《Eternal Guise [Dark Fantasy Mystery Historical Romance]》 Chapter 1 A Night At The Ball Leaves rarely fall alone; in this way, we are not so different from them. Asher Moretti had recently completed his studies at Hearth University and secured a prestigious research fellowship¡ªa position he obtained largely due to his connections. He was ecstatic about this opportunity, particularly since he owed much of his success to his relationship with Professor Gilbert Hofsberg. What had initially begun as a standard student-teacher dynamic had evolved over the past four years, culminating in this exciting new chapter of Asher¡¯s career. To help Asher expand his professional network, Professor Hofsberg had invited him to an elegant ball. The venue was neither pretentious nor overly extravagant; the ballroom was tastefully decorated, creating an inviting atmosphere. A grand piano in the main leisure area provided a soft, melodic background, fostering a relaxed yet refined environment. Above the dance floor, the balconies of the second floor offered couples a more private space to enjoy the evening and each other¡¯s company. ¡°Good evening, sir. Would you like a drink?¡± A waiter appeared beside him, drawing Asher¡¯s attention away from the enchanting music of the piano. ¡°Champagne, please. Thank you,¡± Asher replied with a polite nod, grateful for the offer. The waiter smiled warmly and presented a tray laden with an assortment of hors d''oeuvres. Asher glanced at the bite-sized snacks, but they were unfamiliar to him. One in particular caught his eye¡ªa gelatin creation shaped to resemble a human eye, complete with a carved olive at its center. Another featured a thin slice of meat, blood-red, wrapped around a piece of cheese. ?????? ???????? ?????? ?????? ?????? ???????? ???????? ???? ?????? ??????????, Asher muttered, waving the tray away. He couldn''t imagine eating something that looked like that. As the waiter moved on to attend to other guests, Asher noticed that the tray was completely empty by the time he returned to the bar. ???????????? ???????????????? ?????? ??????????? ??????????????, he said to himself, shaking his head in disbelief. ¡°Ah, our youngest colleague! Good evening, Asher,¡± came a familiar voice, cutting through his thoughts. Asher turned to see Professor Hofsberg approaching with a broad grin. ¡°The ball has certainly become more enjoyable now,¡± Hofsberg remarked, a twinkle of mischief in his eyes. Asher chuckled. ¡°Professor, I didn¡¯t expect to see you at an event like this. Are you being blackmailed? Because if so, I can throw a decent punch when needed!¡± The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. The professor, though in his 50s, radiated youthful energy and charisma. His grey hair was the only sign of his age, while his eyes sparkled with life and enthusiasm. ¡°Shh! They¡¯ll hear you, you fool,¡± Hofsberg said, laughing heartily. ¡°No, it¡¯s much worse than blackmail¡ªit¡¯s funding. You¡¯ll understand one day when you become a professor. Nothing terrifies us more than that word. You¡¯ll find yourself at events like this, pretending to care about conversations just to secure the next grant. Earlier, we had a poker game in the history department, and I drew the short straw. Sadly, bluffing has never been my strength.¡± Asher laughed along with him, grateful for the professor¡¯s easygoing nature. ¡°I see. Well, I truly appreciate the invitation. It¡¯s rare that I get to indulge in something this lavish, especially given my current financial situation.¡± He grimaced for a moment, then added, ¡°Speaking of funding, is there anyone here I should be networking with?¡± Hofsberg waved a hand dismissively, his expression relaxed. ¡°Leave that to me. Let the old guard handle the hard part. Just keep an eye out for eligible bachelorettes for me, will you? It¡¯s hard being so handsome, clever, and successful¡ªsometimes I wonder if I intimidate them.¡± ¡°Haha, will do, Professor. I¡¯ll be sure to put in a good word for you. But for now, I need to visit the washroom.¡± Asher smiled as he walked away, grateful for the professor¡¯s support. Hofsberg had been a lifeline when Asher first arrived at university, just out of the orphanage. Though he had been too proud to accept help at first, Hofsberg¡¯s persistent kindness had eventually won him over. The man had even snuck food out of the faculty cafeteria for Asher during his leanest times, filling a role that was almost fatherly. It had been a long time since Asher had felt that kind of support. When Asher finally made it to the washroom, he joined the line and waited patiently until a stall became available. Stepping inside, he unbuckled his belt, only to notice that the toilet was clogged. ??????????. ???? ???????????? ?????? ???????? ?????? ???? ????????, he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice. ???????????? ?????? ?????????? ???? ???????? ????????. He considered getting back in line but realized he¡¯d be there all night. The other stall was still occupied, and whoever was in it hadn¡¯t made a sound. ??????????????. Resigning himself to the situation, Asher grabbed a nearby plunger and tackled the clog with determination. After a few minutes of grunting and elbow grease, the blockage cleared. But just as he reached to flush, he froze. In the bowl, tangled among the debris, was a disturbing bundle of human hair. There were fingernails, and if he wasn¡¯t mistaken¡ªteeth. ??-??-???????? ?????? ????????? Asher stumbled back, his heart racing in his chest. He glanced again, but now all he saw was a soggy mass of toilet paper, a relief that was only temporary. ??¡¯???? ???????????? ?????? ???? ???????? ?????????????? ???? ?????? ?????????? ??????????????, he muttered, shaken by the unexpected sight. ??¡¯?? ???????????? ????????????. After finishing his business and washing his hands, Asher returned to the ballroom. To his surprise, the line outside had shortened¡ªoddly, only nine people remained, down from the fifteen that had been there before. ?????? ???????? ?????????? ?????????????? ??????????????? And the man in the stall next to him¡­ hadn¡¯t made a single noise the whole time. Shrugging it off, Asher decided not to dwell on it. He had enough on his mind already. As he stepped back into the main hall, he noticed that the music had changed. The piano that had once provided a light, pleasant melody now played a somber, oppressive tune. Chapter 2 Half Reflections Upon A Windkissed Lake In the ballroom, Asher sipped champagne, his hand cupping his chin. "Where have I heard that song? I know it... I''m certain. Perhaps it''s Besptoven? Ludwig van Besptoven¡ªindeed, this should be his pi¨¨ce de r¨¦sistance, Moonlight Sonata. That shift I heard is presumably the beginning of the second movement, ''Allegretto.'' Curious choice of music for such an event. Then again, it wouldn''t be the only one. Asher looked around for Professor Hofsberg, hoping to enjoy his company a little longer before departing. He was concerned about the incident in the washroom. Sleep cannot be delayed any longer, I''m afraid. If I cannot locate the professor, I''ll have to take my leave. Sauntering through the dwindling guests, he searched for the jovial old man. A waiter approached him, handing him another glass of champagne and taking his empty glass in exchange. Once again, he was offered a tray of food, but he could only politely decline. His search bore no fruit; he couldn''t find the professor anywhere. Perhaps the second floor. Then I''ll check the balcony; maybe he is mingling. He did say his attendance was related to securing funding for the department faculty. As he walked up the staircase, he noticed a gorgeous mahogany grandfather clock announcing the hour. He glanced at the clock face and saw it was pointing toward 9. Shame that clock isn''t being maintained; it''s truly being wasted here. It couldn''t be 9; he had arrived only a quarter to 9 himself. It certainly had not been 12 hours since then. Therefore, he could only assume the clock was off for some reason or another. Perhaps it needs a good wind to return it to reality. Asher poked his head around the second-floor balconies, careful not to stray too far from the venue. After all, the ball was being held in a mansion; to whom it belonged, he did not know. Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. Moments later, Asher felt a pang of disappointment. The old man really left before him. What sort of cruelty is this? Aren''t I the one meant to enjoy such privilege, being the hopeful research student that I am? Unbelievable professor! Just wait until I see you on Monday! Feeling betrayed but mostly tired, he returned to the main venue. He had noticed before, but now it seemed that almost everyone had left. In the beginning, there must have been around 120 attendees. Now, though, there were maybe 36 still socializing. In that case, it shouldn''t be improper to depart myself. Thinking as much, he made up his mind. Placing his champagne on a nearby table, he turned to leave toward the parlor. At that moment, the pianist seemed to pause for dramatic effect before launching into the third and final movement of Moonlight Sonata, Presto Agitato. It was a very technical piece; as far as he knew, it required expert finesse. It demanded extremely quick fingers¡ªwhoever this pianist was, they were very talented. He felt the tension in the music; in fact, he himself was tense. He grew somewhat nervous as the music reached its crescendo, matching the rapid beat of his own heartbeat. In that moment, a man dressed in a formal black suit and gray trench coat entered. It was peculiar since any guest would have left such a coat with the valet. Additionally, he seemed to be going against the tide; the majority of guests had already left¡ªwhy was he arriving so late? He appeared to be middle-aged, somewhere in his 40s; his hair was black and thin, carefully combed to disguise his balding hairline. Inevitably, such practices did not work, but Asher didn¡¯t fault the man for trying. His blue eyes seemed lost, as if he wasn¡¯t really looking where they faced. There were subtle bags under his eyes. The man approached Asher, seeing that he was entering as Asher left. He was currently standing in Asher¡¯s trajectory, and Asher offered him a polite smile. "Good evening. The night is surely cold. It pains me to know some had to endure it." The man responded with a smile of his own, removing his trench coat and placing it over his arm. "Yes, well, as they say, everything easy isn''t worth the time of day." Asher wasn''t entirely sure what the man meant by that. Rarely was he the one eating vinegar with a fork. "The ball is just about to end, though the pianist seems to suggest otherwise. Whoever it is, they are truly quite the talent. I''d venture to say they will soon be quite famous." The man looked at him with a bit of surprise, the weariness evident on his face. "How strange. I didn''t think there would be anyone here capable of enjoying such melodies. Say, what is your name?" "Asher Moretti. Pleased to meet you." The man studied Asher¡¯s face for a moment, then lit up a cigarette. Asher thought for a moment. What did the man mean by that? Why wouldn¡¯t he be capable of hearing the music? It had been playing all night. Asher glanced over at the piano, his gaze lingering on the piano stool. If he had not put his champagne glass down, he would have dropped it. There was no one there, yet the music was loud, reaching its climax. He felt goosebumps rise and his tendons grow taut. His muscles tensed, and his breath caught. Like a movie on rewind, his memories flowed backward. Chapter 3 In Harms Way The strange hors d''oeuvres the waiter kept offering him were met with enthusiasm by the other guests, who seemed to snap them up with gusto. Then there was the bundle of human hair, nails, and teeth clogging the toilet; he had blamed it on his fatigue. But for some reason, he had never questioned the fact or resumed his line of thought. The man sitting next to him in the restroom was deadly quiet; he had never moved nor made a sound. Then there were the seemingly missing guests. He had presumed they found another restroom; however, was that really the case? The clock showed 9 a.m., not 9 p.m. It had actually been 12 hours, hadn¡¯t it? Worst of all... Professor, where is the professor? Did he truly go home? Asher heard the sound of glass breaking, like a mirror dashed against a stone staircase. Slowly, his eyes regained focus. It was as if he had been in a room full of fog, looking but not seeing. His mind, which he hadn¡¯t known was clouded, cleared, and all of his memories returned. Fear gripped his very soul; he already knew the truth, though he wished he didn¡¯t. Still, he could not bury his head in the sand now that his gaze was clear. Slowly, he raised his head and looked at the piano again. This time, the piano stool was not empty; no, it had never been. Sitting there was a tall man, perhaps 6''3", wearing clown makeup. No matter how much he applied, it did little to hide the atrocious scars decorating his face. Nor could the makeup conceal his bloody mouth or his vicious, bloody fangs. They protruded from his lips, sharp and lethal, black as soot. His hands appeared as if they had been dyed in red paint over and over again. The layers of blood dried atop one another, performing a mad dash as they danced across the piano keys. In their wake was a chaotic painting of bloody fingerprints. The guests were not disappearing; perhaps that would have been a mercy. Even Asher wasn¡¯t naive enough to ignore the depravity of this clown. He had eaten them, hadn¡¯t he? He had devoured them all... which explained why those bits were in the toilet. Those were the parts he didn¡¯t like. At that moment, the final note of Moonlight Sonata Movement 3: Presto Agitato fell across the room. If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. The silence was deafening; Asher could hear his heart beating like a wild animal. He had been there all along, watching them, watching him. Like a shepherd watching his flock, the horrible Lovecraftian clown had been ripening them like pigs for slaughter. The clown finished his performance; no one seemed satisfied. He looked across the hall, admiring his prey. But when he reached Asher, staring back at him, he couldn''t hide his surprise. It was evident that he did not expect Asher to dispel his illusion. He thought it impossible, and perhaps it was, had it not been for the man in the trench coat. Not a second later, the man produced an antique revolver and shot three times in the span of a heartbeat. The clown''s head exploded like a watermelon crushed by a hippo. Then his entire body blazed as if soaked in gasoline; a moment later, it disappeared. His clothes were gone¡ªnothing remained. The sound of something whistling through the air caused Asher to turn. He saw the clown reaching for the man in the trench coat with both of his horrible, bloody hands. In a surprising display of agility, the man ducked below the clown¡¯s grasp. He twisted his body, rolling off the clown''s momentum. The clown traveled a little further due to his speed. The clown immediately tried to turn around, but before he could¡ª BAM! BAM! BAM! A metallic clink echoed in the silent hall as the man reloaded his gun. No sooner had the empty shells hit the marble floor than¡ª BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! BAM! Blood flowed across the smooth stone floors, reaching Asher''s feet. Where the clown had been, now lay a headless corpse. The clown was dead this time for good. As if waking up from a nightmare, the guests slowly regained their senses. Their eyes glazed over in sheer horror. Some wept for their companions and friends. One guest, unable to handle the terrifying sight before him, felt so violated that his mind was no longer his own. Unable to stomach such a scene, he ended his own life with a loud boom. Sirens blared in the background. A knock came at the door, followed by the heavy footsteps of a squadron of very strange-looking policemen entering the room. On the roof, the latecomer smoked a cigarette. One of the police officers questioned Asher. He answered truthfully about everything. He was quickly told he could go home and not to spread any rumors until the investigation was complete. His eyes hollow and vacant, he saw the sun beaming outside. How could this be? It felt like he had been there for at most an hour. Dragging his body, he moved like a zombie until he reached Hobble Street and turned onto Kensington. He entered his tiny apartment, opened his liquor cabinet, and downed half of his only bottle. Then, sitting at his kitchen table, he fell asleep. "Detective, if you keep doing everything by yourself, we will lose our jobs." The man in the trench coat gave a bashful smile, then chuckled. "Did you question Asher Moretti?" "Yes, Detective, we did. He''s a research fellow at Hearth University in the history department." "Is that so? Maybe it was meant to be. See to it that he finds a job posting in his mailbox. Make sure it¡¯s well compensated. That kid has talent. If we get him early, maybe that talent won''t become a disaster like what happened here." A young girl snuck out of her apartment next to Asher¡¯s. She had hazel eyes with specks of green. Her hair was brown and curly, like springs heated and stretched. She looked no older than 18. When she reached Asher¡¯s door, she knocked quietly. A few moments later, a man opened the door. He reeked of alcohol and seemed to have been out all night; he hadn¡¯t slept much, that was certain. "Hi, Mr. Moretti, is it a bad time?" It was barely noon when she noticed her father had fallen into a nap. She had snuck out. "Janice, dear, no, not at all. Please, come in." The man moved to the side to allow her passage. The door slowly closed, followed by the sound of the door locking. Chapter 4 New Beginings BRRRRRRRRING! "Ah, Ah, Ah!" Slam! The alarm clock fell to the floor. Asher gave it a disgruntled look before deciding to generously spare its life. Rolling out of bed, he quickly rushed to the washroom and began brushing his teeth. Staring back at him was a young man, not more than 5''10", looking around 19 or so. He had dark brown hair with red scattered throughout, reminiscent of maple leaves in the fall. His eyes were black, full of mischief, yet he still had a refined look about him. Asher pondered whether to wear his suit jacket or a windbreaker, both of which had seen better days. "Well, it''s been quite rainy, I suppose." He donned his black windbreaker, matching it with a pair of grey slacks before heading downstairs. He brewed himself a cup of tea and tore off a chunk of bread. It had been about a month since the tragedy that night occurred. Asher wasn''t privy to the actual details, but he suspected over 170 people lost their lives that night. Professor Hofsberg never visited the history department afterward. Though the writing was on the wall, he still struggled. Coming to grips with his absence was harder than he expected. He wouldn¡¯t want me to wallow in sorrow. What would he say? Maybe something like: "Quit your crying, silly child." Wiping the morning frost from his window, he gazed upon Menthil. Outside, he could see the city around him stirring. Ding, ding, ding. The clock tower in the local cathedral at Kensington and Hobble began its daily toll, announcing the hour for all to hear. Crows stirred, no doubt angry to be awakened. Hundreds of them flew off to begin their days, leaving only a few stray feathers. The never-ending fog blanketing Menthil obscured much of the morning rays. Drearier sights could scarcely be found. Asher finished his breakfast, making sure to tidy the mess. He grabbed his umbrella. Just as he locked his door, he looked up in time to catch a young girl doing the same. She had shoulder-length brown hair that fell in long, springy curls. Her hazel eyes sparkled as she turned toward him, and he offered a polite smile. Janice, whom he''d never really spoken much to, responded in kind before walking toward him. "Nothing to do but to do it," he muttered to himself. Asher put on his hat before turning toward her, forcing a beaming smile. "Lovely morning, isn''t it, Janice?" "Indeed, Mr. Morretti. Please make sure to stay warm." Asher waited for her to pass and walk toward the parlor before heading downstairs. As he opened the door, it took a bit of willpower not to close it and promptly retire to his warm bed. The morning frost, paired with Menthil''s inexhaustible supply of fog, was truly a deadly combination. He pulled his collar tight and began briskly walking. Kensington Square was bustling with all sorts of street vendors. Commoners, peasants, street girls, hawkers, and pickpockets all contributed to the chaos. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. Stepping in something dreadful was the least of his worries. Inside his windbreaker, he tightened his grip on his wallet. After about half-past, things around him began to look a little more respectable. He had entered the western borough, mostly home to the middle class. Soon, he saw a sign reading "Bolard Consultancy" hanging from a second-story building. Turning toward the door, he raised his hand and knocked. Asher double-checked that the chimney was on with a confused look. Deciding he''d rather not tarry in the cold, he entered the building. Greeting him was, of course, an empty hallway. Somewhat mocking himself for his ineptitude, he put on his most professional expression. Psyching himself up, he even tried to make his steps up the stairs sound confident. Cresting the stairwell, he glanced over at the reception desk. "Sitting" there, he saw a girl slumped over a newspaper. "Ahem... AHEM!" Jolting awake, the poor girl looked around like a child afraid of receiving a scolding. Noticing something, she calmed down quickly, straightened her hair, and wiped her drool. With perhaps the most shameless decorum Asher had ever seen, she brazenly looked over as if nothing untoward had ever occurred. "Hello, how may I help you? Do you have an appointment with Detective Bolard?" Feeling a bit amused, Asher approached her desk, taking off his hat. "Yes, I''m here to interview for the assistant position." "Ah! You must be Asher, then. I''ll let the detective know you''re here early. Please have a seat. Would you like coffee or tea while you wait?" "Coffee, please¡ªa bit of cream if you have any. Thank you." "Just a moment, by the way, you can call me Liz." It was maybe a quarter past when Liz returned with a steaming cup of coffee. Glancing at it, he noticed it had cream in it. How luxurious, he couldn''t help but think. "Mr. Bolard is ready to see you. It''s the last door on the left." Wasting no time, Asher thanked Liz and knocked on the door. It looked like a normal office. In fact, he noticed several similar doors as he approached. "Come in," a stern voice resounded through the door. Asher twisted the knob and entered, looking toward the desk. Detective Bolard appeared to be a man in his 40s, balding a bit. He had black hair and blue eyes, with a somewhat lost expression. Sitting at his desk with his jacket draped over his chair, he seemed to be nursing a hangover. Asher thought he seemed familiar, but he couldn''t remember where he had seen him. "Good morning, Mr. Bolard." "Yes, hello there, Asher. Have a seat. Why don''t you tell me a little about yourself?" "I''m a grad student¡ªa research fellow at Hearth University studying history. I''m an orphan, grew up in the lower boroughs. I live off Kensington. I used to aid the church in administrative duties at the orphanage." Mr. Bolard didn''t seem surprised that he was an orphan, or at least he didn''t show it. Perhaps it was a common occurrence nowadays, as Asher pessimistically believed. "Often in my line of work, a bit of negotiation and persuasion, so to speak, is necessary. Do you think you''re capable of providing such services?" Asher thought for a moment, wondering why Mr. Bolard would resort to such sophistry. "Well, I''m not formally trained, but I''ve certainly seen my fair share of ''debates'' in the lower boroughs. I don''t think I''d be found wanting if ever the need arose." Mr. Bolard chuckled, appreciating Asher''s dry humor. "So, what''s the reason for a research fellow at Hearth answering my help-wanted sign?" Asher contemplated whether he should bend the truth a little to save face; he decided to be honest. "To be frank with you, detective, my research fellow position earns very little. If I''m lucky and downright frugal, I take home perhaps three crowns a month." Mr. Bolard''s eyes seemed to light up at his forthright answer. "I see, so it''s for money... good, good, excellent. Well, Asher, how would you like to be my assistant?" Asher was absolutely ecstatic; however, he didn''t let it show. Quickly, he doused his joy, gathered his manners, and responded. "Well, I can only hope for a successful partnership, detective." Mr. Bolard pulled a drawer out and fished a cigarette tin from it. Turning to Asher, he offered him one before striking a match and taking a deep drag. "Go see Henry; he''s two doors down on the right. Tell him you''ve been hired. He will know what to do... As for your pay, you can ask Liz to help you." Chapter 5 Timeless Necessities Asher stepped out of Mr. Bolard''s room, counted two doors, and twisted the knob. Henry''s office was much cozier than Mr. Bolard''s, warmed by a crackling fire in the hearth. The window was draped, casting dancing shadows that flickered across the room. In one corner stood a barrel filled with various bladed weapons, and shelves lined the walls, showcasing books and bottles filled with colorful liquids. Among them, Asher spotted several preserved organs in jars, though he couldn''t identify the animals they had come from. Near the fire sat an old man, sipping from a steaming mug. His grey and black hair framed a face that bore the marks of age, and he kept his beard closely trimmed. He¡¯s probably at least six feet tall, Asher thought, sizing him up. ¡°Hello, Henry. My name is Asher. I¡¯ve just been hired; Detective Bolard asked me to seek you out.¡± Henry turned towards Asher, scrutinizing him for a moment before setting his mug on a nearby coffee table. He let out a chuckle, rising from his chair and making his way to his desk. ¡°Detective? Ah yes, the detective... So, you¡¯re the new assistant, I see. Give me a moment.¡± Henry rummaged through his desk, pulling out a key to unlock a drawer at the bottom. He withdrew a brass revolver with a walnut handle, its side embossed with the words "Bolard Consultancy." Setting it down on the desk, he then produced a box filled with bullets. Next, he placed a badge on the desk¡ªan iron shield with two swords crossed behind it, inscribed with the words "Tenebris Pugnamus." ¡°Go ahead and choose something from the barrel as well. After you¡¯re done, see Liz. For the foreseeable future, you¡¯ll come to my office for self-defense classes. Quarter past seven sharp. Now, off you go.¡± Asher glanced at the gun and holster, then removed his windbreaker. He donned the underarm holster, popped open the barrel, and loaded five bullets. After turning the barrel until the empty slot was in the firing position, he felt a bit safer and slid the revolver into the holster. Putting his jacket back on, he stuffed the remaining bullets and the badge into his pockets. He then approached the barrel in the corner of the room. What a mess, he thought, trying to make sense of the chaotic assortment. It was difficult to discern what lay within, and he feared he might injure himself if he wasn¡¯t careful. Nevertheless, he managed to secure a silver stiletto, tucking it into the lining of his shoe before heading out. As he walked towards the lobby, he spotted Liz, thankfully awake. Her blonde hair and green eyes brightened the dimly lit room, although she still seemed to struggle to stay alert. If you find this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the infringement. ¡°Hello, Liz! I¡¯ve been hired. Henry told me to come see you about my pay.¡± Liz glanced at him, her face lighting up with an energetic smile. ¡°Congratulations! Pay? Oh, yes, of course! Follow me; let¡¯s go see Helena.¡± Helena, presumably the firm¡¯s accountant, was a woman in her late twenties. She had curly brown hair tied up in a tight bun, hazel eyes, and wore a blue lady¡¯s suit, complete with a pencil skirt. As she focused intently on a typewriter, Asher thought that if he didn¡¯t know better, he might suspect it owed her money. ¡°Helena, this is Asher, the new assistant! He¡¯s come to get his pay,¡± Liz announced. Helena, seeming unfazed, unlocked a safe near her feet. She withdrew 24 pounds and handed it to Asher. ¡°This is an advance payment of six months. Use it to make yourself presentable and find a place closer to the office. You¡¯ll need to be within 15 minutes of the office in case of emergencies. You will receive only a quarter of your wage until the advance pay is repaid. I hope we will see each other often.¡± Helena seemed kind, albeit overworked, and quickly returned her attention to the typewriter. Asher grew suspicious, wondering if he fully understood what he had signed up for. 24 pounds? he thought, astonished. I¡¯ve never seen this kind of money; it¡¯s truly a windfall! Four pounds a month? But the job posting said two pounds a month! Well, I won¡¯t look a gift horse in the mouth, he decided, finishing up and bidding both women goodbye. He found himself knocking on Mr. Bolard''s door once more. After hearing a small groan and a muffled acknowledgment, he entered. ¡°Detective, I¡¯ve been given an advance pay of six months, along with a revolver, a dagger, and 50 bullets. But I don¡¯t know how to shoot a gun. Is there somewhere I can practice?¡± ¡°Ah, Asher... yes, there is. Don¡¯t worry; Henry can teach you. The advance pay is to ensure you can do your job. Make sure you¡¯re presentable and find a place close to work as soon as possible. Right, take care of that before you show up here, please. When you''re done, you start at 7 AM. Once you meet your coworkers, you can work out your day off with them. Good day, Asher.¡± ¡°Good day, Mr. Bolard.¡± Thinking it was his cue to leave, Asher exited, smiling at Liz as he walked out the door. They said to make myself look presentable? Searching for his wallet, he kept it firmly in hand. I¡¯m rich¡ªunbelievably rich! he mused. Bloody hell, I can rent a flat in the middle boroughs! Walking down the street in high spirits, Asher swaggered into a local tailor called Anston Fine Cloths. The salesman was impeccably dressed in what appeared to be bright red cashmere¡ªdownright extravagant! Asher felt a wave of annoyance wash over him. ¡°Hello, sir. How may I assist you today?¡± Suppressing another irritated glance at the man¡¯s attire, Asher replied, ¡°I need two suits: one linen and one wool, along with a hat and shoes, please.¡± ¡°Certainly! That will be 6 pounds each. Please note that this also covers tailoring and upkeep. Should you need repairs, simply send them to our shop, and we will handle it free of charge.¡± Asher felt the very floor beneath him sink as he processed the information. For a moment, he couldn¡¯t think clearly; he nearly slapped himself¡ªsurely he had misheard the man. 12 pounds?!? ¡°Is there any way I can get a discount? Twelve pounds seems a little steep... perhaps ten pounds would be more fair?¡± The salesman looked surprised but quickly regained his composure. ¡°Twelve pounds is our bottom line, sir. We wouldn¡¯t profit otherwise. I assure you, this is a fair price. Our goods are top quality, and we provide the best service.¡± Asher grumbled for a while, then began extracting bills from his wallet. The salesman couldn''t figure out why Asher seemed to be seeing off a child before a long trip. Some time later, Asher walked out of Anston Fine Cloths. As he headed home toward Hobble Street, he realized he¡¯d have to walk through Kensington with his purchases. Thinking quickly, he turned around and asked the salesman to have everything delivered. Chapter 6 Whispers In The Dark The following morning Asher found himself at a housing company. Sporting his new charcoal linen suit,feeling a little strange in such expensive clothes. As he perused the catalogue he had been given, he politely waited for assistance. Eventually, a middle-aged man approached him, clipboard in hand. Asher listened to the man outline his options and asked several questions to narrow down his query, feeling the pinch in his wallet. "It''s alright; it''s for work. It will be worth it, I''m sure! In fact, I''ll make it so if it kills me. 2535 Colloway Street¡ªa two-bedroom apartment near the office. Supposedly, it has a caf¨¦ across the street and a school just down the road. I¡¯m not sure why the worker mentioned this to me. Perhaps he thought I looked like a young man eloping?" After paying the man 15 pence for his administrative prowess, Asher left the housing agency. ¡°Mmmm, perhaps today I can treat myself to a public carriage ride. Otherwise, I¡¯ll freeze to death before I make it back to Crestcheek Street.¡± To his delight, he even managed to snag a window seat. Shortly after settling in, a man holding a newspaper sat beside him. Asher glanced over briefly and offered a terse nod. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught one of the headlines from the supplementary pages. ¡°WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN SEWERS BELOW HEARTH UNIVERSITY.¡± Asher stole another glance at the portrait accompanying the article, making sure he didn¡¯t recognize her. She was a brunette, quite young¡ªperhaps no older than 18. Such a shame, truly. Yet, he felt like he had seen her before but couldn¡¯t quite recall where. Looking away, he hoped the man next to him didn¡¯t catch him reading over his shoulder. He turned his attention to the city passing by through the frosted window. It wasn¡¯t long after he boarded when they arrived at Colloway Street. Disembarking, he handed the conductor 6 pence and adjusted his hat. Colloway Street was quite a nice neighborhood. Children played in the streets, and the buildings were all clean and well-maintained. Most had terraces and tiny gardens enclosed by neat wooden fences. The air smelled of breakfast, and he spotted a boy riding a bicycle, delivering newspapers. ¡°Surprisingly, Menthil isn¡¯t all miserable,¡± he mused. Asher waved the boy down and purchased a copy, sacrificing a pence. He decided he should start reviewing it daily, knowing that staying updated on recent events could be the difference between solving a case and retiring it. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. Tucking the newspaper under his arm, he strolled down Colloway Street. He wasn¡¯t too worried about directions; after all, he was following the enticing smell of coffee. Soon, he saw a small crowd gathered in front of a quaint caf¨¦ called Amerthit Bakery. It seemed the establishment lacked enough space for the morning rush. Asher took his place in the queue and waited patiently for his turn. In front of him, a woman wearing a green blouse and grey cardigan turned around to look at him. Asher drew a sharp breath and swallowed hard, digging deep to find the self-control he didn¡¯t know he had to prevent himself from staring at her captivating presence. The woman blinked a couple of times, sniffing the air. She glanced around at random passersby before finally settling her gaze on him. Her pensive expression shifted to a shallow smile, revealing eyes that sparkled like deep green forest moss, vibrant and sharp. Her flaxen hair was straight and tied up, neatly kept out of her way. ¡°Good morning,¡± she said. ¡°Yes, it is... erm... I mean, good morning to you as well,¡± he half-blurted. The woman chuckled at his blunder, eliciting an imperceptible blush from him. ¡°You¡¯re from around here? Western borough, I think it¡¯s called.¡± Asher reached into his inner pocket, producing an old pocket watch made of silver metal¡ªits origin a mystery even to him. ¡°Come to think of it, where exactly did I find it?¡± he pondered silently for a moment before redirecting his attention. He snapped the watch open and noted the time, ensuring he wouldn¡¯t be late. Looking back at the woman he had designated a public safety hazard, he replied, ¡°Yes, I¡¯ve just booked a flat here on Colloway. But I¡¯ve never once left Menthil¡ªsomber as it may be, it¡¯s home.