Hunger: A LitRPG Adventure (Unbound Book 3), page 8
The window, easily twice the size of her body, opened up on greased hinges. Vess breathed a sigh of relief. Her preparations had paid off; the same servant she'd paid off to create a commotion in the Inner Ward was also able to unlock this window. Climbing through as quietly as she could, Vess crept into a short hallway outside a set of closed double doors. They were a spotless white, adorned by the gilt edged carving of a shield with a spear and sword crossing it. The Guild Seal.
Voices rumbled through the door, but were too faint to make out. She'd prepped for this too, and pulled out a slip of thick vellum. That had been its own adventure; Darius would have killed her if he'd found her with a Script-Cipher. They were banned in the Hierocracy, even to nobility, but her need outweighed her caution. Vess' senses told her that no guard was positioned here, though she heard the faint heartbeat of someone down a set of stairs forward and to the left. Carefully, she held the vellum to her face and whispered three words.
"Ing Tohl Rul!"
The sigils on the page flared before detaching from the vellum. One fluttered up and attached itself to Vessilia's forehead, while the other two floated beneath the door itself. The vellum dissolved into ash in her hand. Immediately, Vess could both see and hear everything that happened in the room beyond.
I'm not too late! she mentally crowed.
Within was a large circular space dominated by a rectangular table and ornate, padded wooden chairs. The walls were paneled with dark, polished wood, expensive and well-crafted to Vess' discerning eye. A crystal chandelier hung from above, filled with magelight that illuminated the entire chamber. Seven Guild Elders sat in the chairs, all of them embroiled in a heated debate.
"—Festival cannot be done with the Inquisition barring the gates. I do not know how we can expect anything else," a heavy-set man with huge sideburns and fists the size of hams grumbled. Elder Hyde, she recognized.
"We've brought in entertainers from Bel Atol and Levantier, had them come a month back now. Luckily, well before the Inquisition stoppered our gates." A plump woman with gray-streaked red hair smiled. Elder Regis. "I don't see the problem."
"We've more than enough food and entertainment. What Elder Hyde is suggesting is a dearth of out-of-city guests. The Festival of the Spheres has always drawn in merchants and hunters from beyond the Verdant Pass, even the rare village within it." Slender, silver-haired Elder Teine nodded at the rotund Hyde. Vess grimaced at his deceptively pleasant voice. "I agree. Visitors have historically generated the most revenue during this event. Is it worth it to even hold such festivities, especially in the face of the increasing beast assaults and the… imposition that the redcloaks represent?"
"The Inquisition," a deep baritone voice said, emphasizing the title. "May be a thorn in our side, but they are one that must be removed with the utmost caution. The Festival will occur as planned." The voice belonged to a powerfully built man in a silk doublet, and he rapped a knuckle against the table. Elder Fairbanks, de facto head of the Protectors' Guild in Haarwatch. "What of the wall, Elder Latvere? How is our defense against the beasts?"
A man with pale blonde hair and a narrow face sighed. "Well enough. The beasts grow stronger and more numerous by the day, but typically wait until nightfall to attack. The Tin Ranks are getting a decent amount of experience, though nowhere near the same as with a horde surge."
"The Inquisitors help us hold the gates against the beasts?" Fairbanks' eyes were mild, but there was a tension across his shoulders Vess didn't understand. "Or do they simply bandy their Writs of Passage to all who wish to cross?"
"Both. I cannot fault them on that account, dangerous as it’s becoming for the Untempered." Elder Latvere sighed again. "I just wish they'd learn to get along with our people."
Hyde laughed, a big, boisterous chortle. "Pathless protect us from his own zealots."
Fairbanks managed a thin smile. "And what of the hunter? The one that attacked the Acolyte? Has he been found yet?"
Latvere shook his head, but there was a second of hesitation. Of surprise. "N-no. Still at large. At this point, I doubt they'll ever find him."
"Good for him," grunted Elder Holt, then a grin nestled into his wild salt and pepper beard. "Bloody their fuckin' noses. The bastards."
"Careful, Holt," said a woman with gauntlets on her hands. Vess recognized Elder DuFont. "The Master Inquisitor has surprisingly good hearing."
