POV Kevin Vane, still one week earlier

  “I need Sebastian in custody,” Kevin said, projecting an

  almost divine authority. He paused, his eyes flickering around the room

  briefly. Being so far from the capital made it more difficult to hold on

  to the confidence he had built up. This was a high-leveled professional

  he was talking to, a leader, and he found the pressure getting to him.

  ”If… If he finds out I’m here or that we know where he is, he’ll run,

  he’ll disappear. You know this city, Commander; what are our options?”

  he asked.

  The two sat to discuss the matter in a conference room.

  It looked much like similar rooms Kevin had used back home. A large

  table in the center, a cork board on the far wall, and opaque windows.

  There were two other officers in the room, but they both stood to the

  side and knew better than to speak unless spoken to.

  Commander Wadley leaned forward and rested his elbows on

  the conference table. “The hunting party is one of only a handful of

  rank 5 parties still in the city and we don’t have the available

  manpower for a full on assault. We would win, obviously, but the

  collateral damage would be… catastrophic. Entire city blocks would be

  leveled before we could take them down, the death toll in the thousands.

  To keep this operation within parameters, we need to move quietly.

  Their Detection Skills are too powerful for us to sneak in. We’ll need

  to lure them out, or better yet, lure the target away from the group.”

  Taking a breath, Kevin leaned forward to match the commander. “I suspect you already have a plan in mind, Commander?”

  “I do, sir. Although it is rather… underhanded. I’m not

  sure how Sir Candidate feels about using underhanded means for an

  operation like this,” Commander Wadley said softly, carefully gauging

  the hero candidate’s reaction.

  Kevin maintained direct eye contact. “Commander, if it

  gets me alone in a room with Sebastian, I’m OK with just about anything

  you could suggest.”

  A bright, relieved smile formed on the commander’s face.

  “Excellent, sir.” He brought out a folder and spread some papers out on

  the table. “We have avoided touching any of the target’s direct points

  of contacts within the city, lest we be discovered and cause the target

  to flee or go underground. However, on his journey here, he shared a

  compartment with four other travelers.”

  “Do you suspect them of being affiliated with the demons as well, Commander?”

  “No, sir.” The commander presented a few papers detailing

  the four travelers. Images of Verrill, William, Ridgeley, and Marcel

  were displayed on the top left of each respective file. “We’ve

  investigated them thoroughly, and none of them have any ties with the

  Demonic Lands in the East or any known, or suspected, demonic presences

  in the city. However, they traveled with the target for several weeks.

  Even if he didn’t share anything of importance with them, demons tend

  not to leave loose threads behind unless they have plans for them later.

  We suspect the target has marked those four as subjects for their

  demonic rituals.”

  With every mention of demons, Kevin’s mood dropped further. “Do we have any way of making sure?”

  “I believe so, sir. We apprehended all of them shortly

  after the Royal Freightliner arrived. My plan is as follows—we make use

  of our contacts in Luxendorf’s criminal underworld who shall pretend to

  have kidnapped them over some… slight, or other. They’re criminals,

  motivations are irrelevant. If they truly are just strangers, citizens

  who happened to have been in the wrong place at the wrong time, then the

  target will most assuredly ignore the criminals’ summons, and we will

  set them free and pursue other plans of attack. If, however, he truly

  has marked them for his rituals, then he will surely come to secure

  them. When he does, we will be waiting.”

  POV Sebastian, now

  Sebastian spent the morning familiarizing himself with his new Title, Skill, and Technique.

  With the creation of his new Sword Art, he was astounded

  by the ease with which he swung the sword. Without much effort, the

  blade easily followed the path of the Techniques he had been training

  with Silas for the past few weeks. There was no wobble or uncertainty in

  his movements whatsoever.

  It’s so strange. I’m following the

  exact movements Silas showed me, and yet the [System] considers this to

  be a new Sword Art. Shouldn’t this just be whichever style Silas trained

  in? The only thing I can think of, other than the circulation of

  essence through my meridian system, is that the [System] must just be that

  sensitive to intent. Because the intent I formed yesterday is different

  from what Silas wields, or what the style itself teaches, the [System]

  considers it something different.

  That’s very good to know, that means

  that I can truly personalize just about any Technique or Skill I learn,

  assuming I can muster an intent strong enough, and clear enough, for

  the [System] to acknowledge.

  After practicing for a few hours Sebastian felt much more

  comfortable wielding his sword. Unlike before, when he mostly just

  swung it at random, or at least according to his best judgment and

  memory, now he was using actual swordsmanship.

  “Well I’ll be damned, you actually look like a proper swordsman now,” said Silas as he announced himself from the door frame.

