<I am taking a month-long break due to a death in the family and to rest. Read my announcement here—I’ll post a new chapter on October 3rd.>

“A Face of Chandrar has come for you, Pisces Jealnet. Throw down your blade or die. I am the [Jester].”

She was still dancing on that stage as a bright haze of pink and blue surrounded her, like a performer coming out of backstage. There was a spotlight fixed on the [Assassin]’s body, highlighting her torso.

The bells that swung from her silly hat and chest that never rang. Her face, painted white, with black mascara highlighting her eyes and lips. An artful jewel of ice drawn on one cheek, a jagged bolt of lightning crossing her other eye.

No colorful red nose.

[Jester], not [Clown]. Nor [Fool]. The nuance…Pisces’ rapier was raised, and he had set himself sidelong. He was trapped behind the table, next to the others in the booth. Heart pounding.

She killed Casep and the others. She’s been following me since the palace. Idiot—if I’d drunk that whiskey, I’d be dead. 

Or in chains.

A deeper certainty spoke to Pisces as he tried to analyze her. Those bells. He knew them. Idiot only looking at her breasts—

Those were the bells of [Duelists]. Which meant she might have earned one silver one and one gold one, but the rest…she’d taken them from the people she’d killed. Unless it was a bluff. Anyone could commission a bell—

It wasn’t a bluff. She was the genuine article. He hadn’t noticed it when she was hiding her abilities, but now she swayed to the right and left, drawing a pair of long blades. They seemed like oversized daggers. Handleless, with that long, stabbing point.

Dirks? She was wielding both in her hands, not reversing one like he’d seen Seborn use. Pisces didn’t know how they would move. But she was here.

A song from the [Popstar] of Terandria was blasting from the back of the club as the Jester sauntered forwards. She ignored the gasps, the incredulity from the people around her. Even laughter.

Her eyes were just focused on Pisces, and they gleamed, yellow coins spinning like a [Gambler] tossing one last bet onto the table. He watched her balance shifting.

Perfect form. Just like the Maestro or Raelt. He felt like she was stabbing him from there. His lungs were pressed against his ribs. Even more than Itkisa—he remembered this feeling from meeting the King of Destruction.

She was over Level 50. And he was almost out of magic.

Her clothing wasn’t visibly enchanted, but if he’d failed to notice her, then it might b—

Pisces slammed into Lareceina and knocked her flat. She went headfirst into the table so hard her nose started bleeding. A blade stabbed through the cushioned seat where he had been, then he ducked.

The second slash cleaved through a guard’s chest, spilling red gore onto the table. The Jester tsked as Pisces stabbed, and his rapier rang as she backflipped up. She threw something—his [Barrier of Air] exploded.

The second dirk tumbled through the cloud of debris and landed in a booth next to his; Pisces saw the third one coming at him and deflected it with his rapier. It exploded as he flicked it across the room, and there were screams.

All of this before Lareceina finished saying ‘wh—?’. His foot was on the cushioned seats again, the other one on top of the table. He was panting. Feeling at his side.

She’d torn through his robes. Missed his skin. The Jester winked.

“Exalted royals of Nerrhavia’s Fallen. You may wish to run.”

She called out, voice playful and carrying. Only, her attack had created another moment of paralysis. No one was laughing at the strange woman now.

Most hadn’t even seen her move. Lareceina staggered upright, clutching at her nose, eyes wide. Pisces kept his attention on the Jester, desperate. The moment he’d lost the tiniest focus to check her clothing, she’d attacked.

She’s faster than Colth. She’d jumped from the stage into the booth in a single move. He heard a voice croak.

“A Face of Roshal? Ridiculous. I am Prince Weith of—of—”

Weith was dragging himself upright, face pale. He went for his sword, and the Jester didn’t even glance at him. She just spoke off-handedly.

“Anyone in this building in a minute’s time is dead, along with him. This is just between us, Adventurer. It’s a duel. I challenge you for the honor of Roshal.”

She pointed her rightmost dagger at Pisces, and he tensed. Weith hesitated. He looked to the unconscious Yosoc; Princess Lithic was on her feet, pushing to get out of the booth with her bodyguards. There were whites in the corners of Weith’s eyes.

He was afraid. But he still reached for his sword.

“This man is under the protection of House Dabrei and Nerrhavia’s Fallen, woman. Leave or—”

Someone lunged. Weith half-turned. But the hand that slammed into his, stopping him from drawing the blade, wasn’t one of the Jester’s accomplices. It was one of the [Bodyguards].

The woman with the younger brother tackled the [Prince], and her buddy with the grandparents grabbed his legs. They heaved him over the edge of the booth, and Yosoc’s people were doing the same.

“Out! Out—”

Princess Lithic was running for the doors, the only way out. Stitch-folk were standing at the edge, and they were a story up. It was a long dr—

Lithic pushed a Stitch-man out, then leapt herself. The cursing Prince Weith was shouting obscenities.

“Put me down! My h—”

The [Bodyguards] tossed him out the door, then leapt themselves. Prince Yosoc’s people were right behind them. They just bailed out onto the street. Breaking the [Prince]’s legs in a fall?

Far better than having him minced by a Face of the Assassin’s Guild. This was their job. You had to admire it. Exemplars of the class, really.

They knew exactly what would happen if they’d stayed. Pisces saw it all out of the corner of his eyes as he stood there. They’d cleared the booth; Lareceina was edging out as well, and he needed the space. He would have leapt from the booth to the floor, but he was afraid to move.

The Jester had let the others go. She kept flipping a dagger up in her right hand, twirling it, catching it. Baiting him. She flipped it, caught the blade between two fingers, and winked at him.

“One gets in trouble for killing royalty. But I can kill anything I need to accomplish my goals. You should have taken me as a helper, Scourge. I’d have given you a night to remember, then you’d have woken up in a box to the harbor.”

“You killed Casep, Chimes. Were you after Merr, or was that just to get at me?”

He needed an opening to drink a mana potion. He needed a strategy. Or to just—

Flip. The rightmost dagger twirled in the air, and Pisces’ eyes were caught by it. A hypnotizing twirl.

[A Hypnotizing Trick].

She was a blur, leaping across the room, off the walls of another booth, striking from the side, and he couldn’t look away for the crucial moment. She attacked into his blind spot, and he—

—parried—

The dagger. Tried to pivot and reset as the Skill let him go, but they were nose-to-nose, and she was grinning.

Inside the guard of his rapier. His hand came up.

“[Deathb—]”

Her empty right hand punched him in the ribs, hit his jaw, and struck his chest a second time. Pisces flew backwards, into an adjoining booth, as Lareceina whirled. The Jester dove, dodging a stream of black magic. Her right hand was filled with a fan of enchanted daggers, and she threw them, conjured another set, threw them, then threw a third volley.

Explosions. Only then did she pause, cocking her head, and shook out her right hand ostentatiously.

“Nice armor.”

Pieces of wood were raining down as Lareceina shielded herself with a wall of air. The smoke cleared and revealed splintered wood and fabric; the booths where Pisces had been standing were shredded.

Pisces? He was crouched behind a [Wall of Bone] spell, clutching at his chest. But his hand still held his rapier. Lareceina saw his wide eyes and shredded robes. The Jester was eying him, gaze bright, smiling, but tensed.

——

She’d broken his ribs and jaw. That free hand had punched so hard—

She backed off when I cast [Deathbolt]. Even Roshal doesn’t know necromancy well.

Flickers of thoughts as he poured death mana into his bones. Pisces spoke despite his broken jaw. He had to.

“Armor made from Stalker, the guardian of Liscor’s dungeon. I trust you hurt your hands?”

“Want to kiss them to make them better?”

She grinned; she had a playful, casual tone, but the Jester was circling now, letting the fog effect in the club engulf her. Pisces rose, trying to keep her in sight. She just kept…

“Doesn’t cover your arms or legs. Let me see if I can stab through it.”

“No thank you. Tell me—how does a [Jester] become one of the Assassin’s Guild’s deadliest killers? Or is that just a cover? I’m rather dismayed. I had hoped my end would be a bit more…dignified.”

He sniffed, tilting his chin up, and it worked. Her eyes narrowed ever-so-slightly.

“Everyone laughs at [Jesters]. I’ve killed plenty of rivals and marks who were still laughing. You never saw me. Your friend, the [Supporter], is proof any class is dangerous.”

“I’m not laughing.”

His ribs snapped back into place, and Pisces tried not to twitch. His flesh was one huge bruise, but he was moving the bones back into place, healing them. Drassi’s Ancestors, it hurt like hell! Yvlon hadn’t mentioned this!

Right, she could [Ignore Pain]. He kept his tone light.

“Ever heard of a [Clown] in Rhir? You remind me of him.”

Again, he struck lucky. The Jester hesitated, then snorted.

“If you knew anything, the Fool would be the name you mentioned first. Alas, he’s dead. The greatest man of his class the world over. If he’d lived, then the three of us could have formed a real team. [Clown], [Jester], [Fool]. Three of Cards. Our class has mysteries even I don’t understand.”

“My friend knows the [Clown]. I could write you an introduction. If you let me live.”

She had halted in another opening across from him. Fifty feet away?

She’ll close it in a moment, but he could parry her blades. Just not both…he’d have to use his offhand to cast on her. The Jester stopped…bent down…and picked up the dagger she’d twirled.

He stared at her as she rotated her shoulder.

“What? I don’t have [Recall Blade]. I’ll pass on the [Clown]; no one likes an unfunny duo. Slapstick comes best in threes. Hm, interesting. You just repaired your bones, didn’t you? Thought so.”

A flash of white teeth. Pisces cursed; he’d been trying to mumble a bit and hold his ribs—he straightened.

“You leave me no choice, then. I warn you; I won’t hold back.”

He conjured another [Deathbolt] to his fingertips. Cast a spell. The Jester’s eyes flickered, and she jumped the [Fireball]—sighed.

Then she kicked off a dagger she threw into the air. Mid-air mobility! She was falling downwards, throwing more daggers, even a bouncing ball that detonated—but Pisces was [Flash Stepping]. Running for—

The doors. He blocked two more daggers with a [Barrier] of air and was almost out when he jerked back.

A giant hammer hit the doorway and blew the entire section of the club to pieces. Pisces recoiled, and the Jester was right on top of—

She slashed through the illusion of Pisces and turned her head.

“Huh.”

He appeared, creeping towards the kitchens. The club had to have at least two exits. The Jester had been right on top of him until that last attack. Then he’d [Flash Stepped] across the entire club, and she’d fallen for his illusion.

She’d be on him in a second, but he could get out. Then go to ground. Animate dead or just jump into the Wistram Carriage. He doubted she could catch it once it was at full speed.

Yes, Pisces was running. He wasn’t prepared for this, she was higher-level than he was, and he didn’t have his team. There was no other option that made sense. The Jester’s surprise, though, was genuine.

“This is a duel, Adventurer. Or don’t you see the bells?”

She indicated the ones hanging from her breasts, and he called out.

“I’m not taking duels, thank you.”

“…Huh.”

He was in the kitchens, conjuring a [Bone Wall] to cover his retreat, and at the open doors that led into the back alleyway when he heard her voice echoing back from the club.

“I’ll just kill this girl, then.”

Pisces froze, one hand on the doorway. He closed his eyes. There was a pause—then a shrill scream and sobbing.

“Damnit.”

——

There was a Stitch-girl there. Pisces would have felt even worse if there wasn’t as he walked back into the club. The Jester didn’t have a blade at her throat; she’d just tossed one into the wall where one of the club-goers had been hiding. Too scared to leap down. She was shaking as Pisces emerged, and the Jester applauded.

“Oho! You’re as noble as they said! You won’t duel a poor [Jester], bells or not, but you’ll save the damsel, right?”

“Let her go.”

The Jester shrugged. She grabbed the Stitch-girl, heaved—she went flying out the doorway. Pisces flicked his hand.

[Shatterbolt]. It was dead on target. The Jester spun back around, leaned under it…and appeared vaguely impressed.

A scream, then a thump, a pause, and more screaming. The [Shatterbolt] blew a piece of the roof across the street into pieces, followed by the sound of shrieking masonry. The Jester glanced back at the hole in the roof.

“That was your [Shatterbolt], wasn’t it? My, you are underhanded. Just so you know, if you run again, I’ll murder someone on the street for every second I can’t find you. Cute children first.”

She flicked her blades up and began to saunter forwards. Closing the distance. Pisces walked forwards too. He could not be caught in the doorway. The open space in the center of the club was his only hope.

“Shame you wasted that spell. It was the only one you had that could hurt me.”

He didn’t reply to her. Pisces’ heart was thundering.

I’m a fool. I should have run. He just couldn’t risk…he’d wondered if it had been Lareceina. It didn’t matter. She’d kill if she couldn’t find him.

Fool. He thought he could see Selys shaking her head and trying to hide a grin. The [Necromancer] lifted his blade.

Shatterbolt wouldn’t have worked in close-range combat. The hand-motion would just lose him his hand in battle. He had to keep moving. Her range was closer than his. Watch debris on the floor.

The Jester was grinning again. She stopped walking and began performing tricks. She took a step, raising her back leg impossibly high behind her, then—her torso tilted forward and down, her head passing her knee and rotating back upward three hundred and sixty degrees.

Like she was just frontflipping forwards, while walking. All the while speaking in that cheery, playful tone.

“I really would have liked to take you as a [Slave], but you went too far, Adventurer. But there’s one consolation. I really like that bell. I’m going to have to find a place of honor for it. How about right…here? Clients love the piercings.”

She indicated her groin, and the bells on her nipples rang—Pisces saw her grin mischievously.

[Joveln’s Parry]! He was swinging as she dove at him again, both daggers twirling in a spinning strike.

They saw each other’s Skills, and both dodged. Pisces [Flash Stepped] away as she cancelled her Skill and came in low, blades sweeping out as she kicked.

Daggers in her boots—the Jester scythed up as he kept retreating, slashing at her, but she blocked his rapier once, twice. Her daggers turned the slashes away with ease.

She was pressing in, and he couldn’t shake her even with [Flash Steps]—in desperation, Pisces leapt onto one of the tables. He [Flash Stepped] onto another. The Jester didn’t leap up; instead, she kicked a table at him, and his went skidding across the floor.

Footing unstable—he fell, twisting, and slashed across her front as she came in. Fired a spell from his offhand as he leapt back up.

[Deathbolt]. She dove under it, and he [Flash Stepped] back again—she performed a handspring and caught him. Just as fast. Swung her daggers.

His rapier parried one. She ignored the [Flame Swathe] spell and swung. Pisces raised his free arm, and her blade hit him.

——

“Pisces!”

Lareceina had been taking cover near the broken booths. She hadn’t been able to even get a word in edgewise. When the two fought, they exploded into motion then separated, so fast the [Mage] couldn’t keep up.

But that final blow—the [Jester] would have swung again, but Pisces’ rapier came up in a [Rising Spearthrust], and she leapt back. She was frowning. She backstepped, gaining ground as Pisces clutched at his arm.

The slash should have gone through his arm and cut him in half. Why hadn’t it? The answer became clear as Pisces lifted his wounded arm to inspect it. The arm she’d cut—Lareceina saw white bone beneath, stained red with blood. But the Jester hadn’t cut through it?

Then she saw the faint glow of death magic she’d begun to pick up on around him. It was in his bones.

“You are full of surprises.”

The Jester was no longer happy. Lareceina was trying to figure out…

The Jester had something that was making her move as fast as Pisces with [Flash Step]. [Burst of Speed]? She accelerated into a blur, but Pisces’ spell was keeping him as mobile as she was.

Nor had she expected him to use the tables as footing. Lareceina swore she’d seen an expression of surprise on the Jester’s face—twice. First when he’d leapt onto the tables, then when her surprise attack had failed.

Why? To the [Compression Magus]’s frantically racing mind, the answer presented itself.

She had been expecting Pisces to get distracted or offended by her comments. The dangling bells on her exposed chest were meant to draw attention. Lareceina had seen Padurn Jealnet on television. She could just imagine that if he were facing the Jester, the impropriety of her attire would have made him either lower his guard or lose his temper. Underestimate her.

This entire venue was also not where a [Duelist] would be at home. The chairs and tables, the debris…but Pisces was an adventurer. And he’d fought in buildings like these more than once.

His eyes never left the Jester as she theatrically pulled down her pants a bit.

“This does nothing for you either?”

She was not wearing underwear. Lareceina saw Pisces color faintly, but his eyes remained locked on her daggers, her body as a whole. The Jester’s eyes narrowed again.

She doesn’t like that. But then she checked her front, and Lareceina realized Pisces had cut her. A red line down one of her breasts and stomach. An injury, but barely superficial.

“Tough cloth.”

Pisces was panting. He wanted to grab a healing potion. Blood was streaming from a cut artery onto the floor. He had to drink one, but she was just waiting. Each second he lost more blood, but the moment he went for the potion, he’d have only one hand free to fight. The Jester could literally stand here and he’d be dead.

“I see.”

She was such an intelligent fighter. Every trick she could use to prey on Pisces—she was only failing because she’d misread him. Perhaps because of Padurn or her just underestimating the real Pisces. Even so, he was losing each time they clashed. So this was a real [Assassin].

Lareceina sighed. Then she stepped out of cover and thought a Skill.

[Fast Fingers].

She didn’t have the ability to flick knives, but she could load up both hands with five marbles each, then flick them outwards. Kusal called it her ‘shotgun’ move. It cost a lot of mana, but ten compressed orbs of mana exploding with the force of Tier 3 magic?

The Jester was pivoting already when the explosion went off, and she vanished. Lareceina kept moving, flicking the marbles of mana as fast as she could move her thumbs. She hosed the area in front of her with explosions, but where—?

The Jester leapt out of the smoke, blades drawn, and Lareceina detonated the marbles she’d placed in front of her. Then activated her failsafe.

[Directional Spell]. The marble of wind blasted her through the air, and she cast a second spell.

“[Featherfall]!”

Then she was floating through the air, tumbling head-over-heels. That saved her life; she saw the Jester come through all of her defenses, slashing across the ground, looking up—she flicked a dagger up and dodged as Lareceina hit the club with magic.

Nonstop explosions. Her [Arcane Barrier] was dead, though, and Lareceina landed, panting.

“I think I missed everything.”

Terrifying. The Jester emerged from the smoke, some soot and detritus clinging to her. But not visibly hurt. She seemed pissed, though.

Because…Pisces tossed the second empty potion bottle to the floor. Healing potion, mana potion. He was panting as the blood rushing from his arm stopped. He nodded at Lareceina.

“Thank you.”

He’d seen her preparing her attack. The Jester hadn’t ever run into a [Mage] like Lareceina before and hadn’t known about the marbles. The [Compression Magus] had hoped she’d get the woman with some of it…Lareceina gulped and spoke loudly.

“Just so it’s clear, I do not approve of Pisces the Scourge’s crusade against Roshal.”

The Jester and Pisces stared at her. Lareceina loaded up with two more marbles, one fire, the other lightning. She spoke as she rested her hands on her custom belt.

“I’m simply acting as a Gold-rank adventurer hired to keep him alive. I wish to make that clear.”

The Jester smiled with no real mirth.

“I’ll put that in my report then. Along with your head. Is there no such thing as honor in a duel, Adventurer?”

“She’s trying to lure you into an honor duel again.”

Lareceina warned Pisces. He jerked his head at her.

“Get back. She’s too fast, and she can cut through your barriers. Just keep her from overwhelming me.”

He was moving, shielding her from the Jester. Lareceina would have preferred to flank the woman, but she knew she was dead the instant the Jester got close to her. She’d have to throw her magic while avoiding hitting him…tricky. The Jester waved one dagger.

“What about the honor part?”

He gave her a blank look.

“What honor? I’m an adventurer and a [Necromancer]. I’m a Silver-bell, you’re a Gold.”

To that, the Jester just sighed. She scrubbed at her hair with the butt of one of the daggers.

“When I get back, I’m killing whomever wrote your files up. Okay, adventurers. Let’s die.”

She let go of something. Her playful attitude. Or perhaps she was still holding back. All Lareceina knew was that she was suddenly more afraid. The Jester ran at Pisces. And the first marble that Lareceina flicked at her, a ball of compressed lightning?

Cut it in half. She ran through the sparking electricity that set her hair on end and flashed off her bells. Grinning. She cut through the flames as well—then Lareceina began to swear.

——

In the street, people were pointing at The Djinni’s Hour and shouting. Many had scrying orbs, but the fight between the Jester and Pisces hadn’t even reached the air yet.

It had been so quick—the only reason anyone was here was because they’d seen Pisces animating the building. But it had been, what? Three minutes?

Prince Weith was holding a sprained arm as he roared at his [Bodyguards], who were dragging him away. None of them would get close. In fact, the army and Watch, who’d been coming to investigate this event with great reluctance?

They’d heard ‘Face of Roshal’ and formed a blockade of the streets. Six blocks away from the nightclub.

This was not Izril, where the Assassin’s Guild was known and feared. A Face of Chandrar meant that whomever they were upon died. Royalty or Named-rank adventurers.

“The Jester has come for the Scourge of Roshal! A Face has revealed itself!”

The words were being screamed across the Wonders of Nerrhavia’s Fallen’s broadcast, and only Chandrarians felt that chill of horror. The other continents had to have it explained.

There was no one who could stop it, though. Merr the Storm was riding towards the city of Halqued, but she was hours away at best. Any other help…too far.

Even Leonardo and Kusal. They were running as fast as they could, but they’d get to the building in, what, ten minutes? They had to get past the crowds, the soldiers.

