We arrived back at Ingcaster by late evening. Grace had passed out nearly an hour prior. Somehow she was still breathing, thanks to the tourniquet and whatever medicine our healers had applied before they died.

  While she slept, I quietly pondered the ramifications of selling the chaos shard. From what she told me, it was worth a literal fortune. On the other hand, if Justice discovered I sold an important quest item, she'd probably send me packing to the abyss.

  Killing Duskblade and Grace was also out of the question. Too much evidence would point back to me, plus it seemed like bad manners after all we’d been through together. For the moment, I’d hang onto the chaos shard and face each individual challenge as they came.

  Duskblade insisted I join him at the guild hall while he filed the dungeon report, but I convinced him to hold off until morning. We temporarily parted ways just inside of the city's walls. As he rushed Grace to a healer, I strolled through Emberrest Plaza—a tourist trap district overrun by vendors pushing over-priced goods.

  Torches burned atop iron posts, illuminating the busy cobblestone streets in a warm sienna glow. Overhead, beads of countless lights dotted the outlines of towers and sprawling walkways. I continued north, ignoring the swarm of vendors desperate for one last sale before they called it a night.

  I appreciated that nobody amongst the crowd reacted to my bloodied clothing. Continuing five blocks north, I reached Wheat Brew Tavern & Inn. Despite all the things I had to worry about, for some reason Viessa appeared at the top of the list. As nonsensical as it felt, I feared something awful had happened.

  The innkeeper waved at me as I walked in, but I feigned aloofness and hurried up to my suite on the second floor. I unlocked the door and saw the suite had been ransacked. Blankets, clothes, and dirty dishes were strewn across the room.

  I had been too reckless. We should've never stayed in the same place for this long.

  Why am I not relieved?

  The toilet flushed and Viessa walked out of the bathroom, wearing a Wheat Brew Tavern & Inn branded robe. She looked at me and yawned. “That was fast. When you said it was only going to take a few days, I thought you were mistaken.”

  I inhaled a deep breath and smiled.

  Why in the flying fuck do I care? Just because she reminds me of her?

  “You look, uh, relaxed,” I said, relieved.

  “Well, I've been bored, but this human food has been quite good.” She lifted a plate, dropping crumbs on her bed. “I never knew potatoes mashed with cream and butter were this incredible. And these fat, chewy links! I don't know what kind of plants they're made from, but the variety of flavors is outstanding. I had a spicy one, one filled with savory apples, and a few with...”

  “Go get dressed. We're leaving shortly,” I said.

  Viessa's eyes lit up. “Are you taking me to Onadell?”

  I shook my head, dashing her hopes. “Don't keep asking. Everything has become too complicated for me to even think about that right now.”

  Maybe if I bashed her in the face with the harsh truth, she'd taper her expectations. Her disappointment was palpable as she grabbed a change of clothes and retreated into the bathroom.

  Finally, I stepped in front of the mirror and accessed my status window.

  David Cyprus

  Level 6: 6120/10,000

  Karma Rating: +1580

  +3 Unspent Ability Points

  +4 Unspent Mastery Points

  Beneath my status information sat a large pane, obscuring the talent tree.

  Choose Main Rogue Class Specialization

  Shadow Weaver

  Gloomdagger

  Battle Rogue

  I hovered over each option, expecting a brief description for each subclass only to be left in the dark.

  “Who designed this crap?” I whispered, dumbfounded.

  Lacking information or not, the only way to spend my amassed points was to make a blind choice. It seemed like a crucial decision, so I focused on Shadow Weaver, trying to see if that would prompt a description.

  +Main Class Specialization Shadow Weaver Unlocked

  Accidentally unlocking the Shadow Weaver specialization revealed a new talent tree adjacent to the standard rogue tree, offering three new choices.

  Shadow Weave: Manipulate shadows for both offensive and defensive purposes.

  Dreadshade: Applies an aura of darkness, invoking fear in susceptible targets.

  Abyssal Veil: Shrouds the user in a protective aura, momentarily negating all magical effects and spell damage.

