Lake Knox was on the fringe of Brightmoor central, and Silas was thankful for such a fact since the rest of the central was congested with people and vehicles. Although Lucian’s speech had ended an hour or two before, many of its listeners had stayed on, making it difficult to get anywhere. Fortunately, it appeared the prophet had purposely chosen a niche cafe as it still had plenty of spare seats when Silas arrived.
The prophet sat by an outside table, slurping at a pungent herbal drink. He was dressed in jeans and a hoodie, the horns of his head nowhere to be seen and his face masked by human skin. Silas only recognised him by the consistency in his facial features and aura. When the prophet saw Silas, he stood and motioned inside the store. “Let us head in. It is chilly out here,” he said, rubbing the arms of his jumper as if to prove his point despite the summer wind.
Silas shrugged and followed the prophet indoors to an empty booth surrounded by further empty booths. “I’m surprised you contacted me so quickly. I thought you were going to wait until the congress.”
About to sip at his herbal drink, the prophet suddenly stopped and set back his cup. He gave a curious look. “No, you misunderstand. While the congress is of significance, it is hardly worth talking about since its results are all predetermined. Rather, I am here to speak of those who came to attend the congress and their suitability to our mission.”
“To kill Kuraim?”
“Indeed. In fact, I contacted you since I have already picked out the perfect individual who is not averse to working with us.”
“And you called me because?” Silas asked, arching an eyebrow. “I thought you said you were going to organise the team by yourself.”
“Because your presence may be required to convince her that our cause is earnest. It will be far easier if I can show another ranker is already aiding me.”
And it would also link us in her eyes, Silas thought. Considering how the prophet was wearing a disguise and his previous comments on Lucian, it was clear that the Brightmoor government would investigate and mistreat anyone linked with him. If Silas appeared beside the prophet while visiting this woman, it would give her fuel to make accusations later, meaning he was risking his life with this decision. Yet, Silas barely hesitated before he replying, “Sure, who is she?”
Ever since he had heard that Mia’s parents had died to Kuraim, he had known that fate had already played its pieces; no matter what, Mia would look to get revenge on the Necromancer. He suspected she wasn’t getting much rest now; although she had held it together in front of him, he knew she had wanted him out of sight to let her genuine emotions out. As extension, it was likely that her misery would turn to vengeful fury sooner or later, and thus the dice had already been cast for him.
“Her name is Katerina Ivanova, number 6 for level and class, and more importantly for our purposes, number 4 for notable kills.”
Silas checked the leaderboards in a flash and saw all the information was true: while he had killed a single E-5 for his position as number 14, she had killed two E-4s for hers. Since her class was named Hidden Blade, he figured she was some sort of assassin, which was fitting since they were organising an assassination. “How can we meet her? I hope you don’t expect me to find and tell her since I don’t even know her.”
“Nothing of the sort,” the prophet said, finishing the rest of his drink with a large gulp and gesturing to Silas to stand with him. “I have already arranged a meeting with her and her associate, Emmanuel Baasch, level 20 Alchemist and number 4 on the class list. I simply require you to stand behind me and provide weight to my words while I convince them to our cause.”
Silas followed the prophet as they took to the streets, walking briskly as they made for a manor some minutes away. On arrival, they were admitted into the antechamber and the Duellist quickly realised he already knew Emmanuel. The men and women around the manor were the same ones from Dresden who he had encountered by the teleporter, practically everyone wearing the gauntlets with hidden compartments. As such, there was no doubt in his mind that Emmanuel was the bookish man in the tweed suit who had eyed him and Dom there.
Some minutes after their arrival, they were allowed to proceed with, surprisingly, the weapons they carried on them. Then again, Silas and the prophet would hardly be any trouble to someone of Katerina’s strength. They were shown to a solarium with Emmanuel seated in a club chair facing the entrance, a glass top coffee table in front of him with a suitcase on top. He wore his round-eye glasses, dressed casually in a white shirt with the top two buttons undone and navy trousers. As before, his greeting smile was too wide and full to be called totally friendly.
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Despite this, as Silas entered with the prophet and made for the seats arranged for them, his attention shifted off the Alchemist to wander the room. He had the feeling he was being watched from behind, causing the hairs on his neck to stand stiff as he could feel no aura other than Emmanuel’s in this room. His eyes almost drifted over her as he searched before he backtracked to the dark-clad woman who should have stuck out like a sore thumb in the solarium. She had her black hair tied up in a ponytail, and her face was hollow and angular with a sallow tint, making her appear sickly. While Ish and Bandit also had hard-to-detect auras, once Silas focused on them, he could feel the weight and grain of their presences, but that wasn’t at all the case with Katerina who appeared as lifeless as the glass panes she stood by, similar to Dimas, one of the Order’s Avatars.
