“GRIM is a problem.”

Councilman Altham Volkest gazed down at the upper district of Forgedalk from the tall window that dominated one side of his office. He traced the squat government buildings that circled the rises and falls of the bordering sections. Despite the office being several dozen stories high, he was forced to crane his neck to stare up at the top of the Spire when he scanned to the east. It stood in stark contrast to the distant border mountains that separated Tevilandis from the Eastern Kingdom of demihumans.

Altham adjusted the upturned collar under his silk surcoat as he draped his heavy councilman robes over the back of a cushioned chair. The room felt stifling despite the plentiful space.

He had recently received distressful news involving his men who were sent to keep tabs on Evan McCarthy's movements. Apparently, there was some sort of disturbance in the demihuman district that his people went to investigate as they watched for any strange interactions at the fox woman's tea shop.

As a result, five of his men were dead. Well, technically, they were missing in action. The only evidence Altham received were the words of one survivor. The statement of a single individual under his charge wasn't enough proof to pose any allegations, especially if they didn't even have all the bodies or material evidence showing the demihumans' or GRIM's involvement. But he believed the reports from his people. They were some of the best spies he had at his disposal, retired individuals with experience as former field agents and private mercenaries. These same people had been taken unawares without a fight.

The first few bodies were spirited away by what the survivor called 'an apparition in a white mask.' The remaining corpses were burned beyond recognition, and even the armor would take a considerable amount of time to analyze for any identifying marks. Some were found a few blocks to the west away from the main plaza, while others were located further south. There was no reason for his men to position themselves in such a manner if they were taking the fastest route to the plaza.

Matters were further complicated when Altham learned that the bodies found and the ones “spirited away” did not match with the number of people he sent, which meant that there were clearly individuals involved outside his authority.

Evan McCarthy and his guild had also ghosted from the scene in much the same manner. None of Altham's reserves that scoured the perimeter saw him leave the district.

After some reconnaissance and exploration of possibilities with his closest advisers, they had reached an unfavorable conclusion: GRIM was planning to leave the city for La'abrine. Evelyn Fortellia's presence in the district couldn't even remotely be a coincidence, and the port city was the best option since there had already been a mass migration from the capital city.

Altham bit his thumb and looked out the window again. His whole body trembled when he recounted the last High Council meeting. That fucking field master. What was his name? Right, fucking Hanlon and his bitch spellcaster – making a fool of me. Think you're still some big, righteous heroes?

Thanks to their meddling, he was forced to implement his backup plan, and he loathed being at the mercy of outside assistance.

Altham took a few deep breaths as he lowered his arm. When he managed to compose himself somewhat, he turned to the older man who stood in front of his desk. The man's feet were at the center of a grandiose, spiraling carpet comprised of melding colors akin to a splash painting. The thick lines and curves narrowing towards the middle had the effect of making someone appear smaller. This pleased the young Volkest somewhat.

The man rose from his extended bow, but the hand held to his chest remained in place as he spoke,“I agree, sir. If McCarthy continues his policy of unification, then the Guild Union will gain more leverage beyond our borders.”

Altham gritted his teeth. “Speaking of borders...our defense to the west is taking longer than we predicted. The nobility will start raising questions. We don't need them dividing our efforts.”

And of course, those godsdamned Xerscians in that useless hunting village, he thought offhandedly.

Altham rested his hands on the polished oak desk and stared at its unmarred surface. A single document rested at its center. “Did you send for him, Otis?”

The older man, Otis, nodded, his gray dreadlocks bobbing with the movement over his open-collared shirt. Altham found himself irritated further by his lead assistant's lack of gentility with appearance, even if it was rather trite.

As if on cue, the double doors of the large chamber opened to admit a young man in leather armor, who Altham estimated to be somewhere around his late twenties to early thirties. A longbow was slung over his shoulder, but the quiver that complemented it was absent. No other weapons appeared on his person.

The desk attendant that was meant to announce him trailed behind hurriedly and bowed apologetically to Altham. “I-I'm so sorry, sir. He just barged in-”

“It's fine,” Altham interrupted the young woman. “Return to your duties.”

The attendant made a few more quick bows before grabbing each of the doors. She hesitated for only a second to give the archer's back a sour look before retreating to the waiting room.

The young man strode confidently to the center rug and made a point of passing Otis to stand in front of him. A derisive sneer crawled along his face as he examined the lavish room.

His eyes settled on a bookshelf that conquered the entirety of one wall. “Bet you never read half those books.” He let out a chuckle and folded his arms over his chest.

Altham's eye twitched a bit at the comment, but he maintained a neutral expression without answering.

Otis stepped forward and rested a hand on the smug archer's shoulder. “There are others we may call upon for this task. Don't consider yourself immune. We can expunge all your citizenship records and reveal every quest report at the Guild Union, especially the ones involving certain outworld adventurers.” The tightening of his fingers was palpable as the leather armor pressed inward. “Does a permanent vacation back to Xersceld sound enticing?”