¡± The woman seemed intrigued, but the queue had already crossed the caf¨¦¡¯s threshold. ¡°Well, I just arrived less than a month ago from Urbs Stellarum. It has been a real struggle to make friends here.¡± Asher felt his focus slipping again; this time, he caught her scent¡ªrose water and cinnamon, perhaps clove. It was more than enough to make him experience another faux stupor. He wore what he thought was a mildly skeptical expression. What sort of places had she been networking? Every lad across the borough must be pining to solve such a ¡°conundrum.¡± ¡°Is that so? Well, I¡¯m Asher Moretti. It¡¯s a pleasure to meet you, and I¡¯d be delighted to enjoy your friendship.¡± The woman¡¯s eyes twinkled with a gleam reminiscent of a child unwrapping a new toy on Christmas. ¡°I¡¯m Renee Duval. I hope to see you soon. You¡¯re welcome to join me for tea at Market Street, 907. Jusqu''¨¤ ce que nous nous revoyions.¡± Asher made a mental note of her address, repeating it three times to be sure. ¡°Well, I¡¯m a bit busy at the moment; however, I will drop by when I get a chance. If not, I¡¯m staying at 2535 Colloway. Ah, and j¡¯esp¨¨re bient?t.¡± She seemed pleased he had acquiesced to her somewhat limited English. Shooting him a smile, she gave a half-curtsy and walked past him. Renee donned a veiled sun hat, clutched her bag of baked goods, and left. Asher took longer than he would have liked to tear his gaze from her departing figure. When he finally did, he inquired about seating with the clerk. Shortly afterward, he was enjoying a coffee¡ªunfortunately without cream. From time to time, he nibbled on the croissant aux Amandes he had ordered. It was delicious, the almond butter nestled inside a delightful surprise. Opening his fresh copy of Menthil Daily, he began to peruse it leisurely. Chapter 7 The Present Is A Gift Thursday, March 9th, 1817 Menthil Daily WOMAN FOUND DEAD IN SEWER BENEATH HEARTH UNIVERSITY Age: 16-18 Hair: Brown Eyes: Green Height: 5 feet 6 inches Last seen in the lower boroughs near Kensington If you have any relevant information, please contact the Menthil Police Department. --- Asher scanned the criminal activities section of the Menthil Daily, his brow furrowing as he read. "I wasn''t very satisfied with the brief glimpse I caught during the carriage ride. Clearly, this is a murder at the very least¡ªsewerside. But without examining the crime scene firsthand, there isn¡¯t much more to see." As he sat in his new apartment, which had come fully furnished, he reflected on his modest living space. It wasn''t extravagant by any means. The apartment featured one master bedroom upstairs and a guest bedroom with a bath on the first floor. Upon entering, a tiny parlor led into the living room, with the kitchen and staircase branching off from there. The guest room was just past the staircase, while the bedroom upstairs boasted a small terrace attached. He wasn¡¯t certain whether it was the landlord or the previous tenant, but he appreciated the lavender growing in a rectangular pot that overlooked the terrace. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. The apartment cost him a staggering three pounds a month¡ªa significant expense that left his finances in absolute tatters, almost making him shed tears. "I¡¯ve got four pounds, eight crowns, and fifty-six pence left, I¡¯ll earn twenty-five percent of my pay until my debt is settled." He sighed. "I won¡¯t exactly have to tighten my belt. In fact, I should have quite a surplus, all things considered. Perhaps I should save some of that money for bribes. I¡¯m sure I¡¯ll need to grease some palms now and again on the job. Nonsense! If it comes to that, I¡¯ll file a claim for my costs with Helena!" Cheering himself up, Asher resumed reading. --- The police are seeking any information pertaining to a suspected dangerous individual. Please contact the Menthil Police Department directly if she is spotted. We strongly advise the public not to approach her. Her last known whereabouts was Urbs Stellarum, where her involvement is suspected in several disappearances. Female Age: 18-25 Hair: Red Eyes: Grey Height: 5''8" Unfortunately, there was no picture accompanying this article. But with such striking features, I suppose a visual isn''t essential. It¡¯s not as if you¡¯d come across another person with red hair and grey eyes in a lifetime. Asher finished reading the remainder of the criminal activity report, feeling a wave of indifference wash over him. Perhaps growing up in the lower boroughs had left him jaded. He brewed himself a cup of tea and ripped several pieces of rye bread onto his plate. "Maybe I can start buying wheat bread now that I have some extra income," he mused to himself. Asher tidied up his kitchen, leaving the dishes in the sink for later. Today marked his official first day of work. Assistant Detective Moretti! "Hehehehe." Feeling a surge of excitement, Asher made his way to the upstairs bathroom. He flicked some water onto his hair, attempting to tame it as best he could. "Oh, for heaven''s sake, bloody hell!" he exclaimed. Somehow, all of his undershirts were dirty. He grabbed the least offensive-smelling one and quickly threw it on, determined to avoid the consequences of being late on his first day. After donning the rest of his clothes, he exited his apartment and joined the queue for the public carriage. Asher settled near the back of the carriage, relishing his window seat and grateful he wasn¡¯t outside in the cold. Reaching into his jacket, he quickly checked the time. After placing the nondescript trinket back, he paused for a moment, frowning. The undershirt he had hastily thrown on was damp¡ªnot dripping, but certainly more than a bit wet. "How did that happen? I haven¡¯t done laundry since last week. I suppose the lads the housing agency sent must have accidentally gotten it wet on their way to Colloway Street." Feeling more than a little disgruntled, Asher steeled himself against the chilly morning air. Fortunately, Henry seemed to keep his fireplace burning at least in the mornings. The smoke he¡¯d noticed coming from the chimney on Tuesday must have been from him. As the carriage meandered past Crestcheek Street, Asher alighted after paying his fare. A blast of cold wind greeted him, pricking his skin and sticking to his damp undershirt like glue. He walked toward the Consultancy building, opened the landing door, and ascended the stairwell. About halfway up, he noticed a bump on the handrail he¡¯d been gripping. Frowning slightly, Asher looked down in curiosity. There, on the wall-facing side of the polished handrail, some wood had been carved away. The result was the likeness of a goat''s head, seemingly in tears. Asher spared it a brief glance before continuing upstairs. Entering the lobby, he spotted Liz sitting at her desk, wearing a modest periwinkle dress. "Good morning, Liz! You look lovely today." Liz blinked at him as if she had just seen an exotic animal¡ªperhaps a unicorn. "Ah, thank you, Asher. Would you like something to drink? I hope things haven¡¯t been too difficult. Relocating can be a hassle." "A coffee with a bit of cream, please. Thankfully, it¡¯s been rather easy; accommodations were available. I¡¯ll see you in a while, Liz. I need to see Henry for self-defense training." "Very well, I¡¯ll bring your coffee in a moment." Asher walked toward the hallway, counting four doors down. He took a left, knocked, and then opened the door. Henry was in his usual spot, sipping a steaming mug. He turned toward the door as Asher entered, but before Asher could say anything, he felt something hit the side of his head, and his vision went dark. Chapter 8 Willful Ignorance Asher was enjoying a rather pleasant dream in which he had secured a new job at a detective''s firm. Suddenly, something struck the side of his unsuspecting head! He stirred awake, taking in his surroundings. The fireplace crackled ceaselessly, prodding at his throbbing head. "It wasn''t a dream at all! When I find the scoundrel who assaulted me, I''ll have his neck!" Henry, noticing his return to the waking world, laughed before motioning above the door. There, Asher saw the culprit of his demise: a simple trigger mechanism above the threshold attached to a large log. "Lesson one: always be aware of your surroundings, tread lightly, and suspect the worst." Asher felt quite wronged, but in the essence of professionalism, he decided to move on. "Indeed, I''ll treat this lesson as an irreplaceable accessory and wear it every day." Henry smiled, then walked to a nearby shelf and retrieved an old book. Retreating to his favored spot near the fire, he opened it and located his mark. "For today, I''ll assess your physical capabilities. There are training clothes across the hall. Go collect a set and begin with push-ups; you are to continue until I say otherwise." Asher was a little surprised. He thought he would be learning to defend himself. This seemed more like his physical education activities from grade school. Nonetheless, he removed his jacket, carefully hanging it from the coat rack by the door. He entered the storage room across the hall and secured himself a training outfit: a simple white linen shirt and black sweatpants. He changed in the storage room, leaving his outfit there. Entering Henry''s office, he rubbed his head, hoping to chase away the throbbing pain. He noticed Liz had entered at some point, as there was a coffee awaiting him. He sipped some of the rare treat, delighted by the freshness of the cream. Then he acquiesced to Henry''s request and began to toil away. 5 10 15 20 21 23 You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story. 26 Asher no longer felt grateful for Henry''s diligent fire-keeping practices. He was already quite hot, and the fire didn''t help. Drawing a big breath, he continued. Soon his pace, which had already slowed, came to a crawl. It took effort just to maintain posture. Yet Henry did not give him any signal to cease his efforts. Asher took almost 30 seconds to descend and rise, his arms shaking as he did. "This is the first day! I refuse to accept anything less than my best," he said, steeling his resolve and continuing after another three. Though his determination was admirable, his efforts soon crashed against reality. Unfortunately, while he wasn''t in the worst of shape, he was essentially an office worker. He spent his days assisting professors, procuring documents, and revising and compiling historical information. He wasn''t exactly a picture of fitness. As a result, he soon learned what it felt like to lay on the cold floor of the Consultancy firm for the second time. Henry seemed disappointed in Asher; in a disapproving tone, he spoke, "Continue." Gasping for air, Asher felt his lungs were filling with the acrid air of some desert. Whatever that was, he wasn''t exactly sure, having only heard descriptions. Hoping against all hope, he hardened his will and forced his poor body to assume proper posture, then began his descent once more, squeezing all he had. His muscles were burning, tendons taut on the verge of hyperextension. Taking a deep breath, he pushed up, counting silently in his head. He continued this way, focusing his mind into a laser; he was nothing if not determined. Again and again... fall, push, descend... fall, push, descend. Asher, perhaps understandably, had lost track of time for the most part. He buried himself in his task and toiled away. Not once did he surrender to his body''s demand for respite. Sometime later, Asher fell to the floor for the last time he hoped. Try as he might, he could not arise; there was no amount of willpower capable of challenging his fatigue. Henry spoke again, this time his judgmental tone was gone. "Good, next you can rest for a spell. Afterwards, you''ll perform star jumps until I tell you otherwise." Asher lay sprawled on the floor of Henry''s office, soaked in sweat. He felt like he''d ridden a horse all the way to Belgique without rest. Or perhaps been trampled by scores of equestrians. He felt somewhat embarrassed by his lack of decorum. "The hell with it; I''m too bloody tired to worry about such trivialities," Asher thought to himself. Henry had put him through various exercises, never allowing him to stop until he truly could not continue. Obviously, his performance with each consecutive activity experienced a steep decline. Regardless, Asher never once gave up; he did not accept anything less than his absolute limits. "Go and get yourself cleaned up. There is a washroom near the lobby, just before the offices. You can change out of your training clothes as well." "That''s it? We''re done just like that? He''s not taught me anything! Unless you count, ''don''t enter the residence of shady old men with a penchant for medieval traps'' as a lesson!" Asher muttered under his breath. Inwardly grumbling, Asher collected himself for a moment, then entered the storage room. Walking toward his pile of neatly folded clothes, something caught his gaze. He turned toward the object responsible, curiosity evident in his eyes. It was an old silver ring with only a small, thin crescent opal set. The band was thin and inscribed with letters he couldn''t read. In thin and elegant handwriting, the inscription read: "Somnus Aeternus." For some reason, Asher could not detach his gaze from the unassuming ring. He reached out to it, almost recoiling at the touch. The ring was cold¡ªtoo cold. If he wore it, he would probably lose that finger. Asher realized a moment too late that he had withdrawn his hand, but some of his fingertip hadn''t. It froze over in an instant, firmly adorning itself to the ring''s band. Asher clutched his hand with the other; he didn''t mind the pain¡ªhe never had much, really. He glanced back at the ring, noticing a few drops of his blood had landed on the crescent moon. The ring seemed to drink the blood, like a tree hungrily snatching rain after a drought. Chapter 9 Thirsty Ring Asher stared in disbelief as his blood disappeared, seemingly spirited away into the ring. He rubbed his eyes and blinked several times, struggling to confirm the bizarre phenomenon was real. The inlay of the ring shifted momentarily before settling down, perhaps satisfied with its meal. Asher hadn¡¯t the slightest clue what to make of it. The skin he had lost fell away from the ring, light as a feather swaying in the wind. It was completely dry, emptied of its life force; it crumpled midair, dissolving entirely. Maybe... this is a cursed item? Asher reached out again towards the ring, this time only grasping its case. He held it for a moment, and when nothing strange occurred, he began to settle down a bit. Strangely enough, he didn¡¯t feel the cold anymore, even if he kept abreast that he would have felt it. The cold emanating from the ring was truly ghastly. Moving his left hand towards the ring, he verified his conjecture. It''s not cold anymore? Or maybe not cold for now? ¡°I really don¡¯t know one way or the other. Perhaps it¡¯s safe to touch now? Maybe even wear it.¡± He removed the ring from its case and held it in his palm, swearing he felt it vibrate at his touch. Gaining confidence, he slid it onto his left hand. The moment he did, he felt strange. As if coming into focus suddenly, he could see tiny bits floating in the air. He remembered those quacks from the science faculty calling them particles¡ªwhatever the hell that is. He could see something else among them, inundating the very air. It was particularly dense around him, and he struggled to find words to describe what he saw. Like tiny motes of light, twinkling and glowing with ephemeral power, they came in all colors of the rainbow¡ªeven some he had never seen before. They coalesced into various shapes, creating nebulous clouds. But the motes clustering near him were black and sinister. Suddenly, the beautiful motes of light fell from his sight, fading back into the ether from which they came. There was something unfamiliar within his heart, nascent and budding. Yet, he felt a strong will emanating from it. Whatever it was, he sensed a small connection with the ring. The feeling, however, was fleeting; as quick as it came, it had left. Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. Asher looked at the ring, then at the box, before coming to a decision. He grabbed his clothes and headed for the lobby washroom. After washing and freshening up, Asher let out a relieved sigh. Not even a breath later, though, he wished he could get a refund for that sigh. The fatigue from his self-defense class with the old man had finally caught up with him. Doubling over, he scrambled towards the toilet and relinquished his breakfast. Maybe... maybe I shouldn¡¯t have tried so hard. Asher changed his clothes and cleaned his face again, rinsing his mouth in the process. Then he reached over and shut off the lantern illuminating the bathroom. There were no windows, so he had made do with it. He knocked on Mr. Bolard¡¯s door and waited; it didn¡¯t take long. Soon, a familiar stern voice reached his ears. ¡°Come in.¡± Asher opened the door and walked inside, turning toward the detective and assessing his employer. A couple of things about this lucrative employment opportunity didn¡¯t make sense. At first, he hadn¡¯t been concerned, perhaps blinded by the large advance paycheck he had received. However, after the incident with the ring, he began to reconsider. Four pounds a month was a wage a middle manager or a middle-class businessman could earn. How could Mr. Bolard afford to hire him? He had no experience... he was young... not even a particularly good fighter. He was bright, sure, but not brilliant¡ªjust a grad student collecting accolades. His debatably inflated self-confidence couldn¡¯t really justify it. There were other employees too: Liz, Helena, and Henry. Additionally, he suspected there were at least four more. Since the hallway had six doors, he had seen two of their owners. No doubt the others were not vacant either. If they were all enjoying the same compensation at a minimum, that would mean Mr. Bolard was spending approximately 40 pounds a month on just payroll. How on earth was he affording such expenditures? Perhaps his clientele was not only robust but also affluent. There was also the fact that they could afford to have fresh cream on hand. Let¡¯s not get distracted; I¡¯ll have plenty of time to inquire later, I hope anyway. ¡°Good morning, Detective,¡± Asher said, giving a half bow while looking in Mr. Bolard¡¯s direction. Mr. Bolard had the same tired, lost expression on his face as he did on Tuesday. If Asher hadn¡¯t known better, he might¡¯ve accused him of never having left. His jacket was still draped over his chair, and his ashtray contained just one cigarette. Asher suspected it was the very same one he had lit after they reached an agreement. Peculiar. The man in question looked at him from top to bottom, then nodded, seemingly satisfied with his attire. ¡°Good morning, Asher. I trust Henry has been taking care of you?¡± ¡°Indeed, I¡¯ve just finished my morning session with him. It was highly enjoyable... truly to die for.¡± Mr. Bolard wasn¡¯t amused by his joke, or at least he didn¡¯t seem to be until he revealed a knowing smile. He chuckled lightly and gave Asher a sympathetic look. ¡°Excellent! You can go home and rest for today. Your peers are busy in the field, combing for a person of interest. You will have to meet them some other time. Tomorrow, I will give you your first assignment. I know you said you¡¯re an orphan. Despite that, should anyone fret your absence, I suggest you inform them. While it¡¯s not expected, the assignment could very well require it. Additionally, make sure to maintain our dignity always. You must make an effort to carry any tools required for your post. It is imperative that you¡¯re able to assume your responsibilities at a moment¡¯s notice. You will be expected to arrive no later than a quarter past should you receive notice.¡± Asher shuffled a bit, then placed the jewelry box he had taken the ring from on Mr. Bolard¡¯s desk. ¡°I understand, Detective. I will, without fail, meet and surpass your expectations. However, there is something I can¡¯t help but bring to your attention. It¡¯s somewhat... how to say... fantastique, for lack of a better word.¡± Chapter 10 Of Sprites And Will-of-the-wisps Seemingly unable to discern anything, the man instead inquired, "What happened? Is it related to this box? Where did you get it?" Asher was taken aback. How could the detective not know? He had assumed the ring was one of his possessions. "You see, Detective, I was sent to the storage room by Henry earlier for some matters. While I was there, I came across this box. Inside, I found a ring. When I touched it, it felt colder than a pole in winter. My skin immediately froze over, and I had the sense to retract my hand. When I did, I noticed some blood left on the ring from the injury. Strangely, the blood seemed to disappear from the surface of the ring, almost as if it drank it. I know this sounds ridiculous, but I assure you, I have better jokes to tell." Mr. Bolard didn¡¯t appear even slightly taken aback by his story. Instead, he glanced at Asher¡¯s left hand for a moment, then let out a long sigh. "Where is that ring now?" Asher was a bit confused; hadn¡¯t the detective just been inspecting it? "It¡¯s on my left hand. I¡¯ve been wearing it since the incident occurred. However, much to my dismay, I¡¯ve belatedly learned that I cannot take it off." He twisted and pulled at it; soap and water did nothing. It wasn¡¯t even a supremely tight fit. Upon realizing this, he knew he had to inform Mr. Bolard. "I¡¯m no thief, Mr. Bolard." Mr. Bolard seemed to understand something. He rummaged through his desk and produced a bottle of whiskey. After pouring two glasses, he sipped silently before lighting up a half-smoked cigarette from his ashtray. Pushing a glass of whiskey across the desk, he offered a sympathetic gaze. "I see; that is indeed quite distressing. I applaud your diligence. Tell me, Asher, is there anything special about that ring? Anything that stands out?" Asher glanced at the whiskey, contemplated for a moment, and then downed the entire glass. Ugh, absolutely miserable stuff. How do people enjoy this? "There is an inlay on the ring¡ªa masterfully cut opal in the shape of a crescent moon. There¡¯s also an inscription, but it¡¯s in a language I¡¯ve never seen before, even in my historical research." Producing a pen, Mr. Bolard slid a notepad across the desk. "Write it down for me." Asher quickly obliged, grateful he hadn¡¯t been dismissed and sent to the local sanitarium. He jotted down the words, "Somnus Aeternus." Mr. Bolard looked at the notepad, thinking quietly. He opened a drawer and sifted through documents until he found the storage inventory from December. After flipping through it for a while, he reached the end of the pages, sipped his whiskey, and closed his eyes, lost in thought. You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version. "If I''m not mistaken, that ring is likely a relic from Urbs Stellarum''s distant antiquity. That in and of itself isn¡¯t too strange. They do come around from time to time¡ªmaybe once a decade, you can find one through one of the lesser-known auction houses. Typically, they fetch astronomical sums. The kind of money that you and I wouldn¡¯t dare to imagine. The last one auctioned in Menthil was seven years ago. It sold for thirty million pounds." "It was a mask Jester''s Guise, it resembles a court jester makeup attire. That being said, obvious or not, we do not have the capabilities to acquire such a lavish item." "There is no ring by your description within the storage room. All that standing, frankly, this issue somewhat escapes my capabilities. There are some people I can reach out to, but I doubt they would be better equipped to address this." "Asher, you¡¯re a clever kid. You must have wondered why we hired you, right? We brought you on for situations like this, hoping you could supplement our historical knowledge. Given that you were doing something similar for Hearth University, I thought you¡¯d suit the role." "In general, there are no experts on most of the historical records from this period. As for experts on Urbs Stellarum relics? Well, they simply don¡¯t exist. They are suspected to have been owned by the former Knights Stella, who ruled much of the continent from 1300 to 1500. Their throne resided in Urbs Stellarum. They were fierce and clever. If not for internal strife, most would agree we would still be under their foot today." Asher struggled to comprehend Mr. Bolard¡¯s words. "This ring is 300 years old and was formerly owned by royalty?" "I see. So that¡¯s why they hired me. It still begs the question, though: where and how are they acquiring ancient historical records?" "Very well. At least I don¡¯t think the relic is currently causing harm to me or others. I must ask you, Detective: do you frequently encounter similar articles like this ring?" Mr. Bolard poured Asher another cup of whiskey and extinguished his cigarette. "Indeed, we often do. Our clients frequently have strange requests. Of those, roughly 40% are related to ancient ruins in some manner." Asher calmed down after finishing the first glass. He mimicked the relaxed pace Mr. Bolard enjoyed with his liquor. "Bloody hell, that¡¯s dreadful." Mr. Bolard pretended not to notice Asher¡¯s grimace, then remarked, "There is no ring in the storage room by your description, and therefore it would suggest you have not taken anything from the company. Asher, I must take this opportunity to remind you of the confidentiality clause as well as the non-disclosure agreement you signed regarding the company. Under no circumstances can you divulge your experience at the office today, at least outside of sanctioned channels." "I will inquire on your behalf; still, I will do so without disclosing your circumstance." Asher felt a wave of relief wash over him, glad to know he wouldn¡¯t be held responsible. He had no qualms regarding his freedom of speech on the matter. Loose lips sink ships, after all. However, upon hearing Mr. Bolard¡¯s closing statement, he felt a sudden sense of alarm. "Last one... seven years ago... thirty million... belonged to the Knights Stella..." Asher quickly fixed his posture and shot a glance at Mr. Bolard. "Actually, please do not inquire on my behalf in any capacity. While I may not know much, I do know some things. Any mention of even a hypothetical relic of this caliber will cause trouble¡ªfor you, the company, and myself. Instead, I will make efforts on my own to uncover their intricacies. Thank you, Detective; I think it¡¯s best we never had this conversation." Mr. Bolard seemed impressed by his new assistant. "Indeed, your insight seems to ring true. Even though I trust the contacts I intended to send inquiries to, it could very well cause unforeseen consequences. If anything does happen, you can come to the office directly and consult with me or Henry. I will see you tomorrow morning after your sessions. Good day, Asher." Asher placed his glass on the desk and picked up the box he had set there. Afterwards, he covered the words he had written with ink and offered a sincere nod to the detective. He half-turned around when he noticed a document detailing the Jester''s Guise. He couldn¡¯t make out what was written from his angle, but he did see a picture. It was of a woman¡ªperhaps 24¡ªwith flaxen hair and gorgeous green eyes. "Renee?" Chapter 11 Footsteps In The Sand Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and her lips curved into a smile. She was astoundingly beautiful, but more importantly, she was familiar. Asher had not forgotten about Renee Duval. He was entirely certain of that. But why was the public safety hazards picture on this document? "Detective, before I go, would you mind lending me the file on Jester''s Guise?" Asher asked. Mr. Bolard glanced at him and then smiled. "Well, it''s your assignment, so no, I don''t mind. You weren''t meant to receive it until tomorrow, but an early start doesn''t hurt. Go ahead and take it. You can read it in the office, but do not leave the building." Asher took the document from the detective, somewhat surprised at how easily he had achieved his goal. "Good day, detective. I appreciate your guidance and concern. I''ll leave the documents with Liz." With that, Asher retreated to the lobby in search of a reading space. He located the chair he had sat in when he first came to the office and plopped down. Liz approached him and handed him a cup of coffee the way he liked it. "Cheers, Liz. Excellent timing." Liz just smiled and walked back to the receptionist desk, resuming her browsing through a magazine he didn''t recognize. Now that I think about it, is it really acceptable for me to review documents in the office lobby? Perhaps there is a commons room or break room I can use. Well, nobody would be there anyway; the detective said everyone is away in the field. Asher turned his attention to the documents in his lap and prepared to get stuck in. Assorted Records And Speculation Pertaining To The Relic Kmown As Joker''s Guise. The relic was first documented in a painting by Florence Hesparee in 1627 titled a simple self-portrait. Below the header, a small depiction of the painting could be seen, illustrating a coming-of-age celebration. In the center of the painting, a seemingly young boy stood surrounded by his family in celebratory dress. His face was covered by a white and black mask. There were no slots for the eyes or mouth; the mask seemed to fit the boy like a glove. It matched the contours of his face perfectly. The mask was split down the middle, black on the left and white on the right. The left eye was white, with white teardrops falling from the eye''s edge. Conversely, the right eye was much the same, with the colors reversed. Support the creativity of authors by visiting Royal Road for this novel and more. "How does he breathe? That mask seems to be suffocating him." Below the painting, a paragraph described the event depicted. "Antoine Stellarums is believed to have been a child of one of the Knights Stella. There is precious little known about this time period. The only suspected relevant information is in the form of a poem by the same artist. Discard your inhibitions. Embrace your desires. Atone with blood. Tear them apart. Have no fear, for all are silent in her embrace." As a bit of a cynic, Asher couldn''t help but appreciate the morbid nature of the poem. But what does this have to do with the Guise? Other than him having illustrated the painting, this Florence fellow doesn''t seem to be related. Thankfully, below the poem, there was more information. "Florence Hesparee is decorated in many creative fields. His paintings were among his least famous. The main reason little is known about Antoine Stellarum is that he passed away shortly after this painting was created. Due to his young age, there is almost no information. However, it is confirmed that Florence was tutoring the young man in cultural arts." Another of Florence''s paintings was illustrated below; a similar scene could be seen. No, it''s not similar; this is identical¡ªa child in the middle of the scene, his family surrounding him, celebrating. Eerie... downright creepy. The feeling only compounded when he noticed there were more. The people and faces changed, but the scene and the mask always remained. There are a dozen of these¡ªwhy does he keep using the same template? Below the paintings, some unnamed official had left their speculation. "It is noteworthy that each of the children and young adults Florence was tutoring met misfortune. Though it wasn''t until 1627 when this began to occur based on available evidence. The relationship between him and the mask is uncertain. He himself committed suicide three years after the first incident. Florence Hesparee was found dead in 1630; he impaled himself on a church spire. There is a public witness account from that time. Apparently, no blood was found on his person or in the area." Asher tried to turn the page over to find more information; however, it was blank. "Precious little information, indeed. These relics, for all intents and purposes, hardly exist." The second and last paper he was given was a much more recent entry: February 17, 1817. "Three men were found dead off Starsong and Gemini in Urs Stellarum. They had no visible wounds. The official autopsy declared their deaths to be caused by heart failure. Unofficially, their autopsy reveals their cause of death is lack of blood. They simply had none in their bodies." Several more individuals were reported in the greater Girnesct Valley area, totaling 19 victims. The victims had almost nothing in common other than their sex and age. They all seemed to be in their early 20s and male. Upon investigating for mutual contacts, a woman was found masquerading as a multitude of professions. Some of the victims sought her out for medical treatment; others sought her out as a seamstress. In the end, investigators from the city tracked her down to the cottage she had been inhabiting. It was in the corner of a graveyard, very easy to miss. When confronted, she asked the investigators a question: "Do you think yourself better? You would do the same. Perhaps he was right to seek solace in sin. How foolish I was to drink so deeply from this poison chalice." The red-haired woman soon brought her hand to her face, lowering it as she smiled. Before her lips finished curving, she suddenly exuded irresistible charm. Suddenly, it was as if the world itself was born only to serve her. The stars were undeserving of her attention. The investigators soon fell under the influence of what is suspected to be airborne hallucinogens. They reported an inability to disobey the woman. They couldn''t remember anything other than the scent of her perfume after that. Chapter 12 Honeytrap The woman reportedly left Urs Stellarum; her whereabouts are currently unknown. Description of the Individual: Age: 18-25 Hair: Red Eyes: Grey Height: 5''8" In closing, there is a sealed confidential document from the Royal Family of Stellarum. The document indicates, with utmost confidence, that this individual is in possession of the Jester''s Guise. Her motives remain unclear; for now, we can only ascertain that she targets young men approximately aged 20-25. The frequency of these encounters appears to depend on her mood or other unknown factors. The last eyewitness account reported a beautiful red-haired woman boarding a carriage headed north towards the Highlands. As Asher finished reading the document, he felt more lost than when he started. Why did the detective have a photo of Renee Duval atop this document? Was she a person of interest? A mere coincidence? Or was he simply suspicious, relying on intuition? He resolved to ask him later. Asher couldn''t help but sympathize with the investigators from Stellarum; he, too, knew what it felt like to be ensnared by charm. At the caf¨¦ yesterday, he experienced the true meaning of attraction. It was magnetic, entirely irresistible; his thoughts had been clouded. Given his uncharacteristic blunder, it wouldn''t be unreasonable to suspect he had been drugged. There was almost certainly a connection between Renee and the owner of the Guise. