Over the next few days, the news of Dean cutting his way out of the stomach of a nest boss spread like wildfire. It seemed that every prospective Adventurer in the training hall had heard a live accounting from Finn at least once, and those were the lucky ones.

  With each retelling, the tale seemed to take on a life of its own. On two separate occasions, Dean’s training had been interrupted by questions.

  “Is it true you culled an entire nest on your own without a class?” asked a young archer with her hair in a bun.

  “Uh,” said Dean awkwardly. “No, I was with Finn’s party. We had an archer, a heavy, and a martial, and that’s why we were able to-“

  “Wow,” said the woman, clearly not listening. “Killing a nest boss solo as a classless is…just wow. You must be insanely brave to take on a challenge like that.”

  Dean hadn’t known how to respond. He’d noticed then the eyes on him, the expressions of those around him reflecting a myriad of complicated emotions. Some were awed, some were curious, but several glared at him with outright hostility. Among them had been Matteo’s party.

  Knowing it would be unlikely that he’d get any additional training done for the day, he’d packed up early and headed for the door.

  “Dean!” A hand caught his arm, and Dean’s whole body tensed in anticipation of a fight. That was, until he realized who the hand belonged to. Harper’s hair was in a warrior’s braid, and the fighting leathers and sheen of sweat she now wore was a sign that she had just come from training in the VIP area. Not for the first time, Dean wondered what was on those forbidden upper floors. Was it something that might offer him an edge once he manifested?

  “Here to give me another cryptic warning?” he asked her, raising a brow. Harper’s eyes flashed with amusement.

  “Cocky already? And here I thought it would take a few more great deeds to inflate your big head. I should have known you were trouble the day you walked through those doors.”

  Dean snorted.

  “What gave it away?”

  He had been joking, but to his surprise Harper seemed to actually consider his words.

  “The way you told off the son of an Imperial Knight in the street with no consideration of your own safety. It was then I realized that you were either incredibly stupid or incredibly brave. Or very likely both at once.”

  She fell into step with him, her hands clasped behind her back. Several registrants gawked as they passed, one warrior even dropping his sword, which clattered loudly across the floor. Harper seemed either entirely unaware of the attention attracted by her choice of companionship or indifferent to it.

  “Listen Dean,” she said, glancing at him out of the corner of her eye. “I wanted to talk to you about something. There’s no doubt that you’ve made some waves since you arrived here. Certainly, the news of your exploits is spreading through some circles of the city. It may not seem like a big deal, but word travels, and when it does well… it doesn’t take long for people to start asking questions.”

  “Sounds ominous.” Dean tilted his head at her, and she laughed.

  “One could say that. Look, I already gave you the lecture about the danger of attracting too much scrutiny, so I won’t bore you with it again. But what I will do is offer you a bit of unsolicited advice. You have a talent for making enemies.”

  She flicked her eyes up to the VIP lounge, where Maxim and several others lounged. Dean followed her gaze.

  “What you lack,” she continued. “Are friends or allies. Believe me when I say that navigating the politics of this city is complicated. And that complication only intensifies once you leave Haven for the outside world. Having allies in your corner, people who could back you or vouch for you, is a powerful thing. And for someone of your potential for talent? I doubt you’d find it very difficult to garner interest.”

  She removed an apple from her inventory, polishing it on her sleeve as Dean threw open the double doors to the outside. The traffic of the main city had slowed as the sun lowered in the sky, framing the distant buildings and cathedrals of the Academy in hallowed light. In his first life, Dean had never really appreciated the beauty of the city, but now it was plain to see.

  Harper leaned against the stone railing of the steps, biting into the apple as she watched people milling by on their evening duties. Dean joined her, propping his elbow against the bricks as he gazed out over the city. In a way, he knew Harper was right. If he wanted to make waves in this city, then it was going to attract attention one way or another.

  “And what exactly are you proposing?” he asked, twirling his mother's knife in his hand. The motion was practiced and familiar to him, a habit he had formed during his time on the road. “That I seek validation from the city’s powerful and wealthy? I doubt they’d want anything to do with the likes of me, and I’m not the type to beg for scraps.”

  Harper lowered her apple, her expression thoughtful.

  “No, you aren’t, that much is clear. What I’m suggesting is that you learn to play the game. Going it alone is noble and all, but being noble doesn’t make a man rich. You have potential, Dean, I won’t downplay that fact. There are more than a few Guilds that might be interested in sponsoring you if you were willing to hear them out.”

  Dean paused, the knife balancing flat on the center of his index finger.

  “And if I was?”

  Harper smirked.