Ten minutes…

It would all be over in ten minutes.

It might be over in the next second.

——

His father’s words came back to him. He could see the man staring down at him with that strained…patience. He was a boy again, limbs shaking, trying to rise to the impossible standard that the man held for everything.

You are barely fast enough. She’s still faster. You can’t hurt her; your blade scarcely scratches her flesh, and her guard is too good. Her offense—

He saw Tolveilouka Ve’delina Mer laughing at him as he tried to cut at the regenerating body. He was facing the Hero of Zethe, fumbling for an attack he didn’t have.

Pisces wished his life would stop flashing before his eyes. But the visions came in between the sparks of light of their blades touching.

—Sparks. His rapier was being destroyed. Each time he blocked or they locked blades, the steel was torn away or the bone became splinters of dust. Too strong. Not as strong as Yvlon, maybe, but faster than Colthei with her Skill active. As nimble as Saliss.

A Gold-bell [Duelist]. Her silly attire, her class, everything was to hide the beast of combat lunging for his throat.

The only thing that saved him was—Lareceina. She swivelled, flicking her compressed spells at the Jester’s back as they fought, Pisces [Flash Stepping] backwards, reliving his duel in the Trial of Shields—only worse. But it forced the Jester to cut the magic apart.

Twice, he thought she guessed Lareceina wouldn’t risk hitting them. Both times, the detonation of magic caught both of them and sent them stumbling away, or—in the case of a black marble—drained of energy for a second.

It felt like both times the Jester had been hit worse than Pisces. Her skin was tough, but he doubted she was like Yvlon, a pure [Warrior]. So it kept him alive for forty-three seconds.

Then she activated one of her Skills as he reset. Lareceina was panting at him.

“She keeps cutting them apart. I have to detonate before they reach her—but she just dodges the explosions.”

“She’s too fast. Just give me an opening. I have to hit her with a Tier 4 spell.”

His blade alone had left two more cuts on her cheek and belly; he hadn’t even broken the clothed legging armor. Accordingly, she’d cut him four times across the stomach with a Skill, but her blades hadn’t pierced Stalker’s underarmor. A fact that she was not happy about.

She kept trying to get at Lareceina. But the [Compression Magus] had lobbed down more marbles, and the occasional dagger that the Jester tossed at her would meet a marble in midair, and the explosion would knock the projectile aside. They were stalemating her…for as long as Lareceina’s stored magic lasted.

Pisces guessed the [Mage] could fight about a minute longer like this. He also guessed that the Jester was about to do something to deal with his armor. She was breathing in, slowly and levelly, not even perspiring hard. He was sweating buckets…

[Bound Spell: Spear of Light]. He put the magic in the tip of his rapier. He’d get one attack before needing a moment to recast the spell, but if they did enough damage…

She’ll have a healing potion too. Can’t let her use it. Once we have an opening, we pour on the attacks. Don’t bother re-binding. Don’t let her drink it. Slash her eyes, and if I can have Lareceina hit her full-on—

He had to end this. Because she was a master and all his tricks, the luck, Lareceina? That had carried him three minutes into the fight. Now she had his number. She knew how he fought and proved it. The Jester waited for Pisces to lunge—she swept his rapier aside. Stabbed.

He twisted, dodging the counter, backstepping. She beckoned. He [Flash Stepped] left—

Explosions as Lareceina threw three marbles. The Jester moved out of range of the magic, grimacing. She blocked a cut at her neck, slashed across his stomach. Frowned at the broken bone buckler he’d used to shield himself.

Now. [Quick Reset]. [Manacharged Reflexes]! [Impaling Thrust]!

Pisces returned to his guard position and lunged again, all in a blur. She had to dodge that. She twirled out of the way with a Skill, and he saw Lareceina flicking another marble into the Jester’s path. Light magic. Webs of light. Yes! Pisces was turning to catch the Jester in the gap when she spoke.

“[Premature Activation].”

His rapier—fired the bound spell. A spear of light flashed across the club, hit the far wall, and Pisces jerked. He backstepped, slashing at the air, and the Jester tore free of the strings of light that had held her a moment.

“Don’t worry, it happens to everyone. What a silly Skill, huh?”

She posed coquettishly, and his stomach dropped. She could just—then her right hand came up. Her dagger flashed at his face, and he went to block it. Then he saw the dagger was—trembling—

The blow nearly jolted his rapier from his hands when he tried to parry it. It went past his guard and tore open his cheek. Hit his teeth. Pisces’ head rang, and he backed up, saw the second blade come at him, and—

“Pisces! [Empowered Spell]!”

Lareceina’s magic knocked him backwards. He stumbled, and the Jester was shaking off black soot on her skin. She gritted her teeth; the magic had burnt her skin black. But then she turned to him and smiled. He stared down at the broken rapier in his right hand.

Shattered from two failed parries. What…what…?

“[Vibration Touch]. Very popular as well.”

She winked at him. Pisces started laughing. He was wheezing, blood and saliva running from his open cheek and down his jaw. Lareceina was staring at him in horror.

“Go ahead, tell me they’re stupid Skills. I don’t mind.”

“You’re…a Gold-bell Duelist. The finest in the world.”

He saw her pause, grimace faintly, then smile.

“Place of honor, [Necromancer].”

She came at him a second time, and now, he saw it. An attack he couldn’t parry. The stupid-sounding Skill made her daggers blur, vibrating at a speed he couldn’t imagine. A silly trick? How were you supposed to block that?

It could literally saw through anything that it met; let alone trying to parry the blade. But he did his best.

The Jester was not prepared for him to knock the first dagger down. He backstepped again, and she shook her head.

[Rapier: Boneclad Enchantment]. Ivory grew along Pisces’ broken rapier. A gift from his duel at the Trial of Shields. He wouldn’t lose his blade again. Nor had it broken this time, though his hand was ringing.

The Jester frowned. Her casual posture stiffened for a moment. She’d been looking to kill him when his blade was broken. She exhaled in annoyance.

“Nice trick. Plans just don’t work with you, do they?”

Pisces gazed down at the lunar sheen on the edge of the rapier. He lifted it, and the Stellar Ivory shone in the dark club. He cut through the haze with it and knew it was making her wary again.

But it was just…strong. Maybe a bit lighter than regular bone. Conductive for magic. Nothing more.

[Premature Activation]. The [Arc of Midnight] struck the ceiling as she closed. Pisces was gasping as his back slammed into a hard door, and her daggers struck the wood, bouncing off as she snarled. He called out as he kicked at the Jester, swinging his sword.

“Lareceina, run.”

He wasn’t going to make it.

——

Ceria: I thought those idiots could do an escort mission without us making it worse. We can’t make it there in time. We see the fight. I’m watching. Hey, you’re not going to die, right? I can’t lose you too.

He was drinking a potion as he watched the liquid run out of his stomach lining. Six holes which closed…another Skill.

The final bloom of magic faded as Lareceina stopped screaming. The Jester’s knife was nailing her against the bar. She hung there, pinned by both shoulders, and the Face turned.

So cautious. She’d rather finish Lareceina then take him out. The Jester stopped and flipped up a dagger.

“[Weapon Art: Daggerstorm].”

She hurled them as the ground and walls of the building exploded around him. Pisces put up a [Bone Wall] and braced; he was lying behind the door after she’d gutted him. He saw daylight; she’d taken out a wall. The building he’d reanimated was dying again. Death magic, the structure groaning and spasming.

He got up; somehow, he’d survived the attack. She flicked into position as he turned. Slashed across his chest, and again, she tore Stalker’s armor and his flesh beneath. She was figuring out how to go through the armor.

Vibrating blades. Bones shuddering. Just ripped the skin off from contact—

She was coming for the kill.

[Weapon Art: Hammer Goes Through You]. The long dirks hit him as he tried to [Flash Step] and cracked his patella as they slammed him into the wall. The second one hit Stalker’s armor and would have snapped a rib but for the magic he was pouring into—

Stabbing. His rapier came up, and he pivoted. A glowing tail lashed the ground as he parried her blade into the floorboards. She staggered as he broke her Skill.

[Joveln’s Parry].

[Deathbolt].

He hit her once in the chest, and she backflipped the second and dodged the third, falling back. Pisces staggered upright, reached for a potion, and found nothing at his side.

The Jester was gone, and his bag of holding was spilling everywhere.

Bones. Nekhret’s bones and ordinary ones and possessions. Beach sand and coins, even a sandwich. He struck at her from the other side.

Illusion. He’d been pointing a finger the other way, and she parried the [Deathbolt]. Kicked him into the door and maybe broke something. He bounced off.

He couldn’t parry those blades. Pisces was panting.

“Arise.”

She flicked a dagger through the head of the first Skeleton Champion that arose. Cut another one in half and came at him—her blades weren’t vibrat—

Electricity coursed through him, and he was reeling again. But again, she backstepped. Went to hack down the undead.

“I don’t like that look in your eyes. Got any better last words? For the story.”

“When I think it’s time.”

His mouth was the only part of him still moving right. Something…Lareceina was trying to shift, but she’d been hit with poison or something. Paralysis. The Jester’s blades began to vibrate again, and liquid sprayed off them. Ah, that’s why she didn’t use poison all the time.

If only he could just block her or had one of Lareceina’s marbles. Pisces saw her feint forwards, then spring sideways like a cat. He saw her, but—his rapier was sent flying by the first blow. Out of position. The second darted for his throat.

The explosion of sound and air made Lareceina’s lolling head jolt upright. She heard a cry. A shout of pain and fury and saw a spinning body—the Jester was pulling back. But Pisces twisted the blade and ripped it out of her side in a spray of blood, and Lareceina’s eyes opened wide.

How—?

He was holding his left hand out. The Jester had been about to strike him, then something had happened. She was backing up, cursing. She threw daggers at Pisces, unenchanted—her Skills must have run out. He parried one, two—then saw a trio coming at him and raised his hand.

Now, Lareceina saw it. She would have known it anywhere because it was her trick. Just mana. Mana compressing around his hand, then exploding outwards.

Like her orb, but without the binding spells. He just—forced the mana out around his hand. A burst, a shockwave that knocked the daggers down.

That’s how he’d stopped her dirks. Vibrations or not—he’d parried her with his free hand. Then run her through. She was checking her side. He’d hit the right side of her stomach, just below the belly button, and torn a bloody gash out.

“Chandler’s Rebuke.”

That was all she said. Then she exhaled and saluted him with one blade. Smiling, almost as if it were worth the pain and blood to see it done. He was smiling too until he saw the red threads.

The blood running down the Jester’s side and onto her legs reversed course. They drifted upwards until they became thin threads. Even needles, which stabbed into the Jester’s skin. Laced her broken cloth-flesh together. She didn’t even reach for a healing potion. Just sighed.

“[Stitch Up The Puppet]. I am a masterpiece.”

“That’s not fair.”

Lareceina wasn’t sure if she managed to get the words out. Pisces set himself, and his smile faded. She walked forwards again, blades raised, vibrating, watching him now.

Now he could parry her.

They cut at each other, dancing back and forth in the little stage at the center of the dying nightclub. Bones rattling aside as his blood splattered the table, the ground. She dodged a slash, pulled back as his hand splayed outwards, deflecting—

Refused to strike. Kicked his shin with a dagger in her boot. Came closer, trying for a headbutt—leaned out of a [Deathbolt] fired towards her face.

A slash that nearly took his robes apart, marking his armor. Red gash on her arm, already being re-sewn. They checked themselves and met again.

She let him cut her throat, blood running from the wound until it closed, to plant a dagger under one armpit. He staggered back again. Grinning. He was rasping.

“Is this a bad time to tell you I have a second form?”

The Jester—paused. She had been sweeping in at him from the side, but now she tilted her head, genuinely confused. She must have had a truth Skill of some kind. She hesitated. Wary. That was the one thing he had on her. Her eyes flickered as she smiled.

“Go ahead. I would have used it a few minutes ago.”

His eyes were still locked on her blades. He mumbled as dark blood poured down his side, soaking the robes as they lost their magic.

“Free me from this world’s mortal coil and you can meet him. I fear him.”

She said nothing. Just—lunged. With blades that elongated.

[The Duelist Lunges]. A fencer’s lunge, so fast and incisive it made his seem barely adequate. But he knew she was that good. He was sidestepping, waiting for the next blow—

She slammed into a door as her blade skidded and bounced off it. He missed a cut for her neck, surprised. A pratfall? A—

The Jester slashed wildly at him, backflipped, and stopped. She frowned at Pisces and glanced right. At the door.

He wavered. Flicked his eyes at the door as well.

The door standing in the center of the performance area of The Djinni’s Hour. Untouched by the utter destruction around it. Or the Jester’s blade. It had a strange handle. It was familiar, even though he’d never seen it before. The [Necromancer] knew it. He gazed at the door. The Jester saw him smile.

Then they were fighting, her stabbing around one edge of the door, trying to break through it—

He fired a [Deathbolt] around the door and ducked as she flipped over it, stabbing down with the boot-daggers. She flipped back over as he slashed upwards.

Landed. Pisces dodged a slash as she riposted. Both their blades glanced off the wooden frame as they snarled at each other.

Blood in one of her eyes. Red footprints tracing around the door.

Separation. Lareceina pulled one of the daggers out of her shoulder, but her arm hung limp. She wanted to cry. To apologize to Pisces.

All her magic, all her spells and she’d only hit the Jester directly once. Just once. It wasn’t going to save him. She saw Pisces leaning against the door. But he didn’t reach for the handle. She was waiting for him to bleed more. The slightest sheen of sweat on her skin. He beckoned her weakly.

“Would you just finish this? I have an appointment after this.”

She watched blood drip down onto the floor as the Jester swung her blades up.

“You might miss it.”

Pisces chuckled.

“Don’t worry. She’ll see me one way or another.”

He drew himself up slowly, and Lareceina tried not to let the world blur over. She blinked the tears out of her eyes to watch the end of his duel.

——

He was out of tricks. Even Lareceina’s technique hadn’t swung the odds. Not against her. Pisces was relieved, though. He just had to do his best. Then he’d…

Let his [Innkeeper] down. Make her cry. He tried to push himself up a bit more. Think of something. But what?

There was death magic around him. He’d spent his mana on this building that reeked of undeath, but the Jester wasn’t letting him animate anything. He could parry her—so what? That just put them on equal footing.

Still too fast. Still can’t hurt her enough. It reminded him of a grinning Djinni with a cat’s face.

…Yes. She was cautious. He began to pull mana into his hands. It had almost worked last time. Almost…almost…

The Jester hesitated. She tried to intercept him, sprang forwards as he concentrated. Two slashes. A blow that knocked him backwards, skidding. But he didn’t lose focus.

All the mana he had left in his hands. For a spell.

He didn’t know the spell. It was directionless. Useless. So cold. The antithesis of life. So concentrated, now, that even he couldn’t carry it.

“Pisces. Your hands.”

Lareceina warned him, and he gazed down. That was why the Jester was waiting, again. He saw some of his skin just…peel away. Flesh cracking, turning white, then developing black lines.

It was killing him. He sighed, and the Jester waited. She didn’t want him to touch her. He glanced at the door.

“One second, Erin.”

He took a step—and his heart stopped. A cold hand was grasping it, and the death magic was trying to overwhelm, reanimate—

The [Necromancer] gasped. He had to hold it. Had to, but he was dying. No receptacle. Nothing but his bare hands and…

He looked at his right hand, and the gleaming blade of Stellar Ivory glinted. Pisces gazed at it, then smiled—and forced the magic up the hilt.

“There.”

That’s what he had been trying to do.

His unenchanted rapier was almost all bone, now. Magical bone, but that was all. Perfect for little except storing the one thing that belonged there.

Death magic. He concentrated it until it was running along the blade he knew so well. Infused into every part of it. All the mana he had left. All of the magic in this building he could draw on until it was like a Death’s Door, but better.

A wound into the living world. A little sliver to something that lay beyond. Pisces lifted the rapier, and he heard an oath.

The Jester gazed at the [Necromancer], and he held an enchantment she had never seen before. She had memorized every single one in the Assassin’s Guild’s annals. But they had fewer records on rare classes. Like [Necromancers].

She had to stop him. The Jester cartwheeled forwards, rotating, building speed with each rotation. [Performance: The Comedian’s Death].

Flip and twist in the air. He saw her coming, but he was so focused on the blade, and she was falling, blades twirling, a grin she didn’t feel on her lips. So focused she didn’t see the marble stuck to her pant legs turn white-hot until it exploded—

The detonation would have blown a leg off if the Jester hadn’t sensed the motion and performed an [Aerial Flip] to mitigate the blast. Her skin was still burnt, her costume blown to pieces. She stumbled, half-turned.

The [Mage]. She should have killed her, not marked her for the Naga. Rage was in the Jester’s being, and she raised her daggers to throw, then twisted around and set herself. She exhaled.

Too late.

The blade had changed colors. It still glowed, but instead of the pale ivory, it was…black. The color was black, but it was still bright. The magical color was coating the rapier, like an aura, an enchantment that hurt the eyes.

He let it rest along the floor, as if holding it were heavy, and she saw the floorboards change colors. Where the tip of his blade met the wood, it turned grey. Dusty. Rotten. As if he were killing…

The wood itself. She gritted her teeth.

This is why she had tried to take him by surprise. Why adventurers were hardest.

Counter-levelling. She drew herself up and saw him gazing at that door again. He was drawing strength from it.

“One last dance, [Necromancer]? Now we have a proper duel. To the death, then.”

She licked her lips, watching that blade. She couldn’t let him touch her with it. The bones scattered around them were rattling. Pieces of Stellar Ivory swirling around, as if the sword was reanimating everything.

He was all but dead. Just kill him—he grinned at her, and his eyes were gleaming.

“Death is not the end, Jester. Let me show you.”

His rapier rose, and a little bell of a color she didn’t know hung from the hilt. It made her feel like she wasn’t a master, but an apprentice still on a great journey. Now, it rang.

The Jester listened to it as it rang across the waiting city. Such a beautiful sound. She sighed, then bowed, the fool, the joker with pranks played upon her head by fate. Then she advanced.

——

Two blades versus one. They stabbed, trying to take him from either side, but a burst of mana forced her back a step. The deathly blade swung over her head, and she ducked it. Unwilling to merely lean out of the way.

He came forwards, a stumbling pirouette, spinning and cutting. She went to punish the opening, her leg kicking up with that hidden dagger in her boots.

A tiny marble exploded, and she jerked back. It hadn’t even gotten near her. Lareceina had flicked it with paralyzed fingers, but it let Pisces press the Jester back. She did a handspring, slashed as she backflipped.

His [Flash Step] carried him into a lunge as she landed. She nearly beheaded him with a sweep of her daggers. He pulled his head back, and she was walking along the counter of the bar. Blocking his rapier with her vibrating blades and kicking glasses at his face. One of her boot-daggers—

She leapt off the counter, and they were fighting along the walls. He kicked a chair at her. She jumped on top of it, kicked him in the face, and was gone. Landed, and he rushed her. Locked blades and felt the rapier sucking at her energy as it drew too close to her skin. Shoved him back, snarling.

He was bleeding from multiple deep wounds, but he was fighting without regard for his reserves. She just had to hold out, wait for the last stand to finish. He couldn’t keep that enchantment up forever.

His face was a mask of concentration and blood. Smiling at her. Not even cursing her for refusing to risk a final clash. Too much respect.

She performed another [Fool’s Dodge], cartwheeling out of a lunge. Hopped back, grasping a dagger with the toes on her right foot. Back against the wall, waiting for him to—

An arm locked around the Jester’s throat and she stabbed backwards, wildly. The [Mage]? Her team? That damn [Prince]? How—

Her blades stabbed into the wall of the nightclub. The Jester felt nothing, but the [Necromancer]—

Ran her through the chest. Then she felt the cold blade sucking her life away. She screamed—ripped herself off the blade, and was stumbling away. He had been staring at the person who’d grabbed her. But who…

She swung back as her Skill tried to knit her flesh, yet she was suddenly slower. Weaker. No potion could heal…again, she put her back to the w—

The arm grabbed for her again, and she spun. Daggers raised. She stared down at the figure who’d caught her by the waist.

A face made of bone. But not a skeleton’s skull. Someone had carved features out of bone. Stellar Ivory that was so finely detailed you could see her short-cropped hair moving. It would have been brown in real life, but this undead was colorless. Mischievous, hazel green flames stared out of carved eyes above smiling lips.

A Human’s face. An [Innkeeper]’s wrought in ivory. Like Venitra, a woman of bone. No…Pisces had never laid eyes on Az’kerash’s Chosen.

This was like Cognita. A woman, but half-formed. Only her upper torso and face were even visible, and they were incomplete. There was not enough Stellar Ivory to animate her, so the pieces ended abruptly, like a jigsaw puzzle. What was there was still…

The undead woman was holding the Jester. She had risen out of the floorboards and grabbed the Jester around the waist. Even now, the floorboards were adhering to her body. Melding upwards, as if she and the floor were one thing.

An undead? The Jester had never seen—the Assassin’s Guild didn’t study—

Her daggers stabbed the fake-Erin’s face, but the bones merely cracked. The undead sank back into the floorboards as the Jester slashed wildly, dodging the [Necromancer] from the side. Then the Jester was leaping, head whirling—

The floor again. Hands reached out, and she stomped, but despite breaking the bones, they just came again as she leapt. This time, the Jester leapt onto a table. That had to be s—

A hand tried to grab her, and she saw the undead rising from the table as the Jester dove again. Instead of following, the undead grabbed a chair and hurled it. Then she was sinking again.

