The gates of Verge grew further behind us as we rode up the street. Noise from the crowd of people all around me echoed in my ears. The air inside the walls was different, thicker somehow, heavy with the mingled scents of forge smoke, spiced bread, and body odor.

  Gold-and-red uniforms moved everywhere, a constant shifting tide of mercenaries. They lounged at street corners, leaned against doorframes, or stalked between market stalls, their eyes sweeping the crowd with the lazy confidence of men who knew no one would challenge them. Everyone of them was an enemy. Everyone of them could end this before it began. I turned down a side street, still riding casually.

  Balt kept his horse close to Grant’s, his gaze flicking between the unconscious man and the patrols. I rode a half?pace ahead, forcing my shoulders to stay loose, my expression bored—just another trader on another errand. Inside, my mind was mapping every alley, every shadow, every possible exit.

  A bell tolled somewhere deeper in the city. The crowd shifted like a living thing, merchants barking prices, children darting between carts, the clatter of hooves on cobbles blending into a constant, restless hum. This town is busy.

  “Guardhouse looks to be two streets over and about a quarter mile ahead,” Balt whispered without looking at me. “Yeah, we’re not going that way. Follow me. I am going to turn down this alleyway up ahead. Let's wake up Grant and see if he can give us some directions.”

  Balt gave the faintest nod and tugged his reins, following me into a gap between two leaning brick buildings. The alley swallowed us in shadow, the noise of the market muffled to a distant roar. The air here was damp, smelling faintly of mildew and old rainwater.

  I swung down from the saddle first. Me and Balt eased Grant’s limp form from the horse, lowering him against the wall. The ropes came off in quick, practiced motions.

  Grant groaned as the last knot slipped free, his eyes fluttering open. Confusion gave way to recognition. “We’re inside?” he rasped.

  “Inside,” I confirmed, already reaching towards my anchor and putting back on my Lightning Hauberk of Renewal.

  Balt kept watch at the mouth of the alley, one hand resting on his staff, eyes scanning the street beyond. “Two patrols just passed. We’ve got a window.”

  “Good. Grant, you’re our guide now. Take us to Lazz. Take us a way that does not draw too many eyes if you can.”

  Grant pushed himself upright, rubbing at his wrists. “I know a way."

  “Perfect,” I said, fastening the last buckle of my armor. “Let’s move before our luck runs out.”

  Me and Balt led the horses deeper into the narrow passage, the town closing in around us like a maze. We found a hitching post and tied the horses up.

  Several twists and turns later, the cramped back lanes they had been traversing spat us out onto a broader, cobbled avenue. At its far end, framed by manicured hedges and wrought?iron fencing, rose what could have only been Lazz’s villa.

  It wasn’t just a house—it was a statement. White stone walls gleamed in the midday light, their surfaces broken by tall arched windows and balconies draped with banners of the gold?and?red hand. The roofline bristled with carved gargoyles, each one glaring down at the street as if daring anyone to approach without permission.

  The front gates stood open, but the welcome ended there. A double line of mercenaries flanked the path to the main doors—at least a dozen in sight, each in polished breastplates and the Merchant King’s colors. More patrolled the perimeter wall, crossbows slung casually but within easy reach. Their eyes tracked every movement in the street, and the weight of their attention pressed against my skin like a physical thing.

  Grant slowed, his voice low. “That’s more than I’ve ever seen here at once.” Okay, this worked once, my old man always said, if it ain’t broke, don’t fix it. Grant, give me your hands real quick.”

  I heard a groan escape from the man, but he complied.

  Balt adjusted his cloak, keeping his staff angled like a walking stick.

  I straightened my shoulders, adopting the easy arrogance of a man with business inside. As we stepped into the open, the two guards at the gate spotted us instantly and crossed their halberds to block our path.

  “State your business,” one barked.

  I didn’t break stride. Letting the words roll out with what I hoped sounded like confidence. "Captain Rick sent us."

