Bonte Slirmy moved through the shadows towards the rooftop. Shadow Step allowed him to shift in an instant, making him one with darkness for a brief moment.

Shadows had always been an interesting concept to him and, if he had been more applied to academics in his youth, he would have become a Shade Adept of the Wizard class family with ease.

Becoming a shadow was more appealing than simply controlling one, however.

He reached his destination and looked around while crouching, shifting his feline ears to try and catch the sound of breathing or a heartbeat.

The skill that turned him invisible, Shadow's Embrace from his Shadow Chaser class, hid him from sight, hearing, and smell at the third tier.

The sound of a loose roof tile being stepped on made him turn to the left.

There was nothing there, however.

Bonte retrieved the solar goggles Natasha had provided in Mountroad and held them in front of his eyes.

An individual wearing black clothes was revealed slowly walking away on top of the house to the left.

He smiled and appraised them.

[Ork, Lvl 326 Regicide]

The smile turned into a frown.

Some classes had... unappealing names like Crown Traitor and Regicide.

Bonte knew better than to assume the individual was a reflection of the class or the other way around.

People have different tastes when it comes to being edgy, after all.

Desseyr was a clear example of taking it too far. The Halve's inclinations leaned over the edge to the point it impeded his everyday interactions with people.

Bonte pushed E'er into Death Mark, sending tendrils of shadows towards the individual.

Although the skill's name carried the word 'Death', it had little to do with it. Not directly, at least. It simply let him know where the target was for a short time. It was incredibly useful against monsters and people that could turn invisible.

Skills that revealed invisibility were unique to the Scout and Cleric Path due to the nature of how it worked.

The tendrils reached the individual and wrapped them in a blanket of shadows.

The person stopped and looked back.

Bonte stored the goggles and retried his daggers, readying himself for combat.

While the individual's main class was higher than his, the skill taking effect betrayed the fact their difference in total levels was no greater than 50.

Still, the Tigea wondered why an Ork of all things was eavesdropping on a conversation in a random person's home. Or perhaps it was the Halve's presence that brought the Ork's attention in the first place.

Bonte smiled at the prospect of things becoming complex. Life had been calm so far. No great conspiracy to be a part of, no malicious plans, no entertaining events taking place.

“Who goes there?” The Ork demanded in a purposefully distorted voice.

Bonte smirked. “Darkness,” he replied, allowing sound to pass through, echoing on the shadows around the individual.

The Ork produced a pair of daggers and looked around.

Bonte shifted to the top of a chimney behind the Ork, then wondered how could he catch someone with a similar level of power to his.

He didn't have Numbing Rope, after all.

The Ork's breathing and heartbeat were calm despite the situation.

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Bonte acknowledged it and internally applauded them.

Suddenly, the Ork turned to him and muttered, “Found you!” Then lunged at him daggers first.

Space? Bonte wondered and dodged to the left, then jumped off the chimney.

The Ork followed, and two identically dressed clones rose from the roof tiles, joining the chase with weapons of their own.

Bonte pushed E'er into Shadow's Reprieve to blind his opponent, then shifted behind the clone to the right and plunged both daggers on the back of the skull.

The clone dissipated.

The Ork jumped away from the Tigea, shadows covering their head.

The other clone lunged at him and swung a dagger at his neck.

Bonte ducked and slashed at the clone's torso.

The clone jumped backwards, avoiding the attack.

“A Shadow Chaser...” the Ork muttered. “Interesting.”

Sometimes all it took to guess someone's class was to see, or in this case be a victim of, their skills.

Bonte replaced a dagger with a loaded crossbow and fired at the Ork's left leg.

The Ork caught the projectile with a hand and broke it.

The clone landed in front of the Ork, blocking Bonte.

Bonte pushed E'er into Death's Waltz with the clone as a target.

A blur of shadows and blades surrounded the clone, cutting ligaments, arteries, joints, and stabbing vital organs.

While clones have the same stats as the person who cast them, they can't use skills themselves. They also lack the vital organs Bonte aimed for.

It was a show of strength. To send the message that running away was useless.

The clone dissipated.

Bonte readied himself for whatever would come next.

The Ork prepared for combat as well.

And so, they lunged at each other.

Bonte stabbed at the Ork's left shoulder with his right dagger, and at the Ork's right hand with his left dagger.

The Ork parried the blade going for their wrist and dodged the strike aimed at their shoulder with a quick sidestep.

Bonte didn't let up, shifting behind the Ork and stabbing at both shoulders.

The Ork did a somersault and kicked his arms away, then flung a dagger at Bonte's chest.

The blade hit the mark but bounced off, the material of Bonte's equipment being Legendary proved to be more resilient than the opponent's weapons.

High Quality at most, Bonte thought and kicked the dagger away.

The Ork landed facing him and clicked their tongue. “You must be in the 400's...” the Ork probed.

Bonte smiled. He had been invisible the whole fight so the Ork had not been able to appraise him even though he had been spotted.

“Why were you eavesdropping on us?” Bonte demanded, knowing the fight could only go in his favor.

“Oh... you're that Tigea...” the Ork chuckled. “I saw you at the arena. Bond... Slimy, was it?”

“Barradun Somerly,” he countered, holding back a smirk.

“Yeah, that,” the Ork agreed with a nod, falling into Bonte's trolling. “You could say I'm gathering information, Barradun.”

“On?” He pushed.

“...” the Ork took a moment. “You're with Her Excellency, correct? Like a minion of sorts?”

“Something like that,” Bonte replied, again holding back a smirk. “My Benefactor would like to have a word with you.”

The Ork straightened and lowered the daggers. “Well... Why didn't you say that before? Are you stupid, Barradun?”

“You attacked first,” Bonte pointed out, trying his hardest not to laugh.

“No, you used a skill on me first,” the Ork argued. “I was defending myself.”

“No, no,” Bonte denied with a shake of his head. “A non-damaging skill is not enough to begin a fight. You should know this. The Scout's Code states so.”

“Uh...” the Ork uttered in confusion. “How old are you? The Scout's Code changed this century.”

It was Bonte's turn to take a moment. “It did?” He asked in confusion.

“...” The Ork kept quiet.

“It didn't,” Bonte accused the Ork with a chuckle.

The Ork sighed. “Well... I can't run away if Her Excellency is around.”

Bonte nodded in agreement. He had seen how fast Natasha could run. There's no escaping someone faster than sound.

The Ork's words relaxed him a little.

If someone referred to a Halve with 'His/Her Excellency', then that by itself is declaring a stance.

There was no forced respect in the Ork's tone either.

“Alright,” Bonte nodded and lowered his daggers, then deactivated his skills. “Follow me.”