I Can Copy And Evolve Talents - Chapter 120

Chapter 120: The Horror Of Brimfield Estate [part 1]
CHAPTER 119

Items were quite the unusual phenomena in the world of drifters.

When received, they became intrinsically bound to a drifter’s soul, and it didn’t matter how far apart they were from the drifter, they’d always return to their soul.

This explained how Northern could still summon the Mortal Blade despite leaving it behind in his room before his capture by the wannabe Night Terrors.

The blade had simply returned to the embrace of his soul as mere unwoven sparks and even he could innately sense them lingering there.

However, the concept of permanently transferring possession had always perplexed him.

How could one relinquish an item forever when it continually returned to its original owner’s soul?

‘Who knew it would be so simple?’

As Annette had succinctly explained before departing, all he needed was to summon the desired item and directly pass it to the intended recipient while mentally willing the transfer.

If the item disappeared upon contact, the transaction failed and required repeating.

But if it remained, the exchange was successful – both parties instinctively aware of the soul-bound gain or loss.

An inexplicable sensation drifters simply understood.

Northern was immensely grateful for this insight, having wondered how to sell his surplus items.

Not that he was in any hurry, but possessing such knowledge was invaluable.

‘First, I need to settle in and assess the situation,’ he deliberated pragmatically. ‘Gather information about this environment – what it was like before the monster disaster and the means they used for travel to other continents. Then I’ll…’

His mental strategizing ground to an abrupt halt as he collided with someone, stumbling half a step back as reflex compelled him to murmur, “I’m sorry.”

“Watch wher’ya going, bro!” A tiny, snarling voice snapped.

Belatedly glancing down, Northern found himself eyeing a fierce yet emotionless black-haired child who couldn’t have been ten years old yet.

‘Isn’t that rude for someone so young?’

The boy shot him a wild glare. “Wha’ya looking at?!”

Exhaling slowly, Northern pinched the bridge of his nose as a rigid cord formed on his brow.

“Apologies for not watching my path. Still, shouldn’t a child like yourself be back at the castle gates with the others? It’s rather dangerous out here.”

The child’s scowl deepened. “None’ya business!” He yelled defiantly, brushing past Northern with an arrogant swagger.

Northern watched the peculiar child’s retreating form, an odd sense of familiarity nagging at him – as if he’d encountered this boy before, yet he was certain he hadn’t.

If so, the memorable arrogance would have left an indelible impression.

Dismissing the enigmatic encounter, his thoughts suddenly pivoted.

‘Mr. Fluffy!’

He’d completely forgotten about retrieving Mr Fluffy after finishing with Annette.

‘Ah, well. I’ll fetch him next time I visit the capital.’

Nodding to himself, he turned and continued down the narrow street, flanked by the remnants of stone residences, pubs, and inns – once lively structures now rendered hollow and desolate, struggling to recount happier days.

After a few minutes, Northern reached a gated estate entrance, the iron portcullis overgrown with tangled vines yet left ajar.

Through the opening, he glimpsed the overgrown path leading to the estate’s lone mansion, the surrounding forest harboring an unmistakable aura.

‘Damn, this place is packed with monsters.’

He had sensed their presence from some distance but deliberately avoided confrontation – not out of trepidation, but because he was keenly aware of being followed.

Unsurprising, given his recent emergence from a Tier V rift after six harrowing months. They were undoubtedly curious about his capabilities.

In fact, he suspected this was precisely why Gilbert had provided him with these coordinates – an unspoken test, of sorts.

A sly smile curved Northern’s lips as he surveyed his surroundings.

‘They’re quite skilled, too – light on their feet. As a Walker, I likely would not have detected them.’

Evolving into a Drifter had heightened his environmental awareness to an extraordinary degree.

‘I wonder if it’s like this for everyone, or if my unique eyes grant me some spatial awareness.’

The concept of spatial awareness – an innate, panoramic sense of one’s surroundings without need for direct observation – was something he had attempted to evoke during the castle battle against the monster horde.

He couldn’t definitively confirm whether he had succeeded until he entered battle, but his instincts insisted it probably had manifested upon achieving the Drifter rank.

In any case, he would know when he battles a couple of monsters.

But he didn’t intend to do so anytime soon. Not when he was being followed.

‘Let’s make this a bit of fun…’ A menacing grin spread across his features.

Then, without preamble, Northern vanished – leaving only a wake of fractured ground in his absence.

Two observers, one camouflaged amongst the ebony slates fifty meters from the estate gate and another peering through an abandoned inn’s window, reacted with stunned disbelief as their quarry seemed to blink out of existence.

‘He didn’t discover us, did he?’ The building-bound scout thought and flew through the broken window in a blur.

His partner followed, running swiftly across the slates wothout making any sound.

Then he flew into the air and landing on the in a roll, before standing up and running a few steps forward.

Both of them converged at the point Northern had been.

Tense frowns creased their features as they eyed each other warily.

“Do you think our cover was blown?” the slate-dweller asked, brow furrowed.

His companion shook his head adamantly. “Impossible. My stealth ability completely erases my presence. There’s no way he could have sensed us.”

“Then why do you think he moved like that, so suddenly?”

The frantic stare settled on the bony, scarred face of the inn lurker.

Whatever horrors had befallen him leaving a crude indentation trailing from beneath his eyes to his jawline was cruel.

“It might have been spontaneous,” the inn dweller surmised. “We could be overthinking this.”

“So what should we do?” The slate dweller inquired, the tattered cloak framing his jaw fluttering gently in the breeze

A resolute gleam entered the inn dweller’s eye.

“What else? We follow him.”

Without further discussion, both blurred into motion once more – determined to unravel the mystery of the drifter who had survived a Tier V rift.