“Where did you learn that?”

Salem looked up from peeling his pomegranate with surprise. “Chef Helene!”

She smiled at him, her eyes crinkling with mirth at his panic. Her pupils looked like dancing flames, he noticed. Even when not using her Glyph.

Almost a Demigod.

Her eyebrow arched. “So? Don’t tell me it’s a family secret. It’s been decades since I had to work on a pomegranate myself, but I always enjoy finding small tricks like these.”

Chef Helene put her hands on her hips and threw her dreadlocks back. They were held in place by a fire-orange scarf that matched her eyes, but they were long enough to occasionally drape over her shoulders when she turned.

Salem coughed. “It’s my grandma. She taught me. You cut it like this, here,” he said, showing the crown he had carved out. “Then you cut vertically along with the membrane that you see here, then–you break it up along with the cuts.”

Her eyes shone. “Marvelous. I used to cut it in two then beat with a wooden spoon until the seeds were all out,” she shook her. “Messy. And took forever.” She turned back to him. “You faltered a couple of times. And you ran out of essence at some point. Remember, mana to essence when you’re prepping, and you Empower yourself when you put the meal together. Don’t worry about Projecting. The essence will seep through on its own. Okay?” She clapped him on the shoulder when he saw the hunch of his shoulder and he snapped up straight. “It takes time. Don’t get discouraged. Alright?”

Then she moved on to another table and he exhaled.

Alright. Mana to essence, then–

“–to be now. She’ll make it worth your while. I promise.”

His focus broke, and Salem rolled his eyes. He recognized that voice. Rivanna of Mycenae.

Rivanna had made sure he knew who she was and where she came from when she demanded he explain himself and his decision to “throw his lot” with Warriors. She’d been scoffing and looking down at him ever since he told her to take a hike. And when he refused her offer that same day to “fall in line so we can present a unified front”, the scoffing became open mockery and hostility.

As if her maneuver wasn’t a known strategy.

Salem sighed. No politics. Never politics.

They were still muttering. He couldn’t catch what they were saying, and frankly, he didn’t care. But they’d been in an odd state for a few minutes now. Ever since a messenger came to Rivanna and whispered something in her ear.

He glanced sideways at Chef Helene, then back down to his prep. She was the closest thing he’d seen to divinity… and though he tolerated his new teammates, if he were to choose between an apprenticeship under Chef Helene and his new team?

Well… that would be an unfair choice. He kinda liked them so that might make it–

“Hm?” Salem turned, and his look of surprise quickly became one of suspicion. One of Rivanna’s lackeys was behind him, holding a knife. What now?

“What?” asked Salem. He glanced down at his workspace and picked up his towel. His hands were filthy. “Can I help–ugh.”

A sharp pain. Heat. Salem looked up, mouth open. The young man’s eyes were wide. And too close.

Salem looked down. His hand moved toward the kitchen knife embedded in his chest.

“W–uh”, the sound came out as the knife was pulled out of him. It had less blood than he’d expected to see. He tried to breathe, but his chest wasn’t moving. Red spurted rhythmically out of the gash, spilling down and dyeing his jacket crimson.

His towel.

He tried to reach for it, but his body stopped obeying. His pot clattered to the ground. It sounded far away. How was the kitchen so quiet?

Something hard hit him. Where was he?

“Chefs aren’t like alchemists or enchanters. They’re rarely in danger, so they get regular Decks.” Someone had said that. When he'd been given the result of his application.

Who did–?

“Stop!”

Who? Why’s everything… dark? And hot…

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

Any other day, Frank would have found a coffee shop or tavern to sit down and digest all that he just heard, but the looming first Trial had suddenly gotten a lot more foreboding. And he somehow doubted the agent of the Guild of Souls would keep quiet about who he was.

But how was this just discovered? And when he was supposedly selected to participate, didn’t those people know who he was? Who he was related to?

I’m missing something. Think.

The agent hadn’t seen anything when Frank had shared his name. But the connection showed up only when he listed his family names and they were typed into the system. Which would mean… that maybe he needed to ask specific questions to get certain answers?

And where was that information coming from?

No one knew until I asked. Either the Guild of Souls or the Automaton knew about my connection to my sister and kept it to themselves. Until I poked the nest.

“Damn.”

