Lord Graldo’s hovercraft glided forward. It was a chrome beast of a machine that hummed with mana energy and was heavily enchanted. It wasn't run by some horse spirit constructs. It had no wheels, but instead, its base hovered above the ground thanks to a hover spell.

  The onlookers whispered and pointed, and Lord Graldo held his thick, feathered coat around his neck as it drew closer, attracted to one of his many magical rings. He ushered Rraan inside, and his golden-silver armour clinked as he made his way in.

  This was because of the Animal Protection Law that stated 'all living animals were never to be used for transportation.' This law also prevented city [druids] from taming animals that were larger than a pony. So the enchanters had to get creative.

  Graldo lowered his head and stepped into his glider. His feathered cloak swept the vehicle's carpeted floor, and his bodyguard entered behind him, seated at one end before vanishing inside behind closed doors.

  The noise of the busy street was cut off, a testament to the many enchantments the dwarves had layered into their new product.

  Greldo’s guard assassin sat at the far end on a velvet seat, his hands folded patiently as he waited.

  The lionin glared at him, and Greldo reached out for an expensive glass, sipping from a silver flask.

  “So, an unstable dungeon, was it?” the human asked.

  “It nearly killed us,” the lionin growled.

  “I thought it would have been easy to kill them, given the opportunity.” Graldo looked at him over his glass of wine.

  “Those two should have stayed dead,” Rraan sneered. Still, he didn't know how the two porters had made their way into that temple.

  “And how did they survive? I gave you the opportunity to get rid of them.”

  “An opportunity? That was no opportunity. They should have died.”

  “We had a deal,” Lord Greldo said.

  It was good to remember that the lionin prided themselves on merit, strength, and pride. The fact that the two boys were still alive meant that it wasn’t over.

  “You will see that this stain on my honour will not persist.”

  Graldo arched an eyebrow. He knew this would be coming, but not like this. This was too brash... careless even. The lionin often took these matters into their own hands.

  However, Rraan wasn't going to stand for it. In the guild, the two brothers had challenged him, and in the dungeon, they had shown him that they could fight. He needed to curb their arrogance around him before they started making jokes and running his honour into the mud.

  “Lord Rraan, I gave you a chance. You could have challenged them to a duel and been done with them.”

  “It’s not worth my time, fighting bronze-rank adventurers. What will the pride throne think of it?”

  “And what do you want me to do?”

  “Get rid of them. You keep assassins in your company.”

  “Mr. Rraan, I am not yours to command,” Lord Graldo said.

  “See it done, or my father will hear of it.”

  “And if I don’t?”

  “Another noble might take interest in transporting the goods from the South to Principal City,” the lionin lordling said.

  Lord Greldo found dealing with House Dawnclaw a pain. He was to show one of their scions around Principal City and display his influence, but this was quickly getting out of hand.

  He was getting a cut from all the sales House Dawnclaw made by selling the materials and food gathered from the permanent, overgrown dungeon located south in the grassland reserves of the lionin lands.

  A silence lingered as Lord Greldo thought, then he sighed. He looked at the assassin, and his bodyguard nodded.

  Arden, the assassin, nodded imperceptibly, and Graldo sat back.

  “Arden will make sure it’s arranged,” he said, and the carriage glided away into the night streets of New Calvessan.

  ---

  The aftermath of their appearance after they cleared the dungeon was very evident. News spread like wildfire, and scribes ran to the messengers.

  “A silver dungeon almost wiped them out,” they said.

  Brokers murmured about the rare loot, and they got paid by various entities for the information.

  Karl, Ulivia, and the healer slumped against the walls. They looked pale as the Union Guild healers lifted glowing hands and healed them.

  As the Crowds formed, hungry for details the members of the guild were doing their jobs.

  “Is that all the treasure you found?” the guild scribe asked.

  Damian and Darrow exchanged a glance, then, in eerie unison, shook their heads.

  “Just the staff,” Damian lied.

  “Nothing else? No relics?” The scribe leaned in closer, her eyes narrowing as she noted something down.

  Darrow, for his part, kept his face blank, avoiding looking at, touching, or thinking about the magical page and silver coins inside his satchel. Damian realised it, but neither of them mentioned it.

  The scribe narrowed one eye, unconvinced, but hummed and noted it down anyway.

  “We should have left them behind,” the last warrior who had made it out said, and Karl just grunted.

