Chapter One Hundred and Twenty Five - 125Hours Earlier:
After taking the contract from DuFont, Ilia spent the next few days carefully tailing the brat. It was just as boring as she had feared. The twist did nothing but train her Skills and Body, but not even in interesting ways. She'd push herself in fighting clay golems or her dour minder, a Bronze Rank Guilder Ilia didn't recognize. Either way, the girl seemed to be going through the motions more than anything else. The Sworn sensed a strong waft of ennui and frustration.
Had she bottlenecked? That would explain her moods, and the way she savaged those golems with her training spear. But no, Ilia didn't think that was the issue. She sighed and continued observing.
It had been difficult establishing contact with the heiress, at least at first. Her movements were restricted by her ultimate guardian, the stone-faced Hand of the Duke. Ilia had not had the misfortune of running into him yet, a fact she considered extremely lucky. The controlling bodyguard kept Vessilia either training at the Inner Ward or in her obscenely expansive chambers.
Unfortunately, at the outset she couldn't get too close to either of those places. Guilder wards kept out non-guilders; at least physically. Those damned medallions they all wore were keyed to the wards, and couldn't be stolen.
Thankfully, the halls of the Eyrie were not so tightly controlled. Guests and dignataries were expected in the halls, those few who deigned to come this far west. Moreovere, Ilia had her Unmoored Spirit, one of two Epic Skills she'd received as recompense for the disaster in the Foglands. At low levels it proved itself formidable, allowing her Perception to extend twice as far from her physical form as usual. Once she'd hit Apprentice Tier with it, the Skill had fundamentally changed. Now she could attach two of her senses to a target and simply follow it around for a time. It left her actual body without sight and hearing, but the Sworn had taught her to use all of her senses. Ilia was more than capable of fighting while blind and deaf. Though if an opponent could find her while her Shroud was active, they were likely to be a great deal more trouble than she could handle.
Regardless, she had attached her Sight to the girl during one of the moments she ventured out of her apartments. Vessilia would often tour the Eyrie, sometimes twice a day, walking a few halls and making appreciative noises at various works of art. It was all very...pedestrian of her, and she'd often speak kindly to the servants as they passed or cleaned the art in question.
What a strange noble, Ilia had thought, not for the first time.
Disguising herself as a servant was child's play to the Sworn, literally in fact. The Esseri would often assign them roles among the Housefolk and set before them a simple task, such as touching a target with her naked blade in a crowded room. The first child to complete the task would win. The rest suffered...correction.
Ilia turned from that memory. She had not always won, after all.
All it took was a touch for Ilia's Skill to attach to the heiress' Spirit. And what a strong Spirit it was! Ilia was quietly astonished, having previously taken the measure of the girl. The heiress had transformed herself, somehow, pushing her Spirit in ways Ilia couldn't quite track, but could definitely sense. Very impressive for a Tin Rank, though Ilia suspected she'd be raised to Iron in short order.
That had taken all of a day, and since then it was train, train, train, punctuated by bouts of conversation with the servants, the only other folk who wandered this high in the Eyrie. At least, the only ones that weren't actively avoiding here. Ilia had pieced together that the mess of the Foglands and resulting tribunal had brought the ire of the Duke onto their heads; now the Guilders were making a point of leaving her alone while providing her with every comfort she could desire.
Spineless.
Ilia had dared to hope the heiress was divulging important secrets to the servants, but those dreams were dashed quickly. Instead they spoke of their lives, their homes, their families. Vessilia was compassionate and caring, honestly appearing as if she cared about every little detail the servants spat out. The Sworn found it mind-numbingly boring, and had to assume the girl was leveling a Skill of some sort. No one could care that much about a bunch of random people, let alone the Untempered, without an ulterior motive.
Turned out, she was half right.
On the third morning of her contract, Ilia watched as the heiress once again engaged in a familiar conversation with a maid carrying a stack of linens. A bit into their conversation, the girl had popped her head to the side and smiled. In that instant, Ilia knew she'd been right about the Skill; the girl had just leveled it up. It was likely some sort of social ability, which were notoriously difficult to level.
