Chương 19: First Blood

Content Warning: Some readers might find the content in this chapter upsetting.

"I identified the auditor creating difficulty with the harbor accounts, a man called Linus, and arranged a meeting. I offered him nothing but my expectations. Men offered bribes wonder what you want and whether they can extract more. Men who receive nothing, delivered with authority, assume the matter is already settled and act accordingly. Linus filed a summary report and closed the inquiry within the week. Anyone can apply force, but the question is always whether force was necessary."

- From the correspondences of Duke Alastair Thorne, undated ISABELLA Rain slicked the gargoyles sculpted into the roof, turning the soot-stained stone into black glass that reflected the garish, magical lights of the district below. I crouched on the precipice, the downpour drumming a steady patter against my hood, a small buffer of super-heated air keeping the rain from touching my clothes - a very useful enchantment.

Below, the Gilded Lily sat squat and ostentatious in the mid-levels of Everton; a penthouse of vice wrapped in velvet and illusions where the nobility came to pretend they were simple men seeking simple pleasures. I adjusted the clasp of my cloak, repositioned the fiery red wig that fell down my exposed shoulders, and checked the dagger in my inventory for the third time. My hands were steady, the tremors of my youth long since beaten out of me on the sparring mats or frozen under the icy glare of the Royal Court.

I was Level 34 now, a Silver-Rank [Shadow Dancer], and the vertigo that once plagued me on these heights was a distant memory.

"You're lingering," Master Renard grated from the shadows of the spire behind me. He leaned against the slate tiles, a flask in his hand, water dripping down the brim of a wide-rimmed black hat. He looked older than he had three years ago, the lines around his eyes deeper, etched, perhaps, by the frustration of teaching a girl who refused to stay in her lane.

"Hesitation is the first step to a funeral."

"I'm waiting for the shift change," I said, my voice barely carrying over the wind.

"The bodyguards rotate at the hour. That gives me a three-minute window where the sensory wards are dampened for the reset." I'd considered just walking through the front door, but it added a layer of possible detection that wasn't worth the risk. Renard took a pull from his flask, the smell of cheap brandy detectable even through the rain. He'd taken his vengeance, but it had not dulled his taste for drink.

"You have the route, you have the skills, and you have the element of surprise. What you don't have is a reason to be up here, Isabella. You could buy Kalia's contract. You have the gold."

"Vargo doesn't sell." It was frustrating, arguing with a man who knew as well as I did that this was necessary.

"Kalia is his prize fighter, his favorite toy. He keeps her contract soul-bound in his personal inventory to ensure she can never be stolen or bought."

"So you kill him," Renard said, the statement flat, devoid of judgment.

"You slip in, you slit his throat, and you use that new trick of yours to rip the contract out of his storage? It's a clean plan for a dirty deed."

"It's justice," I said, annoyed by the 11th hour questions.

"You've seen what he does to them, Renard. It's not a debt, it's a slow execution. I'm just speeding up the timeline for the one who deserves it." Renard chuckled, which turned into a cough.

"Justice. A pretty word for murder. You've learned the Shadow Arts well, girl, but you haven't learned the cost. The first time you open a man up, you lose a part of yourself that you can't buy back."

"I'm not asking for your permission, Renard, I'm asking you to hold the rope." I stood up, letting the cloak fall open to reveal the gown beneath. It was a revealing dress of midnight-blue silk, cut in the latest court fashion, and set off with silver embroidery to accentuate the curves I'd also earned in the last three years - a powerful weapon for a certain kind of combat it turned out. The Gilded Lily was hosting the Festival of Masks, a debauched celebration for the nobility.

It was the perfect cover, a sea of anonymity where a highborn woman could move unseen and unquestioned. I reached into my inventory and pulled out my own mask; it was porcelain, painted in a featureless white, save for a single silver tear beneath the left eye.

"You think you're ready." Renard pushed off the wall, letting the rain drip down his face. I knew he wouldn't stop me, we had passed that point months ago.

"You think because you can dance with me semi-competently inside the square, because you can avoid a detection grid, that you can take a life. But flesh isn't straw, Izzy. It resists. It bleeds."

"I know." I looked down at my hands. They were still pale, manicured, soft, the callouses carefully filed off. My deliberately maintained beauty was every bit the weapon a knife was, but beneath the surface the muscle was wire-tight from countless hours of dedicated training, my reflexes honed and practiced. I had spent three years living a double life, smiling at tea parties by day and bleeding in cellars by night.

