Patrick Vester was knee deep in a magical mist, but it might as well have been horseshit given the situation.

  Ahead were the Rimelock Mountains stretched into eternity, their jagged peaks piercing the clouds like ancient spears thrust into the heavens. From this height—miles up the sheer cliff face—Patrick could see valleys cradled between the mountains like dark veins running through white marble. Snow capped the highest points, gleaming in the late afternoon sun, while shadows pooled in the lower reaches where light couldn't penetrate.

  Behind Patrick, the cavern's entrance yawned like a monstrous mouth, its stone teeth jagged and worn. The mist that had given this place its name—Mist Dream Dungeon—pooled across the floor in thick, undulating waves, obscuring the ground beneath. It swirled around his ankles, ethereal tendrils caressing his armored legs as if trying to pull him back in.

  Where once there had been traps, treasures, and terrifying creatures, now there was just empty tunnels until the dungeon reset which wouldn’t be for years.

  Patrick was very, VERY far from the capital. And he had no easy explanation, well lie really, he could give Andy on why he was so far away.

  He couldn’t tell Andy what happened. He couldn’t stop Will from doing whatever he planned to do at the capital. He couldn’t do anything except find the fastest horse or carriage to get to the capital, which would take well over a week to get to.

  In a moment of frustration, he filled his lungs with air and screamed one word which echoed across cliff rocks.

  “FFFFUUUCCCCKKKKK!”

  ***

  I felt the grass beneath my back, cool and damp against my skin as I stared at the endless sky above Elane's grave. My body ached from the rough landing through the portal, but at least we'd escaped Patrick. For now.

  "That went well," I muttered sarcastically, my voice raspy.

  Hellene lay beside me, her white hair splayed out like a halo against the green. "Considering we're not dead, I'd say it exceeded expectations."

  My body felt like one massive bruise, and the taste of copper lingered in my mouth. I summoned a Superior Heal Potion from my Inventory Box with a thought, watching the familiar red vial materialize in my palm. With shaking fingers, I uncorked it and drank the bitter liquid in one gulp.

  [HP: 120/151]

  The relief was immediate as warmth spread through my limbs, dulling the sharp pain in my ribs. Not completely healed, but much better than before.

  I pushed myself up to sitting, only to be seized by a violent coughing fit. Blood spattered from my lips, speckling the grass near Elane's statue. I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, watching my hit points tick down slightly.

  [HP: 117/151]

  "You've been coughing up blood since I found you," Hellene said, sitting up beside me with a groan. "And it's getting worse."

  I spat out another mouthful of blood. "It's the Hemorrhage ailment. Patrick's hit did more damage than I thought."

  "Well, that settles it." Hellene struggled to her feet, leaning heavily on her staff. "We need to get you to a church. A proper cleric can clear that ailment with a simple spell."

  I shook my head firmly. "Any contact with the Church of Divine Light could get back to the Heroes Party. We can't risk it."

  Hellene gave me a look so withering I almost squirmed. "Are you being deliberately dense? We just had a fight with someone from the Heroes Party. Right here, in this very spot."

  "Patrick is keeping our presence a secret," I replied with more confidence than I felt. "Otherwise it wouldn't have been just him who showed up. He wants to handle this quietly."

  "I am glad to hear that assessment," said an unexpected voice from behind us.

  We both spun around, weapons drawn this time—my dagger in hand, Hellene's staff glowing with nascent energy. I cursed myself for not sensing someone approaching. The Hemorrhage must be affecting me more than I realized.

  Before us stood a man who was unmistakably a priest of Liora. His white robes were covered in intricate sun patterns worked in gold thread, and a large holy symbol hung from a chain around his neck. I immediately noted that his robes weren't the simple cotton worn by common priests but fine silk that rippled like water with his slightest movement. The holy symbol wasn't cheap pewter or silver but solid gold, expertly crafted.

  The man himself had shaved his head to be totally bald, making it hard to determine age. But there were wrinkles near the eyes and mouth.

  [Scan Results] Name: Cardinal Samuel Stenvall Race: Human Class: Holy Cleric Level: 40 Stats: Str 10, Con 16, Dex 10, Wis 18, Int 12 HP: 183/183 MP: 175/175

  I lost all pretenses of not scanning out of respect for privacy at this point, I needed to use every advantage I had. And my scan was telling me that I had a Holy Cleric even higher level than me before me. And he was a ‘Cardinal’.

  The Church of Divine Light didn’t have any single person as representative, but the decisions of the church was made by a Council of Cardinals. There were five Cardinals in total and one of them was standing right before me.

