Despite her years of service with the Nimble Hogs, Potilia had done surprisingly little work. Sure, she managed the financial records and some inventory for Chorsay, and occasionally ran a special errand, but what else did she do?

She read.

She read every single book she came across.

After six years, Chorsay had spent far more on books than he had on Potilia’s salary. If one could call it a salary. Her room and all food and drink were included in her job, so she rarely was given any gold. Only when she needed to go fetch something for Chorsay.

Instead of a true salary, he had spent tens of thousands of gold on books. He loved to boast about the size of his library, and he read a good amount on his own, but if Chorsay had any say in the matter, he would be buying fictional books that told grand stories of heroes and adventures. Every nonfiction book he purchased was focused on the dungeons or on some type of mob or mob culture, and the old man acted like it was for himself. Like he wanted to learn more about something he had already experienced in real life.

Potilia couldn’t stop.

She had read every single book in Myrsvai’s library in two weeks. Chorsay’s library fell not long after.

What did he see in her? Why did he hire a useless citizen? What kind of berserker reads all day?

Potilia used to ask herself those questions every day until Chorsay brought home the first book.

Hobgoblins and Ogres: A Floor on the Brink of War.

It took her less than a day to devour the book. It only touched briefly on the acid caves of the ogres and instead focused on the terrible living conditions of the hobgoblins.

A week later, Chorsay brought home Claverstan: A Study of Genius. It was a tome, bigger than several books combined. While it was much longer than others, Potilia still sat at her stool and read it cover to cover, accidentally skipping meals and staying up through the night.

Chorsay brought coffee, bacon, eggs, and toast first thing in the morning. Along with a new book.

The Nimble Hogs were never a busy hero company. In fact, they were probably the smallest official company. Potilia wasn’t a hero, so why would it matter to her? She liked all the heroes that joined, and Miya, as the only other citizen, was always a great friend.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

It was in moments like this, reminiscing on the life she had been given, that Potilia felt like she should be a good employee.

Someone was at the door knocking, and she could simply walk over and open the door. But . . .

She was already sitting, the door was unlocked, and any person with common sense would know a business is open in the middle of the day. They don’t call it ‘Business Hours’ accidentally.

Knock.

Knock.

Knock.

“Po,” Chorsay called from his office.

“It’s unlocked! I don’t know what they’re doing,” she shouted. “People should be able to open their own doors!”

The door was ripped right off its hinges and launched backward, over the portal circle where it disappeared off somewhere into western Atrevaar.

A woman in a golden suit stood in the doorway.

“Fuck,” Potilia whispered.

Chorsay’s heavy footsteps were already creaking on the floor above. “Veph, you can send a message or request a meeting.” He walked down the stairs, never breaking eye contact. “Doors cost money.”

“I don’t care.” She had her hands on her hips and watched joylessly as Chorsay approached. “Your assistant could’ve opened the damn door.”

Potilia tried to hide behind her book, but it was too small. The novella barely covered her lower face as she ducked down. Chorsay’s gaze was relaxed. He wasn’t angry. Not at either of them.

“How can I help you, Veph?” he finally asked.

“I sent my heroes with your goblin.”

Chorsay was quiet as he took a few steps closer to Veph. He towered over her, yet Potilia knew the woman could rip Chorsay in half if she chose. Last time she had stopped by, she only carried her wand. This time, she had her infamous sword sheathed at her hip. What kind of wizard uses a sword?

Potilia set her book back on the counter. What kind of berserker reads all day?

“Why?” Chorsay asked. “To kill him?”

“I doubt it. Sounds like the mob is gaining power quickly.”

“You’re having him watched?”

“I’m not the only one. You know better than that. Have you grown so soft?”

Chorsay looked back at Potilia.

His expression had changed.

That was all she needed to know.

“Pull your spy back.” His voice had dropped to a deep rumble. Most people in the world would tremble from that noise. Veph was not one of those people.

