1% Lifesteal

Chapter 46 - Cappuccino, Frappuccino, Macchiato, Latte, and Espresso, Please!

The world of archhumans was an elusive, mystical place for most mortals. Information was sparse, and the circulated rumors were often grossly exaggerated, if not intentionally misleading.

However, some subjects were too well-known to easily fall victim to misinformation. For example, the vast majority knew that archs had talents and affinities, almost all knew that their power was measured in stars, and everyone knew about the existence of the interspace.

The whats, whys, and hows of the interspace were still mostly unknown, even two hundred years later. This was especially so for passage realms known as Anomalies.

Temporal phenomena, like being stuck in a perpetual loop where the time inside reset every so often; fourth-dimensional aspects, like simultaneous existence in several different instances; and, in many cases, a touch of intelligent design. These were present in most anomalous realms.

Some speculated the existence of gods or higher beings—many even prayed to them, following dubious religious orders, while others suggested that the interspace itself might be sapient. Neither presumption was a stretch. After all, ether constructs were capable of sentience, so who was to say that the interspace wasn't just a ginormous, overwhelmingly powerful sentient ether construct or governed by beings who were the equivalent of that?

Anomalies, as such, were common knowledge. And more specifically, the Eleven Great Anomalies were known well enough that most mortals at least had a vague idea of what they were.

Among these, the Tower of York, located smack-dab in the middle of what used to be "New York" on Old Earth—Nova York after the Rift—was among those Anomalies, and it was the only one located in the American Empire. Well, unless Faralethal had been declared a Great Anomaly by that point.

Freddy stood in the middle of the meeting room, surrounded by bodyguards and facing Spike. One of his hands bled. The other held enough poison powder to kill everyone in the room ten times over.

As the golden-haired man swung the platinum card around, with every swing, Freddy felt its visage tickling something in the back of his mind. He had spent much time in front of a BC due to his work, so he'd likely seen that at one point. Either due to the low volume or someone interrupting his viewing, he didn't remember exactly what it was. He just knew that it was precious.

"Indeed," Spike said, admiring the small rectangle in his grasp. "I got this baby long ago when they were a lot easier to attain. Empress Kaiya has stopped giving them out entirely, but she still holds on to the promise behind them."

This was the part where he had to be cautious. He really wanted to ask what the fuck that promise was, but he knew that asking would be a mistake. Given how Spike acted as if he should know what this was, giving away his ignorance would let the man make up whatever he wanted.

But he did know one thing. There were five ranks of these cards. Bronze, silver, gold, platinum, and black.

So he asked, "That's the second-best one, right?"

"Yup," Spike confirmed. "Twenty percent bonus during the auction," he conveniently added.

Freddy's eyes shot wide open. It finally clicked into place. He did know what that was.

Tower of York had a total of 186 slots per day, split between five categories, one for every star. One-star had 100 slots, two-star 50, three-star 25, four-star had 10, and five-star had only 1.

Each day, numerous factions fought in the auction to get a slot in the tower. Having a twenty percent bonus for the auction was no damn joke. Even at the bottom of the list, the price easily went into millions.

It was no surprise, either. The tower had a hundred floors; the higher one reached, the greater the rewards they could claim.

Seeing that object, Freddy gulped. Then he simply stated, "Fuck no, I don't want that shit."

Spike wasn't lying when he said that that card was something money couldn't buy. To large factions who fought in those auctions on a daily basis, this little thing could save—and earn—an absurd amount of money in the long run. Hell, to countless factions, this object could mean the difference between being unable to consistently participate and finally being able to afford it. So, basically, having this was the equivalent of having a massive target on one's back. Which was probably why Spike wanted to get rid of it.

"Well, I'm not letting you refuse," Spike blatantly said.

"Fuck no," he refused again. "That shit will get me killed."

"And that's exactly why I'm not letting you leave," Spike said. "Go ahead, bitch, kill us both if that's what you want," he said teasingly, grinning maniacally as he sang the words. "Throw that fucking powder bag into the ceiling, but I'm not letting you leave this place knowing I have this in my possession."

The bodyguards and August paled slightly at that. Nobody said anything, but it seemed they knew that if he didn't accept the deal, their lives would most likely be forfeited as well.

"Why go so far?" he couldn't help but ask.

"It's simple, really," Spike said, smiling slightly. "Having this in my possession is a liability, but I can't use it either. I'm not cut out for delving. And I'm not big enough of a bigshot to sell it without getting disappeared by someone. On the other hand," he said while licking his lips, "that elixir you got is exactly what I need."

Freddy laughed at that. "Cowardly, don't you think?"