  “Then I’d tell you to come to the Autumn Banquet in city hall in three weeks time. All the “wealthy and powerful” patrons you seem so allergic to will be in attendance, as will some of the more prominent local Guilds. If you’re looking to find a sponsor, it would be a good place to start.”

  Dean laughed.

  “You’re mistaken if you think they’d ever let someone like me in a place like that. The city watch would take one look at me and throw me in the nearest canal.”

  Harper paused, the apple halfway to her mouth.

  “Did you forget who I am? It’s true they don’t allow just anybody to attend. But if you have a formal invitation from an honored guest…” she trailed off, wiping apple juice from her red lips. Dean suppressed a smile.

  “And?” he asked. “What’s in it for you? You can’t expect me to believe that you’re inviting me to this event out of mere charity.”

  “Are you insinuating I’m not the charitable type?”

  “I’m insinuating that you aren’t stupid. Backing me, especially backing me publicly, wouldn’t exactly be a popular decision. If I were arrogant, I might assume that your father’s guild had an interest in me, but we both know that’s unlikely. So,” he sheathed his knife in one fluid motion. “Tell me why. Why bother to try and help me?”

  For a moment, Dean wondered if she’d answer him. Her face had smoothed, her expression impossible to read. Finally, she blinked, nodding once as if in confirmation to herself.

  “Because things are changing. Since the founding of this kingdom and the war of the First Saints, there have been many more Adventurers than dungeons in this land. Populations of beasts were closely controlled, and all zones and territories carefully guarded. But several years ago that changed.”

  She glanced away from him, her face somber.

  “The spawn of dungeons became more frequent and less predictable. Beasts began to devour essence at an unnatural rate, causing evolutions that shouldn’t be possible. These days, there aren’t enough high-ranking Adventurers in every hub and province in the land. More and more dungeons spawn, and overflow is causing pandemonium. Back when these changes first occurred, the Guilds thought they could manage them. That it was just a trend, a fluke that would set itself right with time. They were wrong.”

  Dean’s blood went cold at the words, as memories stirred in the back of his mind. He knew the cause of all these phenomena. Tartarus. The Abyss was waking up.

  Harper was still speaking, and it took a moment for his mind to pull itself from the dark memories.

  “It may not seem significant, at least not at first. Dungeon overflow and beast population don’t affect us here in a major city that’s well defended. But don’t be fooled by the Empire’s propaganda. If things continue on their current trajectory – If more Adventurers are killed each year than earn their badge…”

  She trailed off, but Dean got her meaning.

  “You want more Adventurers.”

  Harper smiled sadly.

  “No,” she said. “Working with my father means I’ve seen my fair share of bright-eyed Adventurers come and go. Some are idealistic, some are self-serving and petty. Others care only about ascension and power. Half of them die. More the former than the latter, unfortunately. No, what I want are more competent Adventurers. Ones who have the power, drive, and knowledge to ascend ranks without all the political baggage.”

  Finally, she turned to face him, her expression growing serious as she searched his eyes.

  “That’s what sets you apart, Dean. And believe me when I say the Guilds will both respect it and fear it. Besides,” She pushed off the railing, heading back towards the double doors.

  “Maybe I just want to see what happens when you stir the pot. Think about it, will you?”

  “And what’s in it for me?” he called after her. Harper turned to look at him, red lips curving upward.

  “You get to see how good my ass looks in a dress.”

  The doors swung shut behind her before he had a chance to answer. That girl, he decided as he descended the steps with a smile on his face, was going to get him into a world of trouble.

  ***

  The morning of the written exam, Dean couldn’t sleep. He knew he had an hour before the sun rose, and another still until he was expected in the academy. But still, he couldn’t seem to shake his restlessness. After lying in his bed tossing and turning, he finally resigned himself to the reality that he was unlikely to get any more sleep.

  So instead of giving in to the nerves now coiling in his stomach like an angry serpent, he decided to throw himself into his morning routine. This time, he was able to run half the city, making it back home just as the sun was rising.

  His sister paused halfway through filling her quenching trough to gawk at him as he walked up the pathway towards their small ramshackle house.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

  “Dean Aaron Thompson,” she said, her voice mock severe. “Since when are you this muscular?”

  Dean blinked in confusion, glancing down at his bare chest. Growing up, he’d had always been scrawny. Thin arms and legs, and not a lot of meat on his bones. It was a product of growing up the way he did. Meat was expensive, and he’d never really had an interest in training. At least not beforehand. Now, his body was beginning to change. Hard dedicated training for the last few weeks had been paying off. There was minor definition in his shoulders and chest, and when he clenched his fist, veins stood out along his forearm.