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. He didn''t believe it was coincidental that he felt so befuddled after catching Renee''s scent. Additionally, she had told him herself that she had just arrived in Menthil, stating it hadn¡¯t been more than a month. The canary in the coal mine was her admission that she had come from Urs Stellarum. He would be a fool not to connect these facts after assessing the information provided by the consultancy firm. Asher wasn''t particularly attached to Renee; they were strangers, after all. They had only met briefly, even if he had agreed to a friendship. He even knew exactly where she resided. "Wait a second," he thought. "She also knows exactly where I reside. Is that by design?" Had she manipulated him into sharing his information while agreeing to her request? Was it a safety measure she decided on to prevent complications? It was very strange for a woman to invite a stranger, especially a man, over for tea. Wouldn''t it make more sense for her to request a rendezvous somewhere public? In fact, it seemed extremely suspicious. Perhaps he wasn¡¯t the only one who received an invitation for tea. Asher dared to think that the tea might just be poisoned. His assignment was to research the mask from a historical perspective. Was it really necessary for him to join the operation? If he reported Renee, the chances of danger to him would be very high. Even if Renee were apprehended, he still had to be wary of the red-haired woman. For the time being, he decided to maintain the status quo. There was danger in seeking involvement. If he abstained, nothing would change. Hands-off seemed to be the correct approach. Asher looked back at the documents again, his eyes falling on the painting of Antoine. He was about to pack up when he read the title of the painting again. It had almost entirely escaped his notice during his review: Florence Hesparee 1627, A Simple Self Portrait. Asher felt something forming in his mind that he couldn''t quite grasp. He then checked the rest of the paintings. Each and every one of the two dozen paintings bore the same title, the only difference being the year in which they were completed. Asher remembered the poem Florence Hesparee had left:" Discard your inhibitions, Embrace your desires. Attone with blood, Tear them apart. Have no fear, for all are silent in her embrace." If he thought this poem was morbid before, he could scarcely describe it now. This was no different from a thief openly parading his spoils in front of the establishment he had liberated them from. Asher felt grim apprehension towards the red-haired woman. What had she said? "Do you think you''re better? You would do the same. Perhaps he was right to seek solace in sin. How foolish I was to drink so deeply from this poison chalice." Was the poison chalice she referred to the Jester''s Guise? If so, what did that mean for him? He, too, possessed a relic from the illustrious Knights Stella. Chapter 13 Clever Is The Wary Traveler BRRRRRRRRING! BRRRRRRRRING! BRRRRR¡ª SLAM! Asher tried to roll out of bed, following his usual routine. But he quickly realized his usual routine wasn¡¯t so usual anymore. With a groan, he fell right back into bed, letting out a whimper. ¡°Would it be better to simply end it all? It might be optimal considering the unbearable aches and soreness. Everything is tender. Ahhhhh, maybe I should just go back to sleep?¡± ¡°Is it really necessary to brave the outside world¡¯s mortal danger today of all days? If anything, it¡¯s irresponsible to leave. Society as a whole should thank me¡ªperhaps compensate me, really.¡± Asher almost chuckled at his terrible jokes before dragging himself to the bathroom. Some time later, he was sitting downstairs, cleaning up after his breakfast. ¡°It was just two cups of whiskey. How is it even possible that I¡¯m hungover? Where was I again? Ah yes, life is truly just the journey to death. In any other situation, one would strive to accomplish their goal post-haste!¡± Asher took his black cotton suit jacket off the coat rack and locked his door. Suddenly, a familiar scent assaulted his nose... ¡°No way. Ah, but yes way! It would seem the world is testing me today.¡± Raising his head and turning around, he barely contained a gasp, even though he was somewhat prepared. ¡°Good morning, Mr. Moretti! You didn¡¯t visit, so I thought I¡¯d stop by and check on you.¡± Asher struggled to meet her gaze, feeling as if he was staring at the sun. ¡°Bonjour, Madame Duval. Your presence is truly an unexpected boon. I¡¯d hazard to say this hallway has never looked so good, even when new. I appreciate your concern; unfortunately, I¡¯ve been delayed. Work has been extremely taxing, occupying the majority of my time. You will have to forgive me; it is my fault entirely.¡± Renee smiled brightly, seemingly amused at his innuendos. Stolen novel; please report. ¡°That¡¯s terrible, ta pauvre chose! I¡¯m glad you¡¯re okay. I would be beside myself if anything happened to my first friend in Menthil. As you say here in Menthil, the nights would grow cold.¡± Asher noticed Ren¨¦e wore a modest grey dress, paired with a lilac cardigan. Her hair was tied up as usual, and her bun looked extremely tight. Cough. ¡°In any case, I will sincerely endeavor to make time for some tea. Please do look past my transgressions. While I could not want for anything more than to continue enjoying the beautiful scenery, I must be going now. I fear I¡¯ve delayed enough. Passe une merveilleuse journ¨¦e, Madame Duval.¡± ¡°Ah, in that case, I suppose I will have to reconsider... At any rate, it was good to see you. Hopefully, it won¡¯t be long before we can enjoy our time in a more relaxed setting. If ever one is found lacking answers, friends can be invaluable, especially if one cannot ask those questions. Passe une merveilleuse journ¨¦e, Monsieur Moretti.¡± Ren¨¦e gave him a mysterious look and winked before offering a half-curtsy. Asher didn¡¯t stand on ceremony, but mentally snapped a picture before leaving for the public carriage stop. As he approached Henry¡¯s door, his vigilance peaked. After the old man¡¯s antics, he half-expected to fall through a trapdoor. Surprisingly, he made it in unmolested. I wonder if Henry is unwell... suspiciously easy... Henry, without a doubt, was a creature of habit. The man was nothing if not consistent; he sat in his armchair, sipping a steaming mug. His eyes were fixed on the dancing flames beneath the hearthstone. Asher was certain that even if the man was staring at the flames, he wasn¡¯t really looking at them. ¡°Mysterious... or maybe senile... yes, probably senile. That would explain a lot.¡± Henry finally acknowledged his presence, sparing him a glance before returning to his daze. ¡°You¡¯re too exhausted to do anything, right? Perfect! Let¡¯s begin. Go change your clothes and start from the beginning.¡± ¡°From... the... beginning? Bollux! W-w-what the heck does he mean?! I¡¯ve half a mind to tell this old man to try it himself!¡± He must have let his outrage show on his face because the old man laughed, seemingly reveling in his despair, if not outright delighted. ¡°The man was a real basket case!¡± ¡°Quit your whinging and go change! If I have to repeat myself again today, you¡¯ll regret it.¡± Asher, swallowing his sigh and realizing this was a battle he could not win, turned to the door. Liz was sitting at her desk when Mr. Bolard approached her. ¡°Hello, Dunn! How are you?¡± AHHHHHHHHH! ¡°I¡¯m well, Elizabeth. Please send some coffee to my office and some water and coffee to Henry¡¯s as well.¡± GAHHHHHHCK! ¡°Certainly! I¡¯ll bring them over in just a spell. What in the world is all that noise?¡± EHHMMMAAA! ¡°Thank you, dear. Ah! That? I suppose someone left a window open. Not to worry. Have them deliver an extra breakfast and lunch set as well. I¡¯ll cover the expenses. Inform Helena.¡± Mr. Bolard walked back to his office, shutting the door as he passed. ¡°How long has it been? Days? No, maybe weeks... I can¡¯t be sure. Time is just a coping mechanism invented by humans. Perhaps it¡¯s been an eternity just now, or perhaps the second prior.¡± Asher was growing all too familiar with the sight of the ceiling. ¡°I hope Henry¡¯s coffee is cold for a week! I hope his firewood is wet!¡± A short knock rang on the door, giving Asher just enough time to collect himself. Liz entered, looking reminiscent of a waitress, carrying three saucers with cloches. She set them down on Henry¡¯s desk and left. ¡°Well, hatchling, I suppose you earned a meal. Go wash up before you tuck in.¡± Chapter 14 Weeping Angel Ding, ding, ding! The belltower chimed, chasing away the darkness and welcoming the new moon. Inside the chapel of the cathedral off Kensington and Hobble, an evening mass was in progress. At the pulpit before the altar stood a young man, fervently preaching his praise. The pews were full¡ªa strange sight for an evening mass. Upon closer inspection, however, one would find that most of the patrons belonged to the lower class. Tramps, street girls, drunkards, and gamblers¡ªa collection of the unfortunate. The young man wore the traditional attire of a preacher. In his hand was an open book, his voice soothing and resplendent. "Our Mother, almighty as she is, protects us all. In her everlasting embrace, all can find peace. Cold becomes warmth; hunger becomes satisfaction. Children of the Night Goddess, rejoice in her grace. In solitude, we find inspiration; in fear, we find courage. Praise you, Mother; we are unworthy of your love." In the comfortable silence that followed his words, the preacher lit a candle in somber reverence. He then traced a moon on his heart, allowing the momentary silence to linger. In the pews, the patrons bowed their heads and closed their eyes. Even if it was an act, it felt believable. The preacher looked up at the chapel, his gaze sweeping from end to end. He smiled, his joy evident for all to see. "I hope to see you all again come the morrow. May you find peace in solitude, children of the Night." With that, the preacher descended from the altar and walked through the pews. Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings. As he departed, several clergy members entered, bringing carts laden with porridge and hard bread. The patrons lined up, displaying an etiquette rarely seen among their company. The preacher had removed his mass attire, now donning his evening dress. As he served porridge to the unfortunate, he took inventory of the participants. Where are they all going? It¡¯s been weeks since I¡¯ve seen them. Old Kenny is missing his friends too. Jibril and Ascot as well; I haven''t seen them in days. He had asked the patrons if they had been seen, but to no avail. He knew better than to accept that they were merely absent. These poor souls rarely found true salvation from their weary lives. It¡¯s almost twelve of them¡ªMother Goddess, watch over them. Click, ahhh... An old man lit his wooden pipe and inhaled deeply, relief evident in his expression. Inside the dimly lit room, flames danced across the walls, growing and shrinking the shadows. On the floor lay a corpse¡ªa young man with reddish-brown hair, reminiscent of autumn maple leaves. Shockingly, the corpse seemed to stir! Moving slowly and unnaturally, it stood and began to approach the old man. Murder glinted in its eyes, perhaps hunger; it wasn¡¯t clear to see. Step... step... step... crash! The zombie stumbled over its own feet, struggling to regain its balance. "Pathetic! You couldn''t even last a week. Is that head of yours as empty as it looks?" Asher looked up from the floor weakly, his ardent desire to wring the old man¡¯s neck momentarily doused. "I''m trying my best, old man! If the student is failing, then it is the teacher who is lacking!" Henry wasn''t impressed or dismayed by his student¡¯s sharp tongue. Instead, he shot back, "Kid, I''ve been training misbegotten waifs like you since before you were born." Asher wasn''t convinced, but it took all he had just to keep his eyes open. It had been a week since he began this grueling regimen; each day felt the same. He would show up to work full of hope and leave utterly broken. He couldn¡¯t recall what it was like not to feel sore anymore. The aches and pains had settled deeper, even his heart felt it. It quivered and throbbed, struggling to keep pace with his hellish will. "I can''t do this anymore! Another day of this nonsense, and I might really croak. I need to quit! I''ll return the advance pay. No! I¡¯ll sell my body to raise enough money to skip town. I need to get as far away from this human-shaped devil as pos-" Asher paused for a moment, thinking he had seen something strange. He knew the very grain of the ceiling by heart now. In fact, he thought he could identify the age of the tree from which its planks were crafted. But there was something new in his peripheral vision. Small, tiny black specks, undulating and nebulous, were shaping themselves as they pleased, moving with excitement. "I''ve finally lost it, haven''t I?" He blinked and rubbed his eyes, yet the motes did not disappear. Asher roused himself, got up, and walked to his chair. He drank some water and cast a quizzical glance at Henry. The old man didn¡¯t seem to notice them, or if he did, he wasn¡¯t showing it. "Old man, can you see those black lights?" Henry met his eyes, paused briefly, then replied. "I can only see the red ones, child. I guess you aren''t so useless after all. Focus on them, do not fall asleep. Remember the feeling of forcing your body to surpass its limits? I want you to go deeper than that; use your will. You must capture those lights, house them. Become a vessel for their weary souls¡ªtake your first step towards Descent. Chapter 15 Stupid Games; Stupid Prizes Use my will to house the lights? Closing my eyes, I sank deep within myself. I tried to recall the feeling of connection I had to the ring. I think that¡¯s what made it possible for me to see so many types of motes. It felt connected to my heart somehow, or maybe my soul. I felt my heart still throbbing in agony, my whole body in tatters. Asher imagined the black motes coalescing into a stream flowing into his heart. Then he recalled the unwavering desire he used to push his body past its limits. He summoned that feeling again, only this time he concentrated on the image he had imagined. Asher grew frustrated, feeling like he was trying to flex a muscle he didn¡¯t have. Time seemed to move at a feverish pace, and he began to panic. If he didn¡¯t capitalize on this opportunity, when would he? Tick-tock. Henry changed the firewood several times, sweeping the ashes and stoking the fire. He was on his second cup of tea by the time he noticed a chill. In his silent meditation, the room grew cold, ignoring the burning fire entirely. Henry¡¯s eyes trembled slightly at the unexpected temperature drop. Asher felt a familiar sensation of his soul linking to the ring. He felt as if it were a catalyst magnifying his desires, allowing his will to affect the mundane. He focused his attention outward, beckoning to the nebulous black cloud he knew surrounded him. Asher was confused¡ªwas he meant to be some kind of telepath? How was he meant to convey his intentions to these things? He struggled for a bit, then took a mental step back, discovering something he had missed. The black motes only existed around him; he hadn¡¯t seen them anywhere else. Why was that? Am I, in fact, the source of them? Asher decided to test his theory. Instead of communicating with the motes, he tried feeling their presence, as if he were recovering a limb that had fallen asleep. In an instant, he could feel it, as if a sixth sense he never knew he had had awakened. The motes of light were always part of him; he just hadn¡¯t been the wiser. This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Come to think of it, are they really motes of light? It is much more like floating clouds of darkness, like black smoke wisping as it trailed off him. It¡¯s nothing like those motes I saw when I first wore the ring, which had certainly been light. The black smoke undulating from his body, however, didn¡¯t meet that criteria. It was more like the pitch-black night of a new moon itself caressing him. Asher inhaled deeply; unknowingly, his voice emerged with hints of authority. ¡°Come,¡± he spoke simply, one word. The slippery pitch-black clouds around him shivered. He opened his eyes and watched as they scurried into his body like mice hiding from a cat. His body immediately protested against the foreign invaders. However, he was exhausted¡ªno, he was way past that; he had cleared that hurdle last week. His body could do absolutely nothing without his permission. His will was the only thing capable of moving his broken body. He was certain he would have been in the throes of violent convulsions had it been otherwise. ¡°Is this the reason this senile old man has been working me worse than a dog? To prevent my body from destroying itself? In fact, I think it was.¡± The unsettling tremors running through him did not stop quickly. Eventually, they ceased entirely; instead, he felt invigorated. Asher opened his eyes and looked around the room, curious about the condition of the black aura he had seen. It was nowhere in sight; apparently, it was in his heart now, or maybe his soul. ¡°Wait, what the hell happened?!¡± ¡°HENRY! Are you alright?!¡± Asher quickly got up and dashed toward the crazy old man. The room was covered in a light frost, with snow still drifting in the air column. Henry wasn¡¯t in his regular chair anymore; instead, he was clutching a revolver and pointing it at Asher. His other hand looked like it had sustained severe frostbite, and Asher was sure it was beyond saving. Henry looked at Asher for a moment, then lowered his gun and walked toward his desk. He took out various ointments and herbs that Asher couldn¡¯t identify. After applying the ointment and a poultice, he wrapped his hand in bandages. ¡°I¡¯m alright, child. Don¡¯t worry; you¡¯ll need more than that to kill me off,¡± Asher let out a sigh of relief. If the old man said so, he decided to believe him. ¡°What happened, old man?¡± Henry finished his first aid and pulled a bottle of blood-red liquid from a shelf. Removing the cap, he downed it. Asher swore he smelled the scent of burning wood and sulfur. ¡°Hmmm. That relic of yours discharged some of the spiritual energy you absorbed to prevent you from exploding into pieces. I was attempting to try something similar. However, when I approached, a frost nova exploded from your left hand. Thankfully, I wasn¡¯t very close and protected my face in time. I¡¯ll be fine, though, eventually.¡± ¡°Spiritual energy? What is that? Are you referring to the lights I could see floating in the air?¡± Henry sat, resuming his post on his throne, and cleared his throat. ¡°Yes, or at least that is what I¡¯ve been told. I have been studying spirit essence for almost 45 years now. However, I have never once seen it directly¡ªjust a foggy outline, like a reflection from the past. From time to time, I get talented students who can, though it is from their accounts that I can testify.¡± Asher relaxed a little, seeing the old man resume his questionable routine. He decided to have a seat as well. He had stayed in the office much longer than usual. The proof was the warm lunch Liz must have delivered from the restaurant next door. He removed the cloche and examined the meal. It was simple: a chunk of pot roast and mash. He was delighted. It was rare for him to enjoy a lavish meal like this. ¡°My days as a starving student are over!¡± He unwrapped the cutlery, making sure to tuck the napkin at his collar. Then, as he sliced into the beef, fragrant juices oozed out of the meat. It was pink on the inside, still rare, just as he liked it. There was a generous amount of pepper sauce on the plate. He dipped the meat in it before bringing it to his lips. ¡°Delicious!¡± Though Asher maintained proper table manners, he still devoured the meal at a fervent pace. The meal had come with a light beer. It must have been a summer brew; the citrus notes were muted but refreshing. After washing down the meal, Asher felt alive again, refreshed, as if he hadn¡¯t put himself through hell for the past week. Chapter 16 Flirting With Madness It was nearly 4 in the afternoon when Asher finished his meal. His efforts to corral the clouds of darkness had consumed almost two hours. He was excited, having finally shaken off the fear that had plagued him for days and nights. He believed he might soon be able to retaliate. Though he had masked the trauma from that fateful night at the ball, it had only been a facade. He felt fear, certainly, but also seething anger. He longed to punish the wretched clown. If the man in the trench coat hadn''t intervened, Asher would have tried to confront the clown himself, likely failing miserably. Yet he didn''t care. His indignation smoldered like a live coal. Soon, he believed, he could afford to let it grow. "There''s no way that clown is the only fiend of his kind. That red-haired woman, without a doubt, is another kindred abomination. Malicious monsters who delight in the torment of others have no right to breathe the same air as the rest of us. I hope to ensure they don''t¡ªnot in Menthil, that''s for damn sure." After gathering and cleaning the dishes to return to the restaurant next door, Asher headed back to Henry''s room. Henry sat by the fire, smoking his pipe, lost in thought as he listened to the crackling flames. Asher approached and sat across from him. He had changed back into his work attire, minus the jacket. Sipping his tea, he spoke. "Henry, have you ever heard of a cannibal clown with the ability to manipulate minds?" Henry didn''t seem the least bit surprised by the question. "Indeed, I have. They''re incredibly rare, but every now and then, a jester descends too far into madness and becomes something like that. Typically, they are taken down by comrades or themselves before the situation escalates. The jester''s path is a dangerous one, you see. Of all the ten paths, it is likely the quickest route to madness." Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Asher interrupted the old man before he could continue rambling. "The ten paths? What are those?" "Perhaps, with time, as you stay with us longer, your security clearance will rise high enough to learn more. For now, I''ll just say that there are ten paths to madness. Each path grants tremendous power. Truly extraordinary feats can be accomplished by those who walk them." Henry paused, raising his hand as if cradling an invisible ball. Moments later, the fireplace flared, and a torrent of flames streamed toward his hand, condensing into a small, fiery orb. The flames were as gentle as a newborn chick, and Henry handled them with ease. Asher wasn''t shocked by the display; he had already witnessed the clown''s teleportation, after all. "Of these paths, I walk the one known as the Firedancer. You must understand that while there are ten paths, each has its own steps. We call these steps ''descensions.'' I am a Step 9 Firedancer. Above me, there are eight more steps to climb. Each step bestows more power and longevity, but also increases the danger of losing oneself." "How does one begin their journey on these paths?" "In the beginning, people didn''t know. It wasn''t until the Knights Stella began funding large-scale research that the paths became somewhat stable. Back then, people consumed anything that contained spiritual essence without knowledge of the proper synthesis. The result was chaos¡ªmonsters ran rampant, lives were forfeited, cities were razed, and humanity teetered on the brink of extinction. That''s when we learned that humanity''s greatest threat has always been itself. It''s unfortunate that too few remember this lesson. To clarify, in order to descend, one must consume a potion crafted from ingredients unique to their path. Additionally, the ingredients must align with their current step; otherwise, losing control isn''t a risk¡ªit''s a certainty." "Unbelievable. Could this be real? Before the clown incident, I would never have believed such madness. Reality, it seems, can indeed be stranger than fiction." "Are all clowns this powerful?" "The one you encountered was an exceptional case. He had lived in that mansion alone for years after his wife passed. He retired from service here and began devising his ''performance.'' We checked on him just a week before the incident¡ªhe was completely normal then. He was the same gentle man we had worked with for decades. He was my friend, my partner, even my lawyer when I got into trouble with the law. That was before all this Consultancy nonsense... Anyway, I''m sorry for what happened to you. It''s not wrong to say that the company is to blame for the tragedy that night. We were not vigilant enough about the monsters in our midst. I hope you take this lesson to heart¡ªnever focus so much on external threats that you overlook the ones right at your door..." "You''re telling me that clown used to work here? That monster was once human? Do you know how many people he killed that night?! Over 100! He killed my only family. He would have killed me too if not for the man in the trench coat." "Indeed, he did work here. So, don''t for a second think that the paths of descent are something to be trifled with. If you let your guard down, you could end up just like him." Chapter 17 Duty Calls Father Elyas Fortuna stepped into the dimly lit hallway of the Bolard Consultancy firm, his cloak slightly dampened by the persistent drizzle outside. As was customary, he was greeted with an empty hall, devoid of the usual bustle and activity. Slowly, he made his way up the winding stairwell, each step echoing softly in the silence. His presence was purposeful and commanding, but on this particular evening, an unusual weight accompanied his steps, hinting at the seriousness of his visit. Elyas quickly reached the lobby area and was met with a warm smile from Liz, who lit up at the sight of him. ¡°Elyas! Goodness gracious! Would it really kill you to stop by once in a while?! Do you genuinely think that just because you''ve received a promotion, you can neglect your friends? Poor Dunn still talks about you almost every single day. Sometimes I have to gently remind him that you don''t work here anymore¡­¡± Elyas chuckled softly and offered a helpless smile in response. "I sincerely apologize, Elizabeth. You must know how incredibly cruel and relentless this past winter has been. No matter how hard I try, there always seems to be something demanding my immediate attention. I truly miss all of you dearly, and I''ll make every effort to ensure that I am not a stranger to this place. Is Dunn here? I need to have a conversation with him about some important matters." Liz raised an eyebrow and motioned toward the hallway with a slight wave of her hand. ¡°Yes, he just returned from lunch a little while ago. Please give me just a moment to let him know that you''ve arrived. Would you like something to drink while you wait?¡± Elyas shook his head gently and took a seat in one of the nearby chairs. ¡°That''s quite all right, Elizabeth. Thank you very much for the offer, but I''m okay.¡± Shortly thereafter, Elyas found himself wearing an angry scowl as he cast a pointed look at the ashtray and liquor glasses carelessly arranged on Detective Bolard''s desk. ¡°You old fool! Didn''t you promise Sharon that you would quit smoking for good?¡± Mr. Bolard wore a serious expression at the mention of his wife''s name, his demeanor shifting noticeably. Elyas maintained the tension in the air for a moment before bursting into laughter, unable to keep a straight face any longer. "It''s all right, Dunn; I won''t snitch. You look significantly better than the last time I saw you. I suppose the wife hasn''t been too hard on you after all; perhaps I should reconsider my own choices." This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it Mr. Bolard felt a cold sweat trickle down the back of his neck for a fleeting moment, feeling uneasy under Elyas''s gaze. ¡°Elyas, you stupid brat! Why on earth haven''t you been to the office recently? I''m going to dock your pay if this happens again!¡± Elyas laughed once more, the sound echoing through the office. ¡°Old man, the church promoted me out of this dreary dump more than a year ago. How many times must I remind you of that fact?¡± Mr. Bolard chuckled as well, fully aware of the accuracy of Elyas''s statement. ¡°Still, you should show your face now and then; it helps to raise morale, you know? If an idiot like you can manage to succeed, then surely anyone can.¡± Elyas''s smile momentarily froze as he hadn''t anticipated such a backhanded compliment! However, Mr. Bolard didn''t allow him an opportunity for a retort. ¡°Anyway, it''s genuinely wonderful to see you, but I''m certain this isn''t merely a social visit. So, tell me, Father Elyas, how may I assist you in your current predicament?¡± ¡°I wouldn''t have made the effort to come here if it weren''t serious, Dunn. We''ve had several disappearances among the homeless individuals whom I care for. Initially, it seemed like the usual unfortunate circumstances¡ªpeople either leaving the area or succumbing to the harsh realities of life on the streets.¡± Mr. Bolard leaned forward in his chair, his expression shifting to one of grave concern. ¡°What other news do you have for me?¡± he inquired, his voice low. ¡°The bodies are being discovered drained of blood,¡± Elyas stated, his voice steady. ¡°We both know exactly what that signifies. There''s a vampire loose once again in the lower boroughs. I suspect at least two. To be perfectly honest, I am aware of at least fifteen confirmed victims at this point. These individuals have no families to raise the alarm on their behalf, so their disappearances have gone unnoticed by the general public. But not by me.¡± Bolard listened intently, his gaze unwaveringly fixed on Elyas. ¡°And you''re absolutely certain of this?¡± Elyas nodded firmly. ¡°I''m no spring chicken, Dunn. I''ve seen enough to know what I''m talking about. These Bloodfiends are cunning, hiding among the most vulnerable, and I fear it''s not acting alone in its sinister endeavors. I need your assistance to halt it before more innocent lives are extinguished. You know how perilous these beings can become if they are left unchecked and unchallenged.¡± Bolard contemplated the request for a moment, then nodded in understanding. ¡°I understand; this is indeed grave tidings you''ve brought to me. I''ll dispatch a team first thing tomorrow morning. Do you mind if I send my new assistant along? He could greatly benefit from the fieldwork experience.¡± Father Elyas exhaled, relief evident in his eyes as he processed Bolard''s offer. ¡°I will leave it entirely to your discretion, Dunn; if you vouch for him, then I can certainly trust him as well. May the Mother guide us through this dark time.¡± Bolard rose from his desk, walking alongside Elyas to the door, their footsteps echoing softly in the silence of the office. ¡°May the Mother guide us all.¡± ¡°I''ll be at the Cathedral should you require anything. However, please inform your cohort that they should only inquire about matters that are truly serious. It can become quite troublesome to have too many Emissaries congregating around the Cathedral.¡± With that, Father Elyas walked out of the office, turning to bid farewell to Liz. He hugged her briefly before pulling his hood back up and stepping into the night. Chapter 18 Pony Up Asher felt like he was listening to a fairy tale. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn''t make sense of it all. "Drinking a potion gives you superpowers? All I have to do is kill some monsters, brew a potion, and drink it? What nonsense," he muttered. Henry gestured toward the fireplace, the flames slowly returning to a steady glow. "The first step of descent is the same for all paths: to awaken your spirit sense and condense your essence. You''ve just accomplished that," Henry explained, his tone calm but firm. "Now you must decide which path to follow. Of course, you can always choose not to walk any of them¡ªperhaps that''s the wisest choice. Don¡¯t forget what happened to Torell." "In for a penny, in for a pound¡­" Asher said, determination settling in. "There¡¯s no way I¡¯m sitting on the sidelines and ending up at another ball." Henry remained silent, allowing Asher time to consider his decision. After all, it would affect the rest of his life. "As you think it over, let me explain the true nature of Bolard Consultancy," Henry said, breaking the silence. "This company is merely a front for a collective of descenders. We are known as the Emissaries of the Night, servants of the Night Goddess. We act as her hands and feet in the mortal realm. The real purpose of this firm is to protect her children¡ªin other words, to safeguard the interests of her followers." "I see." Asher''s eyes widened slightly as the pieces began to fall into place. "That explains a lot. I always wondered how ''Detective'' Bolard managed to keep this place running. It¡¯s kind of poetic, really¡ªme, someone who grew up in an orphanage funded by the grace of the Night Goddess, ending up employed here." Henry shifted in his chair, his face tightening just a bit. "You foolish boy," he said with a slight smirk. "It¡¯s no coincidence you were hired here. Bolard is the one who saved you from Torell, the clown. He saw potential in you and made a deliberate effort to bring you in." Asher wasn¡¯t surprised. In fact, he had suspected something like this. Still, his memories were hazy. After his rescue, he had drowned himself in alcohol to the point where much of that night was a blur. He hadn¡¯t intended to remember, not being particularly fond of hard liquor to begin with. "I see," Asher said, nodding. "Well, I¡¯m glad he did. Honestly, even knowing what I know now, I have no complaints. You won¡¯t find me walking out the door. I¡¯m here because I want to be. So tell me, Henry¡ªwhat paths can the Church of the Night Goddess offer me?" If you come across this story on Amazon, it''s taken without permission from the author. Report it. "That depends on your merits, kid," Henry replied, crossing his arms. "The more you serve the Mother, the more privileges you earn. As it stands, you''re not qualified to request any of the paths yet. Even learning what paths are available is beyond you right now. Go talk to Dunn. Tell him you''re ready to begin your descent." Asher nodded, a flicker of sentimentality crossing his face. "Old man, I apologize for what happened to your hand. If there¡¯s anything I can do, don¡¯t hesitate to ask. Thank you for your training and guidance." Henry waved him off, tired but satisfied. "Go on, kid. If you think you¡¯re done training, you¡¯re mistaken. Whether or not you choose to descend, you still need to master the basics." Asher walked down the hallway, his footsteps echoing slightly on the wooden floor. He stopped in front of a door, knocking twice before turning the knob. "Hello, Mr. Bolard. Henry sent me. I''m ready to descend. How do I earn enough merits?" Bolard''s eyes lit up with approval. "Already? It¡¯s only been a week since you joined us, yet you¡¯ve already activated your spirit vision. Impressive." He stood up from his desk, circling around to stand in front of Asher. "Show me. Activate it and look at me¡ªtell me what color you see." Asher focused, channeling his will through the ring on his finger. When he opened his eyes, the world shifted. Swirling clouds of ethereal dust and glowing motes filled his vision, clumps of spiritual essence gathering like wet sand from the ambient energy radiating from all life. He glanced at Bolard. "Black," Asher said confidently. "I see black." Bolard smiled in approval. "Impressive. I think you¡¯re the fastest in the history of this firm. The only ones who came close were Jack and Clarissa. Maybe you can befriend them¡ªthey''re about your age." Bolard sat back down, his expression becoming more serious. "Asher, you can work at the firm for a few months to earn enough merits for your potion. Alternatively, we happen to have one potion available. If you want, I can give it to you now, but you''ll still need to pay for it with future service. It¡¯s the Jester potion. It¡¯s not suited for combat, though. If you want to know more, I can provide you with the firm''s dossier on the subject." He paused for a moment. "Oh, and tomorrow, you and Henry will be investigating Saint Joan Cathedral. You know it well¡ªyou grew up in their orphanage, didn¡¯t you? That familiarity will help you. Knowing the lay of the land is essential for survival." Bolard leaned forward, his gaze sharp. "The church has all but confirmed the culprit. You''ll almost certainly face a vampire¡ªmaybe several. They''re probably newborns, bloodfiends. They''re a step 9, so they aren''t impossible for a mundane human to kill. But don¡¯t get cocky. Descenders bleed like anyone else. So do those bloodfiends. They''re faster and stronger than the average adult, especially after they''ve fed. Approach with that in mind. And don¡¯t bother with garlic or wooden stakes¡ªthat¡¯s all bollocks. Killing them is just like killing any human. Make sure to bring enough bullets¡ªand I recommend a mask. Their lairs often reek of rotting corpses. Their victims still decay even after being drained. The stench can be unbearable, and if it distracts you, it could cost your life." Asher frowned slightly. "The Jester path... Is that the path Torell walked?" Bolard poured himself a glass of whiskey, sipping it before responding. "That¡¯s right. He was a step 8 Clown of the Jester path." "Mr. Bolard, I¡¯d like to see the dossier, please," Asher requested. Chapter 19 Teetering On The Abyss Bolard retrieved a small brass key from his pocket and used it to unlock the sturdy, well-worn filing cabinet in the corner of the room. The soft clink of metal as the lock disengaged echoed briefly in the quiet atmosphere. After rummaging through several stacks of neatly organized documents, he finally settled on a single sheet, pulling it out with deliberate care. With a glance at Asher, he handed over the page before turning his attention back to the glass of whiskey in his hand. ¡°You are not to leave this room with that document,¡± Bolard said sternly, his voice firm but not aggressive. ¡°The security clearance required for this information far surpasses your current level. Under no circumstances are you to share its contents with anyone¡ªneither within the firm nor with anyone associated with the church. Is that understood?" Asher nodded as he took the page, his fingers brushing against the edges of the worn paper. He sat back in his chair, eyes skimming over the document''s contents as he silently read through it. The weight of the words on the page pressed into his mind as he reached for the glass of whiskey Bolard had placed in front of him. He brought it to his lips, barely registering the burn of the alcohol as he continued to digest the information laid out before him. The document opened with an introduction that immediately caught his attention. "Jesters are notoriously unreliable charlatans, often dismissed for their erratic behavior and inconsistent predictions. Despite this, there are rare occasions when they manage to foresee events with a startling degree of accuracy. Unfortunately, more often than not, their predictions are gravely mistaken. According to comprehensive tests conducted by the Church of the Mother, jesters fail in their attempts to ''prophesy'' approximately 30% of the time. One might naturally assume this means they succeed in 70% of their predictions, but that assumption would be incorrect. While they may not always be entirely wrong, their so-called ''correct'' answers are often highly deceptive or technically true in ways that defy conventional understanding. For example, a jester might ask a seemingly innocuous question such as, ''When is the best time to have lunch today?'' After shuffling a deck of cards, if they were to draw the Three of Hearts, they might believe this indicates that three o''clock is the optimal time for lunch. However, the meaning of the ''three'' could be far more ambiguous. It might represent the necessity of bringing three companions to lunch, making the exact timing irrelevant. Alternatively, the ''three'' could reflect the best time for lunch according to the perspectives of the jester¡¯s adversaries¡ªperhaps his estranged ex-wife would be dining at the same restaurant at 3 PM, or maybe a loan shark he¡¯s been avoiding would be there instead. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The layers of interpretation are where the true problem lies. While it¡¯s possible for jesters to produce prophecies that contain elements of truth, this is an exceedingly rare occurrence. Based on our thorough research, we estimate the odds of a jester producing a prophecy close enough to the truth to be considered ''correct'' are roughly 35%. In other words, around one-third of their predictions fall into one of three categories: outright falsehoods, genuinely truthful or technically correct but misleading statements, disingenuous interpretations, or prophecies that are otherwise compromised by chance or circumstance.¡± Asher continued reading, intrigued by the analysis laid out before him. The section went on to describe how jesters harness their predictions through pure chance rather than any tangible or reliable ability, documenting this talent under the title: Cut Through Fate ¨C A unique ability that grants the jester an unreliable and often fleeting understanding of their immediate surroundings, heavily reliant on chance. The mediums used to facilitate this ability vary greatly, ranging from decks of cards and dice to seemingly random objects like stones or coins. The jester¡¯s affinity for unpredictability extends beyond mere fortune-telling, however. They also possess an uncanny ability to maintain perfect balance, regardless of the situation. A jester walking a tightrope, for example, can do so with the casual ease of someone strolling leisurely through a park. It is an instinctual ability that belies the precariousness of their circumstances. Of the ten recognized spiritual paths, jesters are ranked second in terms of their Spirit Sight potency, a measure of their capacity to perceive spiritual or supernatural entities. However, despite this advantage in perception, their standing in terms of raw spiritual essence¡ªessentially their innate power¡ªis quite low, placing them near the bottom of the rankings. Another concerning aspect of the jester path is the deterioration of their mental state. The signs of this decline can vary, but early symptoms often include involuntary outbursts of laughter, smiling at inappropriate times, and episodes of uncontrollable crying. If a jester is observed displaying more than one of these symptoms at once, it is generally an indicator that they are on a fast track toward irreversible madness. At that point, termination of the descender is highly recommended. Fortunately, jesters are not considered particularly dangerous during their loss of control, as they lack any significant combat abilities, making their threat level minimal. The document concluded with a grim observation: for reasons not fully understood, jesters have the highest statistical likelihood of succumbing to madness out of all known paths. Further research is required to uncover the cause of this anomaly." Asher set the dossier down on the table, his mind buzzing with the implications of what he had just read. He took another sip from his glass, the weight of his decision beginning to settle over him. Torrel had reached Step 8, but he didn¡¯t seem weak at all. He could teleport short distances and manipulate illusions. At one point, he even distorted my perception of time, making it appear as if Mr. Bolard had fatally wounded him. But it was all a trick¡ªan illusion among several others. So, while the jester path may not focus on combat at the lower steps, by the time I reach Step 8 and become a Clown, I should be able to hold my own in a fight. From what I can gather, my abilities will expand. It¡¯s unfortunate that this dossier doesn¡¯t list the higher steps of the jester path. Knowing more about the final stages would definitely help in making my decision. Chapter 20 Ticket To Hell He set the whiskey glass down upon the table, an inexplicable sense of tranquility washing over him. Strangely, despite his dislike of the awful drink, he had hardly registered the searing burn of the whiskey as it coursed down his throat. ¡°What is your perspective on this matter, Mr. Bolard? Should I proceed with the consumption of the jester potion?¡± Asher inquired, his voice unwavering and steady. Detective Bolard regarded him with a serious demeanor, his intense gaze fixed as he reclined in his chair, contemplating the gravity of the situation. ¡°I trust that Henry has already conveyed the inherent dangers associated with descent. It would be wise to weigh the advantages and disadvantages of embarking into this world. Once you have arrived at your decision, there exists only a limited amount of guidance I can provide. However, I must emphasize that the firm is currently in dire need of a utility emissary with the capacity for fortune-telling. Filling this role would prove invaluable to us as a cohesive unit. When it comes to comparing the myriad of paths available, the reality is that each one possesses its own merits and drawbacks. The jester path is particularly infamous for two notable aspects: first, their almost unparalleled survivability at the higher steps. Once they attain the later steps, they become nearly impossible to eliminate¡ªworse than cockroaches, in fact. They can endure just about anything that comes their way. However, the cost of such formidable durability is an alarmingly elevated risk of mental collapse. I am confident the dossier addressed this issue, but to be unequivocally clear, the rate at which jesters succumb to madness is exceedingly high. While I do not possess the exact statistics, I can assure you that the likelihood of a jester losing control is almost tenfold greater than any other path, with one exception.¡± ¡°Bloody hell, it sounds bad,¡± Asher conceded. ¡°But is it truly as grave as it seems? A 35% probability of delivering an accurate prediction may appear dismal, but isn¡¯t that effectively 35% better than what one would normally expect? If I amalgamate that with my own analytical skills, I could likely enhance my chances even further. Moreover, at the higher steps, this ability might transform into an invaluable asset. The tightrope walker ability also¡ªinitially appearing inconsequential¡ªcould very well be a life-saving skill. The agility it affords me could prove crucial in perilous situations. The potential inherent in the second step of the jester path seems exceptionally powerful as well. Perhaps I am underestimating the alternative paths due to my ignorance, but I must contemplate the long-term ramifications. Will I even survive long enough to acquire the merits necessary for transitioning to another path? Tomorrow, Henry and I will be hunting down Step 9 Descenders¡­¡± Having come to a resolution, Asher directed his attention toward Mr. Bolard, determination evident in his expression. ¡°I have made my decision. I wish to ingest the jester potion, Mr. Bolard.¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. Bolard appeared unfazed by Asher¡¯s choice, an understanding gleam in his eye. ¡°Very well. Proceed to Henry¡¯s office and await my return. I shall gather the requisite ingredients for your potion. You will be responsible for brewing it yourself, but rest assured that Henry will be available for assistance should you require it.¡± Asher sat quietly in Henry''s office, mentally preparing himself for the descent ahead. Henry, seemingly irritated by Asher¡¯s presence, muttered, ¡°Can¡¯t you two handle anything on your own?¡± ¡°Old man, don¡¯t you have anything you could share with me before I embark on this journey?¡± Asher pressed. ¡°It¡¯s not particularly complex, kid. You will either lose control, or you will transform into a jester. The sole barrier between you and the metamorphosis into a monster will be your willpower. This is especially crucial during the potion consumption phase, but it remains equally vital thereafter. You must consistently maintain a robust enough will to counteract the influence exerted by the potion. If it offers you any solace, I believe you will manage. The likelihood of losing control diminishes with proper potion composition as well as spirit essence condensation¡ªboth of which you enjoy the privilege of. If you need reassurance, the chances of you devolving into a monster are probably only about 70%.¡± Asher processed this information, realizing that the training he had undergone was designed not only to fortify his will but also to protect him from himself. ¡°I see, yes, that certainly provides some comfort... But would it kill you to offer a kind word every now and again, you stingy old man?¡± At that moment, the door swung open, and Mr. Bolard entered the room, a small chest tucked under his arm. He handed it to Asher, then exchanged a solemn glance with Henry, who nodded in response. Henry walked to his desk and retrieved a revolver, methodically loading it with silver bullets embossed with intricate black lettering. Asher squinted, attempting to decipher the script from his position, suspecting it bore a message blessed by the church¡ªlikely inscribed with a sacred liquid imbued with spiritual energy. Mr. Bolard then withdrew a piece of parchment from his suit jacket, presenting it to Asher. ¡°When you have completed your task, you must burn this paper. It is beneficial to anchor yourself to something or someone. For me, that anchor is my wife, Sharon. I am unsure what that might be for you, but I encourage you to contemplate it. What holds the utmost importance in your life? Use that as a shield to stabilize yourself amid the tumultuous winds of your mind. I wish you the best of luck, Asher.¡± Mr. Bolard¡¯s demeanor remained unaffected by the somber atmosphere that lingered after Henry¡¯s words. He smiled, grasping Asher¡¯s shoulder in a firm yet supportive manner, a chuckle escaping his lips. ¡°I distinctly remember shaking like a leaf just like you.¡± With that, he turned and ambled out of the room, whistling a lighthearted tune as he made his way toward the lobby. Asher placed the chest on the coffee table, which had served as his makeshift office. ¡°It wasn¡¯t much, but it was his own!¡± He opened the envelope Mr. Bolard had entrusted to him and withdrew the aged parchment contained within. Asher sipped his coffee, hoping to expel the lingering effects of the whiskey he had consumed in Mr. Bolard¡¯s office. Jester Potion Step 9 Ingredients: Goblin Shaman''s Heart Farseer Anglerfish''s Eyes and Brain 50 ml of Witch''s Hazel 2 Four-Leafed Clovers Asher examined the contents of the chest, ensuring that all necessary ingredients were present. After confirming, he retrieved the cauldron and set it near the pestle and mortar he had procured from one of Henry''s shelves at his insistence. Chapter 21 Descent Asher carefully prepared the potion ingredients, his mind returning to Mr. Bolard''s advice. ¡°What is the most important thing to me?¡± he thought. ¡°I¡¯m not sure I have anything like that right now, but maybe one day I will. For now, I will try to anchor myself with the ring.¡± With determination, Asher ground the four-leaf clovers in the pestle and mortar, and the sweet scent filled the air. He then heated the witch¡¯s hazel in a small pot over the fire, watching closely as it began to shimmer. Next, he placed the goblin heart into the cauldron, pouring the boiling witch¡¯s hazel over it. Before the mixture could cool, he quickly added the ground clovers, watching as the heart melted like ice under the sun. A blue smoke rose from the cauldron, and Asher knew it was time to add the anglerfish¡¯s brain and eyes. He carefully mixed in the last ingredients, and the liquid bubbled over with bright colors, sending out clouds of smoke like a sulfur pit. A rainbow of colors filled the room, swirling around like a living painting. Then, as if pulled by some unseen force, the liquid within the cauldron began to spin, drawing the escaping smoke back in. The boiling stopped, and the potion settled, looking like a slick of oil on a puddle of mercury. Asher took his teacup and a wooden ladle, gently spooning the colorful liquid into the cup. He crumpled the recipe paper and tossed it into the fire, the flames eagerly consuming it. Sitting back in his chair, he leaned his head back and drank the entire potion in one swift motion. It felt as if he had swallowed a pufferfish; the liquid expanded in his throat, resisting him. It fought its way down to his stomach, where it finally settled. Support the creativity of authors by visiting the original site for this novel and more. Before he could recover from the assault, the potion began to spread through his body. His field of vision widened, and he felt like he could see more than he ever had before. For a brief moment, he thought he saw countless tiny strings connecting him to everything around him, disappearing through the walls of the office. But then, his mind became a battlefield. Asher thrashed in response to the strange invasion in his head, his body shaking uncontrollably. Desperate to avoid biting his tongue, he covered his ears and closed his eyes, letting out a cry of pain. It felt like needles were being forced into his brain for some cruel reason. In the midst of his agony, a new kind of suffering joined in. His heart felt like it was stopping, and Asher feared he was having a heart attack. Grabbing his chest, he held on, listening to the pounding in his head. Suddenly, everything went silent. For a brief moment, he welcomed the absence of sharp throbbing . But he soon realized that the quiet was more terrifying. His heart had completely stopped. He felt his body grow cold, and he knew his lips had turned purple. He sensed his life slipping away. Then, without warning, his heart crumpled in on itself before swelling larger and larger, beating strongly once more. It felt as though he had undergone a heart transplant, a strange but very real possibility. Then, hesitantly, he opened his eyes¡ªwhat a dreadful mistake that was. The threads he had seen earlier returned, some black and others shining like gold. He could see them moving through the walls, all connected to him. One of these threads linked him to Henry. Although Asher had only opened his eyes for a moment, he felt a wave of pain rush through him. It was as if the climax of a tragic play had come to pass, and he no longer wanted anything. He didn¡¯t even know who he was anymore; all he desired was for the pain to end. He would have done anything to escape the torment. In the midst of this chaos, a soft voice echoed deep within him, whispering comforting words that it was okay to let go¡ªthat everything would be alright. Asher felt himself start to fall, unsure of where he was going, but the warmth surrounding him was inviting. Here, there was no pain. No more pain... Meanwhile, Henry watched Asher with a mix of fear and sadness. He had seen many people take potions before, and although he often complained, this was part of his job. He had witnessed many lose their way, often being the one to see them off afterward. But even with his experience, he was horrified by Asher¡¯s reaction. He had never seen such an intense response before; if anyone had come close to that level of suffering, they wouldn¡¯t last long¡ªmaybe only a few seconds¡ªbefore their bodies changed and they gave in. Asher didn¡¯t seem to be losing control, but Henry was still shocked. He gripped his revolver, summoning fire into the barrel, ready to shoot Asher if he began to transform. His hand shook slightly, but there was no time for embarrassment. Then Henry saw Asher¡¯s skin begin to change. Scars rose on his face like ugly bumps, and his teeth started to protrude, darkening to a deep black. Henry raised his revolver, his finger resting on the trigger. Asher was lost in a deep sleep; he didn¡¯t know how long he had been in this state, but he woke up suddenly. Looking around, he found himself in a beautiful world. The ground was made of shimmering water, yet he could walk on it easily. As far as he could see, the clouds were fluffy and white against a bright blue sky. Nearby, he noticed a woman¡ªperhaps the most beautiful person he had ever seen. This was no small feat, considering the existence of Renee Duval, but to outshine the public safety hazard was truly impressive. Her bright blue eyes sparkled like precious sapphires, deep as the ocean and twinkling like stars. Long black hair cascaded to her waist, tied in a ponytail with three delicate bangs framing the left side of her face. She turned her gaze toward Asher, and her voice, soft as velvet and respledant as the stars, struck him to his very core. ¡°Return, young one ; if you linger here, we will both fade away.¡± Chapter 22 Sweet Like Cinamon Asher was perplexed by the words the woman had uttered, her voice echoing in the recesses of his mind. What did she mean? If I don''t return, we will both fade away? Where is this? Where am I? What was I doing before I found myself here? ¡°Where are we? Who are you?¡± he demanded, his curiosity and confusion mingling. The woman appeared remarkably patient; she did not act as though his inquiries were burdensome or bothersome in any way. Instead, her demeanor suggested an understanding that transcended the urgency of the moment. ¡°Within the ring you wear, I am its prisoner, Antoinette Figoris. If you pose another question, I fear it will be your last. Return now, and you will uncover the answers you seek in due time¡­¡± Henry, who had been silently observing, swallowed hard and offered a silent prayer to the Night Goddess, seeking her protection over them. He braced himself to squeeze the trigger on his revolver, prepared to unleash a devastating wave of destruction should the situation escalate. Suddenly, the scars adorning Asher¡¯s face began to recede beneath his skin, a phenomenon that was both alarming and awe-inspiring. His teeth shrank back within his mouth, regaining their original hue as if returning to their natural state. Asher gasped as if he were a drowning man receiving a miraculous new lease on life. ¡°I¡¯m back! Bloody hell, I thought I¡¯d died forty times over!¡± he exclaimed, relief flooding through him like a warm wave. Henry quickly lowered his revolver, his posture relaxing slightly as he exhaled a sigh of relief, the tension that had gripped him easing. ¡°You survived? That¡¯s surprising... How strange. I genuinely thought you were a goner for sure. Clean this mess up and get the hell out of here. I¡¯m utterly exhausted from babysitting you all damn day.¡± This old man... such a prickly fellow, isn¡¯t he? Asher quickly set about tidying up his mess, gathering the scattered items into the chest and placing them in the storage room. Afterward, he knocked on Mr. Bolard¡¯s door, informing him that he was alright and receiving permission to leave for the day. He bid farewell to Liz, who had been silently supportive, and headed downstairs. He must not have been paying attention, as he stumbled halfway down the staircase, almost losing his balance. Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. However, miraculously, he regained his footing midway through the act of falling, righting himself with ease in an absent-minded display of inhuman poise that left him momentarily astonished. Ah? That¡¯s new... the tightrope enthusiast ability highlighted in the dossier... Asher felt a surge of excitement as he boarded a public carriage heading towards Colloway Street. Feeling quite stupid, he fished a one-penny copper coin from his pocket, its surface cool and familiar against his fingertips. He concentrated for a moment, channeling his will onto the coin, and spoke, ¡°Should I stop by the bakery before I return home?¡± Clink! The coin soared into the air in an exaggerated arc before landing in his palm. However, the coin bounced unnaturally after it landed, almost as if it were alive. It settled heads up, and Asher took this as a sign that it was indeed a fortuitous idea to visit the bakery for evening refreshments. The carriage meandered through the foggy streets of Menthil, collecting weary workers and ferrying them homeward. Asher found himself lost in thought, gazing absentmindedly out the window at the blurred figures of passersby, each with their own stories, lives, and struggles. ¡°Pence for your thoughts?¡± a voice interrupted his reverie. Asher felt his chair sink slightly as someone settled down next to him. Before he turned to face the newcomer, he already knew who it was. It was Ren¨¦e, her beautiful face adorned with a lovely blue hyacinth bonnet that complemented her striking features. She wore a matching cardigan over a crisp white blouse, exuding a charm that captivated him. He inhaled softly at the sight of her; she was breathtaking as usual, a vision that brightened the dreariness of his day. Her perfume teased his senses, reminiscent of vanilla, lilies, and cardamom¡ªwarm, inviting, and clean, wrapping around him like an embrace. Her blonde hair cascaded down her back today, loose and flowing, dancing gently with the movement of the carriage. Her green eyes sparkled with a lively energy, resembling seafoam in the sunlight, and they were fixed on him with a playful glint that suggested mischief. She looked like a cat that had just discovered a particularly enticing yarn ball, ready to pounce. ¡°You¡¯ve changed your perfume, Madame Duval, yet it does nothing to mask your radiance. It seems the sun shines even in this dreary city once again,¡± he remarked, attempting to match her playful energy. Ren¨¦e appeared accustomed to his compliments by now, a sly smile playing on her lips as she responded. ¡°Such astute observational skills for a young man. Color me impressed. Perhaps there¡¯s more to you than your silver tongue? I was just on my way to Colloway for an evening snack. I enjoy reading at the bakery there before retiring for the night. Would you like to join me?¡± Asher recalled the coin he had just flipped and smirked, wondering if this invitation was genuine or merely a whimsical stroke of fate... ¡°It would be my honor, my lady,¡± he replied, his heart racing at the prospect of spending time with her. By the time they finished greeting one another, they had already reached their destination; Colloway Street was just a hop and a skip from Crestcheek, after all. Alighting from the carriage, Asher offered his hand to Ren¨¦e, assisting her down the steps with a gentleness that surprised him. His heart quickened at her touch; he blushed secretly, striving to keep himself from becoming too flustered or awkward in her presence. They approached the counter and placed their order, exchanging light banter as they did. Afterward, Ren¨¦e followed him to a cozy two-person table tucked away in a quiet corner of the bakery. It was clearly designed for couples, but Asher feigned ignorance, focusing solely on her presence. ¡°So, what has been keeping you so terribly busy, Monsieur Moretti?¡± she inquired, her tone teasing yet sincere. ¡°Ah... goodness gracious, you wouldn¡¯t believe me even if I told you,¡± he responded, attempting to brush off her curiosity. ¡°Oh? Are you quite sure about that? I think I might have more of an open mind than most,¡± she countered, her eyes sparkling with intrigue. Asher coughed, his mind racing as he wondered why the damn waiter hadn¡¯t brought their food yet! Determined to keep his attention firmly on Ren¨¦e¡¯s face while secretly admonishing himself for his wandering thoughts, he said, ¡°Unfortunately, I¡¯m not at liberty to discuss it with you. Client confidentiality restricts me in this matter.¡± Ren¨¦e¡¯s expression shifted; Asher thought he saw a flicker of anger flare up in her eyes for a moment, a fleeting glimpse of disappointment that made his heart sink. Chapter 23 Lingering Scent The waiter soon arrived with their food. Asher had ordered a croque monsieur and white tea, while Ren¨¦e simply asked for a parfait with blueberries and strawberries. She nibbled on her crepe and licked some whipped cream from her spoon, wearing a satisfied expression. Asher, captivated, forgot about his own meal altogether. "Like what you see?" Renee teased Asher coughed, trying to regain his composure before tucking into his food. "Yes, it looks delicious the food I mean! Anyway ! So, what do you do for work?" Ren¨¦e giggled at his quick diversion. "I work at a bookstore off Furlough. It''s quite lovely¡ªusually calm, and only regulars come in. That shop has a personality all its own. It''s older than the street it¡¯s on. The owner is the great-grandson of the founder. They''ve been open since the 1600s." "Incredible! I can only hope for that level of family loyalty... well, maybe someday. I¡¯m glad you¡¯ve adjusted to Menthil. It can be a tough place to make a living. I used to work as a research fellow for Hearth University, but the pay was miserable." "That¡¯s unfortunate. What were you researching? You struck me as the scholarly type from the moment we met." "History¡ªthough most of the old-timers in the faculty only cared about recent history. My focus was on ancient history, at least two hundred years back." Asher paused, contemplating whether to dig a little deeper. "Specifically, I was interested in the Knights Stella and their relics." Ren¨¦e¡¯s expression shifted, growing serious. Asher thought she wasn¡¯t very good at hiding her emotions¡ªdefinitely not one for clever word games. "Oh? Which relics interested you?" "How curious, have you studied them too? What a coincidence. I was particularly focused on Jester''s Guise for a while. Lately, though, I¡¯ve been searching through records for a ring relic." Enjoying the story? Show your support by reading it on the official site. Ren¨¦e''s demeanor cracked at his words. She cast a suspicious glance at him. "You don¡¯t say¡­ Was anyone else researching Jester''s Guise?" Asher realized she was reading between the lines. He decided to offer a discreet warning without revealing too much. "Several members of the Church of the Night Goddess funded my research. They already had leads on where the relic might be when they hired me to investigate. In the end, I had to inform them I couldn¡¯t help locate it. I hope if¡­ ah *cough*, perhaps Madame Duval knows someone who could? You might inquire on my behalf," he added with a meaningful look and a wink. Ren¨¦e relaxed slightly, understanding he meant her no harm. "I don¡¯t know anyone personally, but I¡¯ve read a couple of books on the subject. That¡¯s where my knowledge comes from. If you''d like, I can lend them to you sometime." Asher smiled, finishing his meal and sipping his tea. "That would be greatly appreciated, Madame." Ren¨¦e fished out some of the sweet yogurt from her crepe. "I¡¯ll send them to your flat. So? What do you do now? Are you working for the Mother?" Asher felt a bit of pressure under her gaze and knew he had to keep things professional. "No, I work for a consultancy agency. We usually assist the police department with their investigations. I¡¯m an assistant detective." Ren¨¦e didn¡¯t believe him for a second and knew he was spouting bollocks . "I see¡­ Well, I¡¯ll keep your words in mind." Asher flicked open his pocket watch, noticing it was almost 7 o¡¯clock. "Madame, I believe I must retire for the evening¡ªI have a big day ahead of me. Would you like me to walk you home? Beautiful flowers are often the first plucked, after all." Ren¨¦e was delighted by his offer, nodding energetically. Asher paid for their meals and walked her to her home on Market Street. Afterward, he returned to his flat, undressed, and washed himself before settling into bed. As he buried his head in his pillow and drifted off, strangely he thought he caught the faint scent of vanilla and lilies. The next morning, Asher arrived at the office, punctual at 7 a.m., brimming with confidence. "Ah-ha! It¡¯s time for me to officially debut as Secret Investigator Moretti! Flee in terror, miscreants of the Night! Wahahaha!" Just then, Liz opened the door, quietly walking up behind him. She gave him a sympathetic look. "It¡¯s okay, Asher, the voices will go away soon¡ªor at least, that¡¯s what Henry told me." She smiled reassuringly. Asher froze, mortified. "Ah, it¡¯s nothing like that! I¡¯m fine, really. Thanks for the coffee, Liz." Looking around for a hole to bury himself in and realizing there was no escape from his embarrassment, Asher took his coffee and entered Mr. Bolard¡¯s office. Bolard appeared to be having a physical altercation with his tie when Asher stepped in, and the door had been left ajar. Asher cleared his throat awkwardly. "Sorry, the door was open. I thought I might need a briefing before heading out with Henry." Giving up on the tie, Mr. Bolard tossed it aside, surrendering to the blasted thing for the time being. He sat down and sipped his coffee while his breakfast waited on the desk. Asher couldn¡¯t help but envy the luxury of breakfast at work. "Yes, you¡¯re right. The target¡ªor targets, we suspect there are two¡ªare bloodfiends. Our informant, a preacher at St. Joan Cathedral, says there¡¯ve been at least fifteen victims. And those are just the ones he knows about. They prey on the unfortunate, trying not to raise alarms. Start your search in Kensington and work your way to Hobble and the cathedral. But since you¡¯re a newly turned Jester, you may have a few¡­ advantages." Bolard slid a small jewelry box across the desk. "Take this¡ªit¡¯s a standard-issue dowsing stone for fortune-telling emissaries. Also, make sure Henry gives you some sacred bullets. You probably won¡¯t need them, but it never hurts to be cautious. And don¡¯t forget your mask¡ªyou¡¯ll regret it if you do." Chapter 24 Looking For Trouble Asher wasn''t overly concerned with the task at hand; if anything, he felt a thrill of excitement! He was tired of training, weary of office work, and eager to stretch his legs. The time he spent with Ren¨¦e certainly helped him relax and unwind. He smiled at the very thought but quickly reeled himself back in. ¡°Still! It¡¯s not every day you get to do something so exhilarating!¡± Somewhat beside himself with anticipation, Asher walked into Henry''s office. ¡°Good morning, Henry! Are you ready to set off? Ah, before we go, Mr. Bolard asked me to bring some Sacred Bullets.¡± Henry was already dressed in a formal suit, his long gray trench coat reaching down to his ankles. He looked quite striking given his height. ¡°What¡¯s so good about it? The bullets are on the table. Temper your enthusiasm before you wind up as lunch for some creature. Come on, we¡¯re already late.¡± Without waiting for Asher¡¯s reply, Henry strode out the door. Tch, grumpy bastard, Asher thought as he collected the bullets and hurried after him. Before long, he found himself riding in a carriage toward Hobble Street. It wasn¡¯t just any public carriage; the consultancy firm had a private carriage, complete with a full-time chauffeur. ¡°Unreal! These people really spare no expense. The Mother is surely weeping,¡± he mused. The chauffeur, a short, mousy-looking man named Eric, didn¡¯t volunteer his last name, nor did Asher ask. Eric had greasy hair that appeared as if it had been dipped in tar, and his brown eyes gave him the look of an average bloke you might find in any borough. The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident. Asher collected himself, preparing for the grim task ahead. He raised his hand and inspected the new trinket he had been given. It was a simple bracelet of unremarkable quality, with a lone thin chain dangling from it. At the end of the chain hung a black piece of metal inscribed with a single word: ¡°Aeternus.¡± Asher had no idea what that meant, but it didn''t matter to him at that moment. He sat quietly, filled with grim apprehension, as the carriage meandered through the fog-swept streets. It was raining quite heavily that day, and, of course, he had forgotten his umbrella. As he looked outside, he began to understand why Henry and Bolard wore such long trench coats. Soon, the carriage entered Hobble Street, where they were greeted by the familiar odor of misfortune. Crowds lined up in front of labor houses, while mothers haggled with secondhand hawkers, attempting to secure food to fill their families¡¯ bellies for the day. It was a mess, as usual, but Asher felt at home here. After all, this was where he had grown up. These people may not have been his preferred company, but nonetheless, they were his people, and these were his streets. Back then, they were the only things keeping him alive. He had stolen from these very stalls and had been beaten more than a couple of times as a result. Nobody would accept a scrawny orphan as an apprentice; he couldn¡¯t find any work. Still, he had to survive somehow. The orphanage took care of most of his needs, but there were many who refused to go there for various reasons. Perhaps they insisted on staying with their families in silent solidarity, even as they went without food for weeks. Asher hated to see them in that state, and he yearned for change in the lower borough. He decided that if nobody else would, he would. In a strange, misguided Robin Hood-esque delusion, he took it upon himself to try to feed those kids for a time. Asher laughed at the very thought of how na?ve he had been. Asher took one last look at the dirty streets filled with early risers and those who simply had no home to return to. He raised his hand to examine the dowsing chain he had been given. Then he let the metal spike fall, allowing the chain to swing beneath his hand. He focused his will into the bracelet. Allowing the chain to swing freely, he inquired to no one in particular, ¡°Where are the vampires I seek?