You have gained +2 power

  You have gained + 2 agility

  You have gained + 2 strength

  You have gained + 3 resilience

  Dean examined his stats as he sat with his back against the smooth wall of the medical building. The place was guild-owned and higher quality than any backwater healer he’d ever had to go to. He watched as a group of healers in crisp white robes bustled past him, heading for the emergency wing.

  “Dean Thompson?”

  Dean glanced up and saw a woman with spectacles and a tight bun looking at him expectantly as she ran her finger over a piece of parchment.

  “You’re here for Finnegan, I take it?”

  Dean rose to his feet, grimacing inwardly as he felt his sore muscles stretch. Though he hadn’t sustained any serious injuries in the attack, he was still feeling the effects of the bites and scratches. Most had scabbed over but that didn’t make them any less painful.

  “That’s right.” Dean approached the desk and the woman, presumably a nurse, looked him over.

  “It’s none of my business,” she said, her brows furrowing. “But I’m assuming you were also in the attack that took place a few days ago.”

  “What gave it away?” asked Dean dryly. The woman’s cheeks went pink.

  “Sorry, it’s just well… my job is to treat patients who come to this facility with injuries. Your report says you suffered nothing severe, but your wounds will heal more slowly on their own. If you want I could book you with a healer. Or perhaps you’d like to purchase a potion?”

  Dean’s eyes slid over her shoulder, taking in the vials, jars, and potion bottles on neat shelves behind her.

  Yeah right.

  “I’m fine,” he lied smoothly. “Thanks for your concern. Is Finn awake?”

  The woman hesitated for a moment, but upon seeing his stubborn expression she decided not to press the issue.

  “He’s awake and in room three. You’re welcome to visit, though it would be our preference if you only stayed an hour or two. He’ll need his rest, and Healer Atos can be a stickler for the rules.”

  She led him down the hall to a door with a wooden sign nailed to it that read “3-B”.

  “Thanks,” he said and she nodded and turned to go.

  “Please let me know if you change your mind while you are here. Trainees retain the right to be treated in our facilities, and the bill, of course, would be sent to your sponsor.”

  Dean almost laughed.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  The inside of the room was neat and tidy. There was a set of beds against the wall, one of which was vacant. In the other, propped up on pillows and covered in bandages, was Finn.

  “Finally,” he said when he saw Dean. “I thought you lot had all but abandoned me in here.”

  “Don’t be dramatic.”

  Dean shut the door behind him and took in his friend. Finn seemed in better spirits now. His bandages were neat and clean, and his eyes had regained some of their brightness. On the small side table next to him was a half-eaten tray of food.

  “Is that a lamb chop? Eating well, I see.”

  “I better be.” Finn slumped back against his pillows, looking harassed.

  “For the amount their charging my Guild? I could buy a stay at a fancy inn for a month. Who knows if the bill will ever reach them, anyway. At this rate, I may end up paying out of pocket. I can’t wait to become an Adventuerer. At least the money in it is a sure thing. All those quests and contracts…” he sighed. “That’ll be the life.”

  “It will certainly make life easier in some ways. Harder in others.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Dean shook his head.

  “Never mind. How are you feeling? I hear your healer is a bit of a hardass.”

  “Healer Atos?” Finn’s shoulders slumped. “He’s so strict. Still, I can’t exactly deny his talent. He said I should be back on my feet in another days time and back to normal a few days before the exam.”

  Dean whistled.

  “Can’t argue with results, even if it costs an arm and a leg.”

  Finn gave him a looking over.

  “And you? How are you healing up? You did get looked at didn’t you?”

  Dean glanced away.

  “No need, I’m perfectly fine.”

  Finn let out a noise that sounded suspiciously like a huff.

  “You point-blank tanked a rat swarm, Dean, I’d hardly consider that light work. Listen, if it’s about the money.”

  “It’s not,” interrupted Dean. “Really, I’m fine. They said I didn’t sustain any serious injuries. I guess you could say I got lucky.”

  Finn seemed unconvinced, but after a moment, he let it slide.

  “I can’t believe a creature like that was able to survive in the sewer that long without anyone noticing.”

  He shook his head.