Vess was certain Eliza DuFont had hired the Sworn assassin that had come for her in the Foglands. She had even been the one to greenlight the original operation, the reason why so many folks had died or returned sick from the wilds. Vess' lips turned in a sneer, her disgust enough that she almost missed further conversation.
"—Katan oversteps himself, and we all know it," growled Holt, his tone not quieter at all. "He'll only be happy when he can burn this entire city to the ground."
"Be that as it may, you all know Master Inquisitor Katan is not overstepping at all. The power he wields is real and backed by the Hierophant herself." Elder Fairbanks shook his head slowly, his mane of dark brown hair flowing with the movement. "As long as they have the scent of blood, they are a hound that will not heel. We must give them nothing. Understand?"
Significant looks were exchanged, and Vess' eyes darted between each of them during that brief silence. She was missing something. Are they talking of the survivors? Or other secrets?
"Elder Teine," Fairbanks' voice cut through the silence. "Have your preparations been completed?"
"Yes. It took entirely too long, but we've finished the last of the construction this week." The silver-haired man smiled, his teeth perfect and white. "The survivors will not be found. I believe… at… aft..."
Survivors! Vess' concentration had been slipping as the script-cipher deteriorated, but that sharpened her attention. Unfortunately, that's when the cipher really began to degrade. The spearwoman fought against the failing runes and poured more of her limited Mana into it, hoping to hear something—anything—more.
"—something is here."
A sudden and furious flare of Mana was her only warning, and it was a lifetime of training that let Vess throw herself sideways in time. The white doors exploded outward, becoming a storm of wooden shrapnel in an instant. The carpeted floor and opposing wall were shredded to pieces in a fraction of a second. Vess gaped, panic gripping her heart like a vice, and she found herself frozen. Not by a Status Condition or Skill, but by sheer terror.
Suddenly, a furious gust of wind swept through the hall, pushing Vess' body back another few steps even as it hurled shrapnel back into the Elders' chamber. Hands of steel grabbed her shoulder and waist. Before the spearwoman could react, she found herself sailing through the air outside. Only then did she get a good look at who held her: her father's Hand, Darius Reed. He regarded her with flat, emotionless eyes that gave her goosebumps and a new sort of terror.
She'd have rather been discovered by the Guild Elders.
At least they might have only killed her.
CHAPTER SEVEN
The bell above the door chimed as Felix left the tailor's shop, proud owner of a brand new suit of clothes. Gone were the ratty pants and stained tunic. In their place were a pair of black cloth pants, looser than his leather ones, while his new tunic was a dark blue-gray and fit across his broad shoulders more comfortably than any clothes since his arrival. Plain, sure, but both were far more sturdy due to the pair of enchantments woven into them.
Name: Khellish Tunic
Type: Tunic (enchanted)
Lore: Made in the Khellish style, popularized by the Marquis of Varnais, it is a common tunic stitched with a fine hand.
Self-Repair I - By absorbing ambient Mana, minor holes and tears in this object will repair themselves over time.
Self-Cleaning I - By absorbing ambient Mana, stains and dirt are repelled from this garment.
Name: Khellish Trousers
Type: Trouser (enchanted)
Lore: Made in the Khellish style, popularized by the Marquis of Varnais, these are simple trousers stitched with a fine hand.
Self-Repair I - By absorbing ambient Mana, minor holes and tears in this object will repair themselves over time.
Self-Cleaning I - By absorbing ambient Mana, stains and dirt are repelled from this garment.
The enchantments were stitched inside at the seams, forming a series of concentric circles that made little sense at first glance. He understood their function from his Voracious Eye, but how they accomplished those enchantments boggled his mind. His old clothes he tossed away, as they were more like smelly rags at that point. The dark brown jacket he'd stolen from the pirates, however, he kept. Felix liked the style. The tailor had repaired it for a few copper pieces, or copper stones as they called them.
Finally. Now, I don't have to worry about ruining everything I own. He smiled as he hopped down the tailor's stoop, a pleasant spring in his step. I wonder if I can learn this enchanting thing. It's so useful.
