By the day Cyros is supposed to meet back up with me, I’ve leveled up again.

[Name: Sal]

[Class: Rogue]

[Level: 14]

[Attack: 26]

[Agility: 15]

[HP: 90/90]

[Affinities: Poison]

[Role: Chef]

[Skills: Level 7 Knifework. Level 5 Poison Resistance. Level 4 Soft Step. Level 4 Throwing Knives.]

Not too shabby, if I do say so myself. I’ve started to notice some of my higher-level skills, like Knifework, are harder to level up even though I’m using them way more than any of my other skills. The growth curve is probably exponential or something: easier to level up at low levels, hard to level up at high levels. Considering I’ve been able to Level Up from 10 to 14 in two weeks, I’ll probably see that growth starting to slow down before long, too. Unless I can find some actual monsters to fight and level up faster that way.

Although I’m starting to wonder if the only monsters this world has are the gods.

Four weeks. The reminder comes to me unbidden. Only four more weeks until the Gods’ Tournament and I’ll have my chance to face Maru once more. Suddenly, my scant handful of level ups doesn’t feel like nearly enough. At this rate, I’ll barely be over level 20 when I plan to face down a level 92 demigod. How the hell am I supposed to pull that off?

Faster. I need to get stronger fast.

I pace around the carnivorous orchid patch once more. Where is Cyros? He said he’d meet me here. I don’t have the wrong day, do I? Unless he got everything he needed from me and isn’t planning on coming back.

I shake my head. No. He still wants me to work with Talia. He’ll come. He has to.

Still, as the minutes pass, he doesn’t show. I practice my Throwing Knives skill at a knot in a tree for a while, the blade sticking in the bark almost every time, and usually close to the knot. Then I get bored with that and switch to working on my Soft Step, picking my way around sticks and leaves. Leveling up my skills is always time well spent, but I’d rather be spending it learning new skills.

I come back to the orchid patch, glaring at the carnivorous flowers. Tiny animal bones litter the forest floor between the plant’s vines. The buds are still: I guess they’re not digesting anything today. I can still pick out the plant I’d beheaded the week before, its cut stalk now scabbed over with sap. I mentally replay the scene in my head of when I first met Cyros. I pick out the spot on the other side of the clearing where he’d been watching me, half melted into the foliage. His clothes and skin had seemed to blend right in with the thicket. What kind of magic had that been? Nature? Shadow? Something else? I squint at the bush, imagining the boy’s silhouette. And strangely, like focusing on one of those 3D eye puzzles, the leaf pattern seems to resolve into his shape.

“Took you long enough to notice,” Cyros says, and I nearly jump out of my skin. The Cyros-shaped patch of leaves ripples as he stands, though when he stops moving, I can once again hardly tell he’s there. “I see you’re getting better with that knife, but you need to work on your perception skills.”

“How long have you been there?” I demand.

“Before you got here,” he says, stepping around the orchid patch.

He’s not dropping the camouflage shtick, and I’m not taking my eyes off him again. Even so, I struggle to track him as his outline moves around the clearing. I take a hesitant step back.

“What are you doing?” I ask.

“Testing where you’re at,” he says. “So far, you’ve failed observation. How’s your combat?”

“What?” I scoff. “I can’t fight you like—”

Something flings through the air and strikes me in the forehead.

[1 points of Bludgeoning damage sustained.]

“Ow!” I clutch my head as I glance down at the pebble that’s clattered to the ground at my feet. “What was that for?”

“Combat training wasn’t a request,” Cyros says.

I look up in time to see another pebble flying my way. I flinch away, and it deflects off my arm. “You jerk!”

“If you want to stop me, then stop me,” he says. “Feel free to use that blade of yours. I doubt you’ll be able to land a blow anyway.”

Still rubbing my forehead, I back away as he steps behind a tree and doesn’t come out the other side. I raise my knife, gaze darting around the forest. “Cheater!”

“You’re a human,” he says, the voice coming from my right. I slash in that direction, but my blade only cuts air. “And you’re small. You won’t win a fair fight against most other species. If you’re serious about trying to take down a demigod, the odds will be overwhelmingly stacked against you.”

I focus on his voice as he speaks, trying to gauge how far away he is. “So what are you saying? I should just give up?” I lunge forward, stabbing toward his voice. A blade flashes out of the air, deflecting my own and jarring it from my grip. My knife goes spinning away, and I jump back before Cyros’s parry can turn into an attack of his own.

“Not at all,” he says. “What I’m saying is that you need to evaluate your opponents’ abilities and manufacture a way to level the playing field. That’s what being an assassin is about, you see. Some people are seen as untouchable. But everyone has a blind spot. It’s our job to figure out that opening and exploit it.”

I circle away as his rippling form moves to the side. He ducks behind a bush, and I lose track of him once again. I swear under my breath.

“Yeah, real noble,” I say, trying to draw a reaction out of him. I glance at my knife, only a few feet away. I’ll be exposed when I duck down to grab it. “And I bet you guys go around killing random Lords out of the goodness of your own heart.”

“That criticism is a bit hypocritical, don’t you think?” he asks.

