Claud’s eyes settled on the pack of spellhounds, and felt fear in his heart. He had expected them to catch up, and yet, having seen them in person, he couldn’t help but feel a headache anyway. Fortunately, he’d spent some time erasing his scent while he was staying in Pletsville; the bags of herbs were brought specifically for this purpose.

Even now, in his room, there were some smouldering ashes of the common herbs he’d purchased. To play it safe, however, Claud was going to dive into clouds every so often. It was tiresome, but there was nothing he could do about this persistent pursuit.

“And well,” Claud said out loud, “the fact that there’s a fire might just inconvenience them a bit more.”

Soaring towards the west, he plunged into any cloud he saw. For the first two-thirds of his journey, other fliers hadn’t noticed his existence at all, and by the time his Presence Nullification faded away, Claud had already lowered his altitude. Skills usually lasted thirty minutes; Flight, for instance, didn’t really care if its user was still flying when it shut off.

For that reason, it was better to be closer to the ground or to stop flying right before the skill wore off.

Sliding down a tree, Claud watched as the floaty energy that had infused his body earlier faded away. Right now, he was but a mere five kilometres away from his destination, and more importantly, forty-five kilometres away from Pletsville.

Breaking into a light jog, tall city walls soon appeared in his vision. Unlike the time when he entered Pletsville, Claud was not intending to walk in openly through the town gates. The previous time was because he’d ran out of skillslips, and he didn’t have enough time to replenish them. This time, however…

Taking out a skillstrip that stored Presence Nullification, Claud glanced down at the familiar glyphs drawn on it, before tearing it apart. Energy washed over him, and in high spirits, Claud walked through the city gate, not forgetting to dance a small caper in front of the bored guards while he was at it.

Licencia, the City of Trades. Unlike Pletsville, this was a city brimming with life and activity. The baron that ruled Pletsville was a nincompoop, but the count that ruled Licencia, Count Nightfall, was an accomplished administrator. The citizens here had been accustomed to fair trials, and the soldiers here were actually disciplined if they made any infractions.

All these and more meant that Licencia was recognised as one of the best territories within the Umbra Sovereignty’s lands…

On the surface, anyway. Claud knew that there were also many shady dealings that Licencia participated in, but out of respect for Count Nightfall’s treatment of his city’s commoners, the self-declared chivalrous thief didn’t pay the good count’s treasury a visit. The nobles were free to backstab and kill each other for all he liked, but touch an innocent and a moonlit visitor would drop by.

Patting himself for sticking to such heroic ideals, Claud headed towards the largest bar in town, Dragon Drinking Desserts. Unlike its name, Dragon Drinking Desserts — or Triple D for short — didn’t deal with confectionaries; it dealt with drinks that numbed one’s tongue with an overwhelming alcoholic sweetness.

It also sold milk and apple juice, but that was for pansies.

At this time of day, there weren’t too many or too few patrons, which meant that whatever he was going to do next wasn’t going to be noticed much. Weaving through the chairs and tables, Claud walked into Triple-D and headed over to the counter and waved at the bartender. “Master, apple juice.”

The burly one-eyed man scoffed. “Pansy.”

“Deal with it,” Claud replied dismissively. “I know what kind of piss goes into your alcohol, and I’m not having that in my system.”

“You lookin’ for a deckin’?”

“Oh, you wanna throw down with me? Last time you did that, you lost an apartment.” Claud grinned. “Don’t mind if I get another one, though.”

“You lil’…”

“Alright, alright.” Claud flipped three bronze coins at him. “What’s the news like lately? Haven’t been keeping up; fell sick.”

“Which is why you should drink my Sparkling Dragonflame,” the bartender grumbled.

“Yeah…no. Just no, master. I only call you that cuz you make my apple juice the way I like it. Don’t expect me to buy into the tripe.” Claud caught the glass of apple juice the bartender slid over and took a sip. “So? What’s the latest breaking news?”

“Did you hear about Tot?” the bartender asked.

“Tot?” Claud repeated. “What’s that? The Moons’ new emissary finally appeared?”

