I slid through a gap in the walls, entering the eerie abandoned building on the brink of collapse. Combining caution and speed, I ascended the collapsed staircase with my head on a swivel, anticipating ghouls and ghosts.

  Thankfully, the second floor was vacant of supernatural beings. I retrieved my daggers, some throwing knives, and the Grimstone Mask from underneath a loose section of floorboards.

  I packed everything into my supply satchel, including some bloodied clothes from the night of the Sanguine Syndicate massacre and Viessa's hooded disguise. The Grimstone Mask was frigid like I had plucked it from a refrigerator, biting at my fingertips as I tucked it away.

  Last, but not least, I tore down the two mattresses hiding the golden statue of a pair of hands clutching a chain made of thorns. I lifted the statue in both arms, remembering it being way heavier.

  The last 30 seconds of Agility Burst got me out of the decrepit stash house and halfway through the memorized route before I heard voices and saw the flicker of torchlight on the other side of an abandoned building.

  "Waste of fuckin' time. Who kills that many men in that bloody of a fashion and says, 'Aye, these derelict houses look nice. I'll stay here. Like the bastard would stick around after the first night of our slow crawl search."

  "Have you voiced your displeasure with the lieutenant yet?"

  "Why do you think I'm on this shift with you?"

  I flattened myself against a jagged board in the alley fence, holding my breath. The guards passed by the alley's entrance, eyes forward—no pause or glance. A few minutes later I swiftly scurried out, crossing the street into another side alley, which led me back to my wagon and tarp. I laid the statue in the wagon, cinched the tarp over it, and gripped the cart's worn wooden handles, dragging it into the night.

  ***

  Once out of the sparsely populated streets bordering Oarwin, I seamlessly blended into Ingcaster's dense population of nightly commuters. You couldn't throw a stone without hitting another hooded individual pulling a cart full of goods, which especially rang true when I merged onto the Ingcaster Beltway.

  Although the traffic was lighter in the evening, the inbound lanes were still densely packed. I spent a few hours in a lane designated for hand-pulled carts. Honestly, I relished every mundane moment, knowing they wouldn't last as I arrived in the Merchant's Promenade.

  I ignored the mouth-watering scent of baked goods, and savory grilled meats as I cut deeper into the district. A band playing live music drew a crowd to a sprawling pavilion surrounded by restaurants and vendors. I walked in the opposite direction, heading down a street lined with closed doors, dim windows, and the light foot traffic of workers and last minute shoppers on their way home.

  Finally, I turned down a familiar strip of a road, relieved to find Hammer and Hanover. The single story building sat on the corner of the street, facing off with several competitors on the opposing strip.

  I saw a glint of light through Hammer and Hanover's front glass window as I wheeled the wagon alongside the building, toward the gated back entrance.

  Shadow Weave.

  I popped open the lock on the metal gate and ushered the wagon through, dragging it into a fenced-in backyard strewn with scrap metal and a workshop detached from the Hanover's shop. After closing the gate behind me, I pulled the Grimstone Mask from my satchel and slid it over my face.

  It's been too long.

  The shop's backdoor was unlocked, so I entered and found Hanover, the level four blacksmith sitting in his office, writing in a ledger by candlelight.

  "Excuse me."

  Hanover jumped from his chair, and tried yanking a mounted sword down from the wall. Instead he ripped off the entire wooden plaque it was affixed to, crashing backward with the debris.

  I was worried my surprise entrance had killed him. But he regained his footing, blood dripping from his busted lip as he steadied himself on his desk.

  "So, they're finally having me dealt with," Hanover spat.

  "I'm here for business."

  "Then leave and come back tomorrow. We're closed."

  Hanover eyed the fallen sword, obviously not buying a word I said.

  "Don't, do it." I took two steps back from the doorway, raising my hands. "I have a gold statue I need melted down."

  Hanover cocked his head to the side, bushy eyebrows raised. "You're either a terrible assassin or a thief. And I don't work with thieves."

  I lowered my hands disappointed by how this interaction was going so far.

  "Why don't you take a look at it before you decide anything? It's out back."

  "Sure, I'll lower my guard and let you lure me outside."

  I thought Hanover was being sarcastic, instead his shoulders sank as he resigned himself to his imagined fate, head hung low as he followed me into his scrapyard.

  When he stepped outside, saw the tarp covered wagon, and I didn't bash his brains in, his demeanor shifted.

  "Who did you take this from? It's too large to be gold. It's likely gold painted over bronze," he said as he hovered over the wagon, fingers stirring in anticipation. "May I?"

  "Go ahead."

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  He pulled the tarp back and gasped.

  "I know the craftsman who forged this. He charged a steep poor taste fee. Commissioned by the head of the Sanguine Syndicate..." Hanover wiped the sweat from his face and doubled over with his hands on his knees.

  "Who are you and how did this come into your possession?"

  "I think you already know both answers. Unless you believe the Sanguine Syndicate was actually wiped out in a tragic training accident."

  "Shit," Hanover stumbled away from the cart. "You're the psycho who butchered them like cattle. My brother-in-law's a guard, he saw their barracks the next morning and hasn't had a good night's sleep since."

  "They were scum."

  Hanover gulped, fear tying its obvious knots, but his eyes still returned to the gold. "I'm not defending those bastards. I lost my niece to slavers outside Vaulter. Hopefully, they're all being tormented in the afterlife as we speak."

  "So, you'll smelt it?"

  "Yeah, if you help me get it off the cart," Hanover said.