  I tried spending a point in Shadow Weave, when the system produced an error.

  [System Error 301]

  Please choose your subclass specialization.

  Mage

  Paladin

  Warrior

  Fighter

  Without hesitation, I chose the Fighter subclass, knowing it best fit with the martial artist public image I planned on curating. The left-side of the talent tree lit up, unlocking a row of three Fighter abilities.

  Resilient Skin: Passively reduces incoming physical damage.

  Bladebreaker's Strike: Shatter enemy's weapons if they are rare quality or below.

  Crimson Reprisal: Passively increases physical damage based on missing HP.

  With only a few ability and mastery points at my disposal, I skipped the Fighter's abilities for now. I could already break iron with my bare hands and relying on an ability that required low HP seemed reckless. Resilient Skin was my favorite of the bunch, but I figured I was better off continuing down the Shadow Weaver path. There were several tiers hidden underneath both specializations, each requiring more ability points spent to reveal them.

  I opted for all three Shadow Weaver abilities.

  Abilities Learned

  + Shadow Weave 0/5 Mastery.

  + Dreadshade 0/5 Mastery.

  + Abyssal Veil 0/5 Mastery.

  Becoming a Shadow Weaver without learning Shadow Weave would be like trying to make a sandwich without bread. As a connoisseur of invoking fear, Dreadshade was another easy pick. So far, I had fared well against physical attacks. However, if Derulo had used level 10 magic, I would've easily died. Magic was by far my greatest threat, due to my vast lack of knowledge. At least Abyssal Veil would help mitigate that risk.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Before I spent my mastery points, I scrolled down and read the flashing message at the bottom of the status screen.

  Quest Rewards Available

  I concentrated on the words scrolling across the mirror's glass.

  Generating Class-Specific Loot

  Suddenly, the glass rippled and spat out an iron-bound chest atop my left foot.

  “Fuck!” I yanked my foot free, toes already swelling.

  Viessa peered out from the bathroom door, startled by the crashing noise. “What was that?”

  “Nothing,” I wheezed in unrelenting agony. “Give me a few moments of privacy.”

  She closed the door, and I bit my lip, ignoring my smashed toe as I examined the chest. It was heavy, and too wide to have fit through the mirror. Ignoring the Willy Wonka physics, I flicked the latch up and popped the lid open. Black mist flooded out, dissipating as it reached the ceiling.

  Hidden beneath folded silk, a mask emerged. A charcoal hue, yet dark as the abyss, it clung to my touch with eerie compliance. No friction, no sound—only the sensation of falling into nothingness. Two slim eye holes swallowed the room's light. I lifted it in front of the mirror, surprised when a tool-tip appeared.

  Equipment: Grimstone Mask

  Quality: Uncommon

  Equipped Bonus: Slightly increase stamina recovery.

  Well, that was new. I'd never been presented with equipment information before. Did that mean all my current gear was too shitty to even identify? I took off my bloodied cloak, held it out and waited for a tool-tip that never appeared. My leather armor didn't register, either. I reclaimed my daggers from underneath the bed and held them up in the mirror. I paid good money for them, and they still couldn't even titillate this brain damaged system?

  I raised the Grimstone mask again, and the tool-tip re-appeared. For being such a mystical looking object, its bonus effect underwhelmed. I tucked the mask in my bag and finished looting the chest, which contained five gold coins and a strange key.

  Frigid to the touch, the key contained a cylindrical glass orb in its bow with a swirling azure flame. I packed it away with the rest of the goodies and the chest vanished.

  Viessa cracked open the bathroom door. “What were you doing?”

  “Nothing. Let's get going,” I said.

  Viessa came out wrapped in the baggy hooded cloak I had bought her before I left. It was a size too large and was accompanied with a concrete colored shawl and a matching bandana. The attire not only concealed her race, but gender as well.

  I attached the throwing knife bandolier to my belt, tucked it under my cloak, and tossed my sheathed daggers into my cloth sack with the rest of my belongings. Pulling the drawstring closed, I slung the strap over my shoulder and headed out into the hallway.

  “Where are we going?” she whispered.

