Another restriction on the Ratkin is that they cannot claim any hub crystals as their own. This means that they have limited access to the System’s functions while on Idroa. These functions can be very powerful if utilised well, which is why the Ratkin aim to destroy all the hub crystals of other settlements. Fortunately, this cannot be done by a lone agent sneaking in through the night as the System warns all the settlement’s citizens when damage is done to the hub crystal, which is why the Ratkin prefer to wage war and crush armies before shattering the crystals.

Giada Marino - Scholar - Intricacies of the System

____

Silas trod down the marble steps, taking the winding path which descended into the pits. A musty stench assailed his senses, laced with ammonia, and informed him that this chamber was badly ventilated. While the smell made him grimace and cover his twitching nose with his palm, the thought somewhat calmed his tumultuous mind.

The risk he was taking here was ridiculously high, but the danger was not with Hel’Tier. During his interrogation, Retil had admitted limited contact with his illustrious grandpa, which meant the sorcerer was hardly equipped to discern the differences between Silas and his actual grandson. No, the real danger was in the family members in the manor, those who had watched him walk past, those who were close to Retil and who would ambush him the second he left this chamber. They wanted answers, and his answers would only tip them off on how different he was from Retil.

For this reason, he had two plans prepared for when he left this chamber. If by chance everything went smoothly and he was to be admitted to the Sorcerers Temple at once, he would sustain his act for a while longer, checking out the temple before slipping away. If, however, Hel’Tier told him to wait or anything else that led to an unfavourable outcome, he would leave at once. He had gained nearly everything he had wanted from this scouting mission, so really he was already overreaching with this, but he had been so caught up in the moment with Retil’s cousin that he now found himself in a position of no-return.

Despite the stench worsening, Silas’s attention wandered instead to the faint glow that came from the last turn of the steps. The plop of raindrops falling into a pool of water reached his ears, accompanied by soft, rhythmic breathing. The ambient mana here was far thicker than elsewhere, and quickly popping up his status to check, Silas noticed his mana recovery rate had jumped up fivefold. He stepped around the last corner and came to a large stone chamber. While the edges were all paved, the centre gave way to a giant pool of glowing blue mana, its surface cut by a cross-shaped platform.

There was a ratman sitting cross-legged in the middle, wearing only a pair of khaki sweatpants. His fur was short and grey, his wispy white whiskers drooping down from his face. The face in question was scarred in several areas with patches of wrinkly skin instead of hair, and his eyes were closed. From the strong arcane presence, Silas knew this was Hel’Tier, Retil’s grandfather and a sorcerer of great power.

The aged sorcerer’s eyes snapped open and regarded Silas with a faint smile, although this faded as quick as it had come. “You’re no Smallfoot, beast. What are you?” Then the smile returned, this time cruel and twisted. “How did you even get past the checks at the burrow? I had thought it surprising one of my line knew runesmithing, but it appears it was just a beast wearing my kin’s skin.” Hel’Tier rose slowly, calmly stretching his arms.

Contrarily, Silas’s reaction was immediate and fearsome, crossing the space between them in a single heartbeat. This threw Hel’Tier off-foot, who stepped back with widened eyes. Whatever realisation the ratman had, it was too late as Silas slashed against his mana barrier once, twice, and it shattered immediately. The sorcerer tried to cast an emergency spell, but Silas struck a third time, the machete sweeping over Hel’Tier’s craned neck and rending it apart. His head bounced from the stone and tumbled into the mana pool, an inky growing tendril of red polluting the brilliant sapphire.

No time to rest, Silas moved towards the edges of the chamber, checking all the tunnels that led into other rooms. Fortunately, it seemed this was Hel’Tier’s private space as there was no one else here, just some horrific experiments, countless scrawled papers of observations and theories, and invaluable artifacts. But Silas had no time for any of this as he returned and knelt beside the beheaded sorcerer, wiping his machete blade against the sweatpants and cleaning off the blood.

Fishing the head from the manapool, he took the body and it into a room full of artifacts, dumping them in a dark, dusty corner that he prayed no one would chance on for a while. He returned to the pool and scooped several handfuls of the liquid onto the platform, washing away the blood with his boots. It took him a good minute to finish up, and even then it was clear something had happened here by the stubborn splotches on the crossing and the murky darkness in the manapool. Regardless, Silas hoped entrants wouldn’t immediately link the remnants of this mess to a merciless killing.

His plan had gone completely wrong, and the luck that had carried him until now had finally run out. From Hel’Tier’s words, he could see now that the sorcerers at the burrow were meant to screen for people like him, spies wearing ratman skin and fur. They had certainly suspected him and maybe they would have discovered his secret there as well if not for him name dropping Hel’Tier, forcing them to back off. Silas could only be thankful that they had been such weak sorcerers as he figured ones as strong as Hel’Tier would have seen through to the truth in an instant.

But most of all, he was grateful that this bodysuit dulled his aura, otherwise Hel’Tier would never have dared to act so lax in his presence and provide the golden opportunity. He knew the aged sorcerer had been trying an emergency measure in the end, and he could only hope it had been a self-preservation attempt instead of an effort to warn other sorcerers of Silas’s presence. By the fact it had been near five minutes since the killing and no one seemed to be charging down the stairs to kill him, he bet on the former and chose to carry out the rest of his original escape plan.

