I leaped down onto an adjacent street from a rooftop two blocks from the cafe. Without looking back, I pushed my speed to its limits, breezing through a busy market, hoping that bastard wasn’t giving chase.

  I hooked a right down a tight corridor and cut through the back of a general goods store, popping out the other side onto a familiar street. With Agility Burst fading, lungs ablaze, I set Viessa down, grabbed her hand, and pulled her into the constant flow of people.

  Fortunately, two rival stores across the street were engaged in an outrageous price war. Signs advertising up to 85% off drew in masses of shoppers. Seamlessly blending into the crowd, I guided Viessa into Krook Nook's Books.

  As I replayed the one-sided beating back in my head, a few disturbing details surfaced. The first being the level 11’s casual demeanor. He never once went for his sword, and besides some scrapes and bruises, I was still standing relatively unharmed. Why hadn’t he just killed me?

  Viessa grabbed my arm, leaned in and whispered, “I've never seen you run away.”

  “It's what I'm best at,” I said, keeping my voice low, aware that now would be the worst time for someone to overhear a conversation in elvish.

  I gazed out the window through a gap in a bookshelf stocked with 100s of copies of Call to Action: A Series of Truths by J. Sawara. The intersection seemed clear until a guy on horseback rode past, a linen bandana covering his face as he trotted out of sight.

  Are they with that level 11?

  Karma's Gaze didn't trigger because I had forgotten to remove the Filter, meaning none of the men on horseback were higher than level three. I adjusted it down to display status information on anyone above level two. An influx of the crowd's statuses blasted my vision until I configured it to display level threes and higher, annoyed by the inconvenient mechanic.

  We were only a light jog away from The Gilded Boar, but I decided on killing time, making whoever was looking for me sweat.

  I delved deeper into the bookstore. A book on magic theory piqued my interest, but the price tag of 10 gold kept us moving. Two shelves dedicated to dozens of languages populated the shop's back wall. Foreign language tomes were priced the highest.

  On the bottom row, I spotted an Aclanian dictionary and an accompanying grammar manual. I flipped through it, but the system automatically translated everything into English. The crude illustration of a child holding a pen to paper on the front cover suggested its target audience. Unlike the other language tomes, these were only 50 silver a piece.

  It took twenty minutes of standing in line before we checked out. Afterward, I scanned the street, seeing no sign of the level 11.

  I stuffed the books into Viessa's traveler's pack and we headed for The Gilded Boar.

  ***

  Avoiding further complications, we arrived at the adventurer's guild. An odd number of people occupied the first floor. Too many for it being this early in the day. Karma's Gaze blurred the room with overlapping statuses. Once again, I fiddled with Filter until it only displayed levels five and higher.

  Duskblade occupied an extra-long table on the far side of the room, chatting it up with several faces I didn't recognize. I pulled my hood lower and stepped into line behind a bunch of teenagers masquerading as adventurers.

  “Cyprus, I'm glad you're here,” Duskblade shouted from across the room.

  Everyone who didn't know of my presence was now fully aware. Annoyed, Duskblade tried waving me over to his table for what felt like the umpteenth time. But I firmly stood my ground. I needed a contract so I could pay these taxes and get that damned chaos shard back, not shoot the shit.

  I could see it now. Justice ambushing me and asking for the gem. I'd only be able to say, “Sorry about that, it's locked up in the adventurer's guild vault. Do you have 50g I can borrow for the tax?” Which seemed like a brilliant tactic if I wanted her to banish me to the abyss.

  “Cyprus,” Duskblade said again, smiling as he jogged over.

  “Thanks for helping me keep a low-profile.”

  “You're past that point. Half the people in here want to speak with you,” he said, referring to the gathering at his table. “Come on, I'll introduce you.”

  “There's already been one attempt on my life today. I'm not in the mood for chit-chat. I'm here to get a solo contract, hopefully away from here for a while,” I said.

  “Nonsense, didn't you hear? Three dungeons emerged last night. Adventurers from all over are forming parties.”

  “Your entire party almost died and you're planning on going back in?”

