“Do you remember the plan?”

“Yes. Don’t engage first, don’t hurt anyone too badly. Wait for you to get proof for the police.” Cain summarised out plan, as we walked down the stairs of my apartment building.

I had called the police, explaining the situation to them. But they told me they couldn’t do anything unless I was actually getting attacked. After finding out I was an high ranker, which was not information I was eager to reveal, they completely dismissed the case, telling me that I should not occupy the police line with business I could handle myself. Before I had the time to argue, they had hung up the phone.

“Where to?” Cain asked.

“Downtown, under a bridge. The promenade should be empty at this hour.”

“Are you sure that’s the best idea?”

“No. But the only alternative is an alleyway, or a parking lot.” I replied.

Truth be told, I was anxious. As we walked down the streets, heading towards the Seine, I clenched onto my sword with anxiety. Truly, this situation could not have been further from how I imagined my life to be. Yes, the infiltration mission had also been stressful in its own way, but damn; I had lived in Paris most of my life, even before I had reincarnated in this world, so it felt all that more out of place. Being stalked and attacked by some strangers, using others it fight my battles; the only thing that did match up with my previous life was the fact that the police refused to intervene unless someone was being murdered under their eyes.

The irony of this whole situation was that it matched up almost perfectly with the setting of ‘immortal immorality’, and many other eastern novels. With all these nonsensical fights between overpowered people in an urban setting, I could almost see myself as a protagonist of one of these stories. Except that with my skillset, I felt more fit to fill the role of that one NPC who always stood to the side, and cheered for the actual protagonist.

“There’s a bridge there.” Cain spoke as we approached Pont Solferino.

“Are we still being followed?” I asked.

Cain nodded.

“More than one person as well, if I’m not mistaken.” He said.

“Then let’s not keep them waiting.”

“Remember us, bitch?” A familiar voice spoke, as a lightly-dressed woman with a long dagger in each hand leaped from the bridge and onto the road below it.

“No. You’ve never seen me before.” I calmly replied, relying on my skills t do the rest.

“That trick worked once, but not twice Mademoiselle de la Sablonnière.” A man spoke as he joined his teammate on the promenade.

Unlike the woman, he had taken the designated stairway that linked this spot to the road above. Although he wasn’t wearing the same jacket, there was no doubt this was the same man who’d thrown an icicle at me. I had no doubts that Cain could easily take this duo down, but what worried me is that he called me by my last name, the one I had worked so hard to conceal. Could these thugs be linked to my father, I wondered.

“What trick?” I asked with an innocent tone. “I assure you, we’ve never met before.”

The woman raised her weapons in a guard, and the man took a more defensive stance as well. I put my hand over the hilt of my sword, ready to draw it at a second’s notice, and spoke:

“No truly, you should consider a different carer path, if attacking young women is all you do for a living.”

“Stop provoking them.” Cain hissed at me.

He was right, of course, but the part of me responsible for reasonable decisions had gone into hiding the second I had left my flat this evening. This tension, and the promise of a good fight were exhilarating. I could feel my own heartbeat resonate within my blade, ready to attack, ready to fight.

“Now, now,” A third voice which I did not recognise, resonated in the tight space between the river and the floodwall, “We have all had a go at doing things our way, and it seems you have picked up on our little scheme. I would expect nothing less of a daughter of the great Lord Vincent de la Sablonnière.”

A figure appeared, as if materializing out if think air, a few meters away from me and next to the duo. They wore an elegant black cloak which covered all of their features, with just a few strands of ginger hair peaking from under their hood.

“Allow me to introduce myself,” They said, with a bow.

Gerald Leblanc

He/Him

32

B

Illusionist

Discord Bringer

Song of Anthemoessa

Confusion

Soul Mirror

Foresight

Mists of Dawn

luck

26/100

MP

77/100

Strength

9

Dexterity

12

Constitution

10

Intelligence

13

Wisdom

11

Charisma

12 = 10+2 (flair and a penchant for the dramatic)

“Pleasure.” I replied dryly. “Since you seem to be just a tad more well-mannered than your friends, could you also tell me why you so desperately tired to kill me the other day, in the park?”

“Ah,” Gerald smirked, “Well, that I am afraid I cannot do. But as a gesture of goodwill, I shall offer you a gift.”

He extended a hand forward, and opened his palm to reveal an antique watch with a crystal cover. Then, in a very elegant movement, he turned his hand, allowing the watch to slowly slide, and drop to the floor.

Cain rushed in front of me, to block a potential explosion, as I myself dropped on my knees and covered my head, expecting the same thing. But nothing of the sort came. The watch hit the ground with a soft bang, and the crystal on its top silently shattered.

Artefact-enabled anti-magic field in effect

Triggers for passive skills no longer exist

MP cost of Active skills double

MP regeneration rate halved

Triggers for luck regeneration no longer exist

“That evens the field a little, wouldn’t you say?” Gerald said with a smirk.

“You just shot yourself in the foot.” I retorted as I got back.

I remembered such artefacts from the book. Although they were rare and powerful, the kind of artefacts that needed to be broken to activate typically had a zone effect, with teleportation stones being one of the only exceptions. Hence, this group had lost its advantage by hampering both their casters. I wondered if they did this because they thought I was a caster myself.

In the end, it didn’t matter, because I didn’t have much combat skills to begin with, and none of those effects seemed like they could seriously hamper Cain.

The kid looked up at me. Although his expression seemed a bit worried, he nodded at me before confirming:

“This shouldn’t be an issue.”

“You little fuckers-” The woman exclaimed, as she launch at me.

Cain easily blocked her attack. Using her knives as a pivot point, he leaped in the air behind her, and shifted into his wolf form, before letting his full weight drop onto her.

Her buddy, the ice elementalist, yelped and took a few steps back. Cleary he hadn’t expected that.

The woman shoved Cain off her, as they engaged in proper one on one combat. It was obvious from the way he moved that Cain wasn’t really giving his all, and as the elementalist cast his icicle-projectile spell, the blood-red wolf easily blocked it.

In that moment, I should have called the police. I had my phone in my pocket, easily withing reach. And I knew the three digits I had to dial. But –

The blade in my hand felt so warm, so right. The enemies were weakened, so this was my chance, if not to kill or wound, then at least to practice-

I launched towards the man in the cape. My white blade shimmered under the orange eyes of the streetlights; it reflected a smile that wasn’t my own.

The Illusionist actually took a few steps back, and to the side, hoping to avoid both my blade and the cold water of the Seine. My sword came so close to his face, but just as it was about to make contact, a dull end of an axe pushed it away.

“Not a second too late, am I?” The new arrival asked.

I snapped my head, and found myself facing a bulky man. His tattoo-covered chest was less than a meter away from me. He grinned, and swung his axe back, making me leap away from the weapon.

“I had to tie some loose ends, although some brat seemed to have done most of the work for me.” He informed the cloaked man, as he swung his axe back over his shoulder. “But I am now all yours.” He turned towards me with an amused smile.

The last thing I managed to notice, before we engaged in an elaborate game of wack-a-mole, for lack of a better word, was the fact that his trousers were eerily similar to those police officers wore.