¡± The chain spun several times as if caressed by an invisible breeze before the spike settled at a right angle. The chain grew taut as it pointed in the direction the carriage was already headed. However, soon the chain changed direction subtly, moving toward the right as the carriage passed by a local pub called the Lion''s Mane. Asher glanced at Henry and gave him a serious look. ¡°There! That pub¡ªeither they¡¯re there, or there¡¯s a clue that will lead us to them. At any rate, it¡¯s clearly worth investigating.¡± Henry scoffed. ¡°Kid, didn¡¯t you read the dossier? You¡¯ve got too much damn faith in your little tricks.¡± Smiling to himself, Asher replied, ¡°Old man, didn¡¯t you review the informant¡¯s testimony? The majority of the victims were from this area. What do you think people like that do all day? You¡¯re not from here, so maybe you wouldn¡¯t know. They drink, gamble, steal, or sell their bodies. It¡¯s not a glamorous life, but it¡¯s the one most here choose to live. The point is, it would have been first on my list of places to investigate regardless. Paired with a positive affirmation from my dowsing chain, I¡¯m even more certain.¡± Asher wasn¡¯t surprised; it made sense. Putting his hand down, he sat quietly. ¡°Very well, I suppose there¡¯s a reason you graduated so early. We will get off at the next street and circle back a couple of times. Keep your eyes peeled and be prepared.¡± Asher guffawed, flabbergasted and entirely speechless. ¡°Did you just compliment me?!¡± He received a swift knock on his skull for his efforts. Chapter 25 The Hunt Asher and Henry circled the pub several times to no avail. Seemingly reaching a decision, Henry made his way to enter. Asher followed closely behind, keeping his head lowered. He could do without being recognized today; after all, he was working. If he was truly unlucky, the bloodfiends might even be past acquaintances. Upon entering, they immediately stood out. Well-dressed individuals like themselves hardly ventured into the lower boroughs with good intentions. The inhabitants of this area might not treat each other kindly, but they were even less welcoming toward outsiders. Instantly, Asher and Henry felt as if they were being singled out, like lions circling a herd of gazelles. However, there was nothing they could do about it. Asher approached the barkeep. ¡°Gerald, it''s been too long, my friend! I hope the kids and family are doing well.¡± The barkeep, a stout man in his thirties, took a moment to register who was speaking to him as he cleaned a glass. ¡°Bloody hell, is that you, Asher?¡± ¡°In the flesh, my good man. Don''t act like a stranger.¡± ¡°Blimey, kid, did you rob a bank or something? Last I saw, you were studying some rich people stuff, looking worse for wear.¡± Asher laughed and made a subtle motion, indicating to Gerald to be discreet. ¡°Say, Gerald, have you seen old Kenny around lately?¡± Gerald scratched his head, pondering for a moment before responding. ¡°Now that you mention it, the old fool might¡¯ve finally kicked the bucket. Haven¡¯t seen him in at least two weeks, I reckon.¡± Asher felt a pang of sadness at the response. While he had never particularly liked old Kenny, everyone down here knew him, whether they liked it or not. The old drunkard was a bit of a social butterfly. ¡°Seen any city folk lately? Other than me and my friend here.¡± Gerald wiped the counter, attempting to hide his face from the patrons. Lip-reading wasn¡¯t particularly challenging nowadays. This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. ¡°Yeah, a couple moved into Kensington, in the nice apartments near where you used to live off Hobble. They come roun'' often. The lass is a looker, I tell ya; she turns heads every time she comes round. The bloke is a bit of a porker. They¡¯re rude bastards, looking at everyone here like they¡¯re trash.¡± Asher was nearly certain these were the suspects. It couldn''t be more obvious. These bloodfiends underestimated the slums. Asher ordered a light beer. ¡°Five pence.¡± He picked up the tankard of light beer that Gerald handed him and downed it in one go. Then he placed five silver crowns on the counter and carefully slid the tankard back toward Gerald. ¡°Yeah? What do they look like?¡± ¡°The girl has almond blue eyes and long eyelashes¡­ well endowed.¡± Gerald raised his eyebrows suggestively before continuing. ¡°Brown curly hair, she¡¯s got freckles. The bloke¡¯s about six feet tall, face like a jar, built like a rugby player. Short blonde hair and blue eyes.¡± Asher nodded in response. ¡°Any spots they frequent, and where exactly on Hobble did they book a flat?¡± Gerald picked up the tankard and pocketed the crowns. ¡°Not sure. I just know it''s the nice building next to yours. Ain''t heard anything else. If I do, I''ll send a post to your place.¡± Asher glanced toward the door, pondering for a moment. ¡°No need, Gerald. Thank you. I was never here, alright?¡± Gerald grunted in acknowledgment before smiling. ¡°Hope to see you again soon, kid. It¡¯s good to see one of us doing well.¡± Gerald extended his hand, and Asher slapped it with his palm. ¡°Stay safe, Gerald. Tell the missus I said hello.¡± Asher walked toward the door, pretending not to know Henry. He strolled down the street until he reached an alley and waited. Henry met him soon after, a look of approval evident on his face. ¡°Let¡¯s go check the place out. I doubt they¡¯re there; it¡¯s probably just a location they booked for appearances. Bloodfiends don¡¯t fare well in dense human dwellings like that. It makes it easier for them to lose control.¡± Asher nodded and led the way, with Henry following from a distance. When they reached his old apartment, a wave of nostalgia washed over him. I''ve come quite far, haven¡¯t I? The door opened, revealing a haggard-looking man who evidently hadn¡¯t been sleeping. The man barely recognized Asher but approached him with urgency. ¡°Asher, have you seen Janice? She left almost a week ago without a note or anything. I''m worried sick. If you see her, please tell her to come back and send me a post.¡± Asher wasn''t a complete stranger to the man or his daughter, Janice. He felt concern for the young girl. It had been since the day he went to his interview that he saw her. Perhaps that was the last time her father had seen her as well. "I haven''t seen her. I¡¯m sorry. If I do, I¡¯ll personally escort her to your residence.¡± The man seemed not to hear Asher''s words; he was clearly in a dire state. ¡°Good, thanks then. Goodbye.¡± He waddled off, hopefully seeking something to do at the local workhouse. He¡¯s too late¡­ All the jobs would have been taken by now. Asher couldn¡¯t help but reflect on how fortunate he felt. No rest for the wicked¡­ here in the slums. If it¡¯s not one thing, it¡¯s another. No matter how many times they get back up, the world knocks them down. Asher chided himself for believing he was better than these people. He wasn¡¯t. He had just gotten lucky¡ªor unlucky, depending on one¡¯s perspective. Asher pushed his wandering thoughts aside; it was not the time for self-reflection. He checked his holster to ensure his gun was ready and held his silver stiletto in his pocket. Then he fished a coin from his pocket and spoke quietly. ¡°The two people I''m looking for are in the next-door apartment building.¡± He flipped the coin and watched as it floated down unnaturally, like a feather in the wind. It stopped flipping just before it reached his palm. Then, right before it landed, it changed direction and orientation, landing perfectly balanced on its side with either face facing outward. What the hell is this supposed to mean then? Failed? The prophecy failed? Chapter 26 Dancing In The Rain Looking down at the coin that refused to land on either face, Asher thought, Maybe this means the statement isn¡¯t false or true, but something in between? Could it be that some vampires are here while others are away? Asher and Henry navigated the crumbling street, the early morning light barely cutting through the dense shadows that clung to the surroundings. The air was crisp, a stark contrast to the heaviness of the task ahead. The apartment building they approached stood out, newly constructed amid the decay, its clean lines and fresh paint a stark beacon of hope. Yet, Asher knew better than to be fooled by appearances. ¡°Stay sharp,¡± Henry muttered, scanning the area with a practiced eye. Asher nodded, a knot of anticipation tightening in his gut. They were certain about the couple they were after¡ªBloodfiends posing as ordinary citizens. In this city, lesser vampires had become adept at blending in, but their disguise was wearing thin. The hallway inside was dimly lit, the smell of damp wood mixing with stale air as they climbed the creaking staircase. Each step echoed ominously, heightening the sense of dread that surrounded them. Asher¡¯s mind raced, aware of the danger they faced. Bloodfiends were cunning creatures, often using charm to lure their prey. Upon reaching the second floor, they paused before the door leading to the Bloodfiends¡¯ lair. A glance exchanged between them solidified their resolve¡ªthere was no need for further proof. Asher¡¯s gut feeling was enough. The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings. Henry knocked sharply on the door, the sound reverberating through the stillness, thick with tension. ¡°Who is it?¡± a woman¡¯s voice called from within, suspicious and sharp. ¡°Delivery from the market,¡± Henry replied, his voice calm and steady. A tense silence followed as the Bloodfiends likely debated their next move. ¡°Go away!¡± the woman snapped. Without hesitation, Henry kicked the door open, revealing a dimly lit interior. ¡°We know what you did,¡± he said coldly. ¡°You can¡¯t exist in the shadows anymore.¡± Asher¡¯s heart raced as adrenaline surged through him. The woman stood in the middle of the room, her almond-blue eyes wide with a mix of surprise and hostility. ¡°What do you want?¡± she hissed, her voice sharp and dangerous. Henry smirked, stepping forward confidently. ¡°You know why we¡¯re here. You know what you did you and your partner are losing control." Asher gripped his silver stiletto tightly, its blade gleaming faintly in the low light. ¡°We¡¯re not here to negotiate,¡± he said, his voice firm. The tension between them thickened, the air growing heavy as they prepared for the inevitable confrontation. Asher knew this was a dance with darkness, one that would not end without blood. Henry moved forward, his hand reaching into his pocket, while Asher, stiletto already drawn, was ready to back him up. Suddenly, a gruff voice from the door shouted, ¡°EMILY!¡± Before Asher could react, a heavy body crashed into him, sending him tumbling through the air. The man who tackled him showed no hesitation, unleashing a flurry of blows as they fell. Asher shielded his face, twisting his body to land on top of the attacker. Before they hit the ground, he got a clear look at the man¡ªblue eyes, short blond hair, a jaw like stone. It¡¯s him, Asher thought darkly. He drove his stiletto into the man¡¯s side, aiming for the kidney, but the Bloodfiend didn¡¯t flinch, likely numbed by adrenaline. Asher prepared for another strike, but the ground rudely interrupted as they hit it hard. Rain poured down, soaking them both in a torrential downpour. Luckily, Asher had landed on top, allowing the man to absorb most of the impact. Even for a Bloodfiend, the man must have felt it¡ªAsher certainly had. Scrambling to his feet, Asher created some distance and drew his revolver. Aiming at the Bloodfiend, he didn¡¯t hesitate. It¡¯s either me or you, bastard. BANG BANG The gunshots cracked through the rain, but luck was not on Asher¡¯s side. Paired with his questionable aim, the Bloodfiend shifted just enough to avoid a headshot. One bullet hit his shoulder, the other his abdomen. Blood bloomed in the rain like macabre roses. The impact forced the Bloodfiend to stagger back, coughing blood. But the fire in his eyes burned brighter¡ªferal, driven by instinct. With a sudden burst of speed, the Bloodfiend lunged at Asher, knocking the revolver from his hand and slamming his shoulder into Asher¡¯s chest. The force knocked the wind from him, his ribs cracking under the impact. The vampire pivoted, moving with unnatural grace, and delivered a brutal kick to Asher¡¯s face. WHACK Asher¡¯s vision flickered, his mind whirling between consciousness and the pain of hitting the ground. Dirt filled his mouth as he crashed down. Without waiting for his vision to clear, Asher relied on his instincts, knowing he had precious little time. He thrust his stiletto blindly forward. Chapter 27 At What Cost? In the fleeting moment that followed, Asher felt a surge of gratitude for his quick thinking, just as he thought the vampire was moving in for the kill. CRUNCH The dagger sank deep into the vampire¡¯s bloodied abdomen. It had already been ravaged by his blade once and then pierced by his revolver. The vampire viciously clawed at him, its hands like sharp, jagged weapons. Asher¡¯s blood spattered the floor as he drove the dagger deeper and deeper still, ignoring the fresh wounds being torn into him. His vision blurred, painted red by the blood dripping from his forehead into his eyes. I don¡¯t need to see. I just need to kill this bastard! A visceral crack echoed as the vampire¡¯s spine shattered. Asher had driven his dagger straight through the previous wound in the vampire¡¯s abdomen. The vampire whimpered, its legs crumpling beneath its weight. It collapsed onto Asher, the force of its body pressing him down. Though the vampire had lost all mobility from the waist down, it remained a deadly threat at such close range. Asher squeezed his knee between them, then kicked with all his strength into the vampire¡¯s solar plexus, sending it sprawling. Weakly crawling, he grabbed his revolver and stood to face his disheveled foe. ¡°Au revoir.¡± BANG A quiet drop of blood slid from the vampire¡¯s forehead before it erupted into a spurting mess. Asher collapsed onto the ground amidst the pouring rain, beaten and savaged. He took shaky breaths, gathering his strength. After a moment, he threw his jacket over the corpse and ran back to the apartment entrance, sprinting up the stairs with the urgency of a firefighter. Turning the corner, he entered the room. The door had already been kicked in by Henry. Inside, Henry was still locked in combat with the female vampire. Flames licked across the room, the furniture ruined, drapes ablaze. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. The bloodfiend stood facing Henry, its back to the door. Unlike her partner, she wielded a kitchen knife, skillfully carving wounds into Henry¡¯s body. Asher didn¡¯t hesitate. He raised his revolver and fired the last three bullets directly into the bloodfiend¡¯s head. She crumpled like discarded laundry, collapsing to the floor. Henry wasn¡¯t as badly wounded as Asher but had still taken his share of cuts from the feral woman¡¯s blade. Henry glanced at Asher, a glimmer of gratitude in his eyes. ¡°What of the bloodfiend?¡± he asked between labored breaths. Asher wiped his face with his shirt, though it did little to clean off the blood. ¡°Dead.¡± Henry began gathering the flames in the room into his hand. ¡°Retrieve the body and bring it here, now.¡± Asher paled at the thought but obliged. He leaped out the window, balancing precariously on the windowsill, and hugged a gas pipe, sliding down to reach the bloodfiend¡¯s body. By the time he made it back to Henry, he was exhausted. Carrying the vampire up two flights of stairs was beyond taxing, especially after the fight. Asher dropped the body carelessly onto the floor near the woman and reclaimed his suit jacket. Henry finished coalescing the flames and allowed them to consume the vampires¡¯ bodies until nothing remained but ashes. Among the remains, Asher thought he saw something glimmer¡ªa crimson, shiny object. Before he could investigate, Henry slipped on a glove and collected the items into a black cigarette tin. ¡°Let¡¯s go,¡± Henry said. ¡°Have Eric send a constable to clean up the mess and question the neighbors.¡± Asher nodded, and they soon left, heading toward the alley where Eric was waiting. Before departing, Asher flipped his coin one last time and asked, ¡°Was that all the vampires I seek?¡± The coin flipped, landing with the tails side up. Interesting... or maybe bollocks. Probably bollocks. The carriage ride was uneventful. By the time they reached the consultancy firm, it was quarter past noon. Liz greeted them, offering first aid. It wasn¡¯t much, but it was enough to keep their wounds from worsening. Both would need to visit the central emissary branch to receive blessings from the Cardinal. Asher made his way into Mr. Bolard¡¯s office, recounting the events that had taken place. ¡°Good work, Asher. With this, you¡¯ve paid for your potion. Once I submit the incident report, you¡¯ll earn enough merits to clear your debt. Still, it¡¯s too soon for you to take the Clown potion.¡± Asher smiled, pleased with himself. His first assignment had gone smoothly¡ªat least, in his mind. ¡°What do you mean, it¡¯s too soon, Mr. Bolard?¡± Henry entered the room at that moment. ¡°You need to acclimate to the potion you¡¯ve already consumed before you can take the next step. Henry hasn¡¯t managed that in almost 30 years.¡± Henry set the black cigarette tin on Mr. Bolard¡¯s desk before heading toward the door. As he exited, he called back, ¡°Come get some lunch when you¡¯re done, kid.¡± Asher gave Mr. Bolard a nod before speaking. ¡°I understand. That¡¯s fine. I''ve only just descended. But I wanted to ask about my ring... Is there a method to activate it that I¡¯m unaware of? Henry mentioned it discharged a frost nova during my essence condensation meditation. That would¡¯ve been crucial in my fight against the bloodfiend.¡± Mr. Bolard stood up and quietly shut the door. ¡°You mustn''t speak so openly about these things, Asher. Remember, the stakes here are far beyond what either of us can afford. But the answer is simple. Relics only require a small amount of essence input and a mental or verbal command imbued with will. It''s an invitation of sorts¡ªletting the relic feed on the descender''s essence.¡± ¡°What¡¯s the command?¡± Asher asked. ¡°Usually, it¡¯s something simple, inscribed on the relic itself for ease of use. In your case, I believe it¡¯s written in ancient Stellarian. Try that, but do it in private... I¡¯d rather not have a blizzard break out in my office.¡± ¡°I understand. Thank you, Mr. Bolard.¡± Mr. Bolard pursed his lips, then gave a dismissive wave. ¡°Call me Captain, Asher. Nobody calls me that anymore.¡± Confused by the gesture, Asher nodded. ¡°Understood, Captain. If there¡¯s nothing else, I¡¯ll retire for the day. Ah, and cough if you¡¯d like, I can show you how to tie a t¡ª¡± The Captain smiled for some inexplicable reason and cut him off. ¡°If there¡¯s nothing else, Asher, get some rest. I¡¯ll see you tomorrow. Be sure to accompany Henry to Saint Joan Cathedral for treatment. You look like you¡¯ve been mauled by one, maybe two wolverines. Also, I expect that report on the Jester¡¯s Guise historical records on my desk by Friday.¡± Asher blinked, then nodded eagerly. ¡°As you say, Captain. Good day.¡± ¡°Good day, Asher.¡± Chapter 28 Pure Thoughts Asher arrived home late, the shadows of the evening wrapping around him like a heavy cloak after a long visit to the Cathedral with Henry. The mind is willing, but the body is not... alas, I can hardly even traverse the great distance to my bed... As he stood in the dimly lit corridor of his home, a sudden knock on the door jolted him from his weary thoughts. He immediately turned alert, flicking the switch that silenced his self-wallowing. Drawing his revolver with practiced ease, he quietly approached the door, the faint creaking of the floorboards echoing in the silence. With a deep breath, he opened it just a crack. Peering through the narrow opening, he was greeted by the unexpected sight of Ren¨¦e, her silhouette framed by the faint glow of the street lamps outside. Oh, for the love of God, who makes a house visit in the evening? Asher holstered his revolver, the tension in his shoulders easing slightly, and opened the door wider. ¡°Good evening, Madame Duval. How can I assist you at this hour?¡± Ren¨¦e¡¯s laughter bubbled up like a gentle spring, and she extended her hands, revealing the book she had promised to send. ¡°Good evening, Monsieur Moretti! I just left the bakery¡ªthe aroma of freshly baked goods drew me in. I thought I¡¯d stop by to see if you were home. I hope I¡¯m not being a nuisance?¡± Asher felt the fatigue that had settled like a stone in his chest begin to melt away with each melodious word Ren¨¦e spoke. The warmth of her presence seeped into his weary bones. ¡°Not at all. Thank you very much,¡± he replied, reaching out to take the book from her hands. His face lit up with sudden inspiration. ¡°Ah! Forgive my lack of manners¡ªwould you care to come inside?¡± Ren¨¦e giggled and feigned a hurt expression, her bright eyes sparkling with mischief. ¡°I suppose I should. It wouldn¡¯t be very polite for a guest to linger outside another¡¯s residence,¡± she observed, her voice lilting with playful sarcasm. This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings. Asher stepped aside, allowing her to enter, and closed the door behind her with a soft click. He led her up the staircase, past his bedroom, and onto the terrace, where the cool night air greeted them like an old friend. ¡°I¡¯ll be back in just a moment; I just returned from the office. Please forgive me,¡± Asher said, hurrying to the kitchen. He rummaged through the cabinets, collecting his best bottle of red wine¡ªan absolutely dirt-cheap vintage he had purchased months ago, but one that still held a certain charm. He also grabbed a slender candle from the kitchen table, its wax dripped in delicate patterns. Returning to Ren¨¦e, he set the candle on the table, lighting it with a match and watching as the small flame flickered to life, casting a warm, inviting glow. He poured two glasses of wine, ensuring to fill Ren¨¦e¡¯s first before he took his seat across from her. Asher settled into the chair with a contented sigh, a sense of exhaustion weighing him down. He wasn¡¯t sure he would be able to get back up again if he was being honest. He felt like a candle burning at both ends, its wax pooling beneath. The sun had just dipped below the horizon, leaving a palette of deep indigos and purples in its wake. The early reaches of night began to weave their spell over the world, as the streets of the middle boroughs slowly stirred to life under the glow of gas lamps. Colloway Street below, once bustling with the day¡¯s activities, now lay quiet and serene, with only a few figures moving about, returning home or lost in their own thoughts. Ren¨¦e seemed unfazed by his contemplative silence, her presence radiating a comforting energy as she settled into the moment. Feeling a tinge of mischief, she decided to tease Asher. With dramatic flair, she deepened her voice, attempting to impersonate him. ¡°Ah, the evening night is surely cold. I so wish there were someone by my side. Perhaps I am destined for loneliness in this cruel world.¡± She held back a laugh, but it erupted from her lips like a burst of sunlight breaking through the clouds. Asher was momentarily stunned, the unexpected jab hitting its mark. Though his pride was somewhat wounded, he couldn¡¯t help but smile. Soon, he found himself joining Ren¨¦e in her laughter at his expense. ¡°Have mercy, my lady! I don¡¯t sound like that... all the time, at least.¡± Ren¨¦e wiped a tear of mirth from her eye, her laughter still echoing in the night air. She took a deep breath, trying to regain her composure. ¡°Yes, yes, I was just joking. Don¡¯t make such a face. So? Cat got your tongue? What¡¯s the matter?¡± ¡°Nothing. I¡¯ve just had a long day at the office,¡± he replied, attempting to suppress a yawn. Ren¨¦e seemed to possess an uncanny ability to detect nonsense, or perhaps she could just see through him; he wasn¡¯t sure which it was. ¡°Ah, is that so? I wonder if your office has a leak. How else would you end up smelling like a wet dog?¡± she teased, a mischievous glint in her eye. ¡°AHEM.¡± ¡°Fieldwork... I was investigating in the field today,¡± he admitted, his cheeks flushing slightly. ¡°Anyhow, I must say, my lady, you are quite nosy today!¡± Ren¨¦e feigned a hurt expression before breaking into a grin, her playful spirit lighting up the terrace. This woman surely knows how to play the hearts of others! I must stay on my toes. I thought she wasn¡¯t interested in sophistry and mind games, but that was only an indicator of the opposite! She¡¯s well-versed! ¡°So? What were you investigating? Maybe I can help,¡± she offered, genuine curiosity shining through her playful demeanor. ¡°No need; the case is closed, and the suspects are... um, ¡®apprehended,¡¯¡± he replied, choosing his words carefully. ¡°I see. Well, that¡¯s good! You know, Monsieur Moretti, it is truly a lovely evening. I thought you wouldn¡¯t be in, and if you were, I certainly didn¡¯t expect you to be so bold as to invite me into your home! I thought you gentlemen were all about maintaining decorum.¡± Now it was Asher¡¯s turn to tease Ren¨¦e. He leaned back in his chair, a sly smile playing on his lips. ¡°Yes, well, you see, down here in the South, while everything you said is true, we do have a saying: ¡®don¡¯t look a gift horse in the mouth.¡¯¡± He smiled innocently, feigning ignorance of his own implications. ¡°Oh ho ho! So you bite, do you? Very well, let me tell you something I fu¡ª¡± ¡°You know what, Ren¨¦e? I think it¡¯s better to leave it at that. We are on my terrace, but still, many people can hear us here.¡± Asher quickly interjected, panic evident in his voice. A blush crept into his cheeks; he made a mental note never to challenge the Stellarian lady again. ¡°Hahahahaha!¡± Ren¨¦e¡¯s laughter rang through the night, seemingly chasing the smog and shadows away. Asher glanced at the book Ren¨¦e had brought him. The title read Eternal Nightmare, its cover adorned with intricate designs that hinted at the mysteries within. Chapter 29 Tale Of Tragedy Asher opened the old book; it seemed like a fairytale. ¡°Mind if I read this?¡± Renee shook her head. ¡°Not at all! It¡¯s a quick one¡ªgo ahead.¡± Asher nodded and tucked into his wine before pouring Renee another glass. Eternal Nightmare The Tale of Antoinette Figoris In the ancient city of Urs I¨±piter the echoes of history whispered through its cobblestone streets, there lived a spirited young woman named Antoinette Figoris. A vision of beauty, she was renowned throughout the city for her long, flowing black hair that shimmered with hints of blue in the sunlight. Her striking blue eyes, bright and filled with determination, held an intensity that betrayed her deep longing for adventure beyond the palace walls. As the beloved daughter of the king, she was destined to marry Cedric, the noble son of the Duke of Stellarum. Yet Antoinette''s heart yearned for something far grander¡ªshe aspired to become a royal knight, a protector of the realm, fighting for justice and honor alongside the esteemed warriors of the kingdom. From a young age, Antoinette trained tirelessly in the art of combat and horsemanship, her spirit unyielding despite the restrictions of her royal upbringing. She donned a simple tunic to practice, trading her princess gowns for the armor of a warrior, imagining herself galloping into battle, sword raised high. Her laughter rang out as she practiced with her wooden sword, echoing through the palace grounds and inspiring the other children to join her games of valor. However, her dreams were often met with disapproval from the court, who believed a princess should focus on matters of the heart rather than warfare. Antoinette''s desire to serve as a royal knight seemed foolish to them, yet her determination never wavered. Each day, she would sneak out of the palace to watch the knights train in the city''s grand arena, her heart racing with excitement at the thought of one day earning her place among them. This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report. As she witnessed their skill and camaraderie, the fire within her grew stronger, compelling her to practice harder and dream bigger. One fateful day, while wandering the ancient ruins that dotted the outskirts of the city to clear her mind, she encountered her art instructor, Florence Hesparee. With fiery red hair and piercing grey eyes, Florence was known for his breathtaking paintings and captivating charm. However, beneath his enchanting exterior lay dark ambitions. Coveting Cedric¡¯s powerful cloak¡ªa powerful relic of the Knights Stella¡ªFlorence plotted to eliminate him and claim its power for himself. ¡°What¡¯s weighing on your mind, Antoinette?¡± he asked, his voice smooth like velvet as he observed Antoinette''s furrowed brow. ¡°I just want it all to end. This nightmare feels like it¡¯ll never stop,¡± Antoinette confessed, her heart heavy with despair. ¡°Are you sure about this, little one?¡± Florence probed, a glint of intrigue sparking in his eyes. ¡°I can make it so, though you may not like the means.¡± ¡°Then so be it, Florence. I¡¯ll do whatever it takes to break free from this engagement,¡± Antoinette replied, her resolve hardening as she clenched her fists, unaware of the dark path she was stepping onto. In a cruel twist, Florence ensnared Antoinette in an enchanted ring, sealing her essence within its depths. From within the ring, a deep madness leached through its seal. Antoinette wasn''t the only one trapped in the ring; unfortunately, her identity began to fade, and as time passed, she grew more and more corrupt until there was little left of her or her memories. The princess''s identity was replaced by a convincing illusion crafted by Florence, who charmed Cedric while plotting his demise. Trapped within the ring, Antoinette found herself in a realm of swirling mist and shadows, utterly powerless to affect reality outside of its confines. Her spirit lingered, watching helplessly as Florence manipulated those around her, leading Cedric into a deadly trap. As she witnessed the unfolding betrayal, a deep sorrow settled over her heart. This was not the adventure she had longed for, but rather a haunting prison of her own making. In his final act of treachery, Florence painted a grand portrait of Antoinette, depicting her wearing a black and white jester mask, surrounded by her family in celebratory dress. The painting radiated false joy, a mockery of the life Antoinette could have led. Florence titled the work ¡°A Simple Self Portrait,¡± masking the truth of her entrapment behind vibrant colors and smiles. Each stroke of his brush felt like a dagger to Antoinette¡¯s heart, reminding her of the life she had lost, the dreams unfulfilled, and the betrayal that now defined her existence. With Cedric dead and the cloak in his possession, Florence reveled in his victory while Antoinette remained trapped within the ring, a silent witness to the treachery that consumed her city. Her legacy faded into myth, but the courage she embodied lingered, waiting for the day when her story would be reclaimed and her spirit set free. The irony of her ambition and the betrayal she endured echoed through the halls of her mind, a testament to the perilous nature of unchecked desire. The End. Asher put down the book and glanced over at Renee, wondering if she might have known more than she let on. It was surely not a coincidence that she had given him a book so clearly depicting his ring. It was fishy, at the very least, if not directly intended. Unfortunately, he wasn''t able to inquire at present because Renee was snoring softly with her head on the table. ...what am I supposed to do? Should I wake her? She just said she didn''t mind and that it was a short story! As if on cue, the evening skies chose now to begin weeping softly. As the first raindrops fell, Asher felt his choices slowly disappear. He walked over to Renee and politely shook her shoulder. As if that would work! ¡°Renee?¡± She didn''t stir at all. He tried several times to shake her or speak to her, yet no luck. He quickly gave up and picked Renee up in a princess carry, placing her on his bed. Renee seemingly stirred awake, gave him a suggestive look, and teased, ¡°Oh, are you trying to whisk me away already?¡± Asher felt his face turn red; she had never been asleep! How did he believe her act? It was only a couple of minutes since he started reading. ¡°My lady, perish the thought! I was just making sure you stayed dry.¡± Renee laughed loudly; she seemed to have finished her ruthless teasing. Chapter 30 Hazy Morning "Yes, yes, you''re a prim and proper menthil gentleman through and through. I understand." Asher flicked open his watch, his eyes struggling to stay open. The wine he had drunk wasn¡¯t doing him any favors. Bloody hell, it¡¯s quarter past ten. Does this woman intend to sleep here? He sighed. Ah, this minx will soon be the death of me. Not even work today was so exhausting. He walked over to his couch, taking off his suit jacket and sitting down. It was a blessing he''d had the forethought to leave a second pair of clothes at work in case of emergencies. He had already sent his bloody set to Anston Fine Cloths. It was a crying shame he wasn¡¯t there to see the look on that silly cashmere-wearing salesman¡¯s face when he opened the parcel. I¡¯ll certainly be getting my money''s worth for that twelve pounds. Before he could contemplate the complexities and implications of the fairy tale Renee had told him, he drifted off to sleep, unable to fight the exhaustion any longer. --- Renee stood by the couch, gazing at Asher¡¯s peaceful, sleeping face, a possessiveness swirling in her chest. She moved closer, her breath hitching as she knelt beside him. Leaning in, she nestled against him, inhaling deeply, taking in his scent¡ªwoody, warm, and intoxicatingly familiar. Her lips curled into a disturbing smile, and a soft giggle escaped her. ¡°Nobody else... NOBODY ELSE!¡± Her voice was a frantic whisper, her eyes gleaming with an unsettling intensity. ¡°They don¡¯t understand you like I do. They never could. Tout ¨¤ moi! Mine, mine, mine..." She tucked a loose strand of his hair behind his ear, her fingertips lingering on his face. A sense of satisfaction washed over her as she nestled closer, her words fading into the stillness of the night. --- Asher stirred as sunlight filtered through the window, the warmth on his face dragging him from his slumber. He blinked, the remnants of sleep still clouding his mind. He stretched, only to notice the absence of warmth beside him. ¡°Renee?¡± he called out groggily. Support creative writers by reading their stories on Royal Road, not stolen versions. There was no response. He groaned, rubbing his eyes, and sat up. That¡¯s when he noticed the note on the coffee table. Picking it up, he squinted at the hurried scribble. Asher, I had to leave for an appointment. Don¡¯t wait for me! ¡ªRenee He sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. She could¡¯ve at least woken me up... Shaking off the remnants of sleep, he glanced at the clock and froze. Bloody hell! I¡¯m late for work! He jumped to his feet, throwing on the first shirt he could find. His fingers fumbled with the buttons as he muttered curses under his breath. His mind raced through the tasks he had for the day, each one more daunting than the last. Grabbing his bag, he dashed out the door, panic setting in as the reality of his tardiness hit him. The cool morning air stung his face as he rushed down the street, trying to gather his scattered thoughts. Yet, as much as he tried to shake it off, Renee lingered in his mind. Something about their encounter felt... different. Why does it feel so strange this time? He couldn¡¯t help but wonder if there was more to the fairy tale she had told him than he had initially realized. --- Asher weaved through the crowded streets, his mind racing. He couldn''t get the image of Renee¡¯s laughter or the intensity of her gaze out of his head. His nerves were shot, and the weight of the day loomed over him like a storm cloud. He rushed into the office, pulling out his watch just in time to see the minute hand click past 7:15. Not that bad, he thought, feeling a small sense of relief. Nobody will notice. Feeling a bit better about his situation, he strolled into the lobby and made his way to Liz¡¯s desk. ¡°Good morning, Liz. Is the Captain in?