Another firm knock at the door.

  Phisto's ears twitched.

  Vasil whispered, “Were you expecting anyone?”

  “No,” I said slowly as I turned to Phisto. “Were you?”

  He glared at me. “I’m a fucking cat.”

  "So you're blaming your lack of social life on being a cat?"

  He raised a paw in what might've been a moutza. “Na!” Okay, definitely a moutza.

  Knock knock knock.

  Phisto’s ears twitched again. “You better check it out, Hecate.”

  Uh oh, he sounded serious now. If Phisto had a bad feeling about it, that meant trouble.

  I opened the door a crack and peeked through.

  Standing there was a soldier built like a siege tower—plate armor from neck to toe, helmet covering his face, shield on his back, sword at his side. Bold choice for a swamp. Something about the way he stood made it clear this wasn't a friendly visit.

  Behind him stood a man in a long black robe. No armor, no weapons. Felt mage-y. His head was shaved, his eyebrows thin and judgmental.

  And behind him was a skinny guy who looked like he’d very much prefer to be anywhere else. Kept looking around like he was expecting to get ambushed. Shoulders hunched. Short cropped blonde hair, pale against his gaunt face. Just a short sword on his belt. He looked young, maybe didn’t even have a class yet.

  All their outfits were dark and had the same gold eye on their chest as the guys that fireballed the woman in town. This was it. They'd found me. Somehow, in the middle of a swamp. I’d been living in a hut that smelled like armpits for no reason. Probably coming to hand-deliver a [Fireball] right to my face. Express delivery, no signature required.

  Maybe I could play it cool. Yeah, that’s it. Play it cool Hecate, and they won’t suspect a thing.

  I gave them my friendliest smile. “Can I help you, gentlemen?”

  “Is this your residence?” the tank asked.

  “Uhhh, no. Why do you ask?” I said, trying to sound casual.

  “We are looking for a witch,” he replied. “All witches are enemies of king and church. Anyone hiding one will be punished. All witches will be burned.”

  “Well, good news then,” I said. “I’m not a witch.”

  I couldn’t see his eyes, but I could feel him glaring at me.

  “If this is not your residence, and you’re not a witch… what are you doing here?”

  I looked down at Vasil.

  “I… uhhh …walking my pet frog,” I said.

  Shit. That sounded exactly like something a witch would do.

  The tank shifted, hand drifting to his sword. “And your eyes. Silver? That’s not normal.”

  “No, no, I’m just from Graecia,” I said quickly.

  “Graecians usually have brown eyes.”

  “…No?” (Yes.)

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  “I don’t think they’re buying it,” Vasil whispered.

  “Shut up,” I hissed.

  “She can talk to animals! Get the witch!” The tank yelled as he grabbed for his sword.

  Fuck me.

  In one fluid motion I pulled out one of my pistols, activated [Clean Entry] and put the barrel right against his visor. The shot took his head clean off, helmet and all.

  [You have gained 1 level.]

  [You have gained 1 skill point.]

  [You have gained 3 stat points.]

  Eleven bullets left.

  The skinny guy started screaming, loud and high pitched.

  The mage raised his hand, flames already gathering around his palm.

  I dove through the doorway as the [Fireball] launched. The blast roared past me, close enough to singe my hair. Wood exploded. The roof groaned and started collapsing.

  I rolled, came up on one knee, and fired at his face. His barrier flared, soaking up the hit, but his head snapped back from the force.

  I checked my mana. Still low, hadn’t recovered fully after I’d blown it all killing the bwotnik. No juice left for another [Clean Entry].

  Hadn’t even assigned my new stat points yet. Should have chugged a mana potion before opening the door. Too late now. Stupid. Soon to be dead and stupid.

  Hopefully eleven bullets would be enough to wear down his barrier. Stopping the guy throwing fireballs at me was the priority—shutting up the one behind him who’d been screaming since I liberated his friend from his head a close second. Given the choice, I’d rather be burned alive than spend another second listening to that shrieking. I wasn’t planning on leaving this fight with tinnitus as my new party member.

  I popped off two more shots at his face, and he staggered back. Barrier of course.

  He recovered fast, hand already coming up for another [Fireball]. Just as he was about to roast me, I shot him in the arm, and his spell veered off and slammed into a tree, exploding it in a burst of flame and splinters.

  Eight bullets left, and his barrier showed no signs of weakening.

  The sorcerer raised his hand for another [Fireball].

  I rolled under it, hit the mud, and sprang up just in time for him to shove the skinny guy straight at me. My head collided with his nose before I could react. He went down clutching his face.

  I raised my pistols to fire another volley, but my foot caught on a root. Mid fall I squeezed the triggers and sent half a dozen bullets flying wild. Most went wide, but a couple once again hit him in the arm, sending his [Fireball] into his own face, taking half of his head with it and setting the trees behind him on fire. Very impressive. Even though it was absolutely, 100% not what I meant to do.

  [You have gained 1 level.]

  [You have gained 1 skill point.]

  [You have gained 3 stat points.]

  Two bullets left. Should’ve been enough for the skinny guy. But when I looked up, he was gone.

  Phisto’s voice cut through the crackle of fire. “Hecate!”

  I sprinted straight into the burning hut.

  Smoke filled my lungs. The roof groaned. Half the hut was already gone.

  Phisto was trapped under a scorched beam, hissing and clawing. Flames closing in fast. Another support gave out with a crunch. Time was up.

  I ran up and squatted beside him, got both hands under the scorched beam, and drove upward with my legs until my muscles screamed. My barrier flickered, then shattered with a sharp crack just as I heaved the beam high enough to free him.

  I scooped Phisto into my arms and sprinted for the door as the hut came down in a roar of fire and splintering wood behind us.

  Outside, Vasil was perched on a log, calmly roasting a snail over a twig fire he must’ve made in the last two minutes, like this was some kind of cozy camping trip instead of the smoking ruins of my home.

  “Rough day?” he said without looking up from his snail.

  “What the hell, man?” I said, coughing up smoke, clutching Phisto to my chest. “We almost died and you’re out here roasting a snail?”

  “I didn’t almost die,” he said. “And neither did you.”

  Right. He was indestructible. I, on the other hand, was very destructible.

  I stared at him. “I was fighting for my life out there!”

  “You didn’t look like it,” Vasil said with a shrug. “You looked like you were in complete control. Why else toy with that [Flame Adept] when you could have just ended him instantly like you did the first guy? You shot his arm just at the right angle—not once, but twice—until you made him blow his own head off. An elite Church [Flame Adept], dead by his own fire. Unbelievable. I’ve never seen anything like it.”

  He smiled and shook his head. “Then you spared the last one so he could crawl away, just so he could spread the tale of the witch who dismantled an elite church squad without breaking a sweat. That wasn’t a fight, Hecate, it was a performance, and it was masterful.”

  I didn’t end him right away because I was out of mana. How could any of that have looked intentional? I’d been one slip away from getting flambéed, and the only thing I’d been performing was a frantic one-woman show titled ‘Please Don’t Kill Me.’

  I sighed, and took in the charred wreckage of my humble abode. “Everything I own is gone.”

  He nodded solemnly. “And yet, you’re still standing. Which is more than I can say for them.”

  I glanced down. He wasn’t wrong—aside from my tunic being ruined and my hair reeking of smoke and swamp, I was completely fine.

  “Okay,” I said. “Come on, Phisto. Let’s loot these assholes.”

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