Arthur Olvasen POV:

The bottom lurched out of my stomach as I took a sharp turn, drowning out the sound of clamouring soldiers right behind me and the grating sound of their unsheathed weapons as it struck the walls, barrels and stray boxes while following me.

Snuffing out even the miniscule embers of animosity and blocking out every last drop of Arcanum flowing through or spilling out of my body, I tried to lose the men that had spotted me atop the "Black Pit," and were now chasing me after discovering Birta and Gunnar's corpses.

"Alert General Ed. A human has infiltrated The Keep." A Dwarf with two small axes in each hand barked orders at the bald Troll right behind him and then looked at the couple dozen lanky Dwarves-each carrying a knife, "And you lot, go into Lord Cromwell's chambers. Alert him as well."

"Gotcha chief!" The band of juvenile Dwarves all roared in tandem before breaking off from the group and running away.

"You, you and you, come with me." He pointed at the three Demons that were standing shoulder-to-shoulder with him.

"We don't take orders from a filthy mutt." The demon with jet black hair and a pair of goat-like horns replied with a defiant smirk. "Don't think just because you refined General Ed's Nightcrackle, you can order us around." Crouching down to his eye level, he seethed. "You're a Dwarf. Act like one."

It was only when he mentioned the General's name again and the weapon refinement was when a few things clicked.

The Dwarf — who was referring to the other man as sire a few hours ago — was also named Ed. And Ed was also the name of the old woman's son that was about to be executed.

But what was more important was what Ed said to the Dwarf—Brogan.

'I am already in a bad mood because of that old bat wandering off without telling me.'

That means the old woman was related to Ed and in extension, lying. But why would she pose like that? Like a vulnerable old woman.

What was her purpose?

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

I expelled those troubling intrusive thoughts with a shake of my head, trying to not feel their weight press down on me. Leaning wearily against the wall, I pressed my back into its cool and damp surface, my muscles tense due to the effort of tightly holding my breath.

The small pack of Demons walked right past as I slid further into the shadow. I didn't have much idea about their capabilities. And fighting them in packs was even more dangerous than just taking on them one by one.

As the Dwarf pivoted his weight backwards before taking off, I let out a heavy, shaky breath before running again.

I tried to be as discreet as humanly possible, making as little noise as I could.

Prudently measuring my steps, I navigated the labyrinthine maze of shops and houses. Before long, I was already at the place where I had left Michael.

Bolting towards the door of the pub, I pushed the double doors open.

The left door got out of its hinge and dangled to the side. As I stepped in, I felt my eyes go wide and my lips curve into a deep frown.

The entirety of the pub had circled around Michael as he was standing there without his robe.

His horns stood long and proud, starting from his temples. His white shirt's buttons were undone, revealing half of his chest and his sleeves were pulled up to his elbows.

My entrance brought a sudden halt to the wild cheering and every head was now turned in my direction.

Michael was standing with a wide grin over his face, his golden eyes plastered as he wobbled. His hand was a bloody mess, dripping with a mix of red and blue viscous liquid as he stood atop a Troll's limp, gargantuan body, his one foot over its chest and the other over its face.

He looked in my direction and then extended his arms sideways, standing in a rather weird posture with his upper body bent backwards.

"Bet on me, *hic* fuckface!"

I didn't want to but still facepalmed.

This guy actually participated in a bare-knuckle back-street betting in an enemy territory.

I have conflicted feelings about this.

Should I be angry, or should I be in awe? I can't tell. But it would be an understatement that I am surprised by his lack of tact.

"Come on, Michael. It's time for bed." I spoke in an informal way, acting as he was my friend. "I am sorry but I have to take my friend back. We have to work early in the morning." Running in his direction and grabbing him by his shoulder, I got close to his ear. "We have to run away. They are after us."

As he was about to retort, a man called out. "Stop right there." He spoke, cutting through the crowd of people. My hand instinctively tensed, ready to reach out for the dagger underneath my shirt. He stood face to face with me, looking at my face with narrowed eyes. "Where is your appearance changing artefact?"

Oh no… I don't have my hood on.

I placed my hand over my pants pocket. "Right here."

He withdrew his dagger and pointed the tip towards my neck. "Don't move. Let go of the Demon boy."

I removed my hand from Michael and raised them in a placating manner. He took a step towards me and slipped his hand inside my pocket. The Dwarf's thick hand twisted inside and then his wide brown eyes looked over to me in a quick, fleeting moment of sheer disbelief and horror. "Huma--"