Treasury
The world was cold and desolate, but like the shifting sun, it was a cycle of great chance. Sometimes, it was warm. Sometimes, it was a source of wealth, knowledge, and kindness.
It all depended on perspective. The world changed as long as you had the power to change it. As long as you had the eyes for it—the perspective.
Dasha had always known that. Dasha had always done that. However, never before had it been so pertinent than now. Here, in the Les Murmures, who had amassed knowledge like no other. The second floor was full of that knowledge in written form.
The first floor was their treasury. Physical representations of their days. A room of mirrors and treasure chests, impossible to tell apart except for those that were given that knowledge and the keys. Grace was one of those people, opening up a seemingly innocent treasure chest and handing him fabric that stunned Dasha's knowledge.
"These are martial artist robes woven by Al-Khayzuran. One of her five great works and S-ranked: the Ruh al-Qital."
Grace smiled and urged him to take it. He did, swiftly equipping it.
"Ruh al-Qital—Spirit of Combat," Dasha mused. A lustrous shade of burgundy, sleeveless, and free, his vision went narrow for a second. The world slowed, then returned to normal.
[ Equipment Name: Ruh al-Qital
Rank: S
Defence: 270
Deftness: 150
Magical Might: 100
Vitality: 100
Current Value: 370,000,000
Description: Woven by the illustrious Al-Khayzuran and intended for the greatest of martial artists. It is said to have been worn by a previous champion of the Heavenly Games. There is a hidden effect of this robe yet to be revealed...]
Grace wasn't done. She went to two other treasures and took out another key. "You're very lucky, you know," she said as she opened up to a pair of knee-high white leather boots. Sparkles sprinkled across the material and she picked them up without effort. "If circumstances weren't so bad, we wouldn't be handing this stuff over to you."
Grace went over to another chest and took out a white cloak. Like the boots, its magical quality could not be missed. It was special. It was powerful.
She gave it to Dasha.
[ Equipment Name: Seven-league Boots
Rank: A
Agility: 777
Current Value: 70,000,000
Description: Take seven leagues per step! A league is the rough distance of an hour of walking. ]
[ Equipment Name: Tarnkappe
Rank: A
Defence: 200
Current Value: 80,000,000
Description: A cloak that once belonged to Sigurd the great hero of Germanic legend and Old Norse. The cloak grants the wearer invisibility. ]
"There are seven of the Seven-league Boots in the world," Grace said. "Seven, seven, seven! Oh, but you don't go too wild with them. Your eyes won't be able to compute at the speed you're moving. That's why they always say at the university: keep your agility up and your deftness even upper."
Ignored.
'Open status.'
[ Status: Dasha Pang
Class: Amateur Martial Artist
Level: 27
HP: 265
HP/Minute: 76.5
MP: 2158
MP/Minute: 164
Attack: 61
Defence: 623
Attributes
Strength: 57
Resilience: 53
Agility: 864
Deftness: 380
Vitality: 153
Magical Might: 401
Magical Mending: 51
Distributive Points: 30 ]
His deftness was a little under half his agility. An insufficient amount in order to fight at his fullest. He touched his face and instead felt a rigid steel. A mask. The mask belonging to Jack the Ripper.
[ Equipment Name: Jack the Ripper's Mask
Rank: S
Defence: 100
Deftness: 130
Magical Might: 250
Current Value: 170,000,000
Description: By wearing this mask, you enter the world of pain and darkness. You will forever have disfigured your face for eyes that can see in the darkness. ]
He gained four classes from wearing it: Mage, Wizard, and Sorcerer, the three tiers of magical manipulation, on top of the Dark Sorcerer Class. The downside came with his lack of foundation in magic of that type. He was a martial artist. As a perfectionist, he would learn the ways of the spell-casting, only if to sate his lust for power.
There was another concerning remark: he would have to wear the mask forever. Up till a certain point, the Game System's naturally healed scars—but that was the key word: up till a certain point. According to Taqi ad-Din's journals, the limit depended on the individual, their current state of magical prowess, and the concentration of mana in the injury. As an extreme example, if a player had been burned by Agni, the Hindu god of fire, then the chances of healing were impossible. If the fire emerged from a dragon, then there was a high probability the players would receive long-term burn marks. If it was a di-circle spell, a spell born from two magic circles, then the burns would not last long.