  “A sign of the times, maybe. When I reported it to the guard, they could hardly believe it either. It wasn’t until a patrol went down into the sewers and saw the aftermath that they came to terms with the severity of it. Apparently, that thing is still alive.” Finn shuddered. “I can still remember its eyes. They were so… wrong. I’ve seen minor monsters, sure. But that thing was different.”

  “Yeah,” said Dean, his lips pursed. Finn glanced up at him.

  “You think so too? At first, I thought I was imagining the whole thing. I mean, a monster is a monster, right? But when I saw its eyes… the way the swarm behaved. There was something unnatural about the whole thing, and I can’t get it out of my head.”

  He was right, and Dean knew exactly why that was. Hesitating for a moment, he wondered how much he could tell his friend. He trusted Finn, and he didn’t strike Dean as the type to talk or report him to the authorities. Even so, caution was his friend. If he wanted to confide in someone, he could always do it later. Once he was sure it was safe.

  Still, the look on Finn’s face made him feel a twinge of guilt.

  There are at least some things I can tell him.

  “Listen, Finn,” said Dean, suddenly. “About the Rat King. I think you were right about it’s behavior and how it reacted. It wasn’t natural, not at all.”

  Finn’s eyebrows furrowed.

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean that normal monsters don’t behave that way. I’ve seen it before, that sort of frenzy.” He took in a deep breath, knowing what he was about to say would sound crazy to someone else. “I think the Rat King was p-“

  The door burst open. Shae strode in carrying a basket of what looked to be flowers and baked goods. Ten followed closely on her heels, his hands tucked into his martial robes in his usual display of solemnity.

  “Oh, you’re already here,” said Shae when she saw Dean. “Good, that saves us an extra trip. Here.”

  She rummaged around in her basket a moment before pulling out a few small bottles. She tossed them through the air, forcing Dean to step forward and catch them before they could smash on the hard floor. He looked down at them, eyes widening when he realized what he was holding.

  “Potions,” said Shae, unnecessarily. “To replenish the health potion, you had to use it after we made it out of the sewer.”

  Dean rolled the small bottles over in his hand, raising an eyebrow at the second.

  “I only used one minor health potion,” he said, glancing up at her. Shae shrugged.

  “Yeah, well. Consider the resilience potion a gift. We really owe you one, Dean. I mean it. All three of us would have been rat food if it weren’t for you. The potions should serve you well in the exam.”

  Dean smiled, tucking away the two potions in his inventory. They weren’t cheap, and he knew the thanks from his friends were genuine.

  “Thank you,” he said simply. Shae’s cheeks turned bright pink.

  “Whatever, Thompson. Don’t let it go to your head.”

  Dean stayed a while, listening to his friends talk and laugh. It felt almost as it had the night of the celebration, despite the fact that they were all a little shaken. Still, he couldn’t seem to help the way his mind strayed back to that night. It was something that had been eating at him for a while. Without a doubt that rat swarm in the sewers had been under the influence of a powerful demonic essence. The only question was – how and why?

  Demonkind hadn’t existed in human society since the first saints – the Adventurers who founded the Empire itself. It wasn’t until the attacks back then that humanity realized the scope of the threat.

  The Infernal Court had been planning this from the start. Were there this many signs back then?

  Dean clenched his fist in his lap.

  Why didn’t anyone see it? How could we have been so blind?

  But that, he knew, had been the crux of the issue. Humanity had seen what it wanted to see. The signs were there. The world was growing sharper all around them. It was more dangerous to travel, hunt, and even to dungeon dive. It was why Adventurering was becoming less and less popular as a career choice. It was too high-risk these days, especially when a comfy lifestyle in some estate or mansion was practically a given for those born into means. Back then, tales of demons and devils were just that. Stories.

  “You alright?”

  It took Dean a moment to realize the three were looking at him. He pulled him mind out of the past, managing to muster a smile.

  “Fine. Just tired. I’ve been training overtime lately. The exam is only four days away you know.”

  “Back on the grind already, huh?” Finn reached into the basket Shae had brought and pulled out a cookie, examining it before taking a bite. “Well, I don’t blame you. I know the doctors orders are to rest but resting doesn’t exactly hone our skills, now does it?”

  No thought Dean. And if I want to reach max stats before the exam I have no time to waste.