Like a Sandworm or a shark. This entire damn building was her hunting ground. She was melding with the walls. The Jester knew this trick. But that face—

The undead had that face the Jester recognized from the Naga’s files.

“This is your undead?”

She whirled, trying to sneer at him, and the [Necromancer] was looking around. Tracing something only he could see. He’d re-animated the building. She’d thought it was a great opening. A pointless use of mana…fool!

She’d halted for too long. A hand rose, and she was too slow. Again, the undead innkeeper rose, her body already mended. She was holding the Jester’s legs, still smiling. But that glittering flame was colder than any other undead’s the Jester had met.

Other undead just want to kill you. I know why you should die. It’s personal.

The Jester slashed that face, tore free with all the Galas muscle she had. It was just a moment’s opening.

All he needed, of course.

The Scourge stabbed her through the shoulder. Her arm went dead as she slashed at his chest and swept one blade down to free herself. She hopped away on her remaining foot. Fumbling for a spare arm and foot.

A scarecrow of a woman, strings trailing, stuffing coming out of her. The [Necromancer] lunged at her, seeking to end the fight.

She tossed her arm at him and grinned as his eyes widened, and he tried to st—

The explosion knocked them both flat. She did a pratfall and came up, hoping…no. His damn skeleton had pulled him out of the way. Damn armor; he might have broken a rib or two, but her trapped arm hadn’t killed him. And she was…

The Jester eyed the undead skeleton sinking into the floorboards as the Scourge got to his feet. She nodded tightly, then gritted her teeth. She crunched the upper right molar in her mouth and rasped.

“Jester requesting emergency teleport. Right now.”

She heard a muted affirmative as she whirled, teeth bared. She was slow, one-armed. She wasn’t going to make it…

He was leaning on someone supporting him. The smiling undead wearing the [Innkeeper]’s face. Pisces’ blade of undeath was aimed at her, but he had paused.

“Where is it?”

“Take them from me. One bell’s yours.”

She gestured at the golden bells hanging from her, but he was just searching her.

“No. Where’s…your collar?”

He searched her bare neck, her wrists and leggings, and she blinked at him. Then started giggling. She wheezed, leaning on the table, laughing.

“Boy, they don’t leave it where you can break it. It’s right here.”

She tapped her heart. His eyes found hers, and she shook her head. He raised the rapier, and she felt distant magic take hold of her. A second’s teleportation for a Face.

Too slow. She waited in that moment as the rapier shone and saw his center of gravity lower. Lower…until the strange undead laid him down on the floor. Then the rapier stopped glowing, and he lay face-first on the ground.

The Jester ran at him, laughing, blade stabbing, and vanished in a spiral of glowing motes of light.

——

[Class Change: Duelist of Wistram → Master Duelist: Blade of Death!]

[Master Duelist: Blade of Death Level 24!]

[Synergy Spell – Enchantment: Death’s Blade Learned!]

[Spell – Mana Burst Parry Learned!]

[Skill – Sword Art: Leaves Scattering Upon a Pond Obtained!]

[Skill – Seduction Counter Obtained!]

[Skill – Mithril Bootdagger Kick Obtained!]

[Spell School – Tivmithe’s Flash Magic: Greater Proficiency Obtained!]

[Spell – Flash Leap Learned!]

[Spell – Flash Lunge Learned!]

[Spell…]

<Title – A Face of the Assassin’s Guild, Unmasked: Defier of Hidden Blades Assigned!>

<Title Reward – Golden Fencer’s Bell of Detoxification Granted!>

The gold bell dinged off Pisces’ head. Which told him he’d only passed out for a second. Just long enough to gain his levels—and for Lareceina to pour a healing potion on top of him.

She was lying on the floor when he raised his head.

“Paralysis. Sucks. You alive? Please be, I’m too emotionally invested in you for you to die right now.”

“How’re you moving?”

He thought she should have been completely helpless given the Jester paralyzing her. Which he’d assumed was for her to take Lareceina as a [Slave] or something. So the Jester was a [Slave]. He’d thought she must be.

Her heart. He should have killed her. He knew that. But he’d realized she was a [Slave], and he couldn’t do it. Just like Wildcard. It was his weakness, Pisces guessed.

Lareceina spoke to the ceiling of the ruined nightclub, which began to crumble inwards. A piece slammed down a dozen feet away. Neither adventurer moved.

“Mana. Forced it through my body and moved it like a puppet. Can’t move well, and it hurts.”

Wham. Another piece fell, and Pisces tried to sit up.

“Dying when masonry hits us would be a terrible way to go.”

“Haha. Yeah.”

Neither one moved. Pisces was healing sluggishly, but the potions he’d looted from Roshal had saved him. He’d taken a few truly deadly wounds in the battle; the armpit stab had been the worst, but he might have saved himself by using death magic on himself. It had slowed the rate he was bleeding out.

He gazed at his hands; there were still faint scar lines from the death mana he’d held. Might be permanent. It beat Yvlon’s hands, or Ceria’s, so he put it out of his mind.

A piece of wood came spiraling down from the ceiling and hit the little wall of floorboards that Bone-Erin conjured to shield Pisces and Lareceina. Both Gold-rank adventurers felt splinters of wood land on them. Lareceina sat up.

“Er—maybe we should cast a barrier.”

“Right. We could leave, but if the Jester had accomplices…”

Pisces was glancing around. He had something to do. Lareceina kept staring at the undead-Erin.

“Is this your newest undead?”

“Sort of. I didn’t know—that is to say, she’s incomplete.”

The Stellar Ivory that made up the undead’s face was incomplete. But she could sink into the floorboards and manipulate buildings he’d animated with death magic. That was…

Very scary if she were a rogue undead. Pisces shuddered to imagine an undead capable of shifting into the walls and ambushing you. He coughed.

“She, um, she looks like—”

“The [Innkeeper]. Whom you’re in love with? I don’t know if she’d appreciate this…”

Lareceina waved a hand, and Pisces hesitated.

“It’s not romantic. Platonic—it was an unconscious thing! I didn’t expect it. And I…I was doing everything I could in that fight. All the bits and pieces. Lareceina, thank you. Without you, I’d have been—and the [Mana Burst Parry] and [Death’s Blade] spell were because I was thinking about your techniques!”

She blinked at him.

“Is that what the spells are called?”

“Yes, they are. I imagine you could do the parry technique yourself.”

She nodded slowly, eyes lighting up.

“It looks easy enough, but the timing could get you killed. I can’t believe we survived.”

“She was a cautious Face. I think she wanted to bait out every attack I had and was wary about me having something else. I also wonder if she wanted me alive, for all her talk.”

Pisces rubbed at his armpit as he conjured a little dome of bones for them to hide under. Lareceina shuddered.

“That would explain it. Although she might have just been psyched out.”

“By what? Me being a [Necromancer]?”

“No, your face.”

“…What about it?”

The [Compression Magus] opened her mouth, peered at Pisces, then turned her head.

“If you don’t understand, I don’t feel like explaining it right now. I sense you won’t get it. One question: what was that door that appeared mid-fight?”

The door. Pisces pushed himself up slowly, and it was still there. He walked towards it.

“That’s…I think it’s her. I need to answer it. I’ll be back. Just pretend I’m hiding if I—”

It was her. He knew it. He turned back.

“Lareceina? Thank you, I owe you my life. I will repay you, but I just have to—”

She was brushing at her face, shaking her head.

“I think you’d have been…well, maybe I did save your life, but I didn’t feel very useful in that fight. I need to brush up on my close-combat techniques. Kusal and Leo would have made that a lot easier. Go do what you have to. If that is Erin Solstice, you have to see the person you’re in love with. Just don’t leave me to clean up all this mess or the royalty might actually execute me. You’re lucky I like you; I’d have left your Captain behind in a heartbeat.”

She sat back with a groan in the inside of the little shelter, and Pisces hesitated. The bones of Nekhret and his possessions were scattered across the entire damn place—what hadn’t been vaporized in the fight. Yet somehow…he knew that the door wouldn’t take long.

Just a second, really. How he knew it, he wasn’t sure, but he trusted the door. He began to nod, scratched at the back of his neck, and hesitated.

Hm? It was an odd feeling. Almost like he was on the practice courts, but entirely mental. Pisces frowned, then tried it anyways.

“Well, I, ah, don’t know if I want to fight a second Face ever again, Lareceina. But I would, for you. I shudder to imagine what I’ll have to do for a favor since I owe you far more.”

She blinked at him, and he blinked at her. Then he closed his mouth.

Was that a [Seduction Counter]—?

Pisces strode over to the door, opened it, paused a second, then vanished. Lareceina stayed where she was, then laid back down on the floor. Then she began kicking around in a circle.

How he had picked up on that? She hadn’t even been obvious about her feelings! Did he mean—? Well, obviously she liked him. Who wouldn’t admire someone with his principles?

She was not prepared for Pisces to come out the door a second later. But that moment…

To him, it was still occurring in a place only two people existed.

——

It did feel like a dream. As if he had died and this were just…a pleasant way of letting him down. One moment, he was levelling, the next, he was walking through the void on a path of cobblestones towards a building suspended in the middle of nowhere.

With the woman he most wanted to talk to waiting for him.

It wasn’t love, at least, the kind that he thought many people assumed it was. Pisces was no expert on love. He felt like he’d mostly peaked in Wistram on that front, to be honest. He’d been his most popular then, and after that, it had been far less easy to get to know people.

Your average [Necromancer] tended to be male, at least, the kind you found in cabals, and regardless, they weren’t all that fun to be around sometimes. Pisces could also admit he hadn’t been at his best back then. Hygiene, always an issue…

Why was he thinking about that? He’d just fought a Face—

But he was somehow more nervous than then. Because…he kept slowing to peer at her. It was her, wasn’t it? Was she the same woman who was in Baleros? She looked…

Different.

She felt it. This new place, well, that suited her. If Erin Solstice had sailed across Nerrhavia’s Fallen on a ship christened ‘The Wandering Ship’, Pisces Jealnet would have blinked for about five seconds, then gotten on board and asked her if she now served adequate seafood.

He would believe anything of her. Just as Ceria had once said—they were her team. His life had changed when he’d met her in that inn, long ago. He was just worried he’d disappoint her.

She was gazing at him like he was a stranger too. He halted halfway up the gazebo’s steps and took in her discolored hair. The scars.

One look at Erin Solstice, the real Erin, and he saw how flawed and fake the skeleton he’d made of her was. That was just the [Innkeeper] in his heart. The one he remembered, longed to see, with a frying pan in hand when things were at their darkest.

The first one he’d met, who’d fed a hungry, lost [Necromancer] with no good reason other than he was hungry.

The last time he’d seen her…her face had been bruised and swollen. Magical paint and seawater clinging to her skin. A flaming pink hat on her head, eyes locked on the thing only she could see.

This Erin, the one who made him halt in his tracks, was the woman who’d survived that moment. No part of her wasn’t scarred.

Her hair wasn’t the same color. It was regrowing, but it had fallen out and was uneven on one side, reshorn so it was deliberate instead of…it was seared into different colors, white or multicolored in places. Magical contamination he’d only seen in textbooks in Wistram.

The same with her skin. Erin was noticeably thinner. It looked like someone had carved skin off her arms with a bloodless blade. Odd, puckered skin from more spell damage. But it was her wrists, her neck, that revealed the truest scars. Discolored skin burned dark. Collar and manacles.

He hadn’t seen it the last time. Now, Pisces reached for his rapier and almost turned around and left this place. Excused himself so he could walk over to Roshal and come back after…

Her expression stopped him. She was wearing strange clothing: a shirt that looked like it had been woven from a single blade of grass, but detailed, soft tufts of dandelion’s fuzz padding her elbows and shoulders. Leggings made of some dark chitin, like a bug’s.

A stranger he might have taken for some twisted, alternate version of Erin Solstice if they’d passed on the streets of Liscor. Missing the top of her right ear. But that hesitant expression became a smile when she saw him and they locked eyes.

It was wearier than he had ever remembered seeing on her face. A tired woman full of the fears she never cared to share. Uncertainty, oh, yes.

But it was still the same smile as the first one he’d earned from her. It felt like it gave Pisces more than he could return. A smile just for him, welcoming him into her home, wherever it was and however strange it got. That was how he knew it was her each and every time.

Pisces still wanted to go and set all her foes to flight. But he was tired, and there was a chair waiting for him across the chess table.

Too weak. Too weak, too far…he sat down across the chess board from her, adjusting his robes. Realizing they were almost torn off his body, revealing the scarred armor underneath.

“I, ah—hello, Erin. I’m sorry I’m a bit of a mess. And that I took a moment to reply. I was occupied.”

“The Pavilion said…what happened to you? You look like you’ve been in a war.”

Even her voice sounded different. Maybe a bit raspier, deeper. Or perhaps it wasn’t her bubbly cadence that held the real Erin. He drank in how she looked once more and then glanced back. Shrugged, because he’d almost forgotten the Jester.

“Just a continuation of the war you were in.”

He favored her with a slight smile, a self-depreciating quirk of the lips. She sat there, and then her face filled with guilt.

“Roshal?”

She knew it in a moment. And the guilty joy that had been on her face was extinguished so fast he tried to lie.

“N—”

No lies here. The rules had popped into his head as he’d entered. Pisces hesitated and chose his words carefully.

“It was purely my own affair. Nothing to do w…it was entirely selfish on…there were a lot of extenuating circumstances.”

He couldn’t tell those lies. Not to her. But she looked so guilty…Erin was shaking her head.

“Chandrar. Chandrar. I knew you were all there, but I’ve been too scared to use this Skill. This is the [Pavilion of Secrets], Pisces. You know the rules, but I could have—I’ve been guilty, and they tried to kill you, didn’t they? Are you okay?”

“I’ll be fine, Erin. I beat the Face they sent at me.”

“A Face?”

“…Only one.”

Lying was hard, and he was not mentally ready for this. Erin sat up, then sat back in her chair. She seemed…she rubbed at her chest.

“Sorry. I’ve been a bit sick. And distracted. Stupid stuff. I—you were the first person I thought of, after the inn. I took too long to contact you, and there was this thing with Garry.”

“Garry? Is he well?”

“…Yes? Now he is. He was dressing up as Santa and delivering bread to Drakes. Then they blew him up, but he survived, and—yeah.”

Pisces let that information roll off him. Solstice event. Then he tried to parse it and started grinning. Erin grew flustered.

“I’m very sorry, Pisces. I didn’t…I wasn’t thinking of you. I was asking the [Pavilion of Secrets] who was in the most mortal danger at that moment and it must have not been you at that time. He was, but then I developed tunnel vision, and I was fighting with Ulvama, and—your robes.”

She looked at him again, and he glanced down.

Ah, that was a lot of blood on them. The charm that meant they couldn’t get dirty had been shredded with the fabric. Pisces touched the robes and felt…a bit of a pang. Ryoka had bought them for him a long time ago. There were plenty of better robes he could have bought. But these had been his.

“It’s just clothing, Erin. I am fine. I didn’t even lose any digits, see?”

He hesitated, then tucked his hands under the table. Erin’s eyes were drawn downwards.

“I’m glad you didn’t lose your hands. What do they look like?”

“…Hands? They’re perfectly serviceable as far as I know, Erin.”

“Pisces, show me your hands.”

His damned mouth. When he showed her the cracked skin and damage from the death magic, she just exhaled. Pisces began to speak quickly.

“That was my own doing! You see, I was using death magic to create a powerful spell—it was pure improvisation, really. A powerful new attack. My most dangerous magic by far! It’ll revolutionize how I fight. Also where I need to fight from; I’ll need to be up front, but not even Colthei can insult me anymore. And my other spells and Skills—it’s a resounding victory. I chased a Face off and…and…”

“Roshal’s still after you. They won’t stop until they’ve got you, Pisces. I’m so, so sorry for not talking sooner.”

Her quiet voice, and the way she gazed at her own hands made Pisces reach out. He grabbed her arm, scattering chess pieces off the table.

“I—sorry. Erin, don’t blame yourself for this. This was my doing. I was just…killing [Slavers]. Raiding caravans. I did it with Merr and by myself. I raised hordes, and I slaughtered them. The only person who put my team and myself in such danger was me.”

She looked at him, bleak.

“But why did that happen, Pisces? Did they try something or…?”

He gazed past her and sat back in the chair. He was so tired, but he wouldn’t have closed his eyes for anything.

“I just…met a little girl they’d taken as a [Slave], Erin. I couldn’t stop myself. I tried to kill all of them because I couldn’t do anything less. Because of you and what they did to me and everyone else, yes. But they deserve it.”

His head bowed, and he sat there. Then he was filled with fear. But he had to say it. Honesty…Pisces looked up and gave Erin a wretched smile.

“Erin, I’m rather afraid I’ve become a monster. I—I’m sorry, because you put such faith in me. But of late, I don’t think I’m better than anyone else. I think I’ve stepped upon that dark path that all [Necromancers] seem fated to walk. Because I enjoyed killing the [Slavers]. It felt right.”

That was the thing he hadn’t said out loud. He’d realized it after a while. He had stepped off the cliff and was falling, and he couldn’t stop. He waited for her to pull away, tell him how disappointed she was, or just…

Erin blinked at Pisces, and the guilt burning behind her eyes turned to surprise. Then she studied him and, abruptly, threw her arms around him.

“You silly, smelly [Necromancer]. You could change a hundred thousand times and it’d always be you. C’mere.”

She tried to ruffle his hair, and he protested.

“Erin! Erin, I’m serious! Stop that.”

She was laughing all of a sudden! Laughing, and he feared she didn’t understand…then Erin stopped. She coughed, and he grew worried at the rattling in her lungs. But it was gone in a moment, and she wiped her mouth.

“Sorry. I still got a bit of that soul fracture stuff. Pisces…you’re the bravest, best guy I know. You just pretend really well you’re not, sometimes. And you killing evil people doesn’t change that.”

“But I’ve killed…”

“They keep [Slaves], Pisces. You and I have both seen what that is. They put me on a ship. They took you to Roshal. I’d kill them all, one-by-one, if I had to.”

Erin’s eyes were burning again. Not her hat. She leaned over the table, and she shook her head.

“You silly goober. ‘Look at me, I’m so evil for killing [Slavers]. Bleh, I’m a terrible person’!”

She made little devil horns on her head, and it was so silly that Pisces started laughing. Chuckling, then laughing as he hadn’t done since—since—

Since they’d sat in an inn and done this last time. Erin started laughing too.

“Hey, don’t make fun of me! I’m making fun of—listen, pal—ah, you dummy! Why hasn’t Ceria, Colth, or Yvlon told you how stupid you’re being?”

He stopped laughing abruptly.

“I got separated from them. And it’s…it’s not been perfect.”

Erin blinked at him, then leaned forwards. She gestured at the table, and he went to pick up the pieces that had fallen, but they were all arrayed nice and evenly in a moment. He went to move a pawn, but Erin just eyed the chess set, then brushed an arm across the table.

It all vanished. Then she stood, and the world changed.

For a moment, they sat in The Wandering Inn, and the common room smelled of Calescent’s food. It was cold—but the door to the beach garden was open. Pisces’ eyes widened, and his heart hurt. He half-rose…but then saw Erin’s face.

Regret, sadness, longing.

She banished it.

Then they were in the [Garden of Sanctuary], hers, staring up at the night sky full of stars. But that too vanished after a moment. Erin Solstice stood in the gazebo, the world flickering as she tried to find something…

And found nothing. The world vanished, even the gazebo, and then they stood in the void, a sea of infinity, and she sat down. Just sat on the ground. Pisces walked over and sat next to her. He pulled his knees up to his chest, and she murmured.

“Tell me, Pisces. Tell me how it’s been, please?”

So he closed his eyes, and because they had ages…

He told her.

——

The two sat there a long time. In the real world, another Pisces was doing things like collecting his possessions, continuing to heal, extricating himself and Lareceina from the crumbling nightclub, and rendering some explanations as her team raced over.

He pitied that Pisces. Because here was where he wanted to be.

“The Horns of Hammerad, fighting? Not in sync?”

Erin finished listening to his account of how things felt so…so bad. It was a relief for Pisces to tell her about his gripes with Ceria’s leadership, the way Colth was acting. And his own guilt for not always being with them. He waited for her to pass judgement, even if she found him in the wrong, but Erin just laughed softly.

“Some things never change.”

“What? Erin, it has not been pleasant. Without Ksmvr—and Vofea—we’ve been at each other’s throats. We nearly killed other adventurers. I went on my own because I couldn’t trust my team and—and Yvlon’s sick and—”

The [Innkeeper] just chuckled more and waved a hand. Little images flashed across the void, tiny as motes of light. Memories.

“Pisces. Do you remember when you guys formed a team after the crypt? You didn’t even have Ksmvr, I just suggested him last-minute. And you and Yvlon hated each other. Remember?”

“I…well, yes. But we worked things out.”

“Sure you did. And there were times you guys got along great. Right up until Yvlon nearly beat you all down because she was so mad. And Ceria’s circlet was going nuts, and—you guys always fight.”

“Not always.”

But he saw her point. There had been moments when he’d thought he’d quit this stupid adventuring team at the start. Wondered what he was doing and…Erin shook her head.

“Colth’s the new kid. He’s been on, what, one big adventure with you? Technically, there was the Stalker raid, but that was pretty short. It was just the Crossroads and the sea battle, really. This is your second long adventure. Of course he’s not fitting in. Low self-esteem issues, that guy.”