“She’s not a spy. You know Sylmare well enough.” With the golden mask covering the lower half of her face, it was impossible to read any expression on Veph’s face. Her eyebrows were lowered like she was angry or deep in thought, but they always seemed to be that way.

“Veph.” Chorsay took a step closer.

Her hand was immediately on the grip of her sword. “I don’t want to do this.” Veph’s voice was little more than a whisper. Power shook the building as a shard appeared over her right shoulder.

“Calm down.” Chorsay held his hands out. For most, it would be a sign of surrender, but Chorsay’s fists were capable of leveling buildings. Or maybe even whole cities.

“If you let him collect shards, a real bounty will be issued.”

“Owin is not a threat to you. He only wants to get the shards like any other hero.”

She moved her hand from her sword, but idly pulled her wand from a jacket pocket. “A free mob is not like any other hero. If he isn’t dangerous now, he will be once he has a shard. I’ve already issued an unofficial bounty. If someone kills him, they’ll earn three million dungeon gold. For now, it’s isolated to my company to test the waters. What will he do when pressed? Show himself to be the monster he is or act like the hero you believe?”

“And you’ll spread the word if an army issues an official bounty,” Chorsay said.

“Yes.” She moved the wand around her fingers with impressive dexterity. Potilia couldn’t stop watching the little twisted wand. It was more powerful than everything else in the building, including the two Shard Heroes, and Veph was carelessly toying with it.

Chorsay folded his arms over his chest. His hairy forearms were covered in old scars that looked horrendous even from a distance. “I told—”

“The council told me. They said to place the bounty on you next time.”

Chorsay nodded.

“They will.” Veph switched the wand to her metal hand. She held it in front of her face as if she was closely examining the weapon. “You said it as a threat, but the council has already spread word around Verdantallis. ‘Chorsay Eoghet is harboring the most dangerous being in the world.’ Everyone agrees.”

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“Owin is far from the most dangerous being. If anybody is, it’s Zezog.”

“Zezog can’t be a threat if he’s gone.”

Chorsay’s index appeared in front of his eyes. “He’s still on the list. He’s still alive.”

“Nobody is going to say a missing hero is more dangerous than Althowin and yet, it says something that every army in the world is terrified of Owin. His growth is unlike anything else. Level 1 with attributes that match someone in their 60s. Does he have a limit?”

“I don’t know how his class works, but Veph, I can tell you this with every ounce of certainty in my body: Hunting him will create a monster. Some friends convinced him to leave your low level heroes alone. The ones that killed Artivan.”

“Artivan,” she said with a sneer. “Was he worth it?”

“It’s not what you think, Veph. There isn’t a day where I don’t miss Romoalt.”

Veph moved faster than Potilia could ever hope to follow. She stood with her wand outstretched, barely an inch from Chorsay’s neck. The threat was confusing, as using the spell stored in that wand would also kill Veph at that range. “Don’t act like you care for him. You abandoned him. You left him to die.”

Chorsay pushed the wand aside and embraced Veph. She shoved him back with incredible strength, but the old oaf didn’t move. After a moment of struggle, Veph fell into Chorsay, burying her head in his elbow. She sobbed.

Potilia watched, as uncomfortable as a person could be. Perhaps more uncomfortable. Had anyone ever experienced greater discomfort?

She grabbed a bag under the counter and slipped out the back, through the mess, into the practice arena in the back. The walls were high, holding the reinforcements that allowed all heroes, even those with shards, to train in the concrete arena. Potilia took one leap and easily cleared the tall wall, and landed deftly on the other side.

Before leaving, Potilia had hidden a book in her pocket. Both her and Chorsay were always delighted upon finding a pocket-sized book. There weren’t many, but occasionally he happened upon one that was worth keeping. The one Potilia had brought was titled The Hierarchy of Elysium. She had only had a brief chance to glance at the first pages, which were focused on the different ranks of cathkabel. From what Owin had said, they were prevalent in some of the dungeons. Maybe she could help with something if she learned more about them. If not, at least she would learn something for herself.

