Torchbearer - Chapter 4 (beta - early access)

Through my dealings with many parties and guilds, I often noted a certain reserve that seemed common in Shadows, which was often set aside when they met another fellow Shadow. This odd behavior I only noticed in higher tiered individuals--by which I mean those who had passed the tenth floor's challenge and/or earned their first circle. I believe there is a secret order of some sort. One with strict rules. For example, I believe one of these rules is that under no circumstances can a Shadow speak of another Shadow's beliefs, motivations, or abilities. Unless that Shadow committed the offense first. It's... a fascinating subject. Unfortunately, I might need to stop this line of research, as asking questions had led to two attempts on my life already.

- Novaris, Seeker-for-hire.

Back inside the Custodial room, Miles went around for another jog, both to think of how to deal with the Shadow and to really see how far the space stretched. If he were to do something with the rogue, he had to do it fast and tomorrow, he’d need to make sure Thalia hadn’t gotten into trouble. But if he could covnert the Shadow to his cause, he could do both at the same time.

And if I’m about to head to the city, it’d be the time to get started on the new identity thing, he mused as trees blurred around him. He was going pretty fast, as he didn’t want to spend hours running and he didn’t really want to use his body enhancement Skill, but it quickly turned out that he didn’t need to. Around fifteen minutes into his run—and approximately eight miles covered—Miles slowed down as a wall of dark, familiar bricks suddenly rippled into existence, as if it had been invisible and only showed up as he approached.

“It is a room, then,” Miles said, scratching his back. Nodding as he looked around, he began running along the wall, which took him next into an area of rolling hills just like the starting area that next began to show more and more rocks and gravel, slowly rising in altitude as Miles climbed the small mountain he’d seen earlier. The black wall was still to his right, cutting off the mountain, which then sloped down into a swampy area that strongly reminded Miles of the ninth floor. Next came the briny smell and the sound of waves as the swamp connected to a beach which brought him back to the rolling green hills.

“I can definitely work with this,” he said. “I could have a nice cabin in the center near the river, then work my way outward.”

It was a nice plan, but Miles’s smile still slipped.

I’m not a constructor, though.

Miles hummed, crossing his arms. “I might need to blindfold a bunch of them and get them to build it before I get them out. Have them sign a magic contract. That’d work. Or get a bunch more, and have them build the shop outside, then a portion of them would work on the cabin here.”

For that though, he’d need contacts. Loads of them. Builders, manufacturers, woodworkers, metalworkers, an architect or two, and he most certainly was forgetting a bunch more. He’d need to be able to walk the city of Rivergate. He’d need to be able to interact with guilds and companies without raising every alarm throughout the dungeon.

It was a prickly little problem. But he did have a potential solution in his pocket for it.

“Yeah. I could really use a Shadow right about now,” Miles sighed.

Looking up at the sky, he frowned. The position was matching the sun outside, as far as he could tell. But there was no way that was a second sun up there. Not when this whole space was less than 20 miles in diameter.

I’ll figure that out eventually, he thought, breaking into a jug as he headed back toward the center, and when he got there he looked around and made sure there was nothing conspicuous laying about. Pausing for a second, he considered whether he needed to put his mask or not. But then he reminded himself he was building a new life out here, and that secret identity came with a lot of baggage. People might suspect it, if they worked close enough with him, but as long as didn’t don the mask, he’d be fine.

Plus Shadows are a little easier to work with when it comes to this kind of stuff, he thought. Cracking his neck, Miles got started. “Alright,” he muttered, digging into his pouch and dragging a blue form out, and when his aura was around the figure, he nodded. “Let’s talk.”

The form of the Shadow was still frozen, hands reaching up toward his neck where Miles had gripped him. With a poke, the stasis dispelled, and the hands jerked up before the Shadow froze as Miles’s presence blanketed him.

“Show your face,” Miles simply said, hands behind his back as he stood ten feet away from the stranger and watched. He could distinctly see the tension building up in the Shadow’s shoulder, and there was a small tremor in the man’s hands as he reached up and pulled his hood back. The darkness dissolved away, revealing a man that looked to be in his mid-twenties and if Miles trusted what he was feeling through his aura, it was probably at least double that. Brown-eyed, hair cut short and slicked back, but his complexion definitely required him to be exposed to a little more sun.

