Chapter 31

A Casual Vacation

Cel

“Shhhhh….” Cel softly prevented his raptor’s chirping with a slab of meat. It couldn’t eat anything other than triturated feed, but that didn’t stop it from trying.

Preoccupied with the perplexing puzzle of how to eat the meat without first ripping it into smaller chunks, Cel left his mount behind. He lowered himself into a steep crouch and inched through the foliage, a large clay jar at the ready. He fixed his muscles more stationary than a statue and prayed the elemental would stray in range before his raptor yapped. As if humoring him, the elemental blithely floated close enough, activating the machine that was Cel’s body. He pounced with so much grace and legerity that the lax undeveloped water elemental was bottled in its entirety.

Despite starting from a crouch and clearing a two meter distance, he immediately continued to jump in the air, holding the jar up for the heavens to see his grand achievement, and allowed himself a silent cheer. He was hunting monsters and collecting genetic data in order to later absorb it in his dungeon and gain their blueprints. Spiritual beings like elementals were tricky because they didn’t have an actual physical body, meaning no physical DNA for an easy blueprint. The only way to get a spiritual being’s blueprint was to absorb it in its entirety, which didn’t work unless it had yet to establish an ego. That left him with the only avenue of obtaining an elemental via absorbing one that was underdeveloped and letting it grow naturally in his dungeon.

Luckily, that was hardly a road block for him. The Feral Continent was positively overrun with monsters, and while sentient elementals tend to gather in tribes and avoid human contact, you would be hard pressed not to stumble upon an underdeveloped elemental listlessly cruising in the wild.

Cel wrapped the jar in one of his shirts and cautiously positioned it in his pack before making his way back. The raptor had actually managed to separate a chunk of meat with the point of its beak and was dangerously close to choking itself. Cel hastily intervened, storing the blue starred quoll meat, but also tearing the separated piece into small, nail sized bites that it could swallow whole. It had worked hard for its meal, after all.

The raptor had its fill and they were happily rushing through the trees once more. It was their second morning in the forest and he knew he couldn’t be more than an hour away, judging from the small amount of snow that slowly turned his surroundings into an ecotone of a lively, spring forest and a frigid world of white. The Feral Continent as a whole is located in the southern hemisphere, and Frost Born City was the closest settlement to the south pole in the Crucible Empire. It was in a goldilock zone that saw snow year round, but was only cold enough to transform into a frozen tundra during winter and late autumn.

Frost Born City was extremely popular with nobles and merchants, many of them owning summer mansions to abscond from the heat. It was a bustling city with lots of things going for it, even growing enough that they were nearly qualified to be a fortress. Unfortunately, with its positives come a healthy amount of negatives. While those privileged with money could skip out on it, the winter months were absolutely dreadful and food shortage was a common assailant. Still, there is no doubt that it will continue amassing velocity towards becoming a hub of tourism, and many of its problems will be assuaged once they manage to set up a permanent public portal transport.

As far as Cel was aware, Rex Mortem were only active in a few northern settlements and they had probably overextended themselves to spread into the city since it was so far south. It made perfect sense why they would, though. It was an extremely important and strategic settlement for them to set up a stable base in because it was their only option with easy access to nobles and other monetarily gifted peoples. All the major settlements that nobles and major merchants usually inhabited either had their underworlds occupied by the Serpentine Brotherhood or was within its sphere of influence.

Cel reached the city shortly, but he had no time to relax. After entrusting his raptor to a public stable and unloading his luggage in an adequate inn, he descended into the dark underworld. He had to work fast, there was no telling when Rex Mortem was planning to host the recruitment test, and having come all this way already he felt like he had to participate no matter what, even if that meant barging in late.

Thankfully, Rex Mortem was a lot less low key than he had originally thought they would be. It was common rumor that they had infiltrated the city, and anyone without any ties to law enforcement or government was welcome in their recruitment. It was like they weren’t even trying to be sneaky about it, but on further examination, that was purposeful. They had to make their spenders aware of their presence, and it was laughably easy to bribe or threaten the guards due to their conditioning of dealing with unscrupulous nobles that had less than legal past times. Not to mention, there was practically no underworld to speak of before they moved in; it was literally free real estate.

Cel was blindfolded and shuttled off to what he learned was one of three recruitment test sites. He found himself in some nondescript, barren field of snow, surrounded by a large amount of people that looked similarly dazed. He grew apprehensive at all the competition, there was nearly a hundred of them in total, and he had a creeping suspicion that he knew exactly what the recruitment test would entail.

He didn’t have to wait long before someone in a black mask and greatcoat got everyone’s attention. “Greetings… I am glad to see so many promising recruits.” He spoke with a gravelly voice, and a shiver shot up Cel’s spine when he briefly locked stares with the white outlined hole of darkness on his mask. “The rules of the test are simple. You will fight each other until there is only one left standing. You may use any method at your disposal, nothing is restricted.” After saying his piece, cracks spiderwebbed all over his body and he shattered into glittering fragments.

Cel let out a heavy sigh of disappointment: it was exactly what he thought it was. While the majority of people were still in shock and confusion, he unsheathed his daggers and wrapped them in thick hide. He wouldn’t be killing people, so he counted himself lucky killing wasn’t mandatory.

The lull of awkward silence was shattered with the sounds of combat, the situation swiftly barreled towards a large scale blood bath. Among the drivel, there were obvious imposing heavy hitters that no one provoked and there were plenty that hung back, happy to let everyone else butcher themselves first.

