Vince wasn’t having a good day.

He adjusted his position in his wooden seat, the chair digging into his back like spikes. Overhead, the sun beat against his tent. It was like an oven. He read the report for a third time, still unable to understand how it had happened. Two camps had been destroyed, claiming that some guy with a fishing pole was leading the charge. The worst part was that when he sent in his men to investigate, they found nothing but corpses and destroyed buildings, like a hurricane had swept through. Something was happening, but he still didn’t know because of all this weird bullshit intel.

Unless, of course, they’re telling the truth.

But that was ridiculous, there was no way someone was going around killing his men with a fishing pole.

“Governor Vince, we’ve got news!”

One of his men walked in—what the hell was his name?

“What is it?” Vince said.

“Callen came back, governor,” the man said.

Vince perked up. Callen (along with his partner, James) was one of the few people under him who had a good head on his shoulders. Vince sent him out to train the camps and ensure they adhered to his standards.

But he wasn’t supposed to be back this early.

Callen walked in.

He looked sweaty and exhausted. His eyes were weary and worn out, his skin pale white.

“What the hell happened to you?” Vince said.

“The rumors were true,” Callen said without skipping a beat. “The fishing rod shit? It’s all true.”

Vince rolled his eyes.

“I don’t appreciate these kinds of jokes,” Vince said.

“It’s not a joke,” Callen said. “They killed James.”

Vince’s head twisted.

“What?”

“Everything was true, Vince,” Callen said. “God, I don’t even know where to start.”

“Get yourself together and explain from the beginning. Now.”

Callen shut his eyes. All at once, his face relaxed, and his expression shifted to a cool, neutral expression.

There was the Callen that Vince knew. The ex-special forces assassin with almost a hundred confirmed kills. Hopefully, Vince would finally learn what’d been happening in his territory.

“It was a routine patrol,” Callen said. “We’d just finished a batch of drills with our assigned camp. By coincidence, we came across a group that looked extremely similar to the group mentioned in report 59C. We investigated and they started talking about a skill that lets them find Pandoras.”

“But how did James die?”

“They spotted us,” Callen said. “And attacked us.”

“You’re telling me you got your asses kicked by some shithead with a fishing rod?”

Callen nodded. “Not just a fishing rod, sir. The fishing rod. Custom-modified, likely enchanted. Its reach is unparalleled, and that hook.” He shuddered. “I’ve seen bombs that were less dangerous.”

“Are you hearing yourself right now?” Vince muttered, rubbing his temples. “You’re being insane.”

Callen adjusted his collar and coughed into his hand. “Sir, this wasn’t some random brawler. He displayed an unnatural level of dexterity. The fishing rod was an extension of his body. Precision strikes. Quick disengagements. Pure ruthlessness. If he weren’t using a literal fishing rod—and if he hadn’t walked directly into a trap—I’d have mistaken him for ex-military. I only escaped thanks to my Flashstep skill.”

He’s serious. Callen thinks this guy is a threat.

An uncomfortable feeling wormed its way down Vince’s stomach. If this was for real… then he was in serious trouble.

“How do you know James is dead?” Vince asked.

“I heard a gunshot, sir. I don’t think he made it.”

Vince smashed his desk, cracking it. He took a deep breath.

This story has been unlawfully obtained without the author's consent. Report any appearances on Amazon.

“What happened next?” Vince said.

“I ran back to the camp. We set up a plan. I would hit them with my Dark Arrow, they would serve as the distraction.”

“Thank god. So I guess their corpses are outside—”

“They survived.”

Vince shut his eyes.

You’ve got to be shitting me.

“How?” Vince said. “I’ve seen that technique. Not a single person in any of our camps has a way of countering it.”

“Pure luck,” Callen said. “Complete, bullshit luck. He just happened to duck his head and the arrow missed. After that, his Dexterity was high enough to dodge my next shot. At that point, I knew it was a loss. I figured I should run for it and try to get my information back to you.”

Vince rested his face in his palms.

How did this happen?

This obviously wasn’t the Nathan Lee, the number 1 on the rankings. But whoever this guy was seemed to be completely out of their league. Not only that, but he clearly had a hate boner for the Harrowed Hand. If this guy continued his rampage, there would be nothing left of his camps.

They needed some way to strike back.

“I’m a governor of a paramilitary faction,” Vince said. “I command hundreds of men. I have access to rare artifacts, dangerous techniques, and resources that could topple a small country. And somehow…” He groaned. “Somehow, my biggest threat is a guy who brings a fishing rod to a sword fight.”

Callen shrugged. “To be fair, it’s clearly working for him.”

Vince pushed himself back up in his chair.

“Did you get ahold of the Pandora’s location?” he asked.

“I did, sir.”

“Good. Submit that information to a clerk ASAP.” Vince tapped his fingers against his desk, then stopped. “The fisherman. Is he beatable?”

