35. Flowbloom Race

Back in the farming village, Alistair decided he had to pursue the flower himself.

Several groups were probably already moving for it, but he could not simply ignore the chance, not after hearing what the Vitalicious Flowbloom was worth, and certainly not after learning that it might increase his VIT without forcing him to spend free points there.

He started setting things into motion immediately. Two clones rode for Verevain. He still had to keep his local personas alive there. Carver would return to the tavern work and preserve the ordinary pretense of Alistair’s life, while Falsehand would spend the rest of the day drifting through the places where rumors moved fastest, trying to catch any other mention of the flower hunt before bringing the mount back south.

He had intended to send another pair all the way to the port, but changed the plan halfway through. The more urgent need was the main road linking Dorelle to Verevain and then to the port beyond. Karn’s surviving associates had left Bracken Hollow shortly before dawn, and if they meant to sell the information instead of chasing the flower themselves, then they would have to use that road, so he sent Shade and another clone there instead. The second body would hold the mount and serve as support. Shade would do the real work. If the mercenaries appeared, he would follow them and learn what they sold without paying for it.

Meanwhile, Alistair took his main body into Dorelle and booked a room at a modest inn near the northern side of town. He could have gone back to Verevain, but if he learned the flower’s likely location quickly, then he would soon need to summon several clones in this region rather than on the far side of the island. Staying in Dorelle was simply more practical. The room itself was plain, with a narrow bed, a washbasin, and a shuttered window overlooking a yard full of wagons and tether posts, but it served. It gave him a place to sleep, think, and stage the search without wasting hours on travel.

The timing was important too. If the flower was supposed to bloom during the Acclamation, then he had only two days at most. The so-called Acclamation was a critical point in the island’s star cycle, when stronger waves of starflow moved down through Emerier and disturbed the ambient flow everywhere. Plants, certain insects, some flow-touched resources, and even ordinary routines could shift around that day. The towns also treated it as reason enough for a small festival. Work in Verevain would be on a break tomorrow, which meant he would have more freedom than usual if the race for the flower truly began.

While the first two pairs of clones pursued information, Alistair maintained the rest of his routine. He kept up his physical training, continued the lessons at the local guild, and started working seriously with his newest piece of equipment: the flow-engraved crossbow taken from the den.

He was trying to work out which class suited it best. Rattler could use it, more or less, by treating each shot as a disruptive strike. The pairing gave him some value in a fight, especially when trying to break rhythm or disrupt movement. But the fit was not perfect. Stagger Blow had to be stretched too far. The skill wanted disruption more than aim. That meant the help it gave was tied more to timing and motion than to direct accuracy. If he wanted to break the pattern of a target’s walk or interrupt an attack, it was useful. If he wanted to hit cleanly from concealment or land an opening shot before a fight even started, the skill was much less reliable.

He needed a class that would give purpose to the shot, not merely use the crossbow for a certain purpose.

There were better contenders in theory. Archer classes, marksman trials, hunting skills that clearly fit ranged weapons better. He simply did not have them, and getting them would take time or training he did not yet have. For now, he needed the best fit among what he already possessed.

After going through the list carefully, he settled on Pebbler.

It still felt absurd.

The class sounded almost like a joke, and when he first passed it he had mostly wanted some kind of ranged option in his collection. The trial itself had been easy. Skipping stones was one of the few childish games enslaved children still managed under the Company when no one was watching too closely.

Now, somehow, that ridiculous class had become his best immediate option for the crossbow.

The clone took the weapon out beyond town to a patch of rough ground partly screened from the road. That was harder near Dorelle than it would have been around Verevain. Farms, fences, carts, and people moving in and out constantly made privacy rarer there. Still, he found the distance he needed to work.

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The crossbow re-drew itself through its enchantment, but it still needed manual loading. It could hold ten bolts at once, which was generous compared to anything ordinary, but still limiting. For now he was reusing the bolts recovered from the den. Many were already showing wear from impacts, bad surfaces, and repeated use, so he would need to buy replacements soon.

Training with Skimming took getting used to. It was an awkward aiming skill. It wanted odd angles, shallow lines, glancing paths, awkward positions. In that sense, it almost encouraged bad habits if used thoughtlessly. The trick was to understand its preferences without letting them make the shot ridiculous. Fortunately, the wording was flexible, so he could fit most practical shots into it with a little thought. A long shot from partial cover, a release from the hip while shifting, a bolt sent along a shallow angle past an obstacle—those all fit the spirit of the skill and drew help from it.

For surprise attacks, that seemed excellent, while repeated shots in a fight would be harder. Then he would need to shift positions, reload, and keep finding awkward angles quickly so the skill still engaged. That was exactly why he kept practicing.

It was near the end of the day when Shade finally brought an update on the flower. The clone was sitting in a shabby tavern along the main road, drink in hand, using Fade to remain forgettable while two surviving mercenaries from Karn’s group bargained with a table of hunters nearby.

“I’m telling you, this is good information,” one mercenary said.

“How can we be sure?” one of the hunters replied. “Just because you’ve got a mercenary token doesn’t make you trustworthy.”

“I’ll sign a contract if that helps. You just need to move quickly.”

“Why the hurry? Running from someone?”

“No. It’s because—”

His voice dropped then. Shade could still hear him, but only by leaning closer.