It had been some time since Calaf started running with Jelena’s party. Not long enough to take being grouped in with a famous posse of burglars in stride. The designation still clashed with his church-raised sensibilities. He was not a burglar… just… relic thief-adjacent.

  “I’m sure Calaf has guessed where this inaugural meeting of the second thieves’ guild is going to take place,” Jelena said.

  The note addressed to Jelena said the meeting was scheduled for three days from present. Port Town was too far, and anyone would have to be suicidal to try operating out of those rot-addled reservoirs a second time. Every hall and crevasse had been cleansed thoroughly of all smugglers’ stashes.

  Firefield. That was the only settlement both south of Autumn’s Redoubt and reachable in that time frame. And of the thieves’ guild operations in that desert oasis…

  “Ohhhh…” Calaf let out a low, fatigued groan.

  At least Enkidu appeared equally apprehensive about traveling south. He kept gazing at each dune as if expecting smitten Yonah to pop out of it, tracking spell active.

  “At least we’ll be meeting on familiar ground,” Calaf muttered as they marched along a well-trodden desert pilgrimage path.

  The posse arrived at Firefield the day before this much-vaunted meeting. They stopped by the old bordello district so Jelena could check in on some old acquaintances. Calaf dully noted a higher-than-average number of wanted posters, including some for Jelena and Enkidu. The guild’s reputation preceded it.

  Few familiar faces remained from Jelena’s old life. The ol’ brothel was under new management. Many workers had moved on. Some had even joined convents, taking a mirror opposite path through life compared to the relic thief.

  The desert city was a bit of a boomtown. The old desert plains where Jelena first met Enkidu amidst a field of dead monsters were now built up with new hostels of questionable repute. The weather was favorable, assuming you built with the dry heat in mind. Firefield would remain a sprawling and bustling town until it ran out of water. If or when that happened, it could find itself an abandoned ruin overnight.

  Calaf spied a notice board while passing by the Firefield Cathedral near evening. Many of the notices here were requests for jobs or advertisements for pilgrimage caravan guards. But dead center was an ornate advertisement for Archpope Efficient XI’s jubilee celebrating eight years atop the Demon Lord’s Fall. This advertisement was hastily plastered over with an announcement for upcoming archpapal elections for which all archbishops would be in attendance.

  “Huh.” Calaf managed. “We have been out in the woods for a while. Missed the news.”

  “They’ll vote fast,” Jelena said offhand. “Pilgrimage season is imminent.”

  Calaf nodded. The old archpope’s reign had started the year Calaf began his sewer grate guard duties. There’d been a significant uptick in activity along the path as the Efficient traveled south through every pilgrimage station, ending at a very crowded Riverglen to announce the commencement of the year’s festivities. Then, Archpope Efficient had walked the pilgrimage route at the head of the line.

  An uneventful night passed. Come dawn, the posse found themselves at the entrance to a familiar hideout…

  The Watering Hole beckoned, carved into a protruding rock beside one of Firefield’s larger oases. A sign advertising the joint as a social club was now on the ground, half-covered in sand.

  “Hey, Enkidu, how’d casing the joint go?” Jelena asked.

  “None entered or left all night,” said Enkidu.

  As usual, if the wild man was capable of fatigue, he did not show it. Sleep was an alien concept. This had its advantages when keeping watch. Beyond that, the group had the various relics and gospels they’d obtained over the past year. No outpost merchant would ever be able to afford to buy even one of these unique items. A full guild of organized thieves, however…

  The group of four walked inside. No traps were detected. Indeed, after the first room some manner of renovation made the halls appear clean and fresh.

  Last time he’d been here, Calaf blithely noted, he’d also been in possession of the Lockpicks of the Thief. Another unintended boon from Gustavo. Its bonuses to Agility and perception-based substats helped even a lowly Stalwart dodge traps like a skilled Trailblazer. That same bonus showed them that the way was clear now.

  “Last time, Metzger put pitfalls near every door. Lured people in here and held them for ransom.” Calaf checked the floors to ensure they were safe. “They appear to be deactivated now.”

  Metzger and the entire thieves’ guild were long-dead. Wiped out by a triple assault from a righteous fury-emboldened Calaf, a happenstance assault by Jelena, and the unfeeling lawful justice of three church arbiters.

  “Man. He died down here,” Calaf said suddenly. “Doubt anyone picked up the body. Don’t like that.”

  “Eh, I think Walter burned him.” Jelena shrugged. “We were a little busy picking you off the floor and skedaddling. Your health got perilously close to zeroing out there.”

  “Guess this was before my time.” Zilara put on a weird voice like she was a world-weary grandma. “Let’s just see what we got.”

  Jelena and Calaf had not been on friendly terms at that point. Still, the relic thief had taken the time to save the man who’d been hot on her trail and resolved to bring her to justice. Now they were bunking up together. Funny how that worked out.

