Chương 4: Chapter 3: Another Way

Days came and went before Torin could advance his backup plan. Quinto never returned. A few made jokes on the first day he went missing. By the second day, no one spoke another word. Just as Torin predicted, the State stopped whatever plan he thought possible before he could get close to executing it. The best that Quinto could hope for now was to return from the Storks in a year, twenty kilograms weaker. But there was every possibility that he would never leave their "rehabilitation" camp again.

Just more reason to avoid getting careless. Torin planned things out for a reason. He waited with that same determination again as an escort slowly passed through the main road. Some important Duke's son had apparently been staying in Vrisgard, and the Marquis made a show of marching him into the countryside for a hunt, freezing all traffic in the Residential District instead of taking a skyship. The slow pace was one thing, but the wall of Hawks on either side made it impossible to slip by.

They were all stuck until this charade ended. Torin watched the escort boredly. He spotted the Duke's son at once. Like most highborns, oily hair cascaded into his silk State doublet as he rode his horse. He grinned with neither consequence nor care for the inconvenience he created, eyes only for the women in the crowd. Torin's skin shivered whenever he caught sight of the man beside him. Gaius Maro still looked as princely as always, youthful except for the occasional strand of silver in a wave of chestnut hair.

But Torin couldn't hold his gaze for more than a few seconds, even now. Why is it always like this with him? Torin never understood why he responded so much at the mere sight of the Marquis. It was as if Gaius possessed some magical spell just for Torin, and could summon bugs under his skin simply by having eyes cast on him. Torin exhaled. It didn't matter. Gaius Maro seldom left High Perch anyway, so these encounters were very rare. The city was big enough to avoid its leader altogether.

The escort passed, the battalion of Hawks following in its wake. Torin went straight for his next destination, a tavern at the focal point of the Residential District. Because it saw so much traffic from officials coming and going, the tavern remained in comparatively good shape. Only the fired clay roof tiles lay in a state of disrepair. The walls and windows had been mended recently. The inside remained as raucous as always, patrons guffawing from one table to the next.

The air tasted of cinnamon, almost thick enough to hide the sweat and stale mead beneath. Though the hearths cast long beams, officials mingled with maidens along the exterior where darker shadows clung. It was around one such corner that Torin found his target, his head poking out from a bench that could barely contain him. Even while wearing a suit of brigandine armor, his muscles bulged out considerably. His meaty hand wrapped around a pint of dark beer.

His drink disappeared in one swallow, a great belch overtaking those nearby. The serving girl nodded politely as the man waved for another drink, only for his eyes to narrow elsewhere instead. He grinned wide and canceled, noticing that Torin had already purchased another pint for him.

"Well, well," Thaddeus said.

"Didn't expect to see you around here again, kid." Torin handed over the drink and sat across.

"How could I not? I heard you finally reached Gold." Thaddeus beamed.

"Word spreads fast, huh?"

"How did you do it? I've been dying to know."

"Wasn't as glamorous as you'd think. There was talk of a cockatrice in the area, but it turned out to just be some guy in a mask." He shrugged.

"Still, it was the last adventure I needed to clear for promotion, so I'll take the win."

"Do you mind if I see the medallion?"

"Sure." The State's military broke into three main branches. Falcons represented those who recaptured lost territory, marching off to the Fringe whenever the Regent declared a Crusade. Hawks were those who stayed behind and watched the streets to ensure no insurrection broke out back home. But Ospreys had their own category. Monsters still roamed the world and people sometimes found new dungeons, so the State created the Ospreys as a group of adventurers tasked with removing these threats.

There was even talk of another branch, though Torin knew little about it. Thaddeus fished out his new medallion, cast in gold and shaped like an osprey, now back to one star instead of the four. Each tier in a State branch was broken into four sub-categories: Early, Mid, Late, and Peak, representing the different bottlenecks one sat under before needing more mana crystals to cultivate. Thaddeus beamed.

"Not bad, huh?" Torin nodded.

"You will be Platinum in no time."

"If only. Unless I fall into a fresh dungeon, I'll be grinding out bandits and wolves for the next ten years just to get another star. Vrisgard has gotten too slow for my needs."

"I'm sure you'll find a way." He raised a bushy eyebrow.

"How about you, kid? Are you still thinking of joining the Ospreys too?"

