Doessenhof was dirt hole of a city. It was so overrun by corruption that not even the street sweepers could do their job without paying protection money to three different gangs. Everyone was either a conman or a conned, and the luckiest were able to leave the city just as poor as they had entered it and without injury, most commonly down the mighty river Daune, towards richer cities, that had to deal with both the human and faecal scum the river carried to them. This corruption didn't just manifest in the distrusting glances of everyone except for blissful idiots, but also in the building themselves. The towers lacked any fused stone or metal support webs shaped around them and some even needed support from beams and struts as they reached further upward in an attempt to escape the rot and stink of the lower levels. With only a vestigial part of a noble family remaining and no university, Doessenhof lacked any capacity to bring forth mages with a vested interested to stay in the city. And so, neither law enforcement nor city planning had any way to accommodate the needs of a city as grand as Halonnes or Calestre.

Despite all of this, Garrett felt at home, for these were the streets that had raised him. Where he would tussle and scuffle with other children without parents to care about them; sometimes over pieces of bread and sausage, sometimes over marbles, smooth rocks or pointed sticks. Until a man named Mannerdon picked him up and decided to train him after finding out about Garrett's arcanely gifted parentage. At first Garrett believed he would leave this place behind, but he quickly found himself drawn back over and over again, glad to accept contracts from this place, cleaning up a few pieces of scum in the process. With so many conmen, crime lords and cowards, there were a lot of throats to slit, and skilled labour was in short supply.

Garrett interrupted his thoughts when he found his favourite inn, which also happened to be the meeting place for his contact for his current contract. The air inside was stagnant and smoky, the ale was tepid and tasteless and the back room was home to bare-fisted brawls and other gambler's delights. He went towards one of the booths further back, where he would soon be joined by a woman with the moniker 'Cara', a black-haired former beauty with more contacts than morals and willing to always trade a few more of the latter for the former.

She greeted him first. "It is good to see your reliable services offered again, Ralt."

Garrett responded to his moniker; it was a leftover of old times in the city. "It is good to be back in well-paying society. What is it the patrons need today?"

Cara produced a leather ledger and opened it. Inside was a simple contract, no official writ. Cara handed Ralt the paper. It made pretty clear that a man by the name – and this Ralt had to read several times over – "the Great Pachullionarezettelidas" was to be gotten rid of as quickly as possible. No seal or signature was visible anywhere, neither the guard nor any university or noble house. That always meant two things: The target was too big for anyone to willingly associate their name with the assassination and that the target had no affiliation outside of the city, at least no apparent one.

Ralt looked back up to Cara. "Any further information on this guy?"

"Not much. He appeared out of nowhere and makes quite a few powerful people problems with his rapid growth in influence. He's a real mage but wears no known university's colours."

Not a usual target, most commonly it was some sneak in the city guard who overstepped his bounds or someone with too much information trying to make a run for it, but this here was a serious threat to the fickle balance of bribing, blackmailing and back-stabbing that the many crime lords here spent most of their time with.

Ralt sighed. "Looks like I'll have to get back out the for some old-fashioned information gathering." He went over the contract again. The payment didn't sit well with him. It was just a little under his minimum for a mission where he would have to do most of the research himself. A quick glance over to the ledger told him that there was an ample supply of work to be done here, to be handed this specific contract right out the gate meant it was an urgent one with few takers, or none at all.

Cara had read his face and made the first move. "Unhappy about the payment?"

"Hmmm." Ralt hummed in agreement while going over the contract a few more times. "It is indeed a bit thin."

"I can grant you another quarter extra."

"No deal. Double the original sum."

Cara was visibly outraged by that demand. "DOUBLE? You're insane! Quarter!"

Ralt overshot on purpose, it would make his next demand seem more reasonable. "Half extra."

"A third. My last offer, take it or leave it."

It seemed poultry still, but Ralt planned on getting many more contracts via Cara, so he had to play it low for now. "Alright. I'll take the third extra."

