Hunger: A LitRPG Adventure (Unbound Book 3), page 40
Turned out, she was half right.
On the third morning of her contract, Ilia watched as the heiress once again engaged in a familiar conversation with a maid carrying a stack of linens. A bit into their conversation, the girl had popped her head to the side and smiled. In that instant, Ilia knew she'd been right about the Skill; the girl had just leveled it up. It was likely some sort of social ability which were notoriously difficult to level.
Ilia's lips stretched into a smile about a half mile away. She'd stashed herself in the rafters of the Pathless' cathedral, the closest and tallest building in the immediate area. At this distance, the Sworn wouldn't be able to keep up her Unmoored Spirit for much longer, but she felt immensely satisfied at finding a reason for the heiress' constant, saccharine compassion.
It's all about Skill grinding, she sneered. While she levels, she makes everyone think she's a kind-hearted soul only concerned with the welfare of those around her. Pfah! I'd be almost impressed at the deception were it not so… banal.
She had been hoping for some dark secret or purpose, something to mar the image of the perfect duchess-in-training. Ilia wasn't sure what irked her so about the idiot girl, but—no. She did know. Vessilia Dayne had everything handed to her on a silver platter, from her training resources to her lodging. She knew nothing of privation, of surviving in the cold winter and the scorching summer, fighting off monsters just to live another few hours. It was so easy, the twist was bored with it all!
It was enough to ignite a burning rage in the Sworn's heart, though she quashed it with an application of her considerable Will. As one of the Sworn, she did not let her emotions rule her. She was cold. She was ice.
Then another servant came along, a boy she hadn't seen before. Which was strange. Ilia had an excellent eye for faces, and the servants in the upper levels of the Eyrie rarely changed. Regardless, this strange new servant, a courier it seemed, approached the heiress with all the confidence of either a friend or an assassin.
Hm, I'm hoping for assassin. That'd be fun.
With a look, the boy easily drew her away from the linen maid. Almost like a clandestine lover, were the boy not so young. He had to be no more than thirteen years old. Intrigued, Ilia pushed her Unmoored Spirit closer to them, tight enough to hear their words.
"...wants to meet with you," the boy was saying.
"What? Really?" The heiress gasped, excited for the first time since Ilia had started watching her. "When? Where?"
"Tonight. Dusk. We go to the Crafter's Quarter, corner of—bbler—wea—ay—"
With a dizzying snap, the Sworn's Skill lost cohesion and ran out of time. Ilia found herself back in the cathedral, sitting cross-legged atop a dusty plank floor.
No!
She flared the Skill again, dredging up her mental reserves. Even though it was an easy activation, the mental toll the Skill took was considerable. By the time the Sworn returned her sight and hearing to the scene, the heiress was walking away from the courier, an excited grin on her face.
Unmoored Spirit is level 32!
Twin's teeth! Damnable girl! If that idiot weren't so boring, I'd have kept a better eye on my Skill! Now she'd have to follow the two-faced fool around for another half-day.
Tonight better prove interesting.
"Come, your Grace," said Mettias, holding out his slender hand. "It's just a little further."
Vess hesitated before she took the boy's hand and climbed up onto the ledge. The boy had proven himself amazingly resourceful this evening, far more than Vess had ever considered. He didn't seem more than fifteen, perhaps younger due to his slender frame, and it was remarkable that he'd even set up this meeting.
Vess had started to suspect things weren't as they seemed with the boy. She had met him months ago during her usual foray into the Guild halls, looking to level up her Oratory Skill. It was abysmally difficult to do so, often requiring her to talk at length about anything in order to advance.
To her great annoyance, it did not increase in proficiency by actually conversing, more by proclamation and expounding. That was a great shame, as the servants had such fascinating lives and stories to tell. After a while, Vess gave up on actively training the Skill and simply used "social training" as an excuse to give herself a chance to talk candidly with the servants. Occasionally, she saw some gains, like today, but it was incidental.
