The next week was a study in controlled tension. Leo performed his menial chores with robotic efficiency, his mind elsewhere. He was a spider sitting at the center of a web only he could see, feeling the vibrations along each silken strand.
Master Grimes's fear had solidified into a sullen, watchful resentment. The [Fear of Exposure] string glowed a constant, sickly green. It was Leo's primary leash, and he kept it taut with small, pointed reminders. A casual mention of "the particular mineral taste of Northwell water" as he cleaned a flask. A thoughtful observation about how the Guild's new auditing seals were "impossible to forge" while weighing out inventory. Each time, Grimes would flinch, his jowls trembling, and the leash would pull tighter.
Leo's focus, however, was on Essence. The currency of the hidden vendor, and, he suspected, the key to everything. The system stated it came from defeating higher-Grade beings or from "spiritual loci." The rat problem in the alley behind the shop presented an… opportunity.
Rats were Grade 0 vermin, no Essence there. But the God-Eye, when he stared into the filthy alley's gloom, revealed something else. A shimmering, pale blue locus of energy clung to a crack in the foundation where the town's feeble ley line bled a trickle of ambient magic. It was small, weak, but it was a source.
The problem was harvesting it. He had no tools, no spells. Just his will and the God-Eye.
That night, after Grimes retired to his rooms above the shop, Leo slipped out the back. The locus was a faint, swirling light the size of his fist. He reached for it. His hand passed through cold stone. Physical interaction was useless.
He focused his mind, trying to "grasp" it with the God-Eye itself. A notification flickered.
[ Spiritual Locus (Minor) Detected. ]
[ Harvesting requires a Conduit or a Devour-Type ability. ]
[ Current Capabilities: Insufficient. ]
Frustration bit at him. Wealth lay just beyond an invisible wall. He needed a conduit. An item. The hidden vendor sold a seed. What if other vendors sold tools?
He spent his first week's silver not on food or better clothes, but on a map of the city's "official" points of interest, and a cheap notebook. In the attic, by guttering candlelight, he began a new catalog. Not of alchemical ingredients, but of people and their strings.
He ventured beyond the shop during his scant free time. The bustling market square was an overwhelming symphony of sins and desires.
Fishmonger: Sin 89 (Sells spoiled catch to the poor districts). Price of Fear: Threaten to report him to the Wardens' health inspector.
Stablehand: Sin 22 (Skims grain to feed a personal pony). Price of Loyalty: A bag of good oats.
City Guardsman (different from the first): Sin 410 (Runs a protection racket on Market Street). Price of Compliance: 20% cut of his weekly take.
This last one gave Leo pause. The guardsman, a hulking man named Borlock according to the floating name, stood at his post looking bored. His [Greed] string was a thick, coppery cable. His [Fear of the Captain] was a thinner, taut wire.
An idea, cold and precise, formed.
Leo waited until Borlock's patrol took him down a relatively quiet side-alley. He stepped out, looking as small and insignificant as possible.
"Guard Captain's looking for you," Leo said, his voice pitched to carry nervous urgency.
Borlock stopped, his hand dropping to his club. "What? Who're you?"
"Doesn't matter," Leo said, letting his eyes go wide. "He was at the Warden's post. Talking about 'unaccounted silver' and 'Market Street.' He looked furious. Said to find Borlock."
The God-Eye showed Borlock's [Fear of the Captain] string vibrate violently, glowing a hot red. The man's bravado evaporated. "Shit. Did he say… anything else?"
Leo leaned in, lowering his voice. "He mentioned the 'Leaky Tankard' specifically. Said the takings didn't match the… complaints."
It was a gamble. The Leaky Tankard was the roughest tavern on Market Street, a prime candidate for a protection racket.
Borlock's face went ashen. The system had been right. "What do you want?" he hissed, panic making him blunt.
"I want to not be seen talking to you," Leo said, taking a step back. "And I want one silver. A fee for the warning."
It was a paltry sum, meant to be believable, not greedy. A greedy informant was a dangerous one. Borlock, relieved it wasn't a shakedown for his entire operation, fumbled in his belt-purse and thrust a silver coin at Leo.
"Keep your mouth shut, rat," he snarled, but the threat was empty, born of fear.
"Never saw you," Leo said, and melted back into the crowd.
He had profited from a sin he didn't commit, using a fear he didn't truly wield. It was a transaction of pure information, brokered by the God-Eye. The silver was secondary. The proof of concept was everything.
Back in the attic, he noted the interaction in his book. Borlock (Guardsman). Lever: Fear of Captain. Yield: 1 silver. Sustainability: Low (direct contact risky).
He was building a ledger of a different kind.
A few days later, his second opportunity came. A well-dressed young man, reeking of cheap perfume and anxiety, entered the shop asking for a "discreet remedy for a… social affliction." Grimes, smelling a premium customer, bustled forward.
Leo watched with the God-Eye.
Roland de Marque
[ Noble Scion (Apprentice) – Grade 1 ]
Sin: 210 (Lost a family heirloom signet ring gambling, is using a forgery.)