  Duskblade chuckled and tried slapping me on my back, but I blocked his arm, growing increasingly frustrated. “On the contrary, I retired. I'm merely acting as a consultant and brokering deals between groups. Never before in recorded history have so many dungeons manifested in such close proximity. Someone has to keep these young ones alive.”

  I remembered Chaos snapping his fingers that night in The Emerald Dungeon and palmed my face.

  That little shit wasn't bluffing about spawning dungeons.

  “Monsters are running loose and will continue doing so until the guardians are brought down. The Gilded Boar can't even get its mages close enough to measure the dungeon's grade because of their unusual density. I heard Pearl Banner is mobilizing for the one in Vaulter. I'm organizing a group for Waystone.”

  “Another dungeon appeared near Waystone Village?”

  Duskblade shrugged. “It appeared in the quarry outside of the village. The last dungeon’s guardian is apparently far south in the Silverlight Plains. Normally the royal guard would've sent reinforcements to Waystone, but they sent 70% of their forces into Oarwin this morning. You should join us.”

  I awaited a quest prompt, almost hopeful for the external guidance. But when one didn't appear, I politely said, “No thanks. Now, if you'll excuse us.”

  “At least hear my offer. These kids are green as grass. I need another person I can rely on. Grace is still being treated. This gig will put a dent in her healing bills.”

  “I said I'm not interested.”

  “But...”

  “Did you already forget about what happened to Tobias and Oakley?” I asked, using them as a valid excuse.

  “That's why I volunteered. Youth these days are headstrong and haven't experienced genuine loss. If I accompany them, they might stand a chance.”

  “I prefer working alone.”

  “You work with your apprentice, don't you? Mull it over and come talk with me before you leave.”

  I had no desire to tread near another dungeon unless Justice forced my hand. Lack of money coupled with the assassins coming for my neck was my biggest concern. And underneath it all brewed an unbridled fury—the same rage that made me into what I was on Earth. Grave atrocities were being committed under society's nose. I never should've taken my mask off. Parading as an adventurer, while real work was left undone, disgusted me.

  If you come across this story on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  Finally, it was our turn at the counter. Kora greeted us with a sly smile.

  “Did you reconsider selling the—”

  “No. What B rank contracts are available? One that pays well,” I said.

  Kara pouted her lips. “All higher grade contracts are suspended until these guardians are dead and the dungeons have been graded. There's several support oriented contracts, but I doubt you'd be interested in gathering herbs for 10 silver per day.” She put her hands on her hips. “True adventurers are after the guardians and their keys.”

  True adventurers, my ass.

  “Thanks for nothing.”

  Turning around, I recognized an asshole of gigantic proportions entering the building. Westcott, the level nine Pearl Banner officer, strutted in through the front door. An entourage of five trolled in behind him, chests puffed out and necks tucked-in like everyone was supposed to lick their boots. One of them even had the audacity to carry a six-foot pole with their actual banner attached.

  Westcott bee-lined in my direction like a lost dog reunited with its owner. Besides his level, the only other impressive attribute was his basketball-sized head. I imagined his custom molded mithril helmet cost more than what most people made in a year.

  “Cyprus, it's a pleasure to see you again.” Westcott extended his palm, and I left him awkwardly hanging.

  He swallowed his pride like a handful of tacks, pulling his hand back. “I've been authorized to offer you 3000 gold for the chaos shard's rights.” He motioned an underling forward, who carried a sheet of parchment. “You just need to sign here. No need to thank me.”

  “I thought Pearl Banner was busy with the guardian near Vaulter.”

  “Our reach is far and wide. Don't concern yourself with such trivial matters, the appropriate measures are already being taken.”

  His subordinate shoved the paper into my chest, along with an inked quill.

  “I'll sell it to Pearl Banner on the condition you answer one question,” I said.

  A gigantic grin spread across his well-manicured mug. “How can I not abide by such a simple request?”

  “Remind me of those boy's names. The ones who fought so bravely and perished in The Emerald Dungeon under your banner.”