  Now do I pretend I don’t know who he is or let him know I scanned him-

  "Allow me to introduce myself, I’m Cardinal Samuel Stenvall.”

  -or I can just wait for him to talk.

  “I’d introduce us, but I get the feeling you already know who we are,” I said, still keeping my dagger posed. He was a higher level than me, but also easy to reach for an attack and not wearing any armor. But I really hoped this wouldn’t turn into a fight.

  Something tickled at the back of my mind as I stared at the Cardinal. A feeling—more instinct than conscious thought—that made the hairs on my neck stand up. I concentrated on that sensation, letting my Wisdom-enhanced intuition guide me.

  "Hellene," I said quietly, not taking my eyes off the Cardinal, "he's not alone. There are two others hiding in the shrubbery behind him."

  A masculine laugh erupted from the bushes. "Well spotted! And here I thought I was doing a marvelous job of keeping still."

  Two figures rose from their hiding places among the decorative plants. The first was a male elf with golden blond hair flowing down to his shoulders, his blue eyes twinkling with amusement. The second was a dark-skinned young woman, perhaps in her early twenties, her expression far less amused than her companion's.

  "This is Eva Ellice," Cardinal Stenvall said, gesturing to the young woman, "and Perth." He nodded toward the elf.

  Eva stepped forward, her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "How did you detect me? I have a superior stealth ability. Even with your Heighten Senses, you shouldn't have been able to pinpoint my location."

  I didn't bother to answer, secretly thankful for the intuition my high Wisdom stat provided. It wasn't something I could easily explain—that gut feeling became easier to understand.

  "What do you want?" I asked instead, keeping my dagger ready.

  Cardinal Stenvall spread his hands in a placating gesture. "We are allies, Will Walton. Or at least, we wish to be. I can see you're suffering from Hemorrhage—a dangerous ailment. Allow me to heal you as a gesture of goodwill."

  I exchanged a look with Hellene. She studied the Cardinal for a long moment before giving me a slight shrug. I hesitated, then reluctantly nodded my agreement.

  "Fine. But no sudden movements."

  Cardinal Stenvall approached slowly, his hands visible. When he reached me, he placed his palm gently on my shoulder and murmured words in a language I didn't recognize. Warmth flooded through me, and a golden light briefly enveloped my body.

  [Status Effect: Hemorrhage has been removed]

  [HP: 151/151]

  The effect was instantaneous. My lungs cleared, the pain vanished, and even the blood that had stained my armor and skin disappeared completely. I took a deep breath—the first in hours that didn't make me want to double over in agony.

  Cardinal Stenvall stepped back, giving me space. "I hope you will view this as a sign of our good faith. We truly wish to be allies in the days ahead."

  I quickly went through the pros and cons in my head to the idea of considering their offer. In the end, they easily could have killed us due to the condition we were in only a minute ago. That moment of showing us mercy told me we should at least hear them out. But I’d feel a lot better doing it with all of us together.

  I sheathed my dagger, studying the three of them carefully. "We're staying at The Silver Flagon. Meet us there tonight at eight. We can discuss... whatever this is."

  Eva's face contorted into an angry scowl, her dark eyes flashing. "You can’t just make demands—"

  "Eight o'clock at The Silver Flagon will be perfect," Cardinal Stenvall interrupted smoothly, giving Eva a warning glance that silenced her immediately. "We look forward to a more... comfortable conversation."

  I nodded curtly, then turned to Hellene. "Let's go."

  We moved quickly toward the nearest exit, my body feeling remarkably better after the Cardinal's healing. I kept my senses—both natural and intuitive—alert for any sign that our new "allies" were following us.

  "Was it really wise to tell them where we're staying?" Hellene whispered as we walked, her voice tight with concern.

  "If they could track us to Elane's grave, they can probably track us to the inn," I replied, keeping my voice low. "Besides, they could have easily called the guards on us if they wanted a fight. Two suspicious characters lurking at a Hero's memorial? The Cardinal could easily have us in chains before we could explain ourselves."

  Hellene's lips thinned into a tight line, but she nodded reluctantly.

  As we approached the exit of Hallows of the Crown, I reached into my Inventory Box and pulled out a plain brown cloak. I draped it over myself, pulling the hood forward to shadow my face. The disguise wasn't as effective as my ability, but it would have to do until I could recharge.

  Without even using my Heightened Senses, I could feel the presence of four guards stationed at the exit. My Wisdom-enhanced intuition had been growing stronger by the day—less like a vague feeling and more like a second set of eyes. I could practically see their positions in my mind.

