The final dish that made it to the table was tomato egg fried rice — the eggs slightly overdone, but still recognizable.
In truth, he'd never had strong feelings about New Year's. Even before the transmigration, he'd never felt any particular festivity about it. To him, a new year was simply a holiday with more relatives and more days off than usual.
But with the holiday approaching, anyone who might have been looking for trouble had gone quiet. Ryan had found no good opportunities to instigate anything, and had spent his time indoors refining his cooking.
He picked up a spoon and tried a small bite, nodding steadily.
"A little burnt, but this is the taste I've been missing."
After a few more bites, he decided something was still missing — and sliced up the sausage and steak sitting on the table, mixed the pieces into the fried rice, and turned the whole thing into an overfull, oversized tomato egg fried rice with meat.
Strange as it might sound — one large spoonful containing two kinds of meat, tomato, egg, and rice simultaneously was, objectively, very satisfying.
After finishing that satisfying dinner and washing the bowl, Ryan started thinking about his plans for the coming year.
The potion's influence isn't even half cleared yet, and I can't rush it. And I need to understand the situation properly before I can instigate anything without drawing attention.
I've already decided to break with that woman eventually, which means I could drag out the 580 pounds I still owe her. Maybe she'll hand over the formula and materials even without the full payment, once she knows I've cleared the influence. But paying nothing at all would be a bit obvious...
Bang — bang.
A few scattered fireworks blossomed in the sky and broke his train of thought. He quickened his pace with the washing.
He was curious how this era's New Year was celebrated, so once everything was put away he simply went outside.
It turned out that without modernity to drive it, the atmosphere wasn't particularly festive. No vibrant daytime activities, no particular spectacle. In the evening, families gathered, ate together, and were simply warmer and easier with each other than usual — fewer pointed words, more laughter.
"Why is it that I can only ever feel the spirit of a holiday in books?"
He crept up to the clock tower at the city center and looked out over the lights of ten thousand homes, faintly puzzled.
"Still — lights across a whole city are always beautiful. If I could fly and see it from higher up, even better."
He still remembered the first time he'd seen a whole city from above — on television, the camera looking straight down on a sea of light. The sense of scale had been overwhelming.
He stayed on the clock tower watching, until the fireworks multiplied across the sky. Then he climbed down, went back to bed, and fell asleep into the first new year he had ever spent in this world.
In Mourne, in an understated private residence, Tina Edith sat at the edge of her bed, watching fireworks through the bay window, and let herself hope quietly — hoping that man would clear the Instigator potion's influence quickly. She was already a little impatient to put the Sequence 7 formula in his hands.
The sound of carriage wheels drifting to her, drawing nearer, made a face already full of anticipation smile even wider.
After the new year, Ryan's work resumed its normal rhythm.
He moved between two rival gangs at times, playing both sides. At other times he embedded himself among a group of men bound by apparent loyalty, then found the places where the bonds were already weak.
He returned to Mourne once a month to pay down a portion of what he owed Tina Edith, and to ask questions while he was there. She continued to deflect many of them on the grounds that the Assassin path's Inspiration and spiritual power were too low for the knowledge to be of much immediate use, and repeatedly nudged him to clear the potion's influence faster. Still, he managed to learn a number of things.
He learned, for instance, that there were twenty-two distinct Sequence paths and one hundred and ninety-eight different potions in total.
He learned that Extraordinaires generally referred to Sequences 9 and 8 as low Sequence; Sequences 7, 6, and 5 as middle Sequence; and Sequence 4 and above as high Sequence.
He also learned that because Sequence 4 Extraordinaires had undergone a fundamental change that partially removed them from the category of human, powerful Extraordinaires of that level were typically called demigods. The Saints and Angels recorded in Church scripture were all powerful Extraordinaires of demigod stature.
Because Ryan never used ordinary innocent bystanders as targets, and because his natural caution kept his footprint small, even when the Church took notice, the resources they devoted to searching for him remained modest.
What happened instead was that the Nighthawks and Punisher officers in the cities he passed through became aware of an unusually restrained, unusually careful large Extraordinaire operating in their territory. It made things slightly harder — but not significantly so.
Time passed in this way, slowly, until March 10th of the year 1353.
After talking a small boy into bravely asking his parents whether they still loved him, and listening to the parents' flustered, guilt-ridden apologies, Ryan finally heard the last trace of the Instigator potion's influence dissolve — a quiet, imagined sound, like something illusory shattering.
His body and mind, freed of that final weight, felt startlingly light. He stretched slowly, looked northwest toward Mourne, and said quietly to no one:
"Now it actually matters. I'm sorry, woman. You're beautiful — but we aren't going the same direction. I'd rather sit in a Church cell than end up as someone's expendable piece."
His mind being his own again didn't stop him from dealing with a human trafficking operation he'd had his eye on for a while. This time, though, he left the money behind and passed word to the police instead.
Two days later, with three hundred and seventeen pounds on him, Ryan returned to Mourne.
Coming back less than a month after his last visit was a clear signal to Edith that the Instigator potion's influence was fully gone. He chose to wait for her at the mysticism exchange market behind the Kevin tavern in the docklands district.
I hope the generous lady is feeling particularly generous today — ideally handing over everything, formula and materials, in one go. Let me freeload as much as possible before this is over.
He waited with genuine anticipation, knowing it wouldn't last much longer.
By early evening — just as the waiting was beginning to feel interminable — a melodious voice sounded abruptly beside him:
"You seem eager, sir."
You seem almost excited yourself. That struck him as odd, though he answered without hesitation, keeping his voice low:
"Of course. Nearly four months, and all that risk — wasn't it all for this moment?"
"I understand completely. Because once upon a time... I walked this same road."
There was something in Edith's voice beyond the nostalgia — more of it, and stronger. Something that felt like excitement.
Ryan looked sideways at her — her beauty entirely concealed within a hooded brown robe — and found it genuinely strange.
Even setting aside the suspicious part, there's no need to be this excited just because you're adding one more new member.
But Edith was already walking forward quickly, leaving no room for comment. Ryan followed.
She led him into a narrow passage away from the market and finally slowed down. She took something from within her robe and held it out — an object shaped like a book.
"The person who guided me received the Sequence 7 formula and materials in this same way. Now I'm passing it on to you. It's become something of a tradition with us."
Ryan took it. The cover was old and mottled bronze, with a small star-shaped lock hanging from the side. A single word had been written on the cover in a script he didn't recognize.
"Miss Edith — what does this say?"
"It's written in Ancient Hermes — the potion's name. In Ruen, it translates to..."
"Witch!"
End of Chapters 32–43