“Colth. Colthei. Are we talking about the same fellow? He’s always telling us what real Named-rankers do…”

“Well, yeah, Pisces. Don’t you think all of his senior friends from Larracel’s inn tell him that all the time?”

Pisces opened his mouth, and it was like Erin had levered his head open and inserted a shovelful of understanding. He closed it.

“—He does talk about the inn a lot. And I had observed how he told us stories of them treating him—”

Erin shook her head as she conjured an image of Larracel and her Haven.

“I wish I’d hung out with Larra more, but I feel like we’d have fought. Now? I think we could get along a bit better. I think if she realized how Colth was treated, she’d say he wasn’t being treated fair, Pisces. The guy was a [Slave], and he’s a [Supporter]; he was a kid when they were all Named-rank. They never really let him grow up around them. With you, he’s trying to be the adult, but all the ‘veterans’ sucked.”

“I hadn’t thought about it like that. There was this moment where he didn’t want me to talk with a [Trader] because he was worried she’d prey on me…”

“See? He’s trying to look out for you, and maybe it’s a good lesson, but he’s doing it wrong. Colth’s problem is that he’s good at lots of stuff.”

“…How is that a problem? I don’t follow.”

Again, Erin chuckled.

“It’s a problem because when he’s not good at something, I think he doesn’t realize it. He thinks he’s got to know it all. But you know what? If you guys said, ‘Colth, this is how it’s gotta be, back us up’, I think he might be happy. He’s a [Supporter], not a [Leader]. Sort of, y’know. In the class?”

She waggled her eyebrows at him, and Pisces opened his mouth to refute this Erin-logic…and then just laughed.

“I wish you’d called us all ages ago, Erin.”

He regretted saying that because it was true and it hurt her. She turned her head away.

“I’ve been selfish, Pisces. I was using this place to hurt myself at first. A lot of Skills, actually. Then I stayed away because I was afraid of how everyone would blame me.”

“For what?”

He had no idea what anyone could possibly blame Erin for. Being the target of an evil being’s attack? Getting kidnapped? Erin gazed at him, wide-eyed, then shook her head.

“You really are…hey, Pisces?”

“Yes, Erin?”

“Sorry.”

She leaned against his shoulder, staring into the distance. He couldn’t quite see her face, so he just held still.

“What do you need to apologize for?”

“I’m sorry because I’ve been having a great time in Baleros. I’ve been selfish and not talking to the people I should.”

He gazed down at her wrists. Scarred so badly. And her hair. And her arms which looked…Pisces whispered.

“A great time?”

“As much as I deserve. But you guys didn’t deserve that. You followed me and saved me when I was fighting at sea. You all nearly died, and I didn’t even ask about you for…I don’t know. Ksmvr and Vofea are still missing. Some [Innkeeper], huh?”

He tried to think of words to say.

“I…don’t blame you for that, Erin. You needed help. Vofea told us, so we went. It’s as simple as that. Even if you had known what was coming, if you’d asked, we’d have agreed. I know that. If you threw us into hell itself, you wouldn’t do it without a reason.”

She didn’t answer him. She was only silent, and he didn’t break the silence until she sniffed. Not like he did, haughtily. Just an intake of shuddering breath.

“I’m sorry. I was afraid you’d hate me. Or that you were hurt, and I’d never be able to forgive myself…”

“You were kidnapped by Roshal too, Erin. You survived. I only wish I’d come sooner. And look at you, you’re…”

Fine. He couldn’t say it. Erin glanced up at Pisces, then down at her wrists. She felt at her neck.

“I had a fight with Ulvama, Pisces. She’s with us…I’ve been a really terrible person a lot of the time. Selfish. I’m—I’m not okay, Pisces. I think I broke something on that ship. Or afterwards. Just like every time my friends die.”

He stared at his clenched fists. They were trembling. Pisces shook his head.

“They can’t break us. Not you, Erin. I’m—I’m the one who’s not better. I nearly got myself killed. My team is still in danger. I did it all for something I know won’t change…and I want to do it again. You say I’m not monstrous for killing them? I’d bathe in their blood, Erin. I could kill a thousand of them each day and sleep without problems. That may not be wrong, but it’s not ‘alright’. I’m afraid of what they might make me into.”

Someone who killed without a thought. He hadn’t ever wanted to take lives, but he had done it so easily—Erin glanced up at him, and she understood that, he thought. She brushed at her eyes.

“If you’re worried you’re evil, Pisces, then show me how evil you are. Show me the Necromancer in your heart, or someone as bad as Yazdil.”

He exhaled.

“I…well, I can’t. If it’s there—”

“You can show me any memory you want. Say something horrible, go on.”

“I can’t when you’re watching me.”

He protested, and she chuckled. Put out an arm and hugged him, surprisingly strong.

“Pisces. I have a thousand things to tell you. A thousand things to say. But after hearing what you’ve been doing, none of that is to say, ‘stop, you’re wrong’.”

“But I can’t be better than they are, Erin.”

He whispered it, and she frowned at him. Then pushed herself up. It seemed to take great effort, but then she was standing. He remembered when she’d been bound to a wheelchair. She even felt taller, but perhaps that was her level. Older…she stuck out a hand.

“I never said you couldn’t be angry, Pisces. You have more right to be angry than anyone. You’re allowed to hate them. If you think you’re turning evil or going too far…I can’t read your soul.”

You can’t? He just gazed up at her as she smiled down at him.

“…But I can do what I’ve always done. Which is watch you, Pisces. If you go too far, if I think you’re slipping, I’ll tell you. Until then? Arise, my necromancer.”

He gazed at her fingers, then took her hand, and she pulled him up. Erin patted Pisces on the shoulders.

“I wasn’t there for you. I’m still not. I’m lost on another continent, and it’s taking a long time for me to find my way back. I think…I’m figuring it out. But I promise I’m gonna come back home, Pisces. Maybe different. But when I do—I’ll be there for you again. Okay, Pisces?”

“You’ve been there every moment I needed you. I was just relieved we made it when we did. If only we’d been a bit faster.”

He gazed down at her, and she shook her head, exasperated, eyes shining—then she flicked the hair on his forehead back.

“I’m so dumb. I shouldn’t have worried. It’s easy to talk to you. Ceria, now, she might be weird if she’s actually cursed. But I’ll find the others. Each one. Ksmvr, Vofea…everyone. Just—”

She stared across the empty void.

“There’s so much going on, Pisces. And I can’t be there.”

He touched her arm.

“I don’t expect you to. This is enough.”

She started and shook her head reflexively.

“Don’t be stupid, Pisces. It’s not. I’m leaving you all behind while you’re fighting and dying. I can’t even save a silly [Baker]. I just hurt people around me—”

Her fingers dug into her flesh, and he stopped her as he shook his head. Then he turned and gestured to the door.

“Your door saved my life, Erin. When I saw it, I knew it was you. That got me through my duel.”

“It did? I thought it felt weird when I was waiting, but…”

Her head rose urgently, but Pisces just sniffed, then exhaled. He couldn’t even pretend with her anymore. He just rested a hand on her shoulder.

“That’s all we need, Erin. That’s all we’ve ever needed from you. A moment of encouragement, a drink, or some food when we’re tired. A place to rest. We don’t want you to solve every problem in our lives. We just keep coming back for those moments of wonder we can’t capture anywhere else.”

She shook her head, averting her gaze.

“I’m out of wonder, Pisces. Out of flames, and…I try not to charge you all for it, but the tab always ends up being everything. That’s what it costs to be one of my guests, my friends. I can’t repay it. You’re supposed to be my guests.”

The [Innkeeper] wanted to turn away, but he wouldn’t let her. The [Necromancer] clung to her, for support now, because he was so tired.

“How many of these things did you start? Did you start any war? Every monster, each time you call on us, it’s to save someone else. You never told us to do anything. I have always done what I wanted, Erin. You just…make it easier to be that better person. You may say you cannot help us, far as we are. But Erin, I’m tired. It’s been…a long few days.”

She looked up at him, and whatever he read in her, saw in her changed appearance, she seemed to take in an ocean of changes. She just nodded.

“I’m sorry, Pisces. I’m sorry I haven’t asked until now.”

“That’s quite alright, Erin. But if I may…may I lean on your shoulder a second? I just need to rest.”

She gazed at him, then straightened a bit.

“Yeah, sure.”

He did, lightly, and smiled. He felt then like he could keep standing for a long time.

“I have my team with me, some of them. And another team—a good one—I need to get back to. I am hardly alone. But Erin, if we have a moment, could you tell me about what you’ve been through? And I do have more to share, if you’ll listen.”

“Of course.”

After a bit, Pisces took a step into the empty infinity, and Erin walked with him. She supported his weight as Erin began to talk, and Pisces listened as she sketched out a world as seen through a Fraerling’s eyes, and he noticed how she lied, by omission or just her perspective. But he wouldn’t have interrupted her for anything.

In time, he was strong enough to walk on his own. That was all he needed. Just a moment.

Then it was his turn to tell her more. More and more until he wondered if the other Pisces was…

How long has passed, neither could have said. Erin eventually broke off.

“Darn. I’m the only person who has to spend time here. We could do this for ages. But Ulvama will be worried. And I’m, uh, hungry.”

Her stomach was rumbling. Pisces smiled.

“Why don’t you just call me later?”

“Why don’t I?”

She said it as if the thought hadn’t occurred to her, then a spark appeared in her hazel eyes, and she grinned.

“I will. You’ve gotta go back to doing your Pisces thing, right? The Scourge of Roshal rides again.”

He shook his head.

“That’s not me. It’s just an idea. It’s Bearig and Merr and everyone.”

“Sure it is, buddy.”

“I’m serious, Erin.”

“Okay, pal.”

He caught her arm as she walked him back to the door, and his heart hurt. His hand was trembling suddenly.

“Erin. I can’t even save one girl. I don’t deserve to be called anything. Even if…”

Even if there was an opportunity in the Jester’s attack on him. Erin’s eyes flicked to Pisces, and she saw it in him. She was, after all, far smarter than most people gave her credit for. Then her wondrous gaze twinkled, and for a moment, she laughed.

“Pisces, you made a promise. Not to her or me, but to yourself. If I were Roshal, I’d tremble. Well, actually, if I were Roshal, I’d kill myself. But you know what I mean.”

“I might be too late. I might fail.”

His entire body was shaking, now, with nerves. Back to fear. She turned, and like always, the [Innkeeper] watched one of her first guests wavering. So she gave him a little push. Just in a different way each time.

“You’ve got to try. So let’s make it official, Pisces.”

She closed her eyes. Then her lips moved—and she lifted something up in her hands. A glowing little scroll. She posted it into the side of the doorframe with a hammer and a glowing nail, and he heard it.

Toc.

Then she pushed at his back, laughing. Cackling, really. She flung the door open, and he heard her as she kicked him out of her inn. But he was running before his foot passed through the doorway, and he opened his eyes.

<Personal Heroic Quest — Save Her!>

Find Lleta, Pisces. Bring her to safety, no matter what it takes.

Optional Condition (Impossible): Save them all.

——

The television was abuzz with the latest. Pisces the Scourge attacked in a nightspot by a Face of Chandrar and…victorious?

No one had footage of the battle. The most you could see were explosions, parts of the nightclub blowing outwards, the animation spell before that—

Some eyewitnesses, but everyone had fled when the fighting had started. One Stitch-girl described being held captive and Pisces the Bane coming back in to save her—

Roshal’s Slaver Guild, unavailable for comment.

Ceria Springwalker, unavailable for comment.

Plenty of people available for comment. All of whom didn’t count, weren’t important, and who didn’t know anything.

Prince Weith was fighting with Princess Lithic to be on television as an exasperated Drassi tried to get anything useful out of them.

“—attacked under our royal protection! They shall regret that, Assassin’s Guild or not!”

“Right, right, but if you could move aside so I can see the club? I get it, you bravely ran away. Also, your kingdom tried to assassinate me, so shut up.”

With that, she leaned out of the scrying orb again. She dangled from her waist as everyone recoiled.

“Darn, I can only get this far out. Also, it only works on one person at a time. Excuse me! Pisces? Sneeze twice if you’re dead! Can anyone actually brave carry me up there for a look?”

The sight of a Drake half-leaning over her desk, tail suspended in the air, was a good sideshow. But everyone was waiting.

Alive meant a lot of things. How many limbs did he have? How much poison? And had he levelled?

About two hours had passed, and the only people who’d gone in were Wildcard; the [Soldiers] were keeping everyone else back, even the royals.

Well, the royalty were highly attached to their own heads, and if the Face were around…a second attempt when everyone had let their guards down was very likely, as Weith and Lithic well knew. But they’d been insulted, so they were preparing to castigate Drassi before heading up.

Sadly, they lost the momentum to Prince Yosoc, who arose, tossing his cloak out behind him.

“As I was sadly poisoned, I missed the fighting. But let it not be said that I, Prince Yosoc, hide behind [Reporters]. Miss Drassi, I should be delighted to give you a view of the fighting, even should the entire Assassin’s Guild fall upon my head!”

That bastard. He had the scrying orb and was ascending a [Light Bridge] spell before Weith and Lithic could move, and his bodyguards were fighting theirs as they tried to grab the orb from him. However, the floorshow gave way to a figure appearing in the ruined opening of The Djinni’s Hour. Everyone recoiled, and Yosoc held his cloak up like a shield…then paused.

Oh.

It was only Lareceina. She had blood on her robes, was filthy, and looked like someone had, well, collapsed half a building on top of her. She limped down the stairs with Kusal and Leo flanking her.

“Is that…the team the Horns fought? No, they were on guard duty. At least one of them earned their keep.”

Kusal and Leo were very unhappy by Drassi’s commentary, but she was taking no prisoners today. Nor slaves.

Lareceina halted midway down the [Light Bridge] and cast a simple [Loudness] spell. Without preamble, she called out.

“I am Lareceina of the Gold-rank team Wildcard. We have executed our task in defending Pisces Jealnet, known as the Scourge of Roshal—or possibly Bane—from a Face of the Assassin’s Guild. The Jester has fled after prolonged battle, and I hereby declare my contract fulfilled in good faith given what is about to happen next.”

Everyone stared at her. She was making sense, but not being the most helpful about actual details they wanted. Lareceina went on.

“Furthermore, I would like to take this moment to clarify that my team, Wildcard, are upstanding Gold-rank adventurers that neither endorse nor support Pisces the Bane’s attacks on Roshal. We took this contract purely out of monetary desire as well as a favor to the crown of Nerrhavia’s Fallen. I personally disagree with any breaking of laws—”

At this point, Kusal and Leo rolled their eyes, and Drassi leaned forwards.

“Prince Yosoc? You wouldn’t happen to have a brick you could huck at her head, would you?”

He was obligingly hunting around for one when Lareceina broke off. She had insisted on maintaining her team’s good reputation, or at least, neutrality with everyone. Given how nasty a Face of the Assassin’s Guild was…even her teammates couldn’t really blame her.

Really, Pisces had to admire her too. Because Lareceina was an untruther on the level of Bird the Liar. No one was actively casting [Detect Truth] on her, so she was getting away with it. Drassi’s smile was fixed as she watched Lareceina, eyes flicking past her to the open club.

Good statements from Wildcard. If Pisces could have avoided a second attack from the Assassin’s Guild on him…well, he wouldn’t. But Wildcard weren’t ready to make an enemy of Roshal. They had to live here for the moment.

He had promised to go home with someone. But first…he had made another promise.

When he emerged in the opening above the street, everyone pointed. Lareceina kept talking for a bit, then Kusal nearly kicked her down the light bridge. She turned, and he stood there.

He could have changed clothing and freshened up in the two hours he’d had. But he’d felt, accurately, that this left more of a dramatic impression. And he’d been waiting to know what Erin said.

Now…the <Quest> was in his mind. He didn’t think she could see him. That was okay. He’d tell her in a bit. Or they’d record it.

“Pisces!”

Drassi broke the silence first. She had [Greater Resistance: Surprise]. Pisces nodded to her, but he began walking down the [Light Bridge] spell.

He still hurt all over. But Wildcard had helped patch him up a bit more and gathered all the damn bones. He hoped he hadn’t missed any. They’d done a bit of talking, waited to see if the Jester was coming back—he suspected she might have teleported all the way back to Lailight Scintillation, or a base at least.

She would return. But as Erin had alluded to, there was something Pisces had to do.

“Pisces, I’m glad you’re alive! You’re on television. Are you, uh…dying? Because we can get a [Healer]. Ancestors, he’s covered in blood.”

Drassi called out as Pisces did his best not to trip and fall face-first down the ramp. Which was a real possibility. New levels or not, he was exhausted.

“Yonder stands a true adventurer, one who has fought a Face of Chandrar! Better to fight a sandstorm of blades than to cross blades with one—and still he stands. I ask, is this a Gold-rank adventurer to fight a Face, whom all and sundry know is above Level 50? Or is this a Named-rank adventurer?”

He punched a fist into the air, still holding the brick, and he was pulling at the people on the street. They began to cheer. Yosoc was manufacturing a moment for Pisces.

It wasn’t even a bad one, and he did have social Skills. But Pisces interrupted the [Prince]’s flow by reaching Yosoc…and walking straight past him. Drassi half-turned, holding a microphone out.

“Er, Pisces? Pisces, Drassi here. Selys’ friend? C’mon, I served you drinks at—wait, is he doing that thing where he walks out and collapses? Does he have arrows in his back? No? Good, phew.”

He didn’t say anything. He didn’t turn. He just walked down the [Light Bridge], onto the street, and past Prince Weith and Lithic. They wanted to clap him on the shoulders, pose for the cameras…he strode past them. The people on the street began to jostle forwards—then pulled back.

Possibly because he’d just drawn his rapier. The blade was still made of Stellar Ivory, and it would remain that way. Unenchanted. After all, Pisces had just learned the only enchantment he needed.

An active enchantment. He walked towards the [Soldiers], who took one look at him and slammed to the side of the street. One of them shouted.

“If any [Assassin] is among us—kindly reveal yourselves, as we are but humble soldiers of Nerrhavia’s Fallen and not part of a second bloodbath!”

‘Second bloodbath’ also worked to clear people away. Chandrarians were a very funny people, Pisces decided. Self-aware about stories.

He kept moving. He saw people parting in front of him, pointing, staring at his bloody armor…

“Pisces? Pisces. What’s going on? Is the Face around?”

Drassi appeared next to him as Prince Yosoc jogged to keep up. Pisces’ head was turning right and left. He hoped she was playing dumb. He hoped no one got it. But he didn’t know…

It was, in the end, a very technical thing he was counting on. Wording. He bet Ceria would get it and only hoped she could tell Yisame. The [Queen] was a savvy woman. But he supposed he had to say it to give her an excuse. So he turned and glanced at Drassi.

Her eyes were wide and full of worry. But there was also that strange expression there. Pride. She was looking at him like…it was embarrassing, so Pisces glanced past her. Down the street.

“Drassi. I was instructed by Queen Yisame to return to the capital. By the order of Nerrhavia’s Fallen, she gave me clear instructions. She forbade me from attacking any member of Roshal or anyone aligned with the Guild of Slavers. Any unprovoked attack would incur her personal wrath.”

“…Okay? And how do you feel about that, Pisces?”

The Drake stared at Pisces. He couldn’t tell if she was playing dumb; she was on camera. But maybe there was a twinkle in her eyes, suddenly.

Pisces just turned and kept moving. During the two hours he’d been gathering his strength, he had been making a crude plan of sorts. Very basic.

One of the things Wildcard had brought was a map. And he’d been staring at it for a while as Lareceina cast some [Message] spells for him. Just polite inquiries. Harmless. In theory.

He was striding now, blade still bared, and Yosoc turned the scrying orb as he went. The [Prince] was mouthing too.

“Of course the Queen would do nothing less to an ally such as Roshal’s. But they have offended her—with some cause. It shall be a matter for the Court of Silks, much less an assassination in royal presence, but there are precedents. Why, though, would…”

He figured it out around the same time as some of the viewers in the audience. Princess Lithic got it and drew in a sharp breath.

Prince Weith took a bit longer. He glanced around suspiciously. Pisces was jogging, now. Moving down the street faster.

You could just see the little gears turning in people’s heads. One of the Mad Ones, who had come out to see what was going on, was spelling it out for a few in the audience.

“He’s talking about what he was told he couldn’t do. If he attacked anyone first, she’d have to have him arrested. The key word is ‘unprovoked’. Now, there was just a Face of the Assassin’s Guild, which belongs to Roshal, attacking him. We call this ‘provocation’. Also, Adventurer Lareceina did say ‘what comes next’. That’s called foreshadowing. Now—”

Ah.

It was the kind of wording a [Necromancer] paid attention to. Or an [Innkeeper]. Some people still didn’t get it until they saw Pisces’ jogging transition into a full run. Then they stared at the sword. His eyes, which were intent as he ran down the street.

His name. Which everyone knew—but—but this was a city. He hadn’t attacked in here because of the law. Because…

No one had tried to attack him inside the city’s gates. But if there was any cause that might excuse a man’s actions, perhaps ‘nearly being assassinated by a Face of Roshal’ might…

At that point, an alarm bell began to ring. Not [Dangersense]; that had been going off in every single person’s head who had the Skill, oh, half an hour ago. They’d put it down to something else or the Face and the Scourge fighting.

The alarm bell in this case was an actual alarm bell, an enchanted one in the Slaver’s Guild. It was the one you rang when everyone had to just run. It was loud, and yes, it had been triggered by the Slaver’s Guild’s headquarters in Lailight Scintillation.