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

  "Four guards at the exit," I murmured to Hellene. "We need a distraction."

  Hellene nodded, her eyes narrowing in concentration. "I'll handle it." She held out an open hand and began muttering an incantation under her breath, her fingers tracing intricate patterns in the air.

  A ball of pulsing red light formed in her palm, growing brighter with each whispered word. With a flick of her wrist, she sent it sailing over the nearby wall.

  Seconds later, the air erupted with popping and whistling sounds. I grabbed Hellene's hand and pulled her toward the exit, keeping close to the shadows.

  When I peeked around the corner, I saw all four guards with weapons drawn, advancing cautiously toward the swirl of flashing lights dancing across the street ground. I quickly led Hellene down the opposite street, our footsteps silent against the cobblestones.

  Once we were safely out of sight, I released her hand. My heart was pounding, but not from exertion—from the knowledge that we'd just escaped not one, but two potentially deadly encounters.

  "Where are we going?" Hellene asked as we hurried through the side streets, still keeping a brisk pace despite the distance we'd put between ourselves and the Hallows of the Crown.

  "There's a loose end we need to tie up before meeting the others," I replied, scanning the street ahead. "I know how Patrick found me."

  We were still in what I’d call ‘rich people territory’, I didn’t draw a lot of looks as a simple old man. But as someone using a cloak to hide most of his body and having a hook as one hand, I could already see unusual glances from passersby dressed in fine clothing. We were drawing too much attention.

  "What do you mean?"

  "When Patrick mentioned the name 'Tavish,' I knew exactly what he did." I guided us down a narrower alley, away from the busier thoroughfares. "Tavish Thoresen is the third son of Archwizard Paul Thoresen, a professor at the Arcane University."

  Even if Patrick thought with absolute certainty he could take us out, it was still stupid of him to mention Tavish’s name. But I could understand why he did it. He was always seen as the dense one of the party and he wanted to do a little bragging on how he found us.

  I have to admit it was smart of him to use Tavish as a resource and I’d probably respect him a bit more on coming up with the idea if he wasn’t literally trying to kill me.

  Hellene nodded. "I'm familiar with the Thoresen family. Talented mages, all of them."

  "As far as anyone knows, Tavish is just a mage with average abilities," I continued, lowering my voice. "But in reality, he's secretly a necromancer."

  Hellene stopped dead in her tracks, her face draining of color. "A necromancer? That's impossible. They were all—"

  "Purged over a hundred years ago. I know." I glanced around to ensure no one was within earshot. "Any person with a Necromancer or Assassin class was hunted down and killed during the Great Purification. But Tavish managed to keep his class hidden with magic items that mask a person's true class."

  The shock on Hellene's face was understandable. The Great Purification was one of the darkest chapters in Elska's history, when King Thorne II had ordered the systematic execution of anyone with classes deemed "inherently evil." Thousands had died, some guilty of actual crimes, others merely victims of the class they'd been assigned by the System.

  I personally had mixed feeling about it. On one hand I definitely didn’t like the idea of someone being killed for being born with a class… on the other hand Tavish made it just a bit easier to see why the decision was made.

  "I discovered it during one of my information-gathering missions," I explained as we resumed walking. "Bodies were going missing from the gravesites used by the poorer class in Zephyria. I followed the trail, and it led straight to Tavish. He was... experimenting with them."

  Hellene's expression hardened. "And let me guess—your heroic companions didn't turn him in?"

  "I reported it to Andy. The Heroes Party confronted Tavish in secret." My mouth twisted at the memory. "He immediately begged for his life, promising his necromancy abilities could be useful. Speaking to the dead, divination spells with body parts—that sort of thing."

  It wasn’t lost on me that Tavish also happened to be the son of a famous Archwizard with a lot of connections and political strength. I had the distinct feeling Andy wouldn’t have been so merciful if Tavish had been from a poor peasant family.

  "And they believed him?" Hellene's voice dripped with contempt.

  "We took a vote. Nick and I voted to turn him in. The rest voted to keep his abilities a secret in case they could be useful." I shook my head, disgust rising in my throat. "And as much as I hate to admit it, his abilities did prove useful."

  Unfortunately I had no more alleys I could lead us through and we were once again forced to walk along busy streets. I desperately wanted to get out of the nobility district, but a visit to the Thoresen manor was paramount. I needed to make sure Tavish didn’t reveal my existence to the rest of the Heroes Party. And something told me that was exactly what Tavish would do if he learned Patrick disappeared from the capital.