  Westcott squirmed in his mithril plated boots, rolling his tongue inside of his cheeks like he was trying to dislodge a sesame seed. “We've been more than patient and 3000 gold is a fair offer. This is your last chance to reconsider.”

  “Your threats need to be pointed if they're going to work,” I advised, coming from years of experience.

  “It's no threat. Most parties won't ask so nicely. They may not spill blood in the city, but outside Ingcaster's walls is another matter altogether. Stay vigilant.” Westcott smirked.

  “As always, I appreciate your wisdom.” I nodded and headed upstairs.

  Aside from a couple of patrons seated at the bar, the second floor was mostly empty. I found us a booth in a quiet corner on the far side of the room.

  Viessa eased the traveler's pack off her shoulders, set it in the booth and sat down across from me, pointing at the menu.

  “We just ate,” I muttered.

  “Our meal was interrupted. I can't keep lugging this around on an empty stomach.”

  “I saw you steal a biscuit earlier.”

  “That's for later.”

  “Fine, look over the menu. Try to keep it reasonable. I'm on a budget.”

  Viessa picked up a wooden slab menu, then dropped it. “I can't read this.”

  “Right.” I reached across the table, untied the backpack, and handed her the two language books I had purchased earlier. “You're a scholar. Study up.”

  By the time a server made her rounds, Viessa already had both books splayed open side by side. I ordered her two servings of seasoned potatoes and scrambled goose eggs for four silver, setting my reserves down to two gold and 45 silver.

  While we waited on our food, I flicked open my pocket glass and scrolled through the system. To unlock the second tier of abilities underneath the Shadow Weaver tree, which were currently blurred, I needed to spend more mastery points on Shadow Weave, Abyssal Veil, or Dreadshade.

  I still had two spare mastery points and one ability point to spend. Dreadshade and Shadow Weave had both proved useful. Although I hadn’t even tried out Abyssal Veil yet. Hiding the Shadow Weaver abilities was already a pain in the ass, so I was hesitant about investing any more there for now. Karma's Gaze had been the great equalizer, yet proved worthless against opponents with positive karma ratings.

  Agility Burst was a versatile, well-rounded ability, and I also loved Invisibility when it worked. But having it dispelled was a realized possibility. Upgrading Dagger Step was another valid choice. Eamon already knew I could teleport, and I figured that cat would claw its way out of the bag any time now.

  What was the point of concealing my powers if it got me killed?

  There were still three untapped abilities in the Fighter subclass tree. Bladebreaker's Strike, an ability that shattered enemy's weapons sounded lackluster. And I didn't like how Crimson Reprisal only increased physical damage based on missing health. I'd seen too many one hit attacks thus far.

  Ability Learned

  + Resilient Skin 0/5 Mastery

  Resilient Skin was a passive ability that reduced incoming physical damage. It didn't specify how much damage it reduced, but picking up a defensive passive felt like the safest move. I remained undecided on how to use the remaining two mastery points.

  Once Viessa's food arrived, she ate and slowly flipped through the language books. We took our sweet time, treating the Gilded Boar like it was 2:00 AM at a Denny's. Eyelids heavy, I nodded off while the elf studied.

  “It was absolute madness. I'm not making it up,” a familiar voice woke me from across the room. “Those imbeciles held me into the morning. I gave the same answers in five separate interrogations before they let me go.”

  Skurt was sitting on a stool at the bar. The young punk held a beer to his lips, accompanied by his party Deadly Talon and several adventurers.

  “Smells like bullshit,” his comrade said.

  “Those syndicate bastards were trying to shake my mother down. I fought back, almost had them too, but I was outnumbered. Then this guy showed up out of nowhere, killed them in seconds. I swear to Galdir, the cold-blooded fucker walked right over to me. I raised my sword, and he knew he couldn't afford a fight with me.”

  “Oh, shut your lying trap. Ya probably pissed yourself.”

  “Alright, maybe a little bit,” Skurt said, pinching his fingers together. “And you know what he asked me?”

  Everyone groaned. “What did he ask?”

  “For directions to the syndicate's compound.”