Cel stood with his daggers at the ready, hoping he looked enough of a threat that he would be left alone. Unfortunately, the people in his direct vicinity noticed his lack of lethality, and a circle of five people rushed him almost immediately. He frowned, but decided a small display of skill might ward off anyone else.

His daggers shot from his hands, spinning fast enough to transform into disks as they traveled in two half circles around him, smacking his enemies hard enough to knock them unconscious before returning to his hands. Thankfully, his masterful use of the recall rune to take care of five enemies from a distance in the same attack left him unmolested for the majority of the test. He discontentedly watched the chaos surrounding him until there was only ten people left.

The tenth participant was killed with the swipe of a sword the second he approached one of the heavy hitters, leaving the actual participants at nine. All of them were of superior skill, and, with one exception, haven’t moved from the spot they started in. The exception was a herculean man that enjoyed bashing the skulls of his foes with his bare hands. Cel grimaced in disgust and decided he would be the one making the first move.

“Has anyone ever told you not to play with your food?” he strolled over and asked the gorilla with as much hostility as possible.

The man looked up from his most recent kill and gave Cel a toothy smile. “Where the abyss do you get off thinkin’ you’re so high and mighty? Look around you for gods’ sake,” he insulted in a cheery tone. “It’s my lucky day cause I love killing conceded shits the most.” The man cracked his knuckles and menacingly approached.

Cel mirrored the man’s grin, little did he know that Cel loved putting amoral asholes in their place. He dropped his daggers and opted to face the man bare handed. In response, the man laughed and rushed forward with ferocious vigor. Cel moved faster than the man could react, he balanced on one foot and struck his chin with the other, a move he stole from Eliot. Unfortunately, instead of being staggered the man simply tanked the kick and used the opportunity to grab his leg. The man lifted Cel off the ground and slammed him down like a ragdoll, over and over again. Even shielding his head from the worst of it, it was a lot of pain, both from the impacts and the utter lack of respect for the ligaments in his leg. On the bright side, it gave him plenty of time to come up with a battle plan.

As he hurtled towards the pacted dirt for the sixth time, his body suddenly bent into a sharp crescent, and, similar to someone scorpioning during a failed handstand, he placed his hands firmly against the ground while simultaneously kicking with all the explosive strength he could muster. As a result, the burly man was flung a meter away and Cel smoothly flipped back to his feet. The man was surprisingly agile for his heavy build, and managed to mostly catch himself on his hands and knees. He lifted himself into a high crouch and charged, spouting a battle cry. Cel side stepped left just enough so that any attempt to grab him would be disadvantaged, hooked the man’s ankle, and grabbed his wrist. In the next second, he twisted the man’s arm behind him and forced his foot off the ground.

Beyond Expectations, the man defied gravity by balancing on one leg, even utilizing the spin and orienting his arm in front of him. His right hand gripped Cel’s wrist like a vice, while he let his left arm loose to pummel him with punches. Needless to say, Cel’s instinctual reaction of pull like hell until he was free was useless, but he quickly assessed the situation and acted accordingly. In the few seconds between punches, he hopped and brought his legs up before wrapping his body around the man’s arm like a pillow. The sudden human weight was disastrously effective in skewing the man’s balance. He dropped like a hammer hitting an anvil and was left briefly stunned. His infallible grip failed in that grace period, allowing Cel to wrest proper control of the man’s wrist. He broke the man’s arm with a jerk, grunt, and snap.

Cel savored his cry of pain, not for a second denying the dark and slightly overzealous side that enjoyed crushing evil. Knowing he couldn’t achieve much more with his current position, he simply gave the man some space. Cel smirked at the lapse in judgment that came with a deep assail of anger logically proceeding the liberation of the man’s movement, he counted on it. Roaring in savage rage, the man shot to his feet and swung at Cel with his only good arm. Cel trivially ducked the wide punch and wrapped his arm around the man’s chest. To Ensure he actually went down this time, Cel positioned his left foot in front of the man’s same appendage and brutally stomped the back of his leg. As they fell, he loosened his bear hug to transition into a much more threatening head lock that forced the man’s left arm extended upwards.

The man went limp after a seventy second count. Cel let out a deep sigh as he ungrappled and stood up, immediately updating the map of his vicinity in his mind. What he saw made his face darken. Only four of the nine were actively fighting each other, the other five were maintaining a healthy distance from each other while watching his scuffle.

“How come no one attacked me while I was vulnerable?” he decided it wouldn’t hurt to ask.

“Yes, we’re cold blooded criminals, but even criminals need to have some honor,” scoffed a man wielding a scimitar.

“I wouldn’t call it honor,” disagreed a woman equipped with a mace and mail armor. “It would say it’s closer to begrudging decency, we aren’t savages.”

“You’d give begrudging decency to someone with the goal of killing you?” Cel asked incredulously, “I thought nothing was off limits when your life’s at stake.”

“This is your first underground recruitment,” stated a man that didn’t appear to be sporting any weapon, but had a serious aura about him. “We tend to see these as job interviews and act like professionals. It isn’t the same as when you are trying to assassinate someone, or when someone is trying to assassinate you.”

He couldn’t help a small chuckle from breaching his lips. These guys aren’t so bad, afterall, he admitted. You should strive to remember that the vast majority of people are in between good and evil, Feya admonished him. His chuckle morphed into a small smile as he went over to grab his daggers; he couldn’t afford to hold back against his next opponents.

He felt the daggers in his hands and belatedly realized something wasn’t quite right. He examined them with a furrowed brow before switching the dagger in his left hand from a reverse grip to a regular one. That seemed to do the trick.

