Low-Fantasy Occultist

The King's Shadow was gone, dissolving into the alley's darkness like a bad dream.

Nick stood still in his hiding place, holding his breath as he stared at Corso’s bleeding corpse. The informant was pinned to the wall by the Black Hounds' serrated dagger, and the implications of the murder slowly dawned on him as his heart began to settle.

"By the Gods," Gaelen whispered, his voice barely more than a rasp. He had survived the horrors of the Green Ocean, but the Crown's man's effortless lethality was a terror of a different kind. "He didn't even draw a breath.”

“He didn’t kill him just because he’s Ultimer’s man," Nick said, his mind racing as he quickly pieced together the situation. “This is meant to spark a war.”

He’d already heard that the Black Hounds were making trouble, taking resources that should have gone to rebuilding the Elpen estate, so it wasn’t hard to anticipate that when Corso was discovered, there would be fierce retaliation.

Some people would realize it was too obvious. But the tensions in Toneburg were too high, and soon no one would have time to seek the truth.

“He set up a false flag," Rhea breathed, eyes fixed on the mercenary blade. "The Crown knows that Ephor Ultimer has an army he’s kept out of the war. The King doesn't have enough forces in the North for an open siege, so he sent the Shadows to incite a civil war within Toneburg’s walls. This is both a punishment for refusing to join and a way to weaken a possible rebellion.”

"Exactly," Nick confirmed, his tone grim. “When the Ultimers find their informant murdered with a Black Hound dagger, they will have to respond. If they ignore it, they will look weak to the rest of their bought swords. If they attack the Hounds, they will fracture the mercenary army.”

It was perfect. So perfect, in fact, that Nick had to wonder whether some of those people discussing the Hounds’ deeds had been part of a larger scheme. Perhaps they’d even invented some of the thefts, creating the very tension that would now boil over.

It was a brilliant, if utterly ruthless, strategy. The most damning part was that Nick knew there was nothing they could do to stop it. If they removed the dagger or hid the body, they would be interfering with a King's Shadow, a guaranteed death sentence.

And there will be another murder just like this within a day. They’re set on their plan and will not be discouraged by one failure.

If they acted too overtly to stop the fighting, they would reveal their hand prematurely and risk uniting the warring factions against them.

Toneburg was going to burn no matter what, and they were going to watch it happen.

But as the horrific reality of the impending chaos settled over them, another realization took root in Nick’s mind.

I likely need more than thirty million experience points to reach Prestige. Forty, even, Nick thought, his muddy hazel eyes narrowing. I can't hunt monsters in the mountains without drawing attention or losing a crucial window of opportunity, and I can't openly besiege the Ultimer estate without facing an overwhelming force. But in a civil war? In a city tearing itself apart in the dark?

If a high-ranking mercenary captain or an Ultimer enforcer died in a riot, no one would look for a low-level peasant. They would blame the Black Hounds, the nobles, or the Shadows.

The impending fog of war was a hazard, yes, but it was also his ladder to Prestige.

A sharp, shrill whistle echoed, shattering the silence that had fallen over them and making them pull back into the darkness on sheer instinct.

Even as he reinforced the [Mire], Nick snapped his attention to the end of the alley. A four-man patrol of Ultimer soldiers had rounded the corner. The lead guard was staring wide-eyed at Corso’s pinned corpse, the whistle still caught between his teeth.

“We need to leave," Nick said softly.

They didn't run, even with magic protecting them, because he didn’t want to look suspicious. They slipped backward into the deeper shadows, turning down a narrow passage under Gaelen’s lead.

Behind them, the alley erupted in shouting. More whistles blew, their sound carrying over the slate roofs like shrieking birds. The tense, if quiet, atmosphere of the city vanished, replaced by the aggressive thud of armored boots on cobblestones.

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Martial law was coming. As soon as word reached someone with real authority, the city would be sealed off, and chaos would descend.

Nick and his companions emerged onto a wider thoroughfare just as a squad of armed guards began sealing off the intersections. Shutters slammed shut on the buildings above them as citizens scrambled to get off the streets.

"Keep your heads down and your gait hurried," Nick instructed, hoping Rhea's disguises would hold. He let go of the [Mire], knowing that being seen while invisible to magical senses would be too suspicious. He suppressed his presence so tightly that his ribs ached, forcing his vast mana reserves into a suffocatingly mundane signature.

Fortunately, there was a small group of terrified tradesmen being corralled toward a checkpoint by two spear-wielding mercenaries that they could join.

"Halt!" one of the guards barked, leveling his spear at a man wearing a flour-stained apron. "Where are you going? The district is locked down!”

"Home, sir!" the baker stammered, raising his empty hands. "Just going home to my family!”

The guard sneered as he glanced at the small crowd. His eyes briefly lingered on Nick, taking in his dirt-smudged face and dull hazel eyes. He even slouched his shoulders, adopting the posture of an exhausted, subdued laborer.

A yellow light shone from his eyes for a moment, a clear sign that a skill was being used, but apparently he found nothing.

Scoffing, the guard dismissed them. "Get out of here. Anyone caught on the streets after the bells toll will be treated as an enemy of House Ultimer.”

They shuffled past the checkpoint, keeping their heads bowed until they cleared the immediate lockdown zone. Gaelen took point again, navigating the winding labyrinth of the lower wards before finally reaching the dilapidated warehouse, though only after making several unnecessary turns.

