Rowan stood up, dusting himself off as he moved to stand behind the rest of the team. Something was coming, and out in the Wilds, that usually meant trouble.

  He had barely a trickle of mana left. The potion he’d drunk was still active in the background, his Core thrumming lightly as it slowly refilled itself. But without meditation on top of that, it would take hours for his reserves to fully come back.

  Right now, he was practically defenseless.

  “It isn’t goblins,” Omi muttered. “Those are people.”

  Some of the tension left their shoulders, but even still, the team was on guard.

  This could prove more dangerous than their first fight depending on who exactly it was, and how many of them there were. The Wilds were a treacherous place, in more ways than one.

  It wouldn't have been the first time a team went missing.

  Rowan took a moment to think it through.

  There were only two possibilities on who it could be. Either the Guild itself sent someone to retrieve them—which wasn’t all that likely—or another team had found the cave.

  The chances of someone randomly running across it are almost nonexistent. So it was someone who saw the quest flier.

  “It’s that Silver-rank,” Rowan said after a moment. “The one who accepted the quest before us.”

  Nemir grimaced. “You’re probably right.”

  None of them were naive enough to think this would be a friendly conversation.

  “Killian. He’s a Silver-rank with an Aura of Haste,” Omi said, his daggers held loosely by his side. It looked casual, but they were ready to be thrown. If things went south, getting the first attack in was crucial.

  Silvia did the same, with her bow pointed at the ground and an arrow loosely knocked. Nemir and Annie stood at the front, their weapons in their hands.

  “His team is called the Steel Fist,” the rogue continued. “Last I heard, there’s two dozen of them. But half of those are still in Bronze, so I doubt all of them are out here,” he glanced at each of them in turn, his eyes lingering on Rowan. “Can we take that?” He asked quietly, the implications clear.

  Rowan shook his head. Fighting against someone with an Aura wasn’t a fight he would win right now. A warrior with it had the ability to interact with mana, and a single [Firebolt] wasn’t going to end that threat.

  Even if the team managed to deal with the Iron-ranks, that one loose end was enough to crush their chances.

  A battle was most often decided by who had the strongest person on the field. And right now, that wasn’t them.

  Rowan’s mind spun, and he quickly realized what he had to do. Summoning the staff he’d picked up from the shaman, he stepped forward, moving in front of the team.

  It wouldn’t actually help him with his casting. Rowan had exactly zero Wind mana to work with, and that made the staff nothing more than a big stick.

  But they didn’t know that.

  A single spell would be more than enough for a demonstration.

  His trait prevented mana exhaustion, so to whoever entered the cavern, Rowan would look like a mage with the necessary resources to fight back. It didn’t matter that it wasn’t true. What mattered was that they believed it.

  If you can’t win a fight, avoid it.

  Fighting against a mage was not something most people did lightly. And that went double for high-leveled Adventures. Getting that strong required skill, and more importantly, the ability to stay alive.

  Whoever this Killian was, he wasn’t stupid. If he saw that there was a real chance he could lose his life, he’d back off.

  Or at least, that was the hope.

  The sound of voices grew louder. The clinking of metal and the armored footfalls of half a dozen men reached their ears just before the group appeared, entering the cavern.

  At their front stood three swordsmen, their blades drawn and the quality of their armor apparent, even from a distance. Behind them strode a tall, athletic-looking man, outfitted in studded leather armor, a long spear in his hand.

  That’s him, Rowan thought.

  A quick scan confirmed it.

  It was higher than he would have liked. High enough that there was a chance even in a straight fight, he wouldn’t come out ahead.

  The shaman was the tougher opponent of the two, but that had left him pretty damn close to dying. Rowan was only level six, so there was a good chance he’d have to give them what they wanted.

  He stepped around Nemir, moving to the front.

  Just have to convince him I'm not running on empty.

  He had mana for maybe two [Firebolt]’s. Not much, but it should hopefully be enough. The goal wasn’t to not turn this into a fight, and Rowan had just the tools for that.

  Annie shot him a look, but the swordsman placed a hand on her shoulder. He nodded to Rowan, understanding the situation. “Be careful,” he said, glancing at his ring. “They’ll probably ask for a part of the reward. But I’m guessing that’s worth a lot more, so try not to lose it.”

  You don’t know how right you are, Rowan smiled, nodding back.

  The tale has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  The Vault being stolen wasn’t a risk. The ring was soul-bound to him, meaning he couldn’t lose it. To everyone else, it looked like it was plain stone. Nothing more than a worthless keepsake.

  Because in essence, that was exactly what it was.

  The ring was nothing more than an access point.

  “I’m going to warn you upfront, I’m going to do something loud,” he said, looking at the team. “Don’t panic when I do, okay?”

  Silvia gave him a thumbs up. “Try not to get us killed.”

  Rowan snorted. “Will do.”