Ilia lips stretched into a smile about a half mile away. She'd stashed herself in the rafters of the Pathless' cathedral, the closest and tallest building in the immediate area. At this distance the Sworn wouldn't be able to keep up her Unmoored Spirit for much longer, but she felt immensely satisfied at finding a reason for the heiress' constant, saccharine compassion.
It's all about Skill grinding, she sneered. While she levels, she makes everyone think she's a kind-hearted soul only concerned with the welfare of those around her. Pfah! I'd be almost impressed at the deception were it not so...banal.
She had been hoping for some dark secret or purpose, something to mar the image of the perfect duchess-in-training. Ilia wasn't sure what irked her so about the idiot girl, but--no. She did know. Vessilia Dayne had everything handed to her on a silver platter, from her training resources to her lodging. She knew nothing of privation, of surviving in the cold winter and the scorching summer, fighting off monsters just to live another few hours. It was so easy, the twist was bored with it all!
It was enough to ignite a burning rage in the Sworn's heart, though she quashed it with an application of her considerable Will. As one of the Sworn, she did not let her emotions rule her. She was cold. She was ice.
Then another servant came along, a boy she hadn't seen before. Which was strange. Ilia had an excellent eye for faces, and the servants in the upper levels of the Eyrie rarely changed. Regardless, this strange new servant, a courier it seemed, approached the heiress with all the confidence of either a friend or an assassin.
Hm, I'm hoping for assassin. That'd be fun.
With a look, the boy easily drew her away from the linen maid. Almost like a clandestine lover, were the boy not so young. He had to be no more than thirteen years old. Intrigued, Ilia pushed her Unmoored Spirit closer to them, tight enough to hear their words.
"...wants to meet with you," the boy was saying.
"What? Really?" The heiress gasped, excited for the first time since Ilia had started watching her. "When? Where?"
"Tonight. Dusk. We go to the Crafter's Quarter, corner of--bbler---wea--ay--"
With a dizzying snap, the Sworn's Skill lost cohesion and ran out of time. Ilia found herself back in the cathedral, sitting cross-legged atop a dusty plank floor.
No!
She flared the Skill again, dredging up her mental reserves. Even though it was an easy activation, the mental toll the Skill took was considerable. By the time the Sworn returned her sight and hearing to the scene, the heiress was walking away from the courier, an excited grin on her face.
Unmoored Spirit is level 32!
Twin's teeth! Damnable girl!If that idiot weren't so boring I'd have kept a better eye on my Skill! Now she'd have to follow the two-faced fool around for another half day.
Tonight better prove interesting.
"Come, your Grace," said Mettias, holding out his slender hand. "It's just a little further."
Vess hesitated before she took the boy's hand and climbed up onto the ledge. The boy had proven himself amazingly resourceful this evening, far more than Vess had ever considered. He didn't seem more than fifteen, perhaps younger due to his slender frame, and it was remarkable that he'd even set up this meeting.
Vess had started to suspect things weren't as they seemed with the boy. She had met him months ago during her usual foray into the Guild halls, looking to level up her Oratory Skill. It was abysmally difficult to do so, often requiring her to talk at length about anything in order to advance. To her great annoyance, it did not increase in proficiency by actually conversing, more by proclamation and expounding. That was a great shame, as the servants had such fascinating lives and stories to tell. After a while, Vess gave up on actively training the Skill and simply used "social training" as an excuse to give herself a chance to talk candidly with the servants. Occasionally she saw some gains, like today, but it was incidental.
It was on one such foray that she ran into a courier that was transporting notes between Silver Ranks in the Eyrie. He was a clever boy, quite funny too, and had the most interesting stories. The most fascinating of which were about strange magics and duplicitous masters; both of which were topics that resonated with her. Magic had always been a fascination when she was younger, set aside for the clearer path of the Dragoon once she'd been tall enough to handle a spear. And the boy's tales, when she could eke one out of him, often depicted young heroes besting their dark masters with cleverness and Mana Skills.
