Tom’s gaze flickered over to Aleph amidst the chaos of the morning crowd, as Dungeoneers scrambled for last minute supplies and went over their final equipment checks. Then, his eyes narrowed, his gaze sharpening as he locked onto the hooded man dressed in worn-out, yet surprisingly well made leather armor. While Tom was forced to sift through the throng of people clouding his field of view, the lone dungeoneer walked forward in a straight, unbroken line.
“Riven Blackheart?” The bearded information broker had asked, before whistling in appreciation. “Why do you want to know more about that guy, of all people?”
It was a question most unbecoming of one in the information trade, yet one that he had asked anyway.
“He heads into the dungeon each day, without fail. Hard to miss the guy, you’ll find him dressed in black leather armor, metal gauntlets and gray-cloth boots, likely some sort of artifact,” The information broker had answered.
But it was the last bit of information that he had offered to them, along with a warning, that had really stuck with Tom.
“I don’t know why you’re looking for him, but I’d recommend you steer clear. Not that I’d mind it if you actually offed the guy, but the damndest thing is, no one has ever seen him carry a weapon on his person. He just wanders into the dungeon, seemingly unarmed and clearly alone and yet the bastard’s still kicking. I wouldn’t prod a beast like that, not unless you’re prepared to get bitten.”
Tom didn’t know when his interest in Riven had changed from finding a scapegoat to discerning the man’s secrets. Was it the nature of [The Fool] that drove him to unearth such a tantalizing mystery? Or was it his own temptation, swayed by the sheer potency of his own powers?
Tom didn’t know the answer to that question, but regardless, it was too late to change their plan now.
“Too far away, damn it,” Tom grumbled under his breath as Riven drew closer to the Dungeon’s entrance, while he was forced to sidestep and finagle his way through the cramped street.
Then, he took a right and slipped out of his line of sight—- now headed directly towards the entrance.
‘Don’t rush it,’ Tom reminded himself, even as he found himself desperate for a glimpse at Riven’s Fool Mark; the jester icon that when accompanied by a number, told him the exact number of Soul Power he needed to cast [Active Shroud- Maya].
Getting spotted by their quarry would make the whole plan fall apart. Copying Riven’s likeness would only result in disaster if the man was still roaming around freely in the Nameless District—-especially if the Royal Knights caught wind of it.
By the time Tom had reached the alleyway that housed the dungeon entrance, he saw many dungeoneering parties preparing to set out but…. there was no sign of Riven.
Ensuring that there were no visible emotional fluctuations reflected on his visage, Tom’s gaze swept through the surroundings, catching Aleph leaning on the right wall, merely a few paces away from the dungeon entrance. Her hood was drawn over her easily identifiable silver hair, a simple cloth mask shrouding her mouth and nose.
Not surprised to see her having arrived before him, Tom walked over and took his place at her side.
“Did we miss him?” He asked in a hushed tone.
“I caught him slipping inside the entrance not long ago. Tracking him shouldn’t be a problem,” Aleph explained, alluding to the fact that they had already been made aware of Riven’s usual hunting spot by the information broker.
“Should we follow?” Tom asked.
The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
“Your call. We can come back tomorrow, maybe try and wait it out but…. I doubt that someone with as much infamy as Riven would give his enemies an easy chance to ambush him.”
Tom considered the situation. Ideally, he wanted to use [Active Shroud- Maya] on Riven from a safe distance. But without subduing the dungeoneer first, the disguise would go to complete waste.
He only got one chance at extracting information from a target and Tom couldn’t help but wonder if the odds of getting valuable information would increase if he knocked the person in question unconscious.
“Let’s go.”
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Sector 9, Outskirts - Zelez Dungeon.
“What in….,” Tom trailed off as he inspected the carnage presumably left behind in Riven’s wake.
Five one-horned phantasmal beasts lay scattered across the stone floor, their four-legged form and distinctive snouts bearing resemblance to canines. Except that was where the similarities ended—- with three, deep purple eyes glimmering malevolently even after the life had been drained out of them, thick, frighteningly sharp incisors that could easily tear through flesh and a caustic light green horn that uncomfortably bulged out of their foreheads.
What had surprised Tom though, wasn’t the creature’s appearance.
“A single incision,” Aleph’s tone was barely above a whisper, yet Tom heard her all the same. She had moved past him and was in the process of inspecting one of the dead phantasmal beasts, her expression somber.
Tom reached out for the phantasmal beast’s snout, turning it to the other side in search for confirmation. Much like the other phantasmal beasts that were lifelessly splayed across the floor, Tom found a deep puncture wound that had pierced through the right eye and likely gone on to penetrate the brain; killing the beast in what appeared to be a single blow.
He couldn’t help but ask himself if he was capable of replicating the feat. Even if his stats allowed him to, would he be willing to assign his focus to such an exacting degree of efficiency, each time?
No. No… this was something else. He could mimic such a combat style but he wouldn’t be able to utilize it when faced with a truly challenging enemy. This Riven…. he was well versed with this combat style. Possibly even formally trained in it.
“Still want to fight him?” Aleph asked. Her tone was soft, yet Tom could discern the underlying gravitas within the silver-haired girl’s normally cheery voice.
“No. But I’m curious,” Tom admitted. Fight? No, he had no interest in fighting Riven Blackheart. The real question being—- what could he learn from him? What could Active Shroud- Maya glean from such a clinical fighter.
“I had glossed over him as a potential candidate for recruitment because I thought him a coward. Killing a dungeoneer is one thing, but an entire squad— there are many means that could accomplish such a thing, between potent poisons and volatile alchemical brews, but I have no interest in such treacherous means.”
“And now?” Tom asked.
“It appears that I might have been mistaken,” Aleph conceded. “So, follow or retreat?”
“We follow for now. Watch him from a comfortable distance and see if we can figure out more about his fighting style; a secret or two, maybe. He might be powerful, but I doubt he’d be able to take out the two of us working together if it came to a fight.”
“I’m fine with that. If he has a powerful artifact….,” Aleph trailed off. Tom wasn’t entirely sure if he liked the look in her eyes, but that moment wasn’t the right time to argue.
So, he simply followed.
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A pair of eyes peeked from behind the entrance of Sector 9’s first crucible.
Tom’s breathing was slow and stable, his expression masked by the shadows he sought refuge in as he angled his gaze towards the lone man in the entire arena. Scattered across the black stone tiling were the lifeless bodies of even more Phantasmal beasts, these ones of higher level than the ones found on the outskirts.
But Tom only spared them a cursory glance as his eyes focused onto his quarry.
The dungeoneer’s appearance was irrelevant. All that mattered was the glowing Jester icon that floated above his head and the number next to it.
Tom didn’t even realize when the color had drained from his face. He didn’t even notice the light quivering in his legs as his mind finally registered the number he had seen before.
It was the highest— no, it was beyond the highest— beyond anything he had seen so far.
Seventy-nine.
Seventy-nine.
Then, with a flurry of motion, Riven Blackheart’s head swiveled to the side, meeting Tom’s own gaze.