  It was gratifying to see the trust they put in him. Annie’s scowl didn’t go away, but she thankfully pointed it towards the approaching group. Omi and Silvia took a step back, slightly flanking the three of them.

  Even though he hoped this wouldn’t turn into a fight, it was smart to be prepared. Adventurers didn’t usually kill other Adventurers. It was a crime that would lead to expulsion from the Guild at best, and a public execution at the worst. But that didn’t mean it never happened.

  They were hours away from the city, deep into the Wilds. And who’s to say what happened if they never returned?

  Nemir’s right. They’ll ask for a cut. So do I just give it to them?

  He could say it had been his decision and pay the team back from his own funds. The reward from fifty goblins, a hobgoblin, and a shaman would be a big haul—at least a few hundred gold—but it wasn’t like he would feel the loss.

  So why was he hesitating?

  Paying back the team wasn’t what nagged at him. The thing that bothered him was paying out the ransom in the first place.

  He took a deep breath, pushing away his pride.

  In any dangerous situation, the goal was to survive. That usually meant using his mana to end a threat—exchanging an Intent for a result—but this wasn’t that kind of danger. This wasn’t a rampaging monster trying to bite his head off. It was a pack of greedy adventurers.

  The resource he had was gold, so he was going to use it.

  Rowan exhaled, some of the tension leaving his shoulders.

  As they got closer, Rowan noticed the two archers standing at the back. Chatting casually, their arrows half knocked. Behind even them was a robed figure, and it was her he focused on.

  He narrowed his eyes, trying to make out the insignia woven into her attire. The dim light of the cavern made it a hard task, and he just barely managed to make out a six-pointed star. Rowan’s smile widened, his shoulders relaxing even further.

  That was the heraldry of the followers of Eldara, the Goddess of Nature.

  The priestess definitely wasn’t a part of the group, and with her here, the chances of a fight happening dropped dramatically.

  The priesthood of Eldara wasn’t known for being a murderous bunch. They were healers and guides, and Rowan would go as far as to call them trustworthy. The vows they took were more than just empty words, and more than human laws backed them.

  Unlike mages, priests exchanged their Cores for a connection to the Divine. They were granted Blessings in turn, which gave them abilities similar to spells.

  The Gods rewarded their followers, and as much as he despised the idea of giving someone else the reins to his power, it was a valid Path to take. Just because it wasn’t the one he walked didn’t mean he would mock it.

  It wasn’t uncommon for the Order to attach one of its younger members to a team and send them out into the Wilds. They were healers. If they wanted to grow stronger, that was exactly what they needed to do, and this was exactly where they needed to be to do it.

  Not too many gruesome injuries in the city, Rowan winced, flexing his leg. The potion had done its work, but the mental scar of having his limb shattered still lingered.

  Beyond the walls was where healing was needed the most.

  Eldara had a large number of worshipers in Litwick, the same as in most other settlements. She was the leader of the pantheon. Her domain spanned most of the world. It was easier to follow a God than it was to become a mage, and often safer than becoming a warrior. Meaning worshipers were numerous across the kingdom.

  First Circle, Rowan thought to himself.

  Glimmer was the lowest rank a blessing could be. To advance, a worshiper needed to deepen its connection with the Divine. Turning it into an inner Glow. Priest took that even further, but from what Rowan knew, there was only a single one of those in the city.

  “He’s going to be much faster than you,” Annie whispered, shooting a glance at the approaching Silver-rank. “If things go south, Nemir’s the only one who has a chance of withstanding a blow. You should be at the back.”

  The rest of their group was dangerous on its own, but the man in the center was on another level. There was a look about him. A grace to his movements that made him resemble a predator.

  He was a middle-aged man with an athletic physique and a neatly trimmed beard adorning his face. The spear he held was a wicked-looking instrument. The dark brown shaft tipped with a blade longer than Rowan’s arm.

  “If things go south, we’re fucked either way,” Omi muttered back, sheathing his daggers. “And he’s not going to fight a mage, especially after seeing that,” he said, glancing at the mass grave behind them.

  As the group finally got close enough, their Silver-rank waved. “Greetings!” he said with an affable smile. “It seems you took care of our quest for us,” he stepped to the front. “I am Killian Burrow, leader of the Steel Fist. Who might you be?”

  Rowan kept his expression relaxed, nodding back to the approaching warrior. “Hello there, I’m Jamis, and this is the Crimson Grove,” he said, gesturing at the team. “But I’m pretty sure you’re mistaken, the quest was reassigned to us.”

  “Truly?” Killian’s lips pulled down into a slight frown. “That must have been a mistake,” he shook his head with a chuckle. “I’m sure we could come to some sort of arrangement.”

  And there it is.

  With the priestess here, Rowan was confident in turning this apparent shakedown into a negotiation. It was all about posturing. Being perceived as dangerous was often all you needed. And there were few things more dangerous than a pissed-off mage.