The archer scoffed and brushed the man's hand off. “Yet you still waited for me so patiently.” He turned his attention back to Altham. Despite his words, it was clear that the threat shook him somewhat. “So, what's the job?”

Altham did well to hide his irritation and maintained an air of authority. After all, he was a high councilman, and son of the chief councilman.

He ignored the archer's question and opened one of the drawers at his desk. He reached in with both hands, lifted a stack of papers and dumped them on the desk from a generous height to add more weight to his words. The dull thud of combined heavy parchment echoed in the room.

“You've accepted a number of jobs in the past,” Altham said. “Some of them were not from me directly. Your efficiency and discretion is of utmost importance when dealing with outworlders.” He purposefully stared down at the solitary parchment on the desk's opposite side and recited some names aloud, “Desiree Miller, Robert Kazinski and...” He paused at the last name before speaking again, “Alphonse Kneller.”

The archer's smile visibly faltered at the mention of the last name.

Altham seized the opportunity, “Something the matter?”

The archer was silent for a time. The echo in the room had already receded, but it seemed to instill itself upon him.

“Scouts are...problematic” the archer finally said.

Altham grinned. “Well, I'm pleased that all of their deaths are described as 'occupational hazards' and such in the Guild Union's reports. I want you to apply similar prudence for this next job.”

The archer shifted on his feet uncomfortably. He averted his gaze, and it seemed like there was something particularly fascinating about a potted plant in a far corner of the room.

“You want me to kill another outworlder,” the archer surmised.

“Correct.”

The archer made to spit on the floor, but stopped himself when he noticed the hard gaze of the older man standing behind him. He straightened himself and stretched his neck side to side as a substitute.

“Fine. But I want double the normal rate. My anonymity is at risk, since I'm still on all this paperwork, and people are going to start recognizing me. This has to be the last job.” He looked up at the ceiling. “Fuck. Scouts are a real pain in the ass.”

Otis stepped forward and approached Altham's desk. The high councilman presented him with a document containing the details of the mission. The older man gave it another once-over as part of procedure and handed it to the archer.

The archer's frown deepened as he read it over. Altham waited patiently.

“GRIM...” the archer trailed off as he read the rest of the document. “Evan McCarthy...”

A long silence followed. The archer read the document again. Altham had expected some hesitance. The adventurer didn't usually express much more than disdain or a pompous, egotistical attitude, but there was something about his stance and the way he gripped the document that made him share an unspoken disquiet.

“I'll need a crew,” the archer said. He heaved a sigh and ran a hand through his disheveled blonde hair. “More than last time. The last job had some...complications, and I'll have to deal with these demihumans.”

“There are discussions in the Spire about the demihuman spellcaster,” Otis added. “Some of their reports say she might qualify as a top-tier spellcaster.”

After his assistant's declaration, Altham decided it was probably best to be as forthcoming as possible. “And the warrior demihuman is a terrible force to be reckoned with. We haven't forgotten the Siren Incident.”

“Exactly. So, those are my terms,” the archer said. “And I get to choose my people. They'll also need a cut of the original deal."

Altham feigned a contemplative look as he considered the archer's requests. The price for the job was outrageous, but he had prepared for it.

The archer read his look and had an explanation ready, “Kneller gave me a hard time on that last job. I had to use my last resort on him and exposed myself. I managed to deal with the warrior in our party, but it would've been impossible without Serena and our reserves outside the dungeon to back me up. We were able to chalk their deaths up to incompetence, since the outworlders were only here a couple months at the time, but that won't work here.

“Scouts are smart. They always take the most unpredictable path, and they see way more than we do. I'm absolutely convinced of that. If I'm going to do this job clean, then I'll need these people so I can isolate McCarthy.”

Altham sunk into his chair and drummed his fingers on the desk. He knew that this job was going to hit him hard financially, but he needed GRIM out of the way before they spread their influence and turned into a bigger issue. Killing Evan McCarthy was the best way to destroy the guild's morale, and Altham was convinced that outworlder scouts were the greatest threat in the long-term. Once the leader was dealt with, they could proceed from there. Kirie and Asa Foirena would have to be left for another time. It would be too suspicious for all of them to perish at once. The death of their leader might also cloud their judgment and force them into a reckless offensive, which made punishing them within the law much more feasible.

Altham wished Serena Melcott hadn't tucked her tail between her legs and scurried back over the border to Xersceld. She was certainly the more level-headed of the two Xerscians.

He gave the archer a measured look. “If I agree to these requests, will you accept the job?”

The archer's characteristic, smug confidence returned. Altham hated to acknowledge it, but an involuntary chill crawled down his spine when he saw the wicked grin splayed on his face.