  His audience latched onto every word. “I was so scared, I swear I gave the most precise directions I've ever given in my life. It's not like it was some big secret. They operated out of that estate since we were kids.”

  “Is that why the royal guard crawled their asses out of every district for Oarwin today? Cause some fool tried to attack the syndicate?” someone asked.

  Skurt shook his head and took another sip of beer for added dramatic effect. “No, they're occupying Oarwin because he wiped them out.”

  “This is why no one believes your stories,” another retorted.

  “Hand to the gods.” Skurt raised his mug overhead. “I talked with one of the guards. They found the top ranking council members in pieces and over 50 mutilated bodies in the barracks.”

  “Nonsense. Maybe Sawara's finally cleaning out the gutters.”

  Skurt tapped his beer on the counter. “Believe what you want. Mark my words, one of the daily rags will pick up on what's happening in Oarwin any day now.”

  A woman decked in fur-lined armor chimed in from the far end of the bar. “It's true. My nephew told a similar story a few nights ago. A phantom saved him from being maimed by some thugs. Said he inquired about Thunder Fang and their whereabouts. An hour later, they were slaughtered. Some say he's a rogue.”

  Skurt waved his hand, dismissing her theory. “He's a powerful battle mage. I saw his magic first hand.”

  Eamon appeared at the top of the steps. The ruckus died down as the level 13 vice-captain of the adventurer's guild strode through the dining room. His gaze swept the room, locking in on our table.

  I cursed my sudden popularity. The only person I wanted to see was Justice.

  “Mind if I sit?” Eamon asked and took a seat across from me, next to Viessa, without waiting for my answer.

  “Sit somewhere else,” I muttered.

  “Have a heart. I've got real bad knees,” he joked, glancing at Viessa's study materials. “You have your disciple taking basic reading and writing courses? Is he a foreigner, too?”

  “I'm having a bad day. Haven't you made my life difficult enough?” I said, already annoyed at the guild for blasting my name all over their newsletter.

  “Don't bite your only helping hand. Kora said you turned down the guild's call to action,” Eamon intertwined his fingers and placed his chin atop the makeshift pedestal.

  “I'm not feeling particularly grateful for being a card carrying member of this guild lately,” I confessed.

  Killing literal monsters in the boonies felt like a waste of time compared to what was happening within Ingcaster’s own walls.

  “Hand over your membership card if you can't handle being called upon in times of great duress. Innocent folks are being ripped to bits as we speak. Save the self-pity for another day. It's unbecoming.”

  It was starting to feel like I was being dressed down by my high school social studies teacher for not turning in an assignment.

  “Duskblade bothered me about this once already. Some fools already tried to take my life over breakfast. If I go outside Ingcaster, every assassin will have free rein to take their shot.”

  “Mmhmm...” Eamon rubbed the back of his neck. “I was feeling a bit guilty about that. So I thought I'd propose an arrangement.”

  This conniving old man...

  On the principal alone, I should've told him where to stick it. But I felt like I was hanging on by a splintered thread in desperate need of help. “What are you suggesting?”

  “Work for me until you've paid the tax.”

  I couldn't help but laugh. Was this his plan all along? Drive me into a corner until I became his lap dog?

  “You look like you haven't slept a wink in nights. You and your disciple can stay here in the lodging that's usually reserved for high-ranking members. In addition to a safe place to sleep, I'll provide protection.”

  “You want to be my bodyguard?”

  “Oh, heaven's no. I have someone in mind for that. They'll keep the assassins at bay, but won't lift a finger otherwise. So, what do you say?”

  Several scenarios played out in my head. All of them ended with either Viessa or myself dead. Sheer luck and Karma's Gaze could only carry us so far, and the tide of the former seemed to be turning.

  “Only until the tax is paid,” I said.

  We shook on it, and Eamon put two fingers to his mouth and whistled. The monstrous level 11 we ran away from this morning came stomping up the stairs. Behind the maroon helmet's visor, his cool blue eyes fixed on me intently.

  “Xodoven, meet Cyprus.”