“It is said that the first king of Callir was a chosen of Xito. For a long time, it was unclear whether or not this man had been one of the first six heroes, although it recently was determined that his reign was far too close to our current era for it to be possible. Records do assert that he was the founder of the Blood church, however. None of his descendants inherited the mark, and in fact almost a century passed without Xito choosing a champion. While his bloodline was able to rule over a peaceful city for some time as they concealed this truth, the population eventually realized that the mark of the Blood, ironically, was not something that could be passed through blood. From that moment onward, trouble ensued for the royal family.

-historical records of Callir”

* * *

Astrael

“Mmh... So that's the craftsmen's guild there?” He pointed toward a specific building in the eastern part of the city.

“Yes,” Julia answered with tire, “and around it you'll find all sorts of workshops and factories.”

I should like to see that, Astrael thought, nodding in satisfaction. From the windows of the last floor of the temple, he had spent the better part of the afternoon observing the city and asking Julia about various things, ranging from buildings that simply caught his attention, to places he was actually looking for. By now he had composed a solid map of the city in his mind, and even without remembering the exact emplacement of everything, he was confident he could find his way around.

Anyway, I don't see how anyone could fail to get his bearings, with both the keep and the temple sticking out beyond the roofs wherever you are...

While he was monopolizing Julia for his scouting operation, Rina was probably being pampered by her new servants in her chambers. He was sure that if he was to barge into the room, he'd find her surrounded by people brushing her hair and donning her clothes.

“That should be enough...” Hearing that, Julia expressed her relief with a long sigh. “I guess I'll step out for a bit now.”

“Eh? What? Now, of all times?” It was already late in the afternoon, indeed, but Astrael was not one to care. After spending hours walking around in the temple, listening to Phiramel's lectures on this and that, he had to get some air. Actual air, stinking air from the city, not the perfumed one he could breath here in the temple's garden. He also had things to do, and did not feel like delaying his preparations.

“I won't be long,” he reassured her. “Don't wait for me for dinner though,” he added and winked.

Julia shrugged, not wanting to put up a fight. “I'll call for a guard, at least.”

“Oh, am I entitled to that? I thought I would have the privilege of being rigorously unescorted, something to match with the cramped room I've been provided with.”

“Why don't you become a street comedian and refrain from coming back here at all, while you're at it? I'm sure you would be successful in no time, what with your witty remarks and all that.”

“I deserve no such praise,” he retorted before bowing. “Send my manservant at the temple's gates, will you? I'll pass by Rina's room first. Oh, and please give me a mean looking guard, if possible.” Julia nodded without energy and took the stairs.

Of course, Astrael didn't only probe Julia about the city's layout during what must have been tedious hours for her – he also innocently inquired about the residents of the floor, the nobility and the council of Callir.

She was evasive, but the few words she let out were enough to confirm some of his conjectures. Leon Feanir, for instance, held an important place in the temple and was entitled to a room here, even more so now that his bloodsguard would follow its original purpose, but he apparently lived in his father's estate, in the inner city. Perhaps it would change now that the chosen one had arrived, though, so Astrael guessed that the man would soon move here.

Needless to say, Leon and his lord father both had seats in the ruling council. Since Leon was a close friend of Phiramel – the bloodsguard was to protect the heads of the church, not only the hero, so they had spent quite a lot of time together – it was safe to assume that the high-priest had dealings with the Feanir house. Because of the influence wielded by the title of hero, Rina would be an important asset for them, provided they managed to get her on their side.

Of course, Astrael's goal here was to prevent his sister from becoming a simple pawn. He had to think of a way to deal with whatever enemies he would encounter.

He went to Rina's room but was denied entry by a servant. The young mistress was bathing, she said, so he left a message to tell her he had gone out. Took the stairs and before going to the hall, stopped at his floor to fetch his purse and some writing tools, another gift from Horace – a wax tablet and a stylus. Paper and ink weren't as costly as back in his days, but he'd rather keep these precious materials for diagrams and such, and he would only be taking notes today. Wax used to be the norm for him, so he didn't mind the impractical aspects of it.

He looked at his clothes and grimaced. He really looked like a peasant, he felt he was sticking out too much inside the temple. Rummaging through the few belongings he had, he found something that was only slightly better than his dirtied clothing. A dull grey tunic and a pair of black pants, that would probably suffice to replace his country-boy appearance by the much more respected city-dwelling commoner look. Or so he hoped.

Astrael halted his march once he was in the hall. It was still silent, though now there was a priest praying in front of Xito's statue, and an acolyte wandering around and lighting candles. He took a deep breath as he observed once more the frescos on the ceiling. He had promised himself he would come sit there and study them more carefully later, but for now he simply gazed at one particular parcel, the one he had spotted earlier. He still harboured doubts, but he had the feeling the man up there was indeed who he thought he was. There was no mistaking the armour painted in vibrant crimson, the long golden hair, and the spear held in these damn gloved hands, though the events depicted were unknown to him.

