The whole experience left Sunday in a good mood. He thought himself a fairly good judge of character and this Zihei fellow looked like somebody who could scratch a back if the need arose, if only to satisfy their own needs. Sunday was getting an idea of how things worked and he wasn’t particularly worried about getting his hands dirty. In fact, he found himself quite excited at the prospect. Using spells was addicting.

The man had mentioned being an Initiate. Sunday hadn’t sensed the slightest sign of his essence, nor did he know what that implied. As far as he knew anyone on the street could be a mage. He had no idea how powerful one could become with the proper spells, but an educated guess led him to believe that each mage was unique.

His thoughts couldn’t help but once again turn toward Jishu and all of his strangeness. The undead seemed to have woven a permanent nest in Sunday’s mind, trumped only by the memories of Old Rud and his bullshit. What had been that last spell? Surely nothing that would allow one to escape execution by moths and a stab to the head.

Waving at the clerk as he passed by, who in turn gave him a polite smile, Sunday headed toward a small garden on the side of the square. Vyn was supposed to wait for him there, but there was no sign of the man. Sunday frowned and looked around.

Ah, there you are. Once again he caught Vyn disappearing in one of the alleyways nearby. He was not alone. Sunday hesitated for just a moment, before continuing forward with wide steps. There were three quite interesting individuals surrounding Vyn a bit further on the street, holding a quiet but animated conversation with him. The passersby looked at the group with some worry before leaving or choosing another route.

How can I say no to making some friends? Vyn’s like a magnet for bullshit… no, that’s me. The guy’s been quite useful and losing him now would be a shame. Let’s see what it is this time. It was interesting. Humans, even as dangerous as the ones around Vyn seemed to be, didn’t scare Sunday like before. He still felt the instinctual wariness inside of himself, but paid it no mind as it was dull and unimportant. A remnant habit built from the years of having to navigate a landscape of sketchy individuals as a child and then as a young adult.

The human nature he knew seemed present in both living and dead alike, despite it being a whole new world. However, he was different. He could feel it, and see it in his thoughts and his reactions to them. Death didn’t fear life as life feared death, after all. At least, not in his case.

Vyn looked worried, and a bit angry, but not afraid. His hand was still nowhere near his prized sword, but Sunday could sense the desire. It was a good sign. He didn’t want to babysit scared cats with big mouths. Plus, Vyn was going to teach him swordplay one of these days. It remained to be seen if the confidence was true and not a lie.

“Gentlemen,” Sunday called as he got close, once again mimicking Vyn's act. It seemed like a good opening when he wanted to announce his presence and innocently pulling someone’s leg was simply entertaining.

The three turned as one and Vyn’s eyes widened. He was about to speak but gave up when he saw Sunday shake his head. Two large men, both taller and wider than Sunday, and the meanest-looking woman he had ever seen all tried to use their eyes like loaded guns to scare him off.

“And ladies…” How fun. The woman’s gray eyes were especially piercing and her shortly cropped hair and the curved sword on her hip left little room to consider her anything but a menace to the peace of the city.

Everyone frowned as his smile only grew and he tapped one of the men on the shoulder in a friendly manner. Then he continued feeling the muscle beneath as if he was assessing a prize horse. The man was frozen in surprise for a few moments before pulling away with a snappy movement. His rough face was quickly growing redder.

“What big fellows you are. The servants I asked you to find? You sure work fast,” Sunday exclaimed.

Vyn’s eyes widened, “These are not—”

“Who the fuck are you?” the woman asked.

One of the goons spat on the ground, almost hitting Sunday’s precious boot.

There was a slight change in the air. The four humans felt the cold lick at their skin and shuddered, but paid it no further heed. Just a chilly draft concocted by the city’s design and the cold waters of the lake. A breeze that had wormed its way through the warm day, if only to add some drama to the situation.

“That’s no way to greet your future employer, girl,” Sunday said in a low voice. His good mood was all but gone. “And that’s no way to act. Do you see me spitting on your shoes?”