They weren’t idiots. The moment they’d seen Pisces draw that sword, some of the people there had figured out what might happen. Sadly—

The television was on a five minute delay.

——

The [Slavers] were pouring out of their Guild and into the streets, trying to saddle horses or just ride or run.

That helped Pisces quite a bit; they should have hidden inside and locked the doors. He was leaping down the street. [Flash Step]—not the other spells. [Flash Leap] actually had a lot of momentum, and you jumped with it. He had no practice with that.

They were armed. And surely, they could see how wounded he was. The Scourge looked like a dead man running. Some took aim, glancing from left to right to assure themselves of victory. They wavered when they saw the undead at Pisces’ back, Skeleton Champions running.

Even so…they saw him pointing a finger over their heads and took cover. The [Slavers] were snarling, rats prepared to fight to the death in front of their warren. Until he cast the only spell he had mana left for.

A flash of dazzling light. The guards threw themselves down, crying out. They thought it was aimed at them until they looked up. He’d missed?

No. The illusion spell was just that. It passed overhead, shooting over the city of Halqued, glowing particles landing on the roofs, pieces of a rainbow falling as the citizens peered up. Bits of color; a comet shooting across Chandrar’s skies.

It sapped the strength in the limbs of the [Slave Guards] who saw it. Conjured that name to their lips. Then they saw him running towards them. Blade drawn.

In that moment, the two became a single idea. Death of Chains. Scourge of Roshal. The first archer tossed down her weapons, just dropped them and fled, shedding everything she could carry. Then the next—and the next—

A [Slave Master] tried to rally the guards, but they took one look at the [Death’s Blade] that Pisces held, under the glowing comet’s light, and they fled.

Or maybe it was the two bells hanging from the rapier. One was the Bell of Challenges, which lay silent. The other?

Gold. And it did ring, because he was no expert beyond reproach. He had just earned it the old-fashioned way. Besting a Gold-bell Duelist.

No one could argue with that. Not even…

“Padurn Jealnet?”

The [Fencer] was a block of wood. A pillar of ice. A statue with [Eternal Stasis] cast on it. He only reacted the sixth time Drassi called his name.

She was smiling as the scrying spell zoomed out. Prince Yosoc was sprinting after Pisces, but she’d gone back to her studio.

“Mister Jealnet? I was wondering if you had thoughts on your son’s newest bell. We appear to be watching the Scourge of Roshal taking vengeance for his near-assassination. Which seems at least partially justified. I’m no expert on Chandrarian law, but Guild of Assassins, Roshal.”

She made two boxes on the desk with her claws. Overlapped them.

“Tragic. Viewers may wish to look away. Anyways, Fencer Padurn! How does it feel to have your son surpass you at less than half your age?”

She folded her claws together and rested her chin on them. Padurn did respond, then. The entire Court of Ailendamus was watching his broadcast. People across the Kingdom of Glass and Glory, across Terandria, the world, saw Padurn fix his eyes on his lifelong obsession. His son, still covered in blood. Then Padurn drew a breath and said—

“A Gold-bell won through a duel with a Gold-bell [Duelist] is unequivocally earned.”

Drassi exhaled and smiled. She opened her mouth, and Padurn continued.

“—If it were earned in a solo duel. Which it was not. A Gold-bell [Duelist] has the right to bestow such a bell only if two or more such duelists are in agreement.”

Drassi Tewing sat utterly still for a moment, just staring at Padurn. Then she exhaled.

“…Huh. You know, I didn’t expect anything better of you, but wow. Okay, let me just, uh, call up the Maestro and King of Duels. How about that?”

Padurn’s eyes never left the scrying orb.

“The individual known as the ‘Jester’ is not a recognized Gold-bell Duelist. A roving [Assassin] who slaughters actual Gold-bell—”

Drassi would have jumped through the screen, but one of her [Journalists] grabbed her.

“Drassi, don’t—”

“Let go of me, I just want to hit him. Let go of—”

“He’s a [Fencer]! He’ll cut you, and we don’t know if you actually bleed with the Skill!”

“I’m just going to—”

Her image turned black, which left Padurn Jealnet as the only host of Channel 2 news. The worst [News Anchor] in Channel 2 history stood there in dead silence for half a minute.

The Scourge was fighting down the street. Cutting down fleeing [Slavers]. But he was running. He didn’t want them? Padurn whispered, perhaps forgetting he was on television.

“I have never attempted to understand what goes on inside that head of yours. What are you doing? Is there no limit to how many rules you must break?”

The Scourge was advancing. And he was not alone; Prince Weith was running after him, sword raised, and his [Bodyguards]. Even some civilians. Nerrhavia’s Fallen had been attacked after all, insulted. And perhaps the Scourge’s words to the [Prince] still burned.

Skeleton Champions were sprinting after Pisces. Padurn’s face twisted in a grimace as Pisces ran on. He only slowed once and turned his head, questing left and right, as if hearing something foul. Then he shook his head and ran on.

Five minute delays. It took about that long for Padurn to figure out what was going on. He saw, of course, [Slaves] being led out onto the street. A Gnoll, who was being unshackled—other [Slaves] who’d been in holding, awaiting masters.

That was Wildcard’s doing. They were pounding ahead of Pisces, shouting.

“Set them free! Set them free or he’ll kill you!”

Captain Leonardo was riding on a horse, shouting, and he had run into the Slaver’s Guild to tell them to unshackle whomever they had—then run. One of the Guild’s [Receptionists] was clinging to his arm.

“You have to stop him! Please—”

Leo looked back at Pisces, who was running towards them. The [Tennis Champion] eyed the glowing blade, Pisces, and raised his hands.

“Uh…we’re not being paid enough for that.”

He turned his head so no one caught his expression as Pisces ran by.

No sum in the world.

But that was only…half of what Pisces was aiming for. He advanced past the Guild, leaving the Skeleton Champions and the others to keep fighting. He was headed for somewhere else, the viewers and Padurn realized. He was running faster now, desperate.

——

It was, in fact, the same district where Pisces had stayed twice. A rich area with mansions for the wealthy in the city of Halqued. A Silk district. It was where a prominent [Slave Trainer] lived.

Pisces was out of mana again. He tried gulping down a mana potion, but he was well and truly in mana burn. Body agonized and beaten, newly healed.

Yet he kept going.

There. He saw the mansion was in chaos, doors open, staff and guards in the streets. Because of course, the moment the owner of the mansion had seen him charge the Slaver’s Guild, she must have had a thought.

Once they’re dead, what about me? And she had bought [Slaves] from the Slaver’s Guild, the same ones he’d been involved with.

At least one.

The people of the city were in the streets, staring at him. Rich Silk-folk who shrank back from his bloody passing, trying not to catch his eyes. Those with nothing to fear holding scrying orbs showing a [Fencer] on screen, watching a running figure’s progress from above.

Pisces saw it all, and yet it all blurred before him. He was searching the street, the [Slaves] being loaded onto carriages as they took off, for a single figure. A flash of scales. Where—where—

He thought he saw a tail being whisked into a carriage as the [Driver] lashed the horses and drove it forwards. Another was being loaded up with children dressed like miniature [Butlers] and [Maids]. Pisces hesitated, but there was more than one—

“Back, back! We are law-abiding citizens of—”

A panicking Stitch-man tried to swing a long paddle at Pisces. Something you’d hit someone with to discipline them. It bounced off of Pisces’ armor as he climbed up into the carriage seat. His glowing blade rammed through the Stitch-man’s chest, and the figure convulsed. Fell over, then rose, a zombie. The other [Slavers] screamed as the zombie came at them.

Another wagon—Pisces flicked his wrist. [Shatterbolt]—it blew one of the wheels to pieces, and the terrified [Slavers] got out and started fleeing.

At least two carriages going towards the gates. He should have had Skeleton Champions secure them. The children inside the carriage stared at him.

“Don’t let them take you again. I’ll be back.”

He shouted and started running down the street. The inhabitants of the mansion who were [Slavers] were either hiding or already long fled. All save for one.

A Stitch-woman was running down the street ahead of Pisces. It looked like a horse had kicked her out of the saddle. She must have lashed it too hard, because the [Slave Trainer] who owned the mansion and all the [Slaves] was fleeing just ahead of Pisces. He sprinted at her, sword raised. Eyes roaming for the carriages—

“Unbelievable. First, you break the law. Then you turn your sword on the unarmed, the helpless? They cannot fight back. How low must you sink?”

A voice made Pisces stumble. He slowed—and he would have known that voice anywhere. But how—?

It was in dozens of scrying orbs around him, held by the crowd. A single face sneering at him, or the image of him. It still looked like Padurn Jealnet was staring right at Pisces.

His father. Pisces froze, gazing into the scrying orbs. The man was white-faced with anger and shock. He truly…

Didn’t understand anything. But he saw what he saw: Pisces, his son, a Silver-bell duelist about to cut down an unarmed woman from behind. His eyes were filled with such abhorrence.

Just like when he looked at undead. Or anything that Pisces had ever loved besides the sword. The young man was frozen, standing there.

He knew they were all running. The screaming [Slave Trainer]. The carriage with Lleta. But Padurn’s words were like a brand on his back. Pisces just halted there until Padurn whispered.

“Can you hear me, boy?”

Five minutes of delay. Pisces jerked and saw the [Slave Trainer] almost at the end of the street. The carriages—he raised a hand, and a skeleton horse began to rise from the bones flowing from his bag of holding, but that damn voice.

“She has no weapon. She is unarmed. Innocent. You do not know her. She did not attack you.”

Padurn Jealnet spoke like the training master he had been, barking every sentence down like it was set in stone. His eyes were a cold grey blaze in his face, and Pisces raised his rapier. Studying the weapon of bone. The bells that hung there were silent.

Then Pisces took a breath and pulled himself up onto the skeleton horse’s back. He turned and his face was caught by every scrying orb.

——

The Arbiter Queen was watching from her throne with her father, who was listening, studying his own golden bell. Admiring the other Pisces carried, which he had nothing like.

——

Selys Shivertail was sitting on the counter of her Guild as the [Assassins] watched a man who had bested a true legend from their home. Rhata was running around in circles as Haldagaz waited, a scholar listening for an answer to an argument he could have made.

——

Ceria Springwalker was sitting in the magical carriage that had come to a halt on its mad rush, next to Colthei and a slumbering Yvlon. The [Armsmistress] was smiling in her sleep. Colth was covering his mouth as Elena and Delitandra hugged each other, waiting.

——

So many more. Little Gnoll girls, [Princesses] off and on ships, and Archmages. And…

The Death of Chains was sitting in the air. Gazing down at a spark that people said she had fanned into being. She had done nothing, barely paid attention to him. She had merely set him free.

It was…everything, she knew. Now, she waited. Hearing her own voice in her ears to answer this little man. Waiting for his.

She saw the Scourge of Roshal turn, and Pisces Jealnet spoke once as he kicked the undead horse forwards.

“Innocent? You ignorant fool. It was not empty when she grabbed their collars. It was not empty when they raised their hands and you could not see what they did. No hand which holds chains is empty.”

Then he was riding down the street, sword raising. Czautha saw it flash down once as he passed the [Slave Trainer]. He didn’t look back, didn’t gaze at the blood on his blade. He was riding onwards, now, through the gates. Chasing the fleeing carriages.

The Death of Chains exhaled as the father stood there.

Trying to come up with a reply to best his son. But Pisces couldn’t hear him anymore.

He was trying to keep his promise.

——

…But he was failing. At last, his strength had given way. It was just…

His skeleton horse was galloping as fast as it could move. The carriages were heavier, but there was a team of horses being whipped to run, and the wheels were enchanted. The [Drivers] must have had Skills.

That was all.

Had he the mana, he might have caught them with [Flash Step]. But the trail of dust kept getting smaller. He was gasping.

“No. Please…”

She was right in front of him. Almost. Almost…he was reaching out, as if he could pull them back from the horizon. And perhaps there was magic for that too. But he couldn’t focus. Pisces’ head dipped down. He saw the two dustclouds separate…and there were more figures moving.

He was losing them among the traffic on the road ahead of him. Pisces didn’t have tracking spells, and if they got away or just bought time until Roshal sent reinforcements or Yisame ordered him to halt again?

Pisces’ eyes followed the leftwards trail of dust, a tiny cloud rising. It ran into a cluster of dots. More dust on the horizon. Then he lost track of the carriage. He was riding closer and trying to pick it out.

But all he saw were figures, mounted…Pisces galloped forwards. Then he saw blades catching the light.

Guards. There were dozens—no, maybe over a hundred of them. He glanced down at the unenchanted rapier he carried. He was out of Skills, out of mana.

He kept riding. The little riders were circling around. Defending the carriage and its escort, which had come to a halt. One, then. He’d lose the other, and it was one versus…

Wait. Pisces saw one of the [Riders] hacking at something as he galloped forwards. They were cutting at…the carriage? And it had stopped. Surely they’d escort it onwards and block him.

But the [Slavers] on horseback were racing right and left. And the new [Riders] were…chasing them? Pisces saw one figure on horseback racing away from the road. Turning—then jerking.

Falling. Then he saw a figure leap down and plant a sword in their back. Drive the blade down three times, then raise it.

The other [Slavers] were dropping. And the wagon—someone was opening the doors, lifting figures out, pointing a bow into it at someone who came out, hands raised. They fell to their knees before an arrow nailed them to the side of the coach. The dead [Slaver] hung there, blood running into the sand.

Another [Rider] swept past the carriage, bow raised. They loosed, drew an arrow, loosed again. Pisces saw the number of living bodies in the carriage decrease by two.

A man was on the ground, running towards another [Slaver] who had jumped out and was trying to mount one of the horses missing a rider. He ignored the panicked blade that slashed across his face and chest and swung down.

More red. He hacked the body three times on the ground, then turned. The [Slavers] were all dying.

It was so quick. This group fought like they had no care for their wounds, shouting, a note of wild fury in the air. And triumph.

Pisces hadn’t looked in a mirror since he’d left Halquad all that time ago. So the sight of this attack astonished him. He halted for a moment.

“Is it…?”

He didn’t believe it at first. There was no dustcloud. And she had been leaving. But then Pisces had another thought.

What if…it wasn’t Merr? He focused ahead, and there was something familiar about another group of [Riders] streaming rightwards. After the second carriage. A very familiar feeling indeed.

Death magic. He could almost see through the eyes of a figure who sat cross-legged on the back of a running bear made out of bones. It was racing after the others, and they were being led by someone who held a short weapon in both hands.

Cleavers. They were following the second carriage. Now he knew who it was. Pisces whispered as his heart leapt.

“Bearig.”

The [Rebels] were shouting and finishing the [Slavers] as Pisces galloped past them. He saw a Stitch-woman tug down her veil.

“Scourge, the other one is there! Go, go! [Let Evil Not Escape]!”

Half the [Riders] with her saw the pursuit and whirled. They rode behind Pisces, shouting, and then he was amidst them. He turned his head and saw the man who’d been on foot grabbing an arm and being hauled onto a horse’s back.

Scars all over his body. Hemp—he was barely cut from the blade, and his eyes were locked on the second carriage. He was holding a dagger between his teeth, and he’d been carrying a huge scimitar in one hand, throwing daggers in the other.

The woman he was riding with had a recurve bow and was putting another arrow to the string. But Pisces had never seen arrows as jagged at these. Each one had tiny little nails fused to the arrowhead, angled so they’d enter but catch if you pulled them out. Hand-made barbed tips.

The armor of both [Rebels] was also mixed and matched. The archer wore three different pieces of chainmail, each one enchanted, cobbled together.

The woman that Pisces recognized was mounted on a new horse. A charger with barding, eyes covered. She had a lance in hand and was riding like a [Knight]. They were all following the other carriage.

“It is getting away! [Weighed Down by My Pain].”

The Hemp Stitch-man saw the second carriage was faster and flung out a hand. Pisces’ head whipped around, and he saw the carriage—slow. Was something hanging off it?

The [Rebels] and Pisces were streaming down the road, but Pisces’ eyes were on the man leading the second wave, trying to catch the carriage.

The enchanted carriage was throwing everything it had at them. The [Rebel] broke off slashing at one wheel and threw up a hand—a [Lightning Bolt] shot at him. He—bounced the spell off his cleavers, but the carriage accelerated.

Cursing, Bearig kicked his horse after it, but another [Lightning Bolt] was being fired from the window. A figure rode into it, and it illuminated Ivery’s bones. But then the Skeleton Lord was spreading his arms. Grinning like Toren once had.

He ate two more [Lightning Bolts] as the Warbear, Bearbones, reached the carriage’s side. Ivery grabbed the roof and swung himself onto it. He hurled a rock down at the roof, began stomping, and then drew his sword—

Spears from the inside jabbed through the roof and hit him in the chest. The Skeleton Lord wobbled, then slashed at the driver. He managed two blows before a swerve threw him; he grabbed onto one door and began dragging along the ground. The carriage door opened, and spears struck at him as he hung on. His glowing flame-eyes were fixed on something behind him.

Hurry up, hurry up this sort of hurts—

The distracted occupants of the carriage didn’t realize that Bearig had caught them until the man threw the cleaver.

It went through the driver’s chest, and the horses began to slow. The second cleaver hit a wheel, and the carriage was turning in a circle, now. Slower…

Bearig re-armed himself and leapt from the saddle as the rest of the [Rebels] encircled the carriage. Then—Pisces heard his voice.

“Exit the carriage without the [Slaves]. There’s no hostage to take nor anywhere to run. Hurt them and we’ll make this slow.”

Pisces was suddenly amongst them. Riding forwards. Bearig turned, and the two halted in astonishment.

The [Necromancer] was tall for a Human, and he remembered a shorter, fatter man with a timid smile and gentle bearing. Now, the [Rebel] was of a height with him and barrel-chested. Muscle was taut as he lifted a bloody cleaver, the edge battle-worn, just like his expression. His voice was a bellow, a solid note in the air, and he smelled of fury and sweat.

Yet when he put out an arm to stop Pisces, his eyes widened, and then he smiled. And that was Bearig. When his eyes turned to the coach, he focused on the children, and he only saw them.

Not the [Slavers].

The last of the [Slavers] were crouched in the open carriage. Each one had a blade to the throat of at least one child. A shaking Garuda, Stitch-child, and a Drake girl…

She wasn’t trembling. She was staring at him as Pisces dismounted. One of the [Slavers] screamed.

“Give us horses and you get them alive—if not, corpses! No arguments! We’ll kill them all, our honor on it!”

Bearig spat on the ground.

“We don’t negotiate. You’ll die ten thousand deaths. Come out and meet your fate. You of cloth—you have just as many lives to live if we restitch you. I swear that upon your worthless honor.”

His voice was thunderous. He was still the huge [Cook] in some ways, but he was imposing. The same determination that had emerged at the battle of the oasis turned into a fierce confidence. Again, he stopped Pisces from drawing a bead on one of the [Slavers]. He could hit one with [Deathbolt] if they didn’t react, but the other two…

“You’ll damn children. Be reasonable!”

One of the [Slavers] cried. There were at least a dozen children in the carriage with him, and he had an enchanted dagger. Pisces was frozen with indecision, but then Bearig’s voice became cool.

“Reasonable says the man who takes children as [Slaves].”

“They’re worth more than you or I. Listen, we’ll ruin a fortune and countless lives. You wouldn’t want that.”

They were trying to negotiate in something like earnestness, but even how they spoke…Pisces shifted, then went still. Bearig raised his brows, putting his cleavers into holsters at his side. The [Slavers] relaxed fractionally, but they were watching Pisces, tensed.

“Aye, a fortune, is it? Then what’s the half-Elf worth? Ten fortunes? None will save you. So put them down, and maybe there’ll be mercy as you deserve.”

The half-Elf? One of the [Slavers] turned and grabbed the half-Elf boy, abandoning the Drake girl.

“Listen, we’ve gold. You can have both it and the children if—”

He was thinking to have them just bring horses out. Then he’d grab a child and ride; they’d be afraid of hitting him. Damn the others. The [Slaver] was so desperate it only occurred to him after half a second to question something.

Half-Elf? Slave Mistress Hisqua loved buying prospective [Slaves], but half-Elves were in high demand since they lived so long. They were somewhat rare and expensive. She didn’t have any—

Rophir slashed off the second [Slaver]’s arm and stuck a shiv up the third’s jaw, into his brain. He grabbed the arm before it could spasm and cut his hostage. The boy hopped out of the carriage as the children screamed, and the two [Slavers] spilled onto the ground.

The Stitch-man who’d been holding a dagger at Rophir’s throat admired the simplicity of the attacks.

A true [Assassin]’s action. Splendid, glorious work. The trainer of this boy had been a genius. Vaguely, he wondered why he hadn’t reacted or done anything when the boy had revealed his true colors.

Then it occurred to the [Slaver].

Ah, of course. He was already dead.

——

[Delayed Kill]. The third [Slaver] fell over as two diagonal wounds nearly cleaved his head from his body. Rophir paused, turned, and lifted two fingers on each hand. He posed with his daggers.

“Endless silks, Rophir! You had us sweating! Enough with the showing off!”

Rebel Nathpe swung herself out of the saddle, laughing. Pisces just stood there as the half-Elf boy gave her a frown.

He opened his mouth, glanced at Pisces, then closed it and sidled around the carriage. He began poking at the Skeleton Lord, who was still clinging to one carriage door, two spears buried in his ribcage.

Ow, ow, ow. Stop that. Was I cool?