  “That’s enough,” Karl said.

  “We lost good men, and those porters survived.”

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  “I said that’s enough,” Karl growled.

  Darrow turned and watched the adventurers. He went to step forward, but Damian held him back.

  “Not here,” he said.

  Darrow’s jaw clenched, then he just shrugged. At least they had survived their first dungeon.

  As they left, all the adventurers scowled at their backs. Adventurer's eyes lingered on the two, and they thought back on how they had fought.

  ---

  When they got back home, they found Cassandra waiting for them with her hands on her waist.

  She surveyed the busy streets behind them and the chaos of the moving traffic flowing from where the portal had blocked off the street.

  Her eyes lingered on the brothers, and a faint smile curved her lips.

  “Come on, get inside. Rest. We’ll discuss what you two were up to tomorrow,” she said.

  She lifted a box off the ground and put it in a waiting wagon. If they had to guess, she was doing a delivery run, and that's why she had no time to give them an earful as she mothered them.

  They hung their heads, but deep down they knew that Tonight was all about them. They knew they would level, and they couldn’t wait.

  They woke up groggy the next morning, and Damian frowned at his aching joints.

  But when he closed his eyes and thought about it. When he looked within, he had levelled, and if it happened to him, that meant Darrow had as well.

  “We leveled?” Darrow muttered, touching his head, then sat up.

  He flexed his hand and knew he had levelled. He felt it in his bones.

  “How much did you level?” Damian asked.

  [Dualist Level Six → Dualist Level Seven.]

  [Mourn Twin Level Six → Mourn Twin Level Eight.]

  [Rogue Level Seven.]

  Darrow opened his eyes.

  “Two levels. What about you?” he asked, yawning and stretching.

  “One level in [Dualist] class and two in the other class,” Damian said.

  They grinned tiredly.

  “Worth it?” Darrow asked.

  But it wasn’t a question. Any levels they gained were good, and they knew it—especially them, who had two classes, one of which was too rare or even legendary.

  “What about skills?” Damian asked as he started his morning routine, which began with push-ups.

  “I got a new skill. [Shadow Meld],” Darrow said while activating it.

  A moment later, they both frowned. Nothing seemed to change around him as he stood in front of the window, letting in the morning light. The only thing that changed was the shadow at his feet, flickering before returning to normal.

  “Hmm, well, I guess I have to figure out how that works,” Darrow said, scratching his head.

  “I got a duelist skill—[Salute the Foe],” Damian said and activated it.

  He thought he had activated the skill, but nothing happened, and the way it was listed in his mind offered no clues.

  “Well, that sounds very knightly,” Darrow said.

  Damian just rolled his eyes.

  “Don’t expect me to bow in real fights,” he said, and they laughed.

  “Well, that’s not the only skill I have.” Damian looked up at Darrow.

  “Yes, I also have the shared skill,” Darrow said, a mischievous look crossing his face.

  They looked at each other, then, in unison, activated the skill.

  “[Skill Imprint],” they both said.

  Darrow was the first to notice a difference in his body. He felt lighter and filled with energy.

  [Skill Imprint: Lesser Strength]

  Damian staggered back, his senses heightened. When he focused on anything in the room, it became sharp and clear to his eyes.

  [Skill Imprint: Altered Awareness]

  “I need to take a seat,” Damian said, moving to sit on his bed on the opposite side of the room.

  “Are you kidding? This feels great!” Darrow said, moving over to his bed and lifting it as if it were a simple mug.

  The excitement, or in Damian’s case, the dizziness, lasted for about a minute or two. The bed Darrow was lifting suddenly felt heavy again, and his arms tensed.

  “How long was that?” Darrow asked, looking down at his arms and hands. The lesser strength skill he had borrowed had suddenly left him feeling weak.

  A knock interrupted them, and Cassandra stood on the other side of the doorway.

  “Hurry up, you two.” She gestured curtly.

  They both groaned loudly, but she ignored them and walked into the front store.

  Minutes later, they stood before her. She looked up at Damian—or the twin she thought was Damian—and saw the one she thought was Darrow handing over a cloak to his brother.

  “Good morning,” they both said in unison, and she groaned.

  She looked from Damian to Darrow, then activated [Inspect]. She had gotten the skill by mere luck. She had to keep up with the two, and telling them apart in their younger years had been a headache. So the [Inspect] skill was quite the gift.

