The next match was, to put it bluntly, underwhelming. I had a great idea with keeping the garrison busy and because of it I’d stayed up late, mulling over strategies to make the fights more engaging.

  The plan came to life after witnessing the crowd’s reaction to my first match. Our entire assassination strategy hinged on creating a distraction for the garrison, but until now, we hadn’t come up with anything remotely feasible. The defenders were too undermanned and resource-starved after their recent setbacks to counteract any large-scale diversion effectively.

  They might eventually recover, but I wasn’t willing to spend the next year here waiting for the resistance to regain strength. So, why not exploit the very reason the garrison existed in the first place? Start a riot.

  Crowds are fickle, but their tendency toward chaos is undeniable. Pack them tightly, add alcohol, adrenaline, and a spark of outrage, and the result is often violence. History from my own world proved that time and time again.

  The plan was simple in theory: become a crowd favorite, then provoke the authorities into disqualifying me or taking some action that could ignite public anger. The specifics of that provocation were still a work in progress, but for now, my focus was clear—rise to fame in the arena. And that meant delivering a show-stopping second match.

  If only my opponent had been more obliging. He was a warrior type—hulking frame, broad shoulders, wielding an axe that seemed comically large even for his size. His armor looked impressive at first glance, with dark, burnished plating that might’ve been adamantite. I’d hoped it was, expecting a decent challenge.

  I opened with a quick zap to test the theory. The lightning arced through the air and struck him square in the chest. Instead of deflecting or grounding the charge, he crumpled like a puppet with its strings cut, hitting the dirt in the first few seconds.

  I was genuinely frozen—not with fear, of course, but with indecision. What was the right move here? Should I try to artificially prolong the fight, maybe deliberately miss a few spells? No, that would only make it seem like we’d staged the match. If this place was anything like my world, betting was likely rampant, and being accused of fixing a fight was a situation I definitely wanted to avoid.

  That left me with one option: finish it quickly. A proverbial knockout in the first round might not be as entertaining in the moment, but it would sound impressive when people retold the story later to their friends.

  To his credit, he wasn’t completely out. He staggered to his feet before the ten-count, glaring at me through the slit of his helmet. I quickly sent another bolt his way, and this time he didn’t get back up.

  As the arbiter declared me the winner, I decided to salvage what I could of the moment. Raising both hands dramatically, I unleashed not one but two lightning bolts into the sky. It had been my second victory after all. The crowd roared in response, their cheers deafening.

  The unintended consequence of my newfound arena fame was becoming harder to ignore: people were starting to notice me outside the ring.

  Two strangers approached me at the tavern where I was quietly eating dinner, offering to buy me a drink. I smiled politely but declined, using the excuse of wanting to finish my meal in peace. In reality, my mind was already working through the implications. It wouldn’t be long before this attention made trips to the resistance hideout too risky. Tonight, I’d have to visit them and suggest they come to me in the future instead.

  I barely had time to finish that thought before someone else joined my table uninvited. My gaze flicked upward, ready to deal with yet another overeager fan, only to find Lucien settling into the seat across from me.

  “How did you know where I eat?” I asked, trying to mask the thread of worry in my voice. Had I been followed? That could complicate things.

  He chuckled, waving off the concern. “Relax. You’re not important enough to be tailed—at least not yet. Though, with the way you’re performing, that might change. I just asked around. Someone mentioned you eat in the same place. I wanted to talk.”

  “Let me guess,” I said dryly. “You’re becoming a fan?”

  Lucien smirked. “I haven’t watched your matches, but the buzz suggests you might make things interesting. Casters don’t usually make it far in these tournaments—it’s all axes and swords, and it gets predictable.”

  “Then why are you here?” I asked, cutting through the small talk.

  He leaned forward slightly. “Your growing reputation has caught the attention of the army’s mages. They’re requesting a demonstration. They apparently have trouble breaking through anti-mage shields.”

  I couldn’t help but laugh. “No offense, but I didn’t come here to teach. That ‘little side mission’ you roped me into? That’s the kind of work I expected. But guarding walls and playing soldier doesn’t pay nearly enough. The tournament? That’s my priority—it fills my pockets. And as for teaching mages? So, I’ll have to pass on that. Teachers never get payed well anyway,” I smirked, leaning into the brash persona I’d adopted here. Playing the overconfident mercenary was becoming surprisingly fun, like a caricature of myself turned up to eleven.

  Lucien didn’t answer right away, clearly mulling over his next move. Finally, he said, “What if I offered you an introduction to the spymaster? He’s the one handling all the lucrative missions—big payouts, fewer boring assignments. Talented people like you are always in demand.”

  My mind raced. This could open doors I hadn’t even considered yet, but it would also place me under intense scrutiny. Malchor and Tarsus were far enough away to keep secrets safe for now, but prudence never hurt anyone. “I don’t know,” I replied carefully. “I’m not exactly the subtle, cloak-and-dagger type.”