"Honestly? Yeah," the man confirmed with a cheeky chuckle. "But you're not at any real risk if you take this. Go far away enough and don't introduce yourself as Liam Cuttingsworth until you change the name, and you can't be tracked down," he suggested. "Also, don't forget—if you give me the elixir, you have dirt on me too."

He snorted. "That's different. I'm looking to become a nobody for a while. I won't have the rep needed for my word to have any value."

"True enough," Spike acknowledged. "So we both walk out of here with minimal risk of getting hunted down. I get what I need, and you get…" He eyed the card. "Well, you get a solid chance to try yourself at the tower. I don't know how good you are at fighting, but I think it's worth a shot."

He scoffed at that. Frankly, that wasn't a terrible deal. It was far from what he needed at that moment, but he could certainly use it down the line. That platinum card was much like the prime vestige he had tucked away in the corner of Janhalar's storage ring—too valuable to sell without dire consequences. There was a crucial difference, however.

This… This he could use himself. And it was true that he had no use for fifteen doses of the elixir. Honestly, he didn't know whether he'd need any. With his talent and special abilities, it was likely that he could sustain his growth without requiring such a crutch. And, from what he knew, that card was definitely worth more than seven doses of the elixir.

After mulling over it, he looked Spike dead in the eye and asked, "How do I know that the card isn't fake?"

***

Freddy and Spike stood outside in the middle of the yard. The two men approached each other cautiously. Freddy took out a small bag holding seven doses of elixir. Spike took out the platinum card and the documents.

When they stepped right before one another, they each handed their items with their right hand and took the others with their left. As soon as the trade was finished, Freddy hopped back with Hydraulic Flex and left the yard. Nobody chased after him, and Spike merely waved as he returned to his mansion.

While he had felt Spike do it, he tested the card again, just to be sure. As he imbued his essence into it, it flashed with ether script. The shifting, white characters morphed, and looking at them made him feel infinitely small. Every sign radiated the full power of a five-star archhuman—in this case, Empress Kaiya's signature, the undeniable proof that this card was real.

The plastic folder held all the documentation Spike had promised, including the ID.

He looked around the opulent district and quickly hid the items in the storage ring. Nobody was around—in general, wealthy archhumans rarely walked around the communities they lived in, for whatever reason.

He walked for a while and reached the gates, where he was allowed to leave without any problems.

Then, as soon as he stepped out into the wilderness—

He ran.

***

A few days later, he made it out of the forest. Gone were his trashy tattoos. He had burned the skin off and healed it back. His hair was slightly longer, too, and his clothes were quite dirty, even though he kept washing them with Create Water.

He bought a new set of clothes in town—a simple, black, long-sleeved T-shirt and blue jeans. He hyped himself up, and then he located the correct government office. Before stepping inside, he bought a water bottle at a nearby store. Then he took one dose of the milky pink alia root and mixed it in, hoping the water didn't need to be hot for the effect to kick in.

The concoction immediately eased his nerves. Not as much as he expected, which was probably due to the improper brewing method, but enough. With a calm expression, he headed into the office and registered his—or rather, Liam's—"ascension" to the second star.

The workers were surprisingly unsuspicious about his sudden change in appearance. Thankfully, the man in the photo was a bit chubby, so the difference could be plausibly half-attributed to weight loss. They did ask him a few customary questions, but he hadn't spent the last few days studying the documents for nothing. He aced the probing, and after a few hours of waiting, he got the updated ID—now with his face on it.

Heaving a sigh of relief unlike any he had sighed before, he walked out into the streets. It felt as if a massive burden had been lifted off his shoulders.

While he was still relatively broke, with only around three and a half thousand dollars in his pocket, having to find a job was not as pressing as he felt it should be, really.

Things like having a place to live and money to eat just weren't a priority to him. Sure, when he was used to comfortable living and a regular food source, it felt like he could never do without it.

But he had just spent the last few days sleeping in the woods and eating goddamn mystery mushrooms, some of which turned out to be poisonous. And he felt perfectly fine. Hell, it was even an upgrade compared to his life in the caves! Or the horrible clinic. Needless to say, he had grown considerably less spoiled in the last year.

But he had no plans to continue living like an animal. It was time to step back into society.

After a brief walk around the town, he found a rather large cafe near the center. The music from within was something he didn't recognize. Most of the decor was subdued reds and grays, with half the cafe being on a slightly elevated platform. The ceiling was tall. There, lanterns hung low but were turned off as plenty of lighting made it through the large windows facing the street.