Atrevaar was a vast, busy city. It was beautiful and vibrant. She hated leaving. The portal guard took the money without comment, allowing Potilia to walk right through. Chorsay could manage his own business, while Sanem and Raif could handle everything else happening at the headquarters.

She wouldn’t be long.

Potilia pulled a kanabo from the bag on her back. Spies weren’t welcome around the Nimble Hogs. Nobody would be bothering Owin, Myrsvai, Suta, or even Vondaire by the time Potilia was done in Minolitana Prima.

***

When a pipefish attacked the Withered Shade, he was helpless. It latched onto his face with its teeth scraping over the dark gray bone. He flailed and cried out, uselessly smacking the fish with both bony fists.

Myrsvai blasted the mob off the skeleton’s face with ease. “Do you have any way to defend yourself?”

The Withered Shade breathed in dramatically loud. “No. But would it surprise you that I also don’t necessarily want to kill any mobs?”

“Why not?” Owin asked.

“It’s in bad taste.”

Owin scrunched his face. “What?”

“You will understand when you grow up.”

“Why should I even summon you if you can’t fight?” Owin asked. Suta might not use spells like Myrsvai wanted, but at least he fought whenever he was around. Even the demons Myrsvai pulled from the Abyss did their jobs without question. Why was the Withered Shade so much more annoying and difficult than any of them?

“Knowledge. Who else is going to provide you with such incredible thoughts? Do you have an incredible mind?”

“You don’t have a brain,” Owin said.

“Doesn’t speak well of your own then, does it? The skeleton without a brain knows more than the goblin with one. Is it doing its job, do you think?”

Owin opened his index. He had already set the spell as one that was easy to cast without opening his index, but the visual of seeing the bright spell appear in front of his eyes made the Withered Shade go silent.

“I like being friends with people,” Owin said.

The Withered Shade raised his brow. The way his entire skull shifted was unnatural.

“If you aren’t my friend, I’m going to leave you in your box.”

The Withered Shade turned back and forth as if he was looking between Myrsvai and Owin. “What does a friend need to do?”

“Be nice.”

“That’s it?” The skeleton stroked his jaw. “Is it that simple?”

“Yes,” Owin said.

Suta carefully shook Owin’s hand while watching the skeleton. “See? Friend.”

Owin pulled his hand away. “There’s more than that.”

“No.” Suta put his arm over Owin’s shoulder.

“Okay.” There was no reason to argue with Suta. He had always been Owin’s friend.

“While I don’t disagree, there is something known as teasing. Or bothering, harassing, mocking, pestering, and so on. There are plenty of synonyms, but I assume you get the picture. I appreciate your patience as I reacquaint myself with this world. The box that I have mentioned is little more than it would imply. Is it nowhere? Yes. Is it also a box barely big enough to contain myself? Also yes.”

Owin had continued down the wreck with Suta’s arm over his shoulder. Myrsvai walked quietly to the side, watching the skeleton with interest.

“You cannot imagine the odd torment I experience. Memories are fleeting things, but so close to the mind’s eye that I believe there had to have been quite the complicated life there once upon a time. Now, I don’t have eyes, or even a mind if you would believe it, but I am still haunted by these fragments every moment. Even in the fifty years I was placed inside the box, all I could do was think and attempt to put the pieces together, but it is a puzzle of circles. How am I meant to put a bunch of circles together?”

“I can help,” Owin said.

“Can you? How would you do that?”

“I don’t know. I have a lot of smart friends. Myrsvai, Chorsay, Ernie, Katalin, Potilia, or Miya can probably figure it out. Sanem and Vondaire are smart too, so I think there are a lot of ways to help.” Owin smiled at the skeleton, who walked awkwardly to Owin’s side.

“Smart compared to what? A rock?”

“If Owin asks me to help you, I will,” Myrsvai said. “But I would never do it without his insistence. I find your personality grating.”

