Dravemn Maldent had arrived at Renimburg days ago, personally overseeing the rebuilding of the town. Days are like seconds to him, as an Elf. A day ago he realized that the Deathseekers that he sent a week ago didn’t report back, nor did the [Guide] that he hired. He assumed that somehow, they got killed in the war between Joltstown and Tucken. He knew to back out on an unprofitable investment, and let the Gildin brothers be, yet a man came to Renimburg and whispered to his ear:

  “Do you want riches? Tell me more about Jascias Gildin.”

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

  “Watch this.”

  Cultrost effortlessly did a backflip and he landed on his hooves on the ground. He was now better in all physical aspects, stronger, faster, and with an elevated sense of balance, reflexes, and even a bit smarter. His eyes seemed to glow with burning brimstone, with slightly better vision. His crimson skin is flawless, and even his horns are longer. Numisley stared at his cursed arm, dotted with hexing symbols.

  "Does it hurt?" Numisley asked.

  "No. In fact, I feel better than ever! My body feels lighter and stuff."

  It was obvious that the ritual have changed his body completely, but Numisley was worried about if there was a cost other than the [Shaman]'s curse. Some of the [Warriors] of the Veohantaye Tribe, who can easily beat veteran [Mercenaries], escorted them to the remains of the caravan which was buried under the landslide three nights ago. The metal of the spare swords, pots, and other metallic essentials and valuables were both shattered and melted from that magic. The wooden wagons, chests, and sacks of grain and firewood were torn, burnt, or reduced to ashes. Still, the rest of Numisley’s people dug with borrowed shovels, digging out anything intact and usable. Numisley was pleased that the gold that he stored with his [Secret Compartment] Feat beforehand survived.

  “Oi, Numis, help out will ya’?” Cultrost hollered at Numisley.

  “Can’t walk, remember?” Numisley replied with a smile.

  Cultrost shoveled dirt on Numisley’s pants in reply, and they laughed along with the other Severed Swords. Palden, Graten, Tarast, and the Dullahan in the group named Weriens somehow pulled up a wooden wagon which is missing its canvas roof; the spokes of its wooden wheels fractured under the weight of the earth and the shockwave from that giant Satyr’s attack.

  “Stand back, I’ll do my magic- well, Feat.” Palden shooed away Graten and the rest who helped them. He picked up a few planks of wood that were fractured away from the wagon and he repeatedly tapped the wagon with his hammer. As if Palden has a free [Repair] Spell on hand, his Feat had reassembled the wagon piece by piece, conjuring missing pieces out of thin air as well as the planks flying out of his arm.

  Numisley wondered of a world without these Feats and Roles for a moment, but he knew it to be impossible. Cultrost was finished digging after they determined that they salvaged all of their things.

  “Do you wonder how good ol’ Palden is?” Cultrost pointed out after he had completely fixed that wagon like it was nothing.

  “Come to think of it…” Numisley uttered. " I got [Eye for Potential] as a Feat, and he has a lot of potential."

  The brothers knew him to be one of the longest employees of their father, along with those who died protecting the manor and them. He was an unassuming old Orcan Human who drives wagons and leads their small company caravan from city to city. They remembered that he could make a week-long journey in half at his usual pace, and they never really encountered monsters nor lesser [Bandits] attacking them when he led the caravan.

  They were prepared to leave with only one wagon. Few can fit within even with the enlarged interior of the wagon with Palden's Feat. It was cramped with the chests and sacks, so only nine people could fit.

  They left the Veohantaye Tribe's mountain, who had already said farewell to the [Chieftain] of the mountains. They did not stay long in Fishal, only buying supplies for the journey.

  "What Role do you have, Ol' Palden?" Numisley finally asked as they were now on the road.

  "Eh, me?" Palden turned, surprised. His thick hands were still steering the horses, even while distracted. The others were walking beside the wagon, guarding it.

  "Yes, you," Cultrost added. "I and my brother here are interested. This big-headed brother of mine can tell you're someone."

  "Ah, well… I was an [Expert Caravan Master] working under Temer’s sub-companies. Down at the southwest Bottoms.”

  The brothers were shocked at Palden's Role. Aside from their father's hidden trump cards who defended the manor and Palvt, Palden didn't feel like someone special. Just the most reliable [Wagon Driver] in their father's employ.

  "You never told that to us," Cultrost remarked.

  "You never asked," Palden replied succinctly.

  "True."

  Palden rubbed his tusks as he continued his story.

