The ship rocked gently as it cut through the sea as I looked at myself in a mirror. I had to get my stature just right if I was going to pull this off. If they wanted me to be a foil to the Hero, I believed making me Rychanian would do the trick. Ever since I received my background package, my Handler had been drilling me on my Rychanian language and especially on my accent. That was in addition to Rychanian history and culture. I also had to learn to cook Rychanian dishes like borscht, stroganoff, pelmeni, blini, and kvass, which were all tasty in my opinion.

In my history courses, I learned a lot about Rychania’s global relations. They were almost universally hated by the world but generally left to their own devices. Any empire that relied on necromancy the way they did was bound to have issues. Not to say they were an undead empire with liches and such, but more that they had no qualms about using the dead for cheap labour or as cannon fodder. It made them both a feared powerhouse in the greater world and reviled in the same breath.

I learned about their economics and how robust their construction industry was. I was bothered by how much other nations reviled Rychania for their use of necromancy but had no problem hiring Necromancers from there to build bridges and roads in those same nations. The hypocrisy was not lost on me. According to my information missive, it was due to this business and the debt Abbaio incurred that the Hero was almost handed over to them. Sending the dogboy to Mancer was their only way to keep him out of Rychania’s hands. It might have been the only way to keep the Hero out of any nation’s hands.

Anyway, me playing the part of a Rychanian gave me the bad guy vibe I needed to fulfil my role in this . . . uh . . . mission? Still, learning how to be Rychanian was not easy. Especially since I was still expected to continue studying other languages, though it was mostly Abbaion and Blokena, the later being the local language of Bloken, the home nation of the Royal Mancer Academy. It was considered by most nations to be neutral ground. They stayed out of wars and were known for their diplomacy. Thousands of peace treaties, ceasefires, and alliances were formed inside the borders of Bloken over hundreds of years of diplomatic history. As a result, no nation was going to risk attacking them and have the rest of the world turn against them, not even Rychania.

My Handler was unsurprisingly playing the role of a professor at Mancer. And where I was to play the rival to the Hero, my Handler was to be the guiding hand, friend, and mentor. It also meant I was going to have very limited access to my Handler, the wolfman who was responsible for my training. On the other hand, the Royal Mancer Academy was a world-renowned centre of learning, known for training kin of all races and ages in the use of skills—not just Mystic Skills but hundreds, maybe even thousands of different skills—in addition to helping kin develop their existing skills . . . depending on the curriculum path you were on.

Despite being sent there for a mission, it was still the opportunity of a lifetime . . . as long as I operated within the orders given to me by the Agency, which meant I was on the path of a Mancer while I was there. Unfortunately, that meant the skills that made me an Apprentice Shadow Agent, specifically the agent part—things like Lockpicking, Espionage, and Pickpocketing—were not only not part of my curriculum, they were also frowned upon in polite society. So, if I was going to practise those, it had to be done on my own time and in a place where I wouldn’t be seen doing so.

The one major upside was Cooking. My Handler added it as a requirement of my mission. He expected me to get a work assignment in the kitchens and take a class meant to help develop my Cooking skill. If I could get my skill up to Intermediate Rank, I would finally be able to use the skill stone in my bag for Magical Cooking. Once I had that in hand, I would have a sense of security that I lacked for most of my life. Regardless of whether being a Shadow Agent worked out, I would always be able to find well-paying work as a Magical Chef.

My thoughts on my cover were interrupted by a knock on the door to my stateroom. The door opened and closed seemingly on its own before my Handler appeared.

“I really wish we’d had more time to train you. You really need to add Security and Trapping to your skill list. Maybe Trap Disarming too,” my teacher said, his accent light and thin, rolling his R’s slightly. He was speaking Abbaion and using their accent. If I didn’t know any better, I would have said it was his native tongue, but I did know better. My Handler grew up in Rugir and lived there for most of his life until my mother took him under her care. She taught him. Now he was teaching me.

“Yes, sir,” I said. My Handler still hadn’t given me his cover information. He said it was better if I found out when I met him for the first time at the Royal Mancer Academy.

He continued, “We’ll make port sometime tomorrow. A representative from the school will meet me at the port and take me to the train station and then on to the school. You will stay in town for three days then catch a train to Mancer. Once you arrive in Mancer, a student representative will meet you and take you up to the school. We’ve planned things so you will arrive at the same time as the Hero.”

It annoyed me that I didn’t get any names. The wolfman refused to tell me the Hero’s name, again, saying it was better if I heard it for the first time when I met him.

“This will be your first interaction with the target. I know I shouldn’t need to remind you, but do not befriend him. You need to be standoffish and even rude to him. Expound on the beauty of Rychania while talking down Abbaio,” the wolfman instructed.

“What if he agrees with me?” I asked in Abbaion but with a Rychanian accent. I knew Abbaio was extremely corrupt. My recent lessons redefined what corrupt meant. Nothing in Abbaio could be done without a bribe and coin changing hands. You couldn’t run a business if you didn’t pay protection money to whichever family ran the area. And if a family decided to move into a new area, a lot of kin died in the process. There was a possibility the Hero, if he was as wholesome and pure as the legends suggested, would be very interested in not being associated with Abbaio. Not that Rychania had a better reputation, but they did have power. If the Hero was at all corrupted himself, there was a good chance that an opportunity to gain more power would be just as corrupting.