“You don’t seem so social yourself. How are you at parties? Do you like to stand in the corner? Does your small talk focus only on the weather?” The Withered Shade raised one half of his brow, causing an eye socket to grow a bit larger. “No, the weather is too social for you. You’re an academic. You try to talk about recent reads, and no one can relate.”

Myrsvai stopped walking. “I have to say . . . I’m impressed.”

“Ah.” The Shade pointed at him. “I was right.”

“Surprisingly so. Not that I have been in a party setting in a long time, but . . . yes. Small talk is something you can’t learn from a book. It is purely an experience.” Myrsvai chuckled. “How could you tell I am an academic?”

The Withered Shade took a few long steps across the shipwreck until he was near Myrsvai. “If we weren’t currently in Sloswen’s dungeon, I would have assumed you were a retired hero. Since that can’t be true, the other option is someone who is ill prepared for the dungeon because they have slacked on their training for other purposes.”

“No slacking,” Suta said.

“For you,” Myrsvai said quickly. “I have skipped plenty of years of training, haven’t I? If I had kept it up, you wouldn’t be so worried.”

Suta chittered and pulled Owin close. “Trust skeleton?” he whispered.

“Yes. He’s my summon. Just like you are Myrsvai’s. He might be annoying, but he isn’t our enemy.”

“No punching?”

“Not him. But there are more pipefish,” Owin said.

“And big fish.” Suta pointed above.

Owin followed the familiar’s finger to a huge shape that swam above. Owin hadn’t noticed it before. It was multiple times bigger than any pipefish mob in the area. It was far bigger than anything else. Currently, it swam slowly above, not paying them any attention.

“Let’s wait to see if the big fish notices us first.” Owin tried to use Examine on the mob, but it was too far to get any information. He just had to hope it wasn’t something horrifying. Nothing on the floor should be difficult for him to fight, but being safe and cautious never hurt. Plenty of people had encouraged him to think before leaping.

“What do you know of the hero companies?” Myrsvai asked.

“I’ve never heard of such a thing.” The Withered Shade took a big step over to Myrsvai and leaned uncomfortably close. “Am I going to get a lesson from the professor?”

“Not if you phrase it like that.”

“Understood.” The skeleton pretended to pull out a notebook and pen and immediately started to imitate taking notes. “Continue.”

Owin wondered if there was anything for him to learn from Myrsvai’s lesson on hero companies. Without help, Owin could name the Nimble Hogs, Void Nexus, Magna Regum, the Three Heads, and the Golden Bulls. There were probably more, but those were the only ones he had heard of. The Three Heads, whoever they were, had only been mentioned a few times. Owin couldn’t think of any Three Head heroes he had encountered.

“Big fish,” Suta said again.

“Yeah, I saw it.”

The familiar gripped Owin’s shoulder. “Big fish.”

Owin looked up and froze. The big fish was swimming straight at them at an incredible speed. Closer up, he could see its gaping mouth filled with tiny serrated teeth. It was unlike any other fish Owin had seen. Its face was wider than its body and a distinct fin stuck out from its back.

“That’s a shark,” Myrsvai said. “I’ve never seen one like it.”

The Withered Shade ran back, grabbed both of Owin’s shoulders, and ducked behind him. “Don’t let it eat me.”

“Why would it want to eat you?”

“I don’t know! I just got a message! I’m the prey of Baskir the Hunter!” The skeleton’s bone fingers clattered on the chitin pauldrons. “Save me!”

“Calm down.” Owin drew his lich bone knife. “I can handle this one.”

“Are you sure?” Myrsvai asked.

Owin nodded. “It’s about time I fight one of the bosses again. Suta, protect the skeleton.”

“Skeleton? I have a name!”

Owin kept his eyes on the approaching mob. Baskir the Hunter was growing close. “You said you couldn’t remember it.”

“That doesn’t mean I don’t have one! Call me . . . I don’t know! You’re my master. Think of a name!”

“After I handle this.”

Suta stepped in front of the Withered Shade and held up his fists.

Owin eagerly watched the huge fish approach. It was time to test his strength again. Maybe he would even get a chance to show off.