He raised his head and sank into a comfortable stance.“So…” Cel tested the crowd, “Who’s first?”

Over the next two hours, Cel fought no less than three grueling matches against the friendly souls that enlightened him vis a vi their professional courtesy. His first was the scimitar user that called dibs for being the first to initiate conversation. Cel was wary at first since he had never seen anyone use a scimitar before, but his fears were unfounded. In fact, thanks to the curve, it was easier to manipulate the blade while defending than it would be against a regular cruciform. What made the fight particularly troublesome was the grit behind the wielder. Even after he sustained well over a dozen cuts and gashes, he insisted on continuing. Cel was starting to worry he would have to permanently disable him somehow, when he scored a lucky thrust into the shoulder of his dominant arm, which forced his surrender.

The second match was against the mace waving cleric wannabe. While she was comically similar to the fighting style of a class known for its noble and pious nature, she actually knew how to handle her weight well. She wouldn’t allow any opportunity attacks even with her bulky speed and made good use of pressure to set Cel on the defensive for the majority of the clash. It was only when he started abusing the recall rune on his daggers that she surrendered.

The third and most stressful battle was against the man with the fierce aura. As it turns out, he was a monk that used a grappling Martial Art. Earlier into the fight, when Cel was still clueless as to what method of violence he practiced, he fell for a false opening that ended with him in a similar headlock to the one he employed against the ape. The only reason he prevailed in the end was due to a slightly faster speed and his inhumane dexterity. Somehow, he managed to wiggle out of every hold, and focused on swift opportunity and counter attacks while running away to sluggishly bleed the monk of his resolve.

Cel was declared the last man standing shortly after the monk surrendered and was escorted from the premises. His only opposition was a heavily injured dagger user that narrowly escaped defeat in his previous duel and made the wise decision to surrender when he saw that Cel was completely unscathed.

Suddenly, the subdued sound of heavily gloved hands clapping graced the battle field. Cel suppressed the urge to spin around bewildered, schooling his movements to slowly turn and face the masked man.

“Congratulations,” he brusquely greeted out of habit. “Before I swear you in, I want you to answer a question.”

“Sure,” shrugged Cel in the most normal and casual way possible.

“Do you have something against killing?” he asked bluntly.

“No, nothing at all,” he said, a bold faced lie.

His voice took on a murderous sheen as he said, “Then, why didn’t you kill anyone?”

“To prove I’m stronger than them,” he replied immediately. “If I can defeat them without killing, it just proves that I could kill them if I really wanted.” Then he added, “You should be thanking me, really. Now, all those talents haven’t gone to waste, and they can try again next recruitment.” The man silently studied Cel and his words for a few moments.

“Good answer,” he praised. “Rex Mortem is happy to have you.” He handed him a silver chalice, that he had produced out of nowhere, filled with a black, murky liquid. “Drink it,” he ordered when Cel just stared at it.

Obviously, drinking a mystery drink from a huge, semi-secret underground organization was on the list of do-not’s, but it seemed like the man was giving him little choice. Besides, if his plan developed accordingly, then it wouldn’t matter if they could track him down for revenge, and instant death via poison was unlikely since he was being sworn in to join them.

He jerkishly took in a mouthful, only to immediately spit it back out in recoil and grimace from the intense bitterness the drink left on his tongue.

The man sighed while shaking his head. “Why does everyone try and gulp it down?” he muttered. “It’s a really bitter drink called chocolate. It’s a delicacy that the Crucible Empire doesn’t have,” he explained with some exasperation.

Cel cautiously tested the drink, finding that it really was good. He swished the liquid on his tongue, savoring the rich and overpowering flavor. When he opened his eyes, the man was already several meters ahead.

Cel caught up to him and finished the chocolate after a short four sips. As if on cue, they emerged from the brush, face to face with Frost Born City’s wall. The man cleared the six meter hurdle with a casual jump, before turning around and patiently waiting. Feeling the need to show off, Cel jumped from the wall to a tree and back again until he landed on the walkway. If that was impressive for new members, the man didn’t show it.

“Wear this,” he said, holding out a white mask with eyes thinly outlined in black.

Cel followed instructions, and they soon arrived at what he assumed was their final destination. In front of them were two run of the mill stone store fronts. One of them sold clothing, and the other sold wood carved essentials. The man stood without moving for a few seconds, presumably waiting for something, when Cel felt a freezing chill stab into him. He flinched as if someone had unknowingly placed an ice cube against the back of his neck, before everything returned to normal, the feeling nothing more than a memory.

“Stick close,” advised the man as he stepped into the alley. Only a few steps in, and he felt a weird shift, along with a small amount of vertigo. They weren’t in an alley anymore, instead they were on the inside of a giant gate, facing a large dirt space with three wood and stone buildings. The gate was lavish and ornate like the entrance of a noble’s estate, however the base had an enervating and staid aura similar to that of a military encampment.

Cel noticed that the man was studying his reaction, and ended up lamely stating, “It’s…impressive.” The man leaned back a few centimeters with his head inclined upwards, openly studying him in fascination.

He seemed to come to a conclusion about something and tore his eyes away, walking towards the second largest, and at the same time second smallest, building. Upon closer inspection, Cel noticed that the base was teeming with people. There were at least three groups that were running laps, a few people seemingly sparring in one of the muddy fields, and a small number of outliers that were walking in between buildings. Their clothing was inline with the standard plebeian wardrobe, the only thing besides body structure that differentiated them were their masks. Each one sported a different design, not all of them using black and white specifically, but never using more than two colors.