It was on one such foray that she ran into a courier who was transporting notes between Silver Ranks in the Eyrie. He was a clever boy, quite funny, too, and had the most interesting stories. The most fascinating of which were about strange magics and duplicitous masters, both topics that resonated with her. Magic had always been a fascination when she was younger, set aside for the clearer path of the Dragoon once she'd been tall enough to handle a spear. And the boy's tales, when she could eke one out of him, often depicted young heroes besting their dark masters with cleverness and Mana Skills.
It was an escape she desperately needed, if only for a few minutes. As she had no way to contact her friends, the rest of her life had become dedicated to training. While the thought of growing stronger sustained her, kept her moving forward, the darkness and near certainty of corruption among the Elders had been driving a wedge into her mind. She had long decided to ferret out the Elders' secrets, but had no clue how to go about it. When Mettias had suggested magical crafts, she had latched onto the concept like a drowning man would a rope.
And it had worked! The scripts-ciphers had been tremendously successful, cutting through the Guild wards without issue. Wherever the boy had gotten them, they were a powerful tool. And she wanted more. It was just what she needed to crack the shell around the Guild's dark secrets.
Vess was unsure how she would make it out of the Eyrie. All of her previous attempts had failed. Too many wards, too many Guilder patrols. Not to mention the Hand. He lurked about her apartments like an angular ghost, moving from room to room, always doing something but never really speaking with her. For all that he was ten or so years her senior, Darius Reed had practically grown up in the same house as Vess, but she knew very little about him as a person. Only his ability in combat, and then only in generalities, just that he was quite strong. And entirely too observant.
Then the Hand received an urgent missive from the Elder Council, delivered directly to their door by a very familiar face. At first, the heiress thought Mettias was attempting to fool the Hand and cursed the boy for recklessness. But then she saw the letter itself. Vess had not been able to ascertain the reason behind the summons, but it had Elder Fairbanks' true seal upon it. Based on how the Hand reacted, it seemed important, too.
Somehow, Mettias had been able to deliver a true summons to her guardian at just the right moment. Vess was suspicious.
Before he left, the Hand had put Liandra in her apartments again, instructing the heiress to not stray out of sight of the Bronze Guilder. Vess simply retired early and locked her doors. An open window and Wall Run (now level 15) had done the rest.
Slipping from the Eyrie had proven near impossible in the past, but Mettias had given her a servant's tabard and led her along passages not normally traversed by Guilders and especially not visiting nobility. Doors were left open, and the guards at the gate were absent. It was as if Vess was meant to leave this night.
Or something else was going on.
They had come to the Crafters’ Quarter quickly enough. Mettias led them with the confidence of someone who had traversed the city a thousand times, and Vessilia clung to the boy's competence. She was more than comfortable facing down horrors in the wilds, but the wild bacchanalia of the Crafters’ Quarter after dark was something else entirely. The servant had deftly led them, the crowds often paying neither of them any mind in a way that Vess was increasingly sure was Skill-related.
Nearly a glass later, they came to the corner of Cobbler and Weaver's Way and navigated into a passage between buildings. An elaborate wrought iron gate stood over the mouth of a wide archway composed of small bricks. It was good that Mettias knew where to find it, because it was all but invisible to Vess' senses. Even when they passed through the gate, she still had trouble picking it out from the surroundings.
Magic, she thought with a thrill of wonder. So different than the Mana Skills my father's people use. This feels… it is barely noticeable.
They descended below the streets, following an unmarked path into the elaborate sewer system beneath Haarwatch. Vess was only tangentially aware of its existence; it was a feature of most cities, though Haarwatch's was not well maintained. Walls were crumbling and sagging while water and filth built up around clogs and breakages. The smell was unpleasant, to say the least, and Mettias seemed to agree. He hurried along their path, taking turns as rapidly as his little feet could move.