  He walked over to his workshop’s broad front door, seized the chain and hauled it open with a grunt.

  I scooped up the statue like it was nothing, and carried it inside. "Where should I set it?"

  The workshop sprawled with clutter. Iron tools hung from hooks along the walls, and racks of half-finished blades occupied most of the front facing space. A massive stone forge dominated the far backwall, its chimney blackened with soot.

  Hanover pointed to the work bench and I laid the statue down.

  "I'll have to break it down before I smelt it. This will take all night, and all of tomorrow. Guess, I'm closed for the day."

  "How much?" I asked.

  "1,000 gold," Hanover said.

  "Wow, 1,000 gold? That's a lot."

  Hanover curled his lips in disgust. "Listen here you scary bastard. A 10% fee is more than respectable. Try finding another blacksmith who'll do it cheaper.

  Wait, what?

  "Sorry, I'm confused. How many gold coins is this statue worth once it's broken down?"

  "At least 10,000 gold coins after it's fenced. My 10% fee is non-negotiable."

  Stunned by the potentially massive windfall, my mind shifted into overdrive. That was a game-changing, hard to explain amount of money.

  "I need a fence?" I asked.

  Hannover rubbed the back of his head. "Not if you plan on paying taxes and forge the import documents."

  "Never mind."

  "I drink with a guy that knows a reliable fence. He'll want a small fee for setting it up."

  I disliked the idea of involving a second and third party. But without a fence I'd be stuck with a bunch of raw gold bars.

  "Full transparency, he's a Royal Guard—a crooked one. I don't want you finding out later and thinking I betrayed you. I bet he'll want a small fee as well."

  Sounds terrible.

  "Wonderful. Smelt it, and set up the transaction, but don't make the exchange until I give permission."

  "Then we have a deal?"

  "Deal."

  We shook on it, despite my valid reservations. Adding a dirty guard into an illegal exchange for a life-changing sum of money was unfortunate, but I was in no position to shop around for a fence. Instead, I'd minimize the risks when the physical exchange occurred.

  I turned to leave, but Hanover shook his head.

  "If you want this done fast, the least you can do is start the furnace."

  "Sure..."

  Starting the furnace turned into prepping molds by brushing them with a dark oil. Soon, I found myself an hour deep, stoking the fire, stirring the coals with an iron rod, ash swirling around us as Hanover took the statue apart with a hammer and chisel.

  "You're not hot in that mask?" he asked.

  "No. And I'm leaving."

  I stabbed the coals once more and set down the fire poker.

  "Thanks, I didn't expect you to stay this long," Hanover admitted.

  "I'll be back soon. I don't need to end this conversation with a threat about what will happen if you rip me off, right?"

  "No, sir."

  The metal gate creaked open and four men with bandanas covering their faces strolled into the scrapyard.

  Target: Oglock

  Level: 4

  Karma: -1575

  Additional Data: Age 32, male, born and raised in Ingcaster on...

  I yawned, not bothering with the rest of the data belonging to Oglock or the level threes accompanying him through the scrapyard. Meanwhile, Hanover armed himself with a half-finished sword from a cooling rack.

  The thugs gathered along the workshop's main bay, where they stubbed their advance upon spotting the two of us.

  "So they're finally having me dealt with?" Hanover shouted, raising his blunt sword in the air.

  "Stubborn old bastard, if you just changed your shop's name we wouldn't be here. Oh, and..." Oglock turned to one of his lackeys. "What else did the client want us to tell 'em?"

  "Nothing else. Said to call him stubborn for not changing the shop name, break his legs, and to only kill him after he starts begging."

  Oglock looked my way and said, "Get out of here."

  "Who sent you?" I asked as I strode over to a bench lined with throwing knives.

  "Mind your own business, fool. We're giving you a free pass."

  "Do I look interested in a pass?"

  Oglock smirked, brought his fingers to his lips and whistled.

  Three more unimpressive bandana wearing goons came running out from around the corner, armed with short-swords and daggers.

  "Seven's not enough."

  "Dumb ass!" Oglock ducked and the goon behind him chucked a throwing axe in my direction.

  I caught the axe, and calmly set it down beside the neatly arranged rows of throwing knives on the crafting bench. The thugs burst into action, crossing into the workshop and I let my speed do the talking.

  Pew. Pew. Pew.

  Knives flew, twenty in a blur, like they’d been shot from a pissed off pitching machine. Every shot connected, leaving Oglock and his comrades skewered with blades, bleeding on the workshop's ashy floor. Those that survived expressed their pain and panic with screams and shouts.

  After Lorthvar, the level three keeping watch, saw his associates collapse in one swift wave, he turned to run.

  Pew.

  I launched a knife into the back of his knee and he came toppling down, scraping his hands on the gravel. A second later, he twisted around and I was standing over him. He yowled as I dragged him through the scrapyard and dropped him beside his flailing comrades in the workshop.

  "Keep working," I commanded Hanover, who was still gripping his sword tight, failing to comprehend what had just transpired.

  "Ow, fuck!" Oglock cried, half-rising before he saw the knives—eight of them, four in each leg, sunk deep into flesh and bone.

  "Help, someone!" the goon beside Oglock screamed.

  I snapped a knife into the center of his forehead, and the remaining survivors lowered their whimpers to a reasonable level.

  "What's the matter? Are you hurt?" I asked Hanover, who was too quiet, and way too transfixed on the hit squad for my liking.

  He shook his head, lowering his sword. "I'm unharmed."

  "Good." I pointed to the blazing furnace. "Does that thing get hot enough to burn human remains?"