Chapter 19
(Common) Distortion Field 3
Like a sturdy bamboo shield, may my resolve deflect the arrows of adversity, standing firm amidst the storms of fate.
Activate to immediately conjure a small, short-lived region of distorted space-time close to your body, which will act as a localized repulsion field for any incoming physical attack.The skill will now activate automatically to repel any threat you can perceive and react to in time.Both automatic and manual activation of this skill is now 15% more stats-efficient.
Moderate mana cost per activation.
"Tell me what happened," Old Dave's concerned voice was enough to bring Michael back to the real world, making him dismiss the skill window. The stench of death and burnt flesh was overpowering, enough to make even the wizened old man flinch when he entered the room.
"At least you didn't puke, what a mess."
"Already did, Old Dave. Twice." Michael said with a weak smile. These weren't goblins, but real human beings. How could I not be affected by killing fucking people? With my bare hands too.
"Shit, kid. What the hell happened?"
Michael retold the events of the day, choosing to stick to an abridged version of the story stripped of all supernatural elements. Old Dave had a pensive face throughout, as there were clear problems with this version of the story, things that didn't add up. He listened without interrupting, even though his gaze often went to the bullet holes in Michael's bloody clothes, through which perfectly healthy flesh could be seen.
On the far side of the room the two bound prisoners were struggling against their bindings, shouting curses.
"Don Casellaro won't be happy," Old Dave mused after Michael was done. "But we will handle him. You, on the other hand, your story doesn't make sense. Those guys over there, my Bulgarian is basic at best, but they are talking about a demon. You. What the hell did you do?"
It was then that Carmela finally got the courage to speak. "He… he saved me, Dave. I was about to die, back there, but he saved me!"
Michael groaned, knowing that there was no way he could keep his powers hidden. Unless I kill them all, find the last Bulgarian, kill him as well.
Which he wouldn't do, even if it were feasible.
"You need to tell me the truth, kid. What did you do to those men?" he pointed at the two prisoners, "see them? I've never seen the Bulgarians so scared shitless that all they do is whimper. What sort of monster are you?"
Interesting how he manages to be so composed even when faced with all this. He's angry, but that's that, and not even angry at me. Speaking of angry. Michael finally let the bottled-up emotion rise to the forefront.
"Before I answer your question, Old Dave, what the fuck?" he yelled, unconsciously releasing [Presence]. "Why were we attacked in broad daylight? Who are you having me ferry around in my old truck? Mafia or some shit? One of the dead guys, he had an Italian accent. And Carmela, she's Italian as well."
"Shit, don't I know that. They won't be happy, but at least they know it wasn't us who messed up. In fact, seeing this, they will likely want to reward you for capturing those two. I can't really say much more."
"Oh, no, you have to. You owe it to me now that I'm this deep in it."
"Fine," Dave conceded. "But I need to sort this out first. Make sure the two over there understand there was no… demon, here."
The way he said it brooked no argument, and the veiled threat was clear to all.
Later, they were at the pawn shop, Carmela included. The mess had been sorted out, the right people called, and the Bulgarians silenced.
"Although I wouldn't count on them not saying anything when the Italians start torturing them."
Michael had done all he could to make sure they wouldn't talk, blasting them with [Presence] until they fainted, blood trickling from their noses and eyes, but Old Dave was right, it was not a guarantee.
"Plus," the old man continued, "there's the guy who got away. But before I ask questions, I guess you want answers." He sighed. "Well, here goes. Listen, it wasn't supposed to go this way. Yes, I deal with shady people, but I swear I don't do shady things myself. I'm simply the guy who knows a guy, you know? I made myself a name by knowing the right people for the right jobs. I connect them, for a fee. That, and I deal with legal matters. I sort out their messes, through people I know. Also for a fee. But my hands are clean, always have been. Hell, seeing that carnage back there, I'd wager my hands are cleaner than yours. I know this isn't much of an explanation, but I need to do more damage control. The perk of knowing the right people? It's gonna cost me, but less than you would think, to sort out this mess. Before that though, I need to know what you are hiding. I can't protect you otherwise."
Michael nodded.
"Good. Now tell me how the fuck you managed to do all that damage yourself. Why were they muttering about hands on fire, wounds closing on their own? Your clothes are Swiss cheese and yet you are fine? Look, I pretended to believe your bullshit story earlier, but now..."
"What about her?" Michael asked.
"You want to keep what you did a secret, right? Well, she's in it as deep as you and I are, and I know she can keep a secret."
"Of course," Carmela said. She had regained much of her composure on the way back to the pawn shop, "even if I didn't owe you my life, which I do, I have a working brain. I know that what I've seen isn't normal, and you proved to be quite dangerous. Porca puttana, what a mess. But if anything, I should be grateful you were there. I would be dead otherwise."
"See?" Old Dave said, "she will have her hands full trying to rat out the Bulgarian mole, but she can be an asset."
"An asset? For what?" Michael asked.