  “Since I started taking my training seriously,” he said, turning back towards the house. Sylvie whispered something under her breath that sounded a lot like. “Is he possessed?”

  And Dean couldn’t help but grin. His sister hadn’t known what to make of his new attitude and routine. On one hand, he could tell she worried for him. It was in the way she checked on him, the way she stayed up late at night if he was late home from the training hall. But on the other she seemed relieved that he finally seemed to have the inclination to try at something in his life.

  And this is only the beginning.

  Dean washed himself in the basin and dressed quickly. He pulled on a fresh shirt, an overtunic, and a pair of boots that were slightly less worn than the pair before.

  I need to buy new clothes, he thought as he combed his fingers through his dark, unruly hair. And I’ll need to get this sword appraised. Whatever it is, it’s certainly enchanted.

  The sword in question was leaning against his bed frame, its simple silver hilt glinting in the sunlight through the window. By all appearances, it seemed like a normal blade, but Dean had felt something when he wielded it. A strange urge… almost as if the sword itself lusted for blood.

  Paranoia, he told himself, shaking his head as he stalked towards it. Still, he hesitated with his hand hovering above the blade. He had felt something that day. Almost as if the metal had been calling to him. Blinking away his thoughts, he placed his sword in his inventory and headed for the door.

  Summer was coming to an end, and the new autumn air was crisp and cool. The breeze ushered in the scent of dried leaves and juniper, and with it came the memories. Sitting around the campfire with Charlotte and the others. Laughing, talking, and enjoying a fireside meal. Even Captain Ripley had seemed in high spirits then – back before the war took a turn.

  I almost miss it, he realized, and the thought made his lips twitch. Whoever thought I’d miss those long marches and the endless stories the Captain used to tell. He was a scoundrel and a liar, but man, could he spin a good tale.

  Dean was so lost in his thoughts that he almost didn’t catch the commotion up ahead of him. Glancing up, he saw that the gatehouse of the inner wall was swarming with gold cloaks. That was odd, but odder still was the fact that the line passing through to Upper City had ground almost to a halt.

  “Ridiculous,” groused one of the merchants ahead of him. The man was gripping his unruly donkey by the bridle, glaring ahead as the Gold cloaks stopped yet another patron. “At this rate, we won’t make it through the main gate until noon.”

  Dean stepped out of line, leaning around the shoulders of those in line to get a better look. Sure enough, the line itself stretched for a hundred feet, and it was crawling at an alarmingly slow rate. The merchant wasn’t the only one disgruntled by the checkpoint.

  A farmer carrying a basket of goods tromped past, muttering a few choice words under his breath that would have made a river sailor blush.

  Dean waved a hand to get the man’s attention and was met with a scowl.

  “What’s the hold up?” he asked, jerking a thumb towards the gate.

  “Your guess is as good as mine,” said the man. He was missing a tooth, and a whistle accompanied every few words. “The gold cloaks have gone and lost their damn minds. Say they're looking for someone, some kind of hoodlum causing trouble in the Upper City. As if we know anything about that.”

  The man shook his head and made to move past, but Dean grabbed his arm.

  “Sorry,” he said quickly when the man’s scowl deepened. “Did they say who they were looking for?”

  The farmer shrugged.

  “Dunno, some sort of criminal. They didn’t say exactly who. But that ain’t the most interesting part,” he propped the basket of vegetables on his knee, leaning forward with a conspiratorial glint in his eye. By now, several of the lines patrons had been drawn into the conversation, including the merchant with the donkey. “Them ain’t no ordinary gold cloaks neither. Their armor and weapons are too fancy, and their swords look brand new. No, those are Academy Watch. I’d bet my harvest on it.”

  The merchant whistled, causing his donkey to dance nervously in place.

  “Academy City Watch, all the way down here? Well then, it really must be serious.”

  But Dean was hardly listening. A creeping feeling of suspicion was coming over him as he gazed past the row of heads in front of him. The merchant had been right. The city watchmen at the gate had now formed a blockade, six men strong, and were checking each cart and wagon as it went through. Their armor was of superior make, and the black embroidery around the hem of their cloaks left no doubt.

  These were guards on the academy payroll. But what were they doing here? If this was a matter if criminal activity in the lower city, then the watch assigned to the area would have taken on that responsibility. But glancing around, Dean realized that the usual watchmen were nowhere to be seen. His heart began to thud.

  Calm down he thought, clenching his fist inside his pocket. Just because they’re from the academy doesn’t mean they're looking for you. It could be anyone.