"Yes, but it will not be so easy…" Torin explained his dilemma. Normally, it would be hard to find someone else to speak to so openly, but Thaddeus loved going against the norm. He regularly came to this tavern between adventures, always bragging about his exploits to anyone who would listen. Enough time had come and gone that he recognized him on sight, though Thaddeus still regularly forgot Torin's name until he bought him a pint of ale. Thaddeus laughed.

"So, the old man would rather you keep cleaning his chamber pot for another year."

"Something like that," Torin said.

"That's the Falcons for you. Too much time stuck in a barracks. They all walk around with logs shoved up their asses." If only Torin shared the same protections as Thaddeus. Ospreys had plenty of regulations, but the State also gave them the most leniency for their work. No one else could be expected to fight the unknown. Not at the scale the State demanded. But that was why he had come.

"The General isn't the only one who could sponsor me," Torin said, handing over another pint. Thaddeus's lips curled upward.

"Is that why you've been stroking my ego so much lately? I was starting to think I'd have to tell you I only bed women."

"No. I'm here because you are smart and understand the value of mutual benefit. Because of your promotion, you're now able to capitalize on it."

"What benefit could I get from a lowly ward with a Hidden Trait?"

"If this lowly ward entered the Academy and performed at the top of the class, then regardless of my Trait, that would be reflective of the one who gave the sponsorship. On a failure, that same lowly ward would have too low expectations for the sponsor to concern themselves with. It would cost you almost nothing, but would prove very lucrative when I succeed." A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation. Thaddeus yawned.

"I'm not a Heron. I don't care about State politics. You're not the first to come to me with that idea either. I've been getting hammered since I applied for Gold. Everyone wants a piece of me." Torin gleamed.

"But none of them thought about what would come after, right? I'll give you fifty percent of my adventuring rewards for the first five years." That got his attention. Thaddeus stared at his pint with greed in his eyes, perhaps imaging it filled with coin.

"Ten years," he said.

"Done." But Thaddeus had not finished." And, I want you to finish some jobs for me before you apply. Gotta see how useful you are first before I put my neck on the line." Torin hesitated.

"What kind of jobs?" Thaddeus shook his head, catching the implication.

"Nothing that will go against the State. I don't need that kind of heat anymore than you do."

"Alright, then. If it's just odd-jobs, I can make it happen."

"I've got one for you now." Thaddeus dug into his backpack a moment before plopping a muddy pile of leather on the table.

"Go find a cobbler who will fix these boots." Torin squinted, and it took far longer than he would care to admit before realizing that this pile was, in fact, a pair of boots, or at least had once been. Tears ripped through the fabric where it hadn't warped through water damage. The soles had almost detached, and the laces had disappeared on one side altogether. It contained a coat of arms inside, a faded crest with a bear in alternating colors of blue and green.

"You want me to fix your boots?" Torin asked.

"You're the next hotshot, aren't you? It shouldn't be hard for a man of your talents."

"I can figure something out."

"You better," Thaddeus warned.

"These are my favorite boots and have a lot of sentimental value. You lose them, everything else is off. Oh, and get them back by the end of the day, will you? I'm not waiting around a week for a pair of boots. Find someone who will fix them today or don't bother." Torin gulped. He had a very strong feeling that it would be impossible to fulfill his request. Which is why he's sending me. Thaddeus didn't care about the boots. He wanted to see what Torin could do. Of course he would test him this way.

Why wouldn't he?

"I'll get it done," Torin promised. Even if he went to five different shops, he would do whatever he needed to complete this task. * Torin went to seven shops. The results were predictably identical. Everyone in the Artisan District told him to just get a new pair. When he asked for a rush repair, they laughed him out the door. He had spent hours on this wild goose chase. Worse yet, the weather had shifted. Dust swirled through the air, no doubt pulling from the fallow fields beyond the walls in the Farm District.

Torin moved at a slower pace back into the Residential District, shielding himself with a piece of cloth as a makeshift mask. It could not be helped. Thaddeus might act like a brash thug, but he possessed the two qualities Torin needed most. Power and freedom. Both were unheard of together in the Avinum State. To have an ally like him was essential to his plans. Torin would go through the Academy as fast as possible, finishing all the tests perfectly so that he could get sent straight into Osprey training.

From there, he would perform his duties efficiently and with due diligence for the first few years to accelerate his progress into Silver Rank. Then, one day, Torin would set out on a dangerous job by himself, and he would not return. Ospreys disappeared all the time. Who would lose sleep over one man? His power would still be too low for the State to concern itself with. But for Torin, he would finally be free to do whatever else he needed. He picked up his pace.

