Anya’s POV
With her unsheathed saber held to the side, Anya, like a tense bow ready for release, waited calmly and quietly for Laird’s signal.
That was all she needed to pay attention to. None of the intricacies of the mission mattered to her. And while this particular assignment was certainly more bloated than usual and was already going off the rails, she had Laird. There was a reason she kept working with the spearman, even though she found him annoying 95% of the time. He could handle the chatter and when that was over with, he’d point her toward whatever she needed to cut without disturbing her.
Only a handful more jobs and I’m done, she reminded herself. And then she could strike on her own. She wasn’t sure what to do exactly, but she could use a break from the mercenary work. Already her handler at the Exchange was trying to get her to renew her contract, but Anya was ready to move on. The Exchange had sponsored her initial descent, offering her great teams to delve and plenty of resources. But she paid her dues, and she was ready for something new.
“What are you waiting for?” hissed the bishop, pulling her out of her musings as his faceless cowl snapped toward Laird. “Kill him! Do it!”
Laird raised a calming hand, his spear resting against his shoulder as he scratched his stubbly chin, only sparing the bishop a noncommittal hum. Because now that the target didn’t fall for the ambush, the plan would likely need to change.
The bishop looked between Laird and the Wanderer, spat something, then mana flowed down his hand as he took a step forward and instantly, Anya’s legs tensed while Laird’s spear moved, cutting off the bishop’s path toward his sworn enemy.
The target and Haver’eth didn’t even react. They just stared at the bishop with the same placid look a cat would give to a particularly fast slug. Then the green eyes of the witch slid up and met hers.
Anya’s breath hitched. It was as if, for the barest of instants, she was back in the dark swamp, running in the foul, murky waters while the smell of rotten eggs filled her nostrils as that nightmarish cackle followed her and whenever she turned, she expected those same green eyes to show up, peering at her through the brush before disappearing, making her question her sight and sanity.
Anya cut the memories away and ignored how cold her palms felt. Tightening her grip on the saber, she held the witch’s leer as the creature’s lips quirked up in a knowing smile, right before she loudly inhaled and smacked her lips, as if the monster had smelled something pleasant.
That, of course, attracted everyone’s attention. A moment later, Laird recovered, looking away from the smug witch and back to the bishop.
“Now hold on, my… devout friend,” drawled Laird as he lowered his spear and gave the bishop a sidelong glance. “We did agree to your assignment. But yours isn’t the only one we’ve taken. It can be argued that the attempt on our new friend’s life here has failed, considering he’d noticed our presence.”
The bishop shook his head vehemently. “No. The Church paid for a good-faith attempt on the thief’s life. Him noticing your lackluster preparation is on you. I still require a genuine attempt to be made. ”
Anya swallowed, ignoring the provoking gaze of the witch and focusing on the target as she ignored her clammy hands. This inaction was getting to her. She wanted to cut something. But thankfully, it seemed that the conversation was finally moving.
The job was still on. At least one of ‘em. She could use the exercise.
Laird sighed, shaking his head at the bishop’s words. “Well, that’s unfortunate,” he muttered leaning over his spear for a moment before he straightened up and smiled at the target.
“Apologies, Wanderer. This fellow here and the organization behind him really want you dead. Not hard enough to cover the cost of a guaranteed assassination, but I still need to make an actual attempt. I do hope that won’t sour this burgeoning relationship though. We do carry words from some other interested parties, but if this meager attempt’s enough to put you down, then there’s no reason to worry about such. Wouldn’t you agree?”
The target stared at Laird for a moment before he slowly turned to look at the bishop. “I understand how the Exchange works and I’ll still hear you out. I’m just a little surprised at how half-cocked the dregs of the Church are. Still trying to recover, huh? Business dried up?”
The witch barked out an eerily familiar laugh while the bishop took a step back as if struck.
“You will pay for what you took and the lies you spread. We will—”
“Do nothing,” the Wanderer snapped back. “Don’t you dare try to act the victim. You were trusted, and you used that trust to exploit, enslave, and steal from thousands. You are lucky I couldn’t handle the rest of your organization back then, but I will be coming to finish up whatever’s left of your rotten nest. Clearly, the Registry’s attention hasn’t been enough if the likes of you are still waltzing around with enough resources to set this whole thing up.”