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My Handler answered quickly, “Do not talk about the power or money he could gain in Rychania. Keep the talk focused on national pride and culture. We want him to be repulsed by the idea of it.”

I nodded. However, I still worried about how corruptible the Hero might be due to his upbringing. I also worried about his boon. Dog-folk carried a boon and a curse just like everyone did. They had the curse of Breed, which almost seemed to be random in what it did. Sometimes it seemed like their curse was more of a second boon, granting them enhanced senses or strength. Dog-folk had a boon called Loyal. When they decided to be loyal to someone, they were steadfast and firm in that loyalty. I’d never heard of their loyalty being broken. So, just who was the dogboy loyal to? Where did his loyalties lie? If he was loyal to Abbaio, insulting the nation would make him dislike me. If he was loyal to a crime family, things would get a lot more complicated. It was my opinion that the best place for his loyalty to lie was with the kin, all the kin, or at least the good ones. And if he had no loyalties, pushing him in that direction would be much easier.

In my studies leading up to our departure, I learned a little about the Hero Job and what it was supposed to represent. The Hero was to be a beacon of good in the world. They only ever showed up when something really bad was on the horizon. The last time the Hero showed up that we know of was over a thousand years ago when a cult of snake-folk summoned a horde of primordial serpentine beasts and nearly conquered the world. That Hero was Kuramu of the fox-folk. She was born in a small fishing village in the nation of Sunappan. It was a tiny nation then and still is now. However, some of the strongest clans in the world live there, most of which claim to be directly descended from Kuramu despite not being fox-folk.

My Handler switched to Blokena speech. “As for classes, you are on the Mancer path. That means combat and mystic arts, so you’ll be heavily focused on those. However, I don’t want you slacking off on your Linguistics and Sociolinguistics study. Also, try to find opportunities to train your Agent-related skills, even though I know that will be difficult there. And lastly, don’t neglect your Synesthesia training. Opening up another sense can only benefit you.”

I nodded along. My information packet from the agency already told me about the classes I would be taking, but not in great detail. It also went over the Status classes, which my Handler didn’t bring up. Knowing I might regret not being able to choose for myself, I asked anyway, “What about Status classes? Any requirements?”

The wolfman shook his head. “No requirements, just a suggestion: Dexterity or Agility. Those two are the most important for your Job. If you feel strongly that something else would be better, then suit yourself.

“Now, unless you have more questions, it is time for me to go. I am to join the captain for dinner this evening. Apparently, his son attends, and he is looking to butter me up on the boy’s behalf,” teacher finished with a roll of his eyes.

Thankfully, I didn’t have more questions. Not that I would have been able to ask with how quickly he activated his Stealth skill and fled my stateroom. Looking around the large room I was given on the ship as part of my cover made me smile. Posing as the son of the head of a Rychania mercenary company had its perks. My “father” was a very successful lair hunter and had turned it into a rather large fortune. It meant I had money to spare while I was attending the academy, all on the agency’s coins. It was a life I could get used to. I had three dozen different sets of clothing, all a higher quality than anything I’d ever worn before. The agency even provided me with a new hardened-leather cuirass with a minor enchantment that improved the quality of the armour slightly. It wasn’t anything special, but it was a show of wealth and power for anyone to possess anything enchanted. Other than that, they also gave me a pair of unenchanted hardened-leather bracers. Both pieces were a bit dated as such things went, especially when there were weapons out there like muskets and pistols, but according to my Handler, Mancer was still a fair bit behind the times such that they didn’t even teach the use of such weapons.

Anyway, the agency had done well to outfit me for this mission. Despite that, I was . . . not afraid . . . more like cautious. There was a lot being asked of me, and I wasn’t sure if I had the skills to pull it off. That didn’t mean I wouldn’t do the best I could. It just meant that I needed to be self-aware. I couldn’t let my fearless nature get me into trouble beyond the trouble I intended to get into. I couldn’t let any of the students taunt me into anything that might lead to expulsion just because I wasn’t afraid of the consequences.

I took a look at myself in the mirror. A taller badgerman with muscled arms and a rounder waist was looking back at me. My hair had been cut and styled with a white stripe running down the middle and black strands on either side; it was softer than it had ever been, and a generous amount of pomade made it sit sleekly. The fine fur that usually covered my arms and back was more visible now. I hardly recognized the stranger in the reflection.

I gave a mental command and pulled up my status.

Job:

Apprentice Shadow Agent

Strength:

Low

Agility:

Fair

Dexterity:

Average

Constitution:

Fair

Stamina:

Fair

Toughness:

Average

Perception:

Moderate*

Willpower:

Good

Intelligence:

Moderate

Charisma:

Terrible

I looked at the youth in the mirror again. I didn’t see how those stats matched the badgerboy looking back at me.

I stood straight with my shoulders pulled slightly back and the heels of my feet together, the toes pointing slightly outward and my arms straight at my sides. I tried to look like a Rychania Youth Military Cadet, an image all young kin my age tried to imitate growing up there. Very few youths were given the chance to attend the Royal Mancer Academy. Most were forced into military service, hence trying to prepare for it from a young age.

In Rychanian, with my accent firmly in place, I introduced myself for the first time in ages. I gave a short, stiff bow and tried to recite naturally, “Hello comrade, I am Burion Belov. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”