  But if it was a fluke, if the guards were really searching for someone else, why on this day, at this hour? Whatever was going on, Dean knew he couldn’t afford to risk it. The proctor had warned him that the Academy wouldn’t give him any sympathy. If he were late to this exam, he could kiss any chance of earning his iron badge goodbye.

  “Shit,” he muttered under his breath. Reluctantly, he turned and stepped out of line.

  “Where are you going, lad!?” called the merchant after him as the line moved forward. But Dean was already moving for the nearest alleyway. He needed to get moving, find a way around the blockade and back to the main road. But the goddess of luck wasn’t with him this morning.

  The merchants' outburst had caused one of the watchmen to turn. When he caught sight of Dean, he pointed, saying something to his companion. Helmeted heads turned in his direction.

  “Shit!,” hissed Dean again, this time more vehemently. Why couldn’t things ever be easy? He crossed into a backstreet and, as soon as he was out of their line of sight, he began to run. It wasn’t long before he heard the shouts behind him as the guard seemed to realize their quarry was getting away. There wasn’t any room left for doubt. He dodged right, leaping over a lowered flowerbed as he sprinted towards the mouth of another alley. He was just about to round the corner when he saw them.

  Two gold cloaks were headed his way from the opposite direction, hands on their swords.

  “There he is,” shouted one, pointing a gauntleted hand. Dean swore under his breath and tried to backpedal back the way he had come, only to come up short. The telltale jingle of armor alerted him to the presence of three more guards. They were trying to hem him in.

  Grimacing, Dean darted back down a second alleyway, narrowly avoiding colliding with a warehouse worker carrying a pack of heavy crates.

  “Ay watch it will ya!” shouted the young man, his face furrowed in a scowl. The scowl became a look of slack-jawed disbelief as five heavily armored watchmen barreled past him.

  “What in the name of the Gods..?”

  Dean poured on the speed, arms pumping at his sides as he sprinted for the end of the alleyway. The guards rounded the corner behind him, and he heard one of them snigger. It was easy to see why. The alleyway ended in a low brick wall, behind which there was only the roar of the irrigation canal as the water was released from one of the upper dams. It was a dead end. Or at least, it seemed that way to anyone who hadn’t grown up in the lower city.

  “It’s the end of the line, boy,” called a guard. “Might as well come with us. There no nowhere left to run.”

  Dean slowed to a stop, chest rising and falling as he turned to regard the men now moving forward to hem him in. With experience, combat classes, and superior gear, it was a fight he was unlikely to win. But if he timed it right, he wouldn’t need to.

  “What do you want with me?” he asked, watching as the men approached. The watchmen spread out, fanning about him with the sort of casual air a predator might have when it knew its prey was caught.

  “You’re to be detained.” Said the oldest, his smile tight. Dean glared at him.

  “On whose orders?”

  The watchmen laughed.

  “The balls on this one,” muttered one of the others, grinning beneath his helmet. “Don’t you know how we are, boy? We ask the questions here, not you. Now, come quietly, and we might just be willing to forget this merry little chase you led us on. Otherwise…” the men shifted and Dean heard the rasp of steel as one of them loosened a sword in its sheath. His blood went cold. While he doubted the watch would commit murder in the middle of the street, he knew they weren’t above petty violence.

  And what’s worse, there's no one here to see it. It’d be my word against theirs.

  “Easy,” called the grey beard, throwing up a hand to his companions to still them. He stepped forward, a false friendly expression on his face.

  “Dean Thompson, is that right?” he asked, holding up a glove like a man trying to calm a wild animal. “Listen, we just want to talk.”

  Dean glanced between them, noting the way the guard's hands never left their weapons.

  “If you’re here to talk,” said Dean, shifting his weight to the balls of his feet. Then talk. Did Magister Vawn send you?”

  The grey beard’s expression didn’t change, but Dean saw a few of the others exchange glances.

  “That’s none of your concern, is it?” said the grey beard flatly. “Listen, I’ve met my share of boys like you. You’re flashy, a bit brash, nothing but air in that head of yours.” He tapped his gauntlet against his helmet. “But you’re not a criminal, are you? You know the law, and the authority it wields. So let me make this plain for you. We can do this the easy way or the hard way. Either you come with us and we show you some leniency, or we beat you until you can’t walk. Either way, I’m not particularly fussed.”

  The threat had been meant to cow him, but Dean only shrugged.

  “You’ve never met a boy like me,” he said.

  The man laughed, the sound echoing off the nearby bricks.

  “Is that so?” he asked and his tone was mocking. But Dean only tilted his head.

