Rowan stepped closer to the group harassing the boy, his back straight, a disapproving scowl on his face.

  “Do you really have nothing better to do than steal from a child?”

  At the sound of his voice, the thugs turned around.

  Misk, to his credit, recognized him right away. The other three, not so much.

  “Ain’t stealing,” one of the thugs answered, taking a step towards Rowan. “The kid borrowed gold from us. Only fair he return it.”

  Not many people were paying attention to them yet. The Guild Hall saw more than its fair share of disagreements per night. So a group bickering wasn’t a very interesting sight.

  One of the thugs had the presence of mind to scan him, and once he did, his eyes widened.

  “Kiki,” he whispered urgently, grabbing the other thugs arm. “He’s a damned mage.”

  A frown appeared on the man’s face, quickly replaced by a nervous expression once he confirmed it.

  “I…” he glanced at Misk questioningly, as if asking what to do.

  Killian might have been confident when talking to Rowan, but that wasn’t true for the rest of his team. Besides him, none of them had an Aura, meaning they had no way to deal with his spells.

  Not that I can cast any right now.

  But sometimes, appearing strong was all you needed.

  “Ah, mage Jamis,” Misk said with a wry smile, immediately putting him on edge. “And I see the rest of the Grove isn’t far behind,” he chuckled, closing the case and placing it under his arm.

  Nemir and Annie had followed him, while Omi, Silvia and Zoe decided to stay behind, observing the situation from their table. The two of them alone were more than enough to deal with this group, and with Rowan here too, they made for quite the menacing trio.

  The swordsman stood a head taller than the man in front, his arms crossed.

  Rowan suppressed a smile. Way to loom.

  Annie, on the other hand, was a picture of lithe grace. Her hands held loosely by her sides, relaxed but ready to pounce.

  “It seems congratulations are in order,” Misk said, seemingly unbothered by the three angry-looking adventurers standing in front of him. “Advancing is always an occasion worth celebrating.” He smirked. “I just hope it won’t lay you out for too long.”

  Well, crap. This one is more perceptive than I hoped.

  “Thanks,” Rowan nodded. “But you still didn’t answer my question.”

  Just because he wasn’t able to cast spells didn’t mean he was going to back down. These guys were being assholes, and Rowan wasn’t having any of it.

  “Really?” Misk frowned. “I could have sworn that my friend here explained what was going on. Kid owes us gold,” he patted the case, “and this is him paying us back.”

  “Strange how a person on the cusp of Silver needs gold from a youth barely a step into his Path,” Nemir said, his anger barely constrained. “Does your leader pay you so little?”

  Misk didn’t seem bothered by the dig, shrugging in response. “What can I say, we have a lot of mouths to feed.”

  Rowan sighed. “How much is his debt?”

  “Oh, feeling generous?”

  The boy’s expression shifted from fearful to hopeful, his eyes glued to the case.

  “I’m a bit flushed at the moment, so yes. I just might,” Rowan replied, Misk’s smirk finally fading, a sharp glint in his eye.

  “I know you are,” he said. “But that’s for the boss to deal with,” his eyes moved over the group. “And he will.”

  “Isn’t that ominous,” Annie snorted. “If he wants, he can sure try. But I don’t think it’ll end well for him.”

  Misk raised his hand placatingly, a casual smile back on his face. “Whoa, easy there.” He chuckled. “No need to get all fired up,” he looked at Rowan appraisingly. “Fifty gold.”

  The boy’s eyes widened. “That’s not—” he started to protest, but one of the thugs clasped his shoulder, quieting him down.

  “I think I remember you saying that you paid for his strings,” Rowan said. “Those aren’t worth fifty gold.”

  Misk nodded. “You’re right, they aren’t. But I already reclaimed my debt,” he said, showing off the case. “And I think what you’re really asking me is how much for this beautiful lyre.”

  He opened the case, showing off the finely crafted instrument.

  The boy raised a hand as he tilted the case forward, but Misk quickly scooped it up, closing it and setting it back under his arm, a sly grin on his face.

  Rowan nodded. “You’re right.”

  He reached back and pulled out his coin pouch—well, one of them.

  The author's narrative has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  He’d stashed more than a few around the house, courtesy of the Vault.