“The sun’s still rising, so no.” The bartender poured out a cup of apple juice for himself and chugged it down. “Nah. It refers to That One Thief, or Tot. Tot stole the Umbra Sovereignty’s last pure-ranked lifestone, indirectly killing Ruler Umbra. Emperor Grandis got mad and promised one Moon’s worth of a reward for anyone who captured him.”

“Reward?” Claud asked, making sure to act like he hadn’t heard about it.

“Yeah. One entire damn duchy. Hereditary too.”

“Whoa.” Claud rubbed his chin and pretended to contemplate things for a moment. “Seems a bit fishy, though. Were pure-ranked lifestones always this rare?”

“That’s the shady bit,” the bartender replied. “Last I checked, there weren’t embargoes on the Umbra Sovereignty with regards to pure-ranked lifestones.”

“Sounds dangerous to take part in capturing Tot, then.” Claud took another sip of his apple juice. “Doesn’t it smell like a noble plot?”

“If it shines like a Moon, moves like a Moon, and kills like a Moon, it’s definitely a Moon,” the bartender noted. “Same logic, yea? You’re a friend of mine, so here’s my advice; stay as bloody far as possible from this Tot incident. And don’t, for the love of the Moons, go steal any pure-ranked lifestones.”

“Why?”

“This city’s gone crazy. Anyone with pure-ranked lifestones are hauled over to Count Nightfall for a cuppa tea.” The bartender lowered his volume even more. “And the tea’s like my sparklers. Dangerous.”

“At least you know your stuff’s dangerous,” Claud muttered.

The bartender chortled. “But seriously, don’t go after any pure-ranked lifestones.”

“Yeah, well, Count Nightfall is a swell noble, as far as nobles go. Ain’t going to plunder his vault.” Claud finished his glass of apple juice, before sliding it over to the bartender. “A refill, master.”

“You always get a refill,” he grumbled. “Do you know how expensive apples are?”

“Eh, it’s your bar policy. One free refill. Deal with it.” Claud replied. “Get me six chicken sausages while you’re at it.”

“Yeah, yeah.” The bartender looked around, before whispering. “What did you get from your latest heist?”

“Five low-ranked lifestones, all fully formed. You want them?” Claud asked. “Those things have no effect on me anymore.”

“Good for me, I guess. How many per piece?”

Claud raised five fingers.

The bartender raised an eyebrow. “Damn, son. Didn’t know you thought of me as a real friend.”

“Fifty gold, dolt. Not five.” Claud rolled his eyes. “You know the market price. I’m already selling at two gold below it.”

“Tch.”

“You just clicked your tongue at me, right? Right?” The master thief stuck his nose up in the air and sniffed. “It’s already cheaper than the market! What more do you want? Fine, I’ll sell the first one for forty-five, happy?”

The bartender grinned. “Always knew you were a good buddy.”

“You better reserve a few barrels of apple juice for me then. They’re like what, one gold at most?”

“Ninety-two silvers.”

“And that’s your selling price.” Claud flicked a lifestone over. “Help me deliver the usual supplies to my apartment. And as many barrels of apple juice as your conscience would have you give.”

“You run through them like water nowadays. Whose treasury was that fierce?”

“Some shitty knight’s,” Claud replied off-handedly. “Who the hell sets up so much security for a bunch of low-ranked lifestones and ornamental weapons?”

“Sheesh, bad luck, man.” The bartender refilled Claud’s glass. “Here, have another. On the house. Might wash away your bad luck.”

“I’ll drink to that.” Downing the apple juice in a single go, Claud got up. “Keep me updated on that Tot business, though. Might be able to find an easy mark.”

“You’re still going to poke yer nose into it, eh?” The bartender shrugged. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you then. This business’ murkier than the Morna Swamp.”

“Birds die for food; thieves die for money.” Claud inclined his head at the bartender. “See ya around, master. Don’t forget to send me my items.”

“I’ll choose the best barrels for you.”

Turning away from the counter, Claud navigated through the randomly-arranged tables and left the bar. He had a house in Licencia, courtesy of the bartender, who had lost it in a wager. It doubled as his safehouse in the Umbra Sovereignty…although, to be fair, it was his only house to begin with.

Once night fell, the bartender would send a runner to deliver the usual supplies a thief had to anyone who requested it in a day. As for why he would do that…

Well, the bartender was a member of the Profiteers’ Guild, where making money was second nature.