  Sebastian turned around in surprise. “Thanks, I had

  something of a breakthrough last night, and I finally gained the

  [Swordsman] Title and [Swordsmanship] Skill thanks to your help.”

  Silas’ eyes opened wide in shock.

  “You earned the acknowledgment of the [System] last

  night? That’s incredible, it usually takes months or even years of

  training and— Wait… Did you say you gained a Skill called

  ‘[Swordsmanship]’?” asked Silas incredulously.

  “Uhm… Yeah, I did. Is something wrong?”

  Silas stared at him for a moment with his eyes still wide

  open and his jaw almost touching the floor. “Swordsmen usually gain the

  Skill of whichever sword style they’ve trained in, not just a generic

  swordsmanship Skill. I have the [Imperial Sword] skill, with the

  stances, defensive, and offensive techniques I’ve focused on as

  Sub-Skills. How does that even work with just a generic Skill?”

  Sebastian immediately realized that the discrepancy must

  be because of his dual Statuses. His Sword Art was registered as a

  Technique under his Cultivation Status, not a Skill under the System

  Status.

  Rather than trying to retcon what he had just said he decided to just play dumb.

  “Yeah, I don’t actually know. I guess with your help and a

  night of hard work the [System] decided to reward me,” Sebastian said

  with a shrug.

  “Clearly you’re a natural. I know you insist that you

  don’t have some Talent for swords, but I don’t know how else to explain

  it, I’ve never seen anything like it before.” He shook his head in

  disbelief. “Anyway, lets put your new Skill and Title to the test, shall

  we?”

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

  They both readied themselves for another spar.

  Sebastian wielded a one-handed sword, so he didn’t have

  much range. To test the waters, he slowly stepped forward and swung an

  introductory horizontal strike using one the moves of the 1st. stage of

  his new Sword Art.

  Silas effortlessly blocked it and returned with a

  diagonal slash which Sebastian barely managed to block as he recovered

  from his own failed attack.

  If this was a serious fight, Silas would have pressed on,

  but instead he let Sebastian find his footing again before he stepped

  in and lazily feinted an attack on his right, only to sidestep to the

  left and deliver a slashing strike toward Sebastian’s side.

  Sebastian successfully reacted in time and blocked the

  slash and responded with a swing toward Silas’s head who simply took a

  step back to evade his blade.

  This continued for a while.

  Sebastian did his absolute best to wield his sword with

  his new Sword Art. He even tried his best to use his intent and

  essence to empower his attacks. All the while, Silas easily kept him at

  bay and occasionally threw a challenging attack to test Sebastian’s

  limits.

  It ended after a few hours with Sebastian lying on the

  ground, beaten, bruised, and utterly exhausted. Perhaps even more so

  than before.

  “You did pretty good, Baz! Your swordsmanship is still

  crude, and you’re obviously still rather weak and slow, but with your

  new Skill and Title, you’ve improved by leaps and bounds. It’s like

  fighting a completely different person from yesterday.”

  Sebastian mustered a chuckle. “Thanks.”

  “Seriously, you did surprisingly well. Honestly speaking,

  with this, these spars are gonna turn into half-way decent training

  sessions for me too.”

  Once their sparring was done, they joined the rest of the group to plan what was to come next.

  They didn’t get very far before they were interrupted by

  someone approaching the church and knocking on the door. When Rafi

  opened the door he was met by a skinny man with a nervous look in his

  eyes and a crooked nose, wearing a basic leather jacket over a stained

  white shirt. In his hand was a letter.

  “I have a message for your newest member, on behalf of

  Boss Raph.” the messenger’s previously nervous look was replaced by a

  practiced look of confidence as he delivered a line which was most likely

  rehearsed on his way over.

  “Alright, give it here then, and I’ll pass it along,” Rafi said, extending his hand.

  The messenger pulled back the letter defensively. “No! I’ve been instructed to hand this to him personally.”

  The two looked at each other for a while before Rafi sighed. He turned around and called out, “Message for Baz!”

  Sebastian felt a pang of dread and nervously looked

  around. He stood up and walked over to the door. He didn’t even have

  time to speak a word before the grunt shoved the letter into his hands.

  “There, a message from Boss Raph!”

  Sebastian stood there dumbstruck for a moment before

  looking over to Rafi who simply shrugged his shoulders and walked back

  to the others. Sebastian closed the door and followed suit.

  “So, Baz, is this the trouble you mentioned? The reason

  why you’re hiding and leaving the country. You have a gang out to get

  you?” asked Bishop.

  The dread from earlier had eased up knowing it wasn’t the

  city guard come to drag him off to some prison to be tortured and

  killed, but in its place was a mild curiosity overshadowed by

  frustration. All he wanted to do was leave this country behind him, but

  now he had to deal with criminals all of a sudden.