¡± he asked, trying to keep his voice casual. Liz took one look at him and burst into laughter, barely managing to stifle it. ¡°Asher, your shirt buttons are all mismatched, and you reek of perfume. You¡¯ve got lipstick all over your collar!¡± Asher mentally cursed, wishing the ground would swallow him whole. He muttered under his breath, ¡°Sink into the floor... sink into the floor...¡± Before he could escape, Captain Bolard entered the lobby. ¡°Good morning, dear. Is my breakfast here yet?¡± Asher quickly walked past the Captain, praying he wouldn¡¯t notice anything amiss. ¡°It¡¯s just arrived, Captain. Would you like me to bring it to your office?¡± Liz asked, barely containing her amusement. ¡°Don¡¯t be silly. I¡¯ll take it myself. Thank you, Liz.¡± Captain Bolard took his plate and turned towards the hallway. ¡°Asher?¡± the Captain called out, a grin tugging at his lips. ¡°What¡¯s the matter? Did she steal your wallet?¡± Asher kept walking, ignoring the laughter that echoed behind him as he sought refuge in Henry¡¯s office. --- ¡°Morning, old man,¡± Asher grumbled as he stepped inside. ¡°And before you say anything, shut it. There¡¯s a perfectly reasonable explanation. I just haven¡¯t come up with it yet.¡± Henry looked up from the fire, a wolfish grin spreading across his face. ¡°Well done, lad. Didn¡¯t think you had it in you after yesterday morning!¡± Despite the chaos of his morning, Asher found some peace as he spent the next few hours pouring over historical documents from the firm¡¯s records. His clothes had been returned from Anston Fine Cloths, and he promptly changed into them, with an admirable level of shamelessness he had also sent his current set back with the delivery man. Lunch arrived courtesy of the Captain, and Asher was content as he ate while skimming his notes. The day had turned out far better than he¡¯d expected. --- Knock, knock. Asher looked up from his papers, surprised by the sound. The office door was ajar, yet whoever it was still knocked. In the doorway stood a young woman, likely around his age, no more than twenty. She had black hair, brown eyes, and while not particularly striking, she was certainly attractive. Tall and lithe, probably around 5''11 if Asher had to guess. She was wearing a beaming smile, and her enthusiasm bubbled out uncontrollably. ¡°Hi! You must be the new guy! I¡¯m Clarissa! Nice to finally meet you!¡± She bounded into the room like an overexcited puppy, grasping Asher¡¯s hand and shaking it vigorously. Asher stood, letting his arm go limp, feeling more like a passenger in his life than ever before. It seems this is Clarissa''s world and I''m just living in it. ¡°Asher... pleased to meet you, Clarissa,¡± he replied, with all the enthusiasm of a dead fish. Perhaps Renee had set the bar too high. He wasn¡¯t particularly affected by Clarissa¡¯s charm. Chapter 31 Excited Puppy Asher forced a smile, trying to mask the fatigue that clung to him like a second skin. He had barely recovered from last night''s chaos, and now he found himself thrust into yet another social interaction. Clarissa didn¡¯t seem to notice his lack of enthusiasm. She beamed at him, her eyes sparkling with energy. ¡°I¡¯ve heard so much about you! Captain Bolard said you¡¯re the fastest to activate spirit vision in the firm¡¯s history. I¡¯m really looking forward to working together!¡± Asher raised an eyebrow, the idea that anyone would consider him the best at anything seemed laughable. "Right. Well, I just try to keep up." Her laughter rang out, bright and almost contagious, yet it only reminded him of how he struggled to keep pace with the world around him. ¡°You don¡¯t have to be modest around me! I mean, I¡¯m just starting here as well¡ªit''s only been half a year!" Feeling slightly flattered despite himself, Asher leaned against his desk, hoping to ease the knot of tension in his stomach. Yet, he couldn¡¯t shake the doubt that gnawed at him¡ªhow could he work alongside someone so eager? ¡°What exactly do you do here?¡± ¡°Oh! I¡¯m a tracking specialist,¡± she said, her enthusiasm spilling over. ¡°I focus on locating people or items.¡± Asher nodded, his interest piqued. ¡°So you¡¯re saying you¡¯re mostly a field operative?¡± ¡°Absolutely! I can give you a rundown of my past assignments if you like,¡± she replied, leaning closer, her excitement palpable. ¡°For instance, have you ever encountered a Shadewalker? They¡¯re tricky step 9s who can manipulate shadows. You have to be quick on your feet when dealing with them.¡± Asher rubbed the back of his neck, recalling the tension of his last encounter with the Bloodfiends. The thought of facing another supernatural threat sent a shiver down his spine. ¡°Sounds like a challenge. But it¡¯s not just their supernatural powers we have to worry about; their human counterparts can be just as dangerous.¡± ¡°True, true! But knowing their strengths and weaknesses can give us the upper hand,¡± she continued, her eyes gleaming with determination. ¡°I can help you with that. Maybe we can even put together a training session to exchange pointers!¡± If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation. His heart sank slightly at the thought of training sessions. Asher hated the idea of being judged or scrutinized, especially when he felt so out of sorts. ¡°Sure, sounds¡­ fun,¡± he replied, attempting to inject enthusiasm into his tone. Asher glanced at the clock, the responsibilities pressing on him like a weight on his chest. ¡°Listen, I appreciate the offer, but I¡¯ve got a few things to sort out. Captain Bolard is probably looking for me.¡± Just then, the door swung open, and Captain Bolard strode in, a grin plastered across his face. ¡°Ah, there you are, Asher! I need you and Clarissa for a briefing. We¡¯ve got a new case coming in.¡± Asher¡¯s heart sank again, a mix of dread and curiosity swirling within him. The last case had pushed him to his limits, and he was still reeling from the intensity of it all. ¡°Another case? This early?¡± he asked, trying to mask the weariness in his voice. ¡°Yes, and it involves a descender, but not one you¡¯re likely familiar with,¡± Bolard said, rubbing his hands together in excitement. ¡°We¡¯re dealing with a Shadewalker. She''s been spotted on the outskirts, and we need to gather intel. And keep in mind, the goal this time isn¡¯t elimination¡ªshe seems to be in control. The issue is her recent proclivity for theft. Depending on her attitude and the source of her potion, we may even try to recruit her. Clarissa will be assisting you.¡± Asher turned to Clarissa, who looked eager and ready to jump into action. Her enthusiasm felt like a jolt of energy, contrasting sharply with his own fatigue. ¡°A Shadewalker?! I was just telling Asher about them! I¡¯ve read about them. They¡¯re one of the more powerful descender types,¡± she said, her voice a mix of excitement and seriousness. ¡°Exactly,¡± Bolard nodded. ¡°This is your chance to shine, Asher. Clarissa will take the lead on this one, but you¡¯ll need to back her up. I want you both to come up with a strategy before you head out.¡± Asher felt a surge of anxiety at the thought of working alongside someone so¡­ happy. The prospect of collaborating with Clarissa weighed heavily on his mind. Could he really keep up with her energy? Would he be able to contribute anything worthwhile? "Right. Strategy,¡± he echoed, glancing at Clarissa. ¡°How do you want to approach this?¡± She brightened up, her enthusiasm infectious. ¡°I think we should split up our research on their strengths and then meet back to compile our findings. I can focus on their weaknesses, and you could look into any recent sightings or incidents involving them.¡± ¡°That works,¡± he replied, trying to suppress the uncertainty swirling within him. He had always preferred working alone, where he could control the chaos around him. ¡°Let¡¯s just make sure we do our homework before we go out there.¡± As the two began discussing their plan, Asher couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that he was on the brink of something significant, both in his work and in his understanding of the descending world. The pressure was on, and he would have to navigate this new dynamic with Clarissa, all while coming to terms with the complexities of the supernatural realm they were about to confront. By the time Asher and Clarissa had finished their initial planning and research, it was already evening. Henry had vacated his office, no doubt complaining to the captain over the absolute nuisance Clarissa was. Asher suspected he would soon be given a place to work in the office. He couldn''t exactly work out of Henry''s coffee table forever. At least I hope not! "So? What are their weaknesses, Clarissa?" Asher had mostly shaken off his grogginess by now and was close to being fully functional, albeit sore and a little grumpy. "Their powers are vastly weaker during the day, obviously, but this can be supplemented by staying in areas plentiful in shadows." Asher listened intently, intrigued by her knowledge. "Their combat rating is quite high due to their ability to blend into shadows. It¡¯s almost impossible to see them in darkness, essentially rendering them invisible. They can administer devastating strikes, making them perfect assassins. In the higher steps, they are truly dreadful foes. However, at step 9, their abilities only allow for stealth and heightened vision in the dark, as well as the ability to perceive the vulnerabilities of their prey." Asher almost gasped; his mouth opened and shut a couple of times. Was this bubbly puppy actually competent? Bloody hell, I already felt my PTSD from university group projects coming back. Maybe I wrote her off too early! "I see. Very well, it shouldn''t be a problem of detaining her then, but locating her. From my review of the recent sightings of the suspected Shadewalker, we can infer she enjoys visiting auction houses in the evening and liberating lesser relics from their owners. Her physical appearance is that of a teenage girl¡ªblack eyes and black hair. Apparently, she has a small nose and large eyes with a purse-like mouth." Asher nodded, his mind racing with possibilities. This could be an opportunity to prove himself¡ªnot just to Captain Bolard, but to himself. Maybe, just maybe, working alongside Clarissa wouldn¡¯t be as bad as he feared. Chapter 32 Chasing Shadows The gaslamps flickered in the damp evening air as Asher and Clarissa stepped onto the cobblestone streets of Menthil City. The city pulsed with life¡ªhorse-drawn carriages clattered past, their wheels rattling against the stones, while the chatter of citizens filled the air, punctuated by the occasional bark of a street vendor. Asher pulled his coat tighter, feeling the cool mist creep through the fabric. The remnants of the day¡¯s chaos still clung to him, but he forced himself to focus. With Clarissa bouncing beside him, eyes bright with enthusiasm, he felt a strange mix of admiration and frustration. Why is she so upbeat? Doesn¡¯t she understand the gravity of this situation? ¡°I can¡¯t wait to see what we uncover!¡± Clarissa exclaimed, her excitement cutting through his thoughts. She pointed to a nearby auction house, its opulent fa?ade adorned with gold trimmings and large glass windows showcasing an array of relics. ¡°If the Shadewalker is taking items, this might be where we find our leads.¡± Asher nodded, suppressing his anxiety. It¡¯s just an auction house. Nothing I haven¡¯t seen before. But despite the bravado, he felt a gnawing unease, aware of how small he seemed against the grandeur of the building. Clarissa strode ahead, her confidence palpable. ¡°Let me handle the talking." Asher followed, watching her with cautious admiration. Inside, the warmth of the room hit them¡ªwood polished to a shine, the scent of leather faint in the air. The hum of conversation was louder here, patrons dressed in finery examining relics with discerning eyes. Asher¡¯s instincts pricked. A familiar face in the crowd. Great. Just what I need. Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. ¡°Excuse me,¡± Clarissa¡¯s voice rang clear, drawing his attention back. She was speaking with a clerk behind the counter. ¡°We¡¯re investigating some recent thefts¡ªitems taken under suspicious circumstances. Have there been any unusual incidents here?¡± The clerk raised an eyebrow but seemed intrigued. ¡°There have been some minor thefts. Nothing too alarming, but a few items have gone missing recently.¡± Clarissa leaned in, her interest unmistakable. ¡°Anything particular?" Asher stayed back, scanning the room, trying to quell the discomfort that gnawed at him. He watched her charm the clerk, navigating the conversation with ease. She¡¯s diving headfirst into this. Does she even realize how dangerous it could get? When they finished, Clarissa found a quiet corner, and Asher joined her. He cleared his throat. ¡°What did you find out?¡± She beamed, eyes gleaming with excitement. ¡°There¡¯s a rumor about a girl fitting the Shadewalker¡¯s description. She¡¯s been linked to the theft of several lesser relics¡ªones with magical properties.¡± Asher¡¯s stomach sank. "Not just a common thief, then. She¡¯s targeting dangerous items." ¡°Exactly!¡± Clarissa¡¯s enthusiasm barely faltered. ¡°The clerk also mentioned sightings near the old warehouse district, usually at night.¡± Asher rubbed the back of his neck, tension building. ¡°And now you want to go check it out, at night? When she¡¯s at her strongest?¡± Clarissa smiled, her optimism unwavering. ¡°I¡¯ll be careful, I promise. You just need to watch my back. We make a great team, don¡¯t we?¡± He hesitated, the storm of worry churning inside him. This feels reckless. But if she¡¯s determined¡­ He sighed. ¡°Just¡­ don¡¯t do anything too bold.¡± ¡°I won¡¯t,¡± she said, her smile softening his doubt. ¡°Trust me.¡± They finalized their plan, but the weight of the mission settled over Asher like a shroud. What if I can¡¯t protect her? His thoughts churned as they stepped back out into the night, the city¡¯s shadows pressing in. With the evening deepening, they made their way toward the narrow alleyways rumored to be the Shadewalker¡¯s escape routes. Each step felt heavier than the last. Asher had faced danger before, but with Clarissa¡¯s safety on the line, it felt different. The stakes felt higher. The air grew colder as they entered the warehouse district, the darkness clinging to the old buildings like a second skin. Asher tensed, his senses on high alert. This could go wrong fast. A sudden sound¡ªsniffing¡ªbroke the silence. Asher turned, startled, to see Clarissa with a peculiar expression on her face. Her eyes had taken on a feline gleam, and long ears had sprouted from her head. Cu-cu¡ªCute! What the¡ª? He coughed, averting his gaze quickly to regain composure. ¡°You¡­ you¡¯re a Lycan?¡± Clarissa blinked, her expression innocent. ¡°Oh, right. I guess I never mentioned it.¡± Asher shook his head, trying to process. A step 9 Lycan¡­ That explains her abilities. Enhanced strength, speed, heightened senses¡ªeverything that makes her a perfect tracker. Lycans were the antithesis of bloodfiends and to a lesser extent mythical vampires. No wonder she was so confident. He reassessed her in a new light. She¡¯s more qualified than I thought. Still, the shadows seemed to press in closer, and Asher couldn¡¯t shake the unease curling at the edges of his mind. Let¡¯s just hope her confidence isn''t blind. Chapter 33 Checkmate Asher and Clarissa moved through the shadowswept alleways. The industrial district was quiet. Very few people braved the streets at this hour. The moon cast its pale light across Menthil''s foggy sky, infusing the surroundings with a subtle glow. Grateful for the meager illumination, Asher shook his left hand and let his dowsing chain fall. "Where is the shadewalker we''re after?" he asked, tension creeping into his voice. The chain jolted chaotically, flicking in different directions before going limp. "Failed... she must be in the shadows already," Asher muttered, frustration lacing his words. "Where does the shadewalker reside?" Once again, the chain offered no guidance, seemingly opting to obey gravity instead. Clarissa brushed past him in the narrow alley, her instincts guiding her. "She¡¯s up there, probably. Let¡¯s go... uhh, say hello?" "Alright, I¡¯d prefer not to fight, but stay alert. Do not leave my sight and maintain frequent checks behind me. We can''t afford to let her get the jump on us if she ends up being hostile." Asher walked halfway around the building. Asher inserted his knife into a windows latch and crawled through before doubling back to open the door for Clarissa. They subtly closed the door behind them and began their ascent to the top floor. The warehouse was clearly operational during the day, filled with various goods and machines; a crane loomed on the first floor. The upper floors, mainly offices, offered little refuge in the dim light. The building stood about 70 feet tall, with the ground floor occupying most of that space. As they climbed the dark stairwell, Asher''s instincts screamed that danger lurked nearby. If they were going to get jumped, now would be the time. In the narrow stairwell, the shadewalker could easily target them one at a time. Shadows cloaked the space, and Asher and Clarissa relied on the faint moonlight filtering through the doorways, rendering it nearly impossible to see. Perhaps Clarissa had better vision; he couldn''t be sure. Suddenly, Asher¡¯s intuition blared alarms in his mind. Instinctively, he ducked just as a dagger whistled past where his head had been, embedding itself in the wall. This narrative has been purloined without the author''s approval. Report any appearances on Amazon. Fast and hostile... Grabbing Clarissa¡¯s hand, he bolted upwards toward the second floor. Staying here was a death sentence. Clarissa let out a low growl, a sound meant to intimidate the shadewalker. Asher produced a small bottle of gasoline he had prepared earlier, tossing it into the air before shooting it. WHOOSH! The glass shattered with a flash of light, momentarily banishing the shadows and illuminating the stairwell. Asher had never intended to flee; he was merely playing into the shadewalker''s assumptions. In the stairwell, about ten feet behind them, the shadewalker appeared momentarily, illuminated by the burst of light. She had black hair just past her shoulders, tied back in a simple ponytail. Her big, dark eyes resembled the void, and a button nose complemented her perpetually pursed lips. Standing at about 5''6" in her tallest shoes, she wore a hooded black hunting tunic and matching tights. Asher''s assessment of her appearance took only a fraction of a second. Before the light could fade, he was already moving. Swish! Asher¡¯s silver stiletto glinted in the light as it flew through the air like a silent reaper. In the heartbeat that followed, he fired his revolver, aiming for the shadewalker''s only path of retreat. Checkmate. The shadewalker''s choice was clear. Rather than retreating into the gunfire, she pushed forward, directly into the path of the silver stiletto. Shink! The shadewalker gasped as the stiletto pierced her ribs. Before she could recover, Asher was upon her. His foot flew toward her ribcage with ferocious speed. The shadewalker ducked and backstepped, attempting to retreat into the shadows. But Asher was no fool; he felt a pang of sympathy for her, but he was already three steps ahead. BANG! His gun flared, filling the air with the acrid scent of gunpowder as he heard the shadewalker cry out. This was only half of his plan, though; his real goal in firing the gun was to maintain visibility and prevent her from fleeing. He hadn''t even aimed it anywhere in particular choosing to shoot the roof for fear of harming his partner. Asher rushed forward, feigning another powerful kick. The shadewalker ducked again, but it was all part of his strategy. Instead, he rotated his hips,swapping legs he swiftly drove his knee straight into her gut. The force sent her feet off the ground. Before she could react, Asher had her hands behind her back, his knee pressing her firmly onto the floor. He quickly handcuffed her. "Ugh, let me go! I''m dying! Are you Crows?! Hypocritical bastards!" she protested. Asher glanced at Clarissa, who was preparing to question the shadewalker. "Clarissa, bring a gaslamp. You''re responsible for questioning her. I¡¯ll search for the stolen items." He shot the shadewalker a glare. "And you, shut up before I gag you." Inexperienced and too na?ve, this girl probably came from a good family. So predictable. Did she think she was the main character? What a child. There was no way they would hire this brat. Asher waited until Clarissa was in position to handle the girl before getting up and moving toward the shadewalker''s suspected nest. The attic was barren¡ªno bed, no signs of habitation. It was a storage space, and apparently, the girl had been using it as her hideout. He quickly spotted a crate that showed signs of tampering and opened it. Inside, he found a collection of porcelain dolls. Pushing them aside, he discovered the false bottom of the crate. This kid had read Sherlock Holmes too many times. Nobody actually used such tricks anymore. Admittedly it was quite clever just not to the same standard of her thefts. Beneath the wood lay several relics of various kinds; her spoils were far more numerous than they had suspected. Asher estimated there were at least twenty lesser relics... fancy goblets, intricate necklaces,various jewelries, articles of ostentatious clothing, and even a beautiful painting depicting a summer day in Menthil. He replaced the false bottom and picked up the entire crate. It was heavy¡ªhe guessed at least fifty kilograms. Carrying it down the staircase, he placed it near where Clarissa was questioning the thief. Taking out a coin, he addressed nobody in particular. "Is this all of the stolen goods?" The coin glinted as it flipped through the air, silently landing in his palm, tails side up. Blasted thing useless.. Chapter 34 Hypocrites Asher stood in the dimly lit warehouse, the heavy crate of stolen relics at his feet, its weight a constant reminder of the job they¡¯d just pulled off. He glanced at Clarissa, who had just finished questioning the injured shadewalker. ¡°We need to find out where she got her potion,¡± Clarissa said, her tone steady despite the chaos of their encounter. Asher nodded. The girl lay on the floor, handcuffed and breathing heavily, her dark eyes glaring at them with a mix of pain and defiance. She had been a formidable opponent, but now her spirit seemed to waver. ¡°Don¡¯t think your little gang of Crows intimidates me,¡± the shadewalker spat, trying to lift her chin despite the pain etched across her face. ¡°You think you can waltz in here and take me down? You¡¯re just another hypocritical bastard, like the rest of them.¡± Asher¡¯s jaw tightened. ¡°We¡¯re not here to discuss the Emissaries. We want to know how you acquired your potion. I don¡¯t want to hear about the Crows.¡± She let out a harsh laugh that quickly turned into a cough, clutching her side where Asher''s dagger had injured her. ¡°Why would I tell you? You¡¯re just a pawn in their game.¡± His irritation flared at her mocking tone. Taking a deep breath to steady himself, he leaned in closer. ¡°Tell me where you got it. You have connections; I know you do.¡± Clarissa stepped closer, her expression softening slightly. ¡°You¡¯re injured. If you help us, we can get you medical attention. Just tell us what we need to know.¡± The shadewalker hesitated, her eyes darting between Asher and Clarissa, the fight within her dimming. ¡°Fine,¡± she muttered, ¡°but you better keep your word. I bought it at an underground marketplace. One of the stall owners there. They don¡¯t know what I¡¯m doing, but they¡¯ve got everything I need. It¡¯s all through the black market.¡± Asher exchanged a quick glance with Clarissa, their thoughts aligning in unspoken understanding. ¡°Who is it? Name names.¡± ¡°Can¡¯t... Can¡¯t tell you. I didn¡¯t get his name. Just met him by chance. He said he could guarantee the product,¡± the girl¡¯s voice trembled as she spoke, each word seeming to drain her energy further. ¡°You¡¯re lying,¡± Asher pressed, his tone sharp. ¡°You must have some idea. Think. Who else was there?¡± Help support creative writers by finding and reading their stories on the original site. Her gaze faltered. ¡°He had a scar. A bad one on his face. I thought he was just some thug, but he knew things¡ªknew people. He said he could help me... if I had the coin.¡± ¡°Scarred face,¡± Asher repeated, mentally cataloging the information. ¡°How did you find him?¡± ¡°Through one of my dad''s friends. His son took me to the market. A secret one. It¡¯s not safe for me to be seen there, but I had my ways.¡± Her voice was barely above a whisper now, the gravity of her situation sinking in. Asher knelt beside her, lowering his voice. ¡°If we let you go, you¡¯ll be back in the shadows, right? Think about your family. If they knew what you were doing, they¡¯d cut you off.¡± Her expression flickered with doubt, and for a moment, Asher saw a glimmer of vulnerability beneath her bravado. ¡°I... I just wanted to prove myself. I thought I could be someone.¡± ¡°Being someone doesn¡¯t mean stealing from the city,¡± he said firmly. ¡°Help us, and maybe we can help you.¡± The girl hesitated, tears pooling in her eyes. ¡°I¡¯ll... I¡¯ll try. Just get me out of here, please.¡± Clarissa knelt next to her, gently touching her shoulder. ¡°Let¡¯s get you some help, and you can tell us everything you know.¡± With the shadewalker subdued and reluctantly cooperating, Asher stepped back, taking a moment to process the information. "I''ll stay here with her. Go tell Eric to bring the carriage, please, Clarissa." "Got it. I won¡¯t take long." About half an hour later, the carriage came trotting down the dark alleyway leading to the warehouse. The shadewalker looked worse for wear; they would have to stop by the central emissary. Eric plopped out of the driver¡¯s seat and quickly assessed the situation. ¡°Did you get anything?¡± he asked, glancing at the crate, then at the shadewalker slumped against the wall. ¡°We need to bring the crate and her back to the firm,¡± Asher said. ¡°Some leads,¡± Asher added, his voice steady. ¡°She knows someone connected to the black market selling shadewalker potions.¡± ¡°Great,¡± Eric said, his brow furrowing as he glanced at the girl. ¡°What now?¡± ¡°We interrogate her more at the firm,¡± Clarissa stated, her gaze unwavering. ¡°She has information we need, and we can¡¯t let her go until we get it all.¡± Asher nodded, glancing back at the crate. ¡°We¡¯ll sort it out. Let¡¯s move.¡± As they loaded the shadewalker into the carriage, Asher¡¯s mind raced with the implications of their findings. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this was only the beginning. The corporate elite of Menthil held many secrets, and he wasn''t excited to uncover them, especially if it meant stepping deeper into the shadows. As the carriage rolled away from the warehouse, the moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow over the cobblestone streets of Menthil. Asher stared out into the darkness, the weight of the world pressing down on him, but a fire ignited within him. The hunt for the source had only just begun. Once they arrived at the firm, Asher helped Eric unload the crate and guided the shadewalker inside. Captain was waiting, his expression serious. ¡°What do we have?¡± he asked, eyeing the crate. ¡°Stolen relics,¡± Asher replied, gesturing to the contents. ¡°But we need to find out where she got her shadewalker potion first.¡± Captain nodded, motioning for the shadewalker to follow him into the interrogation room. Asher watched as she disappeared behind the door, the weight of the night pressing down on him. Hours later, he returned home, exhausted but restless. The night felt like it had stretched on forever, the events swirling in his mind. He fell into a fitful sleep, dreams filled with shadows and whispers of secrets yet to be uncovered. The following afternoon, Asher arrived at the firm after some much-needed sleep. He was greeted by Clarissa in the lobby, her expression serious. ¡°We have the results of the interrogation,¡± she said, stepping inside. ¡°What did they find out?¡± Asher asked, his heart pounding. ¡°She¡¯s a child of one of Menthil¡¯s corporate magnates,¡± Clarissa replied. ¡°Her family is wealthy and powerful, and she used their connections to get the shadewalker potion from the black market, unbeknownst to them.¡± ¡°So, not much more than we already knew. Seems she was honest.¡± Chapter 35 See No Evil Asher stepped into the firm¡¯s conference room, the atmosphere thick with unspoken tension. Clarissa was already seated at the table, her brow slightly furrowed as she reviewed her notes. Captain Bolard leaned against the wall, arms crossed, his expression serious. ¡°Asher,¡± Clarissa began, glancing up at him. Her voice was light yet cautious. ¡°Can we talk about last night?¡± ¡°Is it about the shadewalker?¡± Asher asked, taking a seat across from her. Clarissa looked up at him, her eyes twinkling like a puppy that had done something wrong. ¡°Um, yeah,¡± she replied, her tone careful but friendly. ¡°You were a bit¡­ intense. I mean, I get it¡ªshe was dangerous and all¡ªbut it felt a little cold.¡± Asher shrugged, feeling the weight of her words but dismissing her concern. ¡°I did what was necessary. She was a threat.¡± Captain Bolard pushed himself off the wall and stepped forward. ¡°I understand the necessity of the situation and the danger inherent in it. However, it¡¯s wise to always keep an eye on yourself. The step toward the abyss can easily be your last.¡± Asher nodded, taking a moment to process Bolard''s words. He knew there was some truth in them and decided to reflect honestly on his behavior. It was indeed unlike him to act so coldly. ¡°I¡¯m sorry if I seemed harsh,¡± he said, sincerity in his voice. ¡°I¡¯ll keep it in check next time. I think I got caught up in the moment. I was worried sick that she would hurt you, Clarissa. I think I was still rattled from the bloodfiend incident. Forgive me. I¡¯ll apologize to the shadewalker as well. Thank you both for keeping me in check.¡± Clarissa leaned forward slightly, her bright eyes earnest. ¡°I appreciate that, but I think we need to remember we¡¯re trying to build trust¡ªeven with those who oppose us. They need to see we¡¯re different from the people we hunt.¡± Asher considered her perspective, though he still believed his approach had merit. Nevertheless, he made a concerted effort to pay better attention to his behavior. He smiled at Clarissa, masking his internal struggle. Love what you''re reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on. ¡°Understood. I¡¯ll work on it.¡± ¡°Great!¡± Clarissa said, a smile breaking through her seriousness. ¡°Let¡¯s focus on moving forward.¡± Just then, Henry burst into the room, the shadewalker trailing behind him, looking sullen and defiant. As he surveyed the scene, Henry rolled his eyes. ¡°Useless kids,¡± he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. ¡°You¡¯d think they¡¯d know better than to get involved with this stuff.¡± Asher suppressed a smirk at Henry¡¯s typical complaints, knowing better than to challenge his senior. Instead, he took a moment to appreciate the gruff wisdom that often accompanied Henry¡¯s words. Henry shrugged, unfazed. ¡°Just saying. They¡¯re not cut out for this kind of life.¡± With that, he turned on his heel and left the room, muttering about ¡°kids these days¡± as he disappeared down the corridor. ¡°Let¡¯s get back to business,¡± Captain Bolard said, turning his attention to the shadewalker. ¡°We need to know the location of the market where you acquired your potion.¡± The shadewalker crossed her arms defiantly. ¡°And why should I tell you?¡± ¡°Because,¡± Asher interjected, leaning forward, ¡°this is your chance to save yourself. You tell us what we need to know, and maybe we can help you.¡± She hesitated, glancing between the three of them, weighing her options. ¡°Fine. The market is located in an old warehouse district near the docks. They run it at night, hidden from the light.¡± Asher kept his gaze on the shadewalker as Captain Bolard pressed further, his voice calm but authoritative. ¡°We still need the boy¡¯s name. Who led you to this market?¡± The shadewalker clenched her jaw, refusing to speak. It was clear she wouldn¡¯t budge, no matter how much they pressed her. Clarissa, maintaining her usual bubbly demeanor, walked over to the girl and gently touched her arm. ¡°Come on, let¡¯s get you some rest. We can continue this another time,¡± she said kindly, leading the shadewalker out of the room. Her tone was soft, almost comforting, despite the tense situation. As the door closed behind them, Asher turned to Captain Bolard. ¡°Why is this market still open? Surely you know about it by now.¡± The captain gave a small smile, clearly impressed with Asher¡¯s perceptiveness. ¡°Sharp as always, Asher. Yes, we¡¯re aware. The market has its uses, and while it isn¡¯t without its dangers, it doesn¡¯t pose an immediate threat to the city¡¯s balance.¡± Before Asher could respond, Clarissa returned, her usual brightness subtly dimmed by the weight of the situation. She nodded to both of them as she sat back down, ready to continue the conversation. ¡°The market doesn¡¯t operate without our knowledge. We¡¯re aware of it; it¡¯s not necessary to shut it down. However, we will investigate to ensure there¡¯s nothing especially dangerous happening there.¡± Asher exchanged a glance with Clarissa, their resolve strengthening. ¡°Then we¡¯ll go to the market. We¡¯ll gather what information we can and see for ourselves.¡± ¡°Be careful,¡± Bolard warned, a hint of concern creeping into his voice. ¡°Remember, it isn¡¯t our goal to cause a scene at the market. I¡¯d just like to verify the identity of the vendor and make sure they aren¡¯t part of something bigger.¡± ¡°As an aside, the girl doesn¡¯t seem problematic¡ªMelody, was it? She seems quite useful. What do you two think?¡± Asher chewed the inside of his lip before offering his opinion. ¡°Naive, but if she shows the ability to learn, I think she could be an invaluable ally and coworker.¡± Captain Bolard seemed to agree with Asher¡¯s assessment. Clarissa was perhaps a quarter as serious as Asher in her evaluation. ¡°I like her! She seems nice, Captain! Can we, can we, can we¡ª¡± ¡°Okay, I got it, Clarissa. You two know what to do. I¡¯ll keep your words in mind when deciding if she¡¯s a good fit.¡± Asher and Clarissa nodded, determination coursing through them. They stood up and made their way to the door. It was barely two o¡¯clock, so they had a long time until evening. ¡°I want to spend it with Renee. Ahh, life is truly so troublesome.