That distracted Anya a little. That sounded like it was coming from more than just a do-gooder’s over-inflated sense of justice. That sounded personal. As for the conflict between the two, Anya recalled something about it from a couple of years back. The Church of the Path had been flying high after the successful return of its founder from the 35th, controlling large swaths of the resource-rich 17th floor. They were rich. Influential. And then their expansion came to a complete stop when reams upon reams of magic-enforced contract appeared on the door-steps of the Registry’s offices. Rampant exploitative indentureship, blackmail of neighboring nobility to keep them in check and all sorts of corruption and abuse scandals came to light. While that was enough to set them back and forced the Registry to intervene, the Church was still backed by a Grandmaster. Anya hadn’t paid that much attention about what happened next, but Church-sponsored work had definitely taken a hit with the Exchange.
Their coffers were a little lighter, and Anya wondered if the target had something to do with it. She eyed him carefully while Laird raised a hand to halt the argument from continuing. It was still unknown how he’d managed to steal all of those logs and documents from within the Church’s vault. As a Shadow herself, Anya had to admit she was a little curious. She wasn’t sure she could pull that off at her current level, even with a team.
So how had he done it? When supposedly, he’d been weaker? Was that why the Keepers were sniffing around him?
“Tempers are high, I understand,” began Laird, leaning forward a little. “And I apologize for interrupting, but I’d like to clarify that the Church is a contributor to this assignment. Someone owed someone else a favor, and long-story short, we accepted their ‘contract’ because in any case, we need to make sure you’re… well, as capable as the legends claim. A test, if you’d forgive the presumption, just so we know we’re offering the right thing to the right person and all of that.”
The bishop slowly turned toward Laird, and Anya felt the man’s gaze flick to her for an instant, but she didn’t deign glance toward him. She kept her eyes on the target and his witch.
“Is the Exchange using the Church as fodder, Master Laird?” the bishop asked, voice low.
Laird gave the bishop a sidelong glance, blinking a couple of times as if he’d just gotten a question from a particularly dim companion. “You need to ask?”
The cave plunged into an awkward silence that only lasted a couple of second before the witch’s badly stifled snickering cut through the air.
The bishop was literally shaking with indignation. “We will remember this. When our power is restored, we—”
A pulse of mana made all of them quiet as the Wanderer’s mask flared, the flames brightening the damp cave for a short moment before receding. “Yadda yadda. Let’s get on with this. How much time do you need for your ‘attempt’?”
Laird hummed. “Let’s call that… 30 seconds of strenuous effort?” he said glancing toward Anya, and she shrugged. That was good enough for her. If she couldn’t sever his head in 30 seconds, then she wouldn’t have succeeded anyway.
“That’s not—” the bishop began.
“Good enough,” said the Wanderer, talking over the robed figure again as he rolled his shoulder. “Let’s get started. I’m looking forward to hearing these messages you speak of. So I know who I need to thank for this.”
Laird smiled, ignoring the jab as he straightened up. But he wasn’t leveling his spear just yet. He just tipped forward a bit toward the target. “Ah…but it’s 2 on 3. Would you rather summon something else, or should I have one of us stand back?”
Anya tilted her head a little, glancing toward the Wanderer. If he had the witch at his disposal, did he have the others as well? That could also explain the Keepers’ interest.
Enjoying this book? Seek out the original to ensure the author gets credit.
They do seem interested in oddly powerful abilities, she recalled, and as far as she could tell, the ability to summon fully sapient copies of the Dungeon bosses would certainly qualify. If Haver’eth was here, did that mean that Grahl was available too? Would Ashirruk show up as well? The summon she was looking at felt powerful, too. At most 6 or 7 tiers below her. If the giant and the demon were an option, they might actually be at a disadvantage.
The Wanderer glanced to his right, meeting the lurid green eyes of the witch for a moment before he turned his attention back to the bishop, and Anya could swear she heard him scoff. “Hazel. Take a step back. I think a message needs to be sent, and no need to be ambiguous about it.”
Anya blinked, then grunted in amusement while Laird just raised a brow at the Wanderer before he shrugged. “Alright, then. Your funeral.”
Did he really think he could hold on alone for thirty seconds? Anya had checked the assignment’s intel. The Wanderer was suspected to have won against Ashirruk by his lonesome, but that wasn’t the same as fighting intelligent, unknown fighters.
Oh well, I guess we’ll see what happens, she thought as she shared a look with Laird while the witch calmly made her way to a nearby wall where a bundle of roots were breaking out of the stone and soil, turning into flowery branches that twisted and twined until a chair of root took form in a matter of seconds.