  Lucien grinned. “That much is obvious. But sometimes, subtlety is overrated. They often need people to make a statement, and you’re already good at that.”

  I weighed the risk. I’d only brushed against the royal court during that private evening. I might as well lean into it. “Fine, I’ll take the meeting. Just don’t expect me to impress anyone with teaching skills. I’ve always been a terrible instructor.”

  Lucien shrugged. “That’s fine by me. Just showing up lets me cross a favor off my list.”

  He didn’t linger long—clearly a busy man. As soon as Lucien left, I followed suit. The last thing I needed was another round of well-meaning strangers offering to buy me drinks.

  The safe house was quiet when I arrived, and for a moment, I thought I’d wasted a trip. Then, as if out of nowhere, Corvin materialized from the shadows.

  “What brings you here tonight?” he asked casually.

  This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

  Must’ve been some rogue class. I ignored his theatrics and explained my growing notoriety, warning him that I might not be able to visit for a while. Since I was already there, I laid out my idea for distracting the garrison.

  “It’s a solid plan if you can pull it off,” he admitted. “But it’s too soon. The tournament ends in two weeks, and we’re barely making progress on the other operation. We don’t have the manpower to execute both in such a short window.”

  “It’s your call,” I said, nodding. “How’s the other plan coming along?”

  “Terribly.” Corvin’s frustration was evident. “All my reports say the convoy is guarded to the teeth. There’s no way to approach it.”

  “Unless—” a new voice interrupted from the shadows, making me visibly jump.

  I turned to see Bendis stepping forward with a sly grin. “I thought you weren’t a rogue,” I quipped.

  She smirked but didn’t answer, instead continuing, “Unless someone portals us inside the fortified carriages from a distance.”

  Corvin frowned deeply. “Impossible,” he said flatly. “It’s a moving target with minimal space inside. I know you’ve said what he can do” he gestured toward me “but we’d be risking too many lives on something untested.”

  Their gazes locked in what felt like a silent duel. Before it could drag on, I stepped in. “Look, Bendis, I appreciate the faith, but portaling people is already taxing. Adding gold into the mix? That’s a whole new level of strain. Gold’s heavy, and it’d knock me out fast. We wouldn’t be able to take much, even if everything else somehow worked perfectly.”

  “How much gold could you manage before you’d exhaust yourself?” she asked.

  I shrugged. “Depends on the distance. If it’s short enough, maybe the weight of five or six people in gold. Maybe.”

  Her eyes lit up. “That’s perfect! We take just enough gold to make it sting. When he finds out, he’ll blame his inner circle, deepening his paranoia.” She practically glowed at the thought.

  I groaned, rubbing my temples. “It’s a great plan... except for all the other problems. Plus, I have a tournament to almost win. I can’t exactly stumble into the ring half-conscious. Maybe you shouldn’t risk it.”

  Bendis exchanged a quick glance with Corvin, who gave a subtle nod. Her tone shifted, deliberate and measured. “There’s another reason we need to hit the shipment,” she said.

  I raised an eyebrow, waiting.

  She continued, “We think he’s transporting something far more important than gold. A powerful artifact.”

  “Artifact?” I repeated, wary. “Okay, what exactly does that mean?”

  Her eyes narrowed, as if weighing how much to say. “There have always been rumors. Artifacts that grant unimaginable powers. Some say the gods created them, others believe they’re relics from a race that predates the gods. Whatever the truth, we think Sedeus found one—that’s how he became so powerful. And now, we believe he’s discovered another. It would explain why he’s been raiding random places with no strategic value, then retreating without holding the territory.”

  For a moment, I let that sink in. Could it really be that simple? Just some guy stumbling across a lost relic? Maybe this wasn’t all my fault after all. The guilt I’d been dragging around felt lighter, even if the theory was far from proven.

  “Why do you look so happy?” Bendis asked, her tone sharp with suspicion. “You look... relieved.”

  I snapped out of it, realizing this wasn’t the time to let my guard down. “If it’s true, it’s good news,” I said, keeping my voice steady.

  “Good news?” Corvin’s expression darkened. “How do you figure that?”

  “Well, the elves made him sound like some invincible demi-god,” I explained. “If he’s just a guy with a shiny trinket, that’s a weakness we can exploit.”

  Bendis, ever the realist, didn’t let her serious demeanor falter. “And what if he is a demi-god... with an artifact that makes him even stronger?”

  I forced a nervous smile. “Then I’m portaling to the farthest continent and buying a nice, quiet house there,” I said, half-joking.

  “Wish we all had that option,” Corvin muttered, deadpan.

