Ninety Gold for a Lighter Step

Ninety gold.

A year and a half in the savage city of Vartus had taught my gut the exchange: one gold was worth close to a thousand dollars. Which meant I had just spent nearly ninety thousand dollars on a single pair of boots—and that after Pederson's commission, out of the 240 gold I'd actually received.

But.

Whatever. These things are insane. Damn it!

The feeling that I might simply lift off the ground was, in a word, perfect. The instant I pulled them on, the boots reshaped themselves to my feet and legs, and they repaired themselves besides—armor that could guard calf and shin without a single gap.

Even read through my trait, they had nothing to do with combat.

"I do not regret this. Not one bit."

"Who said you did?"

"Didn't you chew me out for splurging on nothing?"

"No. You bought well."

"Sir?"

"Steel boots fitted to your feet alone would run you ten gold. Mix in a tougher alloy and it could cost ten times that. Looked at that way, ninety gold for a pair of artifact boots is a steal. A steal."

"...Then why did you oppose it earlier?"

"I put on a hard show of opposing it, so they cut the price. A whole ten gold."

"Aha!"

The seasoning of a fiftieth-floor adventurer hadn't gone anywhere. With even Jerik giving his approval, I liked the new boots all the more. Well, custom shoes for famous marathoners run into the tens of thousands. At this price, they're a steal. A steal.

Pleased with my own rationalization, I headed for the smithy Jerik had recommended. There I commissioned a full suit of plate and an alloy spear, and emptied out whatever fortune I had left. Between the mana stones I'd synthesized before entering the Labyrinth and the share I'd just been paid, I spent it all, and the hollowness of it hit hard enough to sting.

"Hah..."

"Don't look so gutted. This gear will save your life at least once."

"...Yes. I know that."

Set the boots aside, and I was freshly struck by how monstrous the price of mere armor and weapons could be—pieces that weren't even artifacts.

"We're only repairing what was already there and fitting it to you, so two or three days will do. Dress properly, and go to House Volante."

"Yes."

Three days later I stepped into District 4 dressed closer to a knight than to anything that belonged in the outer ring: artifact boots on my feet, chain mail under half-plate, a leg harness shielding everything from the waist down.

And I'd thought the kit was lavish.

Most of the people passing in the street wore gear that flashed blue light or traced glowing patterns, and my confidence wilted on its own. Even the leather armor was nothing but artifacts, sketching strange colors and sigils across itself. Hah. District 4, all right.

It was the district where adventurers of the fiftieth floor, and the lesser nobility, could win the right to live. Markedly narrower than District 9—and yet the towering buildings and brilliant streets carried a force and a beauty that swallowed the difference in width. At the heart of it stood the house of Viscount Volante, its emblem a bird in flight.

A house whose founder, so the legend went, crossed the continent on his own two feet ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠in a single day. Terrifying speed, and nothing else: nobility bought with a pair of legs. I'd heard that no descendant since had matched the founder, and that the house was slipping into decline.

I drew closer, turning over what Pederson had told me.

"It seems the heir needs a Ruler's Ability Stone, to secure a foothold in the royal palace."

"To begin with, it's a house that has never leaked even the foundations of its secret arts."

"Well, a house famous for its feet doesn't have many people coveting it, either. That's why even the basic footwork was valued at three hundred gold."

The soldiers guarding the main gate leveled their spears at me.

"Who are you!?"

"Please inform them that Go Cheol-woo—rather, Char of the Jerik Martial Arts Dojo—has come to receive training."

"...Char?"

"The Jerik Martial Arts Dojo?"

They looked bewildered, but one of them soon opened the gate and went inside. Not even half an hour later, a man with a splendid white beard and a formal suit came walking out from within.

"You must be Sir Char. I am Bender, butler of House Volante. Please, come in. The young lady is waiting."

The young lady?

I tilted my head at the unexpected title, but followed without a word. Past a small but brilliant garden, in the inner yard, I met a beauty in light armor, her hair a pale green.

Oh?

Not a single strand was a different shade, so it didn't look dyed. Pale green hair, emerald eyes, the foreign color of it somehow sitting on her perfectly. Only when she frowned at the sight of me did I catch myself.

"Adventurer Char pays his respects to the young lady of the viscount house."

I inclined my head and bent a knee, and only then did her expression ease.

Even so.

"Display your status window."

"...Would a portion suffice?"

"Of course. Your name alone will do. It is only to confirm that you are the party in question."

The moment she had confirmed who I was, she nodded and flicked a hand.

"We shall begin the transmission at once. Basic though it may be, I must have your oath that you will not pass it on to others."

"Of course."

"Should you break that oath..."

"I will accept any sanction House Volante sees fit to impose."

"...Very well."

She looked to be in her mid-twenties, around my own age, and yet every word carried a pressure I couldn't ignore. Nobility, after all—ah. No. That wasn't it.

Is this the authority of a Ruler's Majesty? Huh.