The witch sat down, and graced them all with her creepy smile.
“Ready?” asked Laird, and the Wanderer didn’t move. His hands were still behind his back, while the bishop had his ceremonial dagger out, his mana already swirling out of his core and around his frame.
Laird counted them down. Anya had her target, and she had her signal.
Letting out a slow breath, a smile tugged on her lips as she activated her Skills one by one. Her vision sharpened. The world slowed and her muscles coiled, full with explosive energy that never left her control. Her senses stretched to the ground below her feet, becoming as much an extension of her as the cold, sharp blade in her right hand.
She was ready. So when the Laird called the start of the fight, Anya moved.
In a single step, she silently crossed the twenty yards separating her from the target, her saber already whistling toward the Wanderer’s neck. The air didn’t even try to resist or hamper her. She was unnoticed. Unfelt. And the blade smoothly flowed through the air as peacefully as the reaper’s scythe and right as the blade was within a couple of inches of the Wanderer’s neck, he disappeared, and a loud crunch and curse echoed in the cave.
Anya came to a stop a few yard past him without skidding, coming to a stop as if she’d taken a leisurely step. Frowning, she glanced behind her just in time to see a slab of arctic blue ice swinging toward her face. Lifting a foot, she found perch on the edge of the slab and with her Skill, she smoothed out the momentum and let it throw her back in the air, transforming it from an impact to a smooth shove.
That was when the picture became clearer.
Laird was ruefully extracting himself out of the wall in which he’d been thrown, and the bishop was still standing there, dumbfounded at how fast their Vanguard had been shoved aside. Turning her gaze back to the target, she eyed the slab in his hand and quickly realized what it was.
A war-door? No, not quite. A bit smaller than that. Still large for a shield though, she noted. She believed she’d read something about that, but before she could recall it, she watched the Wanderer’s release the two handed shield for a second, reach into the aether, then throw.
Anya had a tenth of a second to process what she was seeing before raising her arms in a panicked guard, mostly to protect her eyes before the first caltrop bit into her forearm, making her hiss between her teeth when the icy cold seeped into her flesh.
These weren’t normal caltrops.
Anya kicked the air and put some more distance between her and the Wanderer before she looked down at her forearms. The caltrops were a pale, almost white blue, with frost spreading out from wherever they found purchase.
Whitebite, Anya quickly realized before using the flat of her blade to dislodge the caltrops still stuck to her. The magical ice had a tendency of quickly spreading its cold before it went inert and even at her level, the damn stuff could do some serious damage. Mainly by numbing out whatever bit of flesh was exposed to it. Something she certainly couldn’t afford right now.
How the hell did he make caltrops out of the stuff?
Turning her attention back to the fight, Anya cursed and repositioned, aiming to attack from a blind angle. It had barely been a couple of seconds, but both she and Laird were on the back-foot already.
Laird was back in action, his spear crackling with lightning as he tried to find an opening under which he’d slip, but wherever he stabbed, he only met thin air or the side of the shield and after observing the exchange for a couple of seconds, Anya realized that Laird was dodging away from the shield. He was simultaneously trying to find an opening through the surprisingly reactive defense, but also doing his utmost to minimize contact with the shield, and when the Wanderer caught the final stab before Laird hopped away, Anya was pretty sure the glow of the spear had dimmed.
“That’s Warden’s Promise, isn’t it?” Laird called out, breathing a little hard. “I thought you’d use the spear for our bout. Not gonna lie, I wanted to see it.”
Anya used the chatter to blur forward again, but the Wanderer had been expecting it. His hand blurred, and her path was once more filled with glittering, jagged caltrops. But she had expected it as well, and a thread of mana went down to her waist and activated her belt.
A pale, silvery shield flared to life around her, and the hail of icy caltrops plinked uselessly against her shield but even though she countered his counter, she realized he’d accounted for her, and that she still dancing to his rhythm.
Anya came face to face with the half-door sized slab of carved ice but this time, the swing came a lot faster. And the shield was glowing with ominous, frosty light that made her senses scream.
Her shield won’t be able to take that.
With a curse, she used a Skill and kicked the air, leaping high as she had no intent of testing what he had in store for her and from above, she twisted, saber raised as she spoke between gritted teeth.
“[Flash Cut].”
