Chương 82: Chapter 80. Partners In Spite

Adom coughed, his lungs burning. The smoke clogged his nose, his mouth, his thoughts. For a second, he wasn't in the warehouse anymore. He was back in that research camp at Matheran Ridge, the night the Teshani rebels hit them. In another timeline. The same choking darkness. The same ringing in his ears. The same disorientation as he tried to figure out which direction led to safety and which to more danger.

That night, he'd found his friend and fellow researcher Elisa facedown in the mud, her specimen case still clutched in her hands. She was dead. No... not again. Anger surged through him—clean, clarifying anger that burned away the fog of memory. He weaved a quick spell in the air, the surrounding mana glowing blue.

"[Wind]!" The spell burst outward from his fingertips. The smoke scattered instantly, pushed to the edges of the room. Debris flew with it—papers, wood splinters, dust—exposing the wreckage of the warehouse floor. And there was Cass, sprawled on her side, half-buried under a fallen shelf.

"Cass!" He scrambled over broken boards and scattered tools.

"Cass, answer me!" She didn't move. A thin trickle of blood ran from her hairline down the side of her face. Adom dropped to his knees beside her, gently pushing the shelf off her body and checking for obvious injuries. Nothing seemed broken, at least not visibly. He pressed two fingers to her neck. The pulse was there—steady, strong. She was alive. He let out the breath he'd been holding. A noise from outside snapped his head up. Voices, just outside the wall.

"—told you to check first!"

"How was I supposed to know there were people inside? It's a fucking warehouse under construction!"

"Oh shit, the smoke's clearing—" Adom turned toward the broken window. A masked face peered in, eyes widening when they met his.

"Someone's alive in there!" the voice hissed.

"We gotta go, now!" The face disappeared, followed by the sound of running footsteps. Adom didn't think. He didn't plan. He summoned John. The golem materialized beside him immediately.

"Protect her," he ordered, pointing to Cass.

"Full defense. Nobody touches her." He didn't need to say it for John to do what he wanted. But it felt liberating to talk. He could express his rage better. Adom was already running. He vaulted through the broken window, the glass harmlessly sliding off his skin thanks to his [White Wyrm's Body] skill. Outside, the late afternoon sun momentarily blinded him. He squinted, catching sight of three figures running down the alley.

"Stop!" he shouted, knowing they wouldn't. They didn't.

"It wasn't personal!" one of them shouted.

"Just business!" He tore after them, his fingers already weaving familiar patterns in the air. The men split up at the end of the alley—two going left, one right. Adom didn't bother choosing.

"[Bind]," he snarled. Three tendrils of blue energy shot from his outstretched hand, each seeking a target with unerring precision. The first runner went down hard, face slamming into the cobblestones with a crunch. The second managed half a scream before the binding spell yanked his legs out from under him. The third—the largest of them—fought against the magic, stumbling forward three more steps before Adom closed his fist.

"[Levitate]." The man's body jerked upward, then slammed sideways into the brick wall of the alley. The crack of bone was audible even from where Adom stood. The thug slid to the ground, cradling his clearly broken arm. Adom strode toward the first runner, who was trying to crawl away despite his bound legs. A swift kick rolled him over.

"Whose business?" he demanded, crouching down.

"I don't know! I swear!" The man's mask had slipped, revealing a young face—barely more than twenty years of age. A kid. His nose was bleeding, probably broken from the fall.

"We just got paid to do this! No one was supposed to get hurt! I didn't even know there were people inside, I swear!"

"Who paid you?"

"I don't know names! The middleman just called him 'The Merchant.' Said you were moving in on his territory." Adom tightened his grip.

"The Crimson Scale?" The kid's eyes widened.

"I don't—maybe? Look, I just needed the money!" The second thug was getting to his feet, drawing something from his coat. Adom didn't even look as he flicked two fingers in that direction. The man flew backward as if punched by a giant fist, crumpling against a stack of crates. No movement. Was he dead? Adom didn't know. When emotions took over a mage, it was difficult to control the strength of spells. They had it coming though. Only one left conscious now.

Adom turned his full attention back to the kid under his grip.

"This wasn't personal," Adom muttered, echoing the kid's earlier words.

"But it is now." He raised his fist.

"Please," the kid begged, eyes wide with terror.

