“It is known that the last Direnian Spellbreaker Blade disappeared from the Sonorous Treasury three hundred and eleven years ago. Of the other continents, currently Esultare possesses between ten and fourteen of the Blades-- reports vary--, Nok possesses two of the Blades, Ushorin possesses one, and Kandrev possesses an unknown number. When Spellbreaker Blades were first discovered more than fifteen hundred years previous, it is known that the total number possessed by all continents exceeded four hundred. Now we have, at most (that we are certain about), 17 of the items, 13 if our estimates are conservative.”

* Oreanen Vainen, the Emerald Sage

In the wake of the riots, there were levels to be had. While common folk lit torches and became , , , and the like, four people, two male and two female, of varying ages, origins, professions, principles, and of course, Classes, snuck into the Pentagonal Palace in their own ways.

Well, ‘snuck’ might be an exaggeration. Greg had gotten a job as a gardener with the Palace a month prior, and had built up some amount of rapport with the courtyard maintenance staff. He had explained his strange Class, when read with an arcgem, as a relic of his previous life as a Gontadite, which was not, truly, a lie. His falsified records, provided by the Gold Star Coalition through a shell corporation to the Throne’s Hiring Committee, were accepted. Three and a half weeks later, he came into work as normal, ducking a thrown brick, and, tipping his cap to the two gate guards, he smiled their way as they routinely read him with an arcgem, not even paying attention to the results.

He went in through the outer gates, moving at a brisk, businesslike pace typical of the Palace’s employees. He went to the doors of the vast stone palace, its five points weathered by the centuries, yet still sharp as a blade. “Junior Gardener Terrence Kettlebee, reporting for work.” Now came the important part: hazarding a guess. Senior Heins Boniface was a nervous, jumpy man, and didn’t like to get his hands dirty. He regularly would delegate his duties to Greg (a.k.a. Terrence) or another Junior staff member, then retreat into the Palace for long stretches to drink tea and nibble away at a plate of various delicacies procured from the kitchen. “I’d like to go in to see Gardener Boniface; I assume with the ruckus out in the streets today he’ll have been especially enthusiastic about, well…” “Terrence” trailed off awkwardly.

One guard, Toby, chuckled derisively. “Huddling inside and clutching a teddy bear, we catch your meaning.”

The other inner gate guard, Will, laughed at that. “Good way of putting it, Tobes. Yeah, you can go on in.” He waved his hand casually, spear leaning against the wall to his side. “Just watch yourself. The brass seem all worked up about this business with the unions. Don’t get in the way of anyone with a Class longer than one word, is all I’m saying.”

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Greg/Terrence laughed and nodded and slapped shoulders, heading inside through the large and ornate double doors into the servants’ area. Past the kitchens and prep rooms, past the laundry areas and adjoining cubicles for all sorts of busy bees, and through another checkpoint, this time with guards that Greg didn’t know that had faces like stone, and into the East Wing.

Helena was next. Her Class was a dead giveaway to any arcgem read that she was truly a odd duck, so she had to be even more covert then Greg, working as a servant in the lower kitchens for weeks, dodging arcgems with explanations to the and that she was some kind of Ushorin , branded forever with the Class of those that defected from the Continent of Calm’s ways. Playing on pity and a lack of good workers after the workers’ strike grew to citywide proportions, she was allowed to work for coppers and furnish herself with meager food from the kitchens.

On the final day of her servitude, she shed her ragged clothes, donned her normal simple and efficient attire, brushed her hair and otherwise fixed up her appearance to look more upright and high-society, and, having used her guise as a servant to freely leave the kitchens and enter the main area with a tray of food (which she stashed in a out of the way flowerpot), she strode confidently through the halls, eyes fierce, projecting an air of being exactly where she was supposed to be.

Bim was third. Of course, he had to pause as a level up popped up in his mind.

Level 13!

Talent Advancement unlocked!

🠊

After blinking hard at that, Bim, disguised as a young assistant of Qualien Leaden’s , Jacoby Cobson, who trailed along after him as they went to a business meeting at the Palace, urgently scheduled to discuss the shifts in industry caused by the rioting and mass striking. Bim affixed an expression of wide-eyed astonishment and jittery nervousness, they made their way past the various checkpoints into the antechamber just outside a small out-of-the-way sitting room.

They were attended by a single stoic . As soon as was reasonable, Bim nervously asked the guard if he could visit the restroom, and where it would be. The man gave him directions, and he headed off in the way he was pointed, only taking a turn away from the bathrooms when he was out of anyone’s line of sight.

Three for three. Zara was not in yet; her entrance would come later. For now, they were on a clock. They had a nigh-priceless sword to steal, and a to execute.