Book Three – Chapter Four – Part Five – Initiation

I wasn’t always like this. My childhood wasn’t the best, but I can't complain too much about it. Growing in the poor district of a well-off village, I knew how hard it would be to graduate from poverty, so I threw myself into studying. The sky, the night, the moon, and the stars were things I adored the most.

However, I knew I couldn't reach them.  How could I? I was but a mere Human with a Human lifespan.  Instead, I focused on things I could reach.  I could sew a cut, so I focused on medicine.  I knew how to hammer a piece of metal, so I focused on studying metalworking. I could write down numbers on paper and solve mathematical equations, so I focused on math.  If I could grasp it with my hands, then I threw myself into studying it. My head was in a book from the moment I finished my chores to the moment I went to bed. We were poor, so most of those books were stolen from the local library, but I never got caught. Nor do I regret depriving others of the chance to learn.

Before long, I had people coming to me to ask questions. Whether it was about the best way to suture a cut or how to determine the square footage of a plot of land, I answered everything to the best of my ability. One day, a rich person came through our town and heard the rumors about me. I guess he was impressed with my knowledge since he offered me a chance to go to school. I was about 11 then, and I loved my family, but I wanted to be free. I wanted money to buy delicious food, and I wanted the expensive clothing. Going to sleep on the dirt floor of our house and waking up to sand bugs crawling on me was something I couldn’t wait to get away from.

I can’t state how happy I was to go off to bigger and better pastures. I never saw my father, mother, or brother after that. I later received news they died from a bandit attack a few years down the line. Sure, I was sad, and I cried for the next few days, but that’s not too relevant to my story.

So, the following morning, I was off. I’m not going to bore you with the details, but my life was complete bliss for the next 31 years. I met a beautiful woman with the softest hair and tightest ass. I wanted to get on my knees and praise the Gods above for giving the woman I loved an ass so perfect and round. It was the very definition of regal beauty.

But that’s not important. I just wanted to reminisce about my lovely wife. She died seven years after we married. But I wasn’t left alone. She managed to give me a son in our first year together. I was 42 when she passed away.  It was just my son and me.

Most parents would say they love their children. And I wanted to. But I couldn’t. There was something fundamentally wrong with him as a person. And to this day, I don’t know what it was. He was violent and mean, prone to anger at even the slightest drop of a hat. He would throw these major tantrums whenever he wanted something.

You know, those tantrums only started after his mother died.  I guess he couldn't cope with her death, but what do I know? I'm not a psychologist. Don't get me wrong, I tried to learn about that subject, but I could never wrap my head or hands around it.  Again, I'm getting off-topic.

And since I was rich—oh, by this point, I had graduated from business school and ran my own company. The rich man who gave me an opportunity to go to school died. He didn’t have any children, so I inherited most of his money. Since I was rich, I gave my boy everything he asked for. Clothes, swords, shields, paintings, you name it. He had the best tutors money could buy, but it was all for shame.

He killed one of them, you know. Her name was Aki Shirohani, and she was apparently from a far-off island nation to the east. He was about seven at the time, and it was right after his mother died.  One morning, when I walked into his room, I found him covered in blood. He had a knife in one hand, and the corpse of Aki laid on his bed. I don’t want to disgust you with the details, so I’ll say it was horrifying. Her arms and legs weren’t ‘attached,’ and half of her jaw was forcefully pushed into her sliced-open stomach. It was...No, I don’t want to say anything about it anymore.

Any proper parent would’ve turned in their child, even if they were only 7, but I didn’t. I was…I don’t even know what the fuck I felt at the time. Maybe it was sadness and regret, or something different.

No, I know what it was.  When she was on her deathbed, my wife told me to always look out for our son. How could I look after him if he was in prison?

At the time, I was scared. I knew he was fucked up, but I had no idea it was to that extent. Perhaps some of his craziness rubbed off on me because I did nothing but bring him girl after girl to stop his tantrums. If a girl caught his eye, then he would be in a ‘relationship’ with her. By that, I mean he would play the act of a gentle and well-mannered boy before gutting them like a goddamn pig. If there was a difference in age or some other factor, I would adopt them as my daughter. If they were older, then I'd  hire them on as a tutor or a maid. I had money to hire as many as I wanted. I also had the money to make sure word of what I was doing never leaked. And to my knowledge, it hasn’t.

All I had to say was that my newly adopted daughter wanted to go to school in Keywater.  Or the new maid I hired suddenly felt homesick and wanted to go back to their village.  Nobody ever questioned the rapid turnaround at my mansion.

