Rowan focused as Misk thrust his sword towards him. He might have been a mage, and only Bronze I on top of that, but his Dexterity was more than enough to dodge the half-hearted attack.

  He’d aimed it at his shoulder, wanting to disable rather than kill.

  The sword dug into the willow as Rowan threw himself to the side, moving out of the way.

  “I don’t get it,” Rowan said, putting the tree between himself and his opponents. “What’s your plan here?”

  “Simple,” Misk smirked. “Take your ring and fuck off somewhere far away. And even if I’m wrong about how much stuff is in there, just selling it is going to be enough for me to advance to Silver,” he glanced at Rowan’s hand. “But I don’t think I am.”

  Rowan frowned.

  He’s not doing this for Killian?

  It shouldn’t have been surprising, yet for some reason, Rowan hadn’t even thought of that. The man was a greedy opportunist, and abandoning the Steel Fist was the perfect move for him.

  The Vault wasn’t so easily stolen, but Rowan wasn’t sure it would come back right away either. His injury shook up the connection between the item and his soul, and recalling it didn’t seem like the smart thing to do if he wanted it to heal.

  The six other thugs stood slightly back, taking cautious steps closer. They didn’t seem thrilled at the prospect of fighting a mage, but after seeing him dodge away and not fight back, the hesitance slowly bled away.

  Focused on him, they didn’t notice as a wall of muscle burst into the clearing, barreling into two of them and knocking them down.

  Misk’s head swirled around at the noise, and Annie used that distraction to jump from a branch overhead, her spear aimed straight at the man’s chin.

  To his credit, he noticed the attack a heartbeat later. Misk dodged back with surprising speed, his sword blurring to knock her spear away.

  A surprised look flashed across his face. “How are you here?” he asked, his stance shifting as realization dawned. “You planned this?”

  Annie brushed herself off, standing up from where she landed. “Don’t look at me like that,” she said, getting into a stance. “I’m as surprised as you are that it actually worked.”

  “Told you,” Rowan said, taking a step back.

  “Yeah, yeah, stuff it,” she muttered, pointing the hilt of her spear forward and starting to circle him.

  Her movements were graceful, like a predator stalking prey. It was the look of someone utilizing their skills and stats perfectly in tandem, a level of mastery not often found in adventurers of Annie’s level.

  From where Rowan was standing, she was only missing an Aura to look like a Silver-rank.

  Nemir punched out another thug, ducking under a swung club and sweeping the next one's legs. He also wasn’t far off, moving like an unstoppable avalanche. Every punch led into another movement, and the four other thugs quickly found themselves overwhelmed.

  It wasn’t that they were weak. Most of them were at Iron III, which was a respectable level of strength. But they still looked like they were getting outnumbered by a single attacker.

  “Besides, your plan was basically, ‘Let Annie and Nemir take care of everything and hope the other guys are idiots’,” she said, launching a probing strike at Misk. “So it doesn't count.”

  He angrily hit it out of the way, his smug look fading. “What are you talking about?”

  “If you ask me, that sounds like a great plan,” Rowan said, ignoring him.

  Annie’s lips quirked upward. “The first part’s solid, I’ll give you that. But you got lucky on the second.” she whirled into motion, throwing thrusts and swipes at a rapidly increasing pace. “Couldn’t have picked a more obvious ambush spot.”

  Misk managed to follow her assault, his expression hardening as he deflected the attacks. “But you were drunk!” he shouted, grunting in effort. “You were drinking for hours!”

  “Cider can’t really get you buzzed,” she replied, going for his legs.

  Misk scowled, realizing he’d been played. He looked around, trying to figure out what to do.

  Nemir had taken out another of his opponents, leaving only three. The warrior grabbed a club mid swing, tearing it out of the attacker's hand and back swinging it across his face.

  Blood and teeth flew, and another one dropped to the floor.

  Misk tried to disengage, using a skill to throw Annie’s attack off course, disturbing her footing. He started to move, but she was quick to recover.