  He visited with his friends for another hour, enjoying the snacks and the company. Until at last, Healer Atos stuck his head into the room, giving them all a pointed stare. He made to say his goodbyes when Finn grabbed his sleeve.

  “Hey,” said the half-elf, looking up at him with genuine warmth. “I know we’ve said it before but it doesn’t hurt to say it again. Thank you, Dean. You saved my arse back there when we both know you didn’t have to.”

  Finn lowered his voice, face growing serious as he lifted a bandaged hand to Dean’s brow.

  “May the goddess bless you,” he said in Elvish. “And everywhere you walk in our lands may you be considered a friend of the Elves.” Dean blinked in surprise but bowed his head to accept the blessing. He knew from experience that it was not one given lightly – especially not to humans.

  “Gratitude,” he said in return. Then he and Finn clasped arms.

  “If you ever need something, brother, don’t hesitate to ask. I don’t forget my debts.”

  ***

  The door to the armor shop swung open, causing the attached bell to chime. Dean’s first impression of the shop was that it was larger than any he’d ever seen before, and cleaner too. It was an upper city shop, and one run by a blacksmith with a reputation for forging quality pieces for Adventuerers.

  Dean couldn’t help but feel out of place as the door swung shut behind him.

  “Ah,” said the bald man behind the counter. “Welcome to the armory, where all your armor, protection, and metalwork needs can be met! How can I help you…” His eyes landed on Dean and his smile slid away. “Sir.” He finished lamely.

  Despite the less-than-enthusiastic look on the merchant's face, Dean strode forward, his worn boots making no sound on the dyed carpet.

  “Hello,” he said. “I’m looking for one of the blacksmiths of this shop. Sorry, I don’t know his name but I am familiar with his maker's mark. It looks a bit like this.” Dean pulled a small scrap of parchment from his inventory, smoothing it down and sliding it across the granite countertop. The merchant blinked down at it, adjusting his spectacles on his nose.

  “Yes, that mark would belong to Arno, our chief craftsman. He’s occupied at the moment, but I could of course tell him that you stopped by.” The man’s smile was thin and condescending. “Though I warn you his work is of the highest quality, and not known for being cheap.”

  “None of that now.”

  The voice came from somewhere in the back. Dean watched as a curtain over a doorway shifted and an older man stepped into the shop. He was tall and lean, his long white hair falling to around his shoulders. And yet despite his evident age, Dean could see hard lean muscle bulging from his forearms as he wiped a sleeve over his brow.

  If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  The merchant turned towards him and his face seemed to loose a bit of it’s color.

  “Master Arno, my apologies, I wasn’t aware that you were here so early.”

  Arno set his heavy hammer onto the countertop with a thud, pulling off his leather gloves.

  “No,” he said. “I’m certain you did not. Else, you would have treated this customer with the respect he is due.”

  He turned away from the flustered man and surprised Dean by bowing at the waist.

  “Please accept my sincere apologies for my colleague's behavior. I am Arno, the master smith here. And who might you be?”

  “Dean Thompson.”

  Dean stuck out a hand, and the two shook. To his surprise, Arno’s face lit up at the name.

  “You wouldn’t happen to be related to Sylvie Thompson, would you?”

  “She’s my older sister.”

  “You don’t say.” Arno nodded, seemingly pleased. “Well, she’s got a bright future ahead of herself, that’s for certain. If I was young enough to still be taking on apprentices, I would have surely made her an offer. I know natural talent when I see it.”

  “I’ll let her know you said that.”

  “Good good,” Arno muttered distractedly as he walked forward. He eyed Dean’s worn and tattered armor, running a finger over his lip.

  “If you’re here for repairs, I have bad news for you, I’m afraid. The cloth armor isn’t salvageable, and by the look of the leather breast plate, its condition isn’t much better. I might be able to repair it, but there would be no guarantee of quality, let alone longevity.”

  “I’m not looking for repairs,” said Dean quickly. “I’m here in the hopes of purchasing new armor.”

  “We don’t sell leather goods,” said the merchant quickly, earning a glare from Arno.

  “If he didn’t have money, he wouldn’t be here. Look at the state of his armor. It may not be the highest grade, but it’s clear that Dean here doesn’t shy from a fight and by the looks of it he got the job done. Otherwise, he wouldn’t be here, would he?”