The people sat around comfortably. Young girls sipped curious teas, rowdy teenagers sat on couches in the back, loudly talking about stuff or chilling, and older folk populated much of the less comfortable seating in the middle of the room.

The thing that grabbed his attention was the unique design and the large crowd, but other than that, he had no reason to step inside. But just as he was about to walk past it…

His legs froze. The only times he'd ever been in a cafe were either a really long time ago, back when his adopted parents took him, or when his coworkers goaded him into joining them, which happened so rarely he could count all the times it happened on both hands.

Other than that, he simply had no habit of going. To him, it felt like a needless expense. True, it wasn't too expensive, but he had to pinch every penny until his fingers bled. Or… well, he used to have to do that.

Shifting his shoulders a bit and looking around, he carefully turned and stepped into the cafe. Because why not? He was in no rush to go anywhere.

Walking forward, he found a small section in the back and picked the more comfortable-looking chair among the few empty tables. There, he sat down.

Moments later, a waiter approached. "Hi, what would you like to order?" the tall, brown-haired man asked him.

He paused and thought about it. "I'll… Uhm… Can I just check the menu first?"

"Sure thing," the man said with a smile as he turned around to serve another guest.

After checking the menu, Freddy felt dazed. Whenever he sat at a cafe, he usually ordered the cheapest option. Either a simple espresso shot or, like… water.

However, this time, his eyes slowly drifted to the pricier options. He had no fucking clue what the difference between a latte, a cappuccino, a frappuccino, and a macchiato was, but he knew one thing.

He… well… He wanted to find out.

So, when the waiter arrived, Freddy made his order. "I'll have a latte, a big one, like the big size."

The waiter frowned. "You mean a venti?"

"Yeah, a… that, and, uh"—he looked at the menu again—"I'll also have a minty cappuccino."

"Minty?"

"The, uh, the thing you said?"

"Oh, a venti!" The waiter laughed awkwardly. "You mean instead of the latte?"

"No, no, with," Freddy corrected.

The waiter's eyes flicked to the empty seat beside Freddy, and he likely presumed that another person would be coming.

"Yeah, and uh, I'll also have a venti frappuccino," he added.

There were only two chairs, and the man seemed confused at the triple order. "Is, uh…" He hesitated. "Is that all?"

"No," Freddy said. "I'll also have a venti macchiato. And you know what? Fuck it, give me an espresso as well."

The waiter was eyeing him weirdly. "Let me just confirm… You are ordering five items?"

"Yeah," he confirmed.

"We don't allow dragging chairs over," the waiter warned. "So if you're having company, please sit at a table that can seat enough—"

"Oh, no, hahahaha," he interrupted, laughing. "This is all for me."

The waiter stared blankly. "All right, then. Uh… Would you mind paying the bill upfront?"

"Sure," Freddy confirmed. "No problem. Actually, while you're at it, can I also have a bottle of whiskey?"

"A… whole bottle, sir?"

"Yeah. I'll also have a large bottle of orange juice."

"We don't offer those."

"Ah, okay. Then just…" His voice trailed off as he glanced at the menu. "Just give me like five of the small ones."

At this point, the waiter was beginning to sound amused. "You know what? Sure thing; your order is coming right up. Will that be all?"

He thought about it for a long moment, licking his lips. "That will be… all… yeah… for now."

The man chuckled at that. He went back to the bar and forwarded Freddy's offer. The woman working at the bar looked amused, and the waiter pointed at Freddy. They waved to him with cheerful smiles, and he waved right back.

Minutes later, his order was on his table. A table of teenagers beside him noticed the pile of drinks.

"Yo, look at that guy!" one of them pointed out with a joyful cackle.

"Motherfucker ordered the whole menu."

"Goddamn!"

He couldn't help but laugh at that. Then, well, he went to town. After tasting one drink after another and noting the differences, nothing was left to do but finish them. The cackling around him at first got louder. They were shocked that he was actually drinking all of that.

But then, a bit later, the laughter started to die down. Because he was actually drinking all of that. More than… well… a mortal human could tolerate. That meant only one thing. And mortals knew better than to mock archhumans for any reason. They swiftly vacated the shop after they realized who they had been laughing at.

Down the drinks went, and his mood skyrocketed with every gulp. Sure, his stomach hurt like hell. And his heart was beating out of his chest. But he felt so liberated. He had the freedom, no, the power, to do something like this. This was everything he'd dreamed about. This was what he had been toiling for for years—the dream he had been tirelessly striding towards.

After finishing every drink on the table, he walked out. His entire body was shaking, and he was twitching as if his clothes were full of fire ants. An old woman walked by him, and he turned to her, screaming, "Fuck yeah, bitch!" and almost giving the poor lady a heart attack.