  I jerked a thumb toward Grant. “Prisoner is to go directly to the King for questioning. No delays.”

  The guard’s eyes flicked to his partner, then back to me. “Captain Rick?” he repeated, suspicion warring with procedure.

  “That’s right,” I said, lowering my voice just enough to make them lean in. “Orders came straight from him at the north gate. You want to explain to the captain why you held us up? I bring a message from merchant prince Jordan himself.”

  A beat of silence. Then the halberds lifted. “Proceed,” the first guard said, stepping aside. “I will alert the staff that you require an audience with the king.”

  I nodded my thanks, trying to keep my demeanor confident.

  We walked through the gates, the villa looming larger with every step. Inside those walls, Lazz was waiting—and every guard we passed was another reminder that getting in was only half the battle.

  The villa’s courtyard was a display of wealth. Marble fountains gurgled in the center; their basins were carved into the shapes of coiled serpents. Exotic flowers spilled from ornate planters, their perfume cloying in the warm air. Every few paces, a guard in gold-and-red stood at rigid attention, eyes tracking us as we crossed the flagstones. It was a direct contrast to the poverty I had passed by on the way here.

  A servant in a crisp white tunic appeared from the shadow of an archway, bowing low. “This way, honored guests,” he said, his voice smooth but his eyes darting briefly to Grant before settling on me. “The Merchant King is expecting you.”

  He turned away without answering, moving swiftly through double doors.

  Me and Balt glanced at each other, then followed, our footsteps echoing on the stone floor. The cool air smelled of incense. I looked to Grant for guidance, but he shrugged, mouthing that he’d never been inside either.

  We climbed a sweeping staircase, the servant’s pace unhurried, his hands folded neatly before him. At the landing, he led us down a long corridor lined with gilded sconces and different oil paintings of battles and of foxes being cornered by dogs.

  “This way, please,” the servant murmured, stopping before a pair of carved oak doors. He pushed them open with a practiced flourish.

  I stepped through, expecting the private opulence of Lazz’s chambers. Instead, the space opened into a vast grand hall empty but for men in red and gold uniforms. Sunlight poured through high arched windows.

  At least twenty guards stood in formation along the walls, halberds in hand, their faces impassive. The banners of the gold-and-red hand hung from the rafters, swaying gently in the draft. At the far end of the hall, a raised dais waited—empty, but for a single high-backed chair.

  The doors thudded shut behind us. A steel gate slammed down from above, barring their retreat.

  I heard Balt say in almost a growl. “Should’ve known that this was going too smoothly.”

  Somewhere unseen, a slow, deliberate clap began to echo through the chamber.

  The clapping grew louder, each measured strike of palm against palm echoing off the vaulted ceiling until it seemed to come from everywhere at once.

  From behind the high?backed chair, a figure emerged—draped in a robe of deep crimson trimmed with gold thread, the fabric catching the sunlight like liquid fire. He had a round belly and rings glittered on every finger, and at his throat hung a golden pendant, its gem pulsing faintly with inner light.

  I triggered Identify, and sure enough, it was him.

  He descended the dais steps with the unhurried grace of a man who thought no one here could touch him. His smile was all teeth, his eyes a sharp brown that could cut glass.

  “Welcome … welcome,” he said, his voice smooth and rich, carrying easily across the hall. “I must admit, I wasn’t expecting such… audacity. To walk into my home, bearing a gift no less.” His gaze slid to Grant, lingering there with a predator’s interest.

  He chuckled, low and amused. “You know, Merchant Prince Jordan would never have been so careless. He’d have slit that broke townie’s throat the moment he laid eyes on him and just written a missive to give me. That was your mistake, how you got caught. His eyes locked on mine. …"whatever you were planning, you would have just died, anyway.”

  The guards shifted subtly, tightening their formation, halberd tips angling just a fraction closer.

  Lazz spread his arms as if to embrace the moment. “So, tell me, stranger, what exactly did you think was going to happen next?”

