The guy, that Nero fellow, begins to move away from the house, saying goodbye to his companions. His behavior seems completely normal. So he makes sure to walk ahead of him, assuming that he really is going to the enchanter. As he had declared out loud several times—which, considering that the mage is supposed to be an arrogant asshole, is practically expected.
As they walk, he still marvels at the luck they’ve had finding their targets here. After accepting the contract, they had assumed that locating this man and his companion would be the really difficult thing.
It was entirely possible that by now he could be as far away as Sagrat, or even, in the worst-case scenario, they would have to try to find them in the abandoned regions. At the time, that had seemed like the most likely scenario, since it was the best explanation they had found for the mage wandering around Arrowhill.
It had almost made them refuse the contract. Dealing with a mage could be difficult. But they had some experience—and their own advantages, he reflects to himself as he spins the small ring on his right index finger.
Finding them had seemed like the hardest part. Only the generous upfront payment had led them to accept what should have been a headache that should have kept them busy for months.
In the end, just as they had begun exploring Pinetop to see if their targets had passed through on their way to Sagrat, the targets walked right into town.
At first, they had doubted they had found the right people. After all, they were only looking for Nero—a mage dressed as if he were a beggar—and Grumpy/Adar, his dark-haired servant with a dark cloak.
Instead, they found two cloaked young men and two girls, along with a child, accompanying the would-be mage. And they weren’t even sure he was the mage.
But the name—Nero—is not common, at least they had never heard it. And a few well-placed questions had confirmed that all members of this strange group obeyed the poorly dressed young man.
Besides, the girls belonged to clans from the abandoned regions, which seemed to confirm what they suspected about Nero’s route.
They quickly arrive at the enchanter’s shop. He walks past it without giving it a second glance, but in a quick look, he sees Nero entering. That leads him to find a more secluded spot from which he can watch the entrance without attracting attention.
There he waits with a small smile, as people pass by him in everyday conversations, and carts full of goods creak along. After all, this job seems like it will be simpler than they had initially thought—which means they’ll soon be able to close the contract and receive the rest of their substantial payment.
It doesn’t take long before a familiar figure leaves the shop. He steps away from his position to become visible, but carefully avoids drawing attention. As the figure slowly walks in his direction, appearing to study the shops around, he returns to his spot.
Soon enough, Grima reaches his side, leaning against the wall where he himself waits.
“Took you long enough,” Grima says calmly, his expression relaxed while his eyes scan everything around them, especially the shop door.
Anyone passing by would never give them a second glance. They look like two friends talking on a dull day. Everything about them suggests that—from their physical appearance: brown hair, faces so ordinary they’re practically indistinguishable, bodies that seem entirely average—not too big, not too small.
The only thing someone might notice is how similar they look, to the point that many assume they are brothers. Something they know isn’t true—at least not by blood. Because they are truly brothers in life, having shared the good and the bad since childhood. What else could they be?
“He stopped by the wet nurse and left the other two there,” he replies, assuming no further detail is needed—and understanding that waiting here must have been boring, though necessary.
Grima nods in understanding before speaking. “He’s evaluating a ring.”
He responds only by raising an eyebrow, prompting Grima to continue.
“It wasn’t certain when I left… but it seems to be an enchanted ring to detect magic…”
That immediately makes him glance at the ring on his own hand, while he voices his thoughts aloud. “That could be…”
“Problematic!” his companion finishes, also studying an identical ring to his own on his hand.
The possibility that the mage might now have access to something capable of detecting magic could ruin their chances of completing the contract, leading him to ask, “How certain is that?”
Grima shrugs. “Not certain, no. But the enchanter started making offers!”
For anyone intelligent, that’s a bad sign. Usually, when someone evaluates an item like that, they throw out estimates of its value. But it’s not so common for them to make real offers. And it’s easy to imagine how useful it would be for an enchanter to immediately see whether something has magic or not.
That leads him to his best hope: “Maybe he’ll sell it!!”
Grima shakes his head. “I don’t think so. From what I heard before leaving… he seemed more interested in how to use it…”
A very bad sign, he thinks, as Grima adds, “That’s when I thought it best to leave before they started experimenting with the damn ring.”
He nods, agreeing with his friend’s decision.
Which leaves them with only one option: “We’ll have to act fast. Before he gets used to the ring.”
Unfortunately, Grima’s face shows doubt. “Come on—you can’t think we’ve got the wrong guy… not after he grabbed that knife with his bare hand!”