Must have happened after I died... he concluded with a faint smile showing on his face. I see you didn't get any saner even in old age, always getting involved in overly dangerous battles in the name of Xito, eh? Degoxamaton, dear colleague.

He walked toward the entrance gates and among the knights posted there, he singled out the most intimidating fellow, the only one with a badly shaven chin and greasy hair in fact. The man noticed Astrael with his sharp, mean eyes and approached before making a half-assed bow.

“I take it you're young master Astrael,” said the guy who sounded more like he was growling instead of speaking. ...What, me too? Not that I mind being called like that. “Bert, at your service.”

Astrael eyed the man more closely. Mail over his tunic, longsword and knife sheathed at his waist. Bert looked like a merc, sounded like a merc, even smelled like a merc, hell, perhaps he actually used to be one, though there was no doubt he was linked to the church in some way. From what he had gathered, the temple of Callir didn't employ outsiders.

He'll do perfectly, even though I could have managed with a servant merely looking the part.

“Then let us be on our way, good sir Bert. I hope you like window-shopping.” The man grunted in a way that made it impossible to guess whether he did like it or not. Not that he had a choice anyway.

They stepped outside and crossed the main plaza, toward the eastern part of the city. Facing the temple of Xito on the other side of the plaza, was a sanctuary of Atharemine. This one looked to be well-maintained, as expected of a prosperous city like Callir. Ten minutes hadn't even gone by that Astrael did not need to bother avoiding people, carriages and horses in the streets anymore. Bert was apparently frightening everyone who was misfortunate enough to meet his gaze, and so their path would clear itself on its own as they walked.

Very convenient, even though it wasn't Astrael's initial intention.

“So tell me, Bert,” he said, trying to break the ice since they still had ways to go before their destination, “how long have you been working for the church?”

“For some time.”

“For some time,” Astrael repeated as if there was anything to appreciate about that short, unfriendly answer. “And how did you come in its service?”

“Got hired.”

“You got hired, I see.” He jumped over a puddle of muddy water, while Bert stepped in it without a care. Astrael turned his head to face him and took a forced, loud tone. “Not really the talkative type, are we!”

Bert shrugged and did not appear to be annoyed. He didn't look like he cared about anything, in fact. Are you dead inside or something? But, miraculously, he spoke. “Sister Julia told me to watch over you, so I'll do just that.”

“Ah.” Now we're going somewhere. That meant she probably hand-picked him. Was he ordered to keep tabs on Astrael? He needed to be wary of Julia, too.

Eventually they arrived in front of the craftsmen's guild. But they would not enter that building yet, and instead went around to look for smiths and carpenters. After doing a bit of asking, which proved surprisingly difficult because of Bert scaring away most people, they were directed toward a workshop known for its craftsmen of good repute and skill. Bert casually mentioned how Astrael could have simply asked him, for he knew his way around the neighbourhood and would have also advised to seek this workshop in particular.

Astrael didn't show his anger, but it was clearly there. Soon enough, they found the place and entered.

“Sazin bless you,” Astrael bellowed as one worker was about to greet him. This earned him knowing glances from the craftsmen and even from Bert. It really seemed like this custom had become an old, half-forgotten habit only perpetuated among specific communities, and going by these guys' reaction, it was not something an eight year-old boy was expected to know.

“May he bless you too,” the worker eventually muttered back, nodding. Astrael had to admit he was proud of himself for this unexpected development he had brought about. The best way to make a good first impression with craftsmen was to honour their patron-god, and it looked like it only became truer as time went by. “How can I help you?”

“Are you knowledgable about crossbows? Better yet, would happen to sell some? I'd like to see one.”

The craftsman stared at the definitely not high-born boy who had made this surprising request, but the glances he gave Bert told Astrael that his plot was working. No smith would care for a child's questions about weaponry, and they certainly wouldn't bother to accommodate his requests. But having a tough looking mercenary around would change anyone's mind. Perhaps they thought that the boy was rich enough to afford a guard despite his appearance, or that they were somehow related, or that they were thugs of some sort... Whatever conclusion they would come to, Astrael had no intention to clarify the misunderstanding he willingly created.

“If you would follow me.” The man led them to one of the booths. “This is the model used by the citywatch,” he said while pointing to a crossbow which, after a few seconds of observation, was very similar to the one Euronel had drawn in his book. Still unsure of the nature of his customers, the worker attempted to give advice. “Err... One would need strength to reload it, in a way that a child would not manage, but a grown man could.”

