I circle around the streets for a while because I don't want people to see me go back to my room. Unfortunately, there seem to be more and more who recognize either the mask or the hammer so escaping their sight is difficult. I decide to give up on the tavern and make my way east, towards the docks.

The smell of sea and fish grows thicker as I approach, coming across dock workers, sailors, and carriage drivers. A lot of them recognize me here too but they have work to do so they keep their distance.

This will do. I keep exploring until I find the warehouse portion of the docks, an entire block of large wooden buildings. I hear a patrol of city guards coming from a distance.

This area is almost empty, I only see a dozen men and women carrying crates inside a single warehouse. I slip in between two structures and search for a door. Finding one, I enter the empty warehouse, there are large wooden shelves inside with wooden boxes stacked upon them.

I wait until the patrol departs my hearing range and sit on top of a crate. I take my chain-mail off, my hard leather armor's jacket, and then the sleeve glove. There is a thin hole in the last two, and my left limb's shoulder is oozing brown viscous blood, absorbed by my simple clothes.

I rip the cloth and split it into a band, using it to apply a tourniquet around the wound. I assemble the signaling construct and tell the limb to focus on healing. I then palpate the flesh, trying to feel a difference between the area were the poisoned dagger hit and the rest of the limb. I don't notice anything.

I fit my equipment back on, seizing my hammer and exiting the warehouse. I leave the docks, having seen how they're arranged. I take my time to enter the more populated part of the city, ensuring that none see me slip from one deserted narrow street to another.

It takes me a good hour to find the narrow alley passing under my window, I assemble a couple lion's step constructs to climb the wall as quickly as possible and enter my room.

I get rid of my equipment, hiding it under my mattress with the mask. I use my torn shirt to change the bandage on my left shoulder and find a new one inside the chest.

I arrange my appearance to be that of a simple peasant, a somewhat lazy looking one at that because of the long sleeves covering my hands. I go downstairs, making my way past the small lunch crowd to sit on a tall stool in front of the counter.

“Alana.” I call out, a smile on my face.

The tall woman with graying hair walks over, a tankard in her hand.

“How did it go?” She asks. “Could she help with your issue?”

“As well as it could, I suppose, better in some ways.” I reply evasively.

“Good. Are you hungry?” She asks, glancing at my stomach. I notice that my right hand is rubbing my belly.

“I am. I feel like a teenager, hungry all the time.” I laugh.

“I'll be right back.” Alana smiles, handing the tankard over to a sailor.

I listen to the surrounding conversations, head inclined down to focus without looking like it.

“These tariffs are getting out of hand, the Duke can't do this. The pay was supposed to be a third more than what we got, the captain is furious.” A woman speaks up in a rough voice.

“Consider yourself lucky.” The sailor that just received a tankard replies. “I have a friend working on a fishing ship, it was confiscated by the guard this morning.” The man sighs.

“They can't do that!” The woman exclaims.

“It is allowed in times of war, Caeviel's laws allow it. And even if it didn't, you know how it's been lately, Nobles do whatever they want and use the war as an excuse.” The sailor says.

Alana walks back into the main room, carrying a serving of vegetables, gruel, and a piece of grilled red meat. I take a silver out of my pouch and deposit it on the table next to the plate but she pushes it back to me.

“No need.” She shakes her head with a smile. “Enjoy.”

“Thanks.” I nod, feeling welcomed.

Her hospitality and help warm my heart, I lean over the plate and start devouring the food. The gruel is good, I taste a tiny bit of salt and sigh in satisfaction.

The steak is a bit bloody, it brings the image of the two forearms I sliced off earlier, and the pool of blood that formed around the shredded throat. I force myself to eat anyway. I've come a long way since I soiled myself at the mere sight of scouts.

Not sure I respect who I've become... Still, I can handle it as long as my goal remains to save the Izla. I may fail, but I'll try my best and carry the weight of my actions. I want to see my Lady, I feel better when I'm with her.

I push my empty plate and stand, making my way to the courtyard at the back of the tavern. I step inside the shed with a bucket of water and undo my bandage. I clean my hair and face first before washing the brown viscous blood off my left limb, it dilutes well when mixed with water.

My black hair got all tangled up from all the running and fighting. I spend the next fifteen minutes taking care of them. I need to look like the part even if Elizabeth Vil's image is that of a warring Noble.

The injury on my left shoulder is already closing, there are tiny strands of brown rubbery flesh linking the puncture wound's sides. The poison didn't affect it, that's a relief.

I redo the bandage around it and get dressed up. I make my way to the tavern's backdoor and but stop with my hand over the handle, I can hear a commotion inside.

“We act on Duke Meria's orders!” The man's voice is full of authority. “The curfew is sealed and will be in effect from tonight on! Offenders will be conscripted!” The commotion dies down, replaced by a still silence.

“You can't do this!” The sailor that spoke earlier shouts.

“What are we supposed to do? Spend the entire evening on our ships?!” The woman who talked to him exclaims.

“Your duty is to obey the Duke. Without complaints!” The man utters in a threatening tone. “I'll also hold the Owner responsible if we catch you coming out of the tavern after nightfall!”