"I didn't—" Adom's fist connected with his jaw, cutting off the plea. The kid's head snapped back, then forward as consciousness fled him. He slumped against the alley wall, joining his unconscious companions. The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Adom trudged back toward the warehouse, dragging the unconscious young thug behind him by the collar. A small crowd had gathered near the warehouse entrance—workers from neighboring buildings, street vendors, and a few curious passersby. They murmured amongst themselves, pointing at the smoke still seeping from the broken window, but none dared venture inside. He'd left the other two attackers bound with ropes in the alley. The guards would find them easily enough.

But this one—this young one—Adom was keeping for himself. The city guard was notoriously susceptible to bribes, and he couldn't risk the Crimson Scale silencing all three men before he got answers. Adom dragged the thug around to the back entrance, slipping inside unnoticed. John stood motionless beside Cass, who remained unconscious but had been moved away from the debris. The golem had positioned himself between her and the door—exactly as instructed.

Adom dropped the thug unceremoniously onto the floor, then knelt beside Cass. The cut on her forehead had stopped bleeding, but a large bruise was forming. Her breathing was steady. He weaved [Veil]. The invisibility spell settled over the young thug, bending light around his form until he seemed to fade from existence. The boy was now hidden in plain sight, tucked behind a workbench where no one would accidentally trip over him. Then Adom touched two fingers to the unconscious one's forehead.

A faint blue glow pulsed briefly beneath his fingertips. That would keep him under for at least six hours—no chance of him waking during the guard's investigation or making inconvenient noise. Not the most elegant solution—extended magical sleep would disrupt the kid's natural rhythms for days, maybe weeks—but Adom couldn't risk him waking up. He nodded with satisfaction. He'd deal with this one privately, after the official investigation. Valiant's services were thorough.

From the front of the warehouse, the crowd's voices grew louder, more insistent. Adom commanded, and John's massive form shimmered before disappearing into his inventory space. No need to explain the golem to the authorities. He settled himself on a crate beside Cass, checking her pulse again. Still strong. Good. In the distance, he could hear the rhythmic clanking of the city guard's armor. A small smile crossed his face. Let them come.

He had a perfectly legitimate complaint to file—attempted murder, destruction of property, assault. Let the guild war begin officially.

"Someone in there?" a gruff voice called from outside.

"Yes," Adom responded.

"We've been attacked. I have an injured woman in here." The door burst open, and armored figures streamed in, swords drawn. Adom raised his hands slowly, the picture of an innocent victim.

"Over here," he called.

"Please, she needs medical attention." Cass stirred slightly beside him, a small moan escaping her lips. Not fully conscious yet, but getting there. Good. That was good.

The smell of herbs hit Cass before she opened her eyes. Bitter, astringent, with a hint of something sweet underneath. Healer's herbs. Not her first time waking up to that particular bouquet. The second thing she noticed was the scratching sound. Pen on paper. Rhythmic, purposeful. Then a pause, as if the writer was thinking. She peeled her eyes open. The world swam for a moment before settling into focus. White ceiling. Morning light filtering through gauzy curtains.

And Adom, sitting in a chair beside her bed, hunched over a stack of papers.

"Did we win?" she croaked. Adom's head snapped up. The pen clattered onto the small table.

"Cass. You're awake." He was on his feet in an instant, moving to her bedside.

"Easy, easy. Don't try to sit up yet." She ignored him and pushed herself upright anyway. The room spun violently.

"Okay, that was a mistake," she conceded, sinking back down.

"You fell hard," Adom said, hovering uncertainly.

"Severe concussion. The healer wasn't sure when you'd wake up."

"How long was I out?"

"About eighteen hours." Cass blinked.

"Eighteen hours?" Her hand drifted to her head, finding a bandage wrapped around it. Memory flickered back—the warehouse, the conversation, the window breaking. The explosion. Her eyes widened.

"I'm glad to see that brain of yours still works," Adom said, watching her face.

"You remember what happened?"

"Someone tried to kill us."

"They did, yes." Cass took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"Well. At least I'm alive." Adom's brow furrowed.

"You're... not freaking out?"

"Should I be?"

"You were nearly blown up yesterday." Cass shrugged, then winced as the movement sent a spike of pain through her skull.

"When I signed on with you, I knew I was exposing myself. Especially since I'm taking a good cut of the guild profits." She shifted, trying to find a comfortable position.