Cara took a quill and changed the contract's terms accordingly, then she signed with her handle, as did Ralt. Normally he would sign with a spell that scorched onto the paper the seal of his Hidden Hand call sign, Purple Paw of Halonnes, but a contract that came without a seal itself was better not signed with something that connected him directly, not that anyone in Doessenhof had the ability or interest to even touch him, but a clean image was important when dealing with people who had one themselves. There was a place for dirt, and it was not the face. He made off with his copy of the contract and got to work.

Information gathering in Doessenhof was rather simple. Grab a few gang members, shake them a bunch, if that didn't help, punch them a lot, note down what they blabbered out, repeat.

And so, it came that two days later, Ralt was sitting in a sweltering, mouldy oven of an attic among the highest towers of Doessenhof. He had picked this tower as his launch point based on his scouting from the days before and was going through his plan. The Great Pachu – as he had decided to refer to the man with a rockslide for a name – was sitting on the highest floor of an unfinished tower. He had a sort of audience chamber in these lofty heights. Ralt reviewed his sketch of the positions of towers and where best to jump to.

He knew there was a blind spot that he could cling to and climb all the way to the unfinished roof without being seen from the inside. It would place him behind the place where Pachu sat and opposite of the guards protecting the entrance. The guards seemed not too well armoured, but he still had to deal with four combatants and the mage as well; he tore three Metal Storms, two Freezing Bolts and a Stomp from his cast book.

Ralt had also spied a few looks at Pachu from afar, and while his robes did not have the colours of any University Ralt knew, they were not covered in fake adornments like those of the charlatans that lined the streets, trying to sell useless crap as magic artefacts, which pointed to Pachu being at least properly trained, even without a degree and seal. If he had expressed his association to a University, that University would have most likely put out a bounty on his head to be dealt with quickly and discretely, rather than the crime lords of Doessenhof trying to make a loud example of him.

Without knowing where Pachu had learned magic, it was much more difficult to anticipate any specific spells during a confrontation. Ralt tore off an Arcane Lens. He also didn't know anything of his two "Ministers" who could well be casters or just better educated thugs. He went in mostly blind. But he knew he was very high up and everyone in that room had violent tendencies. He tore off two Feather Falls and a Shield Formation. Then he also tore off two Fuses and an Envelopment. Now he had everything he'd need. He checked his throwing knives; he preferred the ones with the broad blade and the cord wrapped around the shank. The shank was shaped into a ring at the end, big enough to put a finger through, which allowed him to handle them in the heat of combat quite well, as well as for some non-combat applications. He had eight, one each under bracers and shin guards, two each in sheathes on his upper hips, where his hands naturally rested. He checked his parry dagger. Its blade was long and thin with a strong central ridge, perfect for piercing armour and withstanding blows from heavier weapons. The cross guards were bent upwards, allowing him to catch a blade and twist it out of his opponent's hands. And the pommel was replaced with a small glass crystal ball, just like on a mage's staff, which allowed a wielder with the Arcane Gift to "store" a single woven spell in there for repeated uses, as long as they didn't lose their concentration. He put it back in its sheath on the right side of his waist. Below that hung a small flask with a greenish liquid, he would need it soon, then he checked his flux flask on his left hip and put the ring on his left ring finger, establishing skin contact with the flux via the yarn that it ran up through. He put on a mask of hardened leather, not just to protect his identity, but also his face from wayward splinters and shards, which may well spray about when two wielders of magic went toe to toe. Lastly, he made sure he had his most important tool of the day: the head cage, a headgear made from wrought iron bands, designed to fit and be locked over a person's head. Wearing anything made of worked metal over the entire head made use of the Arcane Gift impossible. Such a device was most important when dealing with casters.