He had been willing to throw down with Tasos, but all of the sudden the corrupt lieutenant seemed like the least of his worries. He was already enmeshed in a conspiracy and he didn’t even know who the players were.

He briskly headed back toward the Hall, resolving to spend the rest of the day training–and trying to learn about Sandra and what had happened. And what they’d done to her.

He had nothing to go on, but he was willing to bet she’d had a very good reason to have done what she did. And he wasn’t one to throw stones. Plus, there was always the small but very real chance that they made her out to be the fall person for some scheme gone wrong.

In any scenario, he trusted her. He didn’t trust power-hungry strangers.

But Seamstress? What kind of nickname was that?

She had been going to college to study law back then. And true, she could sew. But so could all of his siblings. Even his dad has had to learn the basics or they wouldn’t have heard the end of it from his mom–

Alright. It wasn’t completely out of left field. And maybe he was having trouble associating codenames–which had come from the later parts of his life–with the sister he grew up with.

Still… his sister was really a wanted fugitive. But why? How?

As he thought and worried, his feet carried him toward his destination. He didn’t pay too much attention to his surroundings as he beelined it toward the Hall. His skin was now darker. Mediterranean with a bit of a tan. He basically approximated Kreios.

The Hall was thirty seconds away when stopped. Frank could see it clearly enough from where he stood. There was a locked-down checkpoint at the foot of the stairs leading up to the entrance.

A checkpoint that hadn’t been there when he’d left, barely an hour or so ago. And all the way across the crowd, a bespeckled Tasos was looking right at him. And thanks to Frank being preoccupied with his sister, the lieutenant reacted first.

Tasos shoved a passerby out of the way and began walking toward him. A cart of goods was approaching from the right, so Frank meandered toward it. As soon as Tasos’s vision was obscured, Frank [Quick Stepped] three times to the right. The world blurred and changed around him with every step, and he tried–and failed–to perceive his environment through the steps.

He’d been trying that all day yesterday. The spell was affecting all of him. Body and mind. But if only he could somehow manage to not have it affect his perception, he felt it would give him an advantage. A half-second of extra time to think and react.

But now wasn’t the time for that.

The movement was enough to put a small crowd between himself and the guard. Though just in case, he kept the Empowerment going, ready to trigger with any step he took. He’d learned that taking steps didn’t consume that much mana, but it was the first activation that was costly.

He chanced a glance backward and saw Tasos still heading to where he had been.

Frank exhaled, then tapped the disguise card again. He felt the card connect to him, and felt the range of possibilities that lay open before him. First of all, lighter clothing. Like a local. He was about to add some tears and rips, then stopped. That might get him barred from approaching the Hall.

Lighter cape. Dirty blond hair. Scar around his lower lip and a bit of his left ear missing. A foot shorter.

With that, he felt the card reach his limit, and he activated the change. Once it was all done his mana reserves were down to half.

Frank put more people between himself and Tasos as he walked down the street, and when he felt the magic settle against his skin and body he chanced a glance back.

Tasos was running toward him, the sun reflecting off his glasses as he shoved and pushed people out of his path.

Frank froze in horror for an instant before he ran toward the closest alley.

The goddamn glasses. Since when did he wear glasses? For god’s sake, Frank.

Frank leaped over a stand of carved figurines made out of marble, easily clearing it thanks to the Dexterity Growth Factor and [Enhanced Agility] Thankfully it gave out its benefits without him needing to interact with it.

“Watch it!”

Frank left the grousing merchant behind as he sprinted into the closest alley. He dropped the disguise and was about to begin the process of changing cards when he hesitated. The timing wasn’t right. In any case, [Disguise Self] was useless for now. Tasos had goddamn glasses that could see through it.

He had been ready.

“Tasos. Trying to lose him before I go up the stairs. Stay near the door.”

Frank thought about using [Quick Step], but if Tasos was detecting magic usage, then he should hold off on that. Keep it in reserve to sprint to the gate.

His feet pumped against the paved alleyway, then he took the first turn he could see, which he almost missed due to the darkened surroundings.

Three turns later he could hear their footsteps getting closer, and Frank could feel the noose tightening around his neck when he saw an open door and decided to risk it.

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

A couple of minutes ago.

“That must have been exciting. Did the town throw you a big party?”