Inside the building was a spartan looking open space. The walls were plastered with hundreds of uniform parchment pages, and there was a receptionist sitting at a desk in one of the corners that seemed to ward the pages from her immediate surroundings, next to a plain looking wooden door. There were a few people holding out what looked like pocket watches and intently staring at the walls, but the man leading walked up to a group of three. The group was solely composed of females, one of which was taller than the other two and wearing the same get up as the invigilator of Cel’s test. The other two were twins in clothing, body shape, shoulder length vermillion hair, and even had matching masks: all black with one of the eyes outlined in red and a small horn to match, each twin having it on the opposite half.

The group turned to them, then the man and women in black nodded to each other before the man left. Cel didn’t think much of it, and simply walked up to them, only when he stopped next to the twins he found himself a few steps behind, as if someone turned back time. He frowned under the mask and narrowed his eyes at the woman in black, long enough to establish that he knew it was her that did that, and retraced his steps.

“Brilliant!” the women suddenly celebrated, her voice exactly the same as the other man’s. “All three of you passed the test, I’m happy to know that the new recruits are so perceptive.” Then she looked at Cel and said, “Don’t feel confronted if one of us Wraiths test you, it’s just something we do every now and then to keep you on your toes.” Although their voices were morphed to sound the same, the manner of speaking she had made it easy to imagine a bright smile and school teacher tone.

“Now that all of you are here, I can start,” she continued. “I’m Iter, First Wraith of this Rex Mortem outpost, and I’ll be giving you a short tour. But first things first,”-she handed each of them what seemed to be a golden pocket watch without a chain-“These are your identification watches. Along with the regular capabilities of a pocket watch, they have a few magical functions. If you press down on the winder, it will show you your code name, rank, and contribution points.”

Cel did so, and the clock face faded to reveal three small lines of text. His code name was Draco, his rank was recruit, and he had zero contribution points. After taking the text in, he examined the shell. It was nondescript with no sign whatsoever that it was magical. Eliot would drool over this thing, he smiled to himself.

After giving them ample time to ogle, Iter said, “Now, let’s get on with the tour.” She took all of five steps towards the wall before stopping again. “This is the mission archive. All recruits need to meet a quota of one mission per week. Luckily, a week is seven days on both of our calendars, so there should be no confusion.”

“Are we expected to look through all of these on our own?” one of the twins asked.

Instead of being angry at the interruption, she said, “Good question. There are quite a few unorthodox missions that go unnoticed but give good rewards. Oftentimes, it’s worth it to look through them on your own.

“But, the main function of your watch makes it so that you don’t need to. If you hold the winder down, then you can search them using your thoughts,” she explained.

Cel held the winder down and thought, beast. The chaotic mosh pit of disorganized missions all faded away to reveal aligned and conscientiously spaced pages. There were very few missions that showed up. Most of them were capture missions of either rare or dangerous animals. That made sense, the Ever Winter Mage’s Guild probably had a monopoly on hunting and gathering quests. He changed the search to, Guard, and a few more than before showed up, but over all there weren’t very many. These missions were most likely commissioned by nobles that felt professional assassins would be proficient in thwarting other assassins. Then, giving himself a mental face palm, he thought, Assassination. Hundreds of missions appeared in immaculate rows and columns.

“You probably figured it out already, the watch doesn’t actually change anything on the wall, it just shows you what you want to see,” Iter’s voice pulled the recruits out of their examination.

“That’s cool,” said one of the twins.

“And convenient,” finished the other.

“If you like that, then you’ll love this,” Iter prefaced before a solitary parchment suddenly appeared in her hand, an equivalent space appearing on the wall. Inscribed on the page was a mission, detailing it’s difficulty, yield of contribution points, and description.

The recruits were blown away, Cel included. Going past long distance teleportation, even short distance teleportation was impossible unless you were teleporting yourself or had prepared the item(s) you were teleporting beforehand. Detailed creation was similarly unworkable unless you were duplicating an already created item, using the original as a model. It couldn’t be an illusion either, she was clearly interacting with the parchment, and it even gave off sound. An illusion that high quality that could affect all of them observing was infeasible. It was possible to use your perception of an item to create it, but that would require someone who had the image firmly fixed in their mind to cast the spell, and the watch was obviously doing the heavy lifting. Not even mentioning mana requirements, there were simply too many problems that advocated for the impossibility of what they had just witnessed.

Failing to tame his second hand curiosity, Cel spoke up, “How did you do that? That shouldn’t be possible.”

“You think you know a thing or two about magic, eh?” teased Iter. “Well, you’re right. To do this normally, we would have to use some expensive loops holes. Let’s just say that we have more control over this space than you might think,” she alluded, not actually answering the question. “What are you all waiting for? Try it out already,” she incited the dormant recruits.

Cel focused his attention on searching for the quest that would make or break his plan. It took him a few tries because there were so many assassination missions, but eventually he was sighing in relief, and a request to assassinate the mayor teleported into his hands.

“Now that you have all picked out a mission, let’s head over to Rim’s desk.” She corralled them toward the reception desk in the north west corner and had them line up like school children. The man at the desk, Rim, was wearing the same all black with gloves and an overcoat; his mask was all white with droopy eyes, a half colored diamond on the upper left cheek, and a frown outlined in black.“Just say, ‘I would like to accept this mission’ and hand Rim your watch. He’ll scan it and say you’re good to go.”

The twins went before Cel, going through the acceptance process exactly as Iter described. However, when Cel stepped up and followed the prescribed steps, Rim slid it back after taking a second to read it.