  It was filled to the brim with glittering coins. From a single royal worth one gold, to a dragon worth twenty-five. More than five-hundred total. A small fortune.

  Rowan pulled out two dragons and flicked them to him. Misk’s eyes widened in response, a greedy glint in his eyes. As he caught the coins, Rowan used the moment of distraction to lunge forward and pry the case from his grasp.

  Misk looked down at his empty arm in surprise, not expecting a mage to be able to move that fast.

  But it wasn’t something Rowan would be able to pull off again.

  The man was almost a Silver-rank, and judging by his build, he wasn’t focused on Strength.

  He went to say something, but Rowan raised a hand, cutting him off. “You said fifty gold. And since you already have them,” he glanced at the man’s hand, the two gleaming coins in his palm. “I’m going to keep this.”

  Rowan tucked the case firmly under his arm, a small smile tugging at his lips.

  “Anything else you wanted to talk about?”

  Misk’s expression slipped once more, looking down at the coins and back up at him, his eyes lingering on his hip. “No,” he finally said. “Not for now.”

  He tucked the two dragons into his belt. “Come on boys, let's go.”

  The thug let go of the boy's shoulder, and the four of them started walking away.

  Rowan watched them go, his arms crossed and a satisfied smile on his face.

  Annie flicked his ear. “Are you an idiot?”

  He yelped, glancing at the annoyed-looking redhead with a small grin. “What are you talking about? That went perfectly,” he showed off the case. “Fifty gold for this is a steal.”

  He could see the boy hesitate, unsure of what to do. It had seemed like Rowan was helping him, but for all he knew, it could have just been to get the lyre.

  “And why exactly was flashing all that,” she gestured at his pouch, “necessary?”

  Rowan shrugged. “To piss them off.”

  Annie groaned, rubbing the bridge of her nose. “Idiot.”

  He laughed, patting her on the back. “It’ll work out, trust me. I just hope you aren’t too drunk.”

  Annie looked at him, a curious expression on her face. “You’re playing at something,” she said. “Care to share it with the rest of us?”

  Rowan nodded. “I’ll fill you in at the table. No point in repeating myself.”

  “If your plan requires a clear head, I hope you accounted for Sil and Omi,” Nemir said, pointing at the table.

  Sil was yammering at Zoe who took it all with a slightly confused frown, a mug hanging precariously by her side. Omi wasn’t that much better, his feet were perched up on the corner of the table, admiring his boots and nursing a bottle of something brown.

  Rowan sighed. “Maybe our new healer can help with that. But honestly, just you two might be enough.”

  Nemir ran a hand through his hair, his lips quirking upwards. “It has been a while since we did something fun.”

  Annie arched an eyebrow. “What happened to not doing anything stupid?”

  Nemir shrugged. “I don’t like them,” he looked at Rowan, nodding to the case. “What about that?”

  “Oh, right,” Rowan said, handing it to the kid. “Here you go. Try not to lose it next time.”

  The boy eyed it with a hopeful hesitance, but his need for the instrument won out in the end. He grabbed the case, holding it firmly against his chest. “I… I mean…” he stammered, taking a deep breath. “Thank you. Truly,” he said, standing up and clumsily bowing at the waist.

  “But I don’t know how I’m going to repay you for this,” he muttered, clutching the case protectively. “I don’t have five gold to my name, let alone fifty.”

  Rowan waved him off. “Don’t worry about it. As far as I’m concerned, it’s an investment into the arts. And buying back that lyre is going to be useful for me, so consider us even,” he smiled. “But I wouldn’t mind hearing a song or two. If you’re half as good as your lyre, I’m sure it’ll be a treat.”

  The boy nodded furiously. “I’m amazing. The best you’ll ever hear.”

  Rowan laughed, the confident tone with which he’d said it striking a chord with him.

  It definitely wasn’t true, but he had no plans on bursting the kid’s bubble.

  He looked at him more closely, his eyes drawn to the thin necklace around his neck. It was simple—a woven band of finely worked silver—but there was something about it that caught Rowan’s attention.

  It was like it wanted him to look away. A small compulsion to disregard it as irrelevant.

  When he noticed it, the feeling went away, and it was Rowan’s turn to be surprised.