"You never know what you might need, one day. Having someone like her indebted to you is not bad at all. The power vacuum that this attack created… But enough of that, it's your turn."
"Fine," Michael conceded, "but you're buying me lunch first. I need food. All that healing left me ravenous. It's a side effect of… ah, whatever. Of the healing magic. There, I said it."
He stomped away, heading for the truck, anger and hunger making his head swim.
I doubt I could have healed even another shot with so little energy in me. I really need to carry food with me at all times. And now I'm left with only 48 coins.
***
The diner was empty, but not due to chance. Carmela had made sure they could have their privacy, free to talk while they ate, strangely eager to show her usefulness. Michael told them a version of the story he had already told his sensei, but this time omitting crucial details about where to find the dungeon, and only talking about his skills in general terms. He didn't mention the mana coins, or anything sensitive, leaving most details vague.
"You surprise me, kid." Old Dave said with a grin, "For a moment I thought you were going to reveal all your secrets. Well, with me you can," he said with a smile, and it was hard to tell the real emotion behind it, even though it looked benevolent enough. "We are friends after all. I'm deep enough in your shit, and you in mine, that you could very well tell me. Carmela is in it even deeper." He said, repeating his earlier point, trying to hammer it home.
"Perhaps one day, yeah."
"Good call," he said, and Carmela scoffed. "What?"
"Nothing," she said with a giggle, having already gotten over her fright. "You really do have a soft spot for him, old man. I can't say I don't like it, though." She eyed Michael, and her expression sent shivers down his spine.
It's like I'm a piece of meat. A piece of meat she wants for herself.
"Be pragmatic, Carmela. It's not like you and I can go there. You heard his story, didn't you? We'd die, no question." Old Dave said, a touch defensively. "I have no interest in putting my life at risk for a chance to get some useful magic. Michael lucked out there, when he got the healing ability." He turned to Michael, "you found yourself there, you had no other choice. Going there on purpose? That would be a reckless gamble, only crazy people would do that. Even just going back there like you did, over and over again." He shook his head, leaving the rest unsaid.
Michael then told them about his conjectures about the dungeon. Both the increase in difficulty, which might remain there even if other people went in, and about the risk that a party might get broken up as they entered. Of all reasons, he thought these two were the most effective at deterring the other two from even asking to be brought to the dungeon, an extra level of protection to make sure they didn't get strange idea.
"Anyway. Speaking of healing skill, I have ideas," Dave said, making Carmela coo happily.
"Oh yeah, I know you do, nonnetto. So tasty, I can already imagine the money," she said, rubbing her hands together.
Michael could tell that they were planning something, and he had an idea what it was. I can't say I didn't think the same thing. They could be really useful, I need to impress them.
To that end, he grabbed a knife and stabbed himself in the hand. Before Old Dave could even gasp, he activated his healing skill and the would quickly closed itself shut, the flesh stitching itself back together with visible speed. All that it left behind was blood on the table, which Carmela assured would be taken care of by the staff with discretion.
She is very useful indeed.
Old Dave had looked sour for a moment at her declaration, before shrugging and turning back to Michael. "Do me next. I want to see. You said you can heal others, right?"
He cut his hand before Michael could object. The cut was shallow, but it was already oozing blood onto the table. With a sigh, Michael designated the old man as an ally and healed him, burning through some coins to top himself up.
"Definitely slower but…"
"Wait, I'm not done." Michael said. "Since you forced my hand, I might as well give you the full package."
He kept healing, even though the cut was gone, and did not stop until he had burned through ten full coins of mana.
"I'll be damned," Old Dave said, getting up suddenly. He was moving around, testing his limbs, moving around in a way that was just shy of dancing. "You just removed thirty years of wear and tear from these old bones. I'll be damned indeed. It was a freebie, right? For a friend?"
"Sure," Michael said with a wry smile. "But healing others is an effort."
"We can make a lot of money with this, kid, you know this. Right?"
Carmela nodded. "We can use our contacts," she said, already planning things out with Old Dave, "as soon as the word starts spreading, we'll have to turn people down!"
"Pah," Old Dave scoffed, "I can do that myself. Besides, what of your other job?"
"I'm free to do side business as I see fit," she said, turning to Michael, "what do you think, ragazzo?"
"I don't want any attention on me."
"Of course," both Old Dave and Carmela said in unison, and they stared at each other.
"This is embarrassing," Carmela said, "we should work together, Dave, the pie is large enough for both of us."
"I won't tolerate seeing him robbed off," Old Dave said.
"Softie. Where's the old ruthless Dave?" He glared at her, and she giggled. "No, of course I won't try to rip the boy off. As I said, I owe him my life. What do you owe him, so that he knows he can trust you?"
"Look, it's fine," Michael said, trying to defuse a situation while knowing he was out of his depth here, "we can all work together. Okay?"
"Well said. Non ti preoccupare, leave the details to us. We'll find you a patient, you heal them for free, to start the rumor mill and after that…" Carmela began.
"…we'll make a rich man out of you," Dave finished.