“Recruits can’t take on a three star mission,” he denied in the same gravelly deadpan.

“You want to take on a three start mission?” exclaimed Iter in surprise, ignoring the unspoken boundary between the outer world and the receptionist, running next to Rim in order to see for herself. “That’s ambitious of you,” she said with obvious enjoyment over the fact. “You’re lucky that Cryo saw talent in you… Tell you what, I’ll give you a small gauntlet after the tour, and if you can meet my expectations, then I’ll permit you to accept this quest.”

The tour finished without a hitch after that miss step. As it turns out, that overdressed black get up that everyone wore was the Rex Mortem uniform. Cel was about as well informed about magic as most beginner mages just from absorbing Eliot’s knowledge, but he was perplexed yet again when he donned the uniform and he suddenly had a distorted voice. He scrutinized every stitching but failed to find any sort of branding that could be the reason behind it’s magical qualities. Furthermore, Iter ensured them that, like the watches, it has more magical abilities that they’ll be able to use once they rank up.

Currently, Cel was stretching in one of the muddy fields, getting used to the small restrictions that the uniform imposed on his flexibility and preparing to ace Iter’s gauntlet. Besides himself and Iter, Cryo was silently standing to the side. Though he had no idea when Cryo had advocated for him, or what he saw in him, he was personally grateful for his backing. Without it, his half baked plan would have failed at step two.

“Are you ready, Draco?”

“Yes, Wraith Iter,” he confirmed.

“Good, you two stand back,” she ordered.

Cel stepped back about a meter, then Cryo dragged him twenty more. Iter walked a fair distance away and took in the field with a sweep of her head before looking down. Cel couldn’t tell if she was calculating something or if it was for dramatic effect. After a few minutes passed, she slowly expanded her stance, lifted her leg, and stomped the ground. The terrifying force she dumped into the ground hit them like an earthquake, shaking so much that Cel lost his balance. Simultaneously, the mud surrounding her in a hundred meter radius rose into the air like an inverted rain shower and froze in place, as if time had stopped. Cel’s face would have had a pleasant greeting with the sloshing rapids of mud they were standing in if Cryo hadn't frozen the mud around their feet.

After a few seconds of course correction, Cel looked up to see Iter floating in the sky with lemon yellow mana wings. Learning from a few minutes before, he braced himself the second he saw the tense of a muscle. With a wave of her hand, the majority of mud lost its stasis and slapped against the ground in an eardrum rupturing smack of sound. Left stationary in mid air was an obstacle course of military inspiration. Iter allowed herself some seconds to admire her handiwork before turning towards her audience and instantly appearing in front of the cringing Cel, as if she cut out the distance between them.

Savoring his flabbergasted body language out of the corner of her eye, she looked at Cryo and said, “If you would add the finishing touch.”

Cryo walked up to the foot of the first obstacle, the ice that was at their feet gone as if it had never existed in the first place, and crouched down, leaning slightly forward with his hands braced against the ground. Frost emanated from his hands and burst ahead of him, first freezing the ground around each obstacle then moving on to infect the obstacles themselves, eventually converting the course in its entirety. Without hovering for even a handful of seconds, he lamely walked back and looked at Iter.

“Thank you, you have no idea how taxing it was to keep that up,” she sighed.

“And yet you had enough divine power to cut out personal travel time,” he shot back.

She gave him a death glare and said, “Because I knew you would freeze it.”

“You were just trying to impress the newbie,” he landed a critical hit. Iter’s attack was so fast that it might as well have been instant. One second, Cryo was standing next to them, the next there was a fan of wind and he was flopping on the ground fifty meters away.

“That’ll teach him to talk back,” she huffed with her hand on her lightly protruded hip. Then, she pointed at Cel. “There are two types of ice, one of them is regular and the other will spread to anything that it touches. You have two minutes, starting now,” she briefed succinctly.

Taking a momentary lapse to center himself, he flung himself into a sprint. The first obstacle was a multi-floored tower with four poles holding five sheets of ice mud vertically equidistant by the corners. Cel jumped at the nearest pole, shoved off of the burgeoning area that fused with the sheet corners, and caught himself on the top floor. He smoothly hefted himself on the layer and took in the next challenge.

There was a length of rope shaped ice mud hanging out of reach that connected the following obstacle; far below was a fog of blue. Cel crouched and swung his arms, barely giving him enough height to catch the rope. He swung his feet up, rolled around it until his back was facing up, and cautiously stood on his feet. Once he found his equilibrium, he dashed across with little effort.

Waiting for him on the other side were extremely thin cylinders standing scattered across a twenty five meter gap. What’s more, the majority were coated in a menacing blue sheen, opposed to the clear white he knew was safe. Without any time to spare, he got to hopping. He was forced to keep a break neck speed because each cylinder was only large enough to accommodate one foot, but he knew as long as he kept up the momentum he would be safe. As is usually the case, he was right until he was wrong. When he was only two more stops from the finish and was about to land on the second to last cylinder, he was suddenly a few centimeters ahead of where he was supposed to be.

He didn’t misjudge the distance, his foot should have landed perfectly center. Something had messed with his trajectory. In the back of his head, he knew it was Iter, but he was too preoccupied with not getting frozen to be angry or surprised. His foot landed on the edge and he fell forward, a blue cylinder ready to meet him. Cel pulled the glove off of his left hand, using it as a buffer to catch himself on the blue cylinder and push himself upright. He adopted a crane stance as he sighed in relief. In the end, the experience gave him peace of mind. The spread was slow enough that he would be able to react and possibly save himself by shedding his superficial layer of clothing if he ever slipped up again.

