Chương 9: Chapter 8: On The Run

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Torin sprinted down the street, ignoring the calls from the Hawks in pursuit. An alley made for a welcome escape, and he tossed a pile of garbage behind to buy some time. His body launched quicker than ever before, propelled by his newfound speed and a healthy boost of adrenaline. He'd stayed too long. He should have taken the boots and left before the State surrounded that house. What had that Owl called himself? Drelk de Lokthra.

If he hadn't gotten information already, he would soon enough. Torin grit his teeth. Since when did Silver-Ranks descend down here?! He weaved through more alleys, cutting irregularly to avoid a clean path. No alarms were raised behind. Of that much, he could be thankful. Still, this was not a good turn of events. Drelk had moved quicker than most State investigators. After only a few hours, he already started looking for Thaddeus's boots. Torin pulled out the pair from his backpack with a scowl.

All things considered, Sara performed admirably. The boots were by no means perfect, but Thaddeus would be a fool if he didn't want them back. If only Torin could still pull that off. Because of the sigil inside, this job had become a liability the moment those men died. If Drelk got a hold of them, he would quickly trace it back to the Ospreys. And unlike everyone else, Thaddeus knew exactly who Torin was. At least he'd bought himself more time.

Even if Sara revealed everything she knew, they would have difficulty trying to recreate the sigil by hand. The longer they wasted doing that, the longer they'd spend before coming for him. More than that, Torin now understood the extent the State was moving against him. By staying behind, he learned what they knew and could guess where they would go next. This wasn't a loss by any means. But what could Torin do with the time he had gained? He looked over his city with fresh eyes. Vrisgard broke into quarters.

On the southeast where he lived, the Residential District lay, housing the majority of laborers in tight, condensed blocks, called "dwelling-homes." The War District sat to the west, a motley of factories producing military armament, along with garrisons that housed Vrisgard's army. To the north, the Artisan District sprawled about, climbing into the mountain that dominated the northwest portion.

It was through there that the State District watched over them from a plateau, hundreds of meters above the rest, with High Perch standing above them at the center. Meanwhile, walls formed a shell that covered lower Vrisgard, but should one bypass them, they would be stuck pushing through the Farming District that surrounded the city on all sides. Torin had never seen this area himself, but he had heard plenty of stories. Many came and went through there, but all were watched closely.

Torin studied the walls with a sigh. Those fifty meters had never felt so high before, the Great Swan mocking him at every turn. Even with his increased stats, he wouldn't be able to scale the main walls. He wouldn't be able to use any Skills to bypass them, either. Nullium had been infused into the mortar to prevent mana from bleeding through. Nothing could bypass them aside from teleportation arrays, and none could be found below the State District. If only I could sneak up there …

Despite his immunity to [Identify], Torin remained limited because of his appearance. His simple flax tunic screamed that he belonged to the lower class. Dodging patrols was one thing. The moment anyone caught someone like him wandering around restricted areas, they would have questions that he couldn't answer. What if that changed? Yes, that might work. Torin kicked off his own shoes and dug through his backpack for Thaddeus's pair to try them on. Damn.

They were massive, at least two centimeters too large around the toes. Unsatisfied after a few steps forward, Torin ripped excess fabric from his overcoat and stuffed it inside. The boots still felt loose, but it would not impede his movement. He shielded his eyes from the rest of his body, staring only at the tips of these boots. If that was all he could see, he wouldn't know better. Torin switched back to his own pair with a grin, redirected into another alley, and aimed for the nearest watchtower.

Hawks had watchtowers scattered throughout every district, ranging from a dozen men to several hundred in their attached barracks, providing a rapid response in the event of a riot. Everyone knew to keep their distance from these Hawk Nests, lest they draw the State's attention needlessly. The Hawks understood this relationship as well. While men were always posted in the tower, few monitored the base structure. Who would dare attack the Hawks?

Torin had no intention of doing something so foolish either, but as he approached under the cover of a fledgling night, he could not help but see an opportunity. The braziers had not been lit yet, and a clothing line stretched out from a watchtower window to a neighboring parapet. Hawk uniforms hung loosely there, ready to be snatched by any who got near. He studied the Nest's layout. The tower rose about twenty meters above a garrison that stood three stories tall.

Stone and mortar rose unadorned across the length of the structure. Firelight also danced in each window, uniform save for the porticus below. Two men kept watch on the doorway's exterior, eyes strained after a long day's shift. No other defenses sat beyond the main building, though the barracks roof had been reinforced with crenellations and turrets. A shadow moved lazily along one such pathway before disappearing back inside the main tower. Was stealing a Hawk uniform the best idea?

It wasn't the worst idea, but Torin couldn't deny that sneaking through a Hawk Nest put him at significant risk, the kind he had always avoided. Then again, compared to what he had already done, this would be nothing. What was one minor theft weighed against massacring a squad of their people? He checked his status for added security. Name: Torin Maximus A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

Level: 4 Class: Locked Strength: 14 Dexterity: 13 Constitution: 10 Intelligence: 10 Wisdom: 10 Perception: 12 Trait: [Divergent Phoenix] (Rarity: Unique. Tier: Unranked) – Your power is uncontained. Grow more efficiently than others. A well containing infinite mana sits below your Domain. [Battle-Sighted] (Rarity: Mythic. Tier: Unranked) – Attacks striking you will be predicted 5 seconds before they arrive. [Strongarmed] (Rarity: Uncommon. Tier: Unranked) – Your arms are stronger compared to the rest of your body.