  The merchant hesitated a moment before reluctantly conceding.

  “He’s right, I have money.” Dean pulled the coin pouch from his belt and set it on the countertop with a heavy clank. Instantly, the merchant’s eyes flashed with new eagerness.

  “In that case, please feel free to look around.”

  Arno watched him closely as Dean turned towards the racks mounted on the wall, examining the armor. There were suits of all shapes and sizes, as well as crafted individual pieces. The craftsmanship was superb, but the prices were much of what he expected. From his hunting endeavors, Dean had managed to save just under thirty silver, and that wouldn’t be enough to buy a matching set of armor.

  “Might I make a suggestion?” asked Arno from behind him. The Smith's arms were clasped behind his back as he studied Dean.

  “I see you favor a broadsword. Are you a single-handed or two-handed fighter?”

  Dean considered the question.

  “It depends on the circumstance, but I prefer two-handed swords. Something about the weight is just more comfortable to me.”

  Arno nodded as if that was to be expected.

  “If that’s the case, then you’ll want armor that’s a bit less restrictive. Something that allows you to move while still providing ample protection.”

  Arno walked to the corner, pulling out a rack that stood behind the others. The armor on the dummy was much less gilded than the others and lacked the luster and polish of the more refined pieces. But despite its plainness, the craftsmanship was clear.

  Dean reached up, pulling one of the bracers from the rack and turning it over in his hand. Gently, he rapped his knuckles against the metal, producing a solid note.

  “That’s heat-treated Iron,” said Arno. “It hasn’t yet gone through the process of becoming steel, but it’s been hardened and shaped. Good quality stuff, and known to be quite durable. It’s also easier on the purse than steel pieces.”

  Dean nodded thoughtfully.

  “The craftsmanship is excellent. I’d love to own a set like this before my exam. How much would it run me?”

  “Hmm. For a full set, I would likely charge thirty-five silver. But for the way you fight, I think you could get away with a breastplate, bracers, and a set of greaves. Leaving out the hemet and gauntlets, you’d be looking at twenty-four silver all told.

  The number was more than fair.

  “I’ll take it,” said Dean. “But I’m going to need new cloth armor. What I had was shredded in the last fight and I don’t have a replacement.”

  Arno shook his head.

  “Forget cloth armor. I’d recommend something padded and reinforced. Something like,” He pulled a chest out from the wall and flipped it open, rummaging around inside. “Something like this here.”

  Dean took the proffered Item and inspected it. It was a padded training jacket with high durability and an armor stat of 11. With the cost at just five silver, it was right within his budget. He thanked Arno for his help and waited as the smith took his measurement and made a few adjustments to the armor’s straps and fitting. The master smith took his time, even asking Dean to try on the armor and do a few experimental practice swings with his sword.

  “Good,” he said approvingly. “How does it feel? Does the weight suit you?”

  Dean hopped from foot to foot, rolling his shoulders and neck.

  “The fit is good. The weight is something I’ll get used to soon enough. Thank you for all your help, master smith.”

  Arno bowed again, and Dean waved as he exited the shop. The truth was that the new armor felt familiar to him. The weight, the smell of the new leather interior… it was bringing back memories of the old days.

  With some proper protection, I shouldn’t have to hold back.

  And that alone, he knew, would make a significant difference. It was around lunchtime now, and the streets of Haven were unusually quiet. Dean was about to cross the street when the sound of hooves drew his attention. A carriage pulled by a grey horse came to a stop in front of him, and the door promptly opened. Dean tensed, unsure of whether or not he was in danger, but the man inside made no motion to attack him.

  “Dean Thompson?” he asked, peering through a pair of round spectacles.

  “Who’s asking?”

  The man only smiled.

  “Please forgive the intrusion. I am the butler of Lord Helion’s household. His son and heir, Draken, has requested that I find you and offer you lunch at his estate. Are you currently preoccupied?”

  The question caught Dean off guard.

  “No,” he said. “But-“

  “Excellent. Then perhaps I might convince you to attend? You are of course, free to leave whenever you wish. Just as the coachman and the carriage will drop you off at a location of your choosing.”