Ivery sat up as Bearbones loped over. Only then did the second group of [Rebels] and the reinforcements appear. Qshom came galloping down the hill.

“We don’t have long. Is he here? I—Pisces!”

The [Necromancer] was swaying on his feet. Bearig had turned to him after checking the children were unharmed. He strode over, arms spread, but then stopped.

“Bearig?”

Pisces looked like he had just been freed from slavery. Possibly…worse. His robes were torn, and he was pale and sweating. Mana burnt. Exhausted, hair blown crazily, desperate. Bearig studied him, then extended a hand.

“We came as fast as we could, but Merr got word to us, and then we heard you had been found by Nerrhavia’s Fallen. When we heard of the Face…I thought they’d come from this gate if they took you prisoner. It was all we could do.”

They’d been preparing to ambush a Face? Pisces blinked at him, and Bearig turned to indicate the [Rebels].

“We couldn’t bring that many. We’re wanted both by Nerrhavia’s Fallen and Roshal. I’ve stolen your face for this, Pisces. No one would fear a [Cook], and my family is still out there. I’m sorry. I hoped you’d underst—”

He broke off. Pisces had stumbled forward and put his arms around Bearig’s shoulders. The [Necromancer] half-collapsed as Bearig caught him.

“My friend. You made it. Thank you. Thank you for catching them. I’m…I’m a bit tired, Bearig. I’m sorry, but will you help me? Just for a second?”

He just needed a shoulder. Bearig gazed down at Pisces, and the same adventurer who had fought and helped keep the [Cook], the [Tailor], the other [Slaves] alive when they’d been freed…

Bearig put an arm around Pisces’ shoulder, then picked the [Necromancer] up. Pisces protested faintly, but Bearig just turned.

“You’ve lent us blade and magic and face for so long—of course. Anything we can pay back. Someone get to fuzzing scrying spells on us. They’ll be coming out of the city. Get the children mounted and ready to go. Do we hit the gates?”

“They freed the ones in the city.”

“Then we don’t risk it. I want us riding in one minute!”

Bearig did put Pisces down so the [Necromancer] could ride his horse; he seemed to object to being carried in Bearig’s arms, even if the former [Cook] assured him he could and had done it before.

Pisces had something to do first. He took a few wobbling steps over the sand, ignoring the blood and the bodies. His eyes were fixed on a little figure who stood there, staring up at him.

Lleta was wearing a black-and-white [Maid]’s outfit speckled with blood. [Slave] training. Her dusky green scales were dusty, and her eyes were big as she glanced around at the dead bodies. But she just waited until Pisces sank to one knee.

That took the last of his energy. The [Necromancer] searched for words.

I’m sorry I took so long. 

I wish I’d done this from the start. 

I’m so sorry.

He didn’t know what she’d been through already. On this long and terrible journey or when she’d been sold. He was afraid to know.

Lleta was the first one to break the silence. She fumbled for something in her outfit’s pockets, then produced a tiny, white handkerchief. She wiped at his face.

“Adventurer, you’re hurt.”

He blinked at her, lost for words. The little handkerchief didn’t really do much to the dried blood on his face. But the Drake girl kept dabbing.

“I knew you’d come back. I knew it. Verg didn’t believe me. No one did. But I kept waiting because I knew you’d do something. Then everyone heard about the caravans and I knew. I just had to wait, because…because that’s what adventurers do.”

Her voice was trembling. She put down the handkerchief after a moment. Swallowed.

“Even when it was really scary and hard, I just kept waiting. Did you save Verg too?”

Pisces had seen the Gnoll when he’d run past the Slaver’s Guild. He didn’t know where he was, but he looked into those huge, brown eyes and rasped.

“I’ll get him. You’re safe now, Lleta.”

“Yes. I know.”

Solemnly, she folded the handkerchief and put it in her pockets. Then she stepped forwards and hugged him. Hesitantly at first, then she buried her head in the remains of his robes.

“Did they hurt you, Adventurer Pisces? You look really, really bad. You must’ve had to kill a lot of bad guys. I’m sorry.”

He heard a muffled sound, and she started crying. The [Necromancer] patted her on the back.

“No. No…it’s fine, Lleta. It was easier than the Adult Creler. I would do it again. A thousand times. You’re safe now.”

“I know.”

She kept crying. He didn’t know what to do, so Pisces just kept patting her on the back until someone turned. Bearig was back.

The former-[Cook] was gentle, but he picked the girl up. They’d cleared the carriage out. She didn’t want to get back inside, though, so he let her ride with him. Pisces saw his skeleton horse was waiting for him, too. He got on it as Lleta watched him.

Then they were racing away from the city, and Bearig was asking about the [Slaves] that Roshal would surely re-collar. He sent volunteers to see if they were there and saw the [Slaves] riding out the gates, half on horseback, others bundled into carriages.

Wildcard’s doing. Or perhaps someone in the city who understood. Then they were streaming eastwards, dodging tracking spells, and Pisces felt himself falling asleep. So Rophir did a flying leap off his horse and grabbed the reins. Pisces blinked and—

——

—Found himself riding into the night as Bearig split the groups a third time, sending decoys with his face racing north—

Ivery and Bearbones were riding next to Pisces, and the Skeleton Lord was menacing a trio of Skeleton Champions sitting in a commandeered carriage. The lesser undead were staring at the weirdest undead they’d ever seen. Ivery was silently telling them to be nice to the [Rebels] or he’d smash their skulls in.

Nice? To the living? He was crazy. They only stopped staring at Ivery when Pisces whispered.

“He’s everything you need to become. Don’t you see?”

The Skeleton Champions’ jaws fell off their heads, and Ivery nearly laughed himself out of his saddle. Then Pisces blinked as Rophir started sniggering—

——

“—your bloody time! Bah, you made it, and he’s…eugh. He looks like underwear after it’s been shat in and someone spent a day riding about with it attached to a camel’s backside.”

Pisces didn’t even open his eyes.

“That’s Merr.”

When he did pull his head up, Merr was riding next to them, her Dustbandits whooping and cheering. She turned to him and spoke as Bearig made a gagging sound.

“Do you have to speak so, Merr? Rophir’s just a boy. Pisces doesn’t look that bad. He’s like…a ham gone slightly green. Might be bad all the way down, and you should probably toss it, but I’ve known fellows who’ll carve the other bits off and serve it up as good.”

It was Merr’s turn to give Bearig a gaze of horror.

“I’d stab a man who did that. Pisces, you alive?”

“Please stop analogizing me.”

Laughter. Bearig slapped his stomach and chuckled, deep in his belly, and Merr threw her head back. Qshom rolled his eyes as he carried his head in the crook of his arms, a smile the Dullahan’s only concession to the moment.

Merr rode over.

“We’ll stop soon as we have a break. You’re mostly dead, but you did it. Did you get her?”

“No. I’m sorry. She was a [Slave] too. I didn’t think about Casep. I hesitated and…she got away.”

Her voice was gentle.

“Argh, you soft Necrolad. You’ve humiliated a Face of Chandrar. Casep would laugh at that alone. Get some rest. But turn down half the levels, eh? I can’t have you hit Level 50 first. What about my reputation?”

Pisces rather feared…he fell asleep then and there, and someone did carry him [Princess]-style. But if so, he was smiling.

——

The [Rebels] did not spend long in the wilderness outside of Halqued. The [Queen] had sent her chariots back and hired Gold-rank teams, and scrying spells were combing the area for a sight of the Scourge.

Even with their Skills, and Merr’s, they couldn’t linger. But Bearig had a plan.

“Always have two plans. Running a rebel group that frees [Slaves] is rather like running a restaurant. I shall now explain.”

Rophir rolled his eyes as he lounged in a hammock where he napped. He rolled himself up like a caterpillar and hung upside-down. It was, apparently, the only way he would sleep.

Lleta was sitting in the tent, staring at Rophir. She looked…Pisces hoped she hadn’t been hurt. The Gnoll, Verg, was also here. As far as Pisces could tell, they’d freed all the [Slaves] in that caravan and many more from the city.

But he hadn’t heard the <Quest> update. Bearig was curious about that, as were the other [Rebels]. They’d been besieging Pisces with questions. Even asked him for autographs or for him to demonstrate his best [Slaver]-killing move—until Merr had chased them away.

Even now, they were sitting outside the tent, but a [Silence] spell gave them privacy.

Qshom, Bearig, Verg, and Lleta—because the girl insisted on being near Pisces—Merr, Rophir, and Ivery, who was standing in a corner, pretending to be a lamp, eyes aglow.

All but Eloque. Pisces watched Bearig go over to the maps.

“Like a restaurant, you always have a backup plan if things go wrong. If the ingredients are off or your best [Waiter] gets sick. Sometimes, you serve the local [Magistrate] a fishhook anyways, but two plans. Three or four, preferably. If we can’t meet up easily, you’ll know how to get in contact with a group that knows us.”

“Savere knows me. So long as the Siren and your half-Elf don’t start shitting in the same pot, she’ll help get word to me. I could even head that way, but I think we have to keep wide of each other.”

Bearig and Qshom’s faces screwed up with the most appalled expressions ever, and Lleta clapped her claws over her mouth and started giggling. That was enough to make Pisces smile. Rophir didn’t care for the Merr-isms, though, and hucked one of his shoes at the back of her head.

Hard. She swore and went to toss it back at him, but gently.

“This is why I don’t hang around you lot. Too sensitive. Eloque, now, she’s a girl that understands me. This? A boy’s club.”

She pointed at the Stitch-man, Dullahan, and half-Elf, who all stared at her. Qshom murmured.

“Eloque asked you to stop with your colorful expressions when we ate.”

Merr turned up her nose, sniffing.

“I don’t recall this.”

“Old.”

Rophir resumed caterpillaring when Merr glowered at him. Lleta edged over.

“Is that fun? Can I try?”

The half-Elf stared at her, unblinking, then spoke.

“Only cool people can.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

The Drake girl scuffed at the ground; she was still wearing a [Maid]’s outfit. But they’d removed the collar. Pisces saw Rophir hesitate, then unwind and pat the hammock.

“Careful.”

They all watched the girl try to tangle herself up like he had, until her neck spines were poking out the holes in the fabric and Rophir was trying to untangle them.

Pisces was just sitting there as Qshom got up.

“There are contacts in cities. A network of informants and people, but Pisces cannot endanger them. It is risky. So risky. But we can meet, especially if you leave the borders or go to places where Roshal has less power.”

“He’ll be followed by their Guild of Assassins and eyes. But yeah, I’ll pick up some countermeasures. No one’s getting the drop on my gang twice.”

All Pisces wanted to do was sit with them. His heart felt overfull and was tired. But relieved. They were so busy talking that Bearig only noticed Pisces faint smile after a moment.

“Pisces? Do you need more rest? Food? I still make food—better than ever, I’d say. Strange how hacking up [Slavers] gives you ideas for new recipes to try. And looting caravans bound for Roshal means you never run out of odd ingredients.”

Pisces shook his head slightly.

“I just want to stay here for a while. I know you’ve all gone to such lengths and we cannot, but…”

That’s all he’d wanted. All this time. To just go back and be here. To know they were as well as they could be.

And to bring them to his home.

Merr sniffed, and Pisces thought she was mocking him, but she just rubbed her eye.

“Damn dust. Idiot gets to leave Chandrar, and he comes back all high and mighty. Adventurers.”

“She’s missed you. She starts sniffing and talking like how she thinks Izrilians are when she gets lonely.”

Qshom whispered, and Merr scowled at the [Tailor]. Pisces started laughing softly. He knew he had to go back to his team; Ceria was spamming him with [Messages], telling him that he had better come back, and no more incidents this time, because they had enough trouble.

He knew he had to go back. But just for a moment…he lingered with them, and then they were sitting around a fire again.

Changed, different—but in a way, the same.

Not a bunch of former-[Slaves], because they weren’t defined by that. Just some friends thrown together by fate. And a Skeleton Lord, who saw the [Necromancer] glancing at him now and then. Ivery flopped down in the center of the tent, spread-eagled, staring up at Pisces.

What? I’m not mad…Father. Creator? Dad sounds weird. You got taken on a flying carpet, it’s fine, it happens. I wanted to stay. Plenty more interesting bones and fights over here. These chumps you’ve got following you around don’t know nothin’. Me? I’m experienced. Tough. Everyone likes me.

Sure, I lost to an actual Skeleton Lord we ran into one time, and Bearig had to bail me out. He was trying too hard. I’m not mad about the stone thing. It’s funny. Ha-ha, everyone gets a good laugh.

We don’t need to get all touchy-feely about things. Hurt people hurt people, that’s why Rophir is so good at what he does.

I know you didn’t bring me any gifts. It’s fine. Look at Bearbones, he’s got no expectations. Zen. Practically a [Sage]. I heard how the other guy went nuts, but not me. I have friends.

You could have given me a voice, but hey, when life gives you lemons, you’re glad that a half-Elf didn’t poop on them. Just like Merr says.

Pisces kept staring at Ivery until Merr broke the silence.

“You trying to win a staring contest with him? Because I’ve done that and only won once.”

He rubbed at one ear as he broke away from Ivery.

“…You won? Er, uh—no, I was trying to understand what he was thinking about. And either he’s, ah, changed a bit or I’m projecting onto him in quite a number of ways. Merr, do you have a saying about half-Elves pooping—”

“On a lemon? Favorite saying. You gotta ask yourself, Pisces m’boy. Whenever you get some fruits from the Claiven Earth—and they are the best—how do them half-Elves make fertilizer? Because I’ve heard they’re nature-freaks up there. Just think about it.”

He stared at her. Ivery shrugged. Pisces wasn’t sure if he was hoping this was some elaborate prank or not. He gazed at Ivery, then nodded.

“I suppose I am a bad…creator.”

Phew, he didn’t go the dad route. Ivery wiped at his forehead. Crisis averted. Pisces paused.

“I loved undead, but I guess I never thought of them quite as—as people. Ama and Gewilena, they saw it differently. They might have been more right after all. But my first true creation I treated poorly. I didn’t warn Erin.”

He reflected on Toren, perhaps for the first time in those terms. He’d always questioned if the bones of Nekhret had been at fault, his spell, the part he’d left blank—but he glanced at a covered scrying orb that Bearig sometimes used to monitor news.

“I’ve been a bad parental figure. I suppose I’ve never known what I was supposed to do right.”

Ooh. Merr, Ivery, and every eavesdropping [Rebel] winced. Merr began to signal for backup from Bearig, an actual father. But Pisces just got up, dusting his kilt off. That was all that was left of his robes. He might need new clothing. He walked over and held out a hand.

“Then again, you found people to love you and learned the only lesson I had to teach. I wouldn’t make you go anywhere but here. Here is where you’re needed.”

Ivery stared at Pisces, then took the hand and pushed himself up. He made a show of dusting down his patchwork armor.

Well, yeah. Obviously. You don’t have to be dramatic about it. Of course I’m guarding Bearig. Man wouldn’t survive midday soup without me. Ask him about the soup incident, go on.

“…What’s the soup incident?”

Bearig began spluttering explanations and defending his cooking, which had only nearly murdered someone twice. Whereupon Pisces did learn that most [Rebels] thought that Bearig was an inspiring leader, a brave and canny fighter, but who made utterly cursed food. And he smiled, but he watched Ivery out of the corner of his eyes.

——

Much else was said and done before Pisces the Scourge made it back to civilization, but he did return to the city of Halqued where Wildcard was waiting to escort him back to the palace.

The city’s gates were locked, and barrier spells were glowing behind every entrance as the [Guards] on the walls took cover and loudly talked about their poor families and pets that were waiting for them to come back home.

But the Scourge just passed beyond the walls and rode to a small outpost a mile outside the city.

The Mad Ones didn’t fear him, though they did invite him with a bit more interest than last time.

“Beat your first Face? That gets you a drink, actually free for once. Want some overpriced food?”

Master Otevious admired Pisces’ Stellar Ivory rapier with a sigh as he had Pisces recount the duel with the Jester. It wasn’t like they were immune to enjoying a good fight, and Pisces’ detailing of the way she’d fought caught their interest.

“Vibrations? I wonder if we could rig up a blade to do that. Anyone interested in collaborating on a spell? I think a mechanism would be too hard…”

“Why create the spell? Let’s go to a brothel that does sex toys and start from there.”

Pisces opened and closed his mouth and really hoped that this wouldn’t go down as his contribution to the advancement of weaponry. Otevious cackled, but he rested on his haunches. After a moment, he tapped the rapier.

“The tyranny of levels. Very well done, though. Your magical innovation? It may be only applicable to you, but there is genius there.”

Pisces regarded his rapier, then took something out of his pocket.

“Yes, well, the funny thing is, Master Otevious—this only came about because I didn’t have an enchanted rapier, you see. My channeling death mana only would work on a piece of unenchanted ivory; it’d clash with a regular enchantment.”

The man’s eyes gleamed.

“Ah. Another truth: there is no avenue not worth exploring. Though I imagine the mana-costs of an active enchantment are substantial. Still, [Death’s Blade] sounds nasty enough that I can’t imagine even Mars wants you to hit her with it.”

Pisces hadn’t figured out what tier it was, but his guess was that it was a Tier 5 spell. If not as instantly destructive as [Deathblast]…if you were good with a sword, you’d be doing a lot of applications of the magic.

He coughed and glanced at his escort. Wildcard was haggling for some of the Mad Ones’ gear, though they didn’t have that much gold. A very happy Yisame had paid them, but Lareceina refused to eat any of the overpriced snacks, and Kusal was talking with the resident Earther and haggling for upgrades for his tech.

They might become very fearsome…Pisces thought Lareceina had levelled, but he wasn’t sure how much. That was reassuring; an allied Gold-rank team in Chandrar was important to have.

Allies. Both here and riding into the distance. Pisces shifted.

“Well, Master Otevious, it occurred to me that the Guild of Assassins will come again.”

The man nodded.

“It will, and that’s the least of what you should have with you. Nice bell; it’ll help, but don’t rely on it.”

He indicated both the gold bell and the silent Skeleton Champions standing behind Pisces. The [Necromancer] nodded. Then he placed a piece of Stellar Ivory in front of the Mad One.

“Yes, Master Otevious. But if my current blade, and the one I’m likely to use for the foreseeable future, is just plain bone…Stellar Ivory is hard to shape unless one knows death magic. Very, very hard to collect. I don’t have enough to upgrade any one Skeleton Champion with it. Not nearly enough.”

Yeah, yeah, it’s rare stuff. Anyone can get more if they just work hard. Not like we need handouts.

Three of the Skeleton Champions turned their heads slightly to look at the fourth, who was more…scruffy looking than the others. He had a bit of Stellar Ivory on him, unlike the others, and he seemed more…animated than the rest. Bouncing on his heels, glancing around—then snapping to attention.

Odd. However, Otevious was distracted by the pieces of it in front of him. And Pisces’ rapier.

The Mad One picked up the ivory, and his eyes stole to the prototype shortsword on his walls.

“Why, if it was the blade you were going to use all the time…it might be handy to conceal it. Though how handy is that?”

“If I could ask for a quote, sir?”

Pisces conferred with the Mad One for some time in private. But despite a good hour’s long negotiations, in the end, he didn’t come away with a deal. The Stellar Ivory was too hard to work in Otevious’ mind, and a concealable blade was not going to win Pisces a fight.

“It’s a fine idea, young man. But if the price makes you flinch…”

The [Necromancer] didn’t seem that disappointed as he shook Otevious’ hand and walked out of the camp. But several observers who reported to their masters did so with a bit of relief.

The last thing the Scourge needed was a Mad Ones-style upgrade. 

——

That was that. Pisces Jealnet left Halqued empty-handed, and Wildcard joined him in a carriage ride to Tyrant’s Rest. It was a long journey, but they seemed companionable enough, and Halqued finally breathed a sigh of relief when the Scourge was gone. Even then…they kept watching the roads.

You never knew if he might come back. And his deeds would echo there. Even in his absence, the building he’d reanimated still stood over the city. The Slaver’s Guild lay empty, and they had seen what the Scourge of Roshal truly meant.

The magical carriage with Wildcard in it stopped only once since it was late. It was a moonlit night when Pisces Jealnet got out to stretch his legs. He stared up at the twin moons and scuffed around on the ground for a while. His Skeleton Champions stood there, and one of them joined him.

They got to bickering over the exact details of one part of the glowing lines on the ground. Even shoved each other until Lareceina came over and both sides agreed that hurtful things had been said and thought, and you know what? You could compromise.

Then, and only then, did Pisces step back and activate the [Ritual of the Lord of Bones]. Ivery was posing like Rophir in the center of it. That already made Pisces self-conscious, but he knew the spell, and he’d been thinking for a long while on it.

You could do a lot of bindings—if you had the knowhow and materials. There was such a thing as going overboard, so Pisces kept it light.

Ivery had wanted [Fireballs]. Instead, Pisces bound [Flash Step] to his feet. He placed an [Invisibility] spell on the Skeleton’s chest, and [Barrier of Air] in the skull. He didn’t have room for any more spells, and he frankly might have failed to do all of that properly, let alone more.

However, a certain master of magic had given him a few tips when calling to congratulate him about a parrying technique.

That alone would have been good enough, but for a fellow who might have to fight other Skeleton Lords or a Face…Pisces had been thinking about Ivery’s gear. Or lack thereof.

Ivery saluted the little glass pebble as it re-materialized in front of him. The weapon that had slain half a dozen [Slavers] lay there as Pisces put a replacement item there instead. It confused his observers, some of whom had been waiting here for hours.

