Cassandra gathered the squad after they filed the report, her expression lifted with a hint of satisfaction. "Good news! We received a commission of 20 gold for the man-fish case."
"Not bad for a day's work," the Traveller commented with a nod.
Then, Cassandra turned to him with a questioning look. "Lucian, when's the last time you performed a ritual of charity?"
The Traveller hesitated, thinking back. Though he'd been in Rivendale less than a week, it felt like he'd lived several lifetimes. "A little less than two weeks ago," he answered.
"Then it's about time. I'll take you to the place for rituals of Charity in Rivendale. It's… a bit different," Cassandra said, leading the way.
They stopped in front of an elegant, ivy-covered building. A painted sign hung over the door, reading The Rose Hospice in delicate script.
"The Rose Hospice?" the Traveller asked, tilting his head. The name sounded comforting, even beautiful. He hadn't expected that.
Cassandra nodded. "Yes, this is where we perform rituals of charity. You may have noticed the healing potions made from Rivendale's roses—those are only a small part of a much larger miracle magic. This hospice is a place dedicated to that magic's price." Her expression turned distant. "As they say, On blood and bone, grow the reddest rose."
Inside, rows of patients lay in quiet beds, their skin pale and wan. Roses in deep shades of red grew out of their flesh, blooming from thorny vines that had sprouted from their skin. The plants curled around their limbs, intertwining with bone and muscle, each patient's life visibly waning as the roses flourished.
"It starts with an itch," Cassandra explained, her voice steady but tinged with sorrow. "A small, red spot, almost like a rash. After a few days, a vine sprouts from the skin, and slowly, it grows… binding to the flesh and draining their vitality. No one, not even the most powerful of the Cursed or the wealthiest citizen, can prevent or cure it."
The Traveller looked at her, his voice softened. "Did you lose someone to it?"
She nodded, her gaze fixed on a distant memory. "My mother," she said quietly, a sad, wry smile on her lips. "The most powerful man in the city couldn't even save his own wife from the price of his magic."
The Traveller felt a pang of empathy. "I'm sorry."
Cassandra let out a sigh, her tone more reflective. "It's all right; it's been a long time. The ones who come to the hospice are often those who wish to use their final days to perform a ritual of charity—to leave some money for their families or, in some cases, to indulge in one last bottle of dream liquid. It's a way to make peace."
The Traveller absorbed her words, a somber reality settling over him. He looked the rows of beds, "Does this happen to anyone who lives in Rivendale?"
"Yes," she replied, her voice a whisper of resignation. "It's the price of living in a beautiful, safe city—anyone, whether Cursed or not, could get it. Only another miracle magic or divine intervention can negate or stop it."
"Another miracle magic, this is the price of a miracle magic?" the Traveller asked intrigued.
"Yes, this is a miracle magic, my father's magic. He does not pay the price of the magic himself, the price is instead is spread upon everyone in the city."
"So… this curse, or price, could just appear?" He glanced around the room, feeling the weight of such a random, unpredictable fate.
"True," she said, offering a comforting smile. "But the chances are so rare that it's almost negligible. When my father uses his magic the risk does increase, but it's nothing to worry about if you're living here during ordinary times. After he uses his power, the wealthy and powerful often leave the city for a while, just in case."
The Traveller spoke telepathically to Lucian. While the risk might be low, I'd say it's best for you to inhabit a living creature regularly while in Rivendale. Our magic should be a miracle magic so it should be able to transfer even the Curse of the Rose. Just as a precaution.
Agreed, Lucian responded, the thought of the rose curse leaving him feeling uneasy.
The Traveller moved carefully through the hospice, his gaze settling on an elderly woman with a gentle smile. Her kind eyes met his, and something about her peaceful presence reassured him that this was the right choice. With a small nod, he slipped a Gold Imperial into her hand, and she began to intone the ritual of charity. The ancient words flowed with a rhythm both comforting and haunting, echoing softly through the hall. As she completed the ritual, the faint weight of the price he'd accumulated over the past few weeks was transferred from him to her. She looked peaceful, grateful even, as the magic settled over her.
The week that followed was quiet. Missions were scarce, leaving the Traveller to focus on his newfound business ventures. He continued his routine with the Flesh of the Lamb ritual, producing more magical meat to sell, and strengthened himself with the Banquet of Kin ritual using goblins.
Surprisingly, demand for the lamb's flesh—price-negating material—remained high. Even as he sold piece after piece to Daryl, the merchant didn't waver on price, clearly valuing the rarity and purity of the product. Still, a hint of unease crept into the Traveller's mind. Daryl's curiosity seemed too keen, and he feared the merchant might be piecing together the nature of his magic. If Daryl suspected he wielded miracle magic, the risk of being kidnapped or worse was real. Miracle magics were treasures, fiercely coveted; the right magic could create immense wealth and power, and some would stop at nothing to obtain it. He reassured himself, though, knowing that Daryl's magic-bound oath as a follower of the Merchant restrained him… at least for now. One of the price the followers of the Merchant pay for their magic is that they must abide by the laws of commerce and one of them is customer protection. If they fail to abide by the laws, they will turn into fells. Of course nothing is absolute if the gains is large enough any law can be broken.
Another concern gnawed at him: he had hit a plateau with the Banquet of Kin. His strength had maxed out to the limits of the ghoul magic can provide. He'd exceeded Aron's physical power, but not by as much as he'd hoped. The ghoul sword now felt almost ordinary in his hand—a weapon without the same edge of supernatural amplification he'd first sensed.
The magical strengthening from the ghoul magic is also only semipermanent, the magic is like food for his body, if he doesn't intake the magic especially after injury or using his superhuman abilities, he will weaken until he is just a healthy and extremely fit person with human limits
To bolster his abilities, he invested in several rare items. He picked through the magical market carefully, finding items that would amplify his strength and safeguard against any unforeseen threats. Among his purchases:
Hourglass of Borrowed Time: This hourglass could suppress any accumulating price for a limited time. When flipped, the sand inside granted him a reprieve, though when released, the stored price would double. It can control how fast the price is released. A lifesaver if Lucian couldn't inhabit a body in time or if the price hit too hard, too fast.
Talisman of Protection: An ornate charm that could negate a single lethal magical strike. However, it had a downside—lesser attacks would deal more damage as a tradeoff.
Lucky Coin: A small, weighty coin that temporarily improved his luck. The price? It would eventually drain that luck back from his future.
Healing Potions (x5): Reliable for mending physical wounds, though with a sinister cost: each use marginally increased the likelihood of developing the curse of the rose.
With his new defenses and a stash of magical items, he felt better prepared for any unexpected challenge. He finally decided to give Lucian a day off as promised; the rituals, sacrifices, and constant vigilance had taken a toll on him as well, and it seemed only fair to keep his companion's mind intact.