Silently, they descended the stone steps. Gaelen traced the locking mechanism, and they slipped into the old Elpen cellar, throwing the iron bolts shut behind them and relaxing only when the stone muffled the sounds of the panicked city above.

Rhea immediately cracked a fresh alchemical stick, bathing the dusty room in dim blue light, then slumped onto a wooden crate. Gaelen remained at attention, his jaw tight.

"Toneburg is going to tear itself apart by tonight," he spat.

Seeing their home like this couldn’t feel good, but Nick needed them to keep their heads in the game. This was too good an opportunity to pass up, no matter how distasteful.

"It is," he agreed, drawing their attention. "And we are going to use that chaos. Ephor Ultimer cannot run a city and an army by himself. Alexander cannot perform his profane rituals alone. They must have lieutenants. Enforcers. If those men die in the crossfire of a civil war, no one will look twice.”

Rhea looked up, and he saw understanding in her eyes. "You want to take advantage of the fighting to hunt them.”

"We need to," Nick corrected. "Facing the Ultimers or the Circle directly right now would be gambling with our lives. If I cross the threshold to Prestige before we breach your family's estate, the odds may shift in our favor. For that, I need targets.”

Gaelen stayed silent for a while, and Nick let him time to digest his words. Eventually, he nodded briefly and walked over to an old, dust-covered table in the corner of the cellar. He cleared the debris with a sweep of his arm and pulled a piece of charcoal from his pouch.

"Toneburg's hierarchy is complex, even more so now," he said, sketching a rough map of the city's districts on the wood. "The Ultimers are the true power, as we know, but the Duke still sits in the central keep. He is weak, but he isn't defenseless. His personal guard, the 'Silver Falcons,' is led by a man named Georg.”

"Georg?" Rhea asked, her brow furrowing. "That old swordmaster? He must be pushing eighty.”

“From what I’ve heard, age hasn't slowed his blade," Gaelen grunted. "He might be a bit more cautious than the tales say, or he wouldn’t have survived this long under the Ultimers, but he’s very dangerous. He’s been standing at the precipice of Prestige for at least two decades, unable to cross the threshold. If he hasn't been corrupted by Ephor, he is a neutral variable. If he has, he is a lethal threat.”

“We should avoid the central keep for now," Nick decided. "I need targets directly tied to the Ultimer-Circle alliance. Who controls the supply lines to the Elpen estate? We heard the stonemasons talking about Null-glass and Bleeding Chalk.”

“That would require a quartermaster with advanced Artificer knowledge," Rhea deduced. "When we left Toneburg, Ephor’s chief apprentice was a man named Nestor. He was ambitious and cruel, yet highly skilled in material binding. I doubt anything could have dislodged him.”

"He still is," Gaelen confirmed, tapping a spot near the industrial sector on the makeshift map. "I overheard a few guards complaining that 'Lord Nestor' was demanding double shifts at the forges. Whatever they are building on the ruins of our home, he is overseeing it.”

"A high-level Artificer managing the supply chain," Nick mused, committing the name to memory. "A prime target. Who else?”

"The Black Hounds," Rhea added. "They are the largest independent company and the ones the Shadows just framed. Their commander is a brute named Varg, and from what I’ve heard, he’s very strong. If the Ultimers retaliate against the Hounds, Varg will turn the outer districts into a slaughterhouse.”

"What about the Circle?" Nick pressed. "Alexander is hiding, but he needs someone to manage his business. Is there anyone you think might be working with him?”

Gaelen hesitated, his charcoal hovering over the map. His expression darkened into a scowl. "I saw someone in the market today. Someone who shouldn't be wearing fine silk and walking with an Ultimer escort. Opal. Lord Aris Opal. He was always more interested in the esoteric arts than in true power, but if there’s anyone with influence who could be running cover for the Circle, it’s him. Or at least, he’s the most likely to know something.”

Rhea gasped, her hand flying to her mouth. "Aris? That’s impossible. House Opal was our oldest ally. They swore blood oaths to our grandfather.”

“Grandfather is dead, and without that binding, oaths can break under pressure," Gaelen said bitterly. "Or perhaps they offered him enough. In any case, his escort wasn't watching him; he was directing them. If he sold out to Ephor to secure his own position, he might be managing part of this mess. At the very least, he should have information.”

Nick looked at the rough map as the board slowly came into focus.

He was sure that as things ramped up and people were forced to move, they would have to adjust their estimates. Some who had hidden would take advantage of the chaos, while others would fall before they could reach them.

But this was a start.

Toneburg was a collection of high-level threats, all dancing on the edge of a blade held by the King's Shadows.

“We should start from the bottom and work our way up," Nick decided. "The Shadows want a war, so we will give them one. We will begin by targeting those who might have insight into the Ultimers’ plans, taking advantage of the chaos to strike when opportunity arises.”

"Nestor won't be easy to reach," Rhea warned. "He is an Artificer of some skill, so he’ll be surrounded by traps, wards, and construct guards. And he rarely leaves the industrial forges, so he’ll have those garrisons to protect him.”

"Good," Nick said, a dangerous smile twisting his disguised lips into a mockery of his usual expression. “The more people stand in our way, the more our power will grow.”

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