  Dean hesitated. He was eager to test his new armor, butat the same time he knew that speaking with Draken is something he needed to do. The Bronze ranker had made it clear that there was something urgent on his mind, and whatever it was had him worried enough to suggest a conversation in private.

  “Alright,” said Dean grudgingly. “I’d be happy to have lunch with Lord Draken.”

  The butler clapped his hands enthusiastically, and Dean was amused to see that the man’s smile seemed genuine. He climbed into the velvet-lined seats, for once not feeling quite so out of place in his new armor. The carriage lurched forward at a steady pace and the butler gave Dean another genuine small.

  “My apologies,” he said. “It’s just so good to meet one of Lord Draken’s friends. He doesn’t have many he can trust, you know. On account of his position, surely. But also…well. I’m sure you know by now that Lord Draken can be a little bit, shall we say, eccentric?”

  That was an understatement but Dean didn’t have the heart to point it out.

  “Uh, yeah. He’s a good man. Saved my neck once and I owe him for that, at least.”

  The butler’s eyes lit up.

  “Did he now! Well, I can’t say I’m surprised. He’s always had a bit of a passion for justice. He believes, much like his father, that it’s the nobility’s responsibility to care for the welfare of their people. Not a popular stance among other nobles, I can tell you. But it’s been his family’s motto for many generations.”

  Dean knew as much was true. Helion was one of the few powerful Adventurers who had gone down fighting with the army. He’d never been important enough to know the man personally, but Dean couldn’t recall hearing anything negative about him.

  And his household soldiers were loyal until the end.

  “Did Lord Draken say what it is he wanted to discuss?”

  The butler waved a gloved hand.

  “I’m afraid I’m not privy to that sort of information. I’m he will tell you whatever is on his mind over lunch. He has a way of being mysterious sometimes, but then again those are the times.”

  Dean arched a brow.

  Those are the times? I wonder what he means.

  “Has there been tension between the nobility?” he asked, trying to keep his tone casual. The butler let out a soft sigh.

  “Well, I am merely a servant of his lordship after all, and not subject to the nuances of imperial politics. But, If I had to hedge a guess, I would say that the recent shifts in power have some of the noble houses… uncomfortable at best. The Divine family rules this land with an iron fist, and we are blessed to have their leadership. Nonetheless, it’s no secret that there is friction among some of the smaller houses and certainly no small amount of strain on the larger ones to maintain the order. But that is the way of things among the nobility. I am certain it will work itself out.”

  “Yeah.”

  Dean nodded along even as he considered the butler’s words. So, it appeared the infighting among noble houses was only just taking root. Right now was the beginning of fall, which gave him just over seven months before the first incident would occur. The harvest festival massacre that would destroy the city of Haven and most of its population.

  “Well, anyway, I hope you’ll forgive the broach of such a serious topic. Today is a day for celebration after all, and the young master has had the estate’s cooks prepare a fine array of food and drink for the two of you. I believe congratulations is in order. I understand you passed the written exam, and with flying colors, I might add.”

  More like I cheated my way through it. Having foreknowledge and years of experience battling beasts and monsters on the road made for one hell of a live study.

  “Thank you.”

  The carriage slowed, and out of the small window, he could see a pair of long rot iron gates swinging open. The horse turned, and Dean found himself gaping at the sheer size of the place. It was like an entire plot of land had been upended in the middle of the city. Small trimmed greens lined the walkway, and a garden complete with a fountain, trees, and exotic plants stood in front of the building. The estate itself was large, with stone pillars wrapped with vines and what looked to be a dozen windows.

  “Just how big is this place?” he asked as he eyed the separate stables. The butler beamed.

  The estate of his Lordship in Haven boasts fourteen rooms, a billiard hall, and two separate steam-powered bathing rooms. The servants' quarters are in a separate wing, but they are equally spacious. Today you’ll be dining in the garden. I hope you find your temporary accommodations suitable.”

  Suitable? I’ve never even set foot in a place as high-end as this.

  “I’m sure I will.”

  The carriage ground to a halt and the butler pushed open the door, hopping down and flipping down the step as he gestured for Dean to exit.

  “After you, Mr. Thompson.”

  Dean exited the carriage and followed the butler towards the burgundy-painted doors, which a guard in scale armor neatly pulled open. A blast of cool fragrant air hit him as he entered the main hall. The tiles on the floor were a pattern of black and white, extending down several long halls that led to arched doorways.