I knew it was wrong, and I feel like I’m repeating myself over and over, but I don’t think you understand. Williana, being a father or a mother to a child is something no one can be prepared for. If I could take it all away and re-do it, I never would’ve left home. I’d happily died in the bandit attack if it meant my son wouldn’t have been born. And if that wasn’t possible, I would’ve killed my son the moment he came into this world. Even if it meant bringing about the anger of my wife.

Williana…. I…. No. Forget about it.

But I’ll move on to the next part of the story. Eventually, after 13 women spread out over 11 years, he stopped. He told me that he was finished with his ‘experimentation.’ I didn’t know what he meant by that and I still don’t, but he said he was a changed man. And I made the mistake of believing him. Of forgiving him.

He was 18 when he left our house, and I was 53. I received no letter or message from him for a year, and I feared the worst. But one day, my company went bankrupt, and I had to leave my house. One of my best friends usurped the company with assistance from my wife's family and ran it into the ground in a matter of weeks. It all happened too fast for me to realize what was happening.  I lost every friend I ever had because they valued the money they stood to gain over my friendship.

But I’m getting off-topic. I had nothing but the clothes on my back and a small pouch of coins. With no allies or living family to call on for help, I was totally alone.  And wouldn’t you know it, as soon as I turned the first corner after walking down my driveway, I ran into my boy. But he wasn’t alone. There was a woman by his side, and I noticed she had these ghastly scars running down her arms. I was so taken aback that I didn’t see the little baby the woman hugged close to her breast.

To summarize it, my son had somehow found this woman and had a child with her. He said he was sorry he didn’t send a message, but he wanted to introduce me to his family. I told him what happened, and he said he had some money saved up.  They lived in a town called Arcton in the Kingdom of Lando. Even though we were in Westera at the time, I had no idea how he could afford such a long trip. I didn’t pay it much mind.

I accepted his offer, and we started the long yet peaceful journey to this little shit hole of a town. Though back then, the Mafia didn’t exist, and the town was beautiful.

But the real trouble didn’t start for another six years. I was 59, and my granddaughter was 7. The house we lived in wasn’t that fancy, but it was calm and comforting. In my old age, I didn’t mind not having expensive showers or meals that were 250 dupla a plate. That kind of exotic living was far past me, and I was happy being with my family.

But that happiness was only at a surface level. You see, my daughter-in-law suffered from a terrible disease. It required constant medication to keep the pain under control.  At first, the medicine was cheap to buy.  The ingredients were common, and it didn't require anything special to produce.

Williana, If you can make something life-saving at a cheap cost, that’s the key to making money. People value their lives. They would pay if it was 1 dupla per dose. They would pay if it was 120 dupla per dose.

I said that’s the key to making money, but it’s not the key to making a lot of money. You see, people are bastards. They’re selfish and ungrateful, and they always want and want and want, even at the cost of others.

You can probably see where I’m heading with this. One day, a few of the medicine makers had the bright idea to collectively raise the price of the medicine my daughter-in-law needed. Well, it was simple. If I didn't want to pay 120 dupla, I’ll go around and find someone who wants 11 or 12 dupla. That worked for a while, but soon every medicine maker in Arcton had joined together.

And before you ask, yes. I tried to make the medicine. If it’s easy to make, then I should be able to do it, right? I thought so too. But as fate would fucking have it, the materials needed to make the medicine became expensive. Even more expensive than buying the pills outright.  Those goddamn bastards collectively raised the prices of the raw materials.

And all the money my son worked for dried up quickly because he loved his wife. She needed the medicine to live, and he wanted her to be alive. It’s a simple thing to understand. Oh, but the story doesn’t end there.

Diseases are inheritable, you know. If a mother is suffering from a chronic illness, her child may be born with the same ailment.  If not that, then the chances of it appearing later on in life were high, if not guaranteed.

That’s what happened to my granddaughter. She had the same terrible disease that plagued her mother.

My son didn’t know it at the time, but his wife confided in me. She said that she never took the medicine he bought for her.  She used it on her daughter instead. I didn’t know what to think. But in the end, I think I was proud of her. The pain she felt had to be excruciating, and she never did let anyone know what she went through except me.

She loved her daughter like I wanted to love my son. She was a better parent than me. It’s just that simple.

A part of me wants to blame myself. If I had been tougher on my son, he might have married a different girl. Said girl probably wouldn’t have such a rare disease, which meant their offspring would be healthy. But because I was a shitty father…. Well, you get what I was going to say.

