“You know things were never the same after that day…”

  I sipped on the wine glass, my fourth I think. I definitely was buzzed now regardless of my original caution. This sort of story though required some alcohol to get it out.

  “Before I was always the odd one out, but that usually just meant favoritism for the others. After turning Andy into a blubbering mess though, the trio went out of their way to come up with punishments which could easily be hidden behind excuses.”

  “Heather barely healed me so my money had to be used to buy more healing potions compared to the other party members. Jesse would occasionally ‘accidentally’ hit me with an arrow during combat. And Andy… well he eventually became his old over-confident smug self…”

  “But he did find his own way to hurt me back.”

  The leader of the party made sure I always had the smallest share of loot after a dungeon dive, but it didn’t stop there.

  As the Heroes Party became more famous, social events and fun times were offered to the Heroes destined to face the Demon King. There were invites to ball dances, festivals, and even coordinated efforts to dungeon dive with other adventurers. Andy always made sure there was some info-gathering mission for me to go on just as those events happened.

  Admittedly as an introvert I didn’t have the same socializing urges as some, but even introverts wanted once in a while to have fun and meet other people. Andy made sure though I didn’t enjoy any of the perks of being a Hero. Sometimes his orders on gathering info on a specific monster or dungeon appeared made up on the spot, just whatever reason he could think of to send me away to do more work.

  Duncan's eyes reflected the dancing flames from the candles as he listened. His expression had softened from the earlier rage, replaced by something more contemplative.

  "They treated you abominably," he said, swirling the wine in his glass. "But I don't understand something, Will. You clearly knew they were capable of murder. You saw what they did to my father. How could you not realize what happened to Elane?"

  The question hit me like a physical blow. I set my wine glass down with more force than intended, the dark liquid sloshing dangerously close to the rim.

  "That's not... it wasn't the same," I stammered, suddenly defensive.

  “It wasn’t Andy, Heather, or Jesse I believed when it came to the story of Elane killed by goblins. It was Patrick I believed. Patrick who claimed to be right there when it happened.”

  “And Patrick is someone who should be trusted?” Duncan asked, voice not accusatory but simply bewildered. I couldn’t help but snort.

  “Well obviously not since I now know he did the murder deed himself, but back then… it just didn’t seem possible. He never joined in when the others tormented me. He'd slip me extra healing potions when Heather wouldn't heal me. Sometimes he'd bring gifts from festivals they went to.”

  There was a moment of silence as the both of us drank our wine. I glanced to my right, seeing Osirus asleep on his chair perch, a fluffy ball of feathers.

  “Perhaps Will… it’s not that Patrick showed himself to be your friend. It’s just that in a group where everyone did all they could to make you miserable, Patrick’s occasional acts of kindness were seen with more importance than they should.”

  I didn’t respond with denial, but I didn’t have the heart to say I agreed out loud. If I had a good read on Patrick, I would have realized he wouldn’t intervene if Andy tried to kill me. I had definitely created a fantasy of where we stood as friends.

  Andy overworking me for info-gathering probably made me more isolated than what was good for me. I was basically a beggar desperate for scraps when it came to receiving anything positive.

  Thinking back on it, a real friend would have tried to get me to leave the Heroes Party. Not always entice me to keep staying and keep trying with an occasional gift. A real friend would have known I was suffering and tried to convince me there was something better out there.

  Like I tried with Elane…

  As if able to read my thoughts, Duncan asked a question related to them.

  “Surely you must have at some point considered just leaving the Heroes Party? You don’t strike me as the self-sacrificing type?”

  “After Elane passed away, I was planning to. I even exchanged letters with some contacts in the Sannindi kingdom. I was going to travel there in secret and never look back.”

  “But then something stopped you.”

  “Out of those hundreds of intel-gathering missions Andy ordered me to do, I found a soldier who survived running into the Demon King. His squad was wiped out and he was permanently crippled, but he swore he spotted a weakness on the monster. A bare patch of skin on the Demon King’s back, just between the shoulder blades.”

  "I know it was stupid," I said, gripping the wine glass tighter. "But I couldn't walk away after learning that. The greatest monster in the realm, the being everyone feared... and I alone knew its weakness."