  Lazz’s smirk widened as he descended the last step. The guards along the walls shifted, the faint scrape of boot on stone echoing in the vast hall.

  I let the quiet stretch just long enough to feel the weight of it, then took a single step forward. My voice carried, steady and cold.

  “This really hasn’t changed my plan all that much,” meeting his gaze without flinching. “You’re in the room… with me. And all I see in front of me—I let my eyes sweep over the twenty armored men, then back to him —are future levels.”

  I summoned Ashbourne.

  A ripple of unease passed through the nearest guards, the kind that comes when a man realizes the prey in front of him might have teeth. Balt’s grip tightened on his staff, the faint hum of magic building at his side.

  Lazz’s smile didn’t falter, but his eyes narrowed, calculating. “Bold words,” he said softly, “for someone who’s only level 13 and already cornered.”

  “Surrounded?” I tilted my head, letting a slow, dangerous grin spread across my face. “No. I don't think I really am.” I raised my sword to a guard position.

  A halberd shifted forward. The other mercenaries seemed to hold their breath.

  "Don’t let his bluster fool you, they’re trapped. Seize them!" Lazz barked.

  The formation of mercenaries surged forward, halberds lowered.

  I didn’t wait. Power roared through my veins as I triggered Limit Break—the world snapping into razor?sharp focus. Time seemed to stretch, every movement of the guards turning sluggish.

  I vanished from where I had stood.

  The Flash Step ripped me across the marble floor in a blur of motion, reappearing in the heart of the nearest cluster of red?and?gold. I saw surprise flicker in their eyes. You all are too slow.

  My blade sang.

  One sweeping arc carved through armor and flesh alike, the force of the strike amplified by Limit Break’s boost. The first man’s halberd clattered to the floor before he even realized he was dead.

  The second dropped to his knees, clutching his ruined chest. A third spun away, blood spraying across the polished stone.

  By the time the Talents afterimage faded, nearly half the formation lay broken at my feet. The survivors tried to rush me; shock and fury etched on their faces.

  I straightened, controlled my breathing, and let the hum of power in my veins roar.

  What was left of the mercenaries bunched together, halberds lowering, thinking numbers would save them. All they done was become easier for me to strike down. I triggered Limit Breaker Slash.

  Flame and force erupted from me and my blade. Ashbourne igniting in a corona of searing silver light. The air itself seemed to recoil, heat rippling outward from me in concentric waves.

  I stepped in the middle of them all, concentrating on one clean swing.

  The world detonated.

  A shockwave tore through the grand hall, the impact cracking the marble beneath my boots. The floor buckled and split, jagged fissures racing outward like lightning. The blast punched into the towering windows, shattering them into a thousand glittering shards that screamed through the air like razors.

  The guards in front of me never had a chance. The arc of fire carved through their ranks, melting armor, weapons clattered and caught fire. Bodies were hurled backward by the force, slamming into pillars and walls with bone?splintering finality.

  When the light faded, the center of the hall was a ruin. Nearly all of them were down, sprawled in broken heaps.

  The handful still standing stared at me in wide?eyed horror, their discipline gone. Without a word, they backed away, retreating toward the dais. They clustered behind the Merchant King like frightened children.

  I pointed my blade, the last flames of the strike drifting from its edge. My voice was low, but it carried. “Your turn."

  Lazz stood very still. For the first time, the easy smile faltered. His gaze swept the devastation—the shattered windows, the blackened stone, the bodies—and when his eyes came back to me, there was something new in them. Not fear, not yet… but the first glint of it.

  “What… are you?” he asked curiously, the words slipping out before he could dress them in mockery.

  His voice was quieter now; the smooth confidence edged with something brittle. “Are you hiding your level somehow?”

  I took a step forward, boots crunching on debris. “The truth is...you should’ve run the moment I walked through your gates.”

  The merchants jaw tightened. He straightened his shoulders, forcing the smirk back into place, but it didn’t reach his eyes this time. “Impressive power indeed. But I have a few cards of my own to play.”

