It wasn’t every day you sentenced thousands to certain death. Grant took deep, deliberate breaths, trying to come to terms with what he’d done.

  The basement had been dug directly into the earth, walls lined with stone and mortar, ceiling held up by four damp wooden pillars. The only light was what spilled through the cracks in the planks covering the street-level window. It flickered whenever Airet strode past, sending a jolt through Grant's stomach that they'd been found. It was dim, uncomfortable, and looked like it hadn’t been cleaned in years. But it was safe.

  For the time being. Grant glanced toward the window again. All he felt was that nagging dread. It was there in his stomach back in Bay’kol’s fortress, and now it was back and worse.

  A dead Elf meant treason, and that meant dead Airet. Seek Spells and worse existed, and if they were found, they would be rats in a hole. Grant wiped the greasy sweat from his forehead, trying to pull his attention away from his regrets. If it weren’t for the Bound weapon, they could have hidden the body. Stashed it away, bought a few hours. But the rapier lay in the street, every bit as damning as the Elf with the hole in his head. After seeing what Siphoning Fang had done to the sailor in the baths, he wouldn't dare even try to kick it away.

  Ami’s father, Rydel, stood across the room, leaning against a wall, his arms crossed and his brown eyes narrowed on Grant. Grant avoided his gaze as best he could. Ami stood over him, poking at the spot where the Elf’s teeth had punctured his skin.

  “Do you realize what you’ve done?” Rydel asked for the third time, shaking his head. “Lunacy. Reckless, wild, lunacy.”

  Grant pulled his tunic back over his shoulder and shooed Ami off. She gave a frustrated sigh. The wound was nearly closed from Siphoning Fang’s Life Leech. All her prodding was just going to reopen it.

  “I didn’t know there were thirty-five of them!”

  “Thirty-four now.” Rydel winced as he rubbed his bruised jaw. “Hardly seems to matter. You could barely best one.”

  Grant grimaced. He didn’t need to add the part where without Rydel’s help, he would have lost, too. The Airet was upset with Grant for saving his life, as though things would have been better off if he’d left him to die. And he may have had a point there. The Elf was not only faster; he was more resilient to damage, more skilled, and far more experienced. The only reason it was him and not Grant bleeding out in the street was the Elf acted a total fool. That and Rydel had shoved a knife into his leg wound, giving Grant a chance to wrestle his hand free. He stood a better chance against an entire city’s militia than he did thirty-four of them.

  “I need you to start from the beginning,” Grant said, finally meeting Rydel’s eye. “Why are they here?”

  Rydel shrugged. “The why doesn’t seem to matter much. They’re here, and they don’t seem to be going anywhere.” He groaned as he sank to the floor, one hand holding his face. The deep purple had spread above his lips to just below his left eye, and the man mumbled every word, barely able to open his mouth. “They came across our town one day, and we were damned foolish enough to let them in. Not as though we had much choice in the matter. There was a bit of resistance at first, but the Elf you gutted and his friends are powerful. Got a bunch of Spells and Skills an Airet couldn’t buy in ten lifetimes.”

  “Hundreds died in defense of the city,” Ami added quietly. “Every surviving member of the city guard was forced to take an Oath, one by one. Those who refused were beheaded.”

  “An Oath?” Grant asked. “Who cares about an Oath to some murderous Elves?”

  “To their Mind Mage,” she added sadly, staring at the floor. “One raised a weapon in defense of our former Duke. He was struck blind and deaf on the spot.”

  Grant shuddered, remembering the Royal Inquisitor in Athemore. Mind Magic. Something he would never consider Purchasing from the Store. It was sadistic to turn a man’s own head against him. He made a mental note to buy a defense against it as soon as he could afford one.

  He clambered to his feet and paced between the walls. His hair brushed against the ceiling as he walked, and he could hear footsteps on the floor above him.

  “So, you’re saying that we’re not only up against thirty-four Store-empowered Elves, but the city guard?”

  Rydel grunted.

  “And I would assume killing the Airet held by Oaths is out of the question?”