Other than the dull stains on his machete and his frenzied expression, he still looked the same as he had entered. He stopped by the foot of the stairs and breathed in deeply through his nose, exhaling through his mouth for twenty revolutions until finally his nerves pacified enough for him to ready up. He slapped his face twice with both hands, then began to ascend with steady steps, reaching the top after a minute. He stopped just before the doorway, hooked his machete back to his belt, and put on his most flustered expression.

Pulling open the door by the metal handle, he immediately came face-to-face with a small crowd. His coming heart attack subsided when he recognised the gathered ratmen as Retil’s family rather than a host of soldiers. They grew animated at his appearance, yelling and staring with expectant eyes. However, Silas acted the opposite, lowering his head further as he left the tunnel, making sure to close the door behind him.

“Retil, what’s wrong?” the cousin who had brought him here asked with concern, reaching out with a hesitant hand.

Silas pushed past it, covering his head in shame. “I just need some time alone,” he said, half sobbing, shoving through the crowd. He was betting it all on the ratkin being sympathetic to their kind, based on all the other similarities he had seen between them and humans, and it appeared he was right as the ratmen willingly split apart for him after a second. Although there were some anxious calls for him, none of them hounded after him when he rushed out of Hel’Tier’s manor, fortunately remembering the way he had taken in.

The guards at the gate briskly opened the gates for the young lord, and Silas allowed his hasty steps to take him to the steep staircase that led out of the massive cavern which housed Ratterinks. Once he was in the tunnel, he broke into a full out run, bounding through its dark corridors in a mad sprint for his life. Although it had taken him and Tawny near two hours to descend to Ratterinks, it only took him twenty minutes to ascend to the surface, reaching the squat structure. He threw its doors open and dashed out, fearing the waiting guards would attempt to apprehend him but instead they blankly watched on in confusion.

All the same, Silas ignored their reactions and kept up his pace. It had been an hour or so since the murder, and while he had made it out of Ratterinks free, he knew he wasn’t safe just yet.

****

Xe’Hekon heard a knock on the door and roused from his meditation. He gestured lazily and the door flung open, allowing the initiate to step through with a bowed head.

“Speak.”

“Master, it is news about Hel’Tier of the second order,” the initiate said, maintaining his gaze on the floor. “His family claims that he has died.”

Xe’Hekon was in motion at once, brushing past the initiate and floating through the temple’s corridors within seconds. He came to the main hall and found several sorcerers huddled around another sorcerer of the second order. Turning to look at the new entrant, all the ratmen immediately lowered their heads on seeing Xe’Hekon’s stormy expression.

You could either break yourself or study patiently for a lifetime to gain power, but in the end it all came down to talent. And not only was Xe’Hekon, the Starfall, as talented as they came, he had also shattered himself thoroughly for power. He was not a ratman that others risked disrespecting. They all immediately moved out of his way, and the sorcerer of the second order bowed a greeting.

“Who?” Xe’Hekon asked, his gaze only deepening with menace as his question went unanswered. “Where?”

Finally, the sorcerer answered. “His manor, esteemed brother.”

Grunting acknowledgment, the Starfall was gone in a flash, soaring through the opening in the ceiling, flying out of the temple and shooting for Hel’Tier’s manor. It was a matter of moments before he reached his destination, the noise from within silencing at his sighting. He whizzed past the Smallfoots and their guards, making for his old mentor’s chamber. There were several more Smallfoots inside, but they scurried away after seeing a quick gesture from him.

Hel’Tier’s body was dusty, and his separated head still wore an expression of fright, the congealed blood sticky and crimson in the harsh glow of the room. Xe’Hekon finally lowered himself to the ground, his feet making contact with the cold stone, as he put his palm against Hel’Tier’s chest. A rush of mana poured out of his arm, and he pulled the ratman’s remaining spirit from the body. Having been mentored by Hel’Tier for several years, Xe’Hekon had known at once that his old mentor would split a portion of his spirit to remain in the material world before passing away.

The spirit couldn’t take form and thus couldn’t speak, being just wisps of energy, but Xe’Hekon was well-versed with spirit speech and made contact without wasting a moment, lest it began to fade away.

What happened here, master? Why do I find you dead in your own home?

Moaly, good, came the reply. It would appear a grandson of mine was replaced by a skin spy. I can only imagine how it got through the checks to enter Ratterinks but got through it had. What a miserable fate I have for this to be my end.

The Starfall was silent for a moment while he considered the revelation. But how did it kill you? You should have contacted me or another brother before confronting the skin spy if you believed it dangerous enough to threaten you.

It was my bad. I did not expect its power, although in retrospect I see the warning signs were all there in clear sight. By the time I realised it was a skin spy, it was on me, ravaging my mana barrier and butchering me before I could take a single breath.

Do you have any idea of who it was? Xe’Hekon asked.

My grandson was kidnapped by Silas Wycliffe three days before, returning only today and seemingly just to murder me. The speed and power the skin spy displayed here speak only of the very same Duellist.

I see. Let me first—

Forget that, Moaly. Just take vengeance, and that will be enough to honour me. That skin spy left only an hour ago, so it couldn’t have gotten far. Do not let it escape with my blood staining its filthy fingers.

Of course, master. Xe’Hekon’s hand dug deeper into his old master’s chest, caving it in as blood, flesh, and bone drew into his palm as if sucked up into the void. When he had taken enough, he pulled in the remnant spirit and absorbed that too, alongside a handful of manawater. When all three components combined together inside of him, there was an intense flash of pain before Hel’Tier’s murderer’s scent formed.

It was time to hunt.