Hunter stood in the shade of the temple, eye-balling the city guards swarming the plaza like ants on a morsel. He wasn’t sure about his next move yet, but crossing the plaza while they were there was about as smart as giving a cat a bath.

A chorus of voices rose from behind him, belonging to what seemed, at first glance, like a group of singing monks from a hidden sanctuary. The leader of the procession leaving the temple waved a sign that read:

Melos Brotherhood in Morning Worship. Do Not Interrupt Our Musical Praise of the Divine. Please Join the End of the Line If You Wish to Participate.

Hunter stood back, letting them pass.

The brotherhood moved away from the temple veering to the right, avoiding the plaza as if it were plagued. They had a steady stream of followers trailing after them. Mostly old men with canes clinging to their much younger female companions. They shuffled along like a parade of the living dead.

Hunter locked eyes with one of the handmaidens. "Where are you off to?"

Her bored expression morphed into a wicked grin. "To hell," she mouthed, then added, "Wanna join me?"

Hunter laughed, earning a death stare from the old fart she was chaperoning. His watery blue eyes narrowed on Hunter like a hawk before he lost himself once again in the chanting.

At the back of the line, Hunter slipped in like a ghost, sandwiched between a family in fancy robes that took in the scene like they were tourists on a pilgrimage.

The youngest of the group, a boy around twelve years old, kicked up dust with every step.

“How much longer?” he whined.

His father stared straight ahead, chanting, while his mother hushed him. “I already told you, it takes as long as it takes. Consider yourself blessed to be here. The Melos Brotherhood only visit this temple once in a decade in honor of the starry alignment of the Trinity gods.”

The boy wasn’t impressed. His eyes were glued to the city guards. “But I want to go over there and look at all their weapons before they leave the plaza.”

“Patience, you can see them when we circle back. We’ll pay for one of those plaza artists to sketch you with the guards as a souvenir. But only if you behave.”

The boy muttered, frustrated. "Ugh, that monk is moving so slow; I’m surprised we're not going backward. The guards will be gone by the time we circle back to the plaza."

Hunter took a Glowspire Mushroom from Death Island. “A few fibers from this woven into the hilt makes wooden swords magical, you can have it if your mother says it’s ok.” The boy’s face lit up, and he looked to his mother with pleading eyes. She nodded with a slightly defeated look.

Using the group as camouflage, Hunter walked right past the guards at the edge of the plaza. He kept his head bowed and hands clasped as if in silent prayer. He wasn’t familiar with this part of the city, and the alleys, if he recalled from his youth, were like a network of mazes, easy to get lost in.

Still, he decided to take his chances.

Hunter wanted to pay Jo a visit without drawing any unwanted attention. A rough mental map told him which way he needed to go to reach the harbor. The line of followers began to veer right around the side of the temple. Hunter needed to go left. With a wave to the boy, he slipped out of the group and in between vendor stalls, leading into a gloomy alleyway.

The stench wasn't as bad as he'd feared, considering the garbage heap at the entrance. The alleyway looked deserted, and if his eyes didn't deceive him, the far end led to another street far from the plaza. High above him, the blue sky was like a thin strip.

Halfway, Hunter’s foot bumped into something soft and wet. Looking down, he saw the half-eaten carcass of what might have been a street dog. A lump formed in Hunter’s throat, and he stepped around it.

"Sleep well, friend." Up ahead, movement shadowed him, and glinting eyes darted from all directions. The squeaks of rats echoed as they dashed towards him. Hunter stood still, refusing to trample them, until a chilling realization struck him.

His pulse raced. Sewer rats were brazen little blighters and only ran from one thing.

Trouble.

Hunter looked up and came face to face with it. Three hulking brutes emerged from a side alley up ahead, grinning as they blocked his path.

Well, fuck!

The biggest one lumbered forward, a grin splitting his face to reveal a graveyard of rotting teeth. “Look lads, it's a Melos choirboy. Praying you’d grow a pair, were ya?” The big guy’s voice bounced off the walls of the alley. His cronies laughed, a sound as ugly and harsh as their faces.

Hunter glared at them, his mind racing. At best, he could take on one, maybe two, if he was really lucky. But three? That was really pushing it. Still, he refused to show fear.