“The fuck’s that?”

Merr was grumpy because she’d had to help set up the damn spell circle and then wait around for him. But she’d wanted to see, and she had to ride Ivery back to Bearig and the others. The other Dustbandits shushed her; she’d been the one insisting on helping the actual [Mages] among them.

The item in question was very strange to Merr. It made her nervous on principle, because she knew where Pisces had gotten it. It was like a [Rogue]’s weapon…and if the spies who had been watching Pisces had been any good at all, they would have noticed its absence from Master Otevious’ tent.

Sadly, they’d fallen for the most obvious trick in the book. The inventor had handed it over to Pisces, and they’d taken the hour to fashion a good-looking replacement, which was hanging on his walls. But the genuine article was now glowing in the light.

It was…a battleaxe. Or rather, it looked like one that someone had married to a bunch of compressed wire coils. Only a single trigger stood between you and enough force to blow through a chestplate of enchanted armor.

A weapon that Otevious was very proud of, but which he’d acknowledged had many flaws. Such as the recoil which could break your arm. Or the trigger, which, again, was delicate and if it went off, would kill you dead.

Or the springs, which would break and become risky without [Repair] spells after each activation—and the fact that each one needed to be hand-tightened with a custom mechanism he’d invented.

An utterly, utterly impractical weapon to use at scale, and a one-shot for even a [Rogue]. A lovely prototype, but not worth the gold.

…Unless you were a Skeleton Lord who would conjure the weapon bound to him as it had been, each and every time. Pisces was sweating as he poured mana into the spell, but when the air flashed and kicked him onto his back—

Ivery the Skeleton Lord held the spring-loaded battleaxe over his head. He checked it. Swung it up, tossed it through the air after arming it—

The explosion of sand and a stray coil made everyone duck. Merr slapped the back of the Skeleton Lord’s head. Then she saw him raise his hand, and a spring-loaded axe re-appeared in his grip.

“Worms of Zeikhal shit out of the desert’s ass—Necroboy, are you trying to get us killed?! Put it down! Down, Ivery—”

He was smiling.

Best birthday gift ever. It made up for all the other ones Pisces had missed.

“I didn’t miss any—why is he so weird?”

Pisces shouted at Ivery, and Merr stumped over. She sighed.

“He hung out with Rophir too much. Two strange little lads…well, he looks happy, and that should put paid to everything but a Djinni coming after Bearig’s lot. Ivery was already damn tough, he just couldn’t kill much. He was getting more adept, but now?”

She shuddered. Pisces nodded at the happy Skeleton Lord menacing the Skeleton Champions running away from him.

“I did all I could. I’ll see you all again, Merr. And when I do, I’ll make sure I’m prepared for the other upgrade. For Bearbones too, if I can manage it.”

His fingers already hurt at the thought of all that intricate needlework, but…yes. He was afraid of that power, but if anyone deserved it—

Ivery slowed. His head turned, and all the Skeleton Champions came to a dead halt. One exploded as the spring-loaded axe malfunctioned, but they just—

Merr blinked. She was yawning, eying Wildcard, who were pretending not to see all the Dustbandits as they let Pisces ‘stretch his legs’.

“Second upgrade?”

Pisces just smiled at her.

“I’ll tell you when we’re away from prying ears. Not that I don’t trust everyone, it’s just that some secrets are so big I can only trust Merr the Storm with them. Not even Wildcard, yet.”

They jumped, and Pisces suspected it was Kusal or Lareceina who’d been listening to them. He grinned as Merr chuckled.

“Ah, that’s worth the ride. Alright, you lot! Get mounted! So you’re bound for the capital? Less trouble, I take it?”

He nodded as they prepared to say farewell, just for now.

“I am. I need to check on Yvlon, and Ceria and Colth have been up to their own adventures.”

“Well, you just let me know if you want company or someone to knock some sense into them. Hopefully I’ll meet them. Tell the Silver Killer that Rexel and Leprel can join the gang if they haven’t gotten soft, yeah? Then get some damn sleep.”

She punched Pisces in the shoulder, and he almost fell onto his face. He was still weak and recovering, and he really, really hoped the Jester wasn’t going to be coming around for a rematch any time soon. Hopefully the [Death’s Blade] kept her weak.

Hopefully they hadn’t killed her for failing. He rubbed at his nose and sniffed, which earned him a chortle from Merr.

“I’ll try to get some rest, Merr. A bit of relaxation after all this. Keep an eye out for Lleta, Ivery. And the others. I’m just planning on two meetings, and then I’ll sleep until next month.”

Merr rolled her eyes.

“Queen Yisame wants you to tell her all about your heroics? Careful with that one. Rumor is she has a sex dungeon larger than the entire nightclub you blew up. Don’t go re-animating that.”

Pisces paused, opening and closing his mouth. He tried not to ask more questions, but everything Merr did invited comment. He spluttered.

“Wh—I’m sure I’ll talk to Yisame, and it will be quite chaste. She’s had no designs on me—not that I expect any royal I meet to be interested in me!”

The [Bandit Lady] rolled her eyes as she checked on her Nightmare, then put a foot in the stirrups.

“Sure, sure. Let’s count. The Arbiter Queen, the Queen of Nerrhavia’s Fallen isn’t into you, yeah, sure, nor’s the King of Destruction, nor the King of Duels—careful or they’ll all have you in bed. Actually, stay away from Revine while you’re at it.”

The things she thought of. Pisces shook his head, grinning, as he walked away.

“It’s just a talk with a friend, Merr. And a date with Lareceina, that’s all.”

“What’s that?”

Pisces waved as Merr went over the saddle and landed on the other side with a thump. She sat up as he smiled.

“I’ll see you later.”

“Wait a—what did he just say?”

The [Necromancer] wandered off as the Dustbandits turned from riding away. He waved at Lareceina, who hesitantly waved back as Merr pulled herself upright. He’d asked her if she was open to a date after he’d exited the [Pavilion of Secrets], and he was glad to put all the jokes behind him.

Plus, there was that weird Skill—he utterly missed the commotion behind him.

——

Pisces Jealnet, Scourge of Roshal. A man of infinite amusement at times. And perhaps…potential.

He would have made an unsurpassed [Slave]. The fact that he had never come to Roshal to be turned into something as glorious as the Jester? Tragic.

But his war on the nation was…disastrous. One man’s actions had tarnished Roshal’s name.

“It was not his actions, but yours, Pazeral.”

Shaullile hissed across the table where the [Slave Lords] of Roshal had gathered. She was tired and wet; a Courier’s ship from Zeres was not fun to ride, but she’d had to move fast to get here.

Now they were talking. Arguing, rather, over what should happen next.

It was actually one of the first true arguments they’d had. They’d disagreed over many issues before, but talked out their differences. Acceded where one was strong. Who would argue with Andra over matters of coin? How it should be spent, yes. How to optimize it?

No.

This was different, though. This was an argument over what should be done next, and they were not aligned, to each’s displeasure. Pazeral was still clutching at the angry violet streaks in his side. The poison had yet to leave him, so he sat, unable to rise. He hissed back.

“If there is error in my actions, I take it. But we have been made fool twice, then. For we bared ourselves to the world, and they recoiled—but we also failed to revenge ourselves and humiliated our Guild of Assassins! Finest in the world, hah!”

He spat that at the Naga, Emir Yazdil. The only mortal [Slave Lord] of Roshal was coiled in on himself, and his voice was…overly patient.

“A man who could best a Face is better acquired than lost.”

“And he is better dead than an enemy. Let alone one you’ve levelled.”

Shaullile snapped back. She raked a claw through her neck-spines.

“This Face is incompetent, regardless. She should have gone for the kill, and she failed.”

“Her r-record is good. Anomalies do exist.”

Andra demurred. She was reviewing the files on the Jester, and the last [Slave Lord] to speak, Thatalocian, murmured.

“Her name. I wish to weigh her true name. 10-5-19-20-5-18. Even the name is hard to read. A mockery of digits. A run of three, two numbers divisible by the smallest…”

His fingers were tapping a tool he’d brought out, a series of dials. Each face of each dial had a different letter and number on it, and he was sorting it.

“11-9-11-9-1-17. Another sign of trickery. Not an even number among them. Bah. Had the last one been ‘e’, it would be a portent indeed.”

They ignored his insanity lest they catch it. Shaullile was annoyed.

“A Face failed. In my day, they were killed or punished.”

“She is well-made.”

Yazdil snapped. Andra nodded.

“I do not dictate Assassin’s Guild policy. Whatever the current law is…”

Thatalocian folded his arms, refusing to weigh in, so Yazdil and Shaullile were deadlocked. It was Pazeral who hissed.

“Send her to me. I shall evaluate her. If I’m pleased, she lives.”

The [Slave Lords] glanced at each other, and Shaullile threw up her claws.

“I don’t care. Now, you will listen to me. Leave the diplomacy to me. And some of what we will do is be silent and take our lumps. If any of you, any of you, rock this ship, I will kill you.”

The [Slave Lords] did not like threats, but they nodded slowly, and Shaullile turned to Andra.

“Good. Andra?”

“Every surviving [Slave Master] in the region attacked by the ‘Scourge’ is d-demanding reparations from the Slaver’s Guild. Compensation for losses incurred while sheltering. Assurances, security, that they will not fear such attacks again. We shall, of course, increase security and ref-fuse the compensation.”

This was the heart of their disagreement, actually. Instantly, every single [Slave Lord] disagreed. Yazdil’s tongue flicked out.

“It is customary to make whole any caravan who is failed by the Guild.”

“By paying their every little complaint?”

Shaullile was incredulous. She stabbed a claw down onto the table.

“This isn’t our problem. This is each nation’s fault. The Queen of Nerrhavia’s Fallen is making a mistake. We should remind her of it, politely.”

Yazdil was calmer than she was and lifted his tail and shoulders in a shrug.

“She has a penchant for the team. Of course our [Diplomats] are already pressing the issue. But are we not all Roshal?”

The words needled Pazeral, who spat.

“Do we protect them or find these [Rebels]? Levy each master for forces and we shall go hunting!”

Andra tsked loudly as the other two [Slave Lords] argued.

“This is overblown. If we increase the existing protocols—we do not need to make exceptions for—”

They were bristling, auras pressing against each other, so Shaullile deflected with her usual tricks. To the wrong person this time.

“Thatalocian. Give us some numbers-based wisdom. How about the old 1-2-buckle-my-shoe logic? What would you do?”

The [Slave Lord] was usually disinterested in most answers, except to consult the numbers and give a ‘yes’, ‘no’, or abstain. However, they were all suddenly reminded of his presence as he folded his arms. He loomed there, and his voice was quiet.

“We will give them nothing.”

Shaullile and Pazeral began to smile, but Yazdil’s eyes narrowed.

“Nothing, Thatalocian? We do promise that the Leashed Trails are secure. The Slaver’s Guild is devoted to the sale of [Slaves]. These [Slave Masters] have some right to complain.”

The other four nodded at that. But Thatalocian’s face was stony.

“We give them nothing.”

“Right, so the fact that the Scourge and [Rebels] killed over a dozen caravans is just…peachy?”

This time, Shaullile’s voice grew sarcastic, and Pazeral made a twirling motion with one finger as he glanced at Andra. Thatalocian’s eyes narrowed.

“If they object, which I am sure they will, the [Slave Masters] may come here. Then, address their complaints to us. They whine and beg for gold. If they are upset—let them bring it with voice and deed. If not? They level or die.”

“Your favorite method for everything. One has to wonder if you ever found a better method.”

Yazdil murmured to himself, and Thatalocian spoke to him.

“Your methods would create pretty toys to break like glass in the Long Night, Yazdil. Just like you.”

The Naga’s eyes turned venomous, and Andra raised a quavering hand.

“Some recompense would be merited. If we agree to a number, we may discuss th—”

Thatalocian’s fist hit the black marble table and cracked it. All four [Slave Lords] recoiled, though only Pazeral was fast enough to have a hand on a blade. Thatalocian roared.

“Do we cover this up? We are Roshal, and our blood lies upon the sand! Will you pay gold and let these [Slave Masters] wipe their sweat away and pretend they were not in fear for their lives? I will not allow us to pretend we are not bleeding or hurt, however small. Let them fear the Scourge. Let him slaughter a thousand caravans. The ones who live will become worthy of this place.”

Four pairs of eyes glittered at him as he shrank slightly, and each one of the [Slave Lords] of Roshal held their ground. Shaullile’s forked tongue flickered in the shadows she stood in.

“That may be the Roshal you know and love, Thatalocian, but mine remembered every insult. He’s crossed a line. Let’s say…I agree that we’ve got a weak crop of [Slave Masters]. Everyone agreed on that?”

Yazdil hesitated. But Andra, Pazeral, and Thatalocian nodded. Shaullile pulled up a chair and put her feet on the broken table.

“Good. Then we’ve got a point of agreement. Let’s negotiate the rest. Thatalocian’s right. If they can’t even deal with one adventurer, even one approaching Named-rank, we’ve got a lot of maggots crawling around our towers. Let’s hatch them or find new ones.”

The Naga said nothing as he saw the other three leaders of Roshal picking at his careful garden. Where few blooms save the ones he allowed to grow rose to any prominence that could threaten him. He wished to object…but he was one voice among five. And—he glanced at the image of Pisces Jealnet and sighed.

He was not certain they were wrong.

Even so, the Naga marked it. This was not the first time he had been forced to compromise. That was no failure he held against himself; it was politics at any level, give or take.

But this time, he had been well and truly overruled. Yazdil also paid attention to his reaction. He had not been willing or confident enough to force the issue. He had observed his fellow [Slave Lords], analyzed their faults and competencies, and found them wanting in so many ways…but he could not remove any one of them. He no longer even wished to; they were vital.

Yet the Naga was not happy. He did not stand among equals, not among even ghosts. Not in his home. To once again make Roshal his own, he would have to take risks. Play the only pieces he had left that none of them had access to. They might be superior [Slave Masters] of ancient days, who had seen and done what he could not imagine.

But they were still just those beings of old. What was a [Slave Master] without capable [Slaves]? His were very fine, and he had laid a great foundation not even the other [Slave Lords] were aware of. Like eggs, carefully incubating in the warm sands. Time, then, to hatch them and change the world. He sighed, simply regretful.

He had not longed for the changing of an age. But he would rather slither atop the ruins of a new one than share space with any other.

——

Of course, everyone had an opinion on the Scourge’s duel and war against Roshal. Again, most were inconsequential and did not change the world.

Just…perhaps their world. And perhaps only as much as any one moment could. A pebble’s width towards a different point of view. It wasn’t enough, but it was something.

The world was not fair, just, or good. It did not reward the deserving and often only gave those with power and wealth a favor.

Trader Hexata knew that. So when she celebrated the Scourge’s victory against a Face with her brothers, they were so drunk as to have alcoholic piss. They had bought out a pub in the city where they’d stopped—not Halqued—and were buying everyone drinks.

The pub, which was on the Scourge’s side, passing guests, even the camels. The largesse of a [Trader] who’d been paid well and just made some inroads with the black market.

Humble, you might say, for a woman who could claim she was part of the Scourge’s tale. Dangerous, if anyone ever thought to take revenge for that link.

Trader Hexata did not rage against fate or blame the Scourge in any way for missing out on treasures or fame. She was a humble woman who had run into a legend.

And who had also scurried over to the Mage’s Guild the moment she’d seen the first caravan attacks on the news. There was a group of [Mages] in Wistram who took bets on news stories, run by the Illusion Faction—she’d put half of all the money she had on Pisces Jealnet surviving.

Just…surviving. The odds had been very, very low when the Face had appeared. Plenty of counter-bets from Lailight Scintillation. The Illusion Faction had paid out her bet and even sent her a note of congratulations.

That was all. In this world, if there was no reward to be had, then it was one you had to make for yourself. So Hexata had a bit of coin to burn and a story to trade on—carefully. She could accurately tell [Slavers] that she had held the Scourge back from a bloodbath the first time, after all.

She toasted Pisces as she and her brothers danced on tables into the night.

——

There was no dancing in Ailendamus’ courts, for all they had plenty of ballrooms. Plenty. Baron Regalius had once gone on a ‘Dancing Tour’ of the palace with refreshments, fine music that went from ballroom to ballroom, and he’d had to quit after the fifteenth.

No, there was no dancing. That would imply to an observer that Ailendamus supported the [Necromancer]’s actions. And there were enough diplomats in the palace who could observe the talk of the court to infer a simple correlation.

Politics was sometimes very simple. Yes, it could be the dynamic, complicated web of interests, the push and pull of economy, military, society, and culture upon the will of a throne. Or, sometimes, it was just a [King] wanting something really badly or popular sentiment.

Why did a [King] divorce his wife and marry someone a third his age? Because he really wanted to, and no one told him ‘no’. That was the…the blunt edge of the beautiful world that Regalius liked.

His older brother, the late Baron Digeneral, had never liked it. He’d gotten it, but he’d hated a world ruled by emotion and not logic and rationality as he’d seen it. Regalius himself had once made a decision out of pure emotion that had changed the course of nations. A decision not to marry a [Princess]…

He wondered if he should pay for that sin, sometimes. If his brother’s obsession that had led to his death, the passing of his fiancée in a tragic accident, the misery of the Cursed Princess, Seraphel, was all due to his actions. Fate was indeed unkind because it had not punished Regalius himself for any of it.

This was life. This was why a man drank, at times. Or had cats to cuddle. It was reality that if a [King] backhanded you, you might level because he was a [King]. It was not right.

Regalius was only glad that he hadn’t seen such in his kingdom. He had to also applaud the King of Bows. King Itreimedes was not a subtle, calculating man. But his honesty continued to win him points among his people and abroad. He had no head for politics. The instincts of the [Archer King] meant he shot at the right targets, however. So that was a head for politics, in a sense.

You know who had no instincts diplomatically? Padurn Jealnet. The same footwork that was so flowing on the dueling grounds wasn’t flatfooted in the Court of Ailendamus; it just didn’t exist. He didn’t seem to realize he could apply his class or any of the skills he’d won to this setting.

Disappointing. The man’s latest performance on television had been so disastrous that over ten thousand letters had been sent to the palace from outraged citizens.

Baron Regalius brought the man a drink. No one else was talking to Padurn, and he seemed rather surprised anyone was smiling at him at the moment.

“Thank you, Lord…”

“Baron Regalius, Fencer Padurn. May I say that it has been a pleasure to have you at court? You have turned us all upon our heads, we polished, privileged folk. To hear you speak so honestly and openly is a delight.”

Padurn Jealnet stared at Regalius and took the Baron at his word, smiling back. Which was fair because Regalius meant everything he had said. Just perhaps not as Padurn had heard it.

“I am glad someone feels so, sir. I had the impression I was unwelcome, despite conducting myself to every standard I know.”

His eyes stole to a certain [Battle Princess], Princess Ozena, the eldest daughter of King Itorin II, who was shooting him evil eyes as she remonstrated with her parents. She was not the only one who disliked him.

House Shoel seemed rather split on Padurn. Half of them didn’t seem to care about him one whit, but Lord Uziel and his cohort regarded the man with an odd dismay. As if they would have loved to embrace his plain-spoken, honest ways, only they weren’t quite sure how he’d gotten to where he was with all his earnest integrity.

Nobility were a bit less kind. Padurn was a hard man to enjoy speaking to, and his conduct on television had not won him any points. In fact, you could argue that Padurn was a sinking anchor tied around any pro-Roshal sentiment, and he had made the best case for killing [Slavers], necromancy, and filial impiety in the history of Ailendamus’ courts.

Hence why Regalius pumped his hand up and down.

“Nonsense, Fencer. Nonsense. True, some people may object to your presence, but we would hardly be such a diverse nation full of wonderful ideas if we all got along. You should have met my brother. I wonder if you two would have been friends.”

An odd thought. They were so alike and yet different. Two upright men who stared only at the line they saw, not anything else. Regalius paused, and Padurn bowed gracefully.

“I was not aware your brother had passed. Allow me to express my condolences, sir.”

“Thank you, thank you. Now, Fencer Padurn, I believe that given the Scourge is departing the city, there may be less call for you on television.”

Those Drakes don’t want you back, and our networks aren’t going to endure you either. Padurn’s head bowed.

“It has been a delight to visit the royal courts. I only wish I could have spoken to Their Majesties.”

Odd that they hadn’t spoken to the man, but royalty was busy. And they could hear. Regalius kept beaming, but he lowered his voice and activated [For Your Ears Only].

“Well, Fencer, I know you and your delightful family do have your own life to get back to. But speaking as the Baron of Ceremonies, I am empowered to promote my own diversions and necessary entertainments. I have a discretionary budget.”

It went to parades for the Knights of the Hydra, mostly. Padurn stared at Regalius, wondering why the man was saying this, but Regalius was looking ahead.

“It occurs to me that fencing is a noble art which our palace enjoys—but might see more of a resurgence. One can dream. Would you be open to a tutoring position at court? I should love to see more of you.”

Padurn blinked. He looked around, then smiled and straightened his already-immaculate posture. Regalius began to talk numbers—it would be a modest stipend, of course, and the man had a job.

But it would be wonderful to see him in court now and then, eh? Naturally, someone might complain, but Regalius could claim it was a bureaucratic mixup. The fellow’s contract would be magically locked in, and he’d have access to the palace. And if someone asked him for his opinion and he gave it…

What a boon to the man’s enemies, eh? Of course, you might not see it that way.