  The necklace wasn’t all that powerful, but to break the enchantment you had to know what it was in the first place. It wasn’t a common item, and in a city as small as Litwick, it was more than enough to hide away a mage’s Core. At least up to a level.

  Probably best I keep that to myself, Rowan thought. If he’s hiding it, he probably has a reason. It’d be rude to just out him.

  “I’m Jamis, by the way,” he said, extending a hand. “And these are Annie and Nemir.”

  The boy took his hand. “I-I’m Ulio,” he said, looking slightly overwhelmed, his momentary confidence gone. “Thank you, again. I don’t know what I would have done if I lost her,” he held the case against his side.

  “Her?” Annie smiled.

  Ulio’s cheeks reddened. “I… yes,” he quickly muttered, looking down at the ground. “It’s customary to name your instrument.”

  Rowan chuckled, clapping him on the back. “A beauty like that deserves it.”

  An uneasy look passed across Ulio’s face. “I-It’s not all that special.”

  Rowan arched an eyebrow, an amused smile on his face. “How about we all go grab a drink?” he nodded towards their table. “It’s on me.”

  “You really are feeling generous, aren’t you?” Annie said as they started walking back.

  Rowan hefted his coin pouch, a sly smile tugging at his lips. “I’m just getting started.”

  .

  .

  .

  “I am able, but unwilling,” Zoe said calmly, taking small sips of her cider. Her glass had been full for an awfully suspicious amount of time, but Rowan decided not to point it out.

  “Is there any particular reason for that?” Rowan asked, trying not to sigh.

  Omi and Silvia were completely out of it. One lay passed out on the table and the other was muttering something while pointing at the ceiling.

  Ulio sat quietly next to them, one arm around the case and the other holding a mug of cider. The boy had calmed down over the last couple of minutes, but there was still a certain tension to his posture.

  “Multiple,” Zoe nodded. “Firstly, they made me promise not to. Silvia even attempted to make me invoke my goddess for a vow. But naturally, I refused.”

  Rowan suppressed a groan. “Anything else?”

  “I do not want to.”

  He went to say something but stopped himself. Then he went to say something again, and did the same thing.

  At least she’s direct.

  “Is there anything I could say to change your mind?” Rowan asked.

  It was better if everyone was capable of at least standing for what he planned. But if Zoe was unwilling, there wasn’t much he could do.

  To her credit, she actually thought about it, tilting her head to the side.

  “No. I don’t think there is,” she said, nodding to herself. Looking satisfied with her answer.

  Annie crossed her arms. “Care to elaborate?”

  “Of course,” Zoe said, either ignoring or not noticing the annoyed look on the redhead’s face. “It was their choice to inflict this ailment on themselves. And while I haven’t vowed to not remove it, I gave my word. Healing them now would be wrong.”

  Annie mulled over her answer for a moment before letting out a quiet, “Huh.”

  She nodded. “Alright. That's fair,” she glanced at Rowan. “Are the three of us going to be enough for whatever half-brained scheme you’re cooking up? Because right now, you’re not really in a position to contribute.”

  “It might be a bit tight,” he conceded. “But they’re going to try something either way. Better if we beat them to it.”

  The greedy look on Misk’s face had been hard to miss, and the fifty gold he so casually threw to him only made it worse.

  In his head, that gold had come from Rowan’s part in taking care of the goblins and selling the Core. Gold, that for some strange reason, they thought belonged to them.

  “I agree,” Nemir nodded. “Now what did you have in mind?”

  Rowan placed his pouch on the table, the coins almost spilling out.

  “I’m going to make them angry. And I’m going to make them do something stupid,” he answered, climbing onto the table.

  “Oi!” Rowan shouted, the adventurers in the Guild Hall began turning toward him. “The Crimson Grove has reasons to celebrate, and we feel like sharing! Only fair, isn’t that right?”

  That raised a few mugs, some of them whooping in encouragement.

  “Drinks are on us!”

  That raised the rest of them, a loud cheer going out.

  A room full of adventurers was capable of drinking more than one would think, their high Vitality suited to the task.

  It would be expensive, but then again, that was kind of the point.

  Misk and his group sat in a corner booth. Three of them looked eager at the offer of free booze, but the lithe man had a scowl on his face.

  Rowan picked up his mug and raised it towards him.

  Now, let’s see just how much I can spend in one night.