  Duncan leaned forward, his interest piqued. "And your party didn't believe you?"

  "Nope, they even outright accused me of making up the whole story about the soldier." I drained the last of my wine, the bitterness on my tongue matching my memories. "Andy laughed when I suggested I should be the one to strike the killing blow. Told me to do what I wanted, but don’t expect the Heroes Party to save me from my own mistake of getting killed."

  Duncan's forehead wrinkled as he studied me. "So you stayed with people who tormented you, who murdered your comrades... just to prove them wrong?"

  "When you say it like that, it sounds pathetic," I admitted, finding myself shrinking in my chair. Duncan gave a sympathetic smile.

  “My apologies for being harsh.”

  “No, it’s okay… you are right really. The smart move would have been to leave. Just give them the weakness tip and get out of there. It’s weird, I always thought I was trying to make the smart choice. So why was I so stupid with this?”

  “Because you didn’t have a good friend! Caw!”

  I nearly jumped startled as I saw Osirus open his eyes and stretch his wings. His snow-white feathers ruffled before he spoke again.

  “Good friends would have given good advice. No one there to give you good advice, to guide you to the right path. Now though you have two good friends! We will tell you when you do something stupid… which you probably will.”

  I could hear Duncan nearly choke on his wine from the last comment. I should probably feel annoyed, but strangely I found Osirus’s words comforting. I did need someone to point out when I was being stupid and if there’s one thing I learned about Osirus, it was that he wasn’t afraid to be candid.

  I set down my empty wine glass, the haze of alcohol making my thoughts drift. There were still pieces of this puzzle I needed to understand.

  "Duncan, I've told you my story, but I have questions of my own." I leaned forward, resting my arm on the table. "After I left the chapel, what did you do with what I told you? About the elder in Elderwood Hill and the mint?"

  Duncan's expression darkened. His fingers tightened around his glass. When he spoke, his voice was low and controlled, but I could hear the rage simmering beneath.

  "I went to Elderwood Hill the very next day. Found Elder Brett exactly where you said he'd be." Duncan's eyes met mine, hard as sapphires. "He told me everything about Night Wargs and mint. How they go into a killing frenzy at the scent. How the village had banned it after a massacre decades ago."

  He set his glass down with deliberate care. "So I returned to my father's chambers and examined his personal effects. The cloak he wore that day—the one he'd put on just before leaving with your party—mint oil was dabbed on it. It was faint and honestly the blood stains almost hid it, but I was able to find the scent.”

  “As you said those two years ago at the chapel—I was suckered. I had aided someone who brought about my father’s demise.”

  I winced as I recalled how blunt and angry I was that day.

  “Now I need to apologize, I could have worded it better.”

  “Don’t apologize, if you hadn’t been so direct with your words then I may have very well ignored them. Doubting the Heroes Party is considered blasphemy by the church and only the sharp edge of your words drove me to investigate even if it went against the church’s teachings.”

  “Still it’s not nearly enough proof to hold the others accountable publicly. Sometimes I wonder if I should have let you stay ignorant,” I said, pushing my wine glass away. Any more of the red liquid and I’d be falling asleep in the chair. Duncan shook his head at my words.

  “I would truly have shamed the Lasair name if I allowed myself to be ignorant of my father’s killer. And unless I’m mistaken, you do have a plan for us to get some form of justice against the Heroes Party.”

  “I do, but I’m way too tired to get into that tonight. Besides there’s one other ally we need before we go up against the Heroes Party,” I said with a yawn. Duncan arched an eyebrow as he gestured the servants to clean the table.

  “Truly? And who else would dare act against the Heroes Party, the most beloved people of this country?”

  “Elane’s old teacher—Hellene Gardens.”

  "It's beautiful," I said, watching Elane fold the shimmering fabric with careful hands. The ballgown caught the light from the fireplace, its azure silk embroidered with thousands of tiny crystals that sparkled like stars.

  [Starlight Gown—clothing, rare item, traits—Patterns on the fabric move and create a hypnotic pattern which draws people’s attention. Wearer can also cast minor illusions such as flashes of light and rainbows. Alters the voice of the wearer so their voice can reach people over one mile away and overrides any other sound heard.]