  He snapped his fingers, and several of the rings on his hands disappeared in a flash of light.

  A ripple of force rolled out from Lazz’ as the rings vanished—like the air itself had been yanked inside out. Glyphs flared across the marble in a jagged circle—raw white lines burning through stone.

  The smell of scorched air hit me first. Then the bright light.

  The light speared up from the sigils now carved into the floor. Figures snapped into being inside the glare, silhouettes hardening into men in reinforced plate and crimson cloaks. The sound arrived a heartbeat late—a concussive pop that rattled the glass still clinging to the frames above.

  The new arrivals looked startled. There were seven of them.

  The one in front recovered first. Tall. Hooked nose and scar across his cheek. Gold-edged pauldrons etched in runes covered his shoulders. He leveled a longsword that hummed like a tuning fork when he leveled at me.

  My Identify triggered

  Well shit now two floor bosses and more cronies.

  Balts blinked beside him. “Company, I see."

  “I told you to stay with Grant.”

  “He’s fine, when you activated that damn ear-shattering move of yours... thanks for that, by the way. I destroyed a spot in gate and door blocking are way out.

  He pointed, thumb first, behind him. Grant is sheltering in the other room. and I am sure you're going to need me for this one.”

  Looking at all the elites and the two floor bosses now in the room, all I could do was say. “You have a point.”

  Lazz’s face smoothed. Confidence back on his face. “Captain Rick,” he purred. “You and your elites will earn your pay today.”

  Rick’s eyes flicked over the wreckage, then to the heap of his men I had piled up. Genuine surprise on his face hardened into something colder. He nodded at me. “He did this?”

  “He did,” Lazz said, never looking away from me.

  The elites moved as one, in perfect cadence. Two broke off and moved toward Balt, shields locking.

  Two vaulted the broken steps to try and flank me. Rick and another came straight on, blades low, shoulders forward, no wasted motion. Right at me.

  I rolled my neck, feeling the last embers of Limit Breaker Slash gutter and die. The clock was ticking on Limit Break. My muscles were singing, my body ready for action. “Balt, deal with the pair coming at you.” I grounded my stance. “I’ll take point.”

  “On it,” Balt breathed. Balt didn't wait for me; he sent out a sphere of energy and detonated it in the middle of the two oncoming soldiers. A concussive wall that smashed oncoming shield-men sideways, splinters of banner and dust geysering up from the impact.

  Rick closed the gap to me in three precise quick steps, his sword aiming for my chest.

  I met him halfway, Ashbourne singing through the air in the ruined hall. He was fast—much faster than the last guys and his follow-up cut tried to cut my leg off. I avoided the strike, but he quick stepped in and shoulder checked me.

  He is Strong, well trained and Dangerous. Just Perfect.

  Over the din, Lazz’s voice rose again, sharper now. “Don’t play with him, Captain. End it!”

  The other elites were on me now, and I activated my armor skill. Silver armor slammed into place. I threw a mana ball in their direction trying to delay them.

  Rick’s eyes caught the silver shimmer of my armor and widened, but not in fear, recognition. His lips pulled into a sharp grin.

  “Nice Talent,” he said, voice low. “But let me show you how to wear that mana armor properly.” He slammed his fist against his chest.

  The hall shuddered.

  Scarlet light burst from the impact, bleeding across him in jagged lines like molten veins. Armor plates appeared and thickened, edges sharpening until he looked less like a man and more like a war idol carved from blood-red steel. Heat rippled off him, the air shimmering as the transformation locked into place.

  My grip on Ashbourne tightened. Every instinct in me screamed danger.

  “Well… shit."

  Rick rolled his shoulders, the new armor groaning like living metal. His eyes burned through the slit of his helm, fixed on me.

  “Let’s see whose Talent holds,” he growled, and then he came at me.

  Rick leaned in, voice barely a whisper. “I’ve ended better men than you.”

  “Shut up and fight!”