While walking through the depths of Leviara, Veyric spotted a child with his mother. They were sitting in an alley, nestled together. He approached them, taking the rusty necklace out of his pocket.

  “This belongs to you, correct?” Veyric asked.

  “Yes, that’s mine! How’d you get it back from that man?...” The child took the necklace from Veyric’s hand. The mother’s gaze fell on Veyric.

  “The only way I know,” Veyric replied before walking out of the alley. As he paced on, the smell of sour air vanished, and fewer people were lying around on the passageways. The framework of the buildings returned to nobility. Bright materials, well-considered architecture, and fortified stores for the obscurity of night. Veyric could hear only his footsteps while traveling towards the bay. In an intersection of trails was a wooden board diagrammed with the layout of Leviara. Veyric stopped to look at it. Afterwards, he followed the trails until seeing a tall golden gate. The gate circled like a dome over the entire district. Runes in archaic language were embedded across the bars of the gate. Veyric grabbed the gate bars, trying to pull them apart. The runes gleamed a pale white, delivering a burning shock to his hands. He staggered away from the gate, steam curling off his palms with the sound of hissing. Veyric grumbled.

  “Looks like they thought of everything,” He mutters. The rattling of armor stirred behind him. It was a group of knights patrolling the area.

  “Hey, stop right there!” One of the knights said. Veyric rushed down another passage before the knights caught up to him. The frenzied clanking of their boots faded into the distance. Once no longer being chased, he traversed through another web of trails.

  “Chase the ghost of a mad scribe…?” Veyric mutters to himself. Silhouettes danced in his peripheral vision, the unmistakable sound of steel leaving sheaths. Extra footsteps treaded, the tethers of the underground followed him from its depths. Veyric swung around, an assassin thrusting their knife at him. His cloak was pierced. Veyric grabbed them, driving his knee deep into their stomach. Then he slugged his fist across their face, throwing them towards a shop’s exterior. Veyric turned his head to scan his surroundings, seeing three more assassins detangle from the shadows. Two of them wore masks, while the third didn’t.

  “Looks like there’s been a bit of misinformation. You can fight. No matter. Anyone who doesn’t pay in our markets gets a lovely beheading.” The leading assassin said.

  “Had a feeling. Once again, my instincts win.” Veyric said. His eyes met the leading assassin. Dark padded clothing and an unsheathed longsword. His frame looked average, and his hair was pulled back into a bun. The two other assassins repositioned themselves to Veyric’s blind spots, tightly clutching their weapons. One advanced, pelting forward with their sword. Veyric hurled out a back kick, striking them in the chin. The second assassin swung their dagger while he recovered, stabbing into the flesh of his shoulder. Veyric winced, grumbling. He threw his hand out, grappling the second assassin before they yanked the blade out. Veyric’s golden gaze burned bright, ramming his elbow into the mask, cracking it. With a vice grip, he pulled the assassin off balance, catapulting him over his shoulder and across the streets. Veyric exhaled, pulling the knife out of his shoulder and discarding it. Blood oozed steadily out of his shoulder, the persistent sting forcing out scowls and the gritting of his teeth.

  “You don’t look so good!” The leading assassin interjected with a blitzing swing. Veyric leaned back, just barely dodging. Veyric staggered off balance, and the assassin’s sword swung up over his head before lashing down at him. Veyric threw himself out of the way, rolling onto his bleeding shoulder with a tormented groan. Blood smeared along the path of his roll. He rose to his feet, taking a few paces back—his breath was heavy, his gaze blurring, and the overpowering taste of iron flooded his tongue.

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  “You’re no regular man. I can tell. Never seen someone take a stab that well, and just throw a man like a pebble.” The leading assassin said.

  “But still, you did this to yourself. There’s no way in hell I’d turn down a bounty of your level.” He added.

  “I would’ve considered working it off… But that idea went straight out the window when I saw the condition of those people. All of that blood-soaked money and the residents struggle?” Veyric said.

  “That’s your bit? Got a problem with our business?” The assassin said.

  “Of course, I have a problem with it,” Veyric replied.

  “So, die knowing you’ll never get to change it.” The assassin lunged at him. Veyric’s eyes flared gold beneath the hood, dashing towards the assassin. The assassin flung a slice towards Veyric’s stomach. Veyric grabbed the blade, halting its momentum. The steel cut into his hand with acidic pain, blood dripping from his palm and onto the ground. Veyric’s golden gaze poured into the leader’s, his pupils dilating, and the grip on his sword loosening. Veyric crushed the tip of the blade with his hand, shards piercing into his palm, while bloodied nicks were engraved on the tips of his fingers. He grappled the leading assassin by the throat, lifting him off his feet and slamming him on his back. Veyric kept his grip firm around his neck, straddling him while his breathing intensified, the slits in his eyes glowing, steam rippling from his palm. The assassin struggled underneath Veyric’s weight, groaning, scratching, and trying to loosen the grip on his throat.

  “You’ve got no idea what I’m dealing with, right now. How bad, I just want to spill your blood all over this ground.” His breathing was spiraling out of control, his grip tightening while the assassin scrambled.

  “I’ll let you live if you tell me what I want to know.” Veyric’s panting began to balance, his animalistic grip loosening. The man inhaled for air, wheezing, coughing, and his eyes focused on Veyric again.

  “What do you want to know, demon?” The assassin scowled.

  “Ryul Torkas. The scribe. Where did he live? Tell me, and you walk. In return, I also want that bounty off my head.” Veyric said. A grin cracked from the assassin’s face.

  “Hahaha, you greedy motherfucker. Everyone knows where the old man’s lodge is, yet here you are risking death for it.” The assassin said. Veyric struck him in the face.

  “TALK!” Veyric shouted. His hands were shaking, and his grip began to tighten.

  “If you head east from here, you’ll hit the forest along the border of Leviara, then voila. You’ll be there, you piece of trash.” The assassin’s voice was shaky while he spoke. Veyric’s grip loosened on his throat, his trembling hand forming a fist. He rammed it directly into the assassin’s face, knocking him out cold. Veyric got off of him, standing up. He walked with a limp, hand over his shoulder, while retreating to the shadows, leaving behind his dried blood and unconscious assassins.