowing his father would gift him his grandfather’s watch on Monday, before his first day at the Royal Library. “This one goes in the sell pile.”

The mage’s wand was a thin brass tube etched with rune enchantments. An experienced mage was capable of firing their spells through almost any body part, but like with spell scrolls, it was easier to aim with a palm. The wand made it even easier to point and shoot. A basic wand didn’t add any extra power; it was a simple conduit for improving a mage’s aim. Better quality wands could add more power and other effects.

Jack turned the wand over to examine it; this was the first time he’d held one. As a scribe, he couldn’t use a wand, but he understood their construction. The wand held high-quality processed aether-crystals that would last for decades.

“Should be worth over a gold,” he mused, though he wasn’t certain of the exact price. He set it aside.

The bronze ring was plain, bearing an unfamiliar coin-shaped emblem on its face. “Probably worth a few silvers,” he murmured. Into the sell pile it went.

He opened the velvet box and scowled. “Of course. Fucking drugs.” Inside sat eleven doses of Wraith’s Hunger. “That’s going in the bin,” Jack muttered. Despite the street value, he had no intention of becoming a drug peddler.

Jack opened the map. It was a well-worn map of Lundun with various points marked off. He memorised it. “I wonder what the marks mean?” There were red crosses and black circles, about thirty of them. With no key to what they meant, it would require checking out each location to see what was there.

He opened the letter and smiled. “It’s encoded. This will be fun.” He stuffed the map along with the maps he’d bought earlier that day on his bookshelf and stored the items he planned to sell back in his pack.

Jack sat at his desk with the encoded letter and activated his Decipher skill. He smiled as he felt the skill activate. After the fire that destroyed his life, he didn’t have much use for the skill, so it had remained at a low level, level 3.

He leaned over the letter with his scribe pen in his hand before writing down what the encoded letter hid. Twenty minutes later, it was decoded. “That was too easy.” He was disappointed that the cypher wasn’t much of a challenge.

The letter detailed plans to expand the sale of Wraith’s Hunger in Lundun, with marked supply points and drop locations.

Jack grimaced. He had no love for drug networks. “So that’s what the marks on the map are for. I’ll send this all to the city guard… anonymously.” He penned a note explaining where the letter and map had come from, and included likenesses of the mage and his two buyers, using his Draughtsmanship skill to sketch them in high quality.

“I’m becoming a part-time vigilante,” he joked, folding everything into a packet to be delivered to the city guards the next morning. As a last thought, he added the eleven doses of Wraith’s Hunger as well. He kept the small velvet box.

He checked the time and sighed. “Already nine.” He’d wasted so much time dealing with the mage that he hadn’t completed a single spell scroll.

At least the gold’s something, he reminded himself. “Hmm… that would’ve taken me five days of non-stop work to earn that much.” To earn over 9 gold through scroll work, he would’ve needed to inscribe over one hundred and thirty chronos sphere scrolls.

He gave a tired, bittersweet smile. “I guess it wasn’t such a bad day after all.” And yet, the faint shadow of guilt lingered, curling at the edge of his thoughts. Profiting from a man’s death, no matter how deserved, felt wrong.

“I should make a start on the grimoire,” Jack whispered.

With all that had happened, he’d not found the time to enact his plan to make a copy of the encrypted and decrypted blood magic grimoire from his first life. If he made a copy of the entire tome, it would likely take him weeks, but his plan was to send a partial copy of both the encrypted and unencrypted versions. He was concerned that the Inquisition might be infiltrated by blood mages, and the last thing he wanted to do was gift blood mages more forbidden magic.

He spent the next couple of hours making a partial copy of the encrypted blood magic grimoire that ruined his first life. Limiting what he included to useless information that couldn’t be used to harm anyone.

“That will do for now,” Jack said while storing the pages with the likenesses of Baron Greaves and the other blood mages. “I’ll do the rest later.”