They walked past the Mercenary Guild. Companies could hire mercenaries, and even military forces outsourced work to them. From what Luke had learned, mercenaries were divided into three main roles: Hunters, Gatherers, and Miners.

  Miners and Gatherers specialized in resource acquisition and terrain assessment, each within their own field of expertise. Everything had value. Ore, trees, plants, timber, even rare crystals that formed naturally underground, all of it used for forging or alchemy. Hunters, on the other hand, handled security and combat. They made money off their strength while growing stronger in the process.

  A company that wants to explore a rift, or a group that needs strong members, hires mercenaries.

  He was the only one who entered the guild building. When it was his turn at the counter, he stated his request.

  “Information?” the clerk asked.

  “Whatever you can tell me about the place.”

  “I can only share what’s known in theory. If you want something useful, I recommend talking to an experienced mercenary. Someone who can point you toward good hunting grounds or resource zones. Greta usually does that. She should be in the mess hall right now.”

  Azazel wanted him to find something he did not even know the nature of. At the very least, before entering the dimensional rift, Luke intended to gather every piece of public, known information. After that, he would figure things out through exploration.

  The mess hall was packed, long tables crammed with people. There was drinking, laughter, and the occasional heated argument.

  Luke weaved between the tables.

  “Are you Greta?”

  “No,” the woman replied.

  He moved on. Some of the people there matched the most grotesque, intimidating stereotypes he could imagine.

  “Are you Greta?”

  “No.”

  He kept asking, table after table, but found no one.

  Until he reached the last table in the hall. A thin woman was tearing into a chicken leg with impressive ferocity.

  “Are you Greta?”

  “That depends on who’s asking.”

  “Looks like I found you,” Luke said, placing a tenth-silver coin on the table. It was worth a hundred crowns.

  Her hand shot toward the coin, but Luke pulled it back. “So? Are you Greta or not?”

  She smirked. “Yeah. I’m Greta. Consultant, thief, informant, whatever you need.”

  Luke took a seat across from her. “Good. I need your help. I need to know everything possible about the rifts.”

  She stopped chewing and narrowed her eyes. “A rookie? No. I don’t help rookies. If you die, I don’t want the trouble. Though if you die… I might keep your gear.”

  “I’m not a rookie.”

  “You look like one. Clean appearance, smooth skin, no scars. You look fresh. What are you, fifteen?”

  “That doesn’t make me a rookie. It just means I’m good enough to fight without getting scarred,” Luke replied.

  She bit into the chicken leg again. “You’ve got a sharp tongue. Still, I had to ask. It’s part of my consultation. There are types of rookies. Those who’ve never held a weapon, those who’ve never been with a woman, and those who’ve never killed.”

  “Right… Greta. I’m not a rookie in that sense.”

  “You sure? At least one of those things you haven’t done,” Artemis muttered.

  Quiet.

  “Meet me outside in an hour, rookie. I don’t like people watching how I work,” Greta said.

  Yeah, you just want to finish eating.

  A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

  Luke followed her instructions and left the hall.

  ***

  After a while, Greta showed up.

  She was wearing different gear this time. A crossbow strapped to her belt, a heavy machete at her waist, and light armor fitted for movement.

  “You’re late.”

  “Just making sure you were actually a rookie,” she replied calmly, “and not someone planning to kidnap me. What’s your name, rookie?”

  “James.”

  Charlie and Angie followed at a distance, keeping out of sight.

  “James? Oh no. Not this again,” Artemis muttered.

  “My consultation fee is two hundred crowns per hour.”

  “Deal.”

  She didn’t wait for anything else. Turning on her heel, she walked right past him.

  “Come on, rookie. Keep up. If you want to waste time, that’s fine. You paid for the hour, and the clock’s already ticking.”

  Luke fell into step beside her as they moved through the street.

  “You paid for the consultation, and you’ll get a proper one,” Greta continued. “Let’s start with the city of Sirius. I’m guessing you don’t know much about this place.”

  “Just the basics. I know the city’s about fifty years old.”