“That's not necessary, Sir, I'll follow the directive.” Alana speaks up hurriedly.

“Then there's no problem since it won't come up, right?” The man asks coldly.

“It won't, Sir.” Alana answers, defeated.

“We'll see.” He replies shortly.

A half-dozen people turn around, their heavy steps making a lot of noise, I hear them walk out and slam the door behind themselves. I wait a few more minutes, listening to the chatter inside and noticing the anger in the background. I open the door and slip inside discreetly.

“Damn city guards, lazy sleazebags. I bet they'll all be mysteriously missing when we need them on the walls.” The sailor complains to Alana.

“Keep your bad mouthing to yourself, John.” She replies shortly.

“Sorry, Alana.” He says, looking downcast. “Don't mean to bring you trouble.”

I make my way to my room, putting the mask away in the chest before fitting my armor and chain-mail on, deciding to wear the blood-red helmet in case I get ambushed again. I take hold of my hammer in one hand, chest in the other.

Can't stay here any longer, it will be too dangerous with a curfew and I don't want to bring any trouble to Alana. I pass over window's edge to stand on the wooden beam, closing the flaps behind myself before assembling a strengthening construct and jumping down.

I pick the narrowest alleys to make my way south, towards the shadiest parts of Meria. I advance slowly, carefully, and keep an eye on my surroundings. People often notice me passing by their houses but none seem alarmed.

There is an abandoned building at the edge of the block, the walls are relatively intact but the roof is crumbling. I check my surroundings, waiting until I'm sure no one will see me enter.

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I rush inside, the ceiling on the first floor looks intact, I won't have to fear the weather. I explore the rooms, finding either destroyed or missing furniture. I close every intact window flap I find, picking an isolated room.

I lay my chest down and take most of my equipment off to start training my hammer stances, spending hours on refining my swings and trying to get the hang of interrupting them midway. I feel clumsy. I've made progress but I think the sheer brute force of the limb is carrying me, I need to learn how to use it intelligently.

The first half of the afternoon goes by quickly as I mutter my 'Once more.' mantra, I keep exercising my strikes to improve my control over the weapon. I assemble lion strike constructs in the middle of swings without triggering them, only to train doing it when focusing on something else.

During the latter half the day, I get the idea of extending the duration of my lion strike to improve my overall speed since there is already plenty of power behind my blows. I start by doubling the size of the timer segment but decide to double it again after the first practice swing.

As night falls, I succeed in using this modified version of the lion strike to make my hammer strike and then spin around my back to throw a consecutive blow, the construct lasts just long enough for one whole turn and the speed of it is satisfying.

It's so quick that I doubt anyone could slip an attack inside my guard without using a lion strike themselves and that requires a stance, at least those I've seen so far did.

I suspect that Kieft, back in castle Lance, used a construct to block my hammer dead on so I should be careful not to overestimate myself despite being able to chain strikes together much faster.

I wait for the sun to completely hide behind the horizon before slipping the tight leather hunting outfit and mask on, keeping my hammer in hand because I don't dare walk around without it.

I leave the building and start heading north through the empty streets. I throw the thin stiletto dagger into a sewer drain. I brazenly walk in the middle of the road in the darkness. I'm more likely to be pursued if I try to hide.

The first city guard patrol I come across stops to observe me, hesitating. I feel my heartbeat accelerate as I openly walk past them. The second one I encounter throws a quick glance my way but does no more.

As I make my way further north, I encounter soldier patrols that scrutinize me more closely. I raise my hammer, laying it on my shoulder and they lose interest. I walk past the first few manors of the rich north part of Meria, most are lit up by candles and torches, wastefully so considering the few shadows I spot through the expensive glass windows.

I keep going until I find the street where the Lordling's mansion is, I can see a dozen carriages parked on the side of the road from here. I look for an empty building, one without light since it's a good indication that those who live there are either asleep or absent at the moment.

I find a large manor without any visible light coming from it and slow my pace down, looking around to make sure that there are no soldier patrols observing me.

Finding none, I rush up to the fence and jump over it in one go. I make my way deeper into the property, slipping into the backyard and inspecting the manor's stone walls in the moonlight.

There are enough grips, I fit my hammer's handle in-between my clothes and the hunting outfit. I walk up to the wall and start climbing up, taking my time.

I lift myself up along the wall, surprised at how easily I can pull my weight. It takes me a few minutes to get up to the third floor. I grip a small wooden beam and use it to lift myself up on the inclined roof.

The tiles seem reasonably stable, but I shouldn't test their limits. I climb up to the roof's spine, feeling more secure on the horizontal tiles. I assemble four lion's step constructs and turn towards the neighboring building.

I can easily jump the distance between the two mansions, but the goal is to land discreetly enough that I won't be heard. I walk up to the edge of the roof and crouch, judging that the two structures are separated by a space of three meters.

I start swaying on my feet, focusing my sight on the other roof's ridge, where I want to land. I prepare. One. Wait. Two. Wait. Three. I activate the lion's step constructs on both my legs and spring forward.

My body flies through the air, giving me a feeling a weightlessness for couple short seconds. I extend my arms in front of me and cut my momentum short by gripping the ridge's tiles, secured by mortar. My feet land on the roof a half-second later.