  Cassandra leaned back, placed her scrying mirror tablet to the side, and sipped her steaming tea.

  “So... what happened yesterday?” she asked.

  “We went into a dungeon and saved a noble and a couple of adventurers.”

  “Uh-huh. And how, pretell, did you gain access to the dungeon?”

  “We didn’t sneak in,” Darrow said.

  “We were invited.” Damian explained.

  “Invited?” she arched an eyebrow.

  “Yes, by Lord Greldo.”

  “So technically, we didn’t break your rules,” Darrow chimed in.

  “One day out and you’re already getting your noses in trouble with the nobles. Did you at least level?”

  “Yes, I’m a level seven,” he said and seemed to lift his head in the air proudly.

  “Finally,” she said, a hint of relief in her voice.

  “Yup,” Darrow nodded.

  “And you?” she turned to Damian.

  “Level seven.”

  She looked at him.

  “And?”

  “And level eight in the other class.”

  “A new skill?” she asked.

  Damian nodded.

  “And what happened after you got back? I had the rumours tell me everything,” she said.

  “We killed the dungeon boss, then we got the staff but Damian had to give it up,” Darrow said.

  Cassandra raised an eyebrow. The other boy was being way too talkative.

  “Then the guild mistress said that she will put it up at an auction,” Darrow finished.

  “You got something else, didn’t you?”

  Damian pinched his brow.

  “You always do this,” he gestured.

  “So you found something else—and don’t lie to me, I raised you,” she said.

  “We may have taken some liberties with a few coins and a magical paper,” Damian said and sighed.

  “Be careful. Nobles don’t forgive slights,” she said, looking up at them and sipping her tea.

  “We were careful,” Damian said.

  Cassandra’s eyes softened briefly.

  “Here.” She handed them a note, and Darrow’s hand swept out before Damian’s. He read the letter and found it uninteresting, then passed it to Damian.

  “What’s this?” he blinked down at it.

  “A shopping list,” she said, and Damian groaned.

  There was a knock on the front door, and Darrow opened it.

  “We’ll be open in five minutes,” Darrow started, but a man in glowing runes and a bag filled with scrolls and letters interrupted him.

  “A letter from the guild,” he said, pushing it into Darrow’s face. Darrow grabbed it, and as soon as he did, the courier was gone just like the last time.

  He closed the door, walked over to the desk, and before he could open and read the letter, Cassandra snatched it and opened it herself. She read through it.

  “You’re wanted at the guild,” she said and tossed the letter back to them.

  Damian grabbed it this time, scanning the words.

  “They sold the magical staff already,” Damian said.

  “Does she want us to pick up our share of the sale?” Darrow asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Who do you think bought it?”

  “Probably Lord Rraan. They’ll get back most of what it cost,” Damian said.

  The streets of New Calvessan were busy as usual when they walked out of Cassandra’s storefront office. The early morning vendors were busy calling out their wares, trying to sell as much as possible before the midday vendors set up.

  By then, the fresh, overgrown fruits, tomatoes, and vegetables harvested from the dungeons would have sat out in the air too long, and no one would want to buy them.

  In fact, the midday vendors were the ones responsible for buying all the goods in the early morning market.

  The midday vendors turned those goods into skewered meats and vegetables sold to the night crowds—it was a fine system they had going in Principal City.

  Something caught Darrow’s eyes as they walked, however. It wasn’t the spirit-run carriages twisting around corners or the morning crowds dressed in silks and top hats. What caught Darrow's attention was a wanted poster sticking out on the overcrowded notice board.

  The poster bore the picture of a hooded man—a legend of the city, or in other terms, a villain. One of the most powerful people on the entire continent.

  It read: *Wanted: Dead or Alive — The Ink Assassin. Gold-Rank Threat.*

  Looking at the poster, Darrow now thought he knew why the rogues’ gallery was in such a twist. Not even the assassin Lord Greldo employed held a candle to this assassin.

  Damian and Darrow didn’t notice the figure in the shadows following them. The large stone tiles made it easy for the crowds to traverse the megacity, but they also made it hard to notice when someone was trailing you.

  Darrow moved forward, and Damian followed as they turned a corner into an alley. Damian raised an eyebrow but said nothing.

  Thanks to his improved awareness, Darrow heard the footsteps turn into the alley as well. He stiffened and glanced back.