Frost

II. Vincent


He was not selling well today.

Vincent sighed, shifted on his seat on the bench with his bag of zombie mouths and trunks and crystals, and returned to staring off straight ahead to nowhere as people passed by infront of him at the busy Prontera City street. He was really having difficulty concentrating in regenerating some of his physical and spell energy due to all the noise, but he really had to unload all his extra loot here to feel lighter when he restarts hunting again.

He also badly needed the money. Almost all his budget went to weapon and armor purchases and upgrades recently that there wasn't much left for his food and rent.

At the thought of food he felt his stomach protest, and he hesitatingly lifted an apple from his bag and started to chew on it. Better reserve for dinner tonight, he reminded himself, tucking his bag to his back so that he wouldn't be tempted to get another apple again.

He suddenly felt a heal spell fall on him, regenerating all his physical energy. He looked up to see a priest with short whitish hair wearing a sakkat already standing beside him and smiling down at him with those soft red crinkly eyes.

"You didn't have to do that," he said, not really unkindly, as he wrapped his unfinished apple in plastic and put it back in his bag. He wouldn't be needing the apple anymore with what just happened. "I'm selling anyway."

"And you're selling pretty slow," Father Danili observed. He regarded the empty space beside Vincent. "Would you mind?"

Vincent just nodded, and the priest took his seat. "You didn't have to rub it in."

The other just laughed. "But that's a good trait of yours."

"What?"

"You take advantage of every opportunity that comes your way. Like you regaining your health points while selling," Father Danili pointed out, still smiling with his index finger held up.

"Ah."

They sat in companionable silence, some buyers stopping by them occasionally to ask questions or directions or to ask Father Danili for a heal and a bless. Vincent avoided looking at Father Danili though --- Vincent had never been good at small talk, or, more accurately, never been good at any kind of talking at all, and the priest seemed to be in the chatting mood right now. Though he had been acquaintances with the priest for seven years now through occasional party, ever since the latter had been an acolyte, he still did not know him that well to be sure that the latter was comfortable just sitting in silence this way.

He was not even sure if he trusted the priest yet. The truth is, Vincent really couldn't believe that a person could actually be that happy and smiling all the time, so Father Danili instantly made him suspicious.

And intimidated.

But he couldn't bear making people around him feel uncomfortable, no matter how much he doesn't trust them. So though he didn't really want to Vincent began to formulate some topic for small talk in his head, and was about to open his mouth when Father Danili said, "Hey..."

"...What?"

"Do you have any rares there now?"

If you had been concentrating, you would have heard me attack the Creamy first.

Vincent mentally let out a hiss. A teleport card... of all the most important rares for a Mage in this world, he had to let that go. He had to submit to that Wizard... He could have tried to run off with the card actually, but he really couldn't risk being branded a kill-stealer --- being a guild member with a bad reputation was the last thing he wanted to be right now.

I was wounded, for godsakes. How was I supposed to concentrate??

Suddenly he felt that annoying and depressing lowering of self-esteem again. He couldn't concentrate that well. He couldn't even sense a fellow Mage or Wizard when they're casting spells. He couldn't even master anything to be able to get to those high-level monsters for rare loots. What kind of Mage was he?

"None," Vincent muttered, just out of politeness and to prevent Father Danili from looking at him further and sensing his irritation.

"Ah... that's too bad. Can I buy all your cystals then?"

Vincent looked at the priest in surprise. "All? That's 10000 zeny all in all."

"Yes," the priest smiled. "I was planning to upgrade my stunners, you see."

Vincent sort of felt some pang of envy at how rich the priest was, and dealt the crystals quietly. When finished the priest stood up. "Would you like to party again? I'm going to Glast Heim."

I'm not even good enough for Glast Heim.

Vincent forced a smile. "I'm still overloaded. I might just drop items," he lied.

"Ah. Alright. See you around then," the priest saluted cheerfully, before warping off.