  “If you’ll be so kind as to wait here, I will inform the young Lord of your arrival.”

  The butler bustled off down a hallway, his coattails disappearing out of sight a moment later.

  Dean took the opportunity to look around the place. A dark wood banister led to a set of spiral steps, and at its base was a statue several times the size of a man. Dean walked forward, eyeing the piece as he drew nearer. The likeness was oddly familiar, a muscular man with a bald head, his beard hanging down to his chest. He wore a ceremonial loincloth, and in his hand he held a spear that looked like it was made of pure fire. The details on the statue were extraordinary, and Dean leaned closer to inspect the carving at the base.

  “Ah, I see you’ve found Valnir, the God of war and ascendancy.”

  Dean looked up to see Draken descending the stairs, that familiar confident smile on his face. His long golden hair was combed neatly in place, and he wore a fancy jacket and shirt that was buttoned open, revealing a map of scars and muscle. Drake stopped in front of the statue.

  “Is he the patron god of your family?”

  The ranker nodded. “He saw fit to bless the first of our name centuries ago, and since then, each generation of my family has been chosen as a champion of his. Valnir’s power is, without a doubt, one of the most potent of the seven. He is a good patron to pray to, though you should know he is know to be quite selective about whom he chooses to bless.”

  Dean nodded. He knew a blessing from a patron God would be important when he went to manifest. The source of an Adventurer’s power was themselves, not their patron God. But being blessed played a vital role in one's ascendancy nonetheless.

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  “Now then,” Draken turned to face him, and again, the sheer size of the man was surprising. He was huge, larger even than Ryu. “I’m sure you wondered why it was that was so important that I asked you to meet with me in private. Frankly, I’m surprised you came. I’m sure you know by now that you have a few enemies.”

  Dean kept his face neutral and when he didn’t respond, Draken laughed.

  “Relax, I don’t count myself among them. On the contrary, I rather think your appearance in upper city has made things quite interesting.”

  He held out a hand, gesturing through a set of doors towards a decorated patio.

  “If you’ll join me for lunch, I’d love to discuss a few points that might interest you.”

  Dean followed Draken outside into the cool early autumn air. A long banquet table had been set with napkins, plates, and silverware. The table itself was stacked high with an array of sandwiches and desserts, all of which looked freshly made. Dean listened to Draken talk about the history of the house and his family as he took a plate of fruit and sandwiches.

  The ranker was animated, and judging by his body language, he was completely at ease.

  He meant what he said about not being my enemy. That much at least is true. Even so, I can’t help but want to skip this farce so that I can discover his true motive.

  “And what of you?” asked Draken as he poured himself a pitcher of iced tea. “All this talk about my bloodline and my family's accomplishments, and I’ve not thought to ask you about your own family. I hope you’ll satisfy my curiosity.”

  Dean paused with a grape halfway to his mouth.

  “Why?” he asked.

  Draken tilted his head, his mane of golden hair swaying slightly in the breeze.

  “Why? Because I want to know more about who you are, Dean Thompson.”

  Dean popped the grape into his mouth and chewed, waiting until he swallowed to shake his head.

  “No. I mean, why are you asking if you already know the answer?”

  He set his hands flat on the table as he gauged exactly how to say what he was thinking. A careless phrase would be enough to rile many of noble birth, especially coming from someone like him. But Draken didn’t strike Dean as the type to be easily offended. So instead, he opted for directness.

  “What I mean is that you have both the wealth and the connections to look into anyone you wish. What’s more, your family resources are evident. If it wasn’t obvious to me before, it would have been as soon as you had your man find me earlier today. You keep tabs on me, and you knew where I would be and when. Am I to believe that you didn’t already look into my past?”

  Draken’s smile didn’t falter.

  “Ah, so you noticed him tailing you. Interesting.”

  Dean hadn’t, but Draken’s words were enough to confirm his suspicion.

  The young Lord sighed, setting down his iced tea and folding his hands in front of him.