"Well, aren't you boys a regular comedy troupe?" Hunter forced a grin. "Ever thought about taking that act on the road? I hear there's a shortage of clowns down south."

For a moment, they just stared at Hunter, their smiles fading. The big guy let out a roar of laughter, slapping his thigh like he had just heard the funniest joke in the world. His lackeys joined in.

"Do you hear that, lads?" he gasped between laughs. But his laughter died, replaced by a dangerous glint in his eyes. "You think you're funny, boy? You think you can talk your way out of this?"

Hunter swallowed hard.

Maybe shooting his mouth off wasn't such a good idea.

Shit!

Their knives glinted, promises of pain etched in cheap metal. Yet, Hunter's own weapon, a rusty dagger, seemed laughable in comparison. They were too well-dressed to be gutter-dwelling street thugs. They looked more like discount city guards with beer-stained tunics and mismatched greaves likely scavenged from dead bodies they'd looted.

Backing away, Hunter cursed his luck. He’d a sinking feeling these guys worked for Vassilus. If only he'd hidden his storage ring. One look at its contents and they'd find the damning evidence, Helios’ special permission token. There was no good reason why Hunter should have it in his possession, and it would expose his newly forged secret ties with the priest.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

The silver lining?

These goons had lousy aura control. Hunter recognized their cultivation stage. Refiners, like him. But something was off. They had to be at least twenty years his senior, yet still stuck in the Refiner stage. What had held them back? Had they been expelled from a fancy cultivation academy, or simply too busy looting and pillaging for self-improvement?

Hunter glanced over his shoulder. Could he outrun them going back the way he came? A glint of armor caught his eye. The city guards had left the plaza to patrol the streets.

Dammit.

Hunter was stuck between a rock and a hard place. He felt a surge of aura like that of small creatures, but he had no more aura control than the three mercenaries who looked like they wanted to beat him to a bloody pulp.

"Where do you think you're going?" The smaller of the three guys, still half a foot taller than Hunter, but wiry thin, clutched his single black-gloved hand over the hilt of a knife, his eyes unhinged.

The big guy, the leader, held him back with one arm. "Don't worry; he's not going anywhere." He lunged and grabbed Hunter by the scruff, flinging him to the ground.

Hunter landed face down in a pile of trash, a rat staring up at him with glossy black eyes.

"Hey, little guy." Hunter didn’t hold back the desperation in his voice. "Got any friends who can help me out?" He didn't expect the alley rat to pay attention, let alone understand him, not like the tame ones on Death Island.

It just stared at him, whiskers twitching, no fear in its eyes. But with a trembling hand, he took out some fish jerky, offering it to the rat. "There's more where that came from." The rat grabbed the jerky and scurried off.

Not sure if that worked, but it was worth a shot.

He lifted himself up out of the trash, grimacing at his grimy clothes.

Dirty again. Just how Eunice likes me. The thought brought a wry smile to chase away fear. Might have to go back and pay her a visit.

"You're coming with us, boy." The largest mercenary’s guttural command sent a chill down Hunter’s spine. "You were reported to the city guard for attempting to break curfew."

That story was filled with more holes than a leaky cauldron. Hunter knew it, and they knew he knew it.

"Pheres." Hunter spat out his name like it was Chewy’s gift. "You're not city guards, and this is not an official arrest. What if I don't go with you?" He stepped back, creating distance, looking for an opening to escape.

The three mercenaries exchanged knowing glances, but the unhinged one erupted into a maniacal laughter. "Then you won't be digging graves anymore, because you'll be in one." The threat hung in the air like a bad smell.

It looked like Pheres didn't stop with the city guard. Was he the one who told Vassilus about Hunter’s connection to the tower? Or perhaps Pheres’ father, Xuthos did? It didn't matter who had betrayed him. Vassilus, Xuthos, or even a traitorous Pheres, their intentions were clear. They wanted him alive.

That gave Hunter a sliver of advantage.

But the twitchy bastard looked like he'd go rogue any second. Hunter had to act before his patience ran out.

Suddenly, the aura of small creatures grew stronger in his awareness.

Waving his knife toward Hunter, the one-gloved mercenary’s expression twisted like he’d swallowed sour milk. "Just grab him and let's be done with it. This place is a rat-infested sewer." His flinch suggested that he did not like rats.