It was an escape she desperately needed, if only for a few minutes. As she had no way to contact her friends, the rest of her life had become dedicated to training. While the thought of growing stronger sustained her, kept her moving forward, the darkness and near certainty of corruption among the Elders had been driving a wedge into her mind. She had long decided to ferret out the Elders' secrets, but had no clue how to go about it. When Mettias had suggested magical crafts, she had latched onto the concept like a drowning man would a rope.
And it had worked! The Cipher-Scripts had been tremendously successful, cutting through the Guild wards without issue. Wherever the boy had gotten them, they were a powerful tool. And she wanted more. It was just what she needed to crack the shell around the Guild's dark secrets.
Vess was unsure how she would make it out of the Eyrie. All of her previous attempts had failed. Too many wards, too many Guilder patrols. Not to mention the Hand. He lurked about her apartments like an angular ghost, moving from room to room, always doing something but never really speaking with her; for all that he was ten or so years her senior, Darius Reed had practically grown up in the same house as Vess but she knew very little about him as a person. Only his ability in combat, and then only in generalities, just that he was quite strong. And entirely too observant.
Then the Hand received an urgent missive from the Elder Council, delivered directly to their door by a very familiar face. At first, the heiress thought Mettias was attempting to fool the Hand and cursed the boy for recklessness. But then she saw the letter itself. Vess had not been able to ascertain the reason behind the summons, but it had Elder Fairbanks' true seal upon it. Based on how the Hand reacted, it seemed important too.
Somehow, Mettias had been able to deliver a true summons to her guardian at just the right moment. Vess was suspicious.
Before he left, the Hand had put Liandra in her apartments again, instructing the heiress to not stray out of sight of the Bronze Guilder. Vess simply retired early and locked her doors. An open window and Wall Run (now level 15) had done the rest.
Slipping from the Eyrie had proven near impossible in the past, but Mettias had given her a servant's tabard and led her along side passages not normally traversed by Guilders and especially not visiting nobility. Doors were left open and the guards at the gate were absent. It was as if Vess was meant to leave this night.
Or something else was going on.
They had come to the Crafters Quarter quickly enough. Mettias led them with the confidence of someone who had traversed the city a thousand times, and Vessilia clung to the boy's competence. She was more than comfortable facing down horrors in the wilds, but the wild bacchanalia of the Crafters Quarter after dark was something else entirely. The servant had deftly led them, the crowds often paying neither of them any mind, in a way that Vess was increasingly sure was Skill related.
Nearly a glass later, they came to the corner of Cobbler and Weaver's Way and navigated into a passage between buildings. An elaborate wrought iron gate stood over the mouth of a wide archway composed of small bricks. It was good that Mettias knew where to find it, because it was all but invisible to Vess' senses. Even when they passed through the gate, she still had trouble picking it out from the surroundings.
Magic, she thought with a thrill of wonder. So different than the Mana Skills my father's people use. This feels...it is barely noticeable.
They descended below the streets, following an unmarked path into the elaborate sewer system beneath Haarwatch. Vess was only tangentially aware of its existence; it was a feature of most cities, though Haarwatch's was not well maintained. Walls were crumbling and sagging while water and filth built up around clogs and breakages. The smell was unpleasant, to say the least, and Mettias seemed to agree. He hurried along their path, taking turns as rapidly as his little feet could move.
He led them onto a narrow ledge and around some sort of cistern, easy enough for Vess and her Tempered Body, but quite the balancing act for someone without the proper advancement. Interestingly enough, Mettias negotiated the ledge without effort, moving even faster than the heiress. Vess noted it and kept moving, making sure to keep her suspicions off her face. It was easy after countless years of balls and social functions back home, nearly second nature.
Just beyond the cistern was a flat wall, but with a gesture and pull, Mettias activated a hidden catch. A section of brickwork swung inward.