  It was beautiful, it was also totally useless in a dungeon dive. The last ability was probably why it was considered a rare item. It didn’t just have people in a one-mile radius hear the person, it made sure the person’s voice was heard instead of anything else. Something a narcissistic singer would prize dearly.

  We were in a small antechamber of Lord Verlane's manor, where the Heroes Party had been given rooms for the night. The others were downstairs, enjoying the feast our noble host had prepared, but I'd noticed Elane slip away and followed her.

  "Heather will love it," she whispered, her voice barely audible as she placed the gown in a simple wooden box. "She said she needed something special for the Summer Court ball."

  I leaned against the doorframe, frowning. "You used your Rare Crafting Moment for this? The one you get only once every ten levels?"

  Elane's hands stilled, her shoulders tensing slightly. "She asked for it specifically. Said it would help our reputation with the nobles."

  I bit back the words I wanted to say. That Heather could buy a dozen gowns with the gold she hoarded. That a ballgown would do nothing against the Demon King. That Elane's precious ability—one that could have created a powerful staff or protective robes for herself—had been wasted on vanity.

  Instead, I looked at her—really looked at her. The same threadbare Beginner's Robes she'd worn since the church first outfitted us. The fraying edges, the patches carefully stitched over burn marks and tears. While Heather pranced around in finery, Elane remained in garments that offered almost no protection.

  "Elane," I said softly, "when was the last time you crafted something for yourself?"

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  She blinked, clearly startled by the question. "For... myself?"

  "Yes. Armor, a staff, anything."

  "I don't..." She trailed off, her fingers twisting in her lap. "I need to focus on supporting the party. Heather says—"

  "Forget what Heather says," I interrupted, my voice sharper than intended. Elane flinched, and I immediately regretted my tone. "I'm sorry. I just mean... you matter too."

  Her eyes widened, and for a moment, I thought I saw something flicker there—a tiny spark that the others had nearly extinguished.

  I made my decision in that instant.

  For the first time in over three months, the Midnight Diamond was in my hand again. I hadn’t pulled it out of my Inventory Box since the day I stole it from under the others’ noses. If I was being honest, I was just too afraid I would get caught with it.

  But some things took priority over getting into trouble with the Heroes Party. Besides, how much more trouble could I be in with them?

  “This is something I grabbed in a dungeon, the others... don’t know about it. I want you to take it to your teacher Ms. Gardens next time we are at the capital. Have her help you sell it and then use the money to leave. I don’t just mean leave the Heroes Party, use it to leave the kingdom.”

  Elane's eyes widened as she stared at the massive diamond in my palm, its facets capturing and scattering the firelight into a thousand tiny rainbows across the walls.

  "I... I can't," she whispered, backing away slightly. "If they found out—"

  I lunged forward, grabbing her wrist firmly but not roughly. Her skin felt fragile beneath my fingers, bird-boned and trembling. Before she could pull away, I pressed the Midnight Diamond into her palm and closed her fingers around it.

  "This is your one chance, Elane," I said, my voice low and urgent. "Your one chance at freedom, at happiness—at a life that belongs to you and not them."

  Her eyes darted to the door, fear etched across her features. "But they'll—"

  "They can’t hurt you if you’re not here."

  Those words stopped her next protest. Part of me wanted to stay and argue further. Spend hours tallying up all the horrible things the others did to her and how she was in a life others would consider a sick version of hell.

  But I knew deep down, I couldn’t use words to make her be the person who saves herself. I learned that lesson a long time ago with my dad. You can’t change a person no matter how right your words are.

  “The choice is yours,” I said, before turning and leaving. I could see her opening her mouth, but I was already out the door before she could speak. I wasn’t going to give her a chance to come up with another excuse or deny the offer was even needed.

  My shoulders felt lighter as I walked down the hallway. There was every possibility she would give the diamond rock to the others instead of selling it. Even likely given the past trend of helping the others regardless of the abuse.

  But at least I could finally say to myself I did something to try to save her.

  I woke with a start, torn from memories by a sharp knocking at my door.