The three looked at one another.

“Who’s this clown, Vyn?” the other large man asked, finding his voice.

“He’s… uh…”

“It’s customary,” Sunday began, “to introduce yourself first if asking for my name.”

One of the goons stepped forward but the woman stopped him with an outstretched hand.

“Vyn here owes a lot of gold to some individuals you don’t want to owe a lot of gold to. Do you understand? It’s business. Private business,” she said, accentuating the word ‘private’.

“Ah, being in broad daylight must’ve confused me, as I assumed you lot were just beggars looking for work. Don’t mind me then.” Sunday waved a hand, “Come on, do your business.” He didn’t move a single step, waiting for them to continue.

The woman’s face twisted further and she took a step forward. “Listen, wretch. I don’t know who you are, but in this city, you don’t fuck with some people. It’s easy to visit you after supper. Keep it in mind.”

Sunday widened his eyes in mock surprise. “Do I look like someone who has supper? And more importantly, is that a threat? I’m having some trouble reading between the lines. Can you be a bit blunter? For my sake? Your haircut distracted me.”

This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

One of the brutes couldn’t hold it and reached for Sunday’s shirt but a step to the side was all it took to dodge.

The slap that followed echoed through the alley and out of it and was closely followed by something blunt hitting something soft, making passersby stop and stare at their group. There was nothing to see as the one who had reached for Sunday stood frozen with his hand still halfway out, wide-eyed and surprised. His eyes were a bit teary and his cheek was rapidly growing redder than the rest of his face, but other than that he was completely fine.

The other was doubled over, clutching at his stomach and trying to stay upright, heaving. The Smash Ball rested in Sunday’s hand and disappeared as quickly as it had appeared.

“Sorry, sorry,” Sunday said breaking the tense atmosphere, “My hand slipped. I just bought these clothes and the thought of you touching them made me act out. Call it a truce, then?”

The thugs looked hesitant now. Confused. Especially the one who had been slapped. The woman, who seemed to be the leader among the three had allowed some surprise to twist her face further.

“Who are you?” she asked once again. Her tone had definitely changed to one full of wariness and Sunday relished the sensation. He had been on the sidelines of such scenes a few times and quite enjoyed them. It was even better now. And it would only become more amazing when his name meant something. As it was, he was just being a bully with a big stick in the face of his spells and talents.

“You haven’t earned my name.” How pompous. I love it. I need to get used to the act if I’m to build fame. “I have a room at the Wayward Rat if you want to come and find me when you learn some manners.” He watched her closely and noticed the undisguised note of worry that appeared at the mention of the tavern. So Vyn’s words are true. I need to look into that. How curious.

Rather than explode the woman only nodded. “Alright. I’m sure we will meet again. Boys, follow.” With that she turned and left, the large brutes following behind her like puppies. They glared at Sunday, especially the one he had slapped. There was something strange in his gaze thought, not quite threatening. Confusion? Sunday hadn’t slapped as a means to hurt the man; the Smash Ball was certainly the stronger of the two. However, he fully realized how a hurt pride could overpower physical pain.

“How fun,” Sunday clapped his hands. “Let’s go. You can tell me who those beauties were on the way to the Manor. We have a lot to consider.”

It’s time to start things up!

***

Savia was in a foul mood. They had finally found a connection to that rotten liar who had left without repaying her debt.

Even better that it was the slut’s good-for-nothing brother, who everyone thought had died during his trip to the belt. A foolish boy who thought himself clever, not realizing he had been used and abandoned. She would’ve pitied him if she didn’t know of his sister.

However, in a typical manner, things couldn’t have remained simple. Savia had a nose for trouble and the undead that had walked up to them and acted like he owned the city reeked of trouble, even before he had used a spell in broad daylight and slapped one of the strongest men she knew. Then again, even the strongest man was just a human.

“Are you certain it was a spell?” she asked.