Vincent looked down at his bag of loots. The truth is, he could actually carry all these to Glast Heim without dropping anything valuable. But somehow he just couldn't bear seeing the confidence and cheerfulness of Father Danili, and the priest seeing how little he had improved from the last time they were together.

Though, right now, it seemed that he suddenly badly missed the priest's company. Seeing Father Danili again was as rare as once every six months.

He squinted up at the crisp, clear sky of Prontera City. Suddenly he had a daydream where he wished that the sun would shine to scorching, or it would rain hard, and both happened, washing all the people off the street and leaving only him.

With those people passing to and fro around him, they didn't really make any difference anyway to the loneliness he tried to ignore.


Vincent dropped to his chair shakingly. A few Elder Willows roamed inside his small rented cottage. Debris and ashes scattered on the floor. Small blisters and cuts littered his cheeks and arms, but the weariness outweighed any painful sting he felt right now.

He really couldn't remember how many more levels before he could conjure Frost Nova.

He was being stubborn --- he knew that was a Wizard's skill, but...

Now he was really ready to faint.

This is getting too long.

He steeled his nerves instead and stood up. "Cold bolt!" he whispered to the air, and huge ice spikes suddenly rained down into an Elder Willow at the far corner of the room.

It did not kill the Elder Willow though, and Vincent saw it advancing fast towards him instead.

Wrong!

"Cold bolt!!"

It hit a nearby Elder Willow though, and two monsters were now approaching him.

Shit shit shit!

He tried to conjure a Cold Bolt again, but the first Elder Willow had already reached him and began hitting him. Damn it! He hit it hard with his wand, and tried casting a Cold Bolt again. The second Elder Willow had also began hitting him, however, that the spell was interrupted.

He ran immediately to the corner of the room, the Elder Willows following fast. Pressed against the wall, feeling the monsters closing in, he closed his eyes and began concentrating.

Now this is going to be very stupid...

"Thunder Storm!!"

Even behind closed eyelids he could see that rain of lightning dance all around him, feel more splinters cut through his skin, and hear the collective wails of dying Willows and Elder Willows as they were blown to bits.

And he could sense himself falling.

He reached out blindly, almost hitting his head on the back of a chair if his hand had not braced himself on some nearby furniture. He blinked, and blinked again, almost panicking at the fact that he couldn't see anything, afraid that there might still be any living Willows around and seeking vengeance, until his vision began to give him an extremely hazy view of everything around him.

"Would you mind??"

That voice. He could swear he heard that before... Vincent lifted his head to the general direction of the window, where he could somehow see an outline of a head peeking in.

"You're interrupting my spell."

All he could distinguish was some bright red there with the head, but other than that... he blinked again --- his vision was beginning to have black and white spots on them, growing and spreading slowly.

"...what the hell..."

Vincent finally gave up trying to see clearly, closing his eyes and setting down his head on whatever surface he was slumped over right now. But he still tried saying sorry, though somehow he couldn't hear himself. So he tried saying it again.

When he still did not hear anything, he just stopped, and just let the black around him lull him to wherever it wanted.


When Vincent woke up, the black sky was already turning bluish. He rubbed his eyes, not really sure if it was actually early morning or early evening, and realized that he was lying on his bed. Easing himself up and out of the blankets and swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, he suddenly felt some dull burn all over his body.

And Willow debris crunch at his feet.

The memories of that study night came then at a rush, and he winced. He checked his arms and saw that they were marked with cuts and bruises and... antiseptic?

He didn't really remember cleaning himself up after the study, as he also noticed that he had a change of clothes into a simple oversized cotton shirt. He looked back at his bed, and was mystified to see it clean and well-kept while the rest of his small cottage was still littered.

What exactly happened here?

Scratching his head, he headed towards his kitchen for a glass of water. He almost did not see that small paper tucked in between the glasses. He plucked it curiously and read the hasty-looking handwriting.

It said: "That was so pathetic."