  Rowan shrugged. “I’m afraid you’ll have to talk to the Guild about that.”

  He slowly turned his staff, drawing attention to it.

  It wasn’t exactly subtle, but it got his meaning across.

  Killian’s eyes narrowed, but his expression didn’t waver. “The Guild, yes… but that takes time, and the bureaucracy is agonizingly slow,” he sighed with a weary smile. “It’s only right that we—as the first team to take this quest—receive fair compensation. A token, if you will. For our trouble.”

  He forced a calm smile on his face, keeping his expression relaxed. What Killian was saying made absolutely no sense, and both of them knew it. His team had left the quest to expire. They did no work, and fought no battles. But here he was, trying to claim something that wasn’t his.

  The thought of giving something to this lowlife ate away at Rowan. His grip tightened slightly. The shaman's staff held ominously to the side.

  “And what exactly did you have in mind?” Rowan asked, trying to keep the edge from his voice.

  Killian chuckled. “Nothing too egregious, I assure you. I think twenty percent of the reward would be sufficient.”

  Rowan nodded slowly. “Of course, that sounds more than fair.”

  Annie tensed, glancing at him with confusion clearly etched on her features.

  He understood the unspoken question in her eyes. She hadn’t expected him to just give in to their demands. Just as she was about to say something, Omi’s hand found her wrist. It was a subtle gesture, but it was enough to stop her from interfering.

  I need to remember to buy him a drink, Rowan thought, shooting the rogue a grateful look.

  Killian’s smile widened. “Good. I’m glad we could agree.”

  Now comes the hard part.

  The spearman’s gaze darted past Rowan, settling on the heap of goblin corpses in the cave. “The reward should naturally include the bounty from the kills, no?”

  He sighed.

  Rowan took a moment to appraise the warrior, his gaze steady and unwavering, a subtle smile playing on his lips. The not-so-subtle threat of violence hanging heavy in the air.

  “No, I don’t think it should,” Rowan answered, turning his hand palm up and pulling what little mana he had out of his Core.

  The other members of the Steel Fist took an instinctual step back as a small red orb flared to life. It was barely the size of a marble, not nearly enough to do any significant damage. But damage wasn’t the point.

  Killian’s eyes narrowed at the display, his body turning slightly as if preparing for a fight.

  Rowan gestured at the battleground where he fought the shaman, the signs of their battle clear. It was hard to miss the furrows burned into the ground and the earthen spikes jutting upwards.

  He casually twirled the orb around his fingers. “The quest was mis-ranked. Instead of a pack, we fought four. Including a shaman and a hobgoblin,” Rowan let that sink in, throwing the spell to the side.

  With such a small casting, he was able to tweak his Intent on the fly. So when the spell impacted the cavern wall, it exploded with a loud boom.

  That brought his mana down by a fair bit.

  If someone looked where it hit, they’d have seen that there wasn’t actually any damage on the wall. The spell had been all flash and thunder, no lightning.

  But nobody was focusing on that.

  The tension in the cavern rose. Nemir and Annie stepped closer to him while the three swordsmen hesitated, unsure whether to prepare for a fight or retreat. Rowan eyed the two archers at the back. They were frowning, but made no attempt to draw their bows.

  Finally, he glanced at the healer, curious to see what she would do.

  If anything, she looked the calmest out of all of them. There was a subtle frown on her face as she looked around the cavern, the explosion not concerning her in the slightest. She was instead focused on the location where Rowan had fought the shaman, her gaze drawn to the decapitated body of his opponent.

  Rowan returned his focus to the spearman standing in front of him.

  The look on Killain’s face was unmistakable—a flicker of wariness crossed his eyes, and he took a half-step back before steadying himself. It took him a moment to realize what he’d done, and he scowled in response, the mask dropping.

  “The kills were ours,” Rowan said simply, leaning the staff against his shoulder. “The Guild is going to reclassify this quest as high Silver when we get back. Twenty percent of that is more than generous.”

  Killian took a slow step forward, eyeing Rowan with a calculating expression.

  He could see the gears turning in his head. Trying to find the right amount to push, the right amount to squeeze them for.

  “And what happens if we disagree?” Killian finally said.

  Rowan didn’t miss how he’d moved just close enough for his spear to be in range. If he struck now, he wouldn’t even see the blow coming. A Silver-rank focused on Dexterity wasn’t a foe he could beat in a contest of speed, but instead of cowering, Rowan stepped closer.

  There was an art to looking intimidating, and being a full head taller certainly helped.

  Rowan had grown up around titans. People whose every word demanded attention.

  It wasn’t a stretch to say he had the act down.

  Tilting his head slightly to the side, he put on a mask of indifference with just the slightest smidge of annoyance.

  “Good,” he said. “An honest disagreement is a great place to start.”