Then one day, my daughter-in-law dropped dead. We didn’t have money for a proper burial, so I helped my boy dig a hole. My granddaughter cried and cried all day and night. And I had to tell him his wife kept the medicine for their daughter.

He didn’t react at all. Then he left and came back around 8 hours later. I asked him where he went, and he said gambling. When I asked him about the money for the medicine, he said he didn’t care. He never loved his daughter. He actually told me, to my face, that “He couldn’t love a murderer.”

The fucker actually flashed me the dupla. He had enough to pay for a whole month’s worth of medicine. But the very next day, the son-of-a-bitch lost everything after losing a game of poker.  I reminded him about the many people he killed, and that son of a bitch said it was different because he wanted to 'experiment.'

I remember being so angry and storming out of the house. With nothing but the warm summer breeze to comfort me, I wandered around for hours. Eventually, I ran into a well-dressed man, and a thought occurred to me.

“Do I value the lives of others over my flesh and blood?” the answer, of course, was no.

I killed him then and there with a knife I carried for self-defense. I took his wallet, his fancy clothes, his watch, and his rings. That was the day I took my first life, and it was the day I ceased to be Human.  But if that was the price for my granddaughter to stay in good health, then that was the price I was going to pay.

For the next six years, I wandered around the city. I would break into buildings and rob anyone who looked wealthy. But I made sure to be at the pharmacy bright and early every Monday morning to buy the medicine. Sometimes, it didn’t go so well. You see this scar? Let’s just say I got cocky one night when I was trying to pickpocket a purse from a woman at the bar. I deserved it. That I can agree on. But I never let one setback set me back. The very next night, after paying to have it sutured up, I was back on the prowl. But I’ll skip ahead in my story.

When it happened, I was 65, and she was 13. One night, when I was coming back home, I heard screaming coming from our house. I rushed in and saw my son with a bloody knife. And right next to him was my granddaughter. I’ll never forget the sight. Her left and right arms were covered with blood, but I saw two long gashes that spanned her forearms.

That’s when I did the math. My fucking son, own flesh and blood, purposely marked his wife with the two scars. I knew it was familiar. After all, all of his ‘experiments’ had the same two lines going down their arms. I just didn’t make the connection until that very moment.  Even now, I don't know why he felt the need to maim people. If only I were a better father, maybe the two of us could've had a heart-to-heart, but that day will never come.

In a rage, I killed him. I committed filicide. I only remember the rush of adrenaline. Haha, in a way, I was finally punishing my son by taking his worthless life. I only stopped stabbing his lifeless corpse when I heard a weak voice. It was my granddaughter calling me. You know, she always called me grampy.

That was the last time she ever did that.

I turned around, covered in blood, and she ran out of the house while clutching her arms. I went to chase her but stopped when I realized what I had just done.

She wouldn’t accept me. Not after I killed her father. So I walked away until I found an alley to die in. Hell, I was old. I figured death could come at any time, so I passed out and waited for my life to be stricken from me by a pack of animals or hoodlums. But when I woke up, I was alive.

There were so many emotions running through my body at the time that I don’t know what compelled me to go after her. I searched and searched and eventually found her inside of the Warden office.

She was smiling at some Elf who took a long bandage to her arm. I knew then and there that she had lost her memories. Williana, tell me if you would smile after your father betrayed you. After he used your soft arms as a cutting board? After he gave you the same two long wounds that your mother had? What if you saw your grandfather kill your father? Would you proudly smile after that? No, you wouldn’t. But she did.

She had the strength to smile because she lost her memories.

In a weird way, I’m glad they are chambered off in a dark part of her mind. As long as they stayed barred from her soul, I can die happy.

But then I remembered about the medicine! What if the Elf taking care of her didn’t know about it?! Well, my fears were proven wrong a moment later when I saw her give my granddaughter the life-saving pill she needed.

I didn’t know what to do. I couldn’t walk in because the shock of seeing me might’ve triggered her dormant memories. Maybe not. Regardless, I couldn’t risk it.

So I left. I continued my nightly criminal activities until I had enough for a dosage. I couldn’t be sure that the Elf would always pay for her medicine. So after I bought the pill one Monday morning, I decided to camp out in a small alley next to Warden. It didn’t take long for her and the Elf to walk out.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say that the Elf was her mother. That’s the impression I got from seeing them walk hand-in-hand. But I got up and wandered after them until they led me to a building.