I had unlocked [Void-Thief's Touch] with a Resonance Condition that had cost a small fortune to obtain from a black market Title Hunter, a rare skill that allowed me to reach into an inventory and take what wasn't mine. It was the key to Kalia's freedom, and Vargo's life was the lock.

"If you get caught," Renard said, corking his flask, "don't look for me. I won't be there."

"If I get caught, I'm dead." I rolled my tongue across the false tooth cap that would act as my escape from life before something worse than death could be visited upon me.

"And you can drink my reserve vintage. Maybe it will manage to kill you where men have failed." Renard simply tipped his flask in my direction as if to say 'one can only hope.' I tied the mask into place and the world narrowed to slits. The rain sounded distant, muffled by the porcelain. My [Courtier's Composure] overlayed with my [Killing Intent] and created a focused clarity that silenced the last of my doubts.

"Don't miss," Renard offered unhelpfully. I stepped to the edge of the roof and dropped. The fall was short, a controlled descent assisted by a pulse of mana to my enchanted high heeled straps. I landed in a crouch on the balcony of the Gilded Lily, the beat of the party vibrating through the glass doors; laughter, string music, the clinking of crystal. I smoothed the silk of my gown compulsively, checking my reflection in the darkened glass as I dismissed the cloak.

The girl in the reflection was a mystery, a phantom in blue and silver, her mask a blank page where a man could write any story he wished to see there. I opened the door and stepped into the light. The interior of the Gilded Lily was a fever dream wrapped in velvet, a sensory assault designed to overwhelm inhibition. The metallic taste of localized aphrodisiac spells drifted on the air like perfume, my head growing fuzzy and my heart beating faster as they took effect.

I'd prepared myself as best I could, mana-dampening enchantments and mind clearing potions, but the magic was potent. Around me, the aristocracy of Everton had shed their public faces. Highborn men and women wearing elaborate animal masks indulged in appetites they would denounce in the light of day. All around me were open displays of sex and excess, debauchery on a scale only the nobility could afford.

I navigated the crowded room, ignoring the hands that groped at my body and the purring voices that beckoned me to join the fun. My eyes were fixed on the spiral staircase of wrought iron and crystal that led to the VIP mezzanine. Two guards stood at the base, hulking men in formal wear that barely concealed the bulk of their armor. They scanned the party with professional intensity.

I wandered through the press of bodies, a shadow in blue silk as I drifted toward the center, my eyes searching for the man who held the leash. I discovered him near the high-stakes table, a cordoned-off island of relative calm amidst the chaos. Vargo sat behind an oval of green felt, flanked by two stone-faced guards. He was striking, his face displaying the predatory features of a hawk and framed by brown hair that fell across his forehead in measured disarray.

He wore a mask of black iron that covered only his eyes, leaving his mouth free to smile at the young lordling he was currently fleecing. He looked a prince from a storybook, but I knew he was the kind to rescue the damsel only to lock her in a higher tower. The high-stakes table sat on a raised dais in the center of the space, separated from the common revelry by a heavy velvet rope and an enchanted wall of silence. I approached the podium, dropping a heavy purse of gold onto the felt.

The attendant, a thin man with eyes like abacus beads, weighed it, his eyebrows climbing toward his receding hairline.

"Buy-in is steep tonight," he croaked, glancing at the table where Vargo held court.

"So is my boredom," I replied, my voice cool and dismissive. He unhooked the rope and I glided to an empty seat, settling into the plush leather between a sweating human merchant lord and a nervous-looking dwarf. The game was Aether-Draw, a test of bluffing and mana manipulation where the cards shifted based on the player's steadiness of will and fine mana control. Vargo glanced my way but didn't speak, gesturing for the dealer to deal me in with a look of mild curiosity.

I played the first hour aggressively, pushing chips into the pot with a sneer, raising on weak hands and bullying the merchant into folding. I won three hands in a row, raking in the pots with a laugh that was just a little too loud.

"Is this the best the Sump has to offer?" I asked, tossing a chip to the dealer.

"I was told the King of the Slums played a sharper game." Vargo's smile faltered. His aura, a smooth pool of light blue confidence, developed a small orange spike of irritation. He didn't appreciate being insulted in his own house, and his aura control was sloppy.