It all depended on the concentration of magic.
'In my case, it's going to be a while before I can take this thing off.'
Because yes, Dasha did have a plan for it. He always had a plan for his choices; a back-up even in the face of ludicrous situations. The plan would not viable for a while though. For the foreseeable future, the consequence of scarring himself would stay. The consequence of being unable to show his hypnotic eyes would dash his options.
"Do you know who she is?" Dasha prompted. He didn't need to explain himself, she knew what he was talking about.
Grace's smile widened. "Daughter? No. She is not known to anybody. That is why she organizes our work."
"Such trust," he commented.
"Are you being sarcastic? I can't tell." Grace marched over to the door and grabbed the doorknob. She stopped as if suddenly remembering something. "Oh right! I know that warning you of all people is funny but, um, seriously. Be careful. Like super careful. The Kingslayer walks these halls and even though he approved of our agreement I doubt he will be nice about it."
'The Kingslayer? He's here? Of all places?'
It was too early to meet him of all people. 'Luck and opportunity can only go so far. It would be wise to limit my time here.'
"How unexpected. To think a fellow winner would be here," Dasha remarked, feigning unease.
"Unfazed. Sheesh. I guess the mentality of the strongest is different from us mere losers." A self-deprecating laugh later, Grace went out.
'Hm.' Dasha joined her in the hall, eyeing her from the corner of her eye. 'I suppose she knows that if we fought that I would likely win. Wearing multiple S-class items has lifted me into class five.'
Class Five: the class the average player reached by the end of their journey. It was the equivalent of a small military. Class One, Class Two, Class Three, it didn't matter. A Class Five could take on hundreds of them and achieve victory. Here Dasha was, not even at Gate 10 and already at this level, already stronger than every player of his generation. The sense of power was invigorating. Every step felt like a step holding him back.
"I have a question," Grace asked, still chirpy. "Can you tell me why I'm so weak?"
What a blunt request. Dasha answered, "Players struggle to grow in terms of levels due to the sheer amount of XP involved. For every level up till thirty, the amount of XP necessary to level up increased by fifty percent."
"Yep! But after level 30, it's just five percent. Still gonna be in the millions. Wait, you already know this, why am I telling you this?" Grace laughed. "But so what? Levels are important, right?"
"You stunted yourself with that. Never rely on something else. Never allow the Game System to dictate what you can do. You have been around for how long? The early Victorian era?"
For the first time, her smile faltered. She didn't expect to be read like that. Dasha continued, "I remember women like you when I was a boy. You compared yourselves to men instead of grasping for the horizons, for something truly great. You were the same here, weren't you? You let yourself get trampled on, which is why you are a whisper among whispers. You should have killed anyone who got in your way, any man who told you you weren't enough till you were enough."
"Killed anyone who got in my way?" Grace giggled and added a spring to her step. "You're crazy. Then again, that's…weirdly encouraging from a serial killer that kills prostitutes. Thank you!"
He didn't know what Jack the Ripper was like. His psychological profile was too broad to gain an insight into his motivations. Dasha supplemented that with his own thoughts and beliefs.
A Victorian era woman like Grace would be useful to keep around. He had already deduced what she was like: a woman lost in the Heavenly Games; a woman that witnessed the passing eras and how the social status of women propelled beyond mere housewives and sweepers. A woman that was beginning to truly express herself. A woman that did not know her place in the world yet kept trying nonetheless.
A woman that would strike up an easy friendship with a mysterious figure like Jack the Ripper. She had something of a screw loose, it seemed. Moreover, there was a second element—the task of watching over him. Not just Grace but Xavier too. Both of them were assigned to him under the behest of Daughter.
"Then in exchange for that piece of advice," Dasha began, "would you go over to that shop I run and talk to the Sapphire Order men that come over?"
"Huh? Oh, sure!"
'She's too casual about it. So she WAS observing me. She must possess a stealth skill if I hadn't noticed her with my Qi Sense.'
"Oh, but I do have to ask—" Grace stopped as they arrived at Daughter's doorstep. The final door of the left wing. "Ah, I'll ask next time."
Still smiling, she began to mutter a long series of words. The white hieroglyphics glowed red and the door disappeared and opened to the half-asleep Daughter on the hammock. Grace made a grand gesture for him to enter.
"It's time," Grace said, "for us to help you forge Járngreipr!"