Danor grunted in affirmation. The two brothers were solid mounds of muscle, yet one of them had been brought to his knees by a surprise attack while the other hadn’t managed to move out of the way of a simple slap. She hadn’t sensed a thing either. Her instincts had failed her, and that didn’t happen even against the vampires.

She looked toward Ganor, the one who worried her most. The man was cradling his cheek with one hand. Worst of all, he seemed to be deep in thought for the first time in his life. She could hear the cobwebs tearing as the man’s brain tried to work beneath the lifetime of accumulated dust.

“Does it hurt?” she asked. She rarely asked them questions of the two, but she hadn’t stopped since the weird encounter.

“No,” the large man responded. There was something strange about his tone.

Savia frowned at the sense of discomfort washing over her. It was a slap, and yet… There was something strange to it. It hadn’t been too fast for Ganor to react, but the man hadn’t seen it come. And now he was acting strange.

She gritted her teeth. Understanding situations and learning was her part of the job, and if she couldn’t do her job and report with clarity, the boss would be mad. Not mad enough to rip them apart, as he had often stated that he would rather suck dry rats than taste dirty scum as them, but mad enough to punish them.

It would’ve been better if they hadn’t found Vyn at all, but his sister was a big deal and her debt was something quite personal to the bigger boss.

Savia never asked for details. People who asked questions were people who wanted to climb their way up in life, and that was dangerous. She was a bottom feeder – a tool that did dirty jobs. She had her own debts, and the things she had to do often kept her awake at night but they also put coins in her purse and food in her stomach.

“It doesn’t hurt no more.”

She stopped her walk as she heard the words, almost getting run over by the oaf brothers. “What did you say?”

“My tooth. It doesn’t hurt no more.”

His tooth? Ganor had complained constantly about tooth pain in recent weeks. She had ignored him, of course. Healing was impossible for them and the few doctors they had access to weren’t going to simply help out of the good of their heart. Had the slap shocked Ganor? Struck a nerve? Had it been another spell?

They were lowly thugs and magi were like the blinding sun in the sky. If they had offended a powerful mage who could wield two or more spells with ease even their boss would think twice. A healer was even worse. Hopefully, it was one of those pretenders. Blumwin had very few magi willing to just meddle with normal affairs. It was a peaceful place after all.

The trio entered the shaded streets leading to the vampire district in silence. It was a gloomy place. Most buildings were made with wide-brimmed rooftops that overlapped and connected like one giant crinkly blanket. The streets were full of those in similar positions to them – the human workers, the slaves, and the ‘volunteer’ feeders.

She shuddered at the thought of the latter. Giving one’s body away to be milked of blood like cattle disgusted her. If she asked a feeder though, they would hail it the greatest job in the world. It gave them pleasure, made them resilient to the wear and tear of time, and with enough luck and ass-kissing, opened doors to immortality in some ways much better than regular undeath.

It was not for her. She wanted a simple life of no one fucking with her and then she would take the fire. No undeath. A drink here, a tasty bite there until it was time to go.

Maybe some free time to herself to enjoy the sunset with a cigar and that bottle she hid under the bed. Maybe a book? It had been so long since she had time to read she wondered if her brain remembered how to do it. There was always dirty work.

They passed through the pale thralls and a few dens filled with moans and the smell of sweat. Vampires were creatures of pleasure, and they were not ashamed of that. She had tasted what they offered only once and it had been enough for a lifetime. It had left her a broken mess for a week as the need to quench the newly created thirst threatened to deprive her of her sense of self.

Savia didn’t really like who she had become in recent years after that experience, but she had to do what she had to do. With a deep breath, she pushed past a thrall and entered one of the larger establishments around. Most buildings in the district had no walls or doors, instead sporting thick curtains in what she heard was popular in other places.

She didn’t care for it. All she had to do was report her findings and leave this wretched place.

The thought of having offended a potential healer gnawed at the back of her mind.