  "Well, I'm no specialist like a [Magical Caravan Master] nor a [Armored Caravan Master], but I'm good at bringing a lot of things and people from city to city. I'm good at keeping the wagons organized, repaired, and protected."

  "Have you ever gone to Temurient?" Numisley asked about the famous City of Fortunes, the headquarters of the richest Corporation on the continent.

  "Once. The Strip was the largest road I'd ever seen. I was delivering food for the Mansion of Luck. Our wagons had [Preservation] on them for the pre-made food. The gambling house looked like a palace more than anything."

  "Woah…" Numisley had heard stories of that place. As an infamous gambler in his small town, he had always wanted to go to their casinos.

  “So why did you leave?” Cultrost asked.

  “Well, working within a Corporation will make you rich, but it will make you a target regardless. I quit the company and went west until I met your father. The rest is history.”

  They knew the rest. They continued to talk and tell stories as travelers do on the road. As they rode closer to the territories of the Diamond Shore Conglomerate, they saw the patrols of their [Mercenaries]. They tread upon the roads. Not dirt roads, no mere stone, but paved stone bricks. Their highways were thrice as wide, and they are among many caravans that trade with the profitable city-states owned by the Conglomerate.

  They arrived at their destination. Baunt is one of the oldest cities of the continent, continuously expanding, yet through cycles of destructive wars and calamities like rare earthquakes, magical typhoons that had destroyed even castles and turned suburbs into glassy craters, hill-sized icebergs from the eternally foggy Obscure Ocean that destroyed their ports; the generations of residents of the city stubbornly refused to let their home die. For every old house or tower destroyed, newer, stronger ones are built with magic and Feats, yet there were works of architecture that were utterly destroyed, never to be replaced again with their original [Architects] long dead, and plans that newer [Architects] can't follow with the lack of Feats, expertise, and resources.

  Numisley and his caravan were within the suburbs; which were like smaller cities surrounded by vast acres of farmland away from the inner ancient districts of Baunt on the coast. They can see the fortresses sitting on elevated ground and absurdly tall stone watchtowers standing vigil over Baunt’s suburbs.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  After two hours of traveling on their spacious roads, their hairs stood on end, feeling the magic within its forty-foot smooth stone walls. The sentinels of the battlements and towers idly stared at the small band of unassuming travelers. The oaken gargantuan gate reinforced with thick bars of metal nestled comfortably within a gatehouse as thick as a large tower dwarfed the travelers. They stared at the metal engraved sigil of Baunt embedded on the gates as it opened with a heavy drowning groan.

  The noise of the ambling crowd within the wide paved streets among tall brick and stone buildings suddenly flooded their ears as if the gates had served as a dam of noise. Merchants loudly implored passing crowds of various species, from the Lizardfolk and Dragonkin of El-Mira, the Beastkin of Lemuria and the Humans, Dwarves, and Elves of Yhril, droning about exotic products from all across the five continents out of the Six Lands. [Bards] told stories, [Musicians] sang and played their instruments, and [Dancers] danced, conjuring feelings and images with their Feats, wresting crowds away from their rivals. Other sorts of [Performers] were also competing, like [Tumblers] juggling forty plates and mugs and [Illusionists] creating light shows of magic.

  Food stalls selling all manner of mundane and exotic seafood were placed at almost every alley and corner of the port city-state, and there were even [Chefs] manning the larger stalls. They were packed side by side, designed so their Feats that drew customers clashed with each other. Their markets in the plazas are designed in the same way, so the competition is intense. Truly, Baunt was one of the biggest cities of the Exiled Coasts but overshadowed by the famed city New Veltashore and many others in the Exiled Coasts.

  Numisley and his company had paid exorbitantly in a large inn near the ports. The Ship o’ Ale was one of the largest and most affordable inns in Baunt’s ports, and it had helped that many fancy inns like the Pearly Palace had stolen customers from other inns, so they easily obtained lodging.

  From the balcony of his room, he can see the hulking trade ships from the other continents, to the sleeker ships of those who sailed from the coasts of the continent. Fortunately, despite the flock of seagulls flying overhead, Numisley hadn’t been bombarded by their bird droppings.

  “Raudaeiz, tell me about your contact here. Can he, or she smuggle all the way through the Veohantayes?”

  “How much can you pay her is the question. Smuggling in the Diamond Shore’s territory is difficult.”

  The [Thief Leader] looked up, answering Numisley’s question. Raudaeiz was leaning on the stone railing of the balcony, staring at the sinking sun.