  Annie used the trip to swing her spear around, the end blurring towards the thug's knee. He focused on Dexterity, and a busted leg would make utilizing it effectively much harder.

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  He was forced to defend, his movement skill faltering as he tried to deflect.

  The bait set, Annie hooked her elbow and transferred the momentum the other way. Releasing the spear with her other hand to allow the swing.

  It cracked Misk across the jaw, his body ragdolling as he fell to the ground. Unconscious.

  “Huh,” Annie muttered, taking a step back and kicking his sword away. “Thought he’d be tougher.”

  She poked him with the hilt of her spear. “You should really work on that glass jaw, buddy.”

  Rowan snorted. “I don’t think he can hear you,” he said, stepping closer.

  “You never know,” Annie shrugged. “It just might stick.”

  Nemir quickly dealt with the last two. With one of them trying to bolt only to be swept to the ground and kneed in the face.

  He straightened out, glancing around at the six unconscious bodies on the floor. “Well,” he said with the casual air of someone who’d done this before, dusting off his hands, “that was fun.”

  Zoe stepped out into the clearing, casually walking up to one of the thugs and placing a hand on his forehead. She repeated that for each one.

  “This one is still awake,” she said, stepping back as the thug's eye peeked open.

  He raised his hands, a panicked expression on his face. “Wait! I—”

  Nemir’s boot descended on his face. It impacted with a dull thud, the thug's arms falling limp and his eyes fluttering closed.

  Zoe knelt back down, nodding to herself as she confirmed it stuck this time.

  She went around the clearing, finishing off her task.

  Once she was done with Misk, she stood up and tucked her hands into her robe. “I estimate they’ll be out till sunrise,” she glanced down. “This one may be a bit longer.”

  Annie grinned, balancing her spear across her shoulders. “Understandable.”

  Rowan leaned back against the tree, a satisfied smile on his face. Nemir walked up to him, crossing his arms with a smile of his own. “And what now?” he asked, looking around the clearing. “We just leave them here?”

  Rowan nodded, pushing himself forward. “Yup. Carrying them to an inn sounds exhausting, and I need to wake up early tomorrow.”

  Annie arched an eyebrow. “And why exactly do you need to do that?”

  “The Crimson Grove just got attacked by members of the Steel Fist,” he shrugged, a grin tugging at his lips. “And I’m sure the friends we made tonight are going to want to hear all about it.”

  Annie glanced at him with an appraising eye. “When exactly did you come up with this scheme?”

  “First off, it was a plan,” he clarified. “Schemes are totally different.”

  She snorted a laugh.

  “And secondly, right around when I nabbed the lyre.”

  It had been mostly bare bones, but the outline was there.

  Rowan had expected Killian to be in the Hall when they showed up, and when he didn’t turn up, even after the confrontation, he’d started asking questions.

  As it turned out, the Silver-rank had taken a quest to guard a caravan heading to Tumbleton. A city north of Litwick, half a week’s ride away.

  By the time he returned, Rowan hoped his injury would be gone. But if it wasn’t—and overwhelming strength wasn’t there as an option to deal with the problem of an angry Silver-rank—he needed something else.

  He settled on being liked.

  It was useful if a large portion of a city’s fighting power had a favorable opinion of you, and there was no easier way to go about it than food and drink.

  He doubted Killian would try anything now, at least until they went back to the Wilds—if even. But that wasn’t going to happen until Rowan was back at full strength.

  Nemir nodded, a knowing look in his eye. “I guess, now we wait,” he said, gesturing towards the city. “Let’s head back. I might not need it as much as before, but I still do appreciate my sleep.”

  They started walking out of the park, leaving behind seven unconscious adventurers.

  As they reached the streets, Annie nudged him with her shoulder. “You can’t cast for at least the next week, right?” she asked.

  “I’m not exactly sure, but I’d say there about,” he squinted at her, feeling something brewing. “Why?”

  Annie smirked, tapping her spear against the side of his boot. “If you ask me, that sounds like the perfect time to work on Skin Toughening. To get yourself a skill so the next time we’re in a situation like this you’re not stuck hiding behind a tree.”

