Chapter 7—Her Side

Jeanne had run a road into the grounds of Marco’s hideout, taking the empty space for her own when her headache returned. Her eyelids fell shut without her realizing it and before she collapsed into another slumber, she forced a potion down her throat, suppressing a gag with a grimace. Once she’d thought the taste wasn’t all too bad. Now, it made her seriously consider the option of shooting the liquid up her bum. If some were to be believed, that might even improve its effects. What people would do to save a few pellets...

Greater Potion of Concentration consumed

Fatigue reduced for 1h30min.

Recent usage detected in the host system. Diminishing return.

Failed to increase Concentration.

Status Effect: Exhaustion [Lv. 23] reduced to [Lv. 5] [temporary].

Excessive use registered. Caution is advised.

...

“Are you sure you aren’t mistaking those for water?” Marco’s voice came from behind his protective mask. He was busy, not with what he should do, but with working on dismantling his trash.

“Shut up.” Just hearing him worsened the pounding in her head. Days had passed since their stupid deal. The latest after-effects had knocked her out for almost two entire days, and she was on the potion again since then. When she'd come back to his place, what little hope she had was dashed. He'd given her no results, and there was no progress to speak of.

The charlatan had been too busy twiddling his thumbs, playing with his stupid items and his stupid knight while she spent the last few days running through the streets, looking for hints. All for nothing. What else should she expect? Plenty of time had passed to hide your trail.

Which left her with no other option than to rely on Marco’s very empty promises. She’d asked him multiple times to let her watch the video, but all he gave her were excuses. I’m not done yet, he’d said, claiming not to trade it back until he was. The other day, she called his bullshit.

When she'd been scouring the streets, she made the rounds, questioning the right people. Marco indeed had a reputation, as he’d claimed. Some called him merchant or tinkerer, others a coward, and he was known for his security bots, both portable and stationary. She quickly learned that the ones she’d shown and given to him had no such features as recordings.

He was pulling her leg. But that left the glaring issue of why? Why lie to her like this? It didn’t make sense. Until she figured that out, and how to make him pay, she'd stick around whenever she wasn’t on the streets. Maybe there was still a small part of her hoping for results from him. He kept claiming he was working on it, making her wonder which of them was more deluded.

“Don’t feel forced to come by here all the time, if you don’t want to.” Marco said, focusing on handling some molten metal. She’d learned better than to disturb him during some parts of his pretentious work. “I’ll message you.”

They’d connected their chip IDs over the JunkNet. Pointless, and she had to suppress the urge to put him on the ignore list. Not until I get what he is really after.

He was hammering away on a sword, trying to break it into further, smaller pieces, when he paused mid-swing. He dropped the hammer that didn’t look like it could withstand any more abuse, and sat on his recliner where he removed his protective mask, revealing his ugly, thinking mug covered in beads of sweat.

Admittedly, it wasn’t ugly. She hated to admit it, but if she was put under oath, she’d have to agree that he was handsome, objectively speaking. The proportions of his face were chiseled just right. His smile was infectious, and his dark eyes a sea of calmness, luring others into believing him. They appeared firm and as reliable as a stronghold, until you noticed it was one made of sand.

His black hair was short, disheveled from his work, and probably covered in more soot than she could make out. He didn’t seem the kind to maintain it much, but it still worked out for him. He was tall and well-fed, but thinner than the usual men she’d seen make it big in Junkyard. His age should be around her own, but she found it unusually difficult to gauge whether he was already in his twenties. His eyes looked younger than the rest of him, throwing her guess off.

But even if she disregarded her growing, gut-wrenching hatred of him for playing with her like this, she disliked his appearance, or rather, his face. It rubbed her the wrong way and something seemed off to her. Like he was too refined, as if someone had drawn his features with a ruler; his smug mug a result of some kind of selective breeding. It was just uncanny. She perished the thought, wondering if she was being oversensitive, or plain mean.

The skin on his face did look much better than her own, making her somewhat self-conscious. Her hand traced along the side of her cheek where a long-lasting dry spell had wrecked its havoc. There were much more important things in life than skin care, but...

“I finally got the information I was waiting for.” Marco said, and she stopped in her tracks, as did her all her silly thoughts. “My man did his best, but sadly, there’s no news about your item.”

She took a deep breath, swallowing her words. This was it. Gone. The emptiness she felt blew over her anger. He might have given her false promises, but she was the one who clung onto them. Shouting at him wouldn’t change anything, so she turned to leave. She wanted to be alone.

“Where are you going?” When she didn’t answer him, he snipped a projectile at her. She caught it, almost automatically, with her dexterity at work. It felt like a coin in her hands, and when she looked down, she saw something resembling a white, flat lid. She watched him without a word.

“It’s a tracker.” He said.

A few simple words that flipped a switch in her. Her heart started racing as if it was making up for a lackluster performance, and like a bot rebooting, her back shot up straight. She opened her eyes wide in disbelief and the room appeared much brighter to her than she remembered.