I track his voice to my left, and I continue to circle around the clearing. It takes every atom of self-control to wait.

“You want someone dead, too,” Cyros continues. “Don’t you think the world would be a better place without the suffering that some people cause?”

There. “I guess we’ll find out.”

I dash for the knife. A blur of movement follows. But instead of bending down for my weapon, I pivot and draw my arm back like I’m about to lob a baseball.

[Removing item from inventory.]

The clay jar appears in my hand just as I’m swinging it forward with all my might. Cyros is only a few feet away; he doesn’t even stand a chance. The jar strikes him right in the head, exploding apart on impact.

This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

[7 points of Bludgeoning damage dealt.]

Then, the smoke potion goes off.

The liquid that had been contained in the jar explodes in a cloud of green. Cyros cries out, stumbling backward and clutching his face, his outline suddenly clear as day amidst the swirling smoke. Before he can recover, I run forward and tackle him.

We both hit the ground hard, but I have the advantage of landing on a somewhat soft body where he gets to slam into a bunch of grass and rocks. Oh, yeah, and orchids.

[Status Effect inflicted: Poisoned,] Echo chimes in.

Cyros flails at me as I try to disentangle myself, hurriedly backing away while giving him another good kick into the orchid patch. All that struggling sure is squishing the plants and splattering their poisonous sap everywhere. I back away, panting, as I watch in satisfaction as the plant goop slowly outlines his transparent form.

“What the fuck!” The invisible act drops as Cyros looks up at me in horror, scrambling out of the patch of poisonous flowers. “You’re crazy!”

“No, I won,” I say, smiling devilishly. “What was that about manufacturing a way to level the playing field?”

“We’re both poisoned,” he says, fumbling with a pouch at his side. “You’re suicidal!”

“Hey, I’m not the one that started throwing stones while invisible,” I say, reaching for my pocket as well. I take out the orchid poison antidote I’d made and down it.

[Poison status effect reduced,] Echo says.

This stuff isn’t as potent as the antidote Cyros gave me that first time, but it slows the damage way down. Between that and my Level 5 Poison Resistance, I’m in no danger.

Cyros pops something in his mouth as well as I Check him.

[Name: Cyros]

[Class: Vine Rogue]

[Level: 24]

[Attack: 54]

[Agility: 43]

[HP: 92/100]

[Cyros is suffering from the status effect Poisoned.]

His HP ticks down two more points as he swallows the draught he’d been carrying, then stops.

[Status effect negated.]

“See?” I say. “You’re fine.”

“What if I hadn’t had that antidote on me?” he asks.

I pull a spare out of my other pocket.

He grunts, looking at me with an odd expression. I can’t tell if he’s impressed or annoyed. “You had this planned from the start.”

Well, not exactly. I knew we were meeting at the orchid patch and I wasn’t about to take any chances. I’d put the smoke potion in my inventory on a whim, just in case he could show me how to practice any smoke-bomb-ninja-vanishing-tactics. But I’m not about to let him know it was all desperate improv.

“Is that enough combat practice?” I ask, putting the spare antidote away and offering him my hand.

He takes it, pulling himself to his feet. “Not hardly. You still don’t know how to use that knife properly—I’d be embarrassed you caught me with it last week if I still didn’t understand how you’re doing that sleight of hand. Seriously, where did that smoke bomb come from?”

I shrug with a grin.

“All right then.” He glowers. “Don’t tell me. But I’ll figure it out one of these days.”

Somehow, I doubt that.

“So, what next?” I ask.

“Well, that smoke potion was pretty impressive, actually,” he says. “Have you got more like that?”

“Not with me,” I say. “But I’ve got a couple back at the Inn. Actually, I’m thinking of making a belt or something so I can carry more around with me at a time. Figured the smoke bombs could be good to use to cover up my tracks if I need to escape anything in a hurry.”

“Hm, it’s more likely to draw attention than anything,” Cyros says. “But a distraction can be equally useful for an escape. The belt idea is good. Strapping it across your chest, like a bandolier, might make the potions easier to reach. What else are you working on?”

I tell him all the potions I made over the last week: the health pots, the general salve, and various antidotes. He seems mildly impressed, although with that wooden dryad face of his, it’s a bit hard to gauge.

“I saw you practicing walking intentionally, too,” he notes.

“Walking intentionally?” I ask.

“Before I showed up, when you were stepping around the leaves,” he explains.

“Oh yeah. Soft Step.”

He blinks. “You named it?”

“I didn’t—uh.” Well, Echo named it, but I can’t exactly tell him that. “I mean, I guess.”

“Right,” he says, skeptical. “Well, at any rate, that’s good practice, and it’ll pair well with your other abilities. Like I said before, you’re at a disadvantage. Getting around without being noticed or drawing attention will help. Those potions are a great start, too. If you can brew something that would work like my camouflage, you might really get somewhere.”

“How are you doing that, anyway? Can I learn?” I ask, excited.

“It’s a Plant type of magic specific to dryads,” he says, “so I doubt it.”

I deflate, disappointed.

“You’ll want to figure out your own style, anyway,” he continues. “What kind of magic have you got?”

“Poison,” I say.