  One final door remained. If memory served, it led to a wide room with vertical air shafts offering the only natural light. Two lit scones sat on either side of the (trapless) door. They were expected.

  “C’mon.” Jelena poked Calaf in the side. “Metz is dead. ‘Kidu and I have, ah, had a nonzero number of dealings with the guild in the past. Just part of a life of crime, dear. Let’s at least hear the new meat out.”

  Some two dozen cutthroats milled about in the central annex. Most were Thief/Scout class or its various permutations. One was dubbed a ‘Fallen Cleric,’ a class none of Jelena’s posse had ever seen before. Only one other proper cleric was present. Ever the mercenaries, Battlemages were an uncommon participant. There were no other Shielder-path classes to be seen. Ideal for a stealthy guild of thieves, smugglers, and pickpockets, bad for a balanced party.

  A figure made a quick, foreign hand signal from the far wall. It was Mikail, having gained two levels since their alliance in the Olde Docks.

  “Yo.” Zilara returned the signal in kind. Calaf didn’t know what it meant, and neither did she.

  This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.

  The rest of the prospective guild members were only recognized by their wanted posters. There was a female Thief class with two crimson mage bodyguards. They’d been active around the Olde Capital, or overseas Branded lands, or even Granite’s Pass. A handful were from Firefield – Jelena nodded familiarly to a few of these – but none were from Port Town. A group of five outlanders from across the sea were even unbranded.

  Drinks were provided. Interface descriptions said they were clean. Calaf urged the party to abstain.

  “All rise,” said a Scout-class butler-type, having appeared behind Calaf without a sound. “For the honorable grandmaster of the thieves’ guild, reformed chapter”

  The door Calaf and company had entered through opened once more. The self-proclaimed grandmaster entered, right at Zilara’s back.

  Calaf heard the air exhale through his gritted teeth.

  Never should have come here.

  A table between Calaf and the door wound up thrown to the side – the Squire realized only later that he’d picked it up and flung it across the room. Zilara was within grabbing range of the so-called Grandmaster; Calaf pushed her behind him.

  “I ought to strangle the soul out of you, you dire-rat fuck. Give me Karol and Kai back. I’ll kill you.” Calaf let out something between a growl and a pained scream.

  The guild master’s eyes went wide, though his smile did not abate.

  “I… oh dear. Oh my,” said the dire-rat-bastard. “Such horrible vitriol towards your esteemed host. Is this the wild man that’s said to travel as Turandot’s bodyguard? What rampant uncivility.”

  It was the first time Calaf ever heard Enkidu laugh. He let out a low chuckle from over near the far wall.

  “Control your beast,” one of the other thieves said to Jelena. “Or, if you cannot muzzle him, leave your attack dire-hound outside.”

  “Control him? Perish the thought. This is the hottest thing I’ve ever seen in my life,” Jelena said, staring at Calaf.

  “What would you know about civility?” Calaf’s mouth was dry. “When have you ever—”

  Honest John held a hand up. “Why, civility is the lifeblood of any organization. Perhaps your party of scoundrels does not know the meaning of the word, but even a guild of thieves has honor.”

  The disaster merchant’s face was concealed by a more lifelike half-mask. Almost like illusion magic. It was enough to hide the ‘degloved’ debuff and the massive damage to his face. It was equivalent to a boost in Charisma.

  “You have none.” Calaf caught his breath. He’d been puffed up in his armor, like a threatened dire-cat.

  “More than you, who would attack your esteemed host,” said the butler to Honest John’s left.

  Everything so far was an intentional ploy to make Jelena’s party – and Calaf – look insane, even as they warned their fellow guests about the obvious snake in their midst.

  “We invited you all here to explain the opening gambit to renew the thieves’ guild. But if you’d rather immediately try to kill someone as soon as they enter the room, I believe there’s a fighter’s guild on the southern end of town.”

  Can’t let him get to you, Calaf thought. He’s trying to throw you off guard, make you act like you’ve overreacted. Make the other parties think you’re insane, making threats that barely make sense, demanding things that aren’t possible.

  Well, perhaps John succeeded at that last point. Still, sometimes insanity was an appropriate response.

  “You.” Calaf pointed a mail-gloved finger. “Everyone who has ever followed you has died. There’s no deal you could possibly offer that I’ll ever accept.”

  “Spoken like a true tolerant and level-headed Paladin.” That elicited some chuckles from the various thieves. “Once you hear what I have to say, surely any reasonable person will be able to make a judgement…”

  Jelena walked up and gently nudged Calaf back.

  “Pardon the interruption,” she said, feigning a smile. Then, she leaned into Calaf. “Let him talk. I’ve got flash bangs prepped in Zilara’s Inventory. At the first sign of anything shifty, we’ll light the place up.”

  Still fuming, Calaf managed the presence of mind enough to right the table and take his seat. Jelena kept a dainty hand on his forearm as if grounding him in the moment.