  “Well, at least you know that. Plenty of people don’t. It’s true. Fifty years ago, when King Elbas founded his kingdom, he traveled these lands personally. That’s when he found this place. A ghost city. One of many.”

  She wove through the crowd with effortless precision. No one bumped into her. She slipped past bodies naturally, alert to everything, wary by instinct.

  “People were encouraged to settle here. A military outpost was built to guarantee security. No one moves to a place like this without feeling safe. Especially when the roads outside are full of kidnappers and bandits. So the surrounding villages all migrated to Sirius.”

  “I want to know about the dimensional rift.”

  “Oh? Thinking of heading there?”

  “I am.”

  She exhaled softly. “Then I’ve got bad news. Lately, the military’s been blocking anyone from entering. They set up a base right at the entrance, inside a mausoleum.”

  A problem, but not an insurmountable one.

  “Lucky for you, you hired Greta,” she added with a grin in her voice. “I know about other entrances.”

  “There are other ways into the rift?”

  “Yeah. People say there are more scattered across the region. Some folks charge for passage and, for the right price, they’ll get you inside. See? Premium consultation from the great Greta Walker.”

  Hiring a consultant had been the right call after all.

  “Those uniformed toy soldiers think they can do whatever they want just because they’ve got a checkpoint,” she grumbled.

  “Why did they shut down the entrance?” Luke asked. “From what I’ve heard, ever since it was discovered last year, the rift has pretty much become the city’s main source of income.”

  “Who knows. Maybe they found another treasure.”

  “Treasure?”

  “You didn’t know that, rookie? Figures.” She smirked. “They say rifts are dimensions created to hide treasures. Each one has a theme. There are quite a few of them out there.”

  Luke grew thoughtful.

  “And what’s the theme of this one?”

  “The temple of a Demon Blacksmith.”

  ***

  Some time had passed since Jonathan had been taught about vampires by the lich Tobias. On a few occasions, he crossed paths with the creature again, usually to receive brief advice. Tobias was busy with a large-scale operation tied to a rebellion in some distant kingdom. The Reaper Court had influence everywhere, among corrupt nobles, the black market, and far more besides.

  Jonathan learned more about the Scythe. They served as assistants to a Reaper, acting as the bridge between their master and corrupt officials, smugglers, and wealthy underworld merchants. No clandestine auction could take place without the approval of certain local nobles. A Scythe ranked below a Reaper in raw power. Jonathan also learned that every Reaper was Rank D. Far beyond him. At minimum, they were level one hundred.

  He asked the lich and members of the Church of Lasiurus several questions. He wanted to understand the Scythe he had met. The man had not seemed especially powerful. Now he understood why. A Scythe was not meant to fight on the front lines. He was a businessman. Too much power would only draw unwanted attention.

  No human has ever surpassed Rank B; the upper echelon of that organization is probably Rank C, or even B, since they’re from the system’s first generation on Earth.

  That was important. There was an invisible ceiling in their universe. A requirement their world had yet to fulfill.

  I bet it’s that 51. But now that the tutorial is over, when does it actually happen?

  Once Jonathan understood what the 51 truly was, many things began to make sense. Even some of the problems they had faced during the tutorial. The answer had been there all along.

  “Same building, different floors,” he murmured, repeating part of the explanation tied to the 51.

  With a sigh, he continued walking along the edge of the forest surrounding Dmitri’s estate.

  Jonathan activated the vampiric skill he had chosen at race level 55.

  [Vampiric Blood Shot I (Ancient)]: Condenses a portion of the vampire’s own blood into a crimson projectile infused with vampiric energy, firing it from the fingertips with lethal precision. The projectile travels at extreme speed, capable of piercing flesh and armor with ease. Activating this skill consumes 20 Blood Energy and 500 Health Points.

  He raised his hand, shaped his fingers like a pistol, and fired. The blood bullet tore through the air and obliterated a rock in a thunderous impact. It sounded like a sniper shot.

  Smoke curled from Jonathan’s finger. He blew it away casually.

  “Bartholomew, Kruger, Luke, Erza, Allison… none of them would’ve survived a shot like that to the forehead if I’d had this power back then.”

  Becoming a vampire had been one of the best things that ever happened to him.

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