“This...You... had a tracker?” She stammered through her dried throat. She didn’t believe him, she couldn’t, but she wanted to. “Why didn’t you say so earlier?”

“Because you wait until the last moment before you bring out the big guns.” He shrugged. “That’s common sense.”

As his words settled in, becoming reality, her hand began trembling. If...if he told the truth, this small thing was priceless. Another ploy? What was going on here? Did she fall victim to some twisted sadist looking for some kicks? As if she hadn’t run out of enough luck yet...

“It means your debt will be higher.” Marco interrupted her doubts. “Unwilling? If so, say-.”

“How do I use it?” She gulped, moistening her parched throat. Please, she begged.

“Hold it next to your implant.”

Jeanne did as he said, holding it to the side of her left temple.

Connection with established.

Choose the you want to track.

-Nightstalker's Silver Necklace-

Time remaining: 1d7h23min...

The tracker will lose its function after use.

There will be a penalty for using a stolen item.

6d23h59min...

For the duration the tracker is active, its original owner may track you.

Do you want to proceed?

She thought she was dreaming. Stolen? Right, they didn’t trade it, but whatever. She spammed the ‘yes’ button in her mind, and the translucent window vanished from her vision. A trail of bundled smoke replaced it, forming a coherent blue line that led out of the hideout. A simple illusion, but one that made her hopes a reality.

“I’ve only got one of those, so you better not waste it.” She barely paid attention to his words as she dashed towards the exit. “It's why I tried my other options first. They’re difficult to come by, and that’s a grave understatement.”

His ramblings went in one ear and out the other. She ran after the trail leading up the stairs, jumping up three steps at once. Hope had lightened her, but next thing she knew, a deafening thud reverberated through her skull. It sapped away all of her energy as if someone had pulled her power plug without a warning. She heard a distant squeal, calling for her, before she fell into darkness.

“You’re two for two now. Are you trying to break his record?”

When she opened her eyes again, she saw Marco’s mug hanging above her. Her head hurt worse than any potion backlash ever could. She looked around her, but she had trouble making sense of the jumble of colors and different shadings of light.

“Are you actually a goblin in disguise? Your head’s at least as sturdy as one’s, and almost as dumb, I'd say.” His voice joined the drumming inside of her head when a screech made everything worse.

“She is?” The knight chimed in and she grimaced. Marco. Pain. His hideout...

The tracker!

Her upper body shot up, but she immediately fell on her back again. It took her some struggling to raise herself back into a sitting position, and she realized where she was. She tried to stand up, but her feet didn’t quite obey her. When she continued regardless, Marco grabbed her at the shoulder and effortlessly pulled her back down into his recliner.

“How long was I out?” A clump formed in her throat as big as the one forming on her head. It disappeared with a sigh of her relief when she found the lingering bundle of smoke again. It wasn’t a dream. She blinked away a tear. Thank Her protection, it wasn’t a dream.

“Less than you should have been. Barely an hour.” When she refused to stay lying down, he kept her in a firm grip. “Why don’t you rest for a while? No need to rush. The trail shouldn’t vanish for another day.”

“It’s not enough time.” She failed to shake off his hand as she reached for one of her vials, containing a red liquid tinged, and drank it.

Small Potion of Tolerance consumed.

Pain inhibition increased for 1h.

Concussion removed [permanent].

Status Effect: Berserker[Lv. 1] gained [temporarily].

“And there goes another one.” She heard rebuke in his voice, but paid it no mind. She cared only for what mattered. Ignoring the warning message like always, she rose to her feet. They were basically all the same anyway, regardless of the type of potion. Diminishing returns, overuse, and so on. She’d memorized all of them a long time ago. A shame you couldn’t just turn them off.

“I don’t believe you are in a condition to steal anything, much less fight.” Again with the rebuke.

“I know.” She stepped past him, pulling back her hand that instinctively reached out for support. “But I have a time limit now. I need to scout out the place and make preparations. Resting will come after that.”

“Good, you’re not a complete idiot, that’s a relief.” This time, it was approval. It bugged her how he sounded like he was judging her. “Knock yourself out, then. Ah, pardon my poor wording. In your case, please don’t knock yourself out again. I’ve done my part of the deal and I trust you’ll uphold yours. To quote a certain someone, you’ll regret it, if you don’t.”

“I will.” She said, heading for the exit again, and waiting for the knight to unlock the door. As she watched him scuttling up the stairs, she felt a flash of guilt. The little boy (was he a boy?) had kept trying to talk to her, but she ignored him until he learned to no longer approach her. Now that she saw a potential end to her worries, she felt like she’d wronged the kid. She would make it up to him later. If everything went well, they’d see each other often enough. He never seemed to leave Marco’s hideout, apart from that one time he tried to follow her. It had been surprisingly difficult to shake him off.

“Good luck!” Marco shouted behind her as the trapdoor fell shut. She somehow managed a deep breath. It felt like it was the first one she’d taken in a long while. Despite the stench lingering in her nose, she smiled and set out to follow the guiding line.