Percy soon found that George Ramlos wasn't lying. The experienced knight had many friends across Demetria, so he met up with a friend that found a free house for him and his nine children.
The house was a bit far out from the city, but it didn't really matter since they would be leaving tomorrow anyway. It was made from polished wood and white bricks.
Percy watched the empty windows of the building. There was this strangely ominous feeling in his belly. He turned down the dirt road and saw nothing but grass and some trees.
How do people live this far out? Anything could crawl into your house and eat you.
He climbed up to the porch of the house. The wooden floor and handrail weren't very dusty, and there were swinging chairs suspended from the roof.
"Lord Perseus!" He nearly jumped out of his shoes as George roared his name.
He turned to find the man smiling.
"Do you find the home pleasing? It was the home of one of my oldest friends, but he passed away recently."
Bastard, don't scare me like that. I could have blown off your head.
"I like it very much." Percy straightened his coat a little, peeking at the children snickering at him behind their father. "How did your friend pass?"
"Oh, we don't know. They found him dead in his bed with no apparent cause. But he was getting towards that age."
"How old was he?"
"Forty-nine."
His expression deadpanned, because there was no way this guy was serious.
"No apparent cause of death could be murder. They just didn't find what killed him yet. Maybe we'll all find out tonight."
He said all this sarcastically, hoping that George would catch his drift. But the red-haired knight seemed to think it was funny.
"Fret not, Lord Perseus. Nothing will happen to us. Jones was just a lazy piece of shit. If he took some time out to leave the house, he'd have lived longer."
He rubbed his temples impatiently, following the man as he walked into the house. It was cozy and warm. Wood floors, colourful rugs, and handcrafted furniture.
He searched the house for a few minutes. There were seven rooms and five bathrooms, each a bit too wide for the one man that lived here before. He found a basement but wasn't stupid enough to go down there, and an attic with lots of boxes and books.
Later, he found George in the living room, having a glass of water as his wife prepared dinner in a ridiculously large pot.
"Sir George, why did Jones live in such a large house? This house could easily hold fifteen people comfortably. More if a couple people were willing to rough it."
"I don't know. There used to be a huge family of really reclusive types that lived up here, but they all left town one night, and the Bailiff of Carmen gave Jones the home for helping the town slay monsters."
You have to be fucking kidding me? We're all going to die. What the fuck is this dumbass setup?
He simply turned and walked out of the house, crossing the yard to find Thalos and Barty talking at the barnhouse some meters from the house.
Thalos had shed his coat but still wore his simple grey shirt and black trousers. He handed Barty a jack to raise the carriage, whose wheel had been shaky.
His eyes widened a bit as Percy approached and said,
"Dad, we need to get the fuck out of here."
"What? Why? Did something happen?" Thalos raised an eyebrow, walking over to kneel beside his son.
"Nothing yet. But there's most definitely something wrong with this house. There's too much weird stuff for me to ignore."
He told his father about everything he had learned from George and explained his rationale for thinking that Jones' death wasn't natural. It was plain for any idiot to see.
Thalos nodded.
"I'll trust your gut. I'll stay up this night and keep an eye on things, don't worry."
"What? No, you didn't sleep last night either."
"I'm used to sleepless nights, son," Thalos chuckled. "I can handle another night. Now come on, go introduce yourself to the kids, you haven't said a word to any of them. Hack and Flynn are also going to Yarol for their spirit affinity ceremony."
Who the fuck is Hack? He turned back to the backyard behind the house, where the loud voices of children could be heard.
All nine of the Ramlos children were playing handball back there. A simpler version in this world compared to the one back on Earth.
"Of course one of them is also thirteen. With that many, the probability—"
Thalos knocked him softly over the head, face dry and tired.
"Be nice. Go on, have some fun, we'll be travelling with them to Yarol. And please try to learn their names."
No one could remember all that, but even worse was the fact they would be travelling with the army of a family.
He walked away from Barty and Thalos, grumbling under his breath. He didn't have any time to waste with kids. So he went back into the house and up to the attic to read through those books and understand who lived here before.
Ura, the unfortunate mother of those nine kids, was talking to George in the kitchen loudly as he stomped past the living room, into the hallway, and up the stairs.
At the back of the house, he pulled down a ladder and climbed into the attic. It was dusty to say the least, filled with boxes, books, old furniture, and clothes.
He ran his finger over a desk then grimaced. This had to mean these were here long before Jones came. He jumped down from the attic in one smooth enhanced move.
Running to his room to get one of the scrolls Hecate gave him. This was a perfect chance to practice using the wind spell she gave him.
It was called [Tailwind], and was used to create a forward wind that would make things faster, but he reckoned it could be used to remove some of the dust at least.
He ran downstairs to inform the Ramlos parents that he would be cleaning the attic with magic, then back upstairs. He saw a little head peek out of one of the rooms but he ignored it. Probably one of the brats.
Percy jumped back into the attic with enhanced legs and landed steadily, smiling.
"I'm getting a hang of this."
He walked over to the window at the end of the attic and opened it. Then rolled the scroll open and reread the words for the incantations.
"Drive of the world, swift and free, Rush the gale, surge through me."
He muttered it without focused intent or spirit energy, so it didn't activate. But he could already feel the spirits stirring.
It was a simple chant, but he needed to shape spirit energy with his intent then say the spell or it would fail catastrophically most times.
Then the spell would take on that strange voice that it always had. He closed his eyes, imagining the void, shutting out all sound and stimulus. He didn't even have to do too much before the spirits appeared.
Fire and wind spirits mostly, but he could see some errant water spirits playing around. Next on the agenda was reaching into himself and drawing on his own spirit energy. He easily visualised what he wanted to happen.
Then he controlled his spirit energy based on instinct to shape it. There wasn't much he could do here, and this required instinct. He opened his eyes and started casting.
"Drive of the world, swift and free, Rush the gale, surge through me!"
He passed his intent-shaped spirit energy through the spell to the spirits and allowed them to do the rest.
Wind roared through the air in a funnel, pushing him backward a bit. But the majority of the force crept through the nooks and crannies of the attic, carrying the dust through the window.
He was smiling at his slow but easy success for a moment. Then he saw a shape form in the wind and dust, and his blood turned cold.