¡± Chapter 36 Rightful Queen Melody stirred awake in her dimly lit bedroom, the early morning light filtering through the curtains. Stretching like a cat, she allowed herself a moment of calm before the inevitable. Tonight¡¯s gala. A place of high society, rich patrons, and noble guests¡ªnone of whom would suspect that Melody, the graceful daughter of the esteemed Winchester Conglomerate, had other plans. ?? ???????? ???? ??????????????, she mused, sitting up and gazing at herself in the ornate mirror. Her reflection stared back, her eyes gleaming with the determination of a hero in disguise. The gala was just a facade, a convenient distraction. In reality, she had a far more important mission: the expansion of her hidden empire of stolen treasures. "Melody! Are you awake?" her mother¡¯s voice echoed from downstairs, shattering her daydreams. With a theatrical sigh, she responded, "I¡¯m coming, Mother!" They would never understand the weight of her responsibilities. She floated down the stairs, her movements slow and deliberate as though she were preparing to step into the spotlight of some grand stage. "You¡¯ll wear the blue dress, right? It complements your eyes beautifully," her mother said, glancing up from her arrangements. Melody nodded with a noble grace. "Of course, Mother. The blue dress will do." As if appearance mattered when I¡¯ll soon be clad in the dark armor of justice. --- After the gala ended, Melody returned home, practically trembling with anticipation. The moment she was alone, her mask of the well-behaved daughter fell away. In a practiced motion, she pulled on her black hunting outfit, the tight fabric clinging to her like the battle armor of a legendary rogue. ??????????????, ?????? ?????????????? ?????????? ?????????? ?????? ????, she thought with a smirk, casting one last glance at her reflection. Her blue eyes, once innocent, now gleamed with the light of destiny. She was no mere girl¡ªshe was Nightfall, the Shadewalker, a master thief destined for greatness. Slipping into the night, she moved through Menthil City like a shadow, darting between buildings, her heart racing with excitement. Her destination: the warehouse in the industrial district, her secret treasure trove. --- Crouched in the darkness of the warehouse, Melody surveyed her hoard of stolen goods. The scattered moonlight barely illuminated the scene, but her superior vision needed no such crutches. She was born for this¡ªborn to lurk in the night and steal from under the noses of her clueless adversaries. ???? ?????? ?????? ?????????? ????. The Crows think they¡¯re so smart, but they¡¯ll never find me here, she thought, almost pitying them for even trying. Her fingers toyed with her dagger, the cool metal grounding her as she leaned against the wall. They might as well just give up. This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there. Suddenly, footsteps¡ªapproaching, calculated. Melody¡¯s heart skipped a beat. She leaped from the second story just before she reached the floor; she melded into the shadows as though she were one with the night itself. ????????????... ?????? ?????????? ???????????????? ???????? ?????? ???????? ???? ?????? ???????????? ??????????????????????? Her mind raced as she spied two figures entering the warehouse. One tall and poised, with red hair like the autumn leaves; the man seemed dangerous. The other, a fierce, wolfish girl with eyes that gleamed in the dark. ??????????, she mentally scoffed. ?????????? ?????????? ?????????? ???????? ?????? ?????????????????? ????? She clenched her dagger, adrenaline flooding her veins. She watched them enter the staircase¡ªfools... you will be your own undoing! When they were about halfway through, she decided to move. Her hands twitched with the urge to act. This was it¡ªthe climax of her grand story. With a dramatic flourish, she leaped from the shadows, throwing her dagger. It flew through the air with perfect precision, barely missing the red-haired man and embedding itself in the wall. The satisfying thud sent a thrill up her spine. ?????? ???????? ?????????????? ???????????? ?????? ??????????????????????! she thought, smirking. The intruders immediately bolted toward the second floor. Ah, so they knew to fear her. She gave chase, convinced they were no match for her legendary speed and grace. Her mind filled with images of ballads that would be sung in her honor. But just as she closed in, the red-haired man spun around, throwing something into the air. Her steps faltered. ???????? ?????? ????????? ?? ??????????? ???????? ???????? ???? ??????????? A flash of light erupted as gasoline ignited, casting sharp, jagged shadows around her. ?????????????? ????????, she thought, squinting against the brightness. And then, she saw him¡ªthe redhead, his dark eyes cold and calculating, a glinting silver stiletto in his hand. Melody¡¯s pulse quickened, but she steeled herself. This was her moment. Time slowed down as his silver stiletto barreled towards her through the air; she began to dodge; however, her eyes settled on the man''s gun¡ªhe was going to shoot the space she intended to retreat to! ?????????????????????? ????????! As if such a trivial attack could ever land on me, she thought, grinning. The grin froze on her face, though, as she realized she had nowhere to go but into the waiting embrace of the flying dagger. She darted to the side, but the stiletto found its mark, slicing into her ribs. Pain exploded through her, the cold sting of metal making her gasp. ????... ?????? ???????? ????????! she thought, her thoughts frantically searching for a way out. She couldn''t fall here¡ªnot when her legend had only just begun. Clutching the wound, she staggered back, but the red-haired man was relentless, advancing on her with a deadly grace. Swoosh his foot whizzed through the air in front of her face barely missing her. As if you could hit me with such cumbersome movements ! I am the night queen !! she tried to meld into the shadows again, but BAM¡ªthe deafening gunshot stunned her. Before she could recover, the man ventured another kick she chided the foolish crow for lacking creativity. She moved backwards to dodge it however it was a ruse ! How dare these ra- she gasped as the man switched legs and slammed his knee into her stomach. Her feet left the ground .No! This isn¡¯t how it¡¯s supposed to go! Before she could blink she heard the sound of handcuffs and felt them close around her wrists. Dread slowly filled her and she felt her persona cracking. Pinned beneath him, Melody struggled, a mixture of anger and desperation burning in her chest. How dare they! She, the great Shadewalker, defeated by mere Crows? It was unthinkable. "Ugh, let me go! I''m dying! Are you Crows?! Hypocritical bastards!" she shrieked, thrashing uselessly in his grip. But deep down, beneath the bravado, panic clawed at her. They had won, and the truth was hard to swallow. Chapter 37 Look Before You Leap Asher leaned against the window of his new office, the dim light of twilight spilling into the room. He had been waiting for nightfall, his thoughts restless as he prepared to confront the nightmare ahead. The shadows deepened outside, cloaking Menthil City in a shroud of uncertainty. Earlier that day, he had approached Captain Bolard, hoping to subtly address his need for a more suitable workspace. ¡°Captain,¡± Asher began, his tone casual, ¡°I¡¯ve noticed the office arrangements seem a bit tight. It¡¯s difficult to focus amidst all the clutter.¡± Bolard raised an eyebrow, a knowing smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. ¡°You¡¯re not wrong, Asher. It can be quite a circus around here,¡± he replied, leaning back in his chair, his gaze thoughtful. Asher took a breath, gauging Bolard''s response. ¡°I suppose I was wondering if you might have something more¡­ personal? A space where I can delve deeper into our work without the constant distractions?¡± The Captain¡¯s expression shifted, assessing. ¡°You mean more privacy? I can appreciate the need for solitude when dealing with delicate matters.¡± Asher nodded, maintaining a composed demeanor. ¡°Exactly. Certain aspects of our work require a clearer head, and I¡¯d hate to miss crucial details due to¡­ external noise.¡± After a moment of contemplation, Bolard smirked, the glint in his eye suggesting he understood more than he let on. ¡°Very well, Asher. How about the office right next to mine? I believe it¡¯s unoccupied, and it should serve you well.¡± A surge of gratitude welled up in Asher, which he masked behind a nod. ¡°That would be perfect, Captain. Thank you for considering my request.¡± Bolard waved a dismissive hand. ¡°Just ensure you keep the noise to a minimum. I¡¯ll be keeping an ear out.¡± Asher chuckled lightly, a blend of relief and apprehension washing over him. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t dream of disrupting your work, sir.¡± With their conversation settled, Asher shifted his focus back to the room, the silence almost suffocating. He glanced at the clutter of papers on his desk, his attention suddenly drawn to the weight on his left hand¡ªthe ring he had worn since near the start of his stint here at the firm. This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. It was a constant reminder of the unknown, and he could feel its presence almost pulsating against his skin. Asher stared at the ring on his left hand, its weight feeling heavier than ever. The opal at its center reflected the dim light, but no flicker or mystical glow revealed any hidden power. Its secrets, however, were well known to him by now¡ªperhaps too well. Since the day he had first slipped it on, the ring had bound itself to him in ways that defied explanation. The mere fact that he could never remove it was proof enough of its ominous nature. A prison for souls¡ªAntoinette Fiugeria being the tragic proof of that fact. He remembered the tale from the old book Renee had given him, Eternal Nightmare. The princess, filled with ambition and led astray by Florence Hesparee, was trapped in a reality worse than death: eternal sleep, her soul bound within the ring, lost in its dark depths. Her identity had decayed, swallowed by the very object that now sat on Asher''s finger. The thought left a bitter taste in his mouth. What if the same fate awaited him? Asher leaned back in his chair, his gaze fixed on the opal. His mind wandered through the events of the past few weeks. The ring had done nothing outwardly sinister to him¡ªnot yet. But it was always there, like a shadow, reminding him of its power and potential danger. Every time he looked at it, he was reminded of Antoinette¡¯s fate¡ªher endless prison, the corruption of her spirit. His eyes flicked to the inscription on the band, written in ancient Stellarian¡ªSomnus Aeternus. He didn¡¯t know what it meant. The language was long dead, and no one had offered him a translation. But somehow, Asher felt the weight of the words without understanding their literal meaning. Whatever they said, they couldn¡¯t be good. Had Renee known? Was there more she hadn¡¯t told him? His thoughts turned to Renee¡¯s mysterious decision to give him the book in the first place. There was no way it was a coincidence, and yet she¡¯d offered no explanations, no warnings¡ªjust left him to draw his own conclusions. Asher¡¯s hand clenched involuntarily. Was the ring watching him now? Testing him? Waiting for the moment when it would spring its trap? The idea gnawed at him, though he had to admit, in all his dealings with it, the ring had been... passive. But could that be the point? Could its lethargy be masking its true intentions? The silence in the room grew louder. The tick of the clock on the wall seemed to echo his thoughts, punctuating the growing unease that welled up inside him. You¡¯re stronger than this, Asher told himself. But even as he thought it, his eyes returned to the opal¡¯s soft gleam, and he couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that something inside the ring was staring back. I can''t keep delaying further exploration into the ring''s prowess. A time would surely come when he would require its aid, though he might not like the consequences¡ªcertain or otherwise. Steeling himself, he channeled his will into the ring, coating it with his spiritual essence. Black nebulous clouds coalesced around the ring, encasing it in their dark embrace. ¡°Somnus Aeternus.¡± A snowflake froze out of the air''s ambient moisture. Then more followed until a nascent blizzard enveloped the room. Asher admired the beautiful phenomenon, noting that he didn''t feel the biting cold gnawing at him. How helpful the owner seems, he thought, unaffected by the frost. Then, without warning, Asher felt an odd pull, like a magnetic force drawing him closer to the ring. It was as if the ring itself wanted him to enter. Curiosity ignited within him, mixing with apprehension. He had to know more. Tentatively, Asher focused on the opal, willing himself to explore its depths. Suddenly, the room around him faded, and he found himself falling deep within himself. The sensation was familiar; he had felt it during his descent. The weight of his body vanished, replaced by an overwhelming sense of space. Chapter 38 Doorway To Nowhere Asher enjoyed the feeling of weightlessness and warmth and then gasped as his surroundings shifted. His vision was replaced by endless water. His feet seemed to float atop its surface. Fluffy white clouds dotted the sky. Shades of lilac and orange mingled to dye the sky in a beautiful visual display. He looked around for Antoinette Fiugeria¡ªshe had been here last time¡ªbut did not see her. Confused, he surveyed his surroundings. In front of him, a pale white oak door, seemingly older than the stars, appeared. The door led to nowhere; behind it was simply air. Curiosity flared inside Asher, and he felt the desire to open it and learn its secrets. That was the purpose of his visit, was it not? The door opened as if its hinges were freshly oiled. Inside was a vast collection of weapon racks, shelves full of books and scrolls, large cabinets full of potions and beakers, and even several armor stands adorned with full suits of knightly attire. Pantries stuffed full of food, wine, and supplies stretched out before him. However, that was in the past; now, what Asher saw was only what was left after the cruel ravages of unknown time swept through these once-abundant halls. The armor was rusted so thin it had more holes than solid plates. The food was little more than dust. The wine long since having turned from vinegar to thick black residue. The books and scrolls had yellowed and folded, contracting under their drying ink. The ink itself had faded into illegibility long ago. Realization struck him: the ring was not merely a prison; it was perhaps a storage device, capable of holding an immense number of items. Asher searched the shelves of once-documents in search of anything legible; however, his efforts were for naught. Time was the true circle of inevitability. His heart raced as he realized the potential of this discovery. What dangers were hidden behind the allure of power? He took a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He had to tread carefully. Just then, he spied a survivor from the bleak future that befell the storage room: a large wrap-around desk, complete with what was once surely a lavish velvet armchair. Now, however, it looked like an oak chair with rags draped over it. Asher approached the desk and glanced across its surface. There was nothing to learn from the various parchments and books littered across it. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. However, there was a stone slate inscribed with a long passage in an ancient language he recognized. This is ancient hermetic script, is it not? Asher was not fluent in the language; however, he knew quite a bit. It was one of his favorite topics of research back at Hearth University. He studied the slate, his heart pounding as he deciphered the script. As he focused on the symbols, a chilling sensation crept through him. The symbols seemed to dance before his eyes, but a few words stood out, resonating with an unsettling familiarity. ¡°Soul,¡± he murmured, the weight of the word heavy in the air. It felt ominous, filled with implications he didn¡¯t fully grasp. The thought crossed his mind that perhaps these words were linked to the fates of those who had come before him¡ªpeople who had sought power but had paid a steep price for their ambitions. He continued, his gaze flicking across the script. ¡°Embrace¡­ Slumber¡­ Echo¡­ Safehouse¡­¡± The fragments of meaning teased at his mind, suggesting a complex web of instructions or warnings. It was as if the slate was a guide, but the context eluded him, shrouded in the mists of forgotten knowledge. Each word pulsed with an eerie energy, leaving him with a sense of urgency and dread. He couldn¡¯t shake the feeling that this ancient script held secrets about the ring''s true nature¡ªperhaps a method to harness its power or, more disturbingly, a way to confront the fate of its previous owners. Frustrated yet intrigued, Asher leaned back, his mind racing. He needed to uncover more, to understand the implications of these terms. What did it mean to embrace a soul? How could a slumber echo? And what was this safehouse he needed to find? Perhaps he was currently in that very safehouse. Determined, he resolved to study the slate further, hoping to piece together the fragmented message that could hold the key to his destiny. Asher''s mind raced with the implications of the slate. The cryptic words lingered in his thoughts, urging him to act. He needed to understand its meaning¡ªperhaps it was an instruction manual of sorts, hinting at the power and dangers that lay ahead. He stood, determination coursing through him, clutching the slate tightly in his hands. The words he had deciphered echoed in his mind: soul, embrace, slumber, echo, safehouse. Each one felt charged with significance, yet their true meanings eluded him. However, he couldn¡¯t linger in this moment of discovery. Clarissa would soon be expecting him, and they had a mission to prepare for¡ªa trip to the market where dangers lurked among the bustling crowds. He had little time before he needed to shift his focus from the mysteries of the slate to the task at hand. Taking a deep breath, he closed his eyes and concentrated on the weight of the ring on his finger. He envisioned the slate as a bridge to understanding the power that lay dormant within the ring. With a surge of will, he focused his will into the ring once again. Only this time his goal was ascent, not descent, within himself. As the familiar sensation of weightlessness enveloped him, the decaying chamber around him began to dissolve, and he found himself back in his office. The slate remained firmly in his grasp, its ancient script glowing faintly as if infused with the ring¡¯s energy. Pleasantly surprised by the success of his experiment, he put the slate into his bottom drawer and locked it. He glanced around, reminding himself of the time. Clarissa would be waiting. Though he longed to delve deeper into the slate''s secrets, he knew he couldn¡¯t afford to be late. For now, he would focus on the mission ahead, but the promise of knowledge beckoned him, fueling his anticipation for what lay ahead. He felt an undercurrent of excitement¡ªwhat would he discover in the ancient text? With renewed determination, Asher set out to meet Clarissa, ready to face whatever challenges awaited them in the market. Chapter 39 Tigers Tail Asher took a deep breath, pushing aside the enigmatic thoughts of the slate and its ancient script echoing in his mind. He needed to focus on the task at hand¡ªthere would be time to unravel those mysteries later. Night was falling over Menthil City, casting long shadows across the cobblestone streets, and he could already feel the chill in the air. He got up and pulled out a set of casual clothes to help him blend into the throngs of people in the market. He donned a dark, loose-fitting shirt and trousers, followed by a heavy cloak that enveloped him like a shroud. The deep hood obscured his features, making him look like just another passerby lost in the hustle of the evening. As he adjusted his cloak, he glanced at the timepiece on his desk, the ticking hands reminding him of the urgency of their mission. Clarissa would be expecting him, and he didn¡¯t want to keep her waiting. With one last look around his office, he stepped outside into the dimly lit corridor of the firm. Asher found Clarissa waiting for him in a small alcove just off the main hallway. She looked up, her eyes sparkling with excitement as she greeted him. She wore a similar casual outfit, her cloak draped over her shoulders and her hood drawn low. ¡°Ready to make some noise in the market?¡± she asked, a mischievous grin spreading across her face. ¡°Let¡¯s just say I¡¯m ready to be inconspicuous,¡± Asher replied, matching her smile with a wry twist of his lips. With their casual attire complete, they stepped into the bustling streets of Menthil City, the air filled with the sounds of merchants calling out their wares and the faint murmur of the crowd. As night enveloped the city, lanterns flickered to life, casting a warm glow on the cobblestones and illuminating the faces of hurried pedestrians. As they navigated through the narrow alleys and side streets, Asher couldn¡¯t shake the tension in the air. The vibrant atmosphere of the city shifted as they approached the black market, a place that thrived in the shadows, where whispers of forbidden goods and unsavory dealings echoed through the night. ¡°Stay close,¡± Asher murmured, his instincts heightened as he scanned the surroundings. ¡°We need to be cautious. The black market has a way of revealing more than just goods.¡± Support the author by searching for the original publication of this novel. Clarissa nodded, her expression turning serious as they ventured deeper into the labyrinth of stalls and makeshift shops. The scents of exotic spices and cooked meats filled the air, mingling with the less pleasant odors of sweat and smoke. Asher felt the weight of eyes upon them, the sensation of being watched sending a chill down his spine. They maneuvered through the throngs of people, each step taking them further into the heart of the market. Clarissa stopped suddenly, her gaze fixed on a vendor with a cluttered table overflowing with peculiar trinkets. ¡°Look at that,¡± she said, pointing to a small, ornate box that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. Asher approached the vendor cautiously, an easy smile on his face, his gait relaxed. The man behind the table was a wiry figure with a weathered face, his skin scarred in a way that suggested a hard life. He eyed Asher and Clarissa warily. ¡°What do you want?¡± he grunted, his voice low and gravelly. ¡°Evening,¡± Asher greeted, casually adjusting the hood of his cloak to shadow his features. ¡°I¡¯ve heard whispers about your wares. What do you have for a discerning customer?¡± The stall owner narrowed his eyes, sizing Asher up. ¡°Depends on what you¡¯re looking for. Got a few potions¡ªnothing too fancy, but they do the job.¡± ¡°Ah, nothing too fancy, you say?¡± Asher leaned in slightly. ¡°What kind of potions are we talking about? Anything¡­ special?¡± The stall owner crossed his arms, a hint of pride seeping into his voice. ¡°Depends on what you mean by special. Some potions can help with particular¡­ situations.¡± ¡°Situations?¡± Asher prompted, feigning casual curiosity. ¡°Like what? I¡¯m always on the lookout for something that could make life a bit easier in this city.¡± ¡°Let¡¯s just say, some potions can help you navigate the darker aspects of Menthil,¡± the stall owner said, lowering his voice as if fearing overhearing ears. ¡°But they come at a price.¡± ¡°Sounds intriguing,¡± Asher replied, maintaining his nonchalant demeanor. ¡°What do you have?¡± ¡°Your standard potions¡ªhealing, vigor enhancers,¡± the stall owner said dismissively. ¡°But one of my most popular items is Mummy''s Respite¡ªenhances virility. It¡¯s flying off the shelves these days.¡± Asher raised an eyebrow, feigning interest. ¡°That sounds useful. What¡¯s the price for that?¡± ¡°Just 5 pounds,¡± the stall owner said, his tone proud. ¡°You won¡¯t find it cheaper anywhere else, if you do its fake. Men swear by it¡ªsays it works wonders.¡± Asher nodded thoughtfully, keeping his demeanor casual. ¡°I can see why. But I¡¯m curious, what else do you have? Anything a bit more¡­ rare?¡± The stall owner hesitated, his eyes darting around the market. ¡°I keep some things close to my chest, you know? Not every potion¡¯s for sale to just anyone.¡± ¡°Of course,¡± Asher replied smoothly. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t expect you to share everything at once. But surely, you must have a few items that could pique my interest.¡± The stall owner shifted uneasily, clearly weighing his words. ¡°There are whispers of a Shadewalker potion among vendors. For the right price, I might be able to ask around.¡± ¡°Ah, so it does exist,¡± Asher noted, leaning in slightly, lowering his voice. ¡°I imagine it would be quite valuable, especially in the right hands. What¡¯s the price for something like that?¡± ¡°Depends on who¡¯s asking,¡± the stall owner said, his gaze flickering with concern as he scanned the bustling market. ¡°Not everyone can handle what it entails. It¡¯s risky business, and I have to protect my clientele.¡± ¡°Risky?¡± Asher pressed, keeping his tone casual but intrigued. ¡°In what way?¡± The stall owner hesitated, his fingers fidgeting with a trinket on the table. ¡°It can help with blending into the dark, moving unseen. But it draws the wrong kind of attention.¡± Chapter 40 Money Talks Asher nodded, understanding the man¡¯s caution. ¡°Right, right. Discretion is key in this business. What about your other offerings? I could be interested in purchasing.¡± ¡°Look, if you want mystical ingredients, I¡¯ve got plenty of options,¡± the stall owner replied defensively. ¡°But I¡¯m not giving up the names of my suppliers or the details of my business.¡± ¡°Understandable,¡± Asher replied smoothly, sensing the stall owner¡¯s reluctance. ¡°But I¡¯m curious. If I were to consider the Shadewalker potion, what would it take to persuade you to part with it?¡± The stall owner¡¯s eyes narrowed. ¡°It¡¯s not just about the money. There are risks involved. You¡¯ll attract attention, and not the good kind.¡± ¡°I can handle attention,¡± Asher said, his voice low and steady. ¡°But if you¡¯re not comfortable discussing it, I completely understand. I wouldn¡¯t want to jeopardize your business.¡± The stall owner eyed him closely, still weighing his options. ¡°You¡¯re not just a passerby, are you? What¡¯s your interest in all this?¡± Asher leaned closer, revealing a glimmer of gold from his pocket. ¡°Let¡¯s say I¡¯m looking for something unique. Perhaps some gold for the right information about your clientele and your operations.¡± The stall owner¡¯s eyes flicked to the coin, a glimmer of interest breaking through his caution. After a moment of deliberation, he nodded slowly. ¡°Alright, but you didn¡¯t hear this from me: 300 pounds for the potion.¡± "Good man. I''m glad we understand each other. If you could enlighten me to a few more details, I believe we can reach a deal." "Is that so? I presume you have information valuable enough to barter for your queries then?" "Indeed I do. Grave tidings, unfortunately, but you''ll be glad to know of that, I''m sure." Asher smiled at the man, who seemed to balk at his response. "Where do the birds say the mystical ingredients and potions are coming from?" "Kid, you don''t know what you''re asking. You don''t want to piss those people off." Asher just stared at him and motioned for him to continue. "Fine, it''s your grave. Rumor has it they''re coming from the Winchester Corporation''s subsidiary company." Asher took out a gold pound and handed it to the man. Unauthorized reproduction: this story has been taken without approval. Report sightings. "Good man. That''s all I wanted to know. I''m a man of my word, so I will return the favor. Crows are circling your stall; clear off before it''s too late. Farewell." Asher wasn''t entirely lying to the man. It was very plausible that he would be apprehended as a necessary tool to further open the case. If his leads were dry, they would have no choice. Literally speaking, he couldn''t have been more honest. Asher regrouped with Clarissa shortly thereafter, vacating the premises. They quickly cleared off and made their way for Crestcheek. Clarissa couldn''t take the silence in the carriage. ¡°So?! What''s the scoop? What did that, um, distinguished man say?¡± Asher glanced at his restless partner before offering a polite smile. ¡°Clarissa, we will be at the firm in just a moment. Hold on, and I''ll brief you and the captain together, okay?¡± Asher tried his best to make sure his tone didn''t sound like he was talking to a child. Clarissa looked disappointed but still nodded energetically. Moments later, they were walking through the lobby towards the conference room of the firm. Asher sat down hard, a sigh escaping him. Surely I''ll be able to get some rest soon! I''ve been overworking lately, Asher lamented silently. Shortly thereafter, Captain Bolard entered. Does this man not sleep? Does he go home?! "Captain," Asher greeted him. "Back so soon, kids? Goodness, if I didn''t know better, I''d think you two were just lollygagging away, having already extracted information from Melody." Clarissa immediately became animated, looking severely offended. ¡°No! We just got back from the market! Asher questioned the stall owner!¡± Captain Bolard laughed. ¡°Yes, yes, I know. I''m just kidding. Try not to be so gullible, Clarissa; it''s your biggest weakness.¡± "The stall owner isn''t connected to any particular entity, Captain. Rather, he is sourcing his materials from the greater market. The concerning thing is where he suspects they come from. The supplier is allegedly a subsidiary company of Melody''s father''s company, Winchester Solutions. I''m sure we both know who they are and what they do; our revolvers are manufactured by them, after all." "Winchester Solutions, huh? That is indeed concerning. As far as this subsidiary company nonsense is concerned, it''s likely just a security company. It seems they are looking for ''alternative'' income sources for whatever reason." "It makes sense they would have a security detail considering their shipments and transactions involved large amounts of firearms and ammunition," Asher observed. Clarissa, who had been quietly listening with a bit of a lost expression, suddenly interjected, "So wait a minute¡ªMelody''s dad is supplying the potion recipes and ingredients to the black market?" Captain Bolard responded, "No, not necessarily. In fact, it''s very unlikely. People in that much power are watched very closely. Additionally, he simply has no motive. Winchester Solutions is a behemoth of a company exporting firearms to many corners of the world. I find it to be much more likely we are dealing with some rotten apples." "All that notwithstanding, what is our next step, Captain?" "Hmm, well, many inquiries must be made. This is perilous territory, and careless steps are not a luxury we can afford. Go home, you two; I''ll take it from here. Get some rest, Asher; you look like hell. Good work! I''ll see you guys tomorrow; no need to show up early. I''ll send Jack to do some groundwork on Winchester Solutions, as well as the identity of the boy who led Melody to the market." "Captain, did I tell you that you look especially handsome today?" Asher was already up and on his way out the door. No need to tell me twice!! Captain Bolard chuckled. "Be careful on your way home; it''s possible you two were followed to the office. You knocked on some tall trees today, even if indirectly." Chapter 41 Riddle Asher awoke in his bed, the warmth of the blankets cocooning him as sunlight streamed through the window. He rubbed the remnants of sleep from his eyes, blinking away the haze of dreams that lingered in his mind. Today felt different, charged with a sense of purpose that stirred him into action. After a quick wash and dressing in his usual attire, he glanced around his modest apartment. The familiar surroundings brought him comfort. He grabbed a small satchel and stepped outside, taking a deep breath of the crisp morning air. Asher looked down and nearly kicked a parcel across the hallway. Just then, he caught sight of a blonde ponytail urgently turning the corner down the stairwell. ¡°Renee!¡± he called, amusement bubbling in his voice. She froze, caught in the act, her cheeks flushing crimson. ¡°Oh! I didn¡¯t think you¡¯d be awake yet,¡± she stammered, glancing at the parcel. ¡°I was just¡­ leaving a little something for you.¡± ¡°A little something?¡± Asher lifted the parcel. The delicious aroma wafting from it was unmistakable¡ªfreshly baked goods. ¡°You¡¯re spoiling me.¡± ¡°I thought you could use a treat after your long nights of work,¡± she replied, her voice softening. ¡°And I figured you¡¯d need something to keep you awake, considering how often you fall asleep at your desk.¡± He feigned offense, putting a hand to his chest. ¡°I do not fall asleep at my desk!¡± Renee raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile dancing on her lips. ¡°Oh really? The last time I checked, you were dreaming about a bunch of ancient tomes. It was quite the sight.¡± Asher chuckled, his heart racing a little faster. ¡°Well, they are rather enticing.¡± Renee stepped closer, a shy smile on her lips. ¡°Do you have time for coffee before you go?¡± ¡°I could make time,¡± he said, a hint of eagerness in his voice. ¡°I wouldn¡¯t mind starting the day with you.¡± Unauthorized usage: this narrative is on Amazon without the author''s consent. Report any sightings. With a delighted laugh, she took his hand, leading him back inside. As they shared laughter and pastries, the world outside faded, leaving only the warmth of their connection. But as the distant clang of a bell signaled the hour, Asher sighed. ¡°I should get going; I have a lot to do today.¡± ¡°Right,¡± she said, a touch of disappointment in her voice. ¡°But I¡¯ll be here whenever you need me. You know that, right?¡± ¡°Absolutely,¡± he reassured her, feeling a swell of affection. ¡°And I¡¯ll make sure to bring some of my discoveries back to share with you.¡± ¡°Just try not to fall asleep on the way,¡± she teased, her eyes sparkling. After finishing their coffee, Asher rose to leave, feeling invigorated by their brief interlude. ¡°Thank you for this. It means a lot to me,¡± he said, glancing at the parcel in his hands. ¡°Take it with you. You¡¯ll need fuel for your brain,¡± she urged. With a chuckle, he stepped outside, the familiar sounds of the city enveloping him. ¡°See you soon, Renee!¡± he called back. ¡°See you, Asher! And remember¡ªstay awake!¡± she replied, her laughter echoing in his ears as he made his way to the office, feeling lighter and more determined than ever. The walk to his office on Crestcheek Street took about fifteen minutes, and he used the time to gather his thoughts. He needed to collect the slate from his desk and prepare for a trip to the library, where he hoped to uncover the mysteries of the ancient text he had recently acquired. Upon entering the office, he opened the door and greeted Liz, who had never looked so beautiful to him than when she brought a fresh coffee to his desk. ¡°An angel¡­ perhaps a servant of the Night Goddess?¡± he mused. Liz laughed. ¡°Asher, you really need to take care of yourself.¡± She turned to leave, and Asher quickly grabbed the slate from his desk, following her out. After a brief moment of hesitation, he tossed a coin into the air¡ªa ritual he had come to trust. ¡°Should I go to the library today?¡± he asked aloud, watching the coin spin. It landed with a soft thud¡ªheads. A positive answer. With renewed confidence, he locked up his office and carefully placed the slate within his satchel before heading back out into the streets. His footsteps echoed in the cobblestone alleyways, anticipation bubbling within him as he approached the library. Upon entering the grand building, the familiar aroma of aged parchment and polished wood enveloped him, inviting him into its depths. He made his way to the upper floor, where the hermetic language dictionary was kept. The knowledge he sought was just a few steps away. After a short search, he finally located the dusty tome, its pages crackling with age. With the dictionary in hand, he settled into a quiet nook near the staircase on the top floor. The soft light filtering through the windows created a warm atmosphere, perfect for concentration. As he began to decipher the ancient script on his slate, hours melted away, the world around him fading into silence. The library felt like a sanctuary, a sacred space where knowledge whispered. Soon, Asher made headway; he had translated most of the complicated words, and the picture was becoming clear. Unfortunately, the slate appeared to be a poem¡ªa cruelly written one at that, full of riddles, he guessed. Until he deciphered it all, it was unlikely he could draw any meaning from it. Therefore, he set about his task. Finally! Enshrouded in frost, where shadows creep, Traces of souls in a slumber so deep. Echoes of whispers, their secrets untold, Restless they linger, in silence they fold. Nightmares awaken, the past held so tight, As power is summoned from the depths of night. Legacies linger, their essence remains, Spirits entwined in the ring¡¯s cold chains. Lost in the dance of the memories lost, Under the weight of a heavy cost. Magic unravels, both wondrous and dire, Bound by the frost, one must never tire. Entering realms where the echoes will sigh, Remember, dear user, or your soul may f- Chapter 42 Absolute Power Absolutely Corrupts Enshrouded in frost, where shadows creep, Traces of souls in a slumber so deep. Echoes of whispers, their secrets untold, Restless they linger, in silence they fold. Nightmares awaken, the past held so tight, As power is summoned from the depths. Legacies linger, their essence remains, Spirits entwined in the ring¡¯s cold chains. Lost in the dance of the memories lost, Under the weight of a heavy cost. Magic unravels, both wondrous and dire, Bound by the frost, one must never tire. Entering realms where the echoes will sigh, Remember, dear user, or your soul may f- Asher sat hunched over a dusty tome in the corner of the library, warm sunlight filtering through the tall windows and casting a golden hue over his workspace. He felt a comforting sense of purpose in his solitude, a sanctuary of knowledge where the outside world faded into oblivion. ¡°Who needs riddles? Why can¡¯t it just be clear from the beginning?