Esther and Wilbur were sitting at one of the tables in the festive section. Wilbur had been craning his head, looking in every direction, but he took a moment to shake it in response. “My family… my mama’s passed away. A few years ago. I celebrated with my dad. A small party.”

Esther tilted her head. She tapped him on the shoulder and wondered if he could even feel that through the clay. “I’m sorry Wilbur. That must have been difficult.”

They sat in silence for a moment, letting the world move and bustle around them. After a few seconds, he spoke up. “The town was preparing a party for Soral, the son of our lord. Everyone expected him to win the selection.”

Her jaw hung for a second before it morphed into a grin. “You took a noble boy’s god given opportunity?”

Wilbur chuckled, and she cackled.

She took a swig from her mug. “Ah… that’s always good to hear. Here, get some.”

The Suit’s head tilted down for a moment. “I’m not old enough to drink.”

Esther blinked. “What do you mean? How old are you?”

“16.”

Her brows shot up, but she said nothing. She looked around at the various faces all around them. She knew a lot of Champions were young, but now she realized a few were younger than she’d thought. It didn’t show on their faces. Esther herself looked like she was in her early twenties.

No, it was in their movements. Their gestures. Some were full of bravado, while others were nervously huddled by themselves or with newly made friends.

Isn’t this competition supposed to be dangerous?

Esther puffed her cheeks for a moment, then sighed and shook her head. A lot of aspects of this world still didn’t make sense to her. But then again, she’d been up for only a couple of days or so.

She finished her mug and got up, and Wilbur followed suit. “Alright, let’s get back to the door and—”

Esther bumped into a hand that might as well have been a metal bar. And before she could step away from it, she was shoved back.

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

Wilbur glanced back just in time to see Esther being shoved back. He saw the armored hand that shoved her. The clean cape. The insignia.

Nobles.

Wilbur surged forward, ready to trample the Felinah. Esther shot him a warning look, and he stopped. And then, he noticed the weird angle Esther was maintaining.

Even when shoved, her feet had never left the ground. She was leaning back, holding on to the house guard with her left arm. She was smiling, like she often did. But Wilbur noticed that the smile might have been a tad different this time.

“You wanna try that again?” she stage-whispered to the Felinah in armor. The guard in question bared his sharp fangs at her. His pupils narrowed into a line while his ears flattened.

Wilbur really didn’t like Catfolks. And the feeling was mutual, if the stories his dad and uncle told him had any truth to them. They were haughty, prone to aggression, and really didn’t like sharing their space with any species that wasn’t theirs.

His uncle often said that you can’t trust someone who refused to shake your hand. So why was the Catfolk allowing Esther to touch him and be that close to him?

Wilbur stepped aside and saw his answer reflecting the light back to him. A thin, long needle-like dagger was pressed against the Catfolk’s armpit.

“You will be penalized,” said a female voice.

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

Wilbur turned, and his eyes narrowed at the person sitting in a chair behind the guard. An orange and white-furred Catfolk was sipping on her tea, unbothered. Her fur was a darker orange in some spots, almost brown in color. A swathing mane of white fur enveloped her neck and slipped under pristine–and clearly enchanted–white and gold robes that could have fed his town for years.

Her piercing blue eyes were looking him over, contrasting with the ruby encrusted golden circlet resting atop her head. Behind her another personal guard stood, hand on his weapon.

Esther shrugged. “I don’t mind. Plus, nothing happened yet,” she added with a wink. “So, how about an apology?”

The Catfolk bared his teeth again. “I will not–”

The dagger inched closer, cutting his voice short. “I will not ask again.”

A clawed finger tapped the table. “Reed.”

With an impassive face, he released his grip. “I apologize for my brusqueness.”

Esther hummed. She glanced up at Wilbur, then pulled her stiletto dagger back and tapped it twice against the Catfolk’s chestplate. “Maybe keep your hands to yourself next time.”

She glanced at the sitting woman for a moment, who pointedly looked away, then with a grin, she winked to Wilbur. “Let’s leave the little nobles to their fancy tea party.”

Wilbur breathed out, then smiled. He could smell how nervous the Felinah had been. Even the one leading them. Though he never mentioned it. His mom had taught him again and again that he shouldn’t talk about smells with those that didn’t have the nose for it.

“Uh-oh,” said Esther. Then she bolted toward the door. “Let’s go, Wilbur!”