  “Not right now. Not within this Trial. Can I promise her collateral? With my contract-Feat?”

  “Possibly,” Raudaeiz answered. “Although I think she would prefer to bind you in a magically-enforced contract of her own.”

  “I see. Does she have any way of forging travel papers? Or do you know someone who does?”

  “She knows a Helmsghat. [Forger]. I do not know his location, so you need to ask the [Smuggler].”

  “Take me to her then.”

  Raudaeiz accompanied Numisley, who brought Cultrost along within the streets of Baunt. The sun had long sunken, so the famous Bautchien Street was less crowded. They were in front of the store that gave it its local fame, a small store by the name of Collercien Store, a store that sells jewelry from shells and stones, but the real charm of the store was the dog on the counter.

  “Woof!”

  The dog barked in greetings. His pointed snout resembled a wolf more than a dog. Unlike the rest of his Husky breed, his coat was smooth and thin, not thick. His paw pointed to the inventory written on a wooden sign beside the counter, blue eyes gleaming with intelligence.

  “We’re here for business, Collo. Under-the-counter business. Pollo.”

  The dog’s ears bent down upon hearing the passphrase from Raudaeiz, and he pulled a string next to him. The door beside the counter opened. The dog barked, ringing a bell that let his owner know that there are people that are coming to do her actual business.

  “Excuse me. I’m here on behalf of Numisley Gildin.”

  The office had no windows, only lit up by a lantern with a [Light] Spell within. The Human woman’s brown hair, the burns on her arm from the last oil-based lantern that she owned, and weathered bronze skin were illuminated by the spell. She looked up from her abacus and paper, hearing Raudaeiz’s voice, a familiar associate and customer. Two new people were with him, a crippled Human boy and a Satyr that somehow felt different than the few Satyrs she knew that come to the coasts.

  “Your associate?” She asked.

  “I’m his boss, now,” Numisley spoke before Raudaeiz objected.

  “Oh?” The woman’s eyebrow raised in surprise. “I thought you’re a [Gang Boss], Raudaeiz, not some henchman.”

  “I’m not. He is my associate. I told him of your services.” Raudaeiz objected.

  “I hold my promise to you, in exchange for your service, so I am your superior.” Numisley turned to Raudaeiz.

  The woman smirked, holding her laughter, but her face reverted back to business, staring at Numisley’s violet eyes.

  “So, who are you? State your business.” The woman asked after their light interplay.

  “Numisley Gildin. This is my brother, Cultrost Gildin. We are Gildin Trading. We are here to ask your price on establishing a smuggling route to the Veohantaye Tribe. Can you smuggle metal, wands, and spellbooks to them?”

  “Call me Greis.” The woman introduced. “And, no I’m not some [Smuggler]. I’m the head of my smuggling services.”

  “Apologies for the misunderstanding. By the way, I’d never seen a shopkeeping dog. He seems intelligent for an animal.”

  “[Beast Tamer] Feats. I’m one. Have you ever heard of intelligent animals?”

  “Hunting dogs and falcons, mostly.”

  “Any animal can be intelligent, given the right training and [Beast Tamer] Feats. Even without those, given time, even the monkeys of El-Mira wield spears to hunt and defend against Lizardfolk [Poachers]. I adopted Collo when he was a stray, and I became a [Beast Tamer] after that. It used to be that I trained him to take over while I’m gone or busy, but he outshone me. Now people visit my dog, using my merchandise as an excuse.”

  “A good cover for a smuggling enterprise.”

  “Exactly.” The woman beamed. “Accidental genius- erm, I trained him for that. My idea worked, and the Watch doesn’t suspect me of illicit goods simply because I have a good boy helping me. He is smart enough to man the shop by himself, while I feed him as I do my actual business.”

  Raudaeiz was surprised that Numisley made her more talkative for a moment. Cultrost saw the dog scampering towards the office, and Greis petted him before the husky ran away to the stool on the counter.

  “Anyways, I refuse. It’s too much of a risk. The Diamond Shore’s deals with [Smugglers] all the time, and they know every trick.”

  “If that’s the case, then why are you not bankrupt? Besides, I don’t need the route to be made immediately. Think of it as a future transaction. I will head to Yhril, the Kingdom of Torregorn to be exact to establish my company there. If I earn enough there, I’ll send money to you. How’s that sound?

  Greis incessantly tapped the wooden fat rings on the abacus after hearing the offer.