Yietha, Regalius’ wife, sighed as he waved her over to signal success. Even though she’d suggested the entire plan, he thought it was fair.

Regalius had a plan, and that plan was mostly confined to what he was good at: making a spectacle, making Ailendamus beloved. He was also, like Trader Hexata, a betting man. He wagered he could pay Padurn out purely from the winnings on betting on Pisces’ survival…though he felt like Padurn wouldn’t get the irony or appreciate it.

It sounded funny and silly. But Regalius felt like this was a strong move in a game that was quite difficult. Ailendamus was a nation made of various cultures. Traditionally Terandrian in many senses, for all it was thought to be progressive.

Roshal? Roshal existed, and most Terandrians fancied themselves to be like Noass. Above such things, but they gave it no thought. They did not think of history beyond Az’kerash, either. No love for [Necromancers]. They could object to something abhorrent, then forget about it.

You needed to repeat the conversation, to force them to engage with it. What better tool than a son of Ailendamus? Or his father, who was like a dog with a bone with any topic?

Look. Regalius excused himself from Padurn after a moment and turned. His [Survey the Courts] Skill picked out any moments of interest, a glow in his sights.

He saw, quite clearly, Princess Ozena speaking at the high table. And he could hear thanks to Yietha’s [Share Senses: Hearing] skill. Always good to be a loving married couple.

——

“—bit of merriment, Father.”

“And why would I call for a party, Ozena?”

King Itorin II was amused. Not in a ha-ha kind of way, but at his daughter. He was of mixed emotions, as a man of his age and understanding was allowed to be.

He swirled the pear juice around in his cup. Good, fresh stuff from half-Elves. He didn’t want something stronger or he might dwell on, well, the [Slaves]. It had been an entertaining last few days.

Funny to imagine that Gold-rank adventurer was a son of Ailendamus. Another one who’d gotten away. Necromancy…now there was a topic that Itorin hadn’t heard brought up outside of Rhisveri or the Noelictan conflict last year. Itorin II had thought the bloody war with that Pisces fellow to be a bit overblown.

But he’d seen some of the point at the end. Children in chains or dressed up like servants. It made you wonder…dark things. And, unfortunately, Itorin II was in possession of a lot of information specialists. He did not have to wonder, merely ask, and he got answers in detail of what might have occurred or what did occur in Chandrar.

Hence, his mercurial mood. His wife, Queen Oiena, was less sympathetic towards Pisces the Scourge. But that wasn’t personal; he thought she’d also been inclined to cheer the fellow liberating children. It was just that her kingdom, the Taimaguros Dominion, did have links to Lailight Scintillation. Nothing so open, but she was weighing things as a Daughter of Gura.

Ozena saw things more simply, and sometimes that was lovely. But King Itorin II wished his daughter had a bit more savvy. He was amused by her attempts to get him to throw a party.

“I don’t believe there is a moment that merits spending that much coin, Ozena. We are at war, and we should not indulge while the populace toils.”

He reminded her, and she tossed her head of green hair.

“Who said I would ever ask for a party for us alone? We could choose three cities and…”

“Ozena, it would appear as though we’re celebrating events overseas as you have presented no good reason for us to celebrate here.”

Queen Oiena flicked a hand-fan out and peered at her daughter, a warning tone in her voice. They weren’t under privacy spells. This was fine. King Itorin II chuckled as Ozena bit her tongue. She knew better than to say she wanted to celebrate the Scourge out loud.

“…The King of Bows is throwing a party in Avel.”

“Are we linked to Avel or the King of Bows in any way, Daughter?”

“In a fine appreciation for men?”

Ozena’s comment made one of the people listening spit out their drinks. Itorin, trained from birth, didn’t cough out his drink, but he did laugh. Queen Oiena did not.

“Ozena, your comments are an insult to Avel and ourselves. Control yourself!”

Her daughter bowed her head. Itorin tried to salve Oiena’s wrath; it was just a joke, and no one who knew the King of Bows would take umbrage to that statement. Dangerous, though. What were they teaching in the magical academies for Ozena to come out with that? In Kaaz, such a statement might get her a death-duel if it were said to the wrong person.

Maybe she was too sheltered there after all. Maybe the culture of the young [Mages] and students was rubbing off on her. But they didn’t want their daughter to be like the Princess of Keys and go off to risk her life on adventure. Itorin sighed.

All this because of a [Necromancer]. One with a golden bell. A first for the history books in two centuries, he suspected.

Itorin II wasn’t blind. He’d heard the talk in the courts, and one of his people had just pulled a contract that Baron Regalius had filed with a certain [Fencer]. Itorin II didn’t block it; he wasn’t sure he disagreed with Baron Regalius at this moment.

Sometimes, as a monarch, you steered the horse of a kingdom through the briar patch or deep waters. And sometimes you just rode and let it take you where it willed, listening to it. Often, he had to listen to the whims of the Wyrm who rode both [King] and kingdom, so Itorin was in a unique position.

His freedom was that he was still a [King], and a kingdom was not something even an immortal being could rule perfectly, at least, not Rhisveri and his cabal.

The King of Ailendamus surveyed his court as his eldest daughter withdrew. He saw Padurn Jealnet smiling—until a [Lady] strode over to ask him what kind of a father wouldn’t acknowledge his son’s deeds. To argue about the right of a man to hold chains.

“It is their law.”

Itorin could read Padurn’s lips. No excuses, no second thoughts. Just a man pointing to a sign. Because someone had written on the sign, it was correct.

Is that morality? Itorin doubted it. He rather wished his friend, Ryoka Griffin, were here to set the Court of Masks to delightful chaos. He closed his eyes and gazed at the last image they’d seen.

Just a kneeling [Necromancer] with a little Drake girl hugging him. That was when Itorin II had been sold on the Scourge.

Not at any moment before. A [Necromancer]. If he became like so many others…it was just one man. You could claim he changed. But the decision to embrace any figure was still a choice. Let alone for the Crown to sanction anything. He had been deliberately obtuse this entire time. But Itorin just let the image replay.

What terrifying things Wistram had invented. The television was changing this world. He heard a voice.

“Father…?”

He opened his eyes, and there, overlaid with the image of the little Drake girl, was his youngest daughter.

Princess Oesca Zessoprical was a year older than the girl that Pisces had rescued. She blinked, as if wondering why her father focused on her with such intensity. But she curtsied in the skirts she didn’t want to wear.

Children changing. He smiled at her.

“Yes, Oesca? Has something happened?”

She gave him a solemn nod.

“Father, a very important thing has happened today. I would like to report…that I’ve lost my last baby tooth.”

He blinked at her. Oiena stopped whispering with her other daughter, and they peered at Oesca.

Human children lost their teeth rather early on, most of the time. Like their Earth counterparts, but even quicker given how years were longer in this world. Or so Itorin was being briefed…he put Earthers from his mind.

Oesca’s final baby tooth had left her mouth, and she presented him with a gap-toothed smile as the court murmured. Some of the non-Humans appeared appalled; they didn’t do ‘baby teeth’. But there were voices of congratulation, and Oesca shuffled her feet.

“My word. Then I imagine the coins might transmute if the Alchemist of Teeth needs one for his concoctions tonight.”

Amazing how that fellow got around. Turned teeth into coins or candy. Oesca showed him the tooth—covertly—and Itorin eyed it.

It was stuck in a hard piece of candy. Quite deep. Oesca hadn’t liked losing her baby teeth, which did hurt when they came out. She normally stayed away from anything that would lose it. But perhaps she’d been hungry and forgotten.

Or really wanted to lose a tooth? She was giving him the most innocent of stares, and she was good. He smiled.

“Well then, perhaps we should throw a party.”

“Dear.”

Oiena was hesitating, but Oesca turned up the charm, and she spoke to her mother.

“I know it’s just teeth, Mother, but now I’m almost ready to turn ten! And there’s nothing like a set of adult, Gura-chomping teeth, is there?”

A nod to Oiena’s beloved half of Taimaguros and the [Queen] was smiling. Itorin II just chuckled and made his choice.

“Very well, a little party. Let’s have some entertainment and choose some cities to celebrate—a tooth festival, perhaps!”

The idea took root fast among the court, who all agreed it was a fine thing! A moment of whimsy! Even nobles who might protest the waste of coin on frivolous things—odd how they were suddenly in favor of celebrating teeth.

A few courtiers protested, and Itorin II took note of them. But he saw the mood of the courts was with Oesca, and he spoke out of the corner of his mouth as he activated a silencing spell, just for a moment.

“Oesca, you might wish to avoid giving your sister a glance of triumph. A tad too obvious.”

The young [Princess] jumped and blushed. But that was just a father looking out for his daughter. Itorin II rose to dance with his daughter in one of the many ballrooms of palaces Ailendamus had conquered and taken to their capital.

In honor of baby teeth as a [Necromancer] slept.

Small things. Like children, growing up so quickly.

——

Pisces Jealnet went on a date the next day, and there were a number of odd events that took place. Nosy teammates, at least one Dustbandit, and his new Skill.

“[Seduction Counter]. Hahahahaha—that’s a—and you—heheheheh—heeheehee—ow, my sides.”

“I’m glad you’re so amused, Erin. I don’t find it particularly funny.”

She rolled onto her stomach and lay in the grass of her [Garden of Sanctuary] as he threw pieces of bread down at Fortress Beavers milling about.

It was just an illusion. But she was back to ask him what had happened and because…they were talking again.

Not that either one had ever wanted to stop. They’d just been nervous. But once the ice had broken? It was all different, but the same.

Erin pulled herself upright. She patted Pisces on the back and grew serious.

“Aw, c’mon. I’m not teasing—okay, I am. That Skill’s funny. You not knowing when people are flirting with you is really funny. But I’m happy. It’s gotta be nice, being popular like that.”

He snorted softly.

“It feels rather embarrassing when you don’t pick up on it. I just never believe…a [Princess], really?”

He shook his head, and Erin tilted her head.

“Lyonette’s a [Princess]. Not that she’s ever liked you.”

“Given her taste in suitors, I find that a great compliment.”

Pisces’ smirk and sidelong mutter had them both chortling. They relaxed; she couldn’t be here forever. But she wanted to be here.

That was the honor. Erin smiled as if it hurt, then seemed to figure out how it should go. Then she rolled onto her back and put her arms behind her head. She stared up at a blue sky with white clouds billowing.

“I guess I’m sort of jealous. I never knew what that was like. Except for that time with Altestiel…and I think everyone just sort of went along with it because it was fun. Then again, y’know, I’ve never wanted to—relationships are hard whenever I tried.”

“You’ve never talked about having one. Romantically.”

His ears perked up like Ceria’s, and Pisces leaned back on his arms. Erin stared up at the sky.

“Look, Pisces. First I was just in this world, and it was all so much, then I was busier running the inn. Maybe I was sort of asking what my bigger plans were, generally, but then bam, crossbow bolts to the chest.”

“A significant obstacle in dating. In most cases.”

A softer laugh.

“Yeah, but then I realized it was one of the things I had regrets about. Now? Tiny me.”

“One presumes there are plenty of Fraerlings of good character…but I do take your point. Not exactly the basis for a long-term relationship.”

“Yup.”

They stared upwards, and Pisces just rubbed at his nose.

“Doubtless, other Pisces is engaged in a very delightful date. In which he shall be respectful, charming, dare I say modestly chaste—”

“Well, yeah, you’re not gonna get to third base on the first date. I, uh…you wait for the third date for that. Right? One base per date?”

Erin’s voice betrayed an utter lack of confidence in the statements she was throwing out. Pisces lifted a hand.

“Question. What constitutes a base?”

“…One’s kissing. I think there’s more than three? No, wait, if it’s baseball…okay, yeah, you’re getting to one base, then you hit touchdown, which—”

“Ah. The analogy becomes clear. I wish you had met Merr. Her analogies are a work of art.”

Erin began laughing again.

“Maybe I will contact her! But I promised…but maybe. I’ve been thinking about using this place more. You and me, we can just hang. But I could pull multiple people in here.”

“Truly? Then what about Ulvama? I should like to make sure she’s well.”

Erin blinked up at the sky, then sat up.

“Pisces. Are you a genius?”

He sniffed self-importantly, smiling.

“Some have called me that. Others would posit that it’s just basic logic with a Skill—”

She conjured pillows to toss at him.

“I’ve—been—stressed! And Ulvama and I were fighting, and I was watching Garry climbing in real-time—okay, you’re sort of smart. Too silly to realize that the same Jester was following you around for over a week.”

He flushed at that and coughed. Damned [Pavilion of Secrets]. There were some changes, such as him not being able to lie—knowingly.

“If I am completely honest, as I must be, Erin, I will confess to not putting the pieces together. The third time is where I begin to lack excuses, but I did think it was a trend.”

“Mm, I can see that. Plus, if she’d noticed she’d probably have just attacked early or changed tactics.”

Pisces hesitated a long moment as Erin lay back down, shaking her head at the duplicity of [Jesters] and [Assassins] in general, but he coughed.

“Er, well, I was distracted. By her, um, assets.”

“Her whats?”

“Her…breasts, Erin. I told you about the bells? The golden ones?”

Erin gave him a puzzled look, and he realized he might not have clarified all his descriptions perfectly.

“Yeah, I know she had a bunch of bells from the people she killed. That’s terrible but also sort of cool. Even I can admit that. Like that’s a calling card. The silver ones were on her hat. Where were the g—”

He conjured an image of the [Jester]. Erin stopped speaking. She stared.

Pisces stared. It really was a very…remarkable Skill that Erin had. Like her [Garden of Sanctuary] or [World’s Eye Theatre], some memories could be played back in perfect detail. Memory, fire, her themes.

…This might not have been the intention of its creator, Sheta, the last true Empress of Wings, but Pisces solemnly observed the Jester rotating around the dance floor with far more scholarly intent than he had been when he’d been afraid for his life. He came to his senses and began to apologize to Erin.

“I, ah—ahem. Sorry. I was merely illustrating—”

“Huh? What? No, no, that’s crazy. I mean, you hear stories back home, but, uh—wow.”

She was a bit red-faced too and half-covered her eyes, but then kept staring. She glanced at Pisces.

“That had to be distracting.”

“The thought of dying helped, but she was very good at creating openings.”

“Huh.”

Her head turned back to the image. Pisces glanced at that—then at Erin. Then at—Erin Solstice was blinking.

“You know what, Pisces?”

“Er, yes? I can turn it off.”

She shrugged casually.

“I mean, sure, if you want. Listen, she was trying to kill you, and that was clearly her thing. Everyone’s got breasts. I’m just thinking…y’know, maybe we were too harsh on the guy.”

“…Which guy, exactly?”

She gave him a somber nod.

“Calruz. Listen, he went crazy because of the Raskghar—though I think Mrsha claimed it wasn’t all his fault. She learned something a while back from when the moon cracked.”

“Aha. That event—the rest of the team and I joked it was something to do with the inn. But truly, it’s been one of those things no one talks about until it’s night. Then they stare up and…”

Erin stared ahead.

“It was the inn. Mrsha was at the center of it. Some bad things happened, but some good things, too. Like always. No, better than normal, perhaps. Better than my Winter Solstice.”

“Oh.”

Then he had to know, but he knew it would hurt. Erin breathed in and out.

“It’s not my story to tell, for once. And there are good things that’ll happen to Calruz, she hopes. He deserves that. Back then, he was stubborn. Honor-this Calruz. But he was a brave man.”

“Of course. I don’t…I think Ceria herself has forgiven a lot of what he did. Not all, but I’ve felt only sympathy for much of what happened to him.”

The Horns of Hammerad’s founder was still someone Erin Solstice had defended. She had a drink named after him, but she waved a finger at Pisces.

“Well, obviously. But what I meant was the other thing. Remember when he wouldn’t shut up about Ryoka’s, y’know? Ryokas?”

Pisces vaguely recalled that. He hadn’t talked to Calruz much at all, but Erin clearly remembered that.

“Mammaries. That’s what it was. Ceria and Gerial gave him a hard time about it, but he’s got a point.”

“…Indeed.”

The [Necromancer] sat there with his [Innkeeper], and she kept glancing at the image. Then coughed.

“Uh, okay, that’s probably too much.”

“Of course, naturally. Highly distracting. The important part was I survived. And I got to her.”

“…Yeah.”

Erin turned to Pisces, and they remembered the <Quest>. He had a thought about that, actually.

“I did it. I think I did. I know she was saved, but I don’t know if I missed anyone…I’m afraid to know. But Erin, the <Quest> didn’t complete or fail.”

She glanced at him. Then smiled as he brought up that odd thing.

“No. It didn’t.”

“But I did it.”

He thought he had. But then the [Innkeeper] just lay there.

“Did you? Or are you still not sure?”

The Gold-rank adventurer sat there, and then he looked at her and saw it. Of course. He sat back and exhaled.

“…Are you sure it wasn’t <Mythical>?”

“I’m glad it wasn’t. I hope you succeed.”

He felt that heaviness upon him, but because it was something she had put there…he just exhaled and chose this moment to rest.

“Me too. It was close this time, Erin. Close as it’s ever come, and the irony of being slain by a topless [Jester] is not lost on me. Highly distracting. That is me being honest.”

He did want to clarify that and mention how surreal and difficult it had been. To his gratification, Erin even nodded after a decent pause.

“I’ve thought so, but each to their own. I don’t wanna judge. I’m not gonna be the prude, y’know? Still, that and armpits…whoof.”

Erin winced for reasons Pisces missed. He hesitated, then turned to her.

“…Armpits?”

He didn’t follow her train of logic, and then she began to explain, hurriedly, and interject numerous explanations for why she was wrong but you could see a tiny bit of where she’d made a horrible mistake—

Then Pisces Jealnet sat back. He just smiled and rested on the hill of grass as he felt the world changing. After a moment, he cleared his throat.

“I take it Ulvama is well?”

“What? Oh, sure, we talked it out, and it was a big thing, but…yeah. We’re great. She’s got an awesome new outfit too. Very spidery. I’d love to invite her here, but I should tell her…and I think the more people in here, the more effort it takes. Exponentially more.”

Erin re-focused, and her eyes became distant. Pisces stirred.

“I see. Because this isn’t the [Garden of Sanctuary]?”

“Yep. It’s meant for secrets. One was a shelter. This was meant to be…a weapon. A subtle one, but I think it has great and terrible secrets buried within. I’m afraid to open the doors, Pisces. Let alone the final one.”

Her head turned, and he saw the door to the [Palace of Fates]. For a moment, Pisces was also afraid. Not of what lay beyond, but who Erin would have to be to unlock it.

Then he relaxed, closed his eyes, and sat back with her. However much she changed…he’d look forwards to this moment in whatever way they had it.

The air that blew from the [Garden of Sanctuary]’s memory was crisp and fresh on his skin. It carried memory, and promises of new moments he’d remember forever. Always, always with her there was a surprise.

But sometimes, if you were smart, you’d notice when the next one was coming. It was the twinkle in her eyes, the way she sat forwards, watching you out of the corner of her vision.

It was polite, though, to pretend you hadn’t noticed. Even when you knew…Pisces’ heart still leapt in his chest when he heard the faint click. Then his head turned, incredulous. He swung back to Erin, and he saw it.

That mischievous, wide smile as she brushed at her hair. She breathed in and out, tired.

“That’s all I can do for now. I’ll practice and get everyone in here. Promise. But…”

He said nothing as he rose to his feet. Pisces began to stride across the grass of the hill. Then he turned and nodded to her.

“Thank you, Erin Solstice.”

She was rising too, that smile of delight on her own face. Pisces turned and spread his arms. Then he was walking down the hill as a figure halted—two figures—and then they began to run up the hill. One of them was crying, the other laughing. Pisces tried to speak, coughed, and then whispered.

“It’s good to see you, Ksmvr, Vofea.”

Then started running, to greet his team, as the [Innkeeper] laughed in delight behind him.

Author’s Note:

A note a beta-reader just asked me. Do Stitch-folk have Galas-muscle? The answer is yes. The Jester is definitely working with some, and any limbs they attach grow it…slowly. Given how fast their bodies can atrophy or they replace stuff, it means you can make a body out of the stuff, but it’s an expensive resource.

There’s nowhere in the chapter to add that. Fun lore fact I don’t really need to include unless we have a chapter about Stitch-folk. Revi, maybe?

I’m done. You may infer from this Author’s Note that I’m tired. I pushed it to the limits to get this chapter done for my month off. The signs are there. I feel weirdly cold despite being at the same temperature inside I normally do. Sleeping for lots but feeling tired and napping even after 8+ hours of sleep.

For a few days, I’ll be like this. Then I’ll go back to normal. It’s the crash you get when you get a vacation or go on summer break in school. And I imagine…yeah, I imagine being sad doesn’t help.

But I’ve done it. I’d like to thank my beta-readers for all their help on this big chapter. They did take time to get this done. Thank you for understanding me needing a break. And, uh…thank the Beast in Black, some band with two songs I kept listening to for this Pisces section.

Now I rest. I hope this chapter was as thrilling an end as it was in my head when I came up with it. Pisces has always been one of my favorite characters, and this isn’t even his finest moment. Just a particularly nice one.

Let me know what you think—the Horns arc in Chandrar is going to be longer, so I imagine I’ll cut this with other points-of-view, but this is Pisces’ section. I’m proud of every Merr-ism and…yeah.

Even the ending is a last-minute edit, but one that made a bunch of sense when someone suggested it. We’ll get more later, but I am glad we stopped here rather than last chapter. Now I’ll focus a bit on me. See you in a month, and thanks for reading,

—pirateaba

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