It was uncommon for Silas to come into the presence of someone who outmatched him nowadays, but Katerina was different in that she showed no indication of strength and yet still greatly unnerved him. Her flat grey eyes watched him with no particular interest, her face as expressionless as her aura. Although she had no weapons on her body, he had no doubt she carried several out of sight.
“So, you’re Silas,” said Emmanuel, stealing his attention back. “I had wondered over you and your companion at the teleporter, although it seems you’ve since replaced that companion with a more exotic one.” The Alchemist’s words were clipped and well enunciated, adding to Silas’s scholarly impression of him. He reached out and stood to offer handshakes, but when Silas looked to Katerina to see if she would do the same, she made no sign of even wanting to move from her position.
“Although I understand your fascination, you would do better to expect less from Kat - she’s not very welcoming or expressive.” Emmanuel chuckled to himself. “Rather, I believe we have business to discuss, gentlemen.”
“I am glad to see you are eager,” the prophet said. “I hope we are in agreement, good human.”
“Over what, killing Kuraim? Absolutely,” Emmanuel said, grinning. “He came a little too close to Dresden for my liking, and I believe it’s only a matter of time before he returns. The hound which has caught the scent may stall for now but not forever.”
“Wait, sorry, you’ve met him?” Silas asked with widened eyes. All this time, Kuraim had been built up as a bogeyman character in his mind, so it was somewhat surprising to hear someone had met him and still lived to tell the tale.
Emmanuel looked to the prophet, then Silas. “I see Mr Prophet hasn’t explained it all to you. You see, Kuraim has a moving horde akin to our hunter-gatherer ancestors. No longer than two weeks ago, this army just so happened to enter Dresden’s territory. One of my legions went to slow down their advance, and let’s just say it ended with Dresden having one legion less. Fortunately, Kuraim seemed intent on travelling elsewhere as it turned out they were merely crossing my territory, but I would be a fool to think he’ll let my insult of an attack pass.”
“So you’re saying he’s vengeful?” Silas asked. “Maybe we can set up a trap with that.”
Emmanuel shifted his gaze to the side, going past the Duellist, and cocked his head up. Silas followed the gaze back and suddenly leapt out of his seat with a tense grip on his spear. Katerina, who had been roughly standing behind Emmanuel - in Silas’s cone of vision - had walked out of it without him noticing and relocated to his flank. She showed no reaction to his jump scare, looking as bored as ever.
“When they were near, I infiltrated their camp,” she said, her voice soft and high-pitched like a sleepy child’s. “I made it to Kuraim’s inner circle, where I overheard him telling his followers that he liked the drugs his most recent zombies had been using. He told them to mark Dresden on the map, so they could return later to get more once their business was done.”
“And it just to happens that I don’t think he’ll be a very good customer,” Emmanuel commented, “Too much of a power imbalance between us.”
“You had not told me you had made it so close to that monster of a human,” the prophet interrupted, looking between Emmanuel and Katerina. “Do you think you could kill him if you were put in a similar situation again?”
The Hidden Blade looked the same as ever, but now that Silas’s full attention was on her, he could see the slightest of twitches on her face, which he assumed to be wry amusement. “No, he noticed me when I tried to get closer. He’s surrounded himself with other rankers as well as zombies, and some of them would prove a serious hassle.”
“What if none of them were there then?” the prophet asked. “Could you kill him then, just one on one?”
“Yes, but for it to work you would need several more of his standard to hold back Kuraim’s entourage,” she answered, dipping her head in Silas’s direction. “There are perhaps twenty worrisome people in Kuraim’s entourage, the worst being the Blood Ripper.”
“Zafeera Bazzi, the Blood Ripper, number 8 for level and number 6 for notable kills,” the prophet said under his breath. “Is she as strong as I hear she is?”
Katerina shrugged. “She chased me off, but I escaped easily enough. However, if I were to fight her, I would not bet on myself.”
“But you said you could deal with Kuraim?” Silas said, frowning. He was still standing with a hand on his spear but was no longer high strung.
“She’s far stronger than myself and Kuraim, definitely the biggest obstacle between us and him. Even bigger than his zombie horde.”
The prophet had a thoughtful expression on his face. “I see. I had heard of her prowess, but I admit I had not expected so much from her. This will certainly complicate things.”
“Hardly,” Emmanuel came in, reaching for the suitcase on the coffee table. With one click, it swung open, and the Alchemist turned it around to show its contents to the others. It was filled with bottles of powders and pills and reagents of many colours. “No doubt you’ll find it difficult to find people who can match Zafeera’s strength, but luckily you won’t need to since I can make some enhancements to level the playing field.” He winked with his wide smile.