  “We're switching up our living arrangement.”

  I could tell she still didn't trust me completely, but there was no other option. Maybe if I sold the chaos shard, I could afford to secure her safe passage to Onadell. Would she be better off hanging around with a guy like me that was about to have everyone and their grandmas trying to take my head?

  As we descended the stairs, we brushed past two level fours. Karma's Gaze glimpsed their staggering negative karma and revealed their affiliation to Soul Viper. Dante and Rook paid us no attention. Rather than start a fight in the populated inn, I let them off the hook. Their incompetence and my fear of having to pay for the destruction of property temporarily saved their lives.

  We passed through the lobby, and I flagged the innkeeper, Laird, down.

  “I just overheard two suspicious individuals walking upstairs saying they intended to rob the rooms.”

  Laird doubled back. “Damn, thieves are getting more brazen by the day. I'll contact the Royal Guard immediately. Thank you, sir.”

  I bid him farewell and hurried outside, speed walking a few blocks north. There was no shortage of lodging alternatives, but I was looking for something closer to Oarwin. Eventually, we crossed by the edge of Sundial Square, where property values dropped in proportion to their distance from Oarwin. Worn stone architecture weaved a tale of forgotten prosperity.

  I recognized a dingy two-story structure I had seen a few nights ago on my way into Oarwin. The Cobblestone Cradle stood across from a sizzling food stand, its chipped walls patched with mortar and desperation. Its roof sagged with wrinkled wood and crooked shutters hung from its windows.

  Perfect.

  From here, it was only a ten-minute sprint to reach Oarwin's underbelly. The thinning crowd reeked of tanners, rat catchers, and pickpockets. We grabbed two mystery meat kebabs from the food stand for one silver before we entered the rundown inn.

  The innkeeper, a frail woman with ink-stained hands, waved us down. I approached the counter, taking in the shoddy view of their sparsely populated establishment.

  “Need a room?” she asked, paging through a ledger.

  “Got anything with two beds and a bathroom?”

  The innkeeper nodded. “Hot water only runs from dawn till dusk. Only flush the water closet twice per day. There are two beds, but they're singles.”

  “That's fine,” I said.

  “Five silver per night. Breakfast is included but I don't recommend it. The chef lost his tongue some time back,” the innkeeper admitted.

  I slid 15 silver across the counter. “We'll take three nights.”

  The innkeeper handed me a slim bronze key and pointed us down a narrow hallway. “Last room on the left,” she said.

  “Thanks.”

  As I unlocked the door, it creaked open, allowing stagnant air to escape. As advertised, there were two single beds, along with a cramped water closet, a water-stained dresser, and a dusty mirror. The accommodation was certainly a downgrade, but a far cry from being completely horrid.

  Viessa stared down at her mattress, cautious, as she examined the sheets for bugs.

  “From now on we'll be moving frequently,” I said.

  “Thank the gods for that. Such foul dwellings invite illness and disease.”

  I shrugged. Compared to some of the section 8 housing I had lived in prior, this place maintained some charm. Grimy and weathered charm, but charm, nonetheless. An oil lamp burned atop the dresser, providing a dim light.

  The mattress squeaked as Viessa sat down and tilted her head. “Why are you doing this?”

  “Everything has gone from complicated to FUBAR.”

  “Fubar?”

  “Fucked up beyond all recognition.” I sighed, internally weighing what was appropriate to share.

  “I thought you were lying to me until you secured a buyer to sell me to. Humans view us as commodities. You could've gotten rid of me by now. Why are you helping me?” Viessa asked, perplexed.

  It was a valid question. One that I pretended to not to know the answer to.

  “Don't confuse me as a hero,” I said.

  “A hero?” Viessa's expression turned sour. “You always reek of death. When I look into your eyes, I see a fractured mirror, reflecting not your own soul, but the souls of those you've devoured—an insatiable maw, endless and terrifying.”

  Jesus Christ, I misinterpreted her perception of me.

  I dismissed the scathing review with a wave of my hands, but she kept going.