He led them onto a narrow ledge and around some sort of cistern, easy enough for Vess and her Tempered Body, but quite the balancing act for someone without the proper advancement. Interestingly enough, Mettias negotiated the ledge without effort, moving even faster than the heiress. Vess noted it and kept moving, making sure to keep her suspicions off her face. It was easy after countless years of balls and social functions back home, nearly second nature.
Just beyond the cistern was a flat wall, but with a gesture and pull, Mettias activated a hidden catch. A section of brickwork swung inward.
A door, Vess smiled. A secret door.
They stepped over the threshold, and the door closed neatly behind them. A short, dark hallway greeted them, but beyond a pointed trefoil archway warm lights burned bright. On the other side, Vess beheld a cavernous chamber. The quietude of the path they had traversed had been replaced by a cacophony of religious zeal. A stage on the far end supported a woman in a dark red robe, currently shouting something. A large crowd dominated the space, filled with the coarse features of laborers and other menial workers.
All Untempered, judging by their Bodies. Those who pushed beyond Apprentice Tier found themselves more youthful and vital for far longer, but it was clear that most present had not. She watched as the robed woman, clearly a chorister of all things, spoke with further vehemence. What is this?
"This way, your Grace," Mettias said, leading her along the outskirts of the chamber, toward an alcove in the rear. As they drew closer, the red-robed chorister shouted about someone called the Blue-Eyed Fiend.
Someone defied the Guild? And the Inquisition? How much had she missed, locked away in her tower?
There was a sharp squawk, and Mettias hesitated in the archway. He looked entirely too young as his voice shook.
"Uh, ma'am?" He glanced back at the uproar of the crowd with wide eyes, and Vess felt a twinge of sympathy before her suspicions began solidifying.
It's an act, Vess swallowed. What have I walked into?
"Ah, yes. Come in, boy." The voice was smooth as silk, older and feminine, but strong. Powerful. It reminded Vess of her mother, in a way. Mettias moved forward and gestured for her to follow. Cautiously, ready to summon her spear to hand, Vess walked through the archway.
Within was a table and three people. At one end was a Naiad woman in black chorister robes. Two birds sat on her shoulders, strangely enough, and she fixed Vess with a pleased smile. Opposite her, however, was a surprise.
"Evie! Felix!"
Moving at a speed Vess could barely see, Evie tackled her in a hug. The heiress felt her ribs creak with the girl's strength, but she squeezed just as hard. A bubbling laugh worked its way up from her belly, threatening to burst from her chest if only Evie would loosen her grip. Her eyes teared up, blurring the form of Felix as he regarded her from across the room. He, too, had stood up, though he hadn't rushed to hug her or anything.
Not that I would mind that, she admitted with a blush. He was as broad-shouldered as ever, but seemed to fill out his much-nicer clothes even more. Then his sharp smile turned into a frown as the red chorister shouted something else.
*KATHOOM!*
The room was rocked, each of them tossed around as if the earth itself tried to buck them off. Vess stumbled from Evie's grip, but kept her feet, as did the rest of them. Mettias, however, looked shaken.
"What have you done?" The Naiad pointed at the courier with an ochre finger. "Did they follow you?"
"No! I swear it!" Mettias' voice was high and sharp, the epitome of panic.
Vess maneuvered toward the archway and peered out. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Felix do the same. The chamber was filled with dust and debris and much of the crowd was struggling back to their feet. The explosion seemed to have originated along the wall, near where Vess and Mettias had entered. A cloud of smoke hung in the air, thick and obscuring at this distance.
"Run, my friends!" A gentle voice cried out from atop the center stage. A woman in gray chorister robes raised her hand and summoned a trilling spark to spin above her. The silvery wheel of fire shot off toward the far wall. "They have come for us!"
The silvery fire burst against a dome of orange light, the force of their meeting clearing the dust and smoke away in an instant. Beneath that dome were dozens of armored soldiers in bright red cloaks.
"Fuck," whispered Felix.
Someone screamed, and then all hell broke loose. The crowd began to run away from the Inquisition soldiers and toward various exits around the large chamber. Boots marched forward, slowly, their tread loud, the orange dome above maintained as it tanked strike after strike of the choristers' magical bombardment.