  “From where does gold flow?” Honest John asked.

  “From the Interface, of course,” answered the lone Cleric-thief.

  That Fallen Cleric in the corner scoffed, but did not move.

  John nodded. “Aye. But where does it come from?”

  It was a question Calaf and company had started to ask, having perused the forbidden gospels. Experience flowed from each kill, yes. But there was a lack of gold mentioned in the testaments. They had to barter pilfered equipment away in old Riverglen. It was possible these early church documents did not mention such a commonplace utility function of the Interface. It was also possible, however, that the ancient heroes received no gold from combat.

  “Gentlemen. Ladies.” John nodded to that lady thief and then to Jelena. “Within my Inventory lies proof that the ecumenical council sets both the amount of gold earned and skims a ten percent tithe off the top.”

  Murmurs filled the room – not as many as Calaf expected, which was unnerving. Jelena and Calaf’s party leaned in. It was their first time hearing of this.

  “Yes, indeed.” Honest John held out a hand with five rings equipped. He thumbed the one on his pointer finger. “This ring cancels out so-called external effects, including decrees sent out to every Branded on the continent and beyond.”

  The ring in question was listed in the Interface as a ‘Topaz Ring of Curse Blocker.’ The description was rather nebulous and appeared to block most status effects. There was also a glamor ring on his annulary – no doubt helping mask the damage to his face – while the other digits contained generic stat-boosting gemstone rings, mostly to charisma and agility, as well as one more ring on the pinkie Calaf didn’t recognize.

  “This curse blocker prevents system messages but also prevents the wearer from receiving experience and gold.”

  “Well, what’s the point of that?” Zilara asked, squinting at the topaz trinket.

  “It’s like a temporary scouring of your Brand,” Jelena said.

  “Only the Interface can still be accessed. That much is personal property.” John nodded, still smiling. “And the lack of experience can be restored by unequipping the ring.”

  That this curseblocker ‘protected’ its wearer against experience and gold earnings meant they had some external trigger.

  “How’d you know how much gold is being siphoned off anyway?” Mikail asked from the far side of the room.

  “This ring.” John displayed the plain band on his little finger. “Keeps track of how much experience is earned, or not earned when the curseblocker is concerned. When blocked, the ring accurately detects 110 gold that would have been earned for every enemy otherwise would have garnered 100 gold. And this phenomenon is being masked by some greater connection between the Brands and the church.”

  Again, the den of thieves seemed a bit too familiar with what ought to be a major revelation.

  “My proposition is thus,” Honest John said. “The vaults of the Demon Lord’s Fall are no-doubt full of the accumulated wealth of untold centuries. We herald the dawn of the second thieves’ guild by stealing all the tithes from the church.”

  “Theoretically possible,” Jelena said. “Though, the Demon Lord’s fall is nigh unassailable. It’s surrounded by leagues of volcanic badlands with barely any cover. They’ll see you coming from the Olde Capital. And that’s before you even need a way up into the cathedral, let alone get out of there.”

  “Ah, but why the rush to get out of there?” John’s smile went from resting face to more measured, calculating. “With the holy relics governing experience and gold distribution in our hands, we’ll be halfway to ruling the realm.”

  “Right, well, coup d’etats are not in my wheelhouse.” Jelena rose from the table, inducing Calaf and the party to do the same. “We’re strictly grand burglary and relic thievery on our end. Come back when you want to set another black market ablaze.”

  Calaf rose. Only, the rest of the thieving crews had never been sitting. They all seemed to be expecting this reaction, closing in with knives out.

  “Your participation hardly needs to be voluntary,” said John’s butler.

  The other thieves’ guild grunts grew closer, including Mikail. Calaf drew his shield and spear, back to Jelena.

  “For you see, I already spoke with most of these parties two days ago,” Honest John added. “They quite liked the idea. But we needed bait. So, I intentionally sent a courier with an invitation several days too late. The ecumenical council will need some trophies to rein in the new archpope. Turning in the infamous relic thief who caused such chaos along the pilgrimage route last year will be a perfect way of getting a group of saboteurs into the grand cathedral’s front gates.”

  “Starting to think Calaf had the correct idea about you,” Jelena said.

  “This will be the end for you, and your ridiculous reverse harem.” That fallen cleric motioned to Calaf and Enkidu. “And that twin-branded mascot welp.”

  At that, Honest John held a hand up. “Leave the child unharmed. We can use her.”

  “H-harem!?” Jelena scoffed. “I’ll have you know that I am exclusively bunkin’ with Calaf and have been for a full year. ‘Kidu and I have never once done anything outside the bordello. And then only once. For you see…”

  As Jelena yapped on, her right hand motioned for her firearm while her left hand let loose quick-fire symbology meant for Zilara. It meant ‘let loose the flashbangs.’

  With a nod, Zilara threw out six primed flash-bang grenades straight from Inventory.

  The room burst alight, then broke out in bedlam most foul.