He proceeded to demonstrate by sticking his foot in the stirrup before pulling the string of the crossbow. It did look difficult enough, though Astrael already knew that.

Meaning to thank him for his unnecessary yet kind advice, he smiled to the craftsman, but Bert kept displaying an aggressive expression – his normal face – and it only served to make the vendor feel more uneasy than he surely already was. Astrael made use of Bert's uncanny charms to take notes on his wax tablet undisturbed. The size of the components, the materials, and his own observations about how the parts worked with each other. He already had ideas about what to improve, mainly the reloading process, even if it was still vague.

I'll need to come back later, and study the thing until I've figured it out.

He asked for the cost of one crossbow, and it was far too much for him, as expected. He then tried to inquire about the production costs, but the worker did his best to avoid revealing any useful information. Astrael did not give up yet, and after thanking the man, he dragged Bert inside a bunch of other workshops, asking different metal workers and carpenters for advice and cost estimates for the crossbows parts.

Whenever a craftsman was reluctant to advise Astrael, Bert's intimidating features demonstrated their usefulness.

After a good hour of information gathering, note taking and silent intimidating, Astrael deemed his foundations good-enough for his homemade crossbow. He would only need funds for the time being, so he had to think of a way.

“Are we done here, young master?” Bert said after glancing at the sky. “Evening's almost there.”

He visualized his more or less accurate mental map of the city before answering. “Hm. I have one last place to visit before going back.”

“Won't you be late for supper? You've got your sister's official introduction and all that.”

“Eh, you seem entirely aware of my schedule. Julia put you up to it?” The guard gave one of his non-committal shrugs. “Well, it's fine. This is going to be quick.”

They walked until they found an apothecary shop, a few streets away from the craftsmen's guild. It was best if Julia didn't hear too much about this stop, so he asked Bert to stay outside, saying something about wanting to avoid scaring the vendor, to persuade him not to go in. They could see the apothecary from outside, and since he was an old man who seemed perfectly afraid of the merc standing in front of his door, Astrael's request was granted.

He looked around inside the shop, under the wary eyes of the vendor. Carefully observing the plants and herbs, some he knew from his past life, others he had learned about from Horace, and a few he couldn't identify from memory. After a moment, he sighed in annoyance. There should have been other poisons than the plant-based ones was already taking measures against, but he wanted to narrow it down to the most dangerous. He went to the counter and faced the apothecary. “Good day !”

“Evening,” the vendor corrected haughtily. “What do you want, kid?”

“My father sent me. He's a hunter and wishes to know if you have any really strong poison that would do for, err, bear hunting, I think it was?”

The old man squinted his eyes and grunted. “There are no bears around Callir.”

“...Boar, then,” Astrael said and tried to look like a forgetful child who had an habit of mistaking the names of animals.

The apothecary shook his head. “Eh, that so? But your father should come to me directly.” He stared at Bert who was still waiting outside, and must have been pondering whether or not the man was Astrael's father. “I can't let a clumsy kid like you near anything dangerous.”

“Oh, don't worry. He didn't give me any money, he only wanted to know if you had any suggestions.”

“...I'd recommend the ones made from snake venoms. A bit hard to get your hands on around here, and pricey, but it gets the job done.” He paused and cleared his throat before speaking loudly enough for Bert to hear. “Got lots of the stuff back there, I can make him a price.”

Astrael gave him a large smile. “I'll be sure to tell him, thank you.” He left the shop and went back to the temple with Bert. Had the merc been wanting to know what business Astrael had here, he would have told some tale about sending rare ingredients for his teacher Horace in his village – but Bert didn't inquire about anything.

It appeared that venoms were another popular ingredient for poisons here. Only lords and wealthy patrons would bother to pay for these venom-based poisons, but it was necessary nonetheless. I could capture snakes myself, but it would take too long... No, I'm not sure I could manage it alone with this body. I don't even know how to make such toxins. That meant he had to add another purchase on his shopping list. Or he could ask Horace for help... If push comes to shove, I can sell my books, but I really want to avoid that.

In any case, it wasn't as if he needed a large quantity of venom right now. Just a little would do until he had more money, and what mattered the most was that the plants were, as he had been told by Horace, fairly affordable, if not outright cheap. That meant he probably wouldn't need to go outside the city in order to get his poisons.

That was enough thinking of deadly meals and nefarious cooking for the day. He'd have a nice, non-poisonous supper tonight, at least if he wasn't late. But the sky was already darkening, and the temple wasn't exactly nearby. They weren't even using the same path as they did earlier, because they had gone to the apothecary, a bit further south. Now that it was evening, these streets were starting to get crowded with a different kind of citizens. It wasn't the same neighbourhood, after all.