I'd mocked them inwardly for buying ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠a useless ability stone at a steep price. Feeling in my own body the effect that made every single word demand attention, I revised that opinion a little. The nobles of this place were politicians, too.

"What are you doing? Match my stance."

"Ah! Yes!"

"One thing, before that. Our house's footwork pursues lightness taken to the ‍‍‌‌⁠​​⁠‌​​‍​​‍​‌​⁠‍‌‍⁠⁠‌⁠‌‍‌‍‌‌‌‍⁠​‌​‌​‌‍‌‌‌⁠‍​​‌‍⁠‌‌⁠⁠extreme. It may not suit a spearman. Will you be all right with that?"

Her character did seem a clear cut above the nobles I'd only ever heard rumors of.

"Of course. In the end, I'll be developing it in my own fashion."

"...I see. A summoner. That, if anything, sets me at ease."

She means the secret art leaking. Of course.

"Now. As a foundation, rise onto your heels, and gather your mana into the chest..."

"Even the basic footwork uses mana?"

"...What did you say?"

"Ah—nothing."

Her glare was a touch murderous, but the woman—Aris Volante—taught me House Volante's basic footwork properly, and she taught it across a full week.

"You certainly seem to have talent. I expected a month. You have laid the foundation in a mere seven days."

"That's thanks to how well you taught me, Lady Aris. My thanks, once again."

"...It was merely a transaction. But Adventurer Char—no. Go. Cheol. Woo. I shall remember that name."

Watching Aris pronounce my real name, difficult for the people of this place, syllable by careful syllable, I bowed my head once more.

"Thank you."

It was something worth thanking her for, again and again.

With that alone I gained a freedom of movement the Advance-and-Retreat Step could not compare to. Honestly, it felt as if I had grown thirty percent faster. Jerik's words—that skills of the same grade were not all of the same level—landed with full force.

Thrusting too lightly when I drive the spear is a problem I'll have to solve...

Even if I used it only to move, only to run, and never in a fight, it seemed worth well more than three hundred gold. And more than that—the additional information I'd happened to see by turning my trait on it was shocking.

I'd tried it on a sudden thought, after learning that inside the Labyrinth I could apply my trait to the system window. I hadn't expected a secret like this to leap out.

Should I tell her?

It was enough to make me hesitate, honestly. In the end I decided not to speak. I couldn't predict, at all, what gain or what danger the telling would bring.

"If fate allows, we shall meet again."

"...Yes. If fate allows."

If we ever met again under a kinder turn of fate, I could always pass the information along then. Thinking so, I brought my training at House Volante to an end.

Back at the dojo I trained on my own, and revised the footwork exactly as my trait had taught me.

The result—

The skill's name had shifted, subtly, and the effect felt roughly a tenth stronger. Above all—

The line confirmed in the additional information pleased me all the more. Because of it, I understood for certain a new way to use the trait.

It's the same thing Instructor Jerik explained.

Put another way, my trait could serve as another master—one that grew my skills. Not that everything it offered was of any use.

No flaw, and so nothing to advise? It wasn't absolute. If a skill had something missing, the trait would patch it along—that was the extent of the thing. Still, even that was something.

Everyone who wrote me off for being unranked—come on out!

I wanted to roar it. Instead I spent another three weeks honing and drilling the Volante Footwork and the Pendulum Spear Art. In that span the Vartus Iron Body Art, growing fast, reached level 10 as well. Spear art and mana method both sat at the ceiling of a common skill, and I went to Jerik for counsel.

"A summoner's level-up points are better spent concentrated on as few skills as possible. Choose carefully, and focus."

"And your recommendation, Instructor?"

"If you're asking me, the Iron Body Art, obviously. The mana method."

"...Right. Of course it would be."

The Iron Body Art was the root of handling mana, and it laid a correction over one's basic physical stats. Methods of high grade and above were monopolized by noble houses and the great guilds, so ordinary people could not learn them. Even Jerik, once an adventurer of the fiftieth floor, had taken the Vartus Iron Body Art as his base and built a mana method that fit him alone. Unless someone matched him in constitution, frame, and aptitude for mana in every particular, they could not learn it. That was why Kirk, who could, had become Jerik's head disciple—and the greatest reason Jerik had told me not to call him master.

"The choice is yours."

"The orthodox answer is orthodox for a reason. I ought to follow it."

"Summoners the palace actually sponsors—the talented ones—will already have been learning mana methods of high grade or better from the very start. Looking only at your aptitude for mana, you clearly have talent to spare, and yet..."

He clicked his tongue as if it were a pity. I only shrugged.

"What else can I do? I have to do my best inside the circumstances I've got."

The spear art and the footwork still had room to improve. Follow that road, and I might even evolve them without spending a single level-up point. The mana method, though, showed no answer even under my trait. Nor was there any person, or any group, who would teach the likes of me a precious method for circulating mana.

A few perfect clears, and I can make the level-up points back, more or less. Yeah. I'll do it.