  “Care to find out?”

  The Watchmen hesitated a moment, his eyes snagging on Dean’s expression. For a moment, he thought he saw a glimmer of something. Hesitation? Maybe even uncertainty. But then the watchman shook his head like a dog.

  “Enough of this,” he growled. “Detain him. And don’t bother being gentle.”

  The watchmen stepped towards him, and Dean did what he’d planned all along. Relaxing his body, he focused, pulling on the center within himself. Since gaining the inherited trait, he’d only practiced using it a handful of times. The rush of warmth, the pressure behind his eyes, was still startling. But this time, he was ready.

  The greybeard came forward, and Dean saw the flash of the stun baton seconds before the man lunged. Dean didn’t bother to try to block the blow. The man was stronger, classed, and wearing heavy armor. A contest of strength wouldn’t get him anywhere. But being unarmored, Dean did have one advantage. His agility stat.

  Dean ducked, dodging beneath the blow at the same time he activated his inherited trait.

  Trait Active: Killing Intent. Duration 60 seconds.

  The Grey beard was already grinning, but his triumphant smile faded seconds later as his eyes met Dean’s. The effect was instantaneous. The man’s body went rigid, his eyes bulging as the weight of the trait's power hit him. Dean remembered that cold… the way the numbness had swept through him and left him unable to move. It had made him feel helpless… but like the dire wolf, he couldn’t afford to show mercy.

  Dean moved quickly, grabbing the watchman’s gauntlet and putting the force of his weight behind it as he curved the man’s arm inward. His elbow bent, his eyes widening as he realized what was about to happen. A vein on his neck pulsed as he tried to fight the effect, but Dean maintained eye contact even as he shoved. The end of the stun baton made contact with the man’s polished breastplate. Dean let go of the watchman's gauntlet right as the runes on the baton’s handle began to glow.

  There was a moment in which the other guards seemed to realize what was happening.

  “His eyes!” hissed one. “What-“

  Then the baton did its work. The rune flared, and lightning skittered across the watchmen’s armor, making the man convulse. He dropped to one knee, teeth clenched as the arcs of electricity slammed through him.

  “Corporal!” The nearest guard ran forward, reaching out a hand towards his fallen officer.

  “Don’t!”

  It was already too late. The second the gauntlet made contact with the guardsman, the electricity followed its nature. It conducted. The second guard hit the cobblestone in a crash of armor, his body twitching helplessly as the current ran through him. It was hardly enough to be lethal, but it was enough to serve as a distraction as Dean backed against the low wall. Through his hands, he could feel the vibration of the water before. Had the current died down enough? It was impossible to tell.

  Trait is no longer active

  Dean felt the rush of warm power in his eyes fade to a trickle. He was out of time.

  “Damn bastard,” snapped one of the remaining watchmen, striding forward with his sword in his hand. “Assaulting an officer of the law is a criminal offense. You may think you’re clever but your cheap tricks won’t work twice.”

  Dean was breathing deeply now, trying to draw as much air into his lungs as he could. He needed to buy more time.

  “I doubt defending myself from unlawful detainment is a crime,” he said. “But you’re welcome to file a complaint with the lower court. You know, through official channels.”

  “Bugger that,” the man stepped forward, his eyes hard as steel. “I say we gut him right now and call it an accident.”

  The other two hesitated, exchanging glances.

  “But the Magistrate said not to harm him. We’re only to detain him, rough him up a little, and set him free the next day.”

  “Forget the magistrate,” the soldier licked his lips, and Dean saw his eyes shift. “We get paid either way.”

  Reluctantly, the other watchmen drew their swords. Steel glinted in the early morning sunlight as they advanced on him. His mana sense flared, warning him of the mortal danger as the men advanced on him. Dean remembered the sword in his inventory, but before he could reach for it, he saw a glimmer of gold. Three more guards were advancing down the alleyway towards him, voices raised.

  He was outnumbered, and the men responsible didn’t care if he lived or died. But that was the nature of corruption – it was always the same. It had been corruption that led to the downfall of Haven. Corruption that led humanity’s most beloved hero to betray all of mankind in search of personal power. Some things never seemed to change.

  Through the brick, he could feel the current slow. It wasn’t enough, but he was out of time if he didn’t want to end up skewered on a blade in some back alleyway.

  “Times up,” growled the nearest watchman, drawing back his arm. Dean turned and leapt over the wall.

  “He’s mad!” yelled one of the guards behind him. “He’ll never survive-“

  Then the cold water hit him like a punch to the stomach, and all became silent.