Past the cylinders, Cel made it to a small platform that let him catch his breath and size up his next roadblock. It was an upside down ‘V’ with rungs, hunching over the same floor of blue ice. He tore his forearms five times over by the time he made it to the other side. He swung himself on the last rung with the intent of making it to the next rest stop in between obstacles, but just like before his trajectory was tampered with. Instead of overshooting, he undershot the distance, too far from the platform to grab it. Knowing it would happen again, Cel moved to enact a solution he had already thought of. He gripped his daggers and stuck them in the side of the ‘V’ that declined to meet the platform he was aiming for, stopping his descent tens of centimeters away from the ground. He cleared the ‘V’ with some swinging and tons of effort.

Luckily, the last two hurdles were most likely intended to kill time. The second to last was a right triangle with rungs along the hypotenuse, some of which were blue, that faced away from him. It was ultimately easier than the previous obstacle because he could use his feet, and therefore could make good use of his core.

The final obstacle was the classic crawl with crossing blue lines of ice looming overhead. Except, it was never that simple. When he was halfway through, blue ice halted his progress, restricting him to a winding and skinny path of safe white ice.

Despite the steep difficulty, none of the challenges were impossible. Cel kept that in mind as he ran past the obvious finish line drawn in unfrozen mud. He fell to the floor forthright, gasping for breath with an intensity he didn’t know his lungs were capable of.

“Four minutes,” concluded Iter, standing above him with her arms crossed. Cel muttered a curse under his breath. “You misunderstand me,” Iter clarified. “You were never supposed to make it in ten, let alone two!”

He warily lifted his head to peer at her. “Then, why do you sound annoyed?”

“Is it not obvious?”

“No, I have no idea,” sighed Cel.

Suddenly, she grabbed him by the collar and angrily whispered in his face, “You think that you’re only a small amount better than average, don’t you? You don’t even know.”

“Isn’t that what I just said?” he responded rhetorically.

She shoved him back to the ground and huffed, “You’re a fucking genius.” Cel let out a scoff of hot carbon dioxide.

“I’ve seen a genius firsthand. Trust me when I say I’m not one.”

“I could tell the second I laid eyes on you,” she said. “you haven’t done a day of dedicated training in your life.”

“I have some talent,” he told her.

“You’re already near the mortal limit, that’s impossible with ‘some talent’,” she spat.

Cel lifted himself up to his feet and asked, “Does this mean I can’t take on that mission?”

“No, I said what I said, you can go on that mission,” she sighed quietly. When she said that, Cel wanted to break out into song. “But,” she stressed, “From now on, you’re my personal protege-and no you do not get to refuse.” his mood did a complete one-eighty. Chances are, this will make his self imposed quest that much more difficult.

“I’ll find you after midday, go get cleaned up,” she said before turning and completely disappearing from view.

Cel lethargically lifted his arms, taking in how filthy he was. He started walking towards the dorms with a light sigh and shake of the head. It’s a good thing they have magical cleaning.

When he arrived at his room, he shed the muddy layers and collapsed on his bed. He was too tired to fight the urge to take a power nap.

He woke up to someone shaking him. Before he fully regained consciousness, he had his assailant on the ground with their arms twisted at odd angles. Despite the fierce response, the dark skinned girl with glistening red hair smiled at him.

“Wow, you’re good,” she complimented him.

Cel helped her up and helplessly told the truth, “Sorry, that’s my first response to being woken up.”

“No worries,” she grunted with a stretch of her previously encumbered limbs. “You’re kind of famous, you know that? People are talking to me just because I was recruited at the same time as you.”

“What’d I do to get famous?” he asked with some concern.

“I didn’t think you knew,” she said more to herself. “Apparently, new recruits try and take on more than they can handle often at this outpost, feral confidence they call it. Iter is always the one who shuts them down, and it’s like a ritual for everyone else to watch overconfident newcomers crushed. But when she acknowledged you, everyone was super surprised.” Although he knew people were watching, he thought it was because Iter didn’t make giant obstacle courses every day. Never did he consider it was for the opposite reason altogether.

“That’s good to know.”

A startling series of raps sounded against the door, physically straining the door and the wall it was attached to.

“That would be an angry Iter,” she explained with a sideways point.

Cel threw on his self cleansing uniform and grabbed the door knob. “Thanks,” he called before stepping out.

“Who do you think he was talking to?” asked the dark skinned and red haired girl plopping on the edge of his bed.

“Why can’t he be thanking both of us?” answered the completely identical girl laying on her stomach beside his bed.

“Because it really felt like he was only talking to me,” said the one on the bed.

“Really? I felt the same way,” agreed the one on the ground.

Outside of the room, Iter grabbed Cel’s arm and they teleported to a different location. No, now that he was paying attention to the feeling, it was more like a portion of time was cut out.

They had traveled into a medium room, around the size of a modern day conference room. The walls were bare, varnished teak wood that radiated a cool light, almost achieving the same effect his dungeon had of illumination without a light source. In the middle of the room was a large table fashioned out of the same material as the walls and similarly barren.

Unable to stop himself, he queried, “Are all laws as abstract as yours?” Iter let burst a dramatic snort.

“I get it now,” she laughed in a high pitch, highly amused voice; the filter was disabled. “You’re one of those geniuses that can reverse gravity, but don’t have a lick of common sense.”

No, that would Eliot, he mentally sighed.

“I guess I am,” he resigned himself to his cruel fate.

