WANTED

  Name: Carmen Valdez

  Affiliation: The Iberian Crown

  Reward: 3,000 Silver Pounds

  — The English Crown

  “I think your reaction made it clear enough,” Francis replied, refusing to be talked down.

  To his credit, the man didn’t seem offended. “I’m serious. The last thing any of us needs is the Inquisition arresting us in bulk.”

  Francis, in turn, smirked in amusement. “A Venerable scared of getting detained? That’s a new one.”

  This time, the man was less than calm. “If you’re here to pick a fight, then you’re almost there.”

  Not a Venerable then.

  Someone of such status wouldn’t bother with pleasantries or patience, and neither would he show much reverence for the Church.

  Francis’ newfound attitude amused him, but he had to control himself, lest he offend the wrong person.

  “My apologies,” he said. “I was merely surprised by your reaction.”

  The middle-aged man appeared to calm down substantially. “No matter. Just remember what I said.”

  His words were as much of a dismissal as they got, but Francis couldn’t give up just yet. He needed information, connections, channels. And the man across from him was his best shot.

  For now, at least.

  “Say, got any work you can entrust to me?” Francis asked after a short while.

  “Can’t say I do.”

  Francis doubted that was the case, as there was always something to be done, especially in such a metropolis. But he laid it to rest. “Fair enough. Thank you for your advice.”

  The man simply nodded before Francis got off the chair and went his separate way.

  Work had a funny way of finding people, however, as Francis was greeted by a wanted poster board not long after standing.

  This time, however, the targets were all out of reach.

  Forget it. I’m not delusional enough to hunt Anne Bonny or William Kidd.

  The former bounty hunter then found another table, as his previous one had been occupied for some time, and continued to evaluate his surroundings.

  Submerged or not, most patrons were simply there to unwind—something that was made all the more clear as bets increased and ale mugs piled up.

  To think that I served these kinds drinks not long ago.

  Francis observed for another ten minutes, but it ultimately bore no fruit, leading him to leave the establishment.

  Most might’ve considered the day a failure. But he did learn a valuable lesson. Havana was as dangerous as they came, and he had to act accordingly.

  As if on cue, the city confirmed his thoughts.

  The moment his Premonition activated, he rushed for cover. Not long after, a Submerged fight started.

  Francis walked a generous distance, making the middle-aged man’s interference unlikely.

  And even if he was around, what would incentivize him to expose himself?

  The Stanzas weren’t much to speak of. Some Fulguration here, some Liquidation there. The lads mostly relied on conventional weapons, as Shanties seldom provided much offense at lower stages.

  Francis wanted to act, but that would’ve been… counterproductive.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Especially when he had no idea why the fight started to begin with.

  Still, what kind of person was he to choose self-preservation over the lives of others? Was such a choice fair to the citizens who might get caught in the crossfire?

  But is it fair to me to fall here after everything I went through?

  Despite his entire body itching for movement, Francis remained stationary. The battle was simply a losing one.

  Luckily, the encounter didn’t last.

  The side using lightning landed a killing blow that dropped the Evasion user in an instant.

  They must have been on borrowed time, however, as most of the participants ran in different directions.

  Except for one.

  Against all odds, the Fulguration user spotted Francis hiding in his corner.

  Premonition activated again.

  The man raised his arm to strike Francis with lightning, but such attacks were child’s play to him now.

  He deliberately took the hit, weathered it with Rejuvenation, then aimed his flintlock.

  This time, however, there was no Venerable-level Stanza protecting his adversary, causing his head to combust.

  His blood must’ve been all over the pavement, but Francis had no time to linger, opting instead to make a run for it.

  Using Substitution would’ve been the most convenient choice, but also the riskiest, as the ripples of a Deacon’s Stanza were nothing to scoff at.

  Welcome to Havana, Francis, welcome to Havana.

  Francis half expected the Church to ambush him at any moment as he rushed away from the scene. But the attack never came.

  He was no naive child, however, as he knew that they’d use all sorts of methods to investigate the altercation.

  Which is exactly why I need to hurry.

  His frantic sprint gave way to a rhythmic walk the moment he got far enough, as being seen running would only invite suspicion.

  Well-founded suspicion.

  Francis then saw a cluster of inns and immediately entered the closest one.

  “Good evening, sir,” the clerk said as soon as he saw him.

  “Good evening,” Francis replied with a nod. “I’d love to spend the night here.”

  Inns were generally more expensive than rentals, but he was in no position to choose.

  “Absolutely,” the clerk said enthusiastically. “May I see some identification?”

  Huh?

  For the longest time, Francis thought that identification documents were but a fable. Yet apparently, large cities actually used them.

  “I actually left mine with a friend,” Francis replied with an apologetic smile. “Would you mind making an exception tonight?”

  “My apologies, sir,” the clerk said firmly. “But I can’t risk the government closing the establishment.”

  Francis was half tempted to offer to pay extra, but he laid it to rest.

  “Understandable,” he said as he approached the door. “Have a good night, and sorry for the inconvenience.”

  Francis then tried another inn.

  Then another.

  Yet all were equally as uncooperative.

  At least I know the first order of business now.

  Thanks to Xavier’s sick sorcery, his face was indistinguishable now. His eyes, nose, and even skull were different. He couldn’t help but admit that it was a blessing among many curses.

  But again, the man made it clear that it was no favor.

  The unrecognizable face gave Francis room to experiment with nationalities, as he spoke three languages. His English and French might not have sounded like those of urban residents, but they were far from the most suspicious.

  Perhaps I should say I’m an Englishman for a change.

  Pretending to be English in Iberia’s capital was as dumb as they came, but such was the price of starting anew.

  And the worst part was that he couldn’t even be mad about it, because he asked for it.

  Francis tried a few other inns, until the stars aligned.

  “That will be one silver,” the old clerk said.

  One silver per night?

  Francis made that amount in a week or so back home. Calling it ludicrous was an understatement.

  But again, the man was providing a service seldom found, so it was only fair.

  Francis reached for his pouch and handed the man his silver.

  The man smiled faintly before handing Francis his key. “Room 007. You’ll find it on the first floor.”

  Francis simply nodded, then climbed the creaking stairs. The establishment was shady, to say the least, but the alternative was spending the night outside, leading him to bottle his dissatisfaction.

  As he reached the first floor, the implications of what he had done hit him in full force.

  He had killed a man.

  No—executed him.

  The kill was far from his first, as Orange Town gave him plenty of people to put below the ground. Yet none of it felt as… mundane.

  The pirates had it coming. And so did the thugs. But a simple gang member who acted out of self-preservation? That was hard to stomach.

  Neither of us had a choice. Let’s just leave it at that.

  Besides, the man attacked first.

  Still, even if his guilt was dealt with, the consequences weren’t as easily negated.

  The Church would eventually come looking, prematurely ending his second chance at life if he didn’t play his cards well.

  I can’t keep walking around with my artifacts. They’re a death sentence.

  With the last thought settled, Francis rushed to the nearest drawer the moment he opened the door, then deposited everything there.

  Except for the Rosary.

  The risk of theft was always there, naturally, but it was a risk he was more than happy to take. Parting ways with Evasion gave no comfort, though, making him stare at his belongings for a long while.

  “If only I stayed in my hometown,” he said with a sigh as he sat on the mediocre bed.

  It then dawned on him. He could go back home.

  There was practically nothing stopping him from retiring from such a life.

  The prospect of Xavier coming back to collect was far from soothing, naturally, but the man never specified when.

  Also, am I really going to stop living just because of an unknown future?

  Saint Agnes Archipelago was a world away from Havana. But going back was possible.

  He just needed enough funds.