Then he turned to face the street and continued screaming like a lunatic as he ran forward—feeling more free than he'd ever felt in his life.

***

The patriarch of the Kraven Clan was no stranger to prolonged disappearances. While he was a leader, he was a warrior first and foremost, and it was the foundation his personal strength created that their clan built their power on. But he was still a leader. While the elders had full power to act in his absence, allowing him to roam freely if needed, he made it a rule to never be gone for longer than a month.

If a month ever passed and the patriarch still hadn't returned, he had told them that it would only happen in one of two scenarios—either he was in deep trouble…

Or he was dead.

In either case, when the month of absence passed, they began their search for him. Those who had consumed the blood of the patriarch, under the influence of Janhalar's talent, could sense the faint traces of his presence, although they were miserably weak after a whole month had passed.

Still, with the large search party, they scoured the surroundings of Pittersville. Eventually, they discovered the buried passage in the dumpyard. In the desert biome the passage took them to, there were more traces of the patriarch. They followed them.

They went through a graveyard, a massive jungle, a desolate wasteland, and a small forest, following the faint traces of his presence as they carried them onward. The passage realms they traveled through were numerous, and the elders couldn't help but wonder precisely what the patriarch was chasing after so deep in the interspace.

Then, after a long week of searching, they discovered the realm where the trail went cold.

A C-grade passage realm holding a small, dead ocean greeted them. The whole realm stank of death and rot. There was a massive corpse of what looked like a gigantic turtle-leviathan that had an entire island as its shell. After scouring the bottom of the whole ocean, they found a single passage that took them deeper into another oceanic environment.

There were no traces of the patriarch other than the intense presence of his blood they sensed. And there was a lot of his blood here. Far too much.

The rot made the search difficult, and the ocean was filled to the brim with incredibly aggressive and powerful carnivorous fish.

Soon, they had an idea of what had happened here. Judging by the extensive destruction, the patriarch had fought the massive monster. And then he… They wouldn't jump to any conclusions. But at that point, they had failed to discover any more tracks.

There were four passages in the C-grade realm. The one they had entered through, the one on the bottom of the ocean, another one hidden in a small pond, its destination some sort of underground cave environment, and a fourth, hidden all the way at the back of the forest—a passage that took to a sprawling C-grade realm of floating islands, a sea of thundering mist and darkness below.

Three false suns shone down on them, and the thick mist roiled, spewing large masses of thunder clouds above in wide columns—one of the dense flows of mist brushed over an island, caressing it with its duality of gentle moisture and intense lightning.

Flying creatures akin to wyverns soared through the skies. Golden and green forests covered the masses of land, shimmering with a healthy, vibrant glow.

There was little for them in that passage. They weren't there to explore.

One of the men who was with them nodded his head. He also wore red robes and had lines over his face, but his disposition was clearly not that of a warrior. He was escorted to where the destruction was the greatest, where he used his talent.

In his eyes, the environment around him morphed from the sickly forest into pure, white sand. There were, however, black spots and trails. Wherever the sand had been disturbed by a sentient being in the last two weeks, the pristine sands were blackened.

His eyes widened as he spotted two pairs of footsteps. They were similar in size, and the footwear that left these tracks seemed to be proper equipment. People…? Perhaps people who had been with the patriarch?

But there was something strange. The tracks went into the sea, diving to the bottom. Then they dragged something out and carried it into the forest. While he wanted to track the trails, his eyes were beginning to dry up. He was reaching his limit, so he canceled his talent.

"Over there," he said, pointing in the direction of the tracks.

As the elders discovered the footsteps, following them through mundane tracking became much easier.

They followed it, eventually reaching a small cave they had failed to spot during their prior scouting. And in that cave…

The elders gasped. There was a corpse. It lay on the ground, its flesh rotting and mangled, but they all recognized it. At a glance, they knew who those torn robes belonged to.

The chest had been gouged out. That was where the Pool of Blood tempering technique was most concentrated. The heart lay to the side, empty, drained of all its substance.

Fury descended upon them, and the tracker forcefully reactivated his talent. They followed the trail again. It went to the realm with the floating islands.

They didn't know how the patriarch had died. It was almost impossible to tell, given that it seemed to be well over two weeks ago and given how much rot and destruction permeated this ungodly realm. But they presumed he had died fighting that leviathan.

His storage ring, the precious object holding certain valuables that the Kraven Clan couldn't afford to lose, was gone, too.

And as they stared at the roiling sea of mist and heard the thunder, they gazed into the distance, eyes scouring the land…

Searching for the thieves who had taken it.