Ralt got up, put all the pieces of paper under his belt and climbed out of the window. The wind today was weak and the sky was partly cloudy. Ideal conditions to jump between towers. He stood on the roof and inhaled. His destination was a small stone ledge. He wouldn't be able to cling to the wall just by his hands, so he took the small flask from his right side and poured the green liquid over his hands. It quickly turned slimy and incredibly sticky. He cast the first Feather Fall on himself, then he ran towards the edge and jumped off. His forward momentum carried him across the gap while the Feather Fall slowed his downward speed. For a moment he sailed across the gap, then he hit the wall with a SLAP. His hands sticking to the wall made sure he didn't slip, but time was not with him. The stickiness would soon fade and turn into dry brittleness. He slapped the Envelopment and the two Fuses on the wall and cast them, then quickly, with sticky hands and his feet seeking foothold on every stone, he climbed upwards. He reached the unfinished portion of roof and heaved himself up. He must be directly above Pachu right now. He waited a few moments for the sticky goo to dry and rubbed it off, then he got closer to the edge to risk a peek. The two guards didn't see him. They were holding halberds and wore chainmail armour with long sleeves as well as simple metal helmets. An additional person was just talking to Pachu with a favour to ask, something about guards for his shop because the other crime lords were trying to take their territory back.

Ralt prepared. He weaved an Invisible Fist and projected it into his dagger's crystal pommel. Then he took the Shield Formation from his belt into the left and a Stomp into his right. A snap later, he dropped down from his perch above the audience chamber.

A wave of force shook the floor of the chamber. The people lost their footing and were swiftly blown over by a might gust of wind, Pachu remained standing with the help of his mage's staff, simple and unassuming in make: wood with a clear crystal ball at the top and seven iron rings engraved with glyphs around the shaft. Seven were a lot. If he was a graduate it hadn't been recently. As the others were still recovering, Ralt made his ultimatum known.

"Each of you has one chance to get out alive, take it or die!"

The Great Pachu wasn't having any of that, he assumed a threatening position. His head was clean shaven, the blond goatee on his chin had been properly waxed to paint exactly the kind presentation that uneducated idiots would be impressed by. "GET HIM!" His henchmen stormed towards Ralt, only the shop keeper bolted for the door.

Ralt snapped another time and slammed his left arm onto the floor, floorboards started to come loose and twist together into a many-layered shield of wood, covering him from head to knee and stuck to his left forearm. He shot his right forward and pointed the pommel of his dagger at one of the guards.

SCREGG

The guard fell over backwards, his skull dented in by an unseen force. Just in time Ralt raised his shield and blocked the first halberd strike. Three combatants, he had to drop the Invisible Fist from his crystal pommel and focus on combat.

Blades shot through the air, catching the light like the eyes of their wielders. With his dagger Ralt caught one of the ministers' sword between blade and prong and with a quick jerk of the wrist, wrest the weapon from his opponent's hand. The other minister's blade shot towards him. He ducked underneath; a halberd hovered high over Ralt before it rushed downwards. Ralt dodged backwards, now having all three combatants roughly in front of him, with Pachu to his far right. He had to do something quickly to reduce the number of opponents.

Ralt drew one of his Metal Storms and one of his throwing knives.

SNAP

He threw the knife. With whistling and clanking, dozens of knives rained down upon Ralt's opponents, as if an army had loosened their first volley of arrows. One of the men was hit by three and fell over dead instantly, the other with five, but took some time to bleed out. A moment later, the mirrored knives disappeared again. The last minister, who had seen this, decided to just leg it and ran out the door.

"COWARD!" Pachu screamed after them.

Ralt cocked a confident smile. "Good people are hard to come by in this city, you should have known."

"I'll have to deal with you myself."

"I meant it though, you too have a chance. Let's cut a deal! You can disappear into whatever crack you wish and I make sure everybody truly believes you're dead."

Scorn and disgust appeared on Pachu's face. "You think me a coward like them? I came here to rid this city of the corrupt vermin that you serve."

Ralt had seen this before. The honest-to-gods preachers that believed themselves to be truly good, only using dirty methods because the corrupt elite are using them too. There were almost as many preachers as there were teachings in this world, and Ralt had neither the time nor the salary to discern between them or even consider their causes.