"Can't really complain, to be honest. I just didn't think they'd actually try to kill me. Maybe intimidate? Break a few bones? Threats? Sure. But bombing feels excessive for a trade dispute." Adom chuckled, shaking his head.

"You're something else, Cass."

"So I've been told." She squinted at him.

"I suppose it would be too good to assume the Crimson Scale people were caught red-handed?"

"Not exactly." Adom dropped back into his chair.

"I filed a formal complaint with the guard and the House of Merchants. Three men were involved in the attack. I managed to catch them after the explosion."

"And?"

"Two are in custody. Common street thugs, according to the guards. They claim they were hired through an intermediary. No direct connection to the Crimson Scale."

"Of course," Cass said dryly.

"They wouldn't attack with their own people. Proxies are safer. Assassination would eject them from their seat if proven guilty. They'd have taken precautions."

"Correct."

"You said three men. What happened to the third?" Adom leaned forward.

"I kept one. Delivered him to Valiant for... later use."

"Later?" She frowned.

"What does that mean?" Adom turned, retrieving the paper he'd been writing on. He handed it to her without explanation. Cass took it, raising an eyebrow. The sheet was filled with Adom's precise handwriting—a list, with names, locations, and what appeared to be schedules.

"What's this?" she asked.

"I've been thinking," Adom said.

"I'm usually reactive instead of proactive. I don't think that's going to work going forward." He gestured to the paper.

"So I'm accepting their invitation."

"Their invitation to what?" Adom's expression hardened, though his voice remained conversational.

"To war." The word hung between them. Cass looked at Adom, really looked at him. She remembered the first time they'd met. Her, selling fruits in the merchant district, annoyed by difficult customers and an over-demanding yet underpaying boss. Him, a boy who somehow managed to look even younger than his already young age of thirteen, approaching her stall with that same steady gaze he wore now.

"Are you looking for a better job?" he'd said without preamble, without the awkwardness of youth, without the bluster most boys his age affected. As a merchant's daughter, Cass had been taught to read people from an early age. Her father's lessons on sizing up customers, on spotting liars, on predicting behavior had been drilled into her from the time she could walk. But Adom had always been strange. There was nothing of a thirteen-year-old in him.

His wit, his way of thinking, his calm assessment of situations—everything about him made her forget he was just a kid. He spoke of business prospects and market strategies with the confidence of someone three times his age. And now here he was, casually stating he'd go to war with a major merchant guild, a respected member of the House of Merchants, potentially with connections to other equally or even more powerful guilds. If it had been any other kid, she would have dismissed it as ignorance and naivety.

But not Adom. In the little time they'd worked together, she'd learned that when he said something like this—in that particular tone, with that particular look—he meant it. And more importantly, he might actually be able to do it. So Cassandra said the first thing that came to her still slightly confused mind.

"That's a wonderful idea." It probably wasn't. In fact, it bordered on suicidal. It was fully, completely stupid. Anyone with sense would sell their business, take the loss, and walk away after this first attempt on their life. But that was the problem. They had tried to kill her. And if there was one trait that defined Cass above all others, it was spite. She didn't back down. She didn't surrender.

And even if she still hadn't figured out the reason for his maturity, Cass's talent for discerning people told her at least one thing. Just like her, Adom was the spiteful type. He smiled at her then. Cass watched his face—the slight tilt of his head, the way his eyes focused just past her for a split second. She'd learned to recognize that look. It was the moment right before a person made an important decision, when they weighed all their options and chose their path forward.

"I'd like to show you something," he said. Bingo.

"Now?" She feigned. Adom stood, straightening his coat.

"Yes. But you don't need to move." He glanced toward the door, then back at her.

"You remember John?"

"The tank we were with during the exam?" Cass frowned. Adom nodded, and the air beside him shimmered, and suddenly John the tank was there. Not just John—John in full armor, towering over the bed, his massive frame barely fitting in the small healer's room. He stood motionless, looking down at her. Cass's first reflex was to panic. To shout, to scramble backward, to demand an explanation. But she caught herself. That would be out of character. And besides, fear wouldn't help her understand what was happening.

She looked at John, then at Adom, considering. The pieces clicked into place.

"John is not really human, is he?" she asked finally, her voice steady.

"No," Adom replied.

"He's not really alive either, I presume?"

"Not any more than any other golem would be." Cass nodded slowly, then sighed.

"This explains a lot of things."