The tailor had been a spry old man named Bartrand, a Human well into his eighties yet as energetic as anyone. His deft hands had made his new tunic and pants in minutes, probably utilizing some Skill in the process. Two bolts of cloth turned into clothes, like magic. Though it cost him ten gold crowns, he'd ordered another two sets in addition to the first.
Felix walked down the road, enjoying the unbroken cobbles beneath his feet. Bartrand's shop was on the nicer side of the Dust Quarter, closer to the Wall Quarter than the Drum Tank. According to Jacinda, the blacksmith was perhaps three or four blocks away.
The afternoon was hot, but a nice breeze stirred his hair and helped disperse it a little. A few trees sprung out of the cobbles in the median or edges, overgrown and splitting the road with their roots. Weeds and grasses poked through the spaces in the road as nature made its efforts to reclaim the place. It was still summer, as far as he could tell, though he hadn't run into a breakdown of the seasons here on the Continent yet.
Maybe there'll be a book about it at the Elder Crown? He was excited about the prospect of learning. He had always loved school, and now he had a perfect memory. The only library in the city, according to his innkeeper, was in the Guild's tower, the Eyrie at the center of town. Wanted for sneaking into the city, Felix figured it would be foolish to go to the Guild at this point. Jacinda had pointed out a bookstore he could visit instead. The Elder Crown was located further into the Wall Quarter, past the blacksmith's naturally, so he would visit there last.
Best for last, I hope. He really wanted to figure out this reading thing. In his chest, he felt a small tug of annoyance at the thought. He smiled. It's okay, Pit. I'll be back soon.
The two of them had to remain split for the moment. Felix's errands would take him far longer than a half hour, and he didn't see the need to exhaust himself mentally at this point. So, Pit was still holed up in their room. Felix had left Jacinda with the instructions that no one was to disturb his room while he was gone, and the Half-Elf had been almost offended. Apparently, she ran a tight ship at the Drum Tank.
So now Felix and Pit were reduced to sending vague messages at one another, the limit of Etheric Concordance at this distance. Faint emotional impressions on Felix's end, at least. Pit seemed to get more out of their communication than he did, somehow. Either way, Felix made sure to keep talking to his Companion, as he hoped to level the Concordance as much as possible. It was his only Legendary Skill, after all. And it was paying dividends already.
Etheric Concordance is level 28!
Felix quickened his steps. The smithy was nearby, and he was eager to see it. As great as his Armored Skin Skill had proven, he still wasn't keen on being bashed and slashed all the time.
The last block to the smithy was filled with a bevy of food carts and small vendors strung out along the thoroughfare. Various meats on skewers were popular, as well as meat and vegetables wrapped in some sort of flatbread. The smells were equally strange and enticing, peppery seasonings and citrus-like aromas wafting on the breeze. It was clearly a busy street, and it thronged with folks of many Races. Mostly Humans, but plenty of Dwarves, Halflings, Half-Orcs, and Goblins passed him by, many dressed as laborers. There was even a white-haired Gnome performing magic tricks for a group of children.
Sparks shot from the Gnome's hands, delighting the younger watchers. Their cheers brought smiles to their parents and minders, who stood nearby. Felix laughed himself as a transparent serpent materialized from the sparks, flying above the kids in a complicated pattern. It burst into a cascade of glittering stars that rained down on the audience, much to their uncomplicated joy. A number of those children were not Human, though their wide eyes and big smiles were just as infectious.
Perhaps he'd been conditioned by popular media, but seeing the more monstrous people being accepted as normal was at first a little jarring to Felix. Less so after his experiences at the Drum Tank, but it was still a little odd to see green skin and fangs on the people around him. Ultimately, however, Felix shrugged it off. This was a new world, and it came with a new normal. Far as he could tell, the "monstrous" Races weren't excessively prone to dick behavior. And certainly not the kids. Indeed, that distinction seemed to apply more to the Humans.
"What do we have here?"
Case in point.
The voice wasn't much louder than the rabble, but it seemed to cut through it like a knife. Ahead, a group of four Humans moved through a thinning crowd directly toward the Gnome magician. Parents in the audience quickly snatched up their children and fled. Felix saw the Gnome blanch and fall backward, his green and purple robes tangling in his feet.