Wilbur ran after her. He didn’t look behind him at the trio of Catfolk. He was only focusing on the laughing figure ahead of him, and there was only one thought that crossed his mind.

Mom was right. Humans are scary.

Esther and Wilbur stepped into the daylight, only to be immediately under attack.

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

Frank’s heart hammered in his chest as he crouched behind rows and rows of drying pottery. Vases, plates, and even cups were piled up next to each other and behind the residence wall. He could hear the guards of the Watch running and shouting further down the alleys. He couldn’t tell if Tasos was one of them.

He replaced [Disguise Self] with [Force Missile] as he listened to their shouts and calls. More guards came running into the alley, and Frank waited. Once they got far enough, he’d rush to the Hall. And hopefully Esther would have gotten his message. He glanced sideways to see if he’d missed her answer when the jar in front of him moved.

Frank’s blood froze; he hadn’t touched it. He was sure.

Then panic quickly turned to dread as the jar didn’t come crashing down. The barrel-sized work of pottery slowly, agonizingly, hovered away from him. Frank gently put Stella's gift down and slowly stepped from around the drying rack to see what was happening.

The jar moved to the right. It was held up by a small hand.

The kid. From the fountain.

She stood in the center of the open area. The door leading out back to the alley was behind her small frame, and both were dwarfed by the hovering jar blocking his path..

She stared at him, unblinking. Her blue eyes were shining, examining him from head to toe, and the silence made his skin crawl. Because those weren’t the eyes of a child.

They made him feel like a child.

He opened his mouth twice, but between his lack of air and his mind trying to figure out what to say, no words came out. He tried again. “Hello.”

The blue-eyed girl stepped around him, her bare feet almost silent against the ground. Every step she took left a wet footprint against the cobblestones.

She tilted her head the other way. “Yer one of’em. From the Cradles, aye, but not from the one they pilfered.”

Frank took a step back from the–entity. Every instinct in him was telling him to run. But they were also telling him something else. He felt it. In his bones.

He couldn’t leave. Not yet. That would be… rude. And being rude to this thing might have consequences.

He swallowed and took his time to answer. “I believe they called them Seedworlds.”

Wait and see what she wants. No need to offer anything he didn’t need to. No need to talk and get himself in trouble. He’s had enough of that.

Frank felt the brush against the cold sweat of his brows. Those piercing, unblinking blue eyes were too knowing. Like a giant cat looking down at him, waiting for him to slip up or turn his back.

The jar hovered precariously, held out miraculously by the being's small hand.

She continued pacing around him, and he slowly turned, keeping pace. As much as he wanted to break eye-contact and run, he didn’t dare to. He couldn’t have her behind him and out of his sight.

The jar made him sweat even more. Was that a threat? To hit him with it? Or to drop it and alert the guards?

As if she knew where his thoughts had drifted she finally spoke, glancing behind him toward the alley.

“They won't take yer life. The cursed contraption won't allow it. And they can't circumvent yer wee trinkets. But they'll surely make yer existence a torment if they find ye.” She floated the pottery higher. “Yield, and I'll keep yer hiding place safe from their sight. Surrender, and I won't eat yer heart for dallyin' with thieves and monstrosities. Submit, and I'll grant ye passage out of this accursed Realm alongside meself.”

She stopped pacing, her offer made.

Now, at least, he had an idea of what she was. No clue why she was here, but the looming vase made her position clear.

He didn’t miss this. Being caught in the crossfire between factions.

She didn’t sound like she had anything to do with Tasos or with his sister. She just… wanted him to resign from the Trials. For some reason.

There was a lot to unpack in her offer, but right now Frank didn’t want to go anywhere. He had people to find.

And any offer made at the metaphorical barrel of a gun didn’t hold much water. Plus, if his memory served him right, fairy tales didn’t paint the fair folk as beings known for their honorable and trustworthy deals.

The conclusion felt like a reach, but if gods, Beastfolks, and Trolls were real, why wouldn’t the Fae be real as well? In any case, he wasn’t interested in her offer. But he also didn’t want that damn jar to come crashing down. The ruckus of the guards was getting further away, and he didn’t need them to be brought back.

How could he politely decline her offer?

He sighed and rubbed the back of his neck, a mighty frown on his face. Then he came to a resolution, looking up and meeting the thing in the child’s body. “How do I agree to your terms? I assume you won’t just have me say ‘yes’, then walk away.”