  “Two Trials. Three hundred gold.” Greis finally spoke.

  “But traveling the Obscure Ocean can take a trial or two,” Cultrost uttered.

  “Three trials.” Numisley countered.

  “I’ll write a Magebind Contract on it. Unfortunately, I do not have a Tamperless one. Let’s discuss the terms.”

  After thirty minutes of wrestling with the terms, with Numisley using every Feat that he obtained from his time in dealing with the Veohantaye [Chieftain], they have a contract, written in mana-infused ink.

  In seven years, Numisley will pay her three hundred gold in full. Not at once, but in fifteen installments smuggled via ship if they arrived at Yhril. If the payments are not paid on time, Numisley will be afflicted with a [Curse of Constipation]. However, Greis will also be cursed if she doesn’t uphold her end of the bargain once she receives the money.

  “[Curse of Constipation]? Really- I mean, wow.” Cultrost finally spoke, interrupting the signing of the document.

  “Imagine not being able to shit. It will kill you. Seen it happen.” Greis warned. “Besides, it’s the lightest curse that I have.”

  Greis brought out a scroll made out of ordinary paper from one of the shelves. She unfurled it on the table, revealing the formulaic magic circle written on it. Numisley thought this is better than his [Bloodbound Contract] because of the risks of dying. Recently, he realized how vulnerable the Feat made him.

  “Ready?”

  “Of course.”

  Greis handed Numisley a quill dipped in the mana-infused ink. Numisley wrote his signature on the document, and the scroll activated, infusing itself in the contract and transferring the inert curse for both of them.

  “By the way, do you know a [Forger]? We need to get on a ship soon. I would prefer not to pay too much for travel papers.”

  “Helmsghat supplies me the magical contracts. He can give you what you need.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Go right through Yousner Street, after this street. Find a Helmsghat’s Helms and Armor. Tell him that I sent you. The passphrase is Oih, docthovak-tel?. I do not know what that means in the Dullahan’s tongue, but he’ll know if you’re customers of his actual business. ”

  They followed the directions given to them by Greis, and they found themselves in a smithy. Helmsghat’s Helms and Armor displayed a pile of helmets and a rack of gauntlets, chest plates, and pauldrons on either side of the wooden countered, covered with cloth.

  “Oih. Greetings customers, would you like to buy armor? Tools or weapons perhaps?”

  There was a green slimy head on a padded basket that spoke to them from the counter. His actual armored body was hammering a heated chunk of metal on an anvil. Sparks flew, bouncing off his armor with each measured blow of his smithing hammer.

  “Oih, docthovak-tel? Greis recommended you to me.” Numisley slowly pronounced. The Dullahan stared at the male Tinyfolk wearing an apron, lifting smithing tools.

  “Apprentice, take over for me!”

  The armored body of the Dullahan dipped the heated metal in a pot of oil and placed it on a table. The Tinyfolk hung the tools on a rack and rushed to get his gloves and steel tongs.He put his head back on his body, leading them further in the smithy, towards a corridor. It lead to a cramped set of stairs that lead to a basement storage area, only lit up by a few candles.

  The Dullahan sat on the chair, facing them across the bare table with only his essentials on it: inkpots and spare quills, as well as blank paper and stolen stamps and seals from various sources.

  “Thought you spoke my tongue. But it works as a passphrase. Good evening.”

  “Numisley and Cultrost Gildin. This is Raudaeiz, my [Thief]. We are Gildin Trading. Forger-”

  The Dullahan slowly raised his hand, interrupting Numisley’s introduction.

  “Helmsghat. Smith Helmsghat. I'm not Forger Helmsghat. So, what do you need?”

  “Travelling papers. I need to board a ship immediately towards Torregorn. The tickets are too expensive, and I need every coin I have for the journey.”

  “Hmm…”

  The Dullahan peered over a list of available ships available for travelers.

  “There are slots for the Kraken’s Snack. Although they have a manifest. A manifest in which I do not have. However, if I hire [Thieves] to steal it for you and copy the manifest and send the forged one with your names on it, you need to pay thirty gold in total.”

  “How much if I sent my own [Thief]?” Numisley’s eyes glinted.

  “Hhm…Fifteen gold.” Helmsghat spoke flatly.

  Numisley faced Raudaeiz, his [Eye For Potential] glimmering within his gaze.

  “Raudaeiz. Time to prove yourself to me. Gather whoever and whatever you need for the heist.”