"Mehren. H-how nice of you to visit—"
The man in the lead snorted and tossed his head of tawny hair. He and his associates were dressed in boiled leather armor and were strapped with weapons. Mehren himself had a short sword at one hip and a mace at his other. Felix frowned at the interaction and at the rapidly dwindling street traffic.
"Nice enough to pay me the money you owe, sorcerer?" Mehren snarled, hand on his mace.
The Gnome paled further, if that were possible, his ruddy skin turning as white as his hair. Barely four feet tall, the elderly creature was clearly terrified as the four Humans hemmed him in. He raised his hands, palms out.
"I d-don't know what you mean, Mehren. I paid your boss in full last week."
Mehren laughed, and his cronies followed suit. "Sure ya did, Sorcerer. But you ain't paid me."
Ah, classic shakedown. Felix walked forward, skirting the edge of the group as he Eyed them. Four Humans, all level 26 except this Mehren who is level 29. First Temper, every one. Felix chewed his lip as he drew closer. I should just let this go. There's no need to get involved.
"Please, don't call me that," the Gnome winced, still on the ground. "I'm not a—"
"A what? A Sorcerer?" Mehren's voice was louder than ever, and his mouth split into a feral grin. "Ya seem scared. Why's that? Don't want the Inquisition's attention on yer lil magic show?"
The thug kicked the flimsy stand the Gnome had been performing behind, and it collapsed in with a crack of splintering wood.
"Last thing ya want is the Inquisition in yer business, Thangle." Mehren loomed over the prone magician and pulled free his flanged mace. "Give me my money, or else we can go have a nice talk with ‘em."
Shit. Calling the Inquisition attention to this part of town wasn't something Felix wanted to happen. He had noticed they weren't as omnipresent there as they were in the Wall Quarter. He sighed. I should walk away. Right?
"I-I don't have it, Mehren! I swear! I'm barely able to stay afloat here!" Thangle the Gnome crab-walked backward until he hit the tilted remains of his stand. "I've got nothing!"
"You always got something, Thangle. But maybe you need encouragement?" Mehren brought down his mace with brutal efficiency.
Relentless Charge!
The mace stopped midair, and Mehren grunted in surprise. Felix's hand was wrapped around the flanged head of his weapon, cradling the steel blades like they were nothing.
"Who're you?"
"Doesn't matter," Felix said, glowering. "Why don't you walk away, friend?"
"Ain't no friend of yours, kid." Mehren sneered and tried to yank his mace back from Felix's grip. It didn't budge. "Hey! Let go!"
"Fine."
Mehren was still pulling when Felix relaxed his grip and ended up falling on his ass. A snicker passed through the crowd, quickly stifled, but the thug went nearly purple with rage. He gestured to his cronies. "What are you all doing! Get him!"
The smallest came for him first. They were fast, specialized in Agility, it seemed. He brandished daggers in a deadly whirl of acrobatics, forcing Felix to bob and weave through the attacks. "Come now, Javyn. Is that the best you have?"
The enforcer blinked at Felix in surprise at hearing his name. "Do I know you?"
"No," Felix smiled before striking Javyn on each of his forearms. The enforcer cried out and dropped his daggers, then a solid kick sent Javyn flying. "I just figured that would distract you."
Felix's Perception and Blind Fighting flared, telling him that another was coming from his left. He quickly spun to the right. A sword cut through the air a moment later, whistling past his newly repaired jacket sleeve.
Close one. I am not going back to the tailors after this. He needed to end the fight quickly, but he couldn't bring himself to kill these men, even if they were jerks. He wasn't in the Void any longer. That took his spells off the table, leaving his Unarmed Mastery. It'll be enough.
Felix stepped quickly, moving through the two remaining thugs with ease. It was like they were fighting on a delay, each move they made telegraphed and too slow by half to touch him. It was a heady feeling. Not even the Void-rotten pirates were this slow! How much higher are my stats compared to theirs?
He struck, once, twice, three times, and all of Mehren's enforcers went down. Two of them had broken legs, and the other had two broken arms. It was brutal, but the best solution he could think of; Felix was worried a full strength punch would have killed them.