The girl tilted her head and, for the first time, one brow arched. “Ye swear it on yer very soul.”

She said it as if it were the most obvious answer in the world. And Frank realized he had discovered another gap in his knowledge of this world.

There was no way this swearing was as innocuous as a pinkie promise. Especially not if she was saying it with such confidence. This world’s magic would most certainly have something to do with it.

Frank nodded along, a nervous smile on his face. “I apologize, I just woke up the day before yesterday. How do I swear on my soul?”

How am I going to get away from her? A [Fast Missile] to the face and run?

The entity stared at him for a small moment, then she shook her head. Her mouth stretched in a smile that was way too wide, and her eyes became pinpricks of cold ice. “Do ye take me for a fool, wee human? I sense yer clever ploys, aye. I can feel the purpose in yer words. I've danced the dance of cunning and mischief with those who could untangle yer thoughts like unravelin' threads. But I'll not squander me time on this charade any further. And I don’t need ye around to give me more trouble.”

Before Frank could react, the jar smashed into the rows of baked pottery with a thunderous crash. It was instantly followed by the sound of wood splintering. The door leading out to the street was completely torn out of its frame, gone.

He heard the shouts of guards all around him, and he sprinted outside.

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

Esther’s two daggers stopped the swing of the majordomo. She groaned as her own elbows dug into her sternum and she [Short Blinked] away. In her stead, Wilbur’s giant fist flashed forward toward the old man, who just sidestepped and swung down. Esther expected him to cut through Wilbur’s suit like butter, but at the last second an extra layer of soft clay appeared, absorbing most of the cut’s momentum.

“Isn’t trying to kill us against the rules, old man?” She searched for the second attacker, her dagger ready to throw.

They were supposed to fight Tasos. Beat his smug face in the ground for a little bit then go have a drink. Not fight… whatever this was.

“Some consequences are preferable to others.”

She straightened up, wincing at the cut in her shoulder. And the one near her elbow. She’d defended herself against both. Barely. They would have taken her arm off, for God’s sake.

Her Deck arm... Esther frowned, pausing to consider. Wait a second.

She sharpened her awareness of her surroundings and waited for the second attacker to show up. [Mark Target] told her he was a dozen or so feet away. “Can you be less cryptic? You and your hiding friend are just thugs. So cut the polite bullshit. Pretty please. With sugar on top.”

The majordomo tightened his lips, and it made his mustache puff up. Esther grinned at him–then [Short Blinked] right and stabbed down, following [Mark Target]’s pulse. But right before she could tag the rogue he disappeared again into a puff of smoke.

“Coming up from the alleys. Tasos right behind.”

“Took you long enough,” she gritted between her teeth.

The majordomo thrust at her heart and she [Short Blinked] away, only to reappear under a rain of daggers from the cloaked figure. Her eyes widened, and she prepared to tap her card again when Wilbur’s Suit entered the frame. She twisted and lunged behind the Suit, hearing the soft thuds of daggers hitting hardened clay.

Steps coming up the stairs.

Esther looked up, hopeful, and saw a man she didn’t recognize.

The majordomo straightened up. “Lord Lumovik. These are the teammates of the target. They have a bounty on their head as well. Alive or dead.”

“Marvelous,” said the well-dressed man, clasping his hands behind him.

Esther stared at the man from behind Wilbur for a second, then threw a [Balesteel Knife] at him.

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

Anders walked quietly, half-listening to Carr’s rambling and half-observing the curiously quiet city.

“I would love to face her.”

Anders frowned, trying to recall the last few minutes of conversation. Carr had been talking about the latest entry to the bounties that had been rocking the underworld communications for the last hour or so.

“The Blade of Hera?” Anders asked, brow raised.

Car hummed and nodded.

It took Anders a second before he shook his head. “There’s no honor there. None for us, none for her. We wouldn’t last a second in her presence. And there’s none in going after her sibling.”

Carr nodded and spat to his side. “The Queen of Mycenae is not known for her forgiving or honorable nature.” A beat later, Carr spoke in that dreamy voice again. “But what a glorious way to die. Against a human woman who spat in the eye of a Godqueen. What a glorious fight it would be!”

Anders chuckled as they moved right toward the stairs of the Hall–and they stopped.