"You think I care about your intentions?" Ralt was getting ready to put an end to this pointless rambling. He brought his fist forward to fling an invisible one at Pachu. A single swipe of Pachu's hand and the spell was deflected, a skill not easy to master, but against a primitive spell most useful, Ralt shouldn't have expected different. He drew his dagger and got ready to weave something more powerful, but Pachu was ahead of him, already shooting his index finger forward.

"FULMINA!"

A crackle and a bright flash of light blinded the room. A smouldering, charred spot was on the floorboards where Ralt had just stood, but his legs had launched him away, to safety and away from the lightning bolt Pachu had conjured forth from his fingers.

"Good reflexes for a common cutthroat and so nimble for a bloke your size. Who sent you?" asked Pachu.

Ralt was recovering from his dodge and in no mood for dramatic conversations. "Shut UP!" He gave up on weaving anything and decided to look deeper into this guy's spells. He plucked the Arcane Lens and held it up to cast it with a look at Pachu. The mage lifted his staff, a shimmering of threads and knots flared up in his staff's crystal ball. Finest filaments were projected out into the air and Ralt recognized the structure, just before the faint threads were enveloped by a searing torrent of energy, conjuring forth a ball of energy, ready to unload its deadly force towards Ralt.

Again, his legs propelled him to safety just in time. Pachu began his posturing again. "Whoever sent you, they should have spent some more coin, because you are barely a threat to a cockroach, fast as you might be!" He raised his hand again.

Ralt was prepared. He focussed on a few short glyphs arranged in a simple geometry, tailored to the image he had just witnessed through his Arcane Lens. He shot his hand forward, index and middle finger extended towards the crystal ball. Spectral threads and knots tugged on his Arcane Hand, he felt his own projection strike Pachu's weaving, destroying it at the key point, like glass fracturing at a weak point.

Sparks and tendrils of energy flared up for a moment as the flux Pachu had poured into his spell broke out of the damaged weaving. Confused and disoriented, Pachu stumbled backwards, closer to the wall. Ralt didn't give him a chance to recover and flung Invisible Fists to Pachu's left and right. Puffs of pulverized stone irritated the mage even more. With his back against the wall and dust in his eyes, he did not notice the stones of the wall coming forward, enveloping him in a stone prison. The Fuse had finally ended, the Envelopment taken effect.

Ralt stepped up to the heap of stones that contained Pachu. "See, this is what happens when you only use one spell and talk too much." He untied the metal cage from his belt in preparation to put it on Pachu's head as soon as he freed him from the stones.

Deep from within the stones he could her Pachu's voice. "You know, Doessenhof has been ruled by corruption and crime for decades."

Ralt leaned against the mass of stones like a hunter against a trophy. "I know, I grew up here."

"Then you should know that they're the ones making this city the hole of excrement it is."

"And you thought just adding another crime lord would fix the problem? Boy let me tell you, your kind NEVER makes it any easier. Bunch of delusional saviours on a power-trip."

Pachu seemed rather talkative. Was it because his henchmen were mostly imbeciles? "I would have beaten those crime lords at their own game, dismantling the criminal underworld from both the inside and the outside."

"You thought you could build the criminal empire to end all criminal empires? Are you insane? Sooner or later one of your more powerful henchmen would have grown tired of your moralistic musings and stabbed you in the back to take all the spoils for himself! I've seen this before, you can't wash away corruption and crime with more corruption and crime!"

Pachu didn't answer. Ralt turned around to take a look at the audience chamber. Deserted it lay before him, with a rather large hole in the floor where his shield had been created. No guards or protectors were coming to Pachu's side, which mystified Ralt somewhat, but then again, many crime lords had only the feeblest loyalties upheld by the power of force. Once that was challenged, they scurried away like cockroaches. Garret was content with the development so far. His Envelopment was still holding up. It was lasting rather long, he was getting impatient. The Envelopment shouldn't last this long. When it dawned on Ralt that Pachu was holding on to the stones from the inside, it was almost too late. As he leaned against the capsule around Pachu, he felt the stones vibrate and rattle with energy under his hand.