He hums thoughtfully. “Interesting. That’s a subset of nature magic, which is what I have. Of course, my focus is plant manipulation. There’s some overlap between that and fostering poisonous plants, but I’ve not delved much into potionry. You’re already more versed in that subject than me. You should be able to pair it well with knife skills. So that’s where we should focus next.”

He steps back, clasping his hands behind his back. “Let’s see what you’ve got. Stab me.”

I blink. “Um. That doesn’t sound safe.”

“Come on.” He grins, egging me on. “You were taking swipes at me earlier, weren’t you? Don’t be such a pans—”

I stab my arm forward, aiming for his arm.

He blocks the attempt with his forearm, then wraps his hand around my wrist. He gives it a twist, and the knife slips from my grasp.

“You’re too obvious,” he says. “You recoil before you stab forward. Try to remove tells so your opponents don’t have a warning before you strike.” He picks up the knife and hands it back to me. “Now let me see your grip.”

Apparently, I’ve been holding the knife wrong. He moves my thumb, then shows me another couple of ways to grip the knife. Cyros has me try a couple other attacks on him, all of which he blocks or disarms, and soon my arm is sore and throbbing from all the abuse. Then he turns it around, makes slow stabs and swipes toward me, and has me replicate his defenses. It’s not nearly as easy as he makes it look, and I can feel my attempts to disarm him are all wrong. As we practice, however, it starts to get a little easier.

[New Skill Obtained,] Echo says. [Self Defense, Level 1.]

Definitely a valuable skill to level up—although I’m not sure how I’ll do that on my own.

After hours of practice, Cyros finally calls for a break, glancing toward the sky. The sun is filtering in through the trees but tracking steadily toward the horizon.

“It’s late afternoon; I’ll need to be heading back soon if I want to make it to Fairwood before my watch starts this evening.”

“Your watch?” I ask, sitting down heavily as I catch my breath. It’s absolutely annoying that Cyros doesn’t even seem to have broken a sweat. I mean, assuming wood people can sweat.

“We mostly work at night,” Cyros says. “Technically, I’m supposed to be sleeping now.”

“Oh,” I say. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to interrupt your sleep schedule. I’m sure it’s hard enough to get good sleep, what with the weight of everyone you’ve killed on your conscience.”

He looks at me, unimpressed. “You’re the one who begged me for classes. And you know, you’d make a good assassin, too. You’ve got the motives for it.”

“That’s different,” I scoff, offended. “I’m going to kill someone who deserves to die. It’s justice.”

“Justice is subjective,” Cyros says. “And the only person you know I’ve killed was that politician. Did you know she was tied up with a local gang?”

I snort. “I could care less about her.”

“Couldn’t care less,” Cyros says.

“Huh?”

He shakes his head. “She’d pay them to beat up and threaten the families of political opponents. Never did any of the dirty work herself, of course—plausible deniability and all that. But she funded their operations, and there’s plenty of blood on their hands. Killing her dissolved the gang she was keeping propped up and prevented the deaths of more innocents. So you tell me. Was that justice?”

I’m silent for a moment. “I don’t know. Depends on the details.”

“See? Subjective.” He quirks a smile. “If you ever have a change of heart, come find me. You could be a valuable member of my guild. But you don’t have to answer now. Just think about it.”

I frown, not sure how I feel about being lumped in with a bunch of murderers, even if they claim to be the Robin Hood sort. “When will you be back next?”

“Not for another week or two,” he says.

“What?” I cry. “That’s not nearly soon enough!”

“I can’t just drop everything to spar with you,” Cyros says. “I’ve got obligations too, you know. Besides, you made a lot of progress today.”

“Not enough progress,” I say. “And not nearly fast enough to get stronger by the Gods’ Tournament.”

“The Tournament?” Cyros repeats, incredulous. “You can’t intend to compete?”

“No!” I object, aghast. The winner of the tournament would become a Champion—Widengra’s champion. My stomach roils with disgust. “Never!”

“Then why… ah.” He shakes his head. “You want to use that as an opportunity to get close to Maru, don’t you?”

“Maybe,” I admit, glaring.

“You should give that idea up now,” Cyros says. “Wanting to challenge Maru is foolish enough as it is, but theoretically not impossible—if you trained all your life and became an expert in your field of magic. Champions might have been given incredible powers by the gods, but they’re still mortal.”

I open my mouth, but he puts up a hand.

“But trying to achieve that level of power in a few short weeks is highly improbable. If you challenge her now, you’ll die. There’s no other likely outcome.”

“I can’t afford to wait my whole life,” I say. Especially not when the gods want me dead now. What happens if Maru stumbles upon me at some point and realizes she didn’t finish me off like she was supposed to? No, I can’t leave it up to chance. I have to get her before she gets me. “I need to get stronger as fast as possible.”

He lets out a long sigh. “Alright, I’ll tell you what. If you can get to Fairwood the night after tomorrow, I should have a couple hours to work with you. That’s the best I can offer.”

“I’ll be there,” I say, pouncing on the opportunity. “Anything helps.”

Cyros just shakes his head. “Your funeral.”

Already had one, I think. And I don’t intend to have another.