“This shit again,” growled Carr. He lifted his gourd and drank deep.

Anders had to admit this was grating on his nerves as well. He put his hand on one of his swords. “Make way, little men. We humored your checkpoints yesterday. And the day before that. We will not do so again.”

Some of the guards bristled, while one signaled a second.

Carr stepped forward casually, resolved to step over the guards if he needed to.

“Halt,” said one of the guards, pulling a truncheon from his belt as he spoke.

No sooner had the weapon left its holster, the gourd flew out of Carr’s hand and smacked into the Watch guard's face. And Anders was willing to bet that the crunch that followed wasn’t the sound of the gourd breaking.

His thought was confirmed instantly by the muffled scream of the guard.

The bald Einherjar shrugged as he picked his gourd back up. “We did warn ya. Now move, before we get unpleasant.”

The two remaining guardsmen bellowed, and one blew a whistle.

Anders sighed as his hand left the pommel. He wasn’t getting his swords bloodied with something this stupid.

Thirty seconds later, they reached the top of the stairs and the scene they found immediately spoke to them. Carr was already grinning when Anders turned to him, also smiling. He drew one of his swords, and Carr drew his giant axe up and over his back.

“Hey boys,” said the human woman currently being targeted by two men, while her companion Suit-user kept two more off of her. “Do you–give me a second. Do you mind lending this damsel a hand?” She parried another stab and [Short Blinked] away. “I would really appreciate it.”

Anders felt something reach for his mind and grinned even wider. [Swordsman’s Discipline] hummed through his mind. “Which one do you want to keep?”

Behind the scene in front of them, a man standing at the entrance of the Hall frowned. The mind-magic user. Anders flashed him a smile and pulled his second sword.

“There’s another fly buzzing around. Take this one,” she said, throwing a dagger at the sorry excuse of a swordsman, who surprisingly still managed to parry the dagger. “The fly, and maybe one away from my friend over there, and I’ll help grandpa with his medicine.”

Carr laughed and slammed the talon of his two-handed axe on the ground. “You got it, pretty lady.”

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

“Lumovik showed up.”

Esther’s clipped voice rang in his mind as Frank ran as fast as his feet could carry him, occasionally [Quick Stepping] here and there. His encounter with the creepy kid had caused him to lose concentration, so he had to trigger the card again and pay the increased mana cost. Thankfully, quickly accessing his consumables had been one of the subjects covered by yesterday’s session, so all of his three [Mana potions] were only a second away from him.

He only took one though. He couldn’t afford to get sick at the moment.

Now that he knew that Lumovik was around, he switched cards again. He lost some speed and almost tripped a couple of times, and if it wasn’t for [Enhanced Agility] he would have absolutely fallen on his face. But he wasn’t far.

Frank leapt over three passed out City Watch guards and the first few steps in one jump, then kept running up the steps. His improved agility made the climb quick and easy.

“Stop.”

Frank felt the command reach him, but Tasos was still too far away; it barely made him flinch. The lieutenant had been the furthest away when Frank had made a run for it, but evidently he had caught up and left all the other guards behind.

[Quick Step], [Enhanced Agility], and [Enhanced Resistance:Mind]. Those were his options.

Frank couldn’t wait to have another card slot or two at his disposal.

As he ran up the stairs, he activated his resistance card. The protective membrane wrapped around mind and as he reached the Hall’s forecourt, out of breath. He unlatched the leather clasp securing Viper’s Fang and let it draw on his mana as he took in the scene.

Two Einherjar he didn’t know were fighting two–no, three people. The third was a dark cloaked figure that kept appearing and disappearing in a cloud of smoke. A fourth opponent was wearing regular street clothes, and he was peppering Wilbur with water spells while Esther was busy fighting the majordomo. Dodging, throwing knives. Occasionally [Short Blinking] forward to try and capitalize on a small opening.

Behind her, Lumovik gave him a smile and a wave, and Frank felt magic worm itself to his mind. He tapped his resistance card, reinforcing his defense some more. Then he slapped Lumovik’s attempt away.

Lumovik gave him an arched eyebrow and nodded. Frank raised a finger in response.

Wilbur was trying to hit a mage who kept escaping at the last second. The mage's spells seemed like a less powerful version of what Khaa could cast, but they were causing the impacted areas to slough off after too many hits.