None of this would happen if he remained trapped at the first step, and there would no doubt be far riskier trials than fixing a pair of boots. So, he shelved his long-term goals and focused only on getting through today. He passed a group of Hawks sheltered between some dwelling-homes, drinking merrily despite the storm. One stood at the center of attention with a wizard's staff while the rest cheered him on.

A Raven, Torin realized, no doubt receiving his first staff to practice mana control before he received his Class at Silver Rank. Torin kept a wide berth as he reached the next cobbler shop. This place was more run-down than the others, offering only work boots atop old wooden shelves, none of the flair of the Artisan District. Yet Torin felt strangely comforted here. No nonsense, only business. He could respect the craftsman. Or rather, craftswoman. An elderly lady strolled out from the back, her smile warm.

"How may I help you today?"

"Would you be able to fix these?" Torin asked, pulling out the dregs that had plagued him for the day. The cobbler wrinkled her nose.

"By the Swan! What are those?"

"A seemingly impossible task," Torin admitted.

"I don't suppose you could restore these boots to workable condition?"

"Sweetie, I don't think these have been in 'workable condition' for a very long time."

"I don't think they have either," he agreed with a chuckle.

"Ah, so someone else has tasked you." He nodded. She examined them further.

"Well, your master reminds me a lot like my husband. He also refused to replace his boots until they broke beyond recognition. I started picking up cobbling when he went on his first Crusade."

"Your husband serves the Falcons?"" Served. He passed away during the 134th with my son." Torin grimaced.

"I'm sorry."

"It can't be helped. The fault lies with those along the Fringe. They would still be alive had circumstances been different." But whose circumstances? There was something else beneath the cobbler's voice. A bitterness that did not match her words, an anger forcibly redirected. Could she be like him? Torin stared deep.

"Death lies at the Fringe." The two made eye contact, and for a moment, just a moment, each saw the other's true selves. To resist the Avinum State took an endurance that surpassed far more than most could handle. Those who grew too bold, like Quinto, were quickly removed. Those like Torin had to contend with worse factors. If Owls sent from State Intelligence weren't spying on them, then they always risked their own neighbors reporting on their transgressions.

He had no illusions that Pilas most likely had Quinto arrested for fear that he would get in trouble if he didn't. That was why Torin invented his little test. He wanted to meet people who understood the necessity of standing against the State without ever compromising themselves. And for the first time in years, someone actually passed his test. This old cobbler hated the State with every fiber of her being, but before it could be seen, she averted her gaze, blushing slightly.

"I think I could get these boots finished," she decided.

"How long would you need?"

"If possible, I would like them finished before tonight. It's for an Osprey."

"Ah, if it's for a State official, then how could I refuse?" She smirked, almost imperceptibly. Torin smiled despite himself.

"I'll be sure that you're compensated well." He made a mental note to return later.

"There is no need. My husband would not want me to dishonor him so." He bowed.

"The Great Swan protects." They weren't having a real conversation anymore. The true conversation had happened in half a second when they made eye contact. The cobbler had no idea why Torin hated the State like her. She only knew that helping him would hurt them in some small way. Likewise, Torin could only guess that she resented the State over what happened to her family, but he would return the favor regardless. It would go no further than that.

Neither was under any illusion that a teenager would team up with an old cobbler to tear down this corrupt system on their own. They could only bring each other further risks. But that was not the point. For the briefest of moments, they were reminded that they were not alone in this repressive city. That was all that mattered. Torin walked back outside. The dust storm had slowed, but he kept his mask on. He did not want anyone to see his happiness. Then, he heard a shriek nearby.

The Hawks remained where they had been left, but they had a young woman trapped between them. Half the group stood watch while the others dragged her into an alley. As she tried to scream again, the Raven pressed his staff into her mouth.

"Be quiet, wench," the Raven slurred.

"We're gonna have a good time, we will," another Hawk agreed. They pushed her further out of sight as the poor woman struggled. Torin froze. He had heard stories before, but he had never seen anything like this up close. His muscles tightened uncontrollably as he struggled to process something so barbaric. How could these monsters do this? Another Hawk laughed.

"Save some for me, will you?" Torin's eyes widened. Something stirred deep within his heart. Those words brought forth a feeling. An instinct. A night he thought buried forever. Torin remembered how his parents died. He remembered everything.