  "We found a hidden Three Sigil Dungeon once because of him," I explained, keeping my voice low as we navigated the busy street. "Tavish performed a divination ritual using a skull. According to the information we gathered, the skull belonged to an adventurer whose body was still somewhere inside the dungeon."

  "Divination with body parts," Hellene whispered with understanding.

  "Yes. He placed the skull next to a map and used a necromancer ability. A red blood dot formed on the map, showing exactly where the dungeon was,” I said, Intelligence stat allowing me remember the event clear as day.

  I still remembered how the empty eye sockets had seemed to glow with an unnatural light during the ritual. I personally didn’t like taking the approach, I was pretty sure we could even find the dungeon with just another month of intel gathering on my part. But Andy wanted a quick solution.

  Or maybe he wanted to show that someone else could do a better job than me.

  "The accuracy of the location he showed was spot on, we would never have found it so easily on our own."

  Hellene's eyes widened as understanding dawned on her face. "And that's how Patrick found you. With your hand."

  "Exactly. He still had my severed hand from when Andy..." I swallowed hard, unable to finish the sentence. "He must have taken it to Tavish to use the same ability."

  As I spoke, we turned a corner and the Thoresen manor came into view. It was an imposing three-story mansion of pale stone, its windows framed with ornate ironwork and its roof adorned with small statues of magical creatures. A high wall surrounded the property, with an elaborate wrought iron gate at the front.

  Two guards stood at attention before the gate, both wearing the Thoresen family colors of gray and silver. I didn't need to scan them to know they were only level ten at most—hired muscle only strong enough to deter trouble makers. Under normal circumstances, I could probably take them out without even killing them.

  But the street was busy with nobles and merchants going about their business. Several people were already giving my hooded figure suspicious glances, I’ve seen more than one person gesture towards me. A confrontation here would draw immediate attention, exactly what I couldn't afford.

  "What's the plan?" Hellene whispered as we approached.

  "We need to speak with Tavish," I replied. "Make sure he doesn’t reveal our presence to the rest of the Heroes Party."

  The guards straightened as we approached, their hands moving to rest on the hilts of their swords. One of them, a burly man with a thick black beard, stepped forward.

  "State your business with the Thoresen family," he demanded, his tone far more hostile than necessary for a simple inquiry.

  I kept my hook hand hidden beneath my cloak as I adopted a humble posture. "I have a message for Tavish Thoresen," I said, trying to sound as non-threatening as possible. "Regarding a disturbance at Quiet Field Cemetery."

  The guard's eyes narrowed suspiciously. "What sort of disturbance?"

  "The sort that only he would understand," I replied meaningfully. "Please tell him it concerns... recent excavations."

  The guards exchanged glances, and I could see the recognition in their eyes. Quiet Field Cemetery was the cemetery where Tavish was stealing bodies eight months ago. Tavish ceased his corpse stealing after I caught him, but I was sure the guards and servants closest to him had some idea of what he was up to back then.

  As far as I knew, the Archwizard Paul Thoresen never learned of what his son was or what he did. He appeared to be a true academic who only cared about his teachings at the Arcane University to the point of neglecting his children. But after the Heroes Party made their alliance with him, I hung around the manor for a few days and listened with Heightened Senses as I hid in the shadows.

  I heard the occasional whispers of maids wondering where Tavish took the bodies and what he did with them. I heard the guards comment on the coins they were bribed with to pretend they didn’t see him leaving and entering the manor at night. It was a strange dynamic, the so-called head of the family was absolutely clueless about Tavish’s activities and the hired help was more than fine with making sure that was the status quo if he paid them a few more silver coins every month.

  One of the guards was already cracking the gate open and running inside.

  In less than five minutes, the guard returned, a young woman in a plain gray dress following behind him. She curtseyed to us with practiced grace.

  "Master Tavish will see you now," she said, her voice barely above a whisper. "Please follow me."

  The remaining guard stepped aside without a word, letting us pass through the gate. The maid led us not to the grand entrance with its polished marble steps but around the side of the manor to a smaller, weather-beaten door half-hidden behind a trellis of climbing roses.

  I wasn't surprised by the subterfuge. Tavish wouldn't want his father to notice unexpected visitors, especially ones who knew his darkest secret.

  The door opened into a bustling kitchen where servants worked preparing what appeared to be an elaborate dinner. Steam rose from copper pots, and the air was thick with the scent of roasting meat and baking bread. Not a single cook or scullery maid looked up as we passed. They studiously avoided eye contact, pretending we weren't even there.

  Our guide led us through the kitchen and down a narrow hallway lined with faded tapestries. At the end stood a wooden staircase worn smooth from centuries of use. We climbed in silence, the steps creaking beneath our weight.