They came in a steady stream, keeping to the shadows, and formed a protective circle around Hunter.

He relaxed his aura, letting it mingle with theirs. It wasn't something he'd trained to do; it was a habit he'd developed while taming the rats on Death Island, and it felt instinctual.

While he was glad they'd come to his aid, he didn't want the little beasts to get hurt.

"These men are dangerous, so don't let them stomp you." Hunter’s warning signaled the rats to distract the men and lessen the threat they posed.

A horde of rats swarmed the mercenaries, biting, clawing, and causing chaos. Seizing the opportunity, Hunter slid past the rogue's wild swing, narrowly escaping the deadly arc of his blade. He rolled and sprinted down a side alley, only to realize his mistake moments later.

Balls to the wall!

A dead end.

"Not laughing now, are you? Turn and face me, boy, or I'll shank you."

Hunter turned around slowly and faced the one-gloved madman. The kill-happy rogue licked his lips, savoring the moment. Then he took his knife and licked it too.

Flaming shit Styx, this guy's a nutter.

"Would you like to taste my blade before I split your tongue in half?"

Hunter pressed against the wall, his rusty dagger drawn as the madman closed in on him.

The rogue sneered, a mocking smile twisting his lips. "That wouldn't cut a rotten tomato." Spittle flew from his mouth as he thrust his own knife forward.

Hunter parried, but his dagger shattered like glass against the rogue's steel. In the same heartbeat, a large rat lunged from the shadows, sinking its teeth into the rogue's neck.

Blood sprayed, a crimson offering to the chaotic dance of violence. The rogue cursed, trying to stomp the creature as it retreated, but Hunter was faster. He swept the rogue's legs out from under him. The rogue's skull met brick, and he crumpled, disarmed and dazed.

Hunter grabbed his knife and claimed it as his own.

With the rogue mercenary sprawled on the ground, Hunter spun around, only to face the wrathful glares of the remaining two mercenaries. Their faces were a canvas of rage, each rat bite a mark of their humiliation.

"You really should consider a career change!" Hunter taunted, dodging a sloppy swing from one of the mercenaries. "Maybe flower arranging? Less blood, more blooms."

His rats, his makeshift army, responded to his mental call.

They surged forward, a tide of fur and fury, biting and clawing at the mercenaries. One of them, fear etched in his eyes, turned tail and fled, his cries of terror fading into the distance. The oversized leader stood his ground, fists clenched and eyes ablaze with fury as he ignored the biting rats.

"Time for a lesson in humility, my friend." Hunter’s grin was as sharp as his new knife.

The remaining mercenary charged, sending rats tumbling to the ground. He lunged, grasping for Hunter’s neck, but like smoke, Hunter slipped through his fingers.

A punch, heavy and desperate, slammed into the brick wall, creating a dent where Hunter's head had been moments earlier. The mercenary gasped for breath, his blows becoming sluggish as the rats clinged to his back.

"Is that all you've got?" Hunter taunted, effortlessly sidestepping another punch as a couple of rats clawed at his face.

Frustration contorted the mercenary's expression, his movements slowing further as he backhanded the rats. The brief distraction presented Hunter with his opportunity. With a final surge of energy, he pivoted behind the leader, sweeping his legs out from underneath. The mercenary collapsed, panting heavily, his spirit broken more than his rat-shredded and bloodied clothes.

Gasping for breath, Hunter stumbled out of the alley, leaning against the stone wall for support. Victory tasted sweet, laced with the metallic tang of blood and the stench of the alley.

As he steadied his breathing, he glanced back towards the alley. The two mercenaries remained motionless. Even if he had kept his mouth shut, they'd been targeting him no matter what. His aura sense had been right; he was followed from the bathhouse. If Vassilus was after him because he knew he’d entered the tower, he might be working with Xuthos. He needed to find out more, and Jo would be the one person he could trust who would know the answer.

A rat scampered to the corner of the alleyway and looked up at him with its beady eyes.

Hunter tilted his head. He withdrew a couple of winter plum berries from his storage ring and tossed them to the rat. It nodded its head and bit down on them before running away.

These city rats he had never trained or been around, yet they seemed to want to help him. He didn't know if that change had anything to do with him being in the Refiner stage or if he happened to get lucky and land in their trash nest. Either way, it was something he needed to talk with the tower about.