  He grunted again.

  Grant pushed the heels of his palms into his eyes before running his hands down his face. “So, we’re up against thirty-four Elves, including a Mind Mage, and an entire city guard.”

  Rydel didn’t bother to answer. He just massaged the bottom half of his face idly and stared at nothing. Ami sat across the room, looking as though she was planning her own solution.

  There was only one answer. Something Grant had learned in the caverns of Bay’kol. He would have loved a non-violent resolution, but it was too late now. He had come to this town and gouged a deep scar into the Elves’ pride, made promises of more blood. With a rigid nod, he decided.

  “I’ll do what I can.”

  But next to resolution in his belly sat a hot, pressing guilt. And if it’s hopeless, I’ll hop the city gates and get as far south as I can.

  ***

  Kess

  “Yes, you’re absolutely correct,” said Kess. “It was out of line.”

  “Out of line?” shrieked Sharn. “Out of line?”

  The two Gods floated above the town, watching the Elven woman turn the final corner before she would stumble upon her husband’s lifeless body. Many others watched, but even those who found the whole situation over the Tomb Fiend’s Phylactery hilarious preferred to stay away from Sharn. It had been two weeks, and he was still nearly as furious as Obeah himself.

  Kess stayed quiet as he went on the same rant she had heard a dozen times. He had a thing about order and details, and apparently, this Grant Leeman boy skipping hundreds of steps in a Quest designed to take years had upset him.

  “And what will he do next?” Sharn continued, pointing a spindly finger at the Campaigner from hundreds of miles away. “Spill a vial of deadly poison into the Archmage's porridge?”

  “Perhaps,” she said noncommittally. With his previous luck, she wondered if it was possible for him.

  The two floated in silence for a moment. “I do not believe he just so happened to stumble upon the Phylactery like that. The panel coming free? The shimmer in the wall?” The God readjusted his black necktie with a trembling hand. “And his Skill? Technically possible with the Dice of Fate, but far from likely.”

  The other Gods had whispered of similar conspiracies. She tapped her fingertips nervously against her trousers, sinking her top teeth into her bottom lip. There were only three who could alter so much without gaining the attention of the others. One had abandoned them, and another was imprisoned. She shuddered at the thought of the third playing a more active role in this Campaign.

  “He’s presenting!”

  Sharn’s eyes widened. “A First Campaign God? He would present now?”

  The others began shouting over each other.

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

  “Already?”

  “It has only been three weeks!”

  “Don’t do it!”

  “Who would take such a risk?” muttered Sharn.

  Who indeed? she thought to herself with a chuckle. However this went, it would be entertaining, at least.

  ***

  Grant sat inside the cathedral’s bell tower. It had been built with rectangular red bricks of uniform size stacked twice as high as the second-highest building in the area. Surrounding it were unmaintained gardens and the church where the townsfolk prayed twice a week.

  Or used to, according to Ami. The Elves had forbidden all gatherings of more than five Airet. Didn’t want them getting any ideas of plans, it seemed.

  It made the perfect hiding place. The entire town sprawled below his eyes. Nobody had climbed to the top in years, and its ladder hatch was locked and rusted shut, although that wouldn’t stop any of the Elves. He wasn’t terribly worried, as he would see them from plenty far away, and then just turn Invisible and leap down with Short Flight.

  He’d altered Demonic Regalia to mimic the pattern of small red bricks with mortar holding them together, trying to get used to adjusting its appearance on the move. It was an idea that struck him when he found how well his black cloak blended in with the shadows. Elves had notoriously sharp eyes, but perhaps with distance, they would overlook him if he blended in.

  Grant nervously rubbed his fingers across his calluses, wishing he had someone to ask more questions, but staying near Ami and Rydel only endangered them. They were currently not suspected of any wrongdoing. An Airet could harm an Elf as much as a mouse could overpower a tiger, so when the Elf Grant had killed was discovered, they would be made aware there were other Campaigners in town.

  But when the Mind Mage got her hands on a witness, they would know everything. Every detail would be given voluntarily, and then those same details would be torn from the poor Airet’s head.