  At the top, the maid guided us to a heavy oak door and rapped lightly with her knuckles.

  "Enter," called a nervous voice from within.

  She opened the door, revealing a cluttered study.

  The study was smaller than I expected, cluttered with books and scrolls. Heavy curtains were drawn over the windows, the only light coming from several enchanted orbs floating near the ceiling. The air smelled of ink, dust, and something sharper—a chemical odor I didn't want to identify.

  Tavish Thoresen sat behind a desk, his thin frame hunched over an open tome. He looked up as we entered, a shaky smile forming on his pallid face. Dark circles rimmed his eyes, and his brown hair stuck out at odd angles as if he'd been running his hands through it repeatedly.

  The maid curtseyed again and slipped out, closing the door behind her with a soft click.

  For a moment, we all stared at each other in silence. I kept my hand near my dagger, watching Tavish carefully. Despite his nervous demeanor, there was a calculating gleam in his eyes that I didn't trust.

  "Will Walton," he finally said, his voice higher than I remembered. "You look remarkably healthy for a dead man."

  "And you look remarkably nervous for someone who's supposed to be in a position of power," I replied coldly.

  Tavish's smile faltered. He glanced at Hellene, then back to me. "Who's your friend?"

  "Someone who knows what you are," Hellene answered before I could, her voice dripping with contempt. "A grave robber. A corpse defiler."

  Tavish flinched as if she'd struck him.

  "Please, keep your voice down," he hissed, glancing fearfully at the door. "The walls have ears in this house."

  And it costs you a few more coins every time they hear something.

  I stepped further into the room, intentionally drawing attention to my hook hand as I used it to trace Tavish’s desk. I could see the skinny man’s throat apple bob as he stared at the hook. He was getting scared which was good, I didn’t have anything I could bribe him with which made fear the best motivator to use.

  "I assume Patrick came to see you recently? There’s something he gave you which I’d like back."

  "I'm afraid that's not possible," Tavish said, eyes darting nervously to my hook. "Patrick took it with him immediately after I used it. He wasn't... comfortable leaving evidence behind."

  "So how did you pull off teleporting him directly to me?" I asked, circling the desk slowly. "We both know that's beyond your abilities."

  Tavish snorted, some of his usual arrogance returning despite his fear. "It wasn't me. My father did it." He leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled. "Patrick just walked over to my father's study and demanded a teleportation spell be cast on him without any questions."

  Hellene's face contorted with disbelief. "And your father wasn't suspicious? A Hero showing up and demanding instant teleportation with no explanation?"

  Tavish rolled his eyes dramatically. "My father believes I'm just good friends with the Heroes Party. That's all." He waved his hand dismissively. "He's the one person I'm not afraid will look too deeply into my relationship with them. The old fool is so absorbed in his research that he barely notices what happens under his own roof."

  For a moment, I almost felt a pang of pity for the guy. His father's neglect was evident in every bitter word. I knew better than most people what it was like not having a normal father who prioritized caring for you. Then I remembered how Tavish's actions had nearly gotten me killed, how he'd helped Patrick find me, and I quickly squashed whatever sympathy I felt.

  I raised my hook hand and slammed it down into the polished surface of his desk, embedding the metal deep into the wood. Tavish jumped, a small yelp escaping his lips.

  "You'll be pleased to know I took care of Patrick," I said casually, as if discussing the weather. "You won't have to worry about any more visits from him."

  Tavish stared at me wide-eyed, beads of sweat forming on his pale forehead. His gaze flicked between my face and the hook impaled in his desk. I could practically see the thoughts racing through his mind—if things had gone according to Patrick's plan, I wouldn't be standing here in his study. I'd be dead, and Tavish would be safe.

  Instead, I was very much alive, and Patrick was... not here.

  "What..." Tavish swallowed hard, one of his eyes twitching. "What do you want?"

  I leaned forward, my face inches from his. "Leave the capital. Immediately. Make up whatever excuse sounds believable—a research expedition, a family emergency, I don't care. But you need to be gone for at least a month."

  "A month?" he sputtered. "That's impossible! I have obligations, research—"

  "If I find another Hero teleported next to me," I interrupted, twisting my hook deeper into the wood, "you'll find this hook in a much more painful place than a desk.”

  Tavish’s eyes slowly went to the hook practically butchering his fine furniture then back to my face. Given recent events, I’m sure the smell of metallic blood filled his nostrils with my face only inches from his.

  “I’ll be gone by the end of the day.”