"The night is young, My Lady." He chucked the lost hand back to the dealer.

"And luck is a fickle mistress." The dynamic shifted. Vargo stopped playing passively. He leaned forward, his fingers drumming on the table. I saw the shift in his aura before I saw the cards change. A pulse of mana, subtle and oily, flowed from his ring into the deck. It was masterful, a slight manipulation of the aetheric weight that ensured his draw would always appear to edge out mine. I let him, drawing no attention to the underhanded tactics. I frowned as he took the first pot.

I tapped my fingers on the table as he took the second. I let a crack of frustration slip through my mask as he took the third.

"Impossible," I muttered, pushing another stack of chips forward.

"Deal again." We played for another hour. My stack dwindled slowly as the push and pull of his cheating continued, losing just enough to make it seem plausible, enough to keep me engaged. The merchant and the dwarf folded, fleeing the table to avoid the crossfire, leaving just the two of us surrounded by a ring of spectators, their chatter unheard behind the wall of silence that engulfed the table. The crowd smelled blood and I was certain Vargo did too, a touch of anticipation leaking through.

Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author. I stared at my last few chips and then at Vargo, then at the empty space where my once impressive stack of chips had been. I let my hand shake, just enough for him to see.

"One more," I said, my voice squeezed with anxiety, aura flashing wildly as I manipulated the mana.

"You're light," Vargo noted, pointing to the meager pile.

"That won't cover the blind." I unlatched the diamond choker from my neck. It was fake, but to anyone but a jeweler with an analyzing scope it would appear to be worth a small fortune. I threw it onto the felt.

"This covers it." Vargo picked it up, examining the stone.

"Exquisite," he said.

"But you're chasing losses, My Lady, betting with emotion. Perhaps you should take what's left to you and not embarrass yourself further."

"Just deal," I snapped. He dealt. He cheated. I lost. Vargo raked in the necklace, predator's eyes reading the curves of my body. I slumped in my chair, a flash of terror.

"My mother's necklace..." I whispered, just loud enough for him to hear.

"My father... he'll kill me." Vargo suppressed a smile that touched the edges of his lips, his true nature spilling through the mask he always wore. He snapped his fingers and a nearby attendant arrived with a scroll case. He slid a piece of parchment across the table.

"I will loan you five thousand gold." It was an exorbitant sum, a lifetime of wealth for most.

"Enough to win back your necklace and all the money you've lost tonight." I looked at the scroll which lit up in my System interface.

"A loan? Who do you think I am that I would sign a System contract with a criminal? That necklace was nothing to me."

"Apologies for the misunderstanding." He removed the parchment from the table theatrically.

"You are of course free to enjoy the rest of your evening, but I think my night is done." He rose to leave, daring me to stop him. I did, leaning in to emphasize the low cut of my dress and the promise of what was under it.

"I propose a final game," I said, glancing from the contract and back to him.

"If I win... you refund my money, all of it, necklace included." It was a lot, but then I knew he wanted me badly, it was practically oozing from his pores.

"Plus the gold." He sat back down, trying to appear cool and uninterested, but his aura vibrated with anticipation.

"That is quite a sum." Vargo examined me like he might a show horse, the sensation made arms itch.

"If you lose, your debt becomes my property. You'll have to work it off in my service." His eyes dropped to my chest.

"I have many uses for a woman of your... talents." The same deal he'd made with so many others, a license for domination.

"You must think me a fool that I'd sign a contract without my lawyer present." He liked it when women resisted, it was his favorite game. He smiled.

"I think you lack options." I spat on the ground, face turned up in a show of haughty revulsion.

"I'll never work for you, you sick bastard." I leaned in, my lips hidden behind the mask, letting disgust and anger flash in my now dark brown eyes, the magical contacts I employed for the disguise enhancing the effect.

"But if I lose, I'll give you one night. No mask, no limits." Vargo's animal desire was overriding the rational thought that would tell him it was a bad deal. But then, he knew he couldn't lose, so what was the risk?

"You're offering to whore yourself?" he said louder, giving the assembled crowd the opportunity to read his lips.

"What an indecent proposal, My Lady, though you certainly think highly of your worth."

"No man has ever touched me, and I assure you the offer is cheap." I refused to meet his eyes, prideful even in desperation.