Strings:
— Mortal Terror of His Father (Primary).
— Desire to Maintain Appearances (Secondary).
Price of Manipulation: Provide a solution to the ring problem.
Roland's problem, whispered to Grimes, was a case of "persistent amorous boils." Grimes, with a greedy gleam, began recommending an expensive and utterly useless tincture of powdered pearl and moonflower.
Leo saw a different path. A golden thread, visible only to him, connected Roland's [Terror of His Father] string to a specific entry in the hidden vendor menu he'd unlocked: the [Philter of Minor Truth].
Cost: 3 Essence. Essence he didn't have.
But the vendor wasn't the only source of recipes. The God-Eye scanned the shop's shelves, and a new, fainter Path glimmered into existence. It connected a jar of [Truthsage], a vial of [Greywater], and a copper stirring rod. The Path didn't lead to the secret basin, but to a standard alembic.
PathDiscovered:'ASimplerTruth'PathDiscovered:'ASimplerTruth'
Objective:BrewabasicTinctureofTruthfulTongueusingTruthsageandGreywaterinacoppervessel.Objective:BrewabasicTinctureofTruthfulTongueusingTruthsageandGreywaterinacoppervessel.
Reward:Recipemastery,low−gradeproduct.Reward:Recipemastery,low−gradeproduct.
It was a weaker version, maybe. But it was achievable.
He waited until Grimes was preoccupied with Roland's promised payment. Interrupting, he bowed his head slightly. "Pardon, Master. For the… underlying humoral imbalance that causes such persistent issues, wouldn't a cleansing tincture be more foundational before topical application? A purge of the deceitful humors?" He put a subtle emphasis on the last word, meeting Roland's eye.
Roland flinched as if struck. The word 'deceitful' had struck a nerve far deeper than any boil.
Grimes scowled, about to rebuke him, but Roland held up a shaking hand. "A… cleansing tincture? You know of one?"
"A simple, ancient recipe, sir," Leo said, his voice humble. "Requires rare focus to prepare correctly. But it seeks out falsehood in the body's system." He let the implication hang.
"How much?" Roland breathed, his noble pretense gone, replaced by raw desperation.
"For the ingredients and my… discreet expertise? Five silvers." It was a fortune. More than a month's wages under his new contract.
Roland didn't hesitate. He slapped five silver crowns on the counter. "Make it. Fast."
Grimes was torn between fury at Leo's interference and avarice at the unexpected windfall. Leo quickly gathered the Truthsage and Greywater, and under the watchful, confused eyes of his master, prepared the tincture using the copper alembic, following the golden Path's visual cues for temperature and timing. The process was simple, but the God-Eye's guidance made it flawless.
CraftingSuccessful:TinctureofTruthfulTongue(LowGrade)created.CraftingSuccessful:TinctureofTruthfulTongue(LowGrade)created.
Effect:Compelsconsumertospeakonedeeplyheldtruthwithinthenexthour.Potency:Weak.Effect:Compelsconsumertospeakonedeeplyheldtruthwithinthenexthour.Potency:Weak.
He poured the murky liquid into a small vial and handed it to Roland. "Take it at night, alone. Speak to no one until after you have… confessed what weighs on you. The purge must be verbal."
Roland snatched it, paid Grimes an extra two silvers for his "shop's discretion," and fled.
Leo received a fierce, silent dressing-down from Grimes, but the five silvers in his pocket—his cut, fiercely negotiated in hissed whispers after Roland left—muffled the words. He had manipulated a Grade 1 noble, not through force, but by seeing his secret and selling him a lie that touched a greater truth.
That night, lying on his mattress, he counted his silver. Seven crowns total. A tiny fortune. But more valuable was the notification that glowed in his vision as he'd completed the Path.
'ASimplerTruth'PathCompleted.'ASimplerTruth'PathCompleted.
Reward:+1toAlchemicalInsight.Recipefor'TinctureofTruthfulTongue'permanentlyunlocked.Reward:+1toAlchemicalInsight.Recipefor'TinctureofTruthfulTongue'permanentlyunlocked.
[ Essence Earned: 0. ]
No Essence. The disappointment was sharp. He had traded a minor manipulation for silver and a recipe, but the true currency of power still eluded him.
He needed to find a conduit. He needed to harvest that locus. He needed to become more than a Grade 0 Mortal Fragment reading the fears of petty men.
He looked at the secret basin flagstone. The vendor menu there offered the Seed of the Whispering Vine. A plant. Could a plant be a conduit? It was a gamble costing Essence he didn't have.
There was another way. The system said Essence came from defeat. He didn't need to fight a person. Perhaps he could defeat a problem.
He looked at his notebook, at the entry for Borlock the guardsman. The man's [Greed] string was a vulnerability. And Leo now had a recipe for truth.
A slow, cold smile touched his lips. He wouldn't just read the strings. He would pluck them, and listen to the world scream. And from that discord, he would take his first, real step forward.