Anya slashed down, blade glowing with blinding white light, and body-sized arc of cutting light flew down instantly, only to disappear against the Wanderer’s outstretched hand. “[The Courier Accepts All]. And [Return to Sender],” he added before he turned and backhanded Laird’s thrown spear, which flew back in a straight line toward its owner, as if the Wanderer had thrown it himself. The Vanguard jumped away with a curse as his spear hit the ground on which he’d been standing, detonating in a geyser of rocks and arcing lightning.
Anya landed nimbly on her feet, her breath a little hard and glanced past the target while clumps of molted soil splattered down on the other side of the cave. The bishop was on his ass, a few yards way, and Laird was rubbing the back of his neck as he eyed the arcing field surrounding his spear.
Her eyes flicked back to the man they were supposed to kill as he reached for his mask and removed it. He hadn’t even broken a sweat. What kind of fighting was this? He was certainly good with the shield, but their prep mentioned a spear and a pretty good repertoire of elixirs. He hadn’t even used any of those.
With his shield loosely held in his left hand, he gave them both a look. “I count around ten seconds left. You still want to continue?”
Anya knew her answer. She knew that unless she threw caution to the wind, she wasn’t going to land a good hit and even if she did, she’d have to get through his healing potions and elixirs first. They were out-gunned. But she still deferred to Laird.
The spearman grimaced, most likely thinking the same as he’d spent more time studying the target than her, then his shoulders sagged as he let out a tired sigh.
“I don’t see why we should even bother,” Laird finally said. But on the other side of the cave, someone else seemed to have an objection to that.
The bishop jolted upward, his trembling hand pointed at the Wanderer. “Wait—”
“Hazel,” the Wanderer simply said, without looking, and before the bishop could react, a lance-like root silently stabbed up, catching the bishop through the chest before more tendrils came out of the ground, wrapping themselves around his limp body until barely seconds later, the body and the roots disappeared below the soil, where only a little depression in the earth was left.
The cave was silent for a few second, the quiet only disturbed by the screeching coming up the tunnel and now that she had a moment and that the fight was over, she could look him over a little better. He was a little younger than she expected but then again, at their tier, appearances could be deceiving. But there was no denying the face she was seeing.
Their intel was correct. Or at least, one of the potential theories about his real identity had hit gold. The Wanderer who caused the incident at Rivergate and the above-average stranger seen entering the city only a day later were the one and the same. The same stranger who strongly resembled the same no-name Torchbearer from Rivergate that went missing six years ago, a kid who hadn’t even reached tier-5, most likely dead in a delve gone wrong. Those who’d contracted him had declared him dead, but obviously, he was still alive and kicking and considering all that took place barely a few years ago. How had he grown this strong, this fast?
One thing for sure, it made sense why everyone and their mother were trying to recruit him. And it made sense why the Registry was all over him. Because the only reason the Exchange knew so much was that the Registry kept ample documents and logs about all delvers.
With a wave, the thick slab of a shield disappeared, and reaching into a fold of empty air, the Wanderer pulled a full table out, then followed it up with three regular, wooden chairs.
“So,” the Wanderer said with a comfortable smile, gesturing invitingly to the chair in front of him as he waited for them to approach. Laird shrugged and recovering his spear, he strapped it to his back and approached, so Anya did the same. Once they were both seated, the Wanderer—aka Miles Callahan—sat down and smiled at them. “Let’s start over. Tell me, what’s your message, and why exactly had there been people following my friends on the surface?”
Anya glanced toward Laird who, after giving her a nod, reached up and removed his mask. Anya did the same, but she still left the talking to him. She had to admit though, she was curious how this whole thing will develop. This assignment was turning out to be less boring than she’d expected.
Maybe he’d say something that would explain how in the Hells he’d accomplished what had taken her decades in half of one.
Starting in March, Scorching Ascension and Torchbearer will be going on a short-term hiatus of roughly three months. During that time, I’ll be focusing almost entirely on finishing Undersea. It's nearing the end of Book 3, and I already have a loose outline for Book 4. Once that’s done, I’ll be back to running only two stories at a time, which should mean better consistency and better chapters across the board.
I want to be clear: I have no intention of dropping either story. I’m enjoying working on them, and this pause is about making sure I can give them the focus they deserve instead of splitting my attention across three fronts every week.
two chapters a week, with an occasional single week chapters. Not having to switch gear so often would make it easier to keep the story flowing, I'm pretty sure of that.
Edit/ETA on next chapter: Working on it! Likely out on Sunday
Update: Still working on it, about halfway done, will be out tomorrow (Monday)