Torin still had not experienced [Battle-Sighted]'s effect, though he understood its power intuitively. Cornelius described it as seeing premonitions from the future whenever anyone else would one day launch an attack against him. Dodging those attacks became child's play when they were telegraphed directly into the mind. For all their time training together, Torin had never struck Cornelius even once. [Battle-Sighted] showed him exactly how the session would play out well before it happened.

Even with a 5 second threshold, Torin had considered leveraging this Trait against Drelk. There would have been no better chance to stall the investigation. But it would have been too risky. Launching an untested Trait against a Silver was just asking for an early death. This Nest offered a unique chance to experiment, should the need arise. Torin would not go out of his way to confront more Hawks, but if the moment came, he felt far more confident that he could get out.

[Battle-Sighted] offered a shield of causality that made Cornelius near-indestructible. It could do the same for him. Torin closed in on the darkest corner of the barracks, hands in his overcoat. The prying bar felt cold to the touch, ready for use should the need arise. The turrets remained dark, their braziers still unlit. Stone bricks hung loosely throughout the walls' exterior where they had eroded, creating a path up. Immediately, Torin experienced the power of his second borrowed Trait.

He did not need to place his legs into footholds when climbing the wall. His grip strength could control his ascent with ease.

"[Strongarmed]" made his arms quite strong. He reached the top before long. With a hop over the edge, he landed on the archway.

"Intruder!" a Hawk shouted. Torin looked over his shoulder with widened eyes as a man he had not seen drew his baton. Before he could move a muscle, the Hawk struck him in the skull. Torin blinked. He was back on the wall, right below the edge. The shift was so sudden that he almost lost his balance. What had happened? A shadow passed by a few seconds later, crossing the area Torin had just leapt through. It moved into the barracks soon after. Torin gleamed, his test successful. He had not been seen after all.

[Battle-Sighted] had only warned him what would happen should he have finished his ascent without waiting. The attack occurred nowhere but in his own mind. Still, that hurt. Torin shifted his weight and rubbed his scalp. Premonition or not, a dull phantom pain lingered from the injury. The vision felt so visceral, almost indistinguishable from reality. He shook off the thought and kept moving. This time, no one smacked him on the head.

Merriment echoed and light flickered from torches a level below, out from a courtyard that sat in the garrison's center. Torin nudged his head out an inch. His heart sank at the sight. At least fifty men sat at tables, mounds of hardloaf and cheese at every corner. A boar charred above open flame, two workers spinning it while a third tossed on spices. Casks had been opened elsewhere, wine flowing like water amongst this retinue. And the clothesline flew straight over this mess, a dozen uniforms ready for use.

Did the entire Nest come out for this buffet? With a frown, Torin tip-toed around the wall, choosing the longer path to get to the other side. Though no one else patrolled the wall, the party's lanterns cast long rays, enveloping all but half a meter of clearance near the crenellations. Torin clung to these shadows, lest someone catch him moving around from below. His exhilaration sank as he reached the other side.

The clothesline may have been anchored to the parapet for stability, but the design ran through the main tower's window. Even from this distance, he could see the wheel used to drag the uniforms sat inside there, and not out here. This was still fine. If Torin moved slowly, he could drag one to him. Just need to make sure the pulley doesn't creak too loud. So long as no one looked up, he would be fine. The walls were empty. He withdrew with a wince.

A small globule of blood grew along his finger where he had cut himself against the line. Didn't see that coming. Just as he suspected, [Battle-Sighted] only warned against direct attacks. A fire flared to life back where Torin had entered. Torches split off a moment later, shadows marching along the wall. With another quick pause, the torches dipped, and another brazier went ablaze. The night patrol had come. Torin grabbed the line and yanked. He did not have time to wait this through.

As quickly as safety would allow, he dragged the wire forth. The patrol moved relentlessly behind. Almost there. Outside of the kettle hat, Hawk uniforms split into three pieces. Padded cotton trousers, a matching long sleeve shirt, and the studded leather vest that protected vital areas. Torin had to grab one of each to complete the ensemble. Anything else could wait. Another brazier came to life, ever closer. Torin grimaced as he collected the trousers. He did not have enough time for the rest.

More than that, the distance between where the brazier light reached and his hiding spot was too great. Torin did not have confidence that [Battle-Sighted] would warn him of the attack until after he had been seen. Five seconds provided very little time. Without thinking further, he snatched a loose stone and chucked it behind the incoming patrol. It bounced between crenellations before disappearing. The patrol stopped.

"Did you hear that?" a Hawk asked, a young man by his voice.

"Aye," the other said, deeper and older.

"It sounded like it came from the wall." They waved their torches behind them, first along the crenellations, and then dipping over the side to see if there were any climbers.

"Might be a loose stone?" the young Hawk suggestion.

"This whole place is crumbling," his partner agreed, "but it wouldn't have hit the top of the wall. unless…" He turned around, voice rising to a shout.

"Hey! What are you bastards doing up there?!"

"Huh?!" someone called out from the watchtower.

"Stop throwing rocks at us! We're on patrol, damn it. Have some professionalism!" A pause.

"I didn't throw rocks down there, you old stooge!"

"What did you say?!"

"He said he didn't throw the rock," the younger Hawk said. The older one growled.

"I heard that, but I have half a mind to go up there for the insult."

"What about the rock…?" Torin never heard the rest. His diversion had bought him the time he needed. Before their argument could resolve, he'd pulled the rest of the Hawk uniform off the clothesline, stuffed his backpack, and leapt over the edge. Back into the dark whence he came. As if he had never been there.