A split second later and stones flew everywhere. They impacted on the stone walls, the wooden floor and Ralt's shield as he cowered behind it, pushing him back with sufficient force to launch him off his feet.

"You want different spells? Here, have them! ADURERE!"

A scorching torrent shot forth from Pachu's fingers. Again, Ralt could only cower behind his shield and hope it held, as singed spots and embers slowly crept through the gaps between the woven boards. He had given Pachu valuable time to prepare while engaging in pointless dialogue. Ralt was furious with himself and he needed a counter fast, something he could enact now.

"BURN TO ASHES ALREADY!"

Ralt started to feel the heat, no time to go through his cast book. He took a step back and his heel touched something. A stone, left over from the explosion. He went into himself for a moment. A primitive spell, imbuing an object with raw energy, just the minimum of guidance and control. He took the dagger in his right hand and concentrated on the pommel, then he pointed at the stone with it. The stone began to jitter and vibrate, ready to unleash its power at a moment's notice. Ralt leap to the side and with a swift motion, brought the dagger forward, pointing its pommel at Pachu.

The stone raced through the air, whistling with fury, Pachu dropped to the floor just in time. The stone shot above him and through the hole in the wall left by the Envelopment, to ruin some poor sod's day somewhere else. Pachu was coming towards Ralt, raising his hand in preparation for his next attack, but Ralt was faster. Again and again he pointed the pommel at stones, then at Pachu, sending a barrage his way while keeping his mind tensed, to not let the spell drop from the crystal.

With a daring leap, Pachu dived through the hole in the floor that had been left behind by Ralt's Shield Formation and was gone from the room. Down there, Pachu would have the initiative again, but this time, Ralt could prepare. He flipped through his palm book and found a Fog Cloak. He tore it out and cast it. Fog emanated from his person, quickly spreading the room and flowing down into the lower floor.

Pachu had managed to escape the assassin barely, but didn't have long until the assassin would come after him. The moment the fog entered the room, Pachu hurled several Fulminas in quick succession. Then, as he saw the cloaked figure charge him, he hurled a fiery ball of death at him. The cloak went up in flames. Heat and smoke filled the room and blew through Pachu's hair. When he dared to open his eyes again, nothing was left, not even a charred corpse. Too late he realized the feint. To his right, he saw the assassin dash towards him, without his cloak.

Ralt had entered the room only after the fog emanating from his person had already gone down there. After the Fulminas stopped, he jumped down, took off his cloak and with his primitive projectile spell, shot it towards where he assumed Pachu to be. Then he darted to the side. Drawing a long trail of fog behind him, he ran along the outer wall of the room and towards Pachu, who only realized too late that he had been duped. Ralt readied his second Metal Storm.

A hail of metal hailed onto Pachu, who remained alive, but littered with knives sticking out of his body.

"Taff you, you scum! You're saving nobody but the powerful!" he spoke while spitting out blood.

"I told you that I gave everyone just one chance to get out alive."

"All you do is extend the life of corruption in this city."

"I know. I don't care. It's not really different anywhere else either, you're just another failure with visions of justified grandeur." Ralt had closed the gap to the bleeding mage, then he slit his throat and got to severing the head from the neck.

He looked for a University sigil on his hand and found it, now just fine black lines instead of pulsing with glowing colours in the rhythm of Pachu's heartbeat. It was that of the university of Pelateille, not a bad place to learn, he could have made it as a proper member of society but apparently, he decided to take over the criminal underworld of his home town. With his curiosity satisfied, Ralt bagged the head, retrieved his knives and the head cage. Then he cast the second Feather Fall, jumped off the tower and landed safely on the ground. He headed back to Cara to collect his payment and get more work. This city was still in dire need of proper clean-up jobs. And he had to find a present for the girl as well.