  My hand automatically reached for my short sword, only to grasp empty air. The confusion of sleep clung to me for a moment before I remembered where I was—Lasair Manor, in the guest chamber.

  "Just a moment," I called, my voice rough with sleep. I swung my legs over the side of the bed, wincing as my head throbbed. The wine from last night hadn't done me any favors.

  When I opened the door, I found a young maid with auburn hair tied back in a neat bun. She balanced a silver tray laden with steaming food, her eyes carefully fixed on a point just over my shoulder.

  "Good morning, sir," she said with a small curtsy. "Lord Lasair requested you be served breakfast in your room. He also wished me to inform you that he'll arrive in an hour to discuss your departure plans."

  I stepped aside to let her enter, suddenly conscious of my rumpled state. She placed the tray on a small table near the window, efficiently arranging the plates and silverware.

  "Thank you," I managed, catching the scent of fresh bread and something savory that made my stomach growl embarrassingly loud.

  The maid's lips twitched with a suppressed smile. "Will you be requiring anything else, sir?"

  "No, this is... this is perfect."

  She nodded and slipped out, closing the door softly behind her.

  "Caw! Food smells good! Better than forest bugs!" Osirus announced, gliding from his perch to land beside the tray, his blue eyes fixed hungrily on a strawberry.

  "Exactly what did you eat while guarding the shrine? All I saw was grass and boulders around that place," I said, sliding into the chair.

  "Osirus has great magic so he can go a long time without eating. But that time isn’t now." He hopped closer, tilting his head. "Time to share Will."

  I sighed and tossed him a strawberry, which he caught mid-air with surprising dexterity. The breakfast was indeed excellent—eggs cooked to perfection, thick slices of bread still warm from the oven, smoky bacon, and a small bowl of berries. I washed it all down with strong black tea that helped clear the fog from my head.

  After eating, I headed to the bathing chamber, filling the copper tub with hot water from the ornate taps. The luxury of a proper bath was something I'd missed during my months on the road. I stripped down and eased myself into the steaming water, letting it soak away the remnants of last night's wine and the lingering aches from my tumble off the horse.

  I scrubbed quickly, not wanting to linger and risk keeping Duncan waiting. My thoughts drifted to the coming conversation—how to approach Hellene Gardens, what we'd need to confront the Heroes Party. The warm water loosened my muscles, but not the knot of tension between my shoulders.

  "Caw! Human bathing rituals take too long!" Osirus complained from his perch on a towel rack.

  "Some of us don't have self-cleaning feathers," I muttered, dunking my head under the water one last time before climbing out.

  After drying off, I retrieved my leather armor from where I'd carefully laid it out. The familiar weight settled over me like a second skin, each buckle and strap finding its place through muscle memory despite my one-handed limitations. I'd adapted over the month, learning to use my teeth, knees, or any available surface to secure what my missing hand could not.

  The leather was well-worn, the once-dark surface now mottled with lighter patches where the material had been stressed. Numerous scratches and scuffs marred its surface, each one a memory of battles survived. I strapped my short sword to my hip, the weight comforting against my thigh.

  A knock at the door announced Duncan's arrival just as I finished securing the last buckle.

  "Enter," I called, straightening my posture instinctively.

  Duncan stepped inside, dressed in simple but well-made clothing similar to what he wore last night. His eyes surveyed my armor with the judging eye of a man who could tell how many battles it’s been through. I felt a slight pang of shame even though I shouldn’t. I made do with the best gear I could get considering how little I received in the Heroes Party.

  “My manor has an armory filled with every sort of gear you can think of. Now that we are allies, I will give you the best gear the Lasair family can supply. But before this alliance takes a step further… I want to know exactly how this plan of vengeance against the Heroes Party is going to be done.”

  I explained in detail what I knew about the dungeon the Heroes Party wanted to enter and what steps I took to try to delay them going there. Then I explained how we were going to get stronger and then steal whatever was in the dungeon from under their noses. When I explained how Fire-Friend opened the dungeon and how we were going to get Fire-Friend, for the first time I saw Duncan smile.

  It was just a glimpse of a smile, didn’t last longer than a couple of seconds, but I could tell he liked the idea of how we were going to steal back his family heirloom from Andy.