  He gritted his teeth, the left side, then the right. They had no plan. There was nothing they could do. Running was too great a risk, and fighting even a single Elf almost cost him his life.

  Grant’s only option was to put every one of the 61,720 Points he had available to the best use possible, a task at which he was falling far short of its mark. Between Perfect Invisibility, Languages, Demonic Regalia, and Greater Cure—not to mention Siphoning Fang—Grant had an array of Skills, Spells, and Items beyond even the Genus children in Point value, but he did not have a single offensive Spell or Skill. Every Purchase had been made for immediate survival. Even Demonic Regalia, which he often wondered if he'd overspent on, saved his life in the end with Short Flight.

  60,000 was a significant threshold because it was where many Uncommon and even a few Rare Spells began to appear. Some were clearly powerful, but no matter how much time spent Grant considering them, they weren’t enough.

  Grant had always dreamed of casting a Fireball Spell, and he could afford one for 40,000 Points. He could probably use it against an Elf, but it would set half the town on fire, killing thousands. Things were always so much cleaner in his daydreams.

  He almost bought a Spell he found for 50,000 Points. It would enhance any weapon with Lightning Magic. It could stun and even paralyze enemies on Critical Strikes, which thanks to Perfect Invisibility, he often found. But it would require him to fight in melee range. Against an isolated Elf, it might work, but they would be traveling in groups once they found Varireth.

  His mind wandered to ranged attacks after. If he had been able to keep his distance from Varireth, the Elf would have been helpless against him. True Shot was a powerful Archery Skill that would double the damage of one shot per day for only 30,000 Points. But he had no bow or arrows, and the ones on the Store that he could afford after buying it were Common. They could probably break through a stone wall, but they wouldn’t kill an Elf.

  Grant rubbed his eyes as the world went blurry. He had scanned hundreds of Spells but found no answers. There was too much potential for collateral damage among them, and others were far too conditional for his circumstances.

  He rubbed his eyes again. The world was spinning now. He gripped the edge and peered down to the streets below.

  The Airet on the ground had stopped mid-stride. A bird in the distance was hovering in the air, suspended in stillness.

  Several breaths later, nothing had changed. It was as though the world had stopped around him.

  “What?”

  Only a single object in the town other than Grant moved. A man floated down from the sky, as if he had come from the heavens themselves, exuding a bright gold aura. His hair was blacker than Grant’s and slicked back neatly, gleaming in his own light. He had a strong jaw which was partially obscured by a short beard. On his waist, a long sword was sheathed, and it glowed even more brightly than the man himself.

  Grant could not place his race. He was certainly not human, but not an Elf or Airet either.

  “Grant Leeman!” he announced, a wide smile across his face. “I am Yornus, the God of Swordplay.”

  “The God of Swordplay?” was all Grant could say. Am I supposed to kneel or…?

  The God gently landed in the tower feet from Grant, smiling radiantly. Even his teeth were so white they seemed fake.

  “I am here to offer you a Contract,” he announced, flourishing his hands. He seemed fine with Grant standing, and was strangely friendly for a God, although Grant would admit he had not met many. “I believe you will find its terms most mutually beneficial.”

  [Notification]

  [You have received an Offer of Patronage from the God of Swordplay, Yornus.]

  [Compatibility: 14.7%]

  [Sword Skills and Classes receive a 100% increase to efficacy. Yornus will instruct you on the twelve stances of swordplay. Previously unavailable Classes will become available upon acceptance.]

  [Note: This Contract cannot be broken. Accepting will Bind you to Yornus, making you ineligible for Contracts with other Gods. Would you like to accept?]

  Grant read over the Notification again.

  “What’s a Contract?”

  Yornus held his belly and gave a rumbling laugh. “Excellent question, young man! As to be expected of my future protégé.”

  Grant frowned. He couldn’t tell if the compliment was sarcasm, mockery, or sincerity, but the God continued talking as if he hadn’t noticed.