  “You’re right, of course. I have looked into you, but not for the reasons you might think. I will admit your entire situation is quite intriguing. A man of no stature and plain birth, if you’ll forgive the term, rises up to make a name for himself in a matter of weeks. And the things you’ve accomplished… notable, even for someone of means and rank. The fact that you’ve done all that you have as a classless is also unusual, though that’s not the core of the issue.”

  Draken pried apart two halves of a sandwich, examining one before taking a bite. Dean waited as he rolled his eyes.

  “Absolutely delicious. You really must try the dill cheese and salmon. Where was I? Oh, yes. The problem isn’t what you’ve accomplished, but more who has accomplished it. You have no history in this industry, nor a sponsor, nor any relationship with an Adventurer or Guild whatsoever. And yet you’re competent and capable? It seems too good to be true, doesn't it?”

  He leveled Dean with a stare, and for the first time, he saw the glimmer of cool intelligence behind the eccentric mask. Some of the heirs of the larger houses might be pompous, but they certainly weren’t fools. They couldn’t be if they wanted to maintain their family's position in the hierarchy.

  “So you thought I might be lying about who I was?”

  Dean took a swig from his water glass as Draken nodded.

  “In a manner of speaking, yes. But it was far more than that. See, I had to consider the possibility that not only might you not be who you say you are, but that you might be someone else entirely. Someone placed here by another – an enemy of one of the families, perhaps.”

  Dean arched a brow.

  “You thought I might be a plant?”

  “Of course, it’s only natural. My house, like all in the empire, have our share of enemies. Sabotage among nobility is not unheard of, and the circumstances of your arrival were unusual. I will admit, and I hope you’ll forgive me, that I had doubts about your intentions and capabilities at first. That was at least, until I looked into you.”

  Dean felt a surge of nerves, but he clamped down on them. There was no way Draken knew his secret. He hadn’t told anyone, and even if he had, who would believe such a thing? The ranker was watching him as if expecting some sort of reaction so he kept his face politely interested.

  “And?”

  Draken smiled ruefully.

  “And I found much to my frustration that you are exactly as you appear to be. No wealth, no influential family members or ties to Guilds or noble families. You’re an independent talent, Thompson, through and through. And that is why you have my respect.”

  Dean glanced up, surprised but the sudden shift in tone, but the Adventurer seemed entirely sincere.

  “Uh,” he said uncertainly. “Thank you. I respect you and your household as well.”

  “Oh?” Draken’s eyes glittered with amusement. “And what makes you certain that I’m worthy of your respect?”

  The way you and your father fought to your last breath in a past life. Never once considering turning tail and saving yourselves when your men were in danger.

  “Call it intuition.” He said aloud, and Draken only laughed.

  The giant set down the crust of his sandwich, his face thoughtful as he considered his words.

  “I like you, Thompson.” He said at last. “Despite the enemies you’ve seen to have collected along the way, I find you sincere, honest, and unyielding. Qualities my household reveres and respects. It is out of that same respect that I’ll be honest with you here and now.”

  He set his hands flat on the table and leaned forward with an intensity that felt almost physical.

  “You face a heavy choice ahead of you. When you pass your second exam, and note I say when, not if, you will be faced with a choice. One that will set you on a path that will be difficult, if not impossible, to divert. Of course, by Guild law, I am not allowed to tell you what to expect in your exam or what comes after. What I can do, however, is give you two warnings.”

  Draken’s body language had changed entirely. Gone was the easy-going smile and pretense of relaxation. His molten eyes burned as he met Dean’s stare and held it.

  “Heed me,” he said seriously. “Or you will come to regret it. I speak from experience – my own and others that have walked a similar path.”

  Dean only nodded, not trusting himself to speak.

  A soft breeze blew through the courtyard, making the pavilion gently sway.

  “The first warning is not to underestimate the Gods. It’s true that one can manifest without their influence, but if you lack a blessing or boon, your journey as an Adventurer will be short-lived. We rely upon the power of our patrons to help ignite our own, and only then can we grow independently. You need not pledge yourselves to their service; that is the path of the pious alone. But you should respect who and what they are. At least, until you wield enough power.”

  Dean nodded again, his own face serious.

  “And what’s the second warning?”

  Draken’s smile returned. He laced his fingers together, his eyes blazing with amusement and mischief.

  “Ah,” he said. “That is what I’ve been meaning to talk to you about.”