  "Your plan has merit," Duncan said, his eyes taking on a calculating gleam. "Come with me. If we're to face the Heroes Party, you'll need better equipment than what you're wearing."

  “Caw! Osirus has no need for simple human weapons. Have the girl bring me more berries,” Osirus said, perching himself over the fireplace.

  “Of course Osirus, I’ll have a maid come by with a feast of berries,” Duncan said, giving the raven a bow. Was it just me or was Duncan giving more reverence to the bird versus me? Not that I was looking to be revered, but I was a little worried about this going to Osirus’s head.

  “I’m glad you understand the importance of keeping me well fed. You may go,” Osirus said with a wave of his wing, as if we were his subjects.

  Okay… now I was very worried.

  I followed him through the manor's winding corridors, our footsteps echoing against polished stone floors. Servants bowed respectfully as we passed, though I noticed a few casting curious glances at my stump. Duncan led me down a narrow staircase that spiraled deep into the foundation of the manor, the air growing cooler with each step.

  "The Lasair family has always believed in being prepared," Duncan explained as we reached a heavy oak door reinforced with iron bands. He produced a large key from his pocket, the metal gleaming dully in the torchlight. "My ancestors built this armory centuries ago, it’s been a great asset when the Demon King appeared."

  The lock clicked open with a sound like bones breaking. Duncan pushed the door, and it swung inward on silent hinges.

  My breath caught in my throat. The armory stretched before us, cavernous and meticulously organized. Racks of weapons lined the walls—swords, spears, axes, and bows of every description. Mannequins displayed sets of armor ranging from lightweight leather to full plate.

  "This way," Duncan said, leading me toward a section where several sets of leather armor hung. "These are used by the hunters Lasair employs to supply our kitchens with game. Superior craftsmanship, reinforced at stress points, and treated with oils that repel both water and blood."

  He gestured to a set dyed a deep forest green, the leather supple yet sturdy. Unlike my battered armor, this showed no signs of wear—the surface was unmarred, the buckles and fastenings gleaming with polish.

  "Try it on," he urged. "The sizing should be close enough."

  I hesitated, running my fingers across the smooth leather. "This is too generous—"

  "It's practical," Duncan interrupted. "Allies should be properly equipped. Besides, if we die because your armor fails, my generosity would be rather pointless, wouldn't it?"

  I couldn't argue with that logic. With Duncan's help, I removed my old armor and donned the new set. The difference was immediate and profound—where my old armor had chafed and restricted movement in places, this felt like a second skin, flexible yet protective.

  [Reinforced Hunter's Leather Armor—leather armor, uncommon item, traits—10% stealth bonus, 10% protection against slashing weapons]

  "The fit is good," Duncan observed, circling me with a critical eye. "Perhaps a bit loose around the shoulders, but nothing that would compromise protection."

  "It's perfect," I said, rotating my arm to test the range of motion. "Thank you."

  An idea struck me, I could actually return the favor. I quickly pulled out the platinum pendant, seeing Duncan’s eyes widen when he viewed the legendary holy symbol.

  "I found this in the Shrine of Heroes," I said, holding out the pendant. "It's a legendary item that enhances wisdom. I want you to have it as thanks for the armor."

  Duncan's reaction wasn't what I expected. His eyes widened, but not with desire or appreciation. He took a sudden step backward, his expression shifting to something close to fear. His hand actually rose as if to ward off the pendant.

  "No," he said sharply, then seemed to collect himself. "No, thank you. That... that should remain with you, Will. A gift from the shrine is meant for its recipient."

  I frowned, confused by his reaction. The pendant dangled from my fingers, its silver surface catching the torchlight. "Are you sure? It's extremely valuable, and I thought—"

  "Keep it," Duncan interrupted, his voice firmer now though his eyes never left the pendant. "I need to... there's something else I want to show you."

  Before I could question him further, he turned abruptly and strode toward the back of the armory, disappearing behind a rack of polearms. I slipped the pendant back around my neck, perplexed by his response. The holy symbol settled against my chest, that familiar warmth spreading through me again.