“To answer your question: no, not all laws are as abstract as mine. In summary, there are three tiers of complexity. Tier three Demigods are the most plentiful and have the simplest laws, usually one of the elements. I am a tier two Demigod, with a law that can’t be physically represented. A tier one Demigod understands a law that keeps the universe functioning, there are rumors that the Master Camble we’ve all heard so much about is a tier one,” she gave him the rundown.

Cel suppressed a smile of comfort. He knew that Eliot’s teacher was an extremely powerful old sage, but he didn’t know it went that far. If Iter could nonchalantly make an obstacle course out of mud and travel distances instantaneously, then what could Master Camble do?

As if seeing the reverence in his eyes, she admonished him, “That does not mean you can underestimate tier three demigods. A Demigod’s prowess isn’t so simply calculated. It depends on how the Demigod uses their law, and their understanding of the law. Even a tier three Demigod with seventy percent understanding of their law could kill a tier one Demigod with twenty or thirty percent understanding.

“Not to mention that most laws are tier three laws, which means that they are extremely specialized. A Demigod of Flames is entirely different from a Demigod of Fire, or a Demigod of Blazes,” she elucidated.

Despite the overflow of new and possibly life saving information, Cel nodded that he understood, effortlessly committing it to memory.

“Good, now let’s go over your mission,” Iter continued with her arms crossed.

“I thought that missions had to be completed solo unless specified,” interrupted Cel.

“They have to be completed by themselves, yes, but that doesn’t mean you can’t work with someone else to come up with a plan. Do you really think I would let you rush into a three starred mission without any help?” she berated. As he would soon learn, it was only given three stars out of principle.

During the briefing, more parchments and images appeared with no signs betraying their origin, providing critical physical information and displays. Furthermore, Iter was as alacritous as a natural born leader, comprehensively elucidating everything.

The Mayor didn’t have the funding for Demigod level protection, and intel from a trusted source confirmed that the last time the Arch Mage of Frost Born City visited was nearly a month ago. Most magical defenses needed routine maintenance, so it was unlikely there would be any. The only real difficulty will be sneaking past the inflated patrols in the Housing District, getting past the guards patrolling the mayor’s manor, and assassinating the mayor without drawing attention. Considering all the factors, it would usually only qualify for a two star rating. But, Iter didn’t seem to think that would be the case.

“I am absolutely sure that the mayor has a trump card,” Iter said, leaning over and pressing her hands against the table. “That damn Arch Mage has been the biggest thorn in our side since the beginning, that shit has something planned, I’m sure of it.

“But, I’ll be watching if he ever gets involved,” she assured. “And if you somehow die even with my help, then I will pull up from the Abyss myself.”

Cel regarded her with a scrutinizing squint. She seemed to turn somewhat delirious whenever the Arch Mage was brought up. And, after discussion for a few hours, he still found it hard to discern when she was impressed or irate about some things. He knew there was a word for someone like that. I think it started with a ‘T’, he mused. Hmm… Eliot would know, he eventually resolved himself to ignorance.

“Alright,” he nodded.

“No questions?” she tried.

“No, it all makes sense,” he shook his head.

“Good,” she harrumphed, “You can leave.”

Cel did as asked, making his way to the gate that separated Rex Mortem’s base and the outside world. Like Iter told him, he lifted the golden circlet and brought it down four times, counting a seven second window in between each. After, he stuck the crown of his watch into the minute key hole and turned. Once he pulled his watch out, the doors swung open to reveal a dim alleyway.

Same as any good assassin, Cel set out to case the area. He confirmed known, discovered new, and eliminated old patrol roots before moving on to exploring the building lay out and choosing the least populated streets to trek through. He stopped after he finished meticulously mapping the area in a sixty meter radius. It was unfortunate that Iter forbade him from getting within visibility of the mayor’s manor, however he put the extra time to good use by surveying the surrounding properties and noting any similarities in the design. By sun set, he had three promising entrance routes that the surrounding buildings shared, which meant the manor in question probably did as well.

On the trip back to his room, Cel was surprised to notice that he was anxious. Before now, it was an objective understanding that what he was doing was dangerous or risky and being aware of the consequences, he never actually felt any neuroticism. He would die if he was discovered, that was without a doubt. And, from the beginning it was unlikely he would succeed. Even less so now that he had practically the entire base’s attention.

He took a deep breath, gripped the door handle, and sighed. He would be more circumspect in the future. That was the only thing he could tell himself that helped calm his nerves. He opened the door and walked in.

“Oh, you’re finally back,” greeted his roommate, reading something while laying in her horribly uncomfortable bed.

“Hey,” he returned the favor while he got started on unequipping his uniform. “Anything interesting happen today?”

“A big fight happened cause of you,” she told him while sharpening her sword on a whetstone in the corner, right of her bed.

“How did I cause a fight?” he responded helplessly.

“Well, it wasn’t really about you,” corrected the one reading. “The girl had unfinished business with an older recruit because he had mocked her when she was crushed by Iter after first joining, and they ended up in an official duel.”

“Yeah, but the only reason that girl decided to act on her feelings is because of the waves you made,” explained the one hard at work on maintenance.

Cel allowed himself some hope that the base would stop talking about him soon before saying, “Right, I forgot to ask your name.”

“It’s Janet,” answered one.

“I’m Jill,” answered the other. Cel threw his second glove in the drawer and turned around to see two perfectly identical twins.

“There’s two of you,” he stated dumbly.

“Called it,” celebrated Jill, wrapping her sword in an oil cloth.