¡± he muttered, glancing at the ancient slate beside him. He pulled the parchment closer, ready to unravel the mysteries of the poem. Just as he began to concentrate, a faint scent of smoke drifted into his awareness, barely detectable above the aroma of aged parchment. ¡°Surely, a library wouldn¡¯t catch fire. This is my sanctuary!¡± He dismissed the thought, mentally shooing away the nagging feeling. A sudden crack echoed through the building, and Asher¡¯s heart sank. Flames erupted from a shelf across the room, licking at the bindings of precious books and transforming his sanctuary into a scene of chaos. ¡°Fantastic!¡± Asher exclaimed, rolling his eyes as the fire alarm blared. ¡°Just what I needed! A fire? Really? Next time, I¡¯ll stay home all day with Renee! Much safer than this!¡± As the flames spread, he reluctantly stood, grabbing the slate and the hermetic dictionary and hastily tossing them into his satchel. His internal monologue turned to frantic sarcasm. ¡°Great timing, Asher! Ruining a perfectly good day because you decided to trust your so-called ¡®luck.¡¯¡± Unauthorized content usage: if you discover this narrative on Amazon, report the violation. He bolted toward the exit, dodging panicked patrons and flinging open the library doors. Outside, the cool air was a stark contrast to the heat radiating from the burning building. Once clear of the chaos, Asher found himself panting in the street, his thoughts swirling. ¡°I can¡¯t believe this. Two suit disasters in one week? This is a new record. Who knew I''d get so much value from that twelve pounds I reluctantly gave to Anston!¡± He grumbled all the way back to his office, irritation boiling within him. His frustration was amplified by the recent disaster; he had spent the morning preparing to uncover the secrets of the slate, only to be driven out by flames. Upon arriving at his office on Crestcheek Street, Asher entered with all the enthusiasm of a death row prisoner heading to the gallows. The familiar clutter greeted him, but the chaos of the library still reverberated in his mind. He tossed his satchel onto the desk, the sound echoing in the silent room. ¡°Alright, Asher, let¡¯s see what we have here,¡± he muttered to himself, forcing a smile despite the circumstances. He settled into his chair, pushing aside a few stray papers and dusty tomes, and laid the slate before him. The sight of the ancient artifact only fueled his exasperation. ¡°I should¡¯ve known better than to trust a hunk of stone with my fate. Riddles and poetry? Please! I might as well have thrown a dart at a wall and hoped for the best.¡± He sighed dramatically, leaning back in his chair. ¡°Honestly, who needs a crystal ball when I have this beautiful piece of confusion? At least the crystal ball doesn¡¯t mock me every time I try to make sense of it.¡± Shaking his head and laughing at himself, he forced himself to focus on the task at hand. The poem lay in front of him, a tangle of riddles begging for his attention. ¡°Alright, let¡¯s dissect this,¡± he said, his voice dripping with sarcasm. ¡°Maybe I can salvage something useful from this fiasco.¡± He picked up a quill and began to write down the lines, attempting to unravel their meaning. ¡°Enshrouded in frost, where shadows creep¡­¡± he read aloud, shaking his head. ¡°What kind of absurd imagery is this? Frost? Shadows? I¡¯d rather have the warmth of my pillow!¡± Asher immersed himself in the poem, dissecting its layers. The riddle-like structure teased his intellect, but the bitterness of the fire lingered in his mind. ¡°The spirits entwined in the ring¡¯s cold chains? Really? Who writes this drivel? It¡¯s like a bad joke wrapped in a metaphor.¡± His self-deprecating humor gradually turned into determination as he scribbled notes and thoughts in the margins. ¡°Bound by the frost, one must never tire? Well, maybe if I had a decent fortune-telling ability, I wouldn¡¯t have to tire myself out dodging flames!¡± Hours passed as he poured over the verses, each line revealing cryptic hints of meaning. He started to make connections, piecing together the riddles with a newfound clarity, his frustration giving way to fierce curiosity. ¡°Perhaps there¡¯s something here after all,¡± he mused, pushing aside his earlier angst. ¡°Enshrouded in frost¡±¡ªa clear reference to the ring itself. ¡°Creeping shadows? Lingering souls? I think that¡¯s the meaning here. Echoes of whispers¡­ does this refer to the transient nature of their existence? Antoinette is essentially an echo of her past, no longer really herself, unable to recall her distant past, eroded by the madness within the ring.¡± ¡°Restless they linger¡ªwhat on earth does that mean? They want to escape, obviously. Who wouldn¡¯t? But what is even left of them to leave the ring if they could? Wait¡­ the slate was taken out of the ring by my will. Could it be that I''m capable of extracting souls from the ring as well? Is that why they are restless?¡± ¡°¡®Legacies linger, their essence remains¡¯ suggests they¡¯re still useful even as echoes of the past. Perhaps I can employ them for various tasks? Antoinette was surely a talented knight before being subjected to hundreds of years of solitude. Now she is likely a dire opponent; if I could summon her echo, it would be invaluable.¡± ¡°The rest of the poem is clearly a warning about the consequences of using the ring, or maybe just the power outlined by the poem. There is danger in using the ability to summon echoes; this is almost explicitly stated, even if the last word is damaged and illegible.¡± Asher leaned back, the weight of the revelations settling in. His mind raced with possibilities and consequences, each thread of the poem weaving into the fabric of his understanding. The dance of shadows and echoes was no mere riddle; it was a call to arms, a challenge waiting for him to meet head-on. Chapter 43 Dark Knight Asher sat at his cluttered desk, the flickering gaslamp casting wavering shadows across the room. Before him lay the slate he had discovered¡ªthe surface worn and etched with an ancient script that seemed to shimmer in the dim light. He hesitated for a moment, running his fingers over the smooth surface, tracing the lines that held secrets from a forgotten time. With a deep breath, he turned the slate over, revealing the inscription hidden on its reverse side. His eyes widened as he read the first line, the words leaping off the stone like flames igniting his imagination: ¡°Vincti animabus obediunt mihi.¡± An instinctual understanding washed over him, the very essence of the incantation resonating with something deep within his soul. He felt its power, the promise it held¡ªthe ability to command the spirits of the lost. Yet, the true meaning eluded him, like a puzzle slipping just beyond his grasp. It was as if the words were both a key and a riddle, offering the potential for control while cloaked in mystery. Asher¡¯s heart raced as he absorbed the weight of the moment. The thought of summoning spirits, of bending them to his will, filled him with a potent mix of dread and exhilaration. This incantation could unlock a door to power, but he knew he had to tread carefully. With a determined breath, he turned the brass lock on his door, ensuring solitude enveloped him. The outside world faded away, replaced by the palpable energy crackling in the air around him. He moved to the center of the room, where the flickering gaslamp cast ethereal shapes against the walls, their forms twisting as if mirroring his inner turmoil. ¡°Vincti animabus obediunt mihi,¡± he chanted, his voice steady yet filled with a haunting reverence. The ancient incantation rolled off his tongue like a long-forgotten melody, weaving through the silence of the room. As he spoke the words, the ring on his finger began to glow, emitting a wave of frost that swept through the air. A chill filled the room, freezing the particles around him and causing his breath to mist before him. The temperature dropped, and the very light in the room seemed to darken, as if someone had turned off the sun. Slowly, essence filtered from his body, leaving his soul, before a massive cloud began to fill the space. The nebulous cloud of darkness grew hungry, sucking in the pitiful light of the gaslamp and swallowing his essence. Asher¡¯s heart raced, anticipation coursing through his veins. He could feel the cold radiating from the ring, pulsing in time with his heartbeat. With every word, he poured his will into it, calling out to the entities that lingered in the ether, waiting for release. Slowly, the cloud devoured the essence from his soul before turning on itself. It consumed itself, collapsing into a swirling vortex until it was little more than a sphere of darkness. Then it began to craft itself into something sinister, something powerful. This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. From the darkness, a figure emerged¡ªa black knight, approximately five feet nine inches tall, donned in full armor that seemed to absorb the light around it. The knight¡¯s visor obscured her face, yet her eyes glowed a fierce purple through the metal, unmistakably alive and filled with an otherworldly intelligence. The knight wielded a longsword, its blade shimmering with the same dark energy that enveloped her. Asher felt a connection to this entity, woven from the very fabric of his soul. Asher inhaled deeply, the gravity of the moment settling upon him. The knight stood before him, a living embodiment of his darkest desires. A thrill surged through him, igniting a sense of awe and wonder. He had summoned this entity with mere words, and now he was its master. With a mixture of exhilaration and disbelief, he tentatively raised a hand, pointing toward a stack of papers cluttering his desk. ¡°Bring me those documents,¡± he commanded, his voice steady but laced with anticipation. To his astonishment, the knight nodded and moved purposefully across the room. The armor clinked softly with each step as she gathered the scattered papers and returned them to Asher, presenting them with a flourish as if performing for an unseen audience. ¡°Excellent!¡± Asher exclaimed, a wide grin spreading across his face. The thrill of command pulsed through him, and the power coursed in his veins like fire. He was not just a man; he was a master of souls, wielding an incredible force at his fingertips. Emboldened by his success, Asher pondered the knight¡¯s capabilities. He willed her to retrieve a nearby book from the shelf, a tome of ancient lore he had often consulted in his studies. The knight complied without hesitation, her movements precise and confident as she returned, holding the book carefully in her gauntleted hands. ¡°Now, read it,¡± Asher commanded, eager to test the limits of this newfound ability. The knight opened the tome and began to read, her voice silent but the motion of her lips clearly indicating she was following the text. After a moment, she paused, glancing up at Asher. Her eyes narrowed slightly, and a look of annoyance crossed her features, as if she were frustrated by something unsaid. Asher blinked, realization dawning on him. She cannot speak. His excitement faltered for a moment, but he quickly brushed it aside. ¡°Right, of course. You¡¯re my silent partner now,¡± he said, chuckling nervously. Yet, he felt a strange bond forming between them, a connection woven from the very fabric of his soul. For a fleeting moment, he felt invincible, as if nothing could stand in his way. The knight was a powerful ally at his beck and call, ready to execute his will without question. Yet, as the visions faded, a faint whisper of caution flickered in the back of his mind¡ªa reminder that power never came without a cost. But in that moment, caught up in the euphoria of his control, he pushed the thought aside. With each task the knight executed, his confidence surged. If only he had known, he mused, the true nature of this power. It was exhilarating, intoxicating¡ªbut he was unaware of the golden rule that power never comes easily. Asher¡¯s exhilaration was abruptly shattered by a sharp knock at the door. The sound echoed in the stillness, jolting him from his moment of triumph. Panic surged through him as he glanced at the knight, who stood motionless, her presence a dark reminder of the power he had just unleashed. Thinking quickly, he recited the incantation once more, the words tumbling from his lips with urgency. ¡°Somnus Aeternus!¡± The air shimmered, and the knight¡¯s form began to dissolve into wisps, retreating into the depths of his soul, her fierce purple eyes fading until they were nothing but a distant memory. Asher exhaled sharply, feeling a rush of relief as the weight of command lifted from his shoulders. With one last glance at the now-empty space, he straightened his clothes and tried to compose himself before opening the door. Clarissa stood there, a playful smile dancing on her lips, her eyes glinting with mischief. She raised an eyebrow, taking in his disheveled appearance. ¡°If you¡¯re done with¡­ whatever it is you do locked away in your office at two in the afternoon,¡± she teased, her voice light but tinged with curiosity, ¡°Jack is back from his investigation on the subsidiary company. The captain sent for you; let¡¯s head to the conference room for a briefing.¡± Asher forced a grin, attempting to shake off the remnants of his earlier tension. ¡°Right, of course. Briefing. I¡¯m on my way.¡± Chapter 44 Slippery Slope Asher pushed open the door to the conference room, the familiar scent of polished wood and lingering tobacco filling his nostrils. Laughter bubbled within, a sound he hadn¡¯t heard from Captain Bolard before, piquing his curiosity. He glanced at Clarissa beside him, noting the quirk of her eyebrow¡ªa silent cue that she was equally intrigued. The room was bright, sunlight streaming through the tall windows, illuminating the faces gathered around the table. At the center was Captain Bolard, a jovial smile spreading across his rugged face. To his left sat Jack, a striking figure with tousled blonde hair and piercing blue eyes. He exuded confidence, tall and muscular, with an ease that suggested he was comfortable in his skin. Asher noted the slight glimmer of recognition in Jack¡¯s eyes, a camaraderie built from their shared profession. ¡°Ah, Asher! Just in time!¡± Bolard exclaimed, gesturing for him to join them. ¡°We were just discussing Jack¡¯s latest findings. You¡¯re going to want to hear this.¡± ¡°Nice to meet you, Asher,¡± Jack said, standing to offer a firm handshake. ¡°I¡¯ve heard a lot about you. Jester, right? Step 9?¡± ¡°Yeah, that¡¯s me,¡± Asher replied, reciprocating the handshake. ¡°And you¡¯re the Demon Hunter, I assume? I¡¯ve heard you¡¯re the best.¡± Jack¡¯s smile widened, a hint of pride flickering in his eyes. ¡°I do what I can. Glad to have another descender on board." Asher took a seat, still processing the warmth of the introduction. ¡°So, what¡¯s this about?¡± Jack¡¯s demeanor shifted as he leaned forward, the laughter fading from the room. ¡°We suspect the smuggling operation we¡¯ve been tracking is tied to some serious criminal activity. Human trafficking is a possibility, but we need more evidence before we can act.¡± ¡°Human trafficking?¡± Clarissa echoed, her brow furrowing. ¡°That sounds serious. What do we know?¡± ¡°Not much yet,¡± Jack admitted, his gaze intense. ¡°But the patterns are troubling. We¡¯ve seen signs of movement¡ªshipments that don¡¯t add up. It¡¯s like they¡¯re covering their tracks¡ª¡± Before he could finish, a sudden knock interrupted them. Asher exchanged glances with Clarissa, his heart racing. This book''s true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience. ¡°Come in!¡± Bolard called, his voice echoing in the silence that followed. The door swung open, revealing Melody, a fresh-faced newcomer to the firm. Her large, innocent eyes sparkled with enthusiasm, and she wore an oversized trench coat that seemed far too big for her slight frame. ¡°Hello, Melody. I didn¡¯t think I¡¯d be seeing you so soon,¡± Asher said, stepping forward. ¡°I wanted to apologize for my actions towards you.¡± Melody¡¯s eyes widened, and she blinked in surprise. ¡°Oh! Um, it¡¯s okay! I mean, it was a little scary at first, but I¡¯m sure you were just being cautious, right?¡± He nodded, grateful for her understanding. ¡°Exactly. It was nothing personal.¡± ¡°Hey, everyone!¡± she chirped, oblivious to the serious atmosphere. ¡°I just had the most amazing idea for our next operation! What if we dress up as heroes and infiltrate the enemy base? I¡¯ve got a whole costume design planned out!¡± Jack blinked, momentarily taken aback by her exuberance. ¡°Um, that¡¯s... creative?¡± Asher couldn¡¯t suppress a chuckle at Melody¡¯s earnestness. ¡°You know, we¡¯re not exactly playing dress-up here, right?¡± Melody turned to him, her eyes wide with excitement. ¡°But imagine how epic it would be! We could take down the bad guys in style!¡± She paused, her expression shifting as she leaned closer, lowering her voice conspiratorially. ¡°I¡¯ve read all the novels about this! We could totally pull it off!¡± ¡°Right,¡± Clarissa said, stifling a grin. ¡°But let¡¯s focus on the real situation first, okay?¡± As Melody pouted, Jack leaned back in his chair, a bemused smile on his face. ¡°I think we could use a bit of that enthusiasm around here.¡± Jack¡¯s demeanor shifted again, the excitement from Melody¡¯s entrance dissipating as he adopted a more serious tone. ¡°Additionally,¡± he began, his voice steady, ¡°the person of interest I¡¯ve been searching for is directly linked to this case. I¡¯m referring to the red-haired woman from the Jesters'' Guise case. It¡¯s imperative that everyone working on this case reads her dossier. She is dangerous¡ªextremely dangerous. And to make matters worse, the powers of her relic are unknown.¡± His words hung in the air, casting a heavy pall over the room. The tension was palpable, and all eyes turned to Captain Bolard, silently seeking his guidance. He remained quiet, pulling out a cigarette and lighting it, the smoke curling around him as he slipped into deep thought. Minutes ticked by, and a respectful silence enveloped the room; nobody dared to voice their impatience. But as the silence stretched into five minutes, Clarissa, unable to hold back, squirmed in her chair. ¡°Captain! What do we do?¡± she blurted out, breaking the stillness. Captain Bolard opened his eyes slowly, a deep sigh escaping him before a faint smile appeared on his face. ¡°Asher and Jack, you will take this case. Everyone else is off effective immediately.¡± His gaze shifted to the duo. ¡°I want you two to focus on investigating the security company in detail. I want to know what they had for breakfast tomorrow before they even know it themselves. Do you understand?¡± Asher and Jack exchanged determined glances and nodded firmly, with Asher adding, ¡°Yes, sir.¡± Just then, the door creaked open again, and Liz entered, balancing a saucer laden with steaming cups of tea and freshly baked croissants. ¡°Sorry to interrupt, but I thought you all might need a little pick-me-up,¡± she said, setting the tray down on the table with a soft smile. ¡°Perfect timing, Elizabeth! Thank you,¡± Bolard replied, his mood visibly lifting as he reached for a cup. The aroma of the tea filled the air, blending with the remnants of tension. Asher grabbed a croissant, its buttery warmth melting in his mouth as he took a bite. ¡°This is fantastic,¡± he said, savoring the taste. ¡°Glad you like it!¡± Liz beamed before taking her leave, the atmosphere in the room brightening significantly. The team exchanged smiles, the camaraderie strengthened by the shared moment. As they prepared to tackle the investigation, the croissants seemed to fuel their resolve, blending the urgency of their task with the warmth of their Chapter 45 Seaside Asher and Jack pushed open the door to the dingy diner, the bell jingling weakly overhead. The air inside was thick with the greasy aroma of frying food, mingling with the salty tang from the nearby docks. Dim fluorescent lights flickered, casting a harsh glow over the cracked linoleum floors and faded vinyl booths. The walls, plastered with peeling wallpaper, echoed with the murmurs of tired dockworkers and the clatter of silverware. ¡°Welcome to the Drowned Mermaid,¡± the grizzled waitress grunted as she shuffled over, her apron stained with a mishmash of sauces. ¡°What¡¯ll it be?¡± Asher slid into a booth, the vinyl squeaking beneath him. He glanced out the window, taking in the chaotic scene outside. The docks sprawled before him like a forgotten labyrinth, where rusting ships loomed like ancient giants, their hulls creaking in the salty breeze. Towering cranes cast long shadows over weathered cargo containers, each telling a story of hard labor and lost dreams. The air was alive with the sounds of shouts and machinery, the distant call of gulls punctuating the atmosphere. Once a bustling hub, the area had fallen into disrepair, with the vibrant industry now overshadowed by the gritty underbelly of smuggling and desperation. Jack slid in across from him, surveying the menu with a skeptical frown. ¡°I¡¯m not sure if I¡¯m ready for ¡®mystery meat¡¯ on a bun,¡± he quipped, a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. ¡°Hey, it¡¯s either this or nothing. I¡¯m starving,¡± Asher replied with a smirk. After placing their orders, they settled into a conversation that had been a long time coming. ¡°So, what¡¯s your story, Jack?¡± Asher asked, leaning back against the booth, intrigued. ¡°You¡¯re not just a Demon Hunter, right? There¡¯s more to you.¡± Jack chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. ¡°You could say that. I grew up in a pretty rough neighborhood. Joined the force to escape, but I quickly realized I preferred the hunt. My family had their fair share of problems¡ªaddiction, violence. I needed a way out, something to fight for.¡± Asher nodded, understanding all too well the weight of those words. ¡°I get that. My childhood was a mix of survival and figuring out how to navigate the slums of Menthil City. You learn to rely on your instincts and the people around you. It¡¯s how I found my way into this line of work.¡± Jack leaned forward, his expression serious. ¡°And what about your powers? I¡¯ve heard you¡¯re a Step 9 Jester. What does that mean for us?¡± The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation. ¡°Step 9 gives me exceptional balance and unreliable fortune-telling. It¡¯s not much compared to some other paths, but it helps when you¡¯re dodging trouble or navigating through crowds,¡± Asher explained. ¡°Plus, the unpredictability can be an advantage in tight spots.¡± Just then, their food arrived¡ªtwo plates of steaming, questionable meat sandwiches and a side of limp fries. Asher grimaced at the sight but dug in anyway, his hunger outweighing his distaste. ¡°Alright, we¡¯ve talked about ourselves. What¡¯s our next move?¡± Jack asked, chewing thoughtfully. Asher wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, the gears in his mind turning. ¡°I think we should hit the docks directly. There are still workers coming and going. I know a few folks down here who might have their ears to the ground.¡± Jack raised an eyebrow. ¡°You think someone might know about the smuggling operation?¡± ¡°Possibly. If anyone does, it¡¯ll be the dockworkers. They see everything. Plus, I might run into someone I know,¡± Asher replied, his thoughts turning to the streams of workers who lined up at workhouses in the slums every day. After finishing their meal, they stepped out into the harsh light of the docks, the cacophony of shouting men and rumbling machinery hitting them like a wave. The contrast between the grimy diner and the bustling activity outside was stark. As they walked, Asher led the way, relying on instinct and memory to navigate the labyrinthine docks. They passed through narrow alleys between warehouses, their surroundings echoing with the sounds of crates being unloaded and machinery whirring to life. The salty breeze mixed with the distant scent of fish, further highlighting the docks'' gritty reality. Asher¡¯s heart raced when he spotted a familiar figure¡ªa burly man with a weathered face and calloused hands. It was Janice¡¯s father, looking a little better than last week. ¡°Mr. Tully!¡± Asher called, approaching him with cautious optimism. The man turned, surprise flashing across his features. ¡°Asher! It¡¯s been a long time, son. What brings you down to the docks?¡± Asher quickly explained their investigation, gauging Mr. Tully¡¯s reaction. ¡°I¡¯m looking for information about the recent activity around here. Is work still scarce?¡± Mr. Tully nodded, his expression shifting to one of concern. ¡°It¡¯s been busy, but not all of it¡¯s legal. I¡¯m working for a guy shipping guns for Winchester. It¡¯s risky business, and I don¡¯t like it one bit.¡± Asher¡¯s pulse quickened. ¡°Have you seen Janice? Is she back?¡± ¡°Not yet,¡± Mr. Tully replied, worry etched across his face. ¡°I wish I knew where she was. She¡¯s been gone too long, and I¡¯m starting to fear the worst.¡± A chill ran down Asher¡¯s spine, the implications of Mr. Tully¡¯s words hanging heavy in the air. ¡°If you hear anything, please let me know." With a firm handshake, Asher and Jack exchanged determined glances, the weight of their mission settling heavily on their shoulders. As they walked away from Mr. Tully, Jack said, "Let''s watch him from afar and figure out the situation." "Sounds like a plan. Sure beats flying blind down here. Ugh, the smell is awful! I hate seafood!" "Oysters! Cockles!! Get your oysters!! Fresh oysters!!" A boisterous woman shouted, nearly shattering Jack''s eardrums. "Bloody hell." Asher and Jack were dressed appropriately for the job, wearing rundown secondhand clothes. Asher didn¡¯t need to look further than his own wardrobe for those. Jack, however, had to borrow some from him. Asher purchased a couple of cheap beers from a local vendor, and they found a spot to sit on the docks. Neither of them were gawking about like idiots. Instead, they gazed out at the water, occasionally glancing around. They silently took in their surroundings while keeping an eye on the loading port where Mr. Tully lingered. Soon, they saw men unloading boxes and boxes of cargo from the ship docked there as the crane delivered it onto the dock. They loaded it onto large cargo carriages, which were drawn by eight horses. Sipping his beer casually, trying to look downtrodden, Asher whispered under his breath, ¡°Let''s follow that carriage to their warehouse.¡± Chapter 46 Prelude Asher and Jack trailed the heavy cargo carriage through the labyrinth of the docks, the sounds of grating metal and shouting workers blending into a cacophony that echoed against the weathered warehouses. The carriage, drawn by a team of eight horses, moved steadily toward Menthil City, its presence looming like a dark omen against the twilight sky. Jack fell into step beside Asher, glancing at the two guards seated atop the carriage. ¡°We need to be careful,¡± he cautioned, his voice low but firm. ¡°If we get too close, we might blow our cover.¡± ¡°I know what I¡¯m doing,¡± Asher replied, his eyes fixed ahead, pulse quickening with anticipation. ¡°We can¡¯t let this opportunity slip by. They¡¯re hiding something, and I intend to find out what.¡± As they reached a point where the carriage began to slow, they slipped behind a stack of crates, taking cover as they watched the dockworkers unload. Each crate seemed heavier than the last, their labors punctuated by grunts and shouts. Suddenly, an old man staggered under the weight of one particularly large crate. With a strained grunt, he lost his grip, and the crate tumbled to the ground. Asher''s breath caught in his throat as the contents spilled out, revealing a bound and gagged man lying unconscious among the jagged debris. ¡°What the hell¡­¡± Jack¡¯s voice trailed off, eyes wide with horror. Asher felt a wave of nausea wash over him. ¡°They¡¯re trafficking humans,¡± he muttered, rage igniting within him. ¡°We can¡¯t just stand here. We need to act.¡± Jack hesitated, his brow furrowing in concern. ¡°Wait. We need to think this through. If we go in guns blazing, it could turn into a hostage situation. We need to find a way to¡ª¡± Before he could finish, a sharp crack rang out, and a bullet whizzed past them, embedding itself into the wood of the crate beside them. Both men ducked instinctively as more shots echoed from above. The guards near the carriage quicklh turned to pursue the situation was quickly spiraling out of control. ¡°Jack!¡± Asher shouted, adrenaline surging through him. ¡°We need to split up! Draw their fire!¡± With a nod of agreement, they dashed in opposite directions, adrenaline fueling their movements. Asher sprinted down the street through the crowds in an effort to lose his pursuers. Alas he wasn''t much faster than the men. He contemplated running to a nearby police office. However he wasn''t certain where the closest one was and the Winchester rifles the men wielded didn''t seem to warrant a conversation. Feeling his reserves begin to falter Asher turned a corner and summoned his dark knight. He felt dreadful the energy expenditure almost knocked him off his feet. Like a wounded man seeking solace he trudged on rounding another corner. Asher let out a quiet groan at the sight of the dead end. Footsteps resounded behind him and he knew it was only seconds before they were upon him. He turned towards the entrance of the alley and raised his hands. The three pursuers dressed in Savana esque hunting uniforms rounded the turn. Asher greeted them with a cautious smile before saying" I don''t suppose we can talk this through?" One of the men laughed and raised his rifle preparing to gun him down. However before he could a black longsword tore through his chest straight through his heart. The dark knight didn''t falter quickly withdrawing her blade she twirled and slashed the second guards neck as he turned towards her. Asher took advantage of the momentary distraction barreling forward with reckless abandon he slammed into the 3rd man disarming him in an instant. Before the man could say a word Asher swung his fist with all the rage he could muster. It was truly a dreadful blow hitting the man squarely in the temple he was knocked out cold. A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation. As Jack sprinted down the cobblestone streets of Menthil, the echoes of gunfire still rang in his ears. Adrenaline coursed through his veins as he ducked around a corner, barely avoiding a group of men hot on his heels. They shouted to one another, their footsteps pounding behind him like a drum, urging him to run faster. He turned into an alley, heart racing. He needed to buy time, to regroup and come up with a plan. As he skidded to a halt, Jack quickly assessed his surroundings. Crates stacked high against the walls created a labyrinthine maze. He could hear their voices drawing closer, full of bravado and rage. They thought they had him cornered. ¡°Split up!¡± one of the pursuers barked. ¡°He can¡¯t take us all!¡± Jack¡¯s instincts kicked in. He waited, crouched low behind a stack of crates. The shadows concealed him well. As the first man rounded the corner, Jack launched himself forward, tackling the man to the ground. They rolled, exchanging blows, but Jack¡¯s training kicked in. He struck a pressure point at the base of the man¡¯s neck, sending him sprawling, dazed. Two more men emerged from the alley¡¯s mouth, their rifles raised. Jack moved quickly these men were mundanes.. he refused to use his descender abilties on them dodging their line of fire and grabbing a discarded metal pipe. He swung it with precision, connecting with the first man''s knee, sending him tumbling to the ground with a pained grunt. Jack turned just in time to see the second man charging at him. He sidestepped, using the momentum to bring the pipe down across the man¡¯s back. The sound of cracking bone resonated in the alley, and the man collapsed, groaning. Breathless, Jack took a moment to survey the damage he had caused. He had incapacitated them but hadn¡¯t killed anyone. The fight had been brutal, but he¡¯d held back. ¡°Gotta find Asher,¡± he muttered to himself, glancing down the alley where the sounds of chaos had dissipated. He sprinted forward, the adrenaline still surging through him. As he approached the warehouse, he could see it looming ahead, the silhouette stark against the dimming sky. He slowed his pace, heart pounding¡ªhe tried to remember where Asher had gone. He activated his tracking ability. Allowing him to instinctively feel where his comrades were. Slowly he tracked Asher through the crowds into an alley. Immediately the smell of blood hit him a lot of blood. He began to fear the worse and abandoned caution drawing his gun he quickly turned the corner. The sight before him left him speechless though. CRUNCH Two men lay on the ground one of them bleeding buckets from his throat eyes wide. The other still breathing but perhaps it was a worse fate. He was clutching his chest trying hopelessly to plug the wound in his heart. Blood poured between his fingers a stark reminder of his futility. Perhaps the worst was the sight of the last man.. He was against the alleys wall receiving blow after blow from Asher. His head rocked against the wall with a sickening thud over and over. His legs had been broken they bent at strange angles. "Who are you working for?" Ashers voice sounded excited..Jack did not think he wanted any answers at all. "Still not talking huh? Good." "ASHER STOP FOR THE LOVE OF GOD!!" Jack grabbed Asher and pulled him back. Asher didn''t thrash or resist. "Calm the hell down Asher! What the bloody hell do you think you''re doing?! You can''t become worse than the criminals we chase! What the hell is going on here?¡± Jack demanded, a mix of confusion and anger swirling inside him. Asher glanced up, his eyes devoid of remorse. ¡°Just gathering information.¡± Jack felt a surge of uneas,¡°Is this really how we handle things, Asher? Torturing someone for answers?¡± ¡°Jack, you don¡¯t understand,¡± Asher replied, his voice low, almost dismissive. ¡°These men are complicit in human trafficking. We don¡¯t have the luxury of playing nice.¡± ¡°But¡ª¡± Jack started, his mind racing. The weight of the situation pressed down on him. ¡°There¡¯s gotta be a better way. We¡¯re supposed to be better than this.¡± Asher¡¯s eyes hardened. ¡°Better than what? They would have killed us without a second thought.¡± Jack¡¯s fists clenched at his sides, grappling with the emotional dissonance between them. The line between right and wrong was blurring, and he felt trapped in a moral quagmire. He stepped closer, the tension palpable in the air. ¡°Let me handle this,¡± Jack said, trying to reach for a semblance of reason. ¡°We can get the information without resorting to this.¡± Asher¡¯s lips curled into a slight smirk, an unsettling sight. ¡°And what do you propose? A polite conversation?¡± Jack¡¯s frustration boiled over. ¡°We can¡¯t lose ourselves in this fight, Asher! We have to find a way to stop them without becoming what we hate!¡± Asher¡¯s gaze flickered to the man on the ground, then back to Jack. The air between them crackled with tension.