  Rowan suppressed a groan. “I hate that you’re right,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair.

  “It really isn’t all that hard,” Nemir added. “You’re at a higher level than most when they try it. And the added stats are going to help substantially.”

  Zoe raised her hand. “I could assist,” she offered.

  Rowan glanced at the healer, surprised by the offer. “You’d do that?” he asked. “Nothing better to do than watching me get wailed on and waiting to jump in with a heal?”

  “I am fine with it,” she nodded. “There are other things I can do in the meantime.”

  Annie clapped him on the shoulder. “So it’s decided,” she grinned. “Tomorrow, we start working on getting you a skill.”

  Rowan sighed. “You’re way too happy about this,” he muttered. “Besides, what makes you think you’re going to be the one doing the hitting?”

  She arched an eyebrow, throwing a look in Nemir’s direction. "I'm perfectly content watching him handle it."

  The burly swordsman smirked. “It’s your choice.”

  Rowan looked at Annie, then back at Nemir before finally pointing at Zoe. “I want her.”

  “I’m afraid I must refuse,” she said without so much as missing a beat. “I have no interest in ‘whaling’ on you.”

  He sighed. “Traitor.”

  “Don’t be such a baby,” Annie laughed. “It’s not as bad as you think. And by the time you’re done, it’ll be more than worth it.”

  Rowan knew she was right. But he wasn’t going to say it out loud.

  He’d been neglecting that particular aspect of his advancement in favor of literally anything else. His spells and Core had always taken precedence.

  But now, neither of those were options. And if Rowan wanted to continue growing stronger, there was only one avenue left for him to pursue. Advancing his body.

  “Alright, you convinced me,” he looked at Zoe, a grateful smile on his face. “And thank you, Zoe. I’m sure having a healer is going to make the process a much easier pill to swallow.”

  “It truly isn’t a problem.” She turned to Annie. “I would appreciate it if you didn’t hold back. Healing bruises isn’t a challenging task.”

  She grinned. “I got you, princess. Don’t you worry about a thing.”

  “Ominous,” Rowan grumbled. “And unnecessary.”

  As they finally reached the Guild Hall, Annie and Nemir bid them goodnight, with Annie managing to finagle a promise out of Rowan to be here first thing tomorrow morning.

  His plan to sour the Steel Fist’s reputation wouldn’t take all that much time. The adventurers he’d spent a small fortune on tonight would be there for breakfast, and a few brief comments in the right ears should do the trick.

  Not making a big deal out of it works in our favor. We could probably get the Guild involved, but that’s more trouble than it’s worth, he thought, saying bye to Zoe and starting to walk home.

  I’m not trying to get them thrown into prison. This way, it makes it seem like they’re not strong enough to even be worth the effort. And by the time Killian comes back, there won’t be a whole lot he can do about it.

  The Steel Fist already had a reputation. Rowan was only pulling it into the spotlight.

  By the time he got home, he felt exhaustion creeping in.

  It had been a long day. From gaining a second affinity, mastering his first Chant-level spell, fighting off the Wyrmlings and the subsequent injury that followed, with the events in the tavern only adding onto it.

  But as Rowan took off his clothes and slipped into bed, Kai still sleeping off the feast he’d indulged in up on his perch, a content feeling washed over him.

  He closed his eyes and felt at his Core.

  Rowan threaded the tiniest bit of mana through his channels, guiding it towards his palm. They weren’t the massive riverbanks he’d grown used to—the injury leaving them clamped shut—but his healing had come along further than he expected it to in such a short time.

  The ache was still there—in the background—yet the agony he felt when he returned from the Plateau was nowhere to be found.

  The System called his soul ‘Immortal’, and it was living up to that description.

  A faint haze covered his hand, illuminating the dimly lit room. It wasn’t strong enough to cook an egg over, but what it represented brought a smile to his face.

  Rowan cut off the flow of mana and burrowed into the blankets, letting sleep claim him.