“No, no. That matches Fendat’s description,” his friend agrees quickly.
“Sure, it would’ve been better if those idiots had forced him to use his fire spell… but I don’t think we need that,” he continues, trying to prove his point.
“I know! And yes, this is definitely the Nero we were looking for—the inn proved it. It’s just that…” Grima almost raises his voice, but controls himself. “…this is getting more complicated than I expected.”
“I know, I know,” he admits. “Instead of a direct attack, maybe we poison him.”
Grima frowns. “You saw him at the inn. He didn’t eat or drink anything—none of the times we saw him there.”
That’s true. He had even considered poisoning his food when his companion served it—but when would that opportunity arise? Until then, they’d have to watch them, risking detection—a risk that damned ring was increasing.
For now, the mage’s behavior doesn’t suggest suspicion. But once that changes, they could be in real danger.
Besides, they still have to deal with Adar—with the bizarre instructions to beat him to death while shouting that his name is Grumpy. Their luck is that the strange disappearances and deaths in Pinetop might help them carry out the attacks separately without attracting too much attention.
But before they can even think about that, they must deal with the real threat, the mage.
“So we act now,” he says.
“Now?!” Grima reacts with disbelief.
“Yes. We follow him—and attack when we get the chance.”
Seeing his companion still hesitate, he adds, “By now, the effect of the spell he used at the inn must have worn off…”
Grima nods.
“And he probably isn’t very capable of using the ring yet…”
Another nod.
“So it’s now or never.”
Grima lets out a long, heavy sigh, staring at the shop door. “Yeah…”
They fall into silence, waiting.
Not long after, the enchanter’s door opens. The poorly dressed figure they were waiting for steps out.
Nero turns back toward the shop, seeming to say something—but at this distance, they can’t hear what.
At last, he steps into the street. His relaxed attitude suggests he’s in a good mood, giving him hope that he may have sold the magic-detecting ring.
Another important point: he’s heading their way.
They remain still, letting him pass without revealing themselves.
When he does, they begin to follow him, hoping for an opportunity to solve their problem.
“Riverside Road,” Grima suddenly says—reminding him of a contract where they stabbed a target in the middle of the street. The attack wasn’t immediately fatal, and in the chaos, the victim didn’t even notice, dying later from bleeding before anyone could give him a potion.
“Potion,” he replies—hinting that the mage might have some.
Grima nods. “Quick,” meaning they must act fast before he can react, and to make sure to take the mage out quickly.
Seeing their target ahead, casually admiring the shops, he agrees. “If we don’t find a better chance before he reaches his companions.”
They continue through the city toward the wet nurse’s house.
Just as they are about to commit to their plan, Nero unexpectedly turns into what looks like an alley.
They follow, sensing their moment.
At the entrance, they check around to make sure no one is watching—and activate their rings.
Grima’s familiar shape becomes indistinct, blending with the surroundings. Neither of them is truly invisible—but to anyone not paying attention, it makes no difference.
And so, they enter the alley.
The mage approaches a wall, grabbing at his trousers—clearly intending to relieve himself.
He slowly draws the knife hidden behind his back as they approach.
“Damn rope!!” the mage mutters, struggling with his belt. He suddenly looks around, likely to ensure privacy.
When the young man looks their way, he freezes—partly because standing still makes him harder to see, but also because something unsettles him: the feeling of being watched.
Nero looks back at the wall, and so he relaxes slightly—dismissing it as imagination.
Until his voice sounds again.
“One thing many don’t understand about illusion magic… is that the result depends on the target’s characteristics.”
The comment is strange—out of place, unsettling.
Now Nero looks directly at them.
“So using a weak spell against someone skilled in illusions… is really stupid.”
He freezes in shock.
“Want to see something better?” Nero asks cheerfully.
He still doesn’t move. The best option would be to continue the attack—but he remembers something from earlier: the mage grabbing a knife by the blade, proving it wasn’t a threat.
He looks at the knife in his own hand.
“Shadow of the moon,” the mage’s voice echoes.
And when he looks again—Nero is gone.
He scans around in confusion—expecting distortions like those from their rings—but sees nothing.
Then he hears a thud and a shout.
He turns to Grima—who begins to fall as the mage appears behind him, grabbing his neck.
The only thing his friend—his brother—can do is shout:
“Avast—run.”
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