Apocalypse: Fairy System Macronomicon (a book to read txt) 📖

Jeb nodded before spinning on his peg and heading out the door. A moment later, Zlesk caught up with him as Jeb exited the doors of the first floor and burst into the dry air of the desert city.

“What in the Roil was that?” Zlesk demanded. The sheriff’s jaw dropped as they passed a poster glued to the nearest wall.

It had Garland Grenore’s name and likeness on it. Underneath the picture was a short and sweet blurb, reading: ‘I gave my only daughter to pirates. Imagine what I’ll do to you.’

Every ten feet or so, there was another poster. Same picture, same message.

Jeb nodded in satisfaction as the ice pick headache began to build between his temples, scanning the poster-studded streets. Fifty bulbs well spent.

“Eck-ban,” Zlesk muttered, stopping in his tracks. “You really went for it.”

“Had to make sure it stuck,” Jeb said as he clomped along.

“But this is just…overkill.”

“Fucker shouldn’t have stolen my silver coin,” Jeb muttered.

“Is that why you did this?” Zlesk asked. “Ruined that man and his daughter?”

“The vast majority of it is because he gave his daughter to pirates,” Jeb said. “I’m not that petty. But I have to admit there’s a certain satisfaction that wouldn’t be there if he hadn’t stolen my silver coin.”

The headache kept growing until Jeb felt like someone was stomping on the back of his eyeballs with cleated shoes.

Just gotta get back to the inn. Then I can suffer through the Myst sickness in peace, he thought to himself. Before he realized it, Jeb was toppling forward, the only thing stopping his descent the sheriff’s palm. He could barely hear the keegan’s words through the throbbing in his brain.

“Uuugh,” Jeb said in response, hoping it was the right answer. His eyes were both crossed and unfocused, making it extremely difficult to see.

The sheriff responded with some more words lost in the pounding of Jeb’s skull, then began to haul him away.

When Jeb’s senses began to return to normal, he found himself sitting in a booth at the local bar, fingers clenched in a death grip around an iron beer stein.

“Why?”

“Because you stood me up last week,” Zlesk said, glaring at him from the booth.

“I told you it would be different,” Jeb said with a half-hearted smile.

Zlesk gave him a flat stare.

“You’re lucky you got away with that stunt you pulled with Grenore,” Zlesk said, shaking his head. “You were in front of an imperial enforcer. There were so many ways that could have ended with you dead. If you hadn’t baited her with Garland…”

“Pfft. At no point in there did I tell a lie.”

“Yeah, and you admitted to some very borderline criminal activities.”

“They’ll never stick.”

“You know I could have you executed for forgery any time I want?” the lawman asked, raising a brow. “I’ve still got you dead to rights on that one, you slippery bastard.”

“Why are so many things punishable by death!?” Jeb demanded.

“Because it’s difficult and expensive to imprison people with Classes.”

“Wow, didn’t expect a straight answer,” Jeb said. “Anyway, I’m sorry. That day ran long, the stab wound made me sleepier than I thought, and I forgot the beer.”

Zlesk grunted. “Don’t worry, I’m saving arresting you for something more egregious than forgery. I want you to get famous first so I can get promoted.”

“Don’t call it forgery,” Jeb said, opening a tab with the barmaid with a silver. “Call it ‘correcting your embarrassing underestimation of what Jeb Trapper is capable of’.”

“You were right, and I was wrong, alright?” Zlesk said with a scowl. “That’s the only reason I’m not stuffing you in a cell right now.”

Jeb shifted in his seat to grab his pitcher, his pegleg bumping against the leg of the table as he did.

That gives me an idea.

“Change of subject,” Jeb said, filling his first mug. “How much would a fancy prosthetic run me?”

“You could get a nice one with a false foot and a couple heavy-duty springs to smooth out your gait for a bulb or so. If you wanted something better than that, with magical support, tricks and some kind of spell imbued into it, it could run you as much as, oh…fifty to a hundred bulbs.

“You couldn’t get that one made in Kalfath, though,” Zlesk said. “A little city like this one isn’t gonna cut it.”

“What if I wanted someone to regrow it?” Jeb asked.

“Good luck,” Zlesk said with a chuckle. “That’s a matter of having a powerful healer owe you a big favor. They’re in extremely high demand, and getting access to one is more a factor of being a powerful aristocrat than simply having enough money to throw at the problem.”

Bzzt.

Jeb blinked as the table in front of him flickered and resolved into a video feed.

“Still getting used to those,” Jeb muttered, moving his beer out of the way. The way the empire could push video to everyone inside its borders whether they wanted it or not felt very dystopian.

“Hi there!” Jeb blinked as Amanda’s cheery face showed up in front of the camera, followed by Brett’s chiseled good looks. “I’m Amanda Courvar!”

“And I’m Brett Courvar,” Brett said, smiling at Jeb with his stupid perfect teeth.

“Speak of the devil,” Jeb muttered, taking a sip of his beer.

The camera zoomed out to show the fitness model couple standing in front of a stack of paperwork.

“We’re here today to kick off a series about how to get along in this wild new world! Welcome to the first episode! I hope it helps as many people as possible!” Amanda said.

“Today’s episode is about how you can register a homestead and apply for a three-year tax exemption,” Brett said.

“Three years?” Amanda asked, eyes widening in surprise. “That’s a long time!”

“Long enough to get on your