Chapter 109: What was left behind
Morning light filtered through the wooden shutters of the inn, casting warm silver streaks across the small room.
Downstairs in the quiet common room, Vince sat at a corner table with Lyrielle and Vetra, a modest spread of roasted meats, fresh bread, and warm spiced ale sitting between them.
Lyrielle glanced up from her tea, her sharp elven eyes studying Vince and Vetra. She could feel a subtle, undeniable shift in the air—a quiet, harmonic hum resonating between Vince’s core and Vetra’s internal dragon-kin fire.
Under the table, Vince casually tested the connection. With a flick of his intent, he tapped into the newly unlocked `[Shared Mana]` passive. A faint, comforting warmth bled from Vetra’s core straight into his own kinetic reservoir, smooth and effortless.
Vetra, looking entirely refreshed and thoroughly sated, took a slow sip of her ale. Her amber eyes met Vince’s over the rim of her cup, a faint, knowing glint dancing in her slitted pupils before she focused back on her food. The Sovereign Crest on her abdomen remained quiet beneath her wraps, a permanent thread binding them together.
"You didn’t say where you went yesterday Vince" lyrielle said as she sat down.
"I encountered the fourth member of the Duke’s dread commanders, last night. He had a couple of friends with him to, two of which are no longer amongst the leaving the rest fled" Vince responded
"Any sign of the survivors?" Lyrielle asked softly, lowering her voice so the innkeeper wouldn’t hear.
"None," Vince replied, tearing into a piece of bread. He expanded his passive perception briefly—a light wave sweeping outward across the immediate district. Nothing. "Vesper and those two girls erased their mana signatures completely. They could be anywhere in Malgrath, or ten miles deep in the dead zones."
He shrugged, completely unbothered. He didn’t know where they had fled, and he wasn’t about to waste precious days tearing Malgrath apart brick by brick to hunt ghosts.
"We better get a move on," Vince said, setting a few silver coins on the wooden table. "We check out, clear the eastern gates, and keep moving toward the Glass Sea."
Vetra slung her gear conjured by lyrielle over her shoulder, her tail giving a lazy, contented flick against her leg. "Works for me. This city smells like old iron anyway."
Ten minutes later, the trio packed their supplies, stepped past the heavy oak doors of the inn, and merged into the morning bustle of Malgrath, making their way steadily toward the eastern gates.
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Meanwhile, in the very heart of Malgrath...
Standing tall among the crowded, soot-stained ironworks was Grimspire—an ancient, gothic tower forged from dark basalt stone. To the average merchant or mercenary passing by, it looked like nothing more than a large guildhall belonging to the gang that keeps the Lawless city in check—the DEATH CROWS. But behind its heavy, rune-etched walls lay a sprawling underground fortress, completely hidden from the outside world by ancient illusion wards and deep, masking barriers.
Deep within the subterranean levels of the spire, the air was cold and heavy with grief.
In the lower alchemy quarters, Kira stood behind a locked heavy iron door. She had barricaded herself inside hours ago, surrounding herself with bubbling glass retorts, volatile reagents, and crushed poisonous herbs.
Her hands shook violently as she measured out drops of deadly night-shade extract, her eyes rimmed with red. The loss of Gideon and Brian hung over her like a crushing weight. She didn’t know if the magicless monster was coming for them, but she vowed that if Vince ever stepped foot into Grimspire, he would inhale enough airborne neurotoxin to rot his lungs from the inside out.
She slammed a glass stopper into a vial, leaning against the cold stone counter as silent tears fell onto her stained leather apron.
---
Upstairs, in the central stone training courtyard of the spire, the air rang with the sharp, violent clash of steel.
*CLANG! CLANG-CLANG!*
Sara moved like a blurring phantom, her rapier darting forward in a series of lethal, desperate thrusts. Every strike was laced with cold wind-mana, aiming straight for Vesper’s vital points.
Vesper backed away smoothly, parrying each wild strike with the twin daggers in his hands. He didn’t attack; he simply absorbed her fury, letting her pour out the grief, anger, and adrenaline that had been building inside her since the explosion at the tavern.
"Faster, Sara!" Vesper barked, his voice echoing off the high stone arches. "If you hesitate against a heavy hitter, you die!"
"Shut up!" Sara screamed, tears finally spilling over her cheeks as she lunged forward, driving her rapier in a powerful, desperate center-line thrust.
Vesper stepped inside her guard at the absolute last second, catching the flat of her blade between his daggers, twisting his wrists, and disarming her with a sharp, metallic snap.
The rapier clattered across the stone floor, ringing into silence.
Sara stood there, her chest heaving, her shoulders shaking as she stared down at her bare, trembling hands. Vesper slowly sheathed his daggers, the harshness fading from his features, replaced by a deep, weary sorrow.
The silence between them hung heavy, thick with the memory of the brothers they had lost and the uncertain future waiting outside Grimspire’s walls.
Sara wiped her face with the back of her sleeve, her lower lip trembling as she finally looked up at Vesper, her eyes raw and vulnerable.
"I was hurt when you left, you know..." she whispered softly, her voice cracking under the weight of years of unsaid feelings. "...When you went on that solo contract and left us— me behind."
Vesper froze for a second. He looked at her, seeing not the sharp, lethal assassin of the Death Crows, but the young girl he had pulled out of the fighting pits years ago.
A faint, gentle smile touched Vesper’s lips—a rare, genuine expression that softened the hard edges of his face.
"I know..." Vesper said softly, his red eyes filled with quiet, unreserved regret. "And I’m really sorry about that."