"Now agree or don't, I will not barter my virtue like a prostitute strutting openly in the pleasure district." He nodded his agreement with a lustful grin that made me feel physically ill. The dealer slid five crystalline shards across the felt to each of us. I picked up my hand, the shards cool and heavy. I didn't look at the etchings but felt for the resonance. A knight of iron. A queen of aether. A three of void. Garbage. A dissonant mess that wouldn't hold a charge if I poured my entire soul into it.

His dealer was almost certainly in on the grift, I couldn't believe anyone actually fell for this. Vargo didn't even look at his cards, his eyes locked on my exposed neckline. He pushed his stack of chips and the promissory note for the loan into the center.

"All in." I poured mana into the cards and feathered the flow, trying to force a harmonic resonance where none existed. The knight glowed a dull grey. The queen flickered blue, unstable. The rest remained dark. Vargo laughed softly. He placed his hand over his own cards. A pulse of violet mana surged from his rings, flooding the crystals. They lit up like stars. A king, a queen, and an archmage. All void-attuned.

"A void court," he announced, flipping them over. The crystals hummed with power, the highest possible hand in the deck. I stared at his cards, letting my own hand drop. The light in my crystals died.

"I-" my voice cracked perfectly.

"I thought-" Vargo raked the chips toward him and the crowd erupted into whispers, a mix of shock and titillation. They had just watched a noblewoman sell herself, the highlight of the evening. I sat there, frozen, letting my body language do the work.

"I-I need time," I stammered, standing up.

"I can get the money. I have friends in the Capital..." He smiled, eyes laced with a dark hunger.

"We can discuss it in my private quarters. Away from the crowd."

"No." I stepped away, my back hitting the velvet rope.

"I won't. You can't make me."

"You think I won't enforce our deal because you have powerful allies?" Vargo whispered, closing the distance. His hand brushed my thigh, a finger moving slowly up my leg.

"You belong to me now." He turned to the guards.

"Clear the stairs, the lady and I will be retiring for the evening." He grabbed my wrist hard and I pulled back, a token resistance, letting him drag me toward the spiral staircase. I let the crowd see my fear. I let Vargo feel my trembling. We ascended the stairs, the noise of the party fading below. Vargo's grip was possessive, flashes of Victor's angry insistence, the thought causing me to falter as I was dragged forcefully to his bedroom. We reached the double doors of his suite.

A sense-warden stepped forward, his wand raised to search for hidden magic or weapons.

"Boss?"

"Make it quick, Quinn." Vargo shoved me toward the door. The sense-warden's wand hummed with detection magic.

"Arms out." I tried to resist but my arms were forced out, the silk of my gown falling. The wand passed over my chest, my waist, my hips. It glowed a soft blue, indicating standard enchantments - my jewelry, the dress. He ran the wand down my legs and up my thighs, hands roughly probing and earning a scowl from Vargo as I tensed.

"Careful," Vargo snapped.

"And hurry the fuck up." The sense-warden activated a forced inventory search, the System message lighting up to tell me someone was accessing my storage without permission. I let him, relying on the knife's very expensive warding to trick the search. It did.

"Clean," the Warden grunted. Vargo kicked the door open and threw me inside. I stumbled, falling onto the thick fur rug. The door slammed shut and the lock clicked. He turned, loosening his cravat.

"Now," he breathed, the mask of the gambler falling away to reveal the beast.

"No limits, that was the deal." I scrambled backward, pushing myself up against the heavy oak desk.

"Please," I whispered.

"Don't."

"Begging," Vargo smiled, unbuckling his belt and coming toward me.

"I enjoy begging." He grabbed me forcefully and turned me around, pushing me down, my hands hitting the desk. He tried to lift my dress with one hand while he undid the buckle of his pants with the other. My fingers closed around the hilt of the dagger as it materialized from my inventory. I triggered [Silence] - a localized sound disruption that deadened all noise in the room - and drove the blade upward, aiming for the soft hollow beneath his jaw. A flash of golden light erupted between us.

A passive shield, woven into the collar of his shirt, flared to life. The dagger failed to pierce it, sliding off and slicing a long, shallow gash across his cheek. Vargo roared and clutched his face but no sound escaped. He backhanded me with a heavy blow and I flew backward, crashing into a side table, a vase smashing silently on the floor. My mask flew off, skittering across the ground. The wig had fallen in my face and I ripped it free. Vargo's eyes lit up in recognition, blood dripping through his fingers.