“Sorry, for some reason I just-” he tried to apologize.

“Don’t worry about it,” interrupted Janet. “It happens with everyone. The only time they can tell us apart is if we have masks on.”

“I really mean it, I’m usually more perceptive,” he continued.

Jill stood from her seat, smiled, and said, “Since you’re so apologetic, I’ll tell you a little secret.” She grabbed his hand and ensued in unwavering eye contact. “The truth is, Jill and Janet are both the same person in two different bodies. They’re the same, just with two different thought processes,” she whispered conspiratorially. Cel starred baffled for a few seconds before Janet spoke up.

“Ignore her, she tries to convince everyone that we’re some lamb and wolf kindred spirit,” she ruined the prank.

Jill turned on her sister and complained, “Why’d you go and do that? I almost had him!”

Cel laughed at the play fight between the close twins. The common held notion that assassins were all cold, unfeeling killing machines was entirely unfounded in the end. After all, they were all sentient species. With sentience comes appreciation of life, in one way or another. The moment helped him forget his tension and fall into deep, rejuvenating slumber.

The next day, Cel woke up before his roommates, and waited for Iter at the gate, as planned. She grilled him on relevant knowledge and quizzed him with what if’s. When everything was ready, Iter unceremoniously opened the door, without having to knock or even present her watch.

They jumped across rooftops until reaching the edge of the Housing District, where Cel forged on his own. He disconnected himself from the hub of memories and feelings that was him, solely focusing his ego on the mission. The pre-planning worked wonders, getting him to the manor after twenty minutes of covert movement.

It was exponentially more opulent than anything in the Town of Flora. That isn’t to say it overshadowed anything in Everveil, only that it was extravagant in Cel’s humble experience. It was a rectangular structure fashioned out of a dreary dark oak, standing three stories tall. In all, it had sixteen windows, four balconies, a portico, and a parapeted roof, symmetrically arranged.

None of the living spaces were close to each other in this part of the Housing District, but as the mayor’s manor, it was isolated by a roundabout of mosaic lined, limestone streets that created a visible berth between it and the other manors. Practically every house had guards standing at attention in front of the doors and magical proximity alarms in the form of engravings. It was a very good thing that he had a master engraver as a best friend and inhumane accuracy when it came to throwing daggers. Those advantages put him on the roof of a neighboring manor, the residents of which were currently out enjoying themselves.

He found it odd that there were no guards outside the entrance of the mayor’s manor, and moved to investigate from a different vantage point. After confirming that there were no alarms or guards on the outside, he jumped from roof shingles to a balcony located on the back side of the chateau. As he cleared the distance, he felt a weird sensation wash over him that induced a subconscious shudder. He landed in a fighting stance, and rapidly took in his surroundings, but no one came. Whatever that was, it didn’t have an alarm function.

The inside was well illuminated due to a series of magical lights that took the place of sconces. Chancing a peek into the many windows, there were no guards on the inside either, nor were there any visible magical alarms. There were lots of maids tending to chores, but no one and nothing concerning. The only sane reason that Cel could think of for the mayor not to have any guards is that he had some other form of infallible protection. But, nothing seemed to present itself as such.

He spent an extra few minutes triple checking his findings before climbing up across the parapet and down to the window in the mayor’s room. It was open. At this point, he couldn’t help but entertain that he was walking into a trap, and did his best to focus on what he was going to say.

The mayor’s room was surprisingly small. It had a large wardrobe against the far left wall, a canopied bed across from the door, a fat dresser against the right wall, and a window that shed light on the desk that was against the opposing wall. The mayor sat at said desk, his hunched back turned and practically asking to be attacked. The spindly mayor with short fiery red hair was hastily marking and reading different parchments that were immaculately organized in stacks and piles, paying no regard to the outside world. He was so absorbed in his work that he didn’t hear Cel’s purposely heavy landing.

Cel rationalized that, without the watch he left behind in a secure location, there was no way that Iter could monitor him from outside the Housing District, and quickly formed the best approach in his head. He took a deep breath and pressed his foot against a seemingly random floorboard. His pressure elicited a loud creak that alerted the mayor to his presence. The man didn’t even turn, instead he lurched for the white polished, ornate dueling pistols hanging on the wall. Cel let him reach the guns and spoke in the middle of his fumble.

“I’m not here to kill you,” he assured him, raising his hands and showing his palms as a gesture of goodwill. And, of course, he remembered to remove his mask before entering.

With the sense of security that came with pointing a gun at an intruder, he asked, “Why else would you sneak into my room in the midst of night, dressed as an assassin no less.”

“You need my help. I’m here to offer it,” Cel said matter of factly.

“I suppose you’ll explain why I need help from the likes of you.”

“Rex Mortem has infiltrated your city, and you’re powerless to stop them. I’m in a position to provide valuable information that could assist in dealing with them,” he explained.

The mayor lowered his gun. “You mean, as an inside man.”

“Being an inside man suggests that I take orders from you. I want equal collaboration,” Cel clarified. “You provide man power, I provide information on their forces and the location of their base.”

“I accept those terms,” he decided after a moment of deliberation. “Where do we start?” Cel frowned, He agreed too quick.

“What convinced you?” The mayor had a small smile as he attentively fixed his pistol back to its rightful place on the wall.

“The city’s Archmage encased my estate in a barrier he said would react violently to those with evil intentions,” he shared. “You mean what you say, or else the barrier would have stopped you.”

“Well that’s convenient,” Cel remarked. “You asked where we started?” The mayor nodded. “I need you to fake your death.”