That should be his goal—help Wilbur, then both of them could deal with Tasos. He glanced back, cursed, and rushed forward.

Tasos was mere seconds away.

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

Tasos reached the top of the stairs, his eyes locking onto his quarry. Frank was rushing one of Lumovik's hired guards—a foreign water mage who was keeping the pig busy by slowly turning his Suit into mud.

Fitting. Tasos cracked his neck as he scanned the surroundings.

Lumovik was blocking their escape route. Good. They wouldn’t be getting away this time. His eyes landed on the two Einherjar and a drop of hesitation disturbed his resolve. Then he shook his head. What was he worried about? Lumovik was here, after all.

He could step up and incapacitate all of them at any moment. He was clearly refraining as to not cause a scandal. Tasos saw the mayor glance his way, and his voice soon followed in his mind.

“Bounty on Frank’s head. Knock him out or cut off his arm. Don’t let the Deck’s lifeline trigger.”

Tasos gave him a nod.

To think Frank had left the Hall for barely an hour before everything went sideways. But who could have guessed that he was the sibling of a monster? When Tasos was alerted by Lumovik’s spy, no one could have predicted things would turn out this way. Tasos would have mobilized the entire station if he had known.

But it didn't matter. They were here now. And they had nowhere to go.

Frank’s sickle grazed the mage’s forearm, and seconds later, that fight was over. Tasos let them have their small victory. Crushing them right after would feel even better.

He made sure he came equipped. But clearly, he wasn’t the only one. What is it? A dexterity improvement? Some agility Empowerment? Now that he had the time to study Frank’s movements, it made more sense how he’d kept his head start when he scurried out of the alley.

The pig and his master both turned toward him, Tasos’ lips pulled into a snarl. Some people got all the luck. But it ended now.

The Suit moved forward to intercept, and Frank crouched as he held his sickle in front of him.

I’ll take it.

The pig punched downward. Tasos took the hit on his vambrace and was sent skidding backward, but it didn't really hurt. Frank stepped in with his movement skill—something Tasos would have in his own Deck by the end of the day—and swung his sickle.

Tasos blocked it contemptuously, but the rat still managed to adjust his swing at the last moment, nicking Tasos’ forearm.

A glimmer of hope entered Frank’s eyes as Tasos looked down at the little cut.

The Suit rushed in again, and this time Tasos jumped to meet it. He leaned away from the punch and blew a hole in its head. The Suit stumbled backward a couple of steps, but it didn’t fall on its ass this time. Tasos turned to face Frank.

“No one’s around to save you this time.” He refrained from touching his raw skin. “You’ll pay for what you did.”

Tasos enjoyed watching the puzzled look slowly turned to horror as realization dawned on Frank. His poison wasn’t paralyzing Tasos. Not this time.

Tasos had levels. The already weak poison was almost completely nullified by [Enhanced Constitution], so the cut was only a little numb. Frank’s enchanted item was ineffective, just like everything else they had.

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

Well, we can’t have this take too long.

The Einherjars were oddly resistant to Lumovik’s abilities, and Frank had his own trick. But that wasn’t all of what he had available.

Lumovik’s been working on the Suinah and the woman, slowly chipping away at their confidence and poisoning their hope. And when the moment was right, he’d bring them to their knees. [Mind Sliver] should be difficult to detect or see through scrying, in case someone was watching.

Frank got hit by a backhand, and Lumovik winced at the impact. The Suinah was trying to grapple Tasos, which, of course, wouldn’t work. To Lumovik’s left, Ronald was pressing the young woman, who was still in surprisingly good shape aside from a couple of nicks. Even his magic wasn’t affecting her much any more, so maybe it was time to give Ronald a hand.

What a bounty. And what a catch. Lumovik couldn’t believe he was the one to cash in on this, all thanks to his father’s heads-up. Once he knew something was happening, it hadn’t been too difficult to find a couple of informants and get an update.

It was costly, but it was nothing compared to what they’d get for delivering the Seamstress’ brother and his associates.

The majordomo rushed in with another thrust, and Lumovik threw a [Mind Sliver] at the woman. The sudden headache and disorientation should be enough for Ronald to finish her up, then–

The spell–only visible to him–was quashed away, like a candle snuffed out by a quiet breeze.

Right as a figure stepped out of the Hall.