Callen folded his hands behind his back.

“It would be close, sir,” he said. “He has weaknesses—he has no martial training, relying on improvisation and speed. He also didn’t seem to have any close-range options.”

“But?”

“His stats, sir. He’s too fast and too strong. He also has a team with him who are all powerhouses of their own. If I could isolate him, and if I had a group of men… maybe. But I wouldn’t bet on it.”

“And what if I had a way to level the playing field?”

“Sir?”

“Come with me.”

----------------------------------------

Vince led Callen deep into their storehouse. The darkness became deeper and deeper, the windows noneixtent and the only light coming from the open door in the back. At the rear, there was a single bottle. Vince grabbed it.

[Potion of Temporary Ascension] (System: EXCEPTION)

This potion grants the user five minutes of top-tier ascension to the E-rank. At the end of five minutes, the user will return to their original rank.

As a penalty, the drinker’s lifespan will be cut in half.

“My entire life, cut in half. ” Callen stared at the bottle. “Is this worth it? How did you even get this?”

“It was pure luck,” Vince said. “Stumbled upon from a monster drop. Whatever god is watching over that fisherman, there seems to be one on our side as well.”

He tossed it at Callen who grabbed it out of the air. Vince turned around and began to walk out.

“What am I supposed to do with this?” Callen said. “Do you really expect me to drink this?”

Vince stopped. He turned his head back to Callen.

“You’re a soldier. You know what has to be done.” Vince turned back around, his eye watching Callen from the corner. “Finish the job.”

Callen stared at the potion for several more seconds.

“Understood.”

----------------------------------------

The rest of the camp was cleaned rapidly. With his fishing rod out, Nathan was once more a destroyer of worlds. Unfortunately, the rogue was long since gone, having vanished by the time Nathan made it outside. The rogue would feed information back to Vince… and that was the end of that. Now, they just had to make it to the Pandora before Vince.

They were going through the letters of the group. Mara had wandered next to Nathan and was seated on one of the tables, cleaning a gun. Several minutes passed when Bjorn abruptly dropped a stack of papers to the ground. Nathan started and looked over at Bjorn. On the dropped paper was a sketch of a group of orcs.

Bjorn marched up to Emi, his hands twitching and his eyes alit with fire, breathing deep.

“You knew,” he said.

She stared at him. “Knew what?”

“You knew that I was looking for my men, but you didn’t bother to mention that you’d seen them?”

“What are you talking about?” Emi said.

“The paper proves it!” Bjorn shouted. “It says that an elf fought with a group of orcs. It was you!”

“Says who?” she asked. “You don’t know it’s me. And even if it was me, I don’t have to tell you anything.”

“You tried to poison my drink—the least you can do is give me this much,” Bjorn said. “Where did they go?”

Nathan’s jaw dropped. “Wait. Poison?” He turned to Emi, wide-eyed. “You tried to poison him?”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Emi said. “It was a mild poison. Just enough to make him puke his guts out for a few hours. Call it a bonding exercise.”

“Bonding?” Nathan looked horrified. “That’s not bonding—that’s attempted murder!”

Bjorn's hand twitched. “Where. Did. They. Go?”

“Who knows?” Emi said.

Bjorn’s hand twitched before he turned around and stomped off.

Emi rolled her eyes. “Drama queen.”

She walked off in the opposite direction. Chad looked between the two of them, then ran after Bjorn.

Mara leaned in.

“They’re a little bit ridiculous, aren’t they?”

“I guess,” Nathan said. “I’m kind of concerned, though.”

She turned her attention back to her guns.

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you about something,” she said.

A breeze brushed against Nathan’s cheek, chilling it. He turned and readjusted some papers.

“What?”

“You smiled back there,” she said.

“What are you talking about?”

“The prisoner. When I shot him.” Her gaze turned toward him. “You smiled.”

Nathan’s jaw rolled around.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m not wrong,” She stood up off the table. “You’re like me than you want to admit, you know.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Nathan said.

“You do a better job of hiding it, but—“ she reached forward and poked him in the chest. “On the inside, you’re all shattered, like a bunch of broken mirror pieces on the floor.”

Nathan squeezed the papers in his hand.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Nathan said.

“I’m just trying to get you to see the truth.”

“The truth about what?”

She shook her head.

“I’ll drop it," she said. "Just remember, Nathan, that you can’t hide from yourself forever. Trust me, I tried. Spoiler alert: you crack eventually. And when you do, it’s messy. Lots of blood and viscera. Very hard to clean up.”

Nathan was just about fed up with all this drama. First Bjorn and Emi, now Mara?

“Thanks for the therapy session,” Nathan said. “Maybe next time we can talk about my childhood trauma over coffee. Now let’s wrap this up so we can go get that Pandora before the Harrowed Hand gets it.”

Mara smirked. “Sure thing, boss.”