  “No, I genuinely have no idea what this it about, I don’t even know who this Boss Raph is.”

  “Well, open it and find out then,” said Silas.

  Sebastian did just that. He broke the wax seal on the

  envelope, opened the flap and took out the letter. It was a simple

  message—a declaration and summons, which he read out loud for the others

  to hear.

  Dear asshole.

  I understand you broke my brother’s jaw in an incident a few weeks past.

  If there’s one thing I’m known for, it’s that I honor my debts.

  You hurt someone of mine, so I’ve taken a few of yours.

  It was difficult to find

  anyone in the city who might matter to you, but I finally found four who

  I hope shall do the trick, you did spend several weeks traveling

  alongside them, after all.

  Come to warehouse 7 at eleven PM tonight, or I will kill them and find someone else to hurt.

  Know that I will not stop until my debt is payed in full.

  Sincerely, Raphael Bronte.

  PS. You are expected to come alone. If you do not, or if you so much as tell anyone else about this, they die.

  “I really feel like that messenger should have told me not to read this out loud,” Sebastian said.

  “You broke Raphael Bronte’s brother’s jaw?” asked Bishop.

  “Not intentionally, I didn’t know he was Raphael Bronte’s

  brother, I didn’t even know who Raphael Bronte was. Actually, I still

  don’t, although I suppose I’m putting the pieces together.”

  Dolan stood up and walked over to get his equipment.

  “Well, you’re definitely not going alone. I’m coming with you. I can

  keep out of sight and if something goes wrong—which it will because

  you’ll be walking into a trap—I’ll provide some backup.”

  When the late evening came around, Sebastian

  hired a rickshaw to take him across the city. It was surprisingly

  inexpensive and walking across the city wouldn’t have left him much time

  to prepare. Not that he had much to prepare, but they did make some

  plans for how Dolan would stay close and what to do when the gang

  inevitably tried to kill him.

  Time flies when you’re having fun, and Sebastian found

  out that it flies just as fast, if not faster when you’re traveling

  toward a deathtrap.

  He got out of the rickshaw which quickly left him alone

  in the dark, looking at a massive warehouse. On his way over, he had

  expected a welcoming party as soon as he arrived, but the area was

  empty, not a person in sight.

  He approached a door on the side of the warehouse which

  opened on its own just as he reached for the handle. The bright light

  almost blinded him in contrast to the darkness of the outside.

  Sebastian took a moment to take a deep breath.

  As he walked in, he reminded himself that Dolan was around, somewhere.

  Dolan was the party’s ranger and had a number of both

  Stealth Skills and Detection Skills. Sebastian couldn’t see him, but he

  knew that Dolan was watching. Knowing he had backup made him feel just a

  little bit better.

  He walked through a short corridor which led to a large,

  bright, open space, as warehouses tend to have. The warehouse was

  emptier than expected as well. There wasn’t an army of gang members to

  immediately surround him. There were only two men—one sitting on a chair

  in the middle of the room, facing another empty chair, and another man

  standing on his left hand side.

  The man who was standing was in, what Sebastian assumed

  was, this world’s version of a black suit. Black pressed slacks, a

  pristine white shirt, and a black jacket with some strings on the front

  rather than buttons. If not for the sword hanging from his waist

  Sebastian would probably have guessed that he had just come from some

  fancy formal event, although this was most likely just how he always

  dressed.

  His boss, however, sitting on the chair with the casual

  confidence of a man who owns every room he’s in, didn’t care as much

  about his clothes.

  He too was wearing a white shirt—which seemed to be

  something of a theme with the gang—but rather than formal slacks he

  paired his white shirt with a pair of shorts. More cargo shorts than

  swim trunks. He crossed his arms, with his sleeves unevenly rolled up,

  as he leaned back in his chair.

  A simple gesture, but it made Sebastian’s spine tingle.

  Maybe because his arms were size of tree trunks yet still felt

  proportional to his massive shoulders, or because the essence that

  emanated from the man rivaled the strongest he’d ever felt—which was

  Bishop, and he had learned that Bishop was well over level 50. His

  shoulder-length unkempt hair and the scar across his face weren’t even

  particularly noticeable as his grey eyes practically forced your gaze to

  stare directly at them.

  “Sebastian, I presume,” his gravelly voice resonated

  throughout the warehouse. “I’m pleasantly surprised, most people don’t

  have the balls to show up to something like this. Certainly not alone. I

  was quite curious, given the way they talked about you. I figured there

  had to be something special about you. I asked myself—why is the

  interim commander so desperate to catch you that he’d lower himself to

  the point of asking for my help?” Boss Raph leaned forward, resting his

  elbows on his knees and interlocking his fingers, and stared directly

  into Sebastian’s soul. “So tell me, who are you, Sebastian Moore?”

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