I regained my feet, spitting blood from a split lip. Realizing his situation, Vargo's eyes dilated in panic, he was a man who let others do his fighting for him. He bolted for the door but my Tier-3 Dexterity ensured I got there quicker. He took a swing at me but this time I was ready for it, dropping below his guard and driving the knife hard into a kidney. His shield, exhausted from the last attack, failed to turn the blade this time and it sunk into his ribs.

His mouth opened in shock but the dampening field held, whatever curse he was trying to expel died on his lips. I stabbed the knife in again and again, cutting my fingers on the unguarded blade, but feeling the snap of his trauma shield as it was finally depleted. I'd gotten sloppy, lost control in the heat of the moment. Blood covered my clothes and hands. Vargo lay dead, his eyes staring lightless into the mirrored ceiling. I sat down on the floor and dropped the knife, my body shaking.

I stared at my hands, his blood had mixed with mine, my wounds deep but painless. I used his discarded sheets to wipe the warm blood from my hands, but it wouldn't come off, the red only growing deeper, staining my fingers and nails. ~ SYSTEM MESSAGE: ACHIEVEMENT UNLOCKED - "The Silken Dagger"~ ~ "The law is a shield for the rich and so you choose to be a blade in the dark. The pen may dictate history, but it is the knife that determines the future."

~ ~REWARD: Title - [Vigilante]~ ~Rarity: Rare~ ~Equipped Effect: +15% Critical Hit Chance against targets within Urban Environments. +25% Stealth effectiveness in shadows. ~ ~Display Effect: Displays a subtle, intimidating aura to those with criminal alignments (Fear Induction). ~ I dismissed the achievement and wiped my face, willing myself back to task at hand - I had limited time to act if any of this was to matter. I triggered [Void-Thief's Touch] and his inventory screen appeared over his body.

I ignored the assortment of items, zeroing in on a bit of rolled parchment with a glowing gold border. I ripped it from him, the object appearing over his chest. My skill screen lit up red, flashing a warning that I'd soon be expelled. I looted his coin to throw off any inquiries that might lead back to Kalia, money being an evergreen motive that I knew the city's inspectors would accept at face value. The contract unrolled in front of me, Kalia's name in big bold type at the top.

The contract secure, I leaned over and spit blood on Vargo's corpse, kicking it with steel-toed heel. The adrenaline was finally fading, my tears hardening into resolve. I dragged the body onto the bed, arranging the sheets to hide the wounds and pouring brandy over him to mask the smell of blood. I mopped up what I could with clothes lying around, throwing a rug over the rest to conceal the stain. It wasn't perfect, but it would buy me time.

I opened the bottom drawer of his desk using a pair of keys in his nightstand. Inside was a leather-bound ledger written in a coded shorthand, lists of names, dates, and payments. I recognized the seals of House Baudecamp, Thorne, a dozen other great houses, and another that looked suspiciously like the Royal Treasury. A map of the city's corruption, if I could figure out how to read it.

Beside the book was a small velvet box, it contained a collection of seemingly random objects: a lock of blonde hair, a silver locket with a picture of a smiling girl, a signet ring from a minor house. Kalia's Sendari fist wraps I recognized immediately, taking them from the box. A hot fury settled in my chest. He kept them like hunting trophies. I took the ledger and fist wraps but left the rest, collecting my mask and resetting the wig I'd lost in the scuffle.

I wrapped my cloak tight around me, covering the worst of the blood but leaving my face visibly battered for the guard's benefit. Then, I waited. I poured myself a glass of Vargo's high-end liquor and slammed it down. The warm fire burned in my stomach and I forced the quivering to stop, my breathing to slow. When enough time had passed to avoid immediate suspicion, I headed for the door, disheveled and beaten.

The guard gave me a sideways glance as I passed him, registered the bruised and bloodied face, and simply looked away as if he'd seen it plenty of times before. I walked on without slowing down, keeping my head bowed and limping slightly to sell the deception. I walked out through the crowded ballroom. Eyes avoided me, the titillation of the earlier scene darkened by bearing witness to its aftermath. No one stopped me.

No one looked too closely at the dark stains on my feet or the bloody hands I kept hidden under my cloak. I walked out into the rain, the cold water washing the scent of lavender and death from the air. I had paid a price in pain, a flash of Vargo's lightless eyes lingering in my thoughts, but I'd left with what I came for.