It was a little old house. Not perfect, but better than my son’s house. I dropped off the medicine in the mailbox and walked away. When I came back a few hours later, the Elf was giving the medication to my granddaughter while they sat on the front porch. And I knew it was mine and not hers because I drew a little yellow fox on the wrapper after dying it black.

You see, she always loved foxes. Some of my most treasured memories were when she couldn’t sleep. She would say, “Grampy, tell me a story. I wanna hear one about a fox.”

And I would do just that. The fox was named Sparky, and he had yellow fur. He liked to get into all kinds of trouble, but it all worked out in the end.

But I can’t do that anymore. I can’t do anything a grandfather would do with their granddaughter.

You know, I don’t even know why the Elf decided to give my granddaughter a random pill she found in the mailbox. But I’m not complaining. So, I take that back. I’m giving her the medicine she needs, so I’m technically doing something a grandfather would do.

I won’t ever get to be a part of her happiness. All I can do is watch from the sidelines and deliver her the medicine. And so far, for 5 years, I’ve never missed a week. She just turned 18 last month. I debated on leaving a present with the pill, but I decided against it. I wanted to give her a stuffed animal. Something small and cute. But I was scared….. I couldn’t waste 30 dupla on something that won’t help me in the long run.

I’m 70 years old, Williana, and I could die at any moment. That’s why I need money. That’s why I went so hard on Dal and his family.

He might love his family, but I love my granddaughter even more. If I were given the chance to earn 3 dupla by slaughtering his family, I would. Hell, I'd do it even it was a single dupla. I don’t think I could kill you, but I would try if the price was high enough.

But for 8 years, I’ve been killing and stealing. I had a horse named Lemonade that I found one day when I was looting a farmhouse. I had killed the owners and robbed the place blind. I was just about to leave when I had the bright idea to check the barn. That’s when I found Lemonade. From that day on, I slept in the barn and did all I could to make sure Lemonade grew big and strong. Not out of love, but because I knew I could make an investment. There was also a wagon, you see, and I made some legitimate money by ferrying passengers from Canary to Arcton.

I even killed a passenger who I was transporting from Canary to Arcton because he told me he was going to give me a tip. I wanted all of his money, not just a little bit.

And I even met these two girls on the way back to Arcton after killing the man. I wanted to kill them then and there, to take their money, but the Singi, Momo, I think her name was? Or maybe it was Mosie? Her child-like way of playing with Lemonade reminded me of my granddaughter’s fixation with foxes. Maybe it was for the best. Her friend, this girl named Servi, reminded me of myself. I smelled the stench of death on her. And if I would’ve died, then my granddaughter would not have gotten her medicine.

So, I left them. I told them some lie about meeting me at a store, I think. But I have no intention of keeping it. Hell, I don’t even remember what I told them. Again, I’m getting off-topic.

But when I got back into town that day, some guy offered to buy my horse and wagon. I probably could be gotten more money, but I needed the cash. Lemonade, I hope your new owner is treating you better than I did. Then I went to a bar and met a man who told me about the Mafia.

That’s pretty much the end of my story. Hell, maybe I told you this because I wanted someone to be aware of my story. Or maybe I wanted you to feel sorry for me so you would take over paying for her medicine after I croak.

Oh, where is she now? She works at Warden as a receptionist. She still lives with that Elf in the same ole house.

A skill to cure her? There is one, but it's nothing but a pipe dream. You see, there is a skill called Lux Dei Omnipotentis. It’s the ultimate healing skill, and it's able to heal any injury, any illness, and any sickness. As far as I know, there isn’t a God who can bless the skill. The only way to learn it is by achieving Rank 0 in Warden and spending 500 Potential. Oh, it’s one use only. After using it, the user is required to spend double the Potential to learn it again.

So let’s say someone used it once and had to pay 1,000 Potential to learn it again. They use it a third time. It’s now 2,000 to learn. Use it again after that? It’s now 4,000.

If I could scrounge up the vast amount of money needed to pay someone to use it, how would I find them in the first place? And why would they use something so precious and scarce on someone who isn’t royalty? Sure, they’d get paid a lot, but if they’re Rank 0, it’s likely they won’t be hurting for money any time soon.

I don’t know how much my granddaughter gets paid, but it’s not right for her to devote 120 dupla a week just so she can survive pain-free. If I had my wealth, then I technically could’ve bought the entire town. I had that much money. And if I did that, then maybe the Mafia never would've shown up.

But that’s the past, and there’s nothing I can do. Oh, I see Deset.

Williana, allow this old fool to thank you for listening. It may not seem like much to you, but I’m happy someone knows my story.