They passed in front of an herbalist's shop whose clientele was a bunch of rag-wearing foreigners with exotic features and skin. A man laying down on the steps of a stairway was smoking opium, gazing at the people walking around, with empty eyes and his mouth agape. The muffled music of a harp could be heard through the chatting noises, and the melody got clearer and clearer as Astrael entered what he immediately knew to be the red-light district.

The girls, watching the street from their balconies and showing a fair amount of flesh through their almost transparent clothings, were observing him with curious eyes. One of them was wicked enough to call out to Astrael, and some bulky brute blocking the doorway immediately glared at him, perhaps trying to remind this potential customer that he would need to pay up front, as if his age wasn't enough of an issue.

I suppose standards and common sense get slightly altered in such places. The things they would do for a few silver coins...

“Now, Bert, I know the girls have a thing for aloof, mysterious guys like you,” Astrael said while turning to him, “but remember you have a jo-...” He paused and frowned, as the merc was nowhere to be seen. The crowd had separated them, most likely. Or maybe he really went in one of the brothels? Great...

A quick glance around told him he would have a hard time finding the man who was meant to be his bodyguard, and that he would perhaps do better to return to the temple by himself instead. Calling out the merc's name would only serve to attract attention, which was exactly the thing that an already conspicuous eight year-old wanted to avoid in such a place.

The street they had first used when they exited the temple shouldn't have been too far, he could easily find his way and get back via a less debauched path.

He observed the dark sky, spotted the even darker silhouettes of the temple and the keep, and walked through some side alley that he guessed would more or less lead him toward his destination. Still, the situation made him chuckle. What sort of face was Bert the impassible mercenary making right now? Sister Julia would chew him out if she learned that he had lost the boy he was supposed to watch, in the red-light district of all places... The bodyguard was probably panicked, even though it would surely never show on his face. Well, if he managed to get some interesting reaction out of him, that could be considered a worthy achievement.

A clattering noise made him glance at his feet. He had inadvertently kicked some iron jug and spilled whatever liquid was previously in it. Wine, judging by the colour.

“Hey!” a voice echoed in the alley, followed by unintelligible muttering. Astrael's eyes followed the trickle of alcohol running between the paved stones, until they reached a wall to his left. Three drunkards were sitting against it and got to their feet before approaching him and showing off their nasty grins.

“Yerr' gunna pay for that, brat?” said one of these elegant prowlers, a small guy with a scruffy beard and a remarkable body odour. The stinking man crouched to Astrael's level and made him flinch when he opened his mouth once again, his vile breath escaping its jail of rotten teeth. “What's it gunna be? Huh?”

The largest of the three patted the small one with his elbow and pointed to Astrael's waist, where a small bump could be seen under his tunic. “I see he gots silver 'ight here, I thinks.”

The third one simply grunted, his nose and cheeks redder than a rose and his balance almost as nonexistent as his soberness. Astrael surveyed the alley in the corner of his eyes, glancing at wooden planks, jars, large stones, but ultimately decided that running away would be less of a hassle.

Can I outrun them? Drunk as they are, it shouldn't be too hard.

But as he was about to put into action the escape he had been contemplating, a foot appeared between the legs of the large guy, and was brutally slammed against his crotch. I recognize that foot, Astrael thought as the man whimpered and crumbled on the ground, revealing the owner of said foot behind him.

“Ah, Bert” he greeted while hastily backing away. “I was starting to wonder where you had gone.”

“Friends of yours, young master?” the merc asked as he punched the smaller guy in the guts, so hard that he was then out of breath, and sent him flying on his colleague's convulsing body. I think you really hurt that one...

He shook his head as if he really felt the need to answer Bert's question, and caught a glimpse of something shiny in the hand of the staggering last guy, the drunkest of all three. Astrael didn't think twice and grabbed a paving stone not far from him, as the man tightened his grip on his knife and neared Bert. Astrael smashed the stone on the drunkard's knee to make him fall, then cracked his skull once it was in his reach, before the victim could even let out a cry of pain.

The attacker collapsed on the ground, red ooze running from its temple and slowly mixing with the wine Astrael had spilled earlier. His eyes half-closed, the drunkard moaned, confirming that he was still alive. It would be a shame to commit murder on my first day here...

He looked up and met Bert's impassible eyes. Especially with a witness. What will it be now? The merc had his fingers loosely wrapped around the guard of his dagger, and kept the pose for a few seconds. Had he first done so because of the knife-wielding drunkard, or because of Astrael's improvisation? There was no doubt the latter had something to do with it, but the boy kept silent, until Bert eventually blinked and turned around.

He walked toward the alley's exit, not even glancing behind him to check if Astrael was following him. “We should get back, young master,” he simply said. “You're already late for supper, but it's not a reason to linger around here.”