  But my mind churned. If Sedeus really had one of these artifacts and it broke the rules of the world—just like that god who’d almost killed me—I wouldn’t stand a chance. This assassination plan was starting to feel like suicide. Still, we needed proof.

  “How sure are you about these artifacts?” I asked.

  Bendis’s lips quirked, though there was no humor in it. “You know how I said I wasn’t part of his inner circle?”

  I nodded cautiously.

  “Technically, I wasn’t. But... we hooked up a couple of times, before he got too famous” She winced, like the memory pained her. “Not my proudest moment, I know. But let me tell you something: men are very talkative afterward. He’d go on and on about artifacts. How they were real, how he’d change the world. At first, I thought it was just ambition talking, but after seeing what he did later? I believe it. And my source, someone I trust, just confirmed he’s after another one now.”

  That explained her familiarity with him and made the information more credible than mere rumors. “Then I guess this mission takes priority over the tournament,” I said.

  “I’m afraid it has to,” she said with a wry smile. “Now go get your beauty sleep. I’ll reach out when we’re ready to field-test the plan.”

  I left the safe house, my mind a tangled mess of thoughts. The cobblestone streets were quiet, the occasional flicker of a lantern throwing long, wavering shadows. My boots echoed softly against the stone as I tried to piece everything together.

  The phrase stopped me in my tracks. Beauty sleep? It was uncanny how some expressions existed in both worlds, like little echoes of a shared origin or perhaps just a strange coincidence. Either way, it always left me a bit unsettled, as if the boundaries between the worlds were thinner than I liked to believe. It gave me hope I could find my way back on my terms.

  While I didn’t much care whether I’d ever see my father again, thinking about my mom always hit me hard. The sadness was like a dull ache I couldn’t shake. There had to be a way to send a message back to Earth, some way to let her know I was alive. Maybe even open a portal, though that was wishful thinking. To pull that off, I’d need to be a god—or at least a demi-god.

  And just like that, my thoughts circled back to the artifact.

  Maybe I could use it. I was already powerful, but with the artifact, I could become the new demi-god. That thought lingered, tempting me with its simplicity. It would make everything easier, wouldn’t it? But then came the inevitable pause. Things were never easy. With my luck, that artifact might not even work for me. My unique, chaos-infused body would probably see to that.

  Still, someone else could use it. Alira came to mind immediately. If she had it, I wouldn’t have to worry so much about her safety. She might even surpass me in strength. That train of thought brought me back to her recent... changes. Her speed, her strength, it had all grown beyond what seemed natural.

  I’d been too distracted in our final hours together to ask her about it, and maybe she didn’t fully understand it herself. But the only explanation that made any sense was the crystal. The one from the goddess, the one that had activated when she held it. Who knew what carrying the essence of a god could do to someone?

  The idea gnawed at me. Had I underestimated her? Maybe I’d been wrong to insist she stay behind. No, I shook my head, trying to clear the thought. With Sedeus now even stronger, it was no place to test her new powers.

  I was so lost in my thoughts I almost missed it—a faint rustle, barely audible above the creak of a sign swinging in the breeze. I stopped mid-step, straining to hear. Nothing. Just the usual night sounds: a distant bark, the whistle of wind down an alley. I was almost home anyway.

  Then it came again. A faint shuffle, so soft it could’ve been my imagination. Or someone with skill—someone who didn’t want to be seen.

  My pulse quickened. Hand brushing the hilt of my dagger, I scanned the shadows. “Alright, I’m getting tired of all these rogues.” I muttered under my breath. “If you’re out there, let’s make this interesting.”

  I activated my night vision spell, pretending to casually scan the nearby houses. It took every ounce of self-control not to let my gaze linger on the faintly glowing figure crouched by a window on the house to my right. Instead, I kept walking, acting as though I hadn’t noticed. Maybe this guy wasn’t here for me.

  After passing a few more houses, I risked a glance over my shoulder. Sure enough, the same silhouette was now hunkered down near a wall, fully cloaked in darkness.

  “You know,” I said, stopping in my tracks, turning towards him and speaking loud enough for him to hear, “if you’ve got something to say, it’s polite to come out and talk. Following me around like a lost puppy? Not so much.”

  He didn’t move at first, likely assuming I was bluffing. But when I didn’t look away, he finally shifted, stepping out from the shadows with deliberate slowness.

  I dropped my spell, letting my vision adjust to the dim light. Now I could see him clearly—older for someone in his line of work, maybe in his fifties, but lean and agile, if the way his tight leather gear fit was any indication.

  “How did you see me?” he asked, his tone low but edged with curiosity.

  “I think the polite thing would be to start with your name,” I countered, crossing my arms.

  He hesitated before replying. “Yasin. Spymaster to the king.”

  Oh, fantastic. Just what I needed. My mind raced, trying to gauge how much he might already know. How long had he been tailing me?