  “I hear the pained whispers of fathers, brothers, and sons, regrets and broken promises, weaving mournful lullabies.” Viessa clutched her chest. “I implore you to answer my question. Why are you keeping me alive?”

  I took a seat across from her on the lumpy mattress. “You know, when you're going to say something mean, start with, 'No offense, but,' to soften the blow.” I laughed. “Damn, that almost hurt my feelings.”

  Viessa wasn't laughing. She just sat silently, staring me down with her emerald eyes.

  “You're right. I kill without remorse, and sometimes I've even enjoyed it. I don't feel much of anything, never have. But you remind me of someone. Somebody I owe a favor to that I never repaid.”

  Wrinkling her petite nose, Viessa exhaled a deep breath. “Ah, you're helping me out of your own self-interest.”

  “Exactly.” I clapped. “Leave if you want. The door's behind you. But if you stay, once matters are settled here, I promise we'll go to Onadell.”

  The elf lay back on her clumpy mattress, staring up at the ceiling's rotted planks. “I refuse to live as a prisoner. I'd rather you kill me than lug me around like an inanimate object.”

  “I said you could leave.”

  “That's a death sentence in itself! You may as well do it with your own hands.” Viessa wiped a thin layer of dust off her bed sheet.

  I tapped my foot, thoroughly confused. “What do you actually want?”

  “I was locked in a cage for nearly a year. Elves aren't supposed to be this disconnected from nature. I want to go where you go. As an adventurer, you'll take on contracts and raid dungeons. You can't expect me to wither away for days or weeks at a time.”

  “Can't you just go for walks?”

  Viessa crossed her arms and glared at me like it wasn't a fantastic suggestion.

  “Fine, I hope you hate sleep because I have lots of fun nighttime activities planned for this week,” I said.

  It felt like I had diffused a bomb as her expression shifted back to neutral. Truthfully, I had already considered the prospect of dragging her along with me. Leaving her alone while the realm came crashing down on me was just a recipe for a dead elf. At least this way I could keep an eye on her.

  When she finally fell asleep, confirmed by hushed snores, I examined myself in the mirror. Staring past the system screen, I looked at the stranger's reflection. I didn't see anyone's soul, nor did I hear pained whispers. I only saw a pair of normal hazel irises and a solid bone structure with a defined jawline.

  There were still four unused mastery points sitting at the bottom of the mirror. It was tough deciding whether to spend the points now or wait until I tested out my abilities. Was upgrading a tier one ability like Dagger Step even worth it?

  “Shadow Weave,” I whispered, holding my hand out over a thin shadow beneath the mirror.

  At first, nothing happened. The shadow remained still as I tried grabbing hold of it. A strange energy emanated from my core. I hovered my hand over the shadow and an icy sensation rushed across my fingertips.

  The slim shadow curved outward across the warped floorboards. Breaking out in a cold sweat, I released my grasp and the shadow retracted. My heart pounded like I'd just ran a marathon. I took a quick break and drained the rest of my canteen.

  Before writing the ability off as useless, I held out my left palm and tried again. “Shadow Weave.”

  I pinched my fingers together as if I was trying to pluck a frayed thread from a shirt. The thin line of a shadow shifted out from underneath the mirror's bronze frame. Like a fishing line, I reeled it in as it skimmed across the floor towards me. But now that it was at my feet, what was I supposed to do with it?

  I gave it a firm tug, trying to bring it into the third dimension, but my heart palpitated. The shadow thread snapped back as I collapsed on the mattress. My body trembled as I stared up at the ceiling.

  Warning Stamina Low

  Yellow text floated down past my head as if it were taunting me. I glanced at the mirror, reading the ability's description once more.

  Shadow Weave: Manipulate shadows for offensive and defensive purposes.

  What a crock of shit.

  In its current state, it was useful for nothing more than a party trick. Using it in combat would be suicide. I considered spending a mastery point but hesitated. Wasting a mastery point for the ability to still be useless was too much of a risk. I also wanted to at least test out Dreadshade and Abyssal Veil before committing to anything.

  As I lay there, weighing too many variables, an idea blossomed.