  “A Contract is an agreement you and a God can enter to empower and enhance each other. It takes nothing away from you, but enables me to assist you with divine power at every step of your journey! All you need do is imagine a win-win deal for the both of us.” Yornus spread his hands out, flashing another white smile.

  Grant took in his words. This was not in any of his lessons.

  “I’m sorry, but why me?” he asked, not knowing what else to say. He hadn’t heard anything about Gods and Contracts from any of his classes. Did instructors only teach this to nobles?

  The God laughed again. Definitely forced. “Why you? Why, I believe that you are a perfect candidate for swordplay! Your Agility is beyond what I have seen in a Human your level, and your Perfect Invisibility Skill is suitable for any melee or ranged combat. I could mentor you from the ground up, building you from a small mud hut into a tower of stone and steel that even the Four Commanders themselves could not scale!” He made a gesture like stacking stones up into the sky.

  Grant worked his mouth. “I’m a mud hut?”

  Yornus paused for a moment. “No, certainly not. I apologize for the rude comparison. I only mean to say your potential has not yet been reached. But with me at your side—”

  “It says your compatibility with me is 14.7%,” Grant interrupted. “Is that not low? And I use a dagger, not a sword.”

  Yornus’s face screwed up for a heartbeat before he regained his composure. “Yes, it is below average for a Contract, but with a Swordsman Class or Skill, not to mention a proper sword, that number will increase significantly!”

  Grant couldn’t make sense of any of it. He didn’t even know how to hold a sword. His technique with even his dagger was barely passable. But with the God of Swordplay offering to teach him, he supposed he could learn.

  “And where will I get a sword? I don’t have that many Points.”

  “I will help you find a suitable one!” he said jovially. “In a year and a half—two, no, three at most—you will be one of the most feared warriors on the continent under my tutelage. No beginner starts with a Legendary Sword, after all.”

  Grant gradually cocked his head to the side as the man spoke. The streets below him stayed frozen, the bird still in the middle of a flap of its wings. He wondered how far this bubble of timelessness stretched. As far as he could tell, they were the only beings moving on the entire continent, if not the world. The God was obviously incredibly powerful to be able to stop time like this.

  “Wait!” Grant shouted, his voice high with excitement. “Does that mean you will help me get rid of the Elven invaders? Do you have a way to save the Airet?”

  The God approached the edge of the tower, clasping his hands behind his back and looking out over the city. “I… cannot directly intervene. No God could. However, with your Invisibility Skill, you could easily escape.” His eyes swiveled to the city gate. “I will train you, and at a later date, you can save the Airet if you so wish.”

  “In a year and a half?”

  “Likely longer,” Yornus said reluctantly.

  Grant shook his head, that same shame from the basement rushing back. Ami and Rydel would be lucky to last the week when the Mind Mage set out searching for them. It was one thing to flee a hopeless fight, another to leave innocent people for slaughter. If there were a way to undo the damage he'd done, he'd find it. He swallowed and faced Yornus. The God was still watching him with that white-toothed grin. Grant grimaced. I hope this doesn't make me any enemies.

  Yornus's smile slipped and he raised his hands. “It could be shorter, too! You have the potential to be the greatest swordsman in Campaign history! Even greater than I, you could be! I will guide you to the Third and beyond!”

  “I’m sorry. I wish you luck in your search.”

  “Wait, I can—”

  He selected No from his Notification, and the God disappeared mid-sentence, as if he were never there.

  The bird’s wings flapped again. Airet strode down the dirt paths. They didn’t know the world had moved to a stop, that an actual God had been in their presence.

  He looked down at his hands. They were shaking. “I just talked to a God,” he whispered. “And I just rejected a God.” The world had resumed moving, completely oblivious.

  Grant looked up toward the sky. How many others were watching him? If there was a God of Swordplay, was there a God of Knife Fighting? Gods for the Elements? If there was a God of Killing 34 Elven Invaders, he’d take the Contract on the spot. Or, of course, being able to stop time itself would have been a very welcome power, too.

  He paused. Time. What if that was the answer to his problem?