I made almost no noise and I doubt any of the soldiers can spot me up here in the darkness. I make my way over this roof, hunkered down, stopping at the edge. Two meters between this one and the next.

I activate the other two lion's step constructs and hop the empty space. Landing on all fours, with small sounds that wouldn't be heard inside, much less from the street.

Couple more roofs and I'll be on top of the Lordling's manor, I'm curious about all these guests. I thought he would be more careful about this. I use the same method to jump onto the next roof. I progress over the tiles, almost crawling to ensure that no one can catch sight of me from a window. I adjust my hammer's position behind my back, making sure that it stays tucked in.

I assemble two more lion's step constructs and approach the edge. There is someone with their back turned to the window. I crouch and leap over the edge to the manor. I take even more care to absorb my landing, bending my articulations to gently slow down.

I enhance my hearing and walk around the edge of the roof towards the right-wing where Ass-face's office is located, I remember seeing a garden outside his window.

Patrick's voice reaches my ears but the sounds are too muffled to distinguish. I pass a leg over the roof's edge and climb down the wall, using the spaces between the stones and the wood beams as grips. I stop just over his office's window and secure my hold over the wall.

“...s not a good time to make waves, Patrick.” I recognize the man's voice but fail to put a name on it.

“On the contrary, this is the only moment when we can. How many years will it take until such an opportunity arises again? If it ever does! This is a time of turmoil, peasants are forgetting their place and the King is weak. The war is a boon, it opens doors that would be locked otherwise.” Patrick argues.

“Baron Tozul was arrested late this afternoon, he is apparently guilty of having revealed secrets. An old fox who wouldn't even admit the color of his shirt tried to sell information?” The man asks in derision.

“This only means that others are making their move, that we're missing out while they're scheming to get ahead.”

“My family has held the title for a century, why would I risk this legacy over such an uncertain plan?”

“Because you don't have a title right now, Buton, it's an empty husk. Your lands are occupied, your wealth is gone.” Patrick replies coldly. “Tozul lost because he was an old fox, too careful in his maneuvers, too passive.”

“I can only rebuild if I'm alive.” Baron Buton says stubbornly.

“And spend the rest of your life scraping back to where you were?” Patrick laughs.

“Better than gambling with my title and family.” Buton replies shortly.

“This plan isn't as uncertain as you seem to believe, perhaps it is my fault that your perception of it is so negative.” He says, faking modesty.

“Explain.”

“It does not quite matter how much truth there is to this Elizabeth Vil's words, the facts that she put forth are sound. The Izla will not be able to win this war and so it must fall before the lands become barren.” Patrick explains. “The mainlanders intend to help us fight the Rykz here, but that will only last as long as it takes them to fortify the coast and gather an army to garrison it.”

“They'll abandon us?!” Buton shouts in outrage.

“Of course they will, did you really think Caeviel would send its entire army to siege the mountains and liberate our lands? The Izla, is, not, valuable, Buton.” Patrick articulates each word with a mean tone of voice.

“Then, then all is lost.” Buton stutters.

“Telnur has a deal with the Rykz, Buton. Who says that we can't reach one ourselves?” Patrick whispers. “We find Nobles like you and me, those who understand the reality of Kingdom politics. We lure them with promises of titles and build a power base loyal to me, with you as my second.”

“The Duke won't let us.” Buton protests, but I can hear in his tone that he wants to be convinced otherwise.

“So what if he finds out we're creating a faction of our own? That is not a crime under Caeviel law and he does not have the support necessary to censure us, we are not the only discontent among Nobility.”

“What good will another political block do?”

“Wealth and numbers are a kind of power, Buton, you know this.” Patrick replies.

“Are you counting on Telnur to keep their word?” Buton asks, skeptical.

“I've told you before, it does not matter whether Elizabeth Vil lied to me or not. Once we are strong enough within Meria, we won't need her to negotiate with the Rykz.” Patrick points out. “We could even ask for their share of Caeviel since we'll contribute troops while Telnur hides in the shadows.”

“We'll need to take Meria ourselves if we want to negotiate with these creatures.” Buton observes, taken in by his words.

“Indeed, we cannot open the doors. We would lose our leverage.” Patrick agrees. “We'll demand that the creatures liberate the lands to take over and rule the lands with an iron fist so that the Izla finally rises up to its full potential.”

“How many Nobles have you talked to before me?” Buton asks.

“Baron Kruger and Lord Steven. Both have agreed.” Patrick replies.

“We need to move carefully, Patrick. These two are trustworthy but that arrogant Countess and her followers are off-limits.”

“I've heard what happened, Countess Lance is soft-hearted to a fault.”

“I had every right to ensure that the money I lent was well spent, the man needed a strong mind to direct him.” Buton grumbles. “That cheap woman is out of her mind.”

“Her ideals will never make her great. Nobility looks ahead, not bellow.” Patrick says with arrogance.

I start climbing back up to the roof. Buton, I could have let it go, but you had to insult my Lady. I take a deep breath, lifting myself up on the tiles. Patience, I need to let them gather their forces before I move to crush them.