  Why would a holy knight be afraid of a divine symbol? Duncan was raised in the Church's traditions; such an item should have been coveted, not feared. Something wasn't adding up.

  Duncan returned moments later carrying a polished wooden box about the length of my forearm. The tension had left his shoulders, though his gaze still avoided the pendant at my throat.

  "This might be more useful to you than any weapon I could offer," he said, setting the box on a nearby table.

  When he opened the lid, I found myself staring at a gleaming metal hook attached to a leather harness. The craftsmanship was exquisite—the hook itself was forged from dark metal with silver inlay creating intricate patterns along its curve. The leather was well-oiled and supple, designed to fit over a forearm.

  [Scorpion Hook—hook hand, rare item, Active Power—Scorpion Sting—Once a day the hook will sharpen and be coated with poison for five minutes.]

  "My uncle took this from a notorious bandit captain over a decade ago," Duncan explained, lifting the device from its velvet lining. "The man was known as 'The Scorpion' throughout the eastern provinces. Quite deadly with this, by all accounts. Uncle kept it as a souvenir after justice was served."

  I reached out hesitantly, running my fingers along the cool metal. The hook ended in a wicked point, yet the inside curve was blunted—designed to grab and hold rather than slash.

  "It's... perfect," I said, genuinely touched by the gift.

  I couldn’t believe he had this. I’d suspect he somehow read my journal about getting a hook hand if he wasn’t practically a boy scout.

  "The harness should fit your arm with minimal adjustment," Duncan continued, his tone becoming more businesslike. "The attachment mechanism is quite clever—it distributes weight across your forearm rather than putting pressure on the end of your stump."

  He demonstrated how the various straps and buckles worked and I made sure to memorize every step. I would need to learn how to both put this on and remove it every day.

  After correcting me a couple of times with a strap here and there, I finally had it firmly in place. I could feel something mentally click in place with my mind as I stared at it. My gear normally gave me only passive abilities and this was the first time I had an item with an active power. But I knew on an instinctive level what to do.

  With just a thought, I activated the Scorpion Sting.

  The hook's transformation was immediate and mesmerizing. The silver inlays pulsed with an eerie light as the hook's shape elongated, the curve straightening slightly while the tip narrowed to a needle-fine point that looked capable of piercing plate armor. A viscous black substance began seeping from microscopic pores in the metal, coating the entire surface with what appeared to be oil but moved with unnatural purpose, clinging to the hook rather than dripping away.

  "Fascinating," Duncan murmured, leaning closer to examine the metamorphosis. "The stories mentioned a poison, but seeing it manifest like this..."

  I rotated my arm, watching how the black substance caught the light not reflecting it, but seeming to absorb it. The hook felt lighter somehow, more a part of me than a foreign attachment. With another thought, I deactivated the ability, and the hook returned to its original state, the black substance evaporating like morning mist.

  "Duncan, I think I need to rethink my approach to combat," I said, flexing my arm to test the hook's weight. "A short sword isn't practical anymore. Would you happen to have a good dagger and hand crossbow I could use instead?"

  Duncan nodded, clearly having anticipated this request. "Of course. Follow me."

  He led me to another section of the armory where smaller weapons were displayed. After some consideration, he selected a well-balanced dagger with a bone handle and a compact hand crossbow of superior craftsmanship.

  "These should serve you well," he said, handing them over. "The crossbow has a smoother cocking mechanism than most—having a hook instead of a hand shouldn’t make reloading it difficult."

  I took the weapons, testing their weight and balance. They felt right somehow, more appropriate for my new fighting style than the short sword that had served me for so long.

  "Here," I said, unstrapping my short sword and offering it to Duncan. "I'd like you to keep this at the armory. I feel like I should give something back for all this generosity."

  Duncan accepted the blade with both hands, examining it with a warrior's critical eye. "A fine weapon, well-maintained despite its use. I'll find a place for it here."

  As I secured the dagger to my belt and adjusted the hand crossbow's holster, a familiar notification appeared in my vision.

  [System Notice: Equipment Change Detected] [Recalculating Combat Abilities...] [Update on Status Profile]

  I instantly called up my Status Profile, ninety-nine percent sure of what I’d see.