"It's like a Roman shield wall, but," Felix gestured. "Magic."
Roman? Is that a Skill?
"What do we do?" Evie asked, and Vess started. She hadn't realized her friend had been leaning over her shoulder. The warrior leaned back and unraveled her spiked chain. It clunked to the ground like a heavy, deadly snake. "Do we fight?"
"What? Of course not! We run!" Mettias, whatever his skillset, was still a child. "Come, your Grace! We must get you out of here!"
"The child is right," said the Naiad. She looked imperiously over them all, her bright blue eyes far harsher than Felix's. "You all must flee. The Inquisitors must not find you here."
"What about you?" Felix asked, crossing his arms. "You'll get burned just as we will, if you're found here."
A burst of power lit up the chamber outside their alcove, flares of gold and orange as Skills discharged. The shouting grew louder, though it wasn't just manic flight. From somewhere, men and women of various Races had emerged with spell and blades to face the redcloaks.
"I must help the choristers," the Naiad said. "Mettias. Lead them away, head down the northern passageway. Yes?"
The courier nodded, his face growing serious.
"I'll meet with you all when you're clear of here. You know where to bring them, Mettias. Do not fail me." With that, the Naiad ran out of the archway.
"God damn it," Felix cursed in his strange way. He turned toward the rest of them, searching before his eyes alighted on Mettias. "Kid, time to go. Lead the way."
For a moment, Vess could have sworn the courier sneered at Felix before bobbing his head in a bow. "Of course, young master. Follow me!"
The three of them followed after the messenger. Their side of the chamber was a mess of rocky debris and a few unfortunate people who had fallen down or been trampled by the crowd. Felix hesitated as they ran past a number of people, all of whom were no longer moving. With a gentle push, Vess urged him onward. He flashed her a pained look before taking off.
Despite weaving through the crowd, they made it across the chamber fast. Mettias led them toward an unassuming section of brick wall that reminded Vess of where they had come in. The Untempered laborers all pushed and jostled against one another, all of them funneling into the diffuse side passages further onward. Screams and the clash of steel on steel filled the air, while the flash and hiss of activated Skills underlaid it all.
"Why aren't we following them?" Evie yelled over the din, gesturing toward the Untempered masses.
"You wanna get caught?" Mettias growled. Wait, growled? "You think the redcloaks just happened to find us here? Who do ya think is waiting outside those exits?"
Vess' eyes widened as folks streamed past them, all running headlong toward their doom.
"We're just gonna let them run into the Inquisition's hands, then?" Felix asked. Mettias was ahead of him and pushing across the traffic flow toward the wall. He glanced back at the young man with an exasperated look.
"You wanna fight a whole phalanx of Inquisitors, be my guest, stranger," the courier scoffed. "Me? I'm gettin' the blazes out of here."
Another explosion rocked the room, followed by a bloom of vibrant orange and red. The air was growing hot, and smoke began to fill up the chamber faster than ever. People all around them started coughing and choking as the air was superheated.
"Run, heretics!"
Vess turned to see several redcloaks had broken through the warrior's line, but they hung back, taking potshots with their Mana Skills, all of which were fire-based. Sparkbolts were common, though a few of the larger strikes she was not as familiar with; none of them, however, were striking the fleeing Haarwatchers. They were hitting the ground or above them. They were being herded.
A particularly large blast engulfed the wall ahead of them, coating it in a wash of yellow flame. The substance of the Skill clung to the wall as if it were a sticky paste, and it burned hot. Evie cursed and Felix took a step back, worry in his eyes.
"Yyero's ass!" Mettias cursed, his voice sounding rougher and deeper as he coughed. The smoke was pouring through the room now. "I can't get it open!"
"Stand back," Felix said. He still looked worried, but his brow was furrowed as he reached both of his hands forward. A flare of dusty light flickered across his hands and arms, barely visible to her Elemental Eye. Then he thrust his arms outward.