He was in good shape, though. Healthy. People tended to live for a while once they got past tier-10 and manifested their first circle. And that pursuit of a long life was why so many died at the hands of Hazel’s copy on the tenth floor. And that boss’s name definitely matched, too.

Haver’eth, The Dying Dream, Miles mused. I’m gonna have to ask her about the crops later.

Turning his attention the man in front of him, Miles smiled. “The edge is drawn,” he said in a clear voice, and had the pleasure to see the man freeze before he collapse down on one knee, head bowed.

“The Shadows realign,” the Shadow answered. “How may I serve, sir,” he asked without looking up.

Miles always felt a little off about using the key-phrase, but well, Quinn gave it to him fair and square. And using it just once shouldn’t raise any dangerous flags. “Have a seat,” Miles said, pointing down to the ground as he sat down cross-legged himself while pulling back his aura.

The Shadow hesitated for a second, then sat down, matching Miles’s posture.

Without looking up at the man, Miles dug into his pouch. “Do you know why you’re still alive even though you pointed a dagger at my sister’s throat?”

The man stilled, then shook his head. “No, sir.”

Miles finally found the bottle and pulled it out, then got two glass cups with it. He appreciated how professional the Shadow was being. No apologies, no begging. He knew he messed up, and sat there, waiting for the hammer to fall.

Miles was tempted to use his aura to telekinetically lift the cups, but his control was not that good yet. “Hold this,” he said, extending the cup the man who leaned forward and took it.

“Here’s the thing, uh… what’s your name again?” Miles asked as he poured the man half a cup, then poured himself half as well before setting it down on the grass. The man mirrored his gesture, and tilted his head.

“I go by Lott, sir.”

“I’m Miles. Here’s the thing, Lott. I killed my fair share of folk down in the Dungeon. My hands aren’t clean. But while I might never forget the images, I’ve never killed anyone who wouldn’t have killed me or those I protected. And as I’ve grown stronger, I’ve gained… alternatives ways of dealing with problems.”

The Shadow swallowed, but he kept quiet. Miles poked the edge of his cup as he spoke.

“You’re an issue for me. You stumbled upon me when I didn’t want to be found, which right now makes you a liability. And while you haven’t done any permanent harm, you still injured and threatened my sister. And true, that was a good lesson for her as sooner or later she’ll start delving, and the Dungeon’s a violent and dangerous place that brings the worst in us. An older me would have already taken some drastic measures. I’d rather not. But still, I could put you on a timeout. As punishment. Because I’m pretty aggravated by you threatening my loved ones. Do you have loved ones, Lott? Friend? A family?”

The man had gone paler than he already was by now, and while Miles noted the flitting gaze, the man nodded. “I care for my parents,” he mumbled, voice weak.

Miles smiled. But there was no mirth in his eyes. “That’s nice. How would you like blinking and finding them gone, Lott? Gone because you’ve been in stasis for ten years or twenty for thinking a trainee wasn’t worth your respect? The life you’ve built yourself and cared for would go on without you, and you wouldn’t have even realized it. I don’t have to kill you to punish or get you out of my hair. I can just chuck you in my bag and forget you exist.”

Even more color drained out of the man and slowly, as if scared any sudden movement will see his head divorcing his shoulders, Lott leaned forward until his forehead touched the grass below them.

“I sincerely apologize for my actions, Lord Miles.”

Miles looked down at the prostrated rogue, and he tamped down his anger as he slowly picked up his cup. “Well, they do say recognizing one’s mistakes is the first step toward redemption. And while we might never be friends, I’m willing to look past this, so long as you make amends and apologize to those you injured. Now, get up. And don’t call me Lord. I haven’t earned that title yet.”

The Shadow got up, relief apparent on his face and straightened up. When Miles raised his own cup slightly, the rogue picked his own.

“Let’s talk, then.”

***

They drank in silence for a minute, with Miles mostly giving the rogue some time to recover. It seemed like he was working up the courage to speak, so Miles just gave him a nod as he put his cup down.

“Apologies for mis-titling you, sir Miles. But couldn’t you just claim a noble title with your strength? I don’t think any noble house on the surface could contest you if you did.”

Miles’s eyes drifted toward the ghostly door a few paces behind them. He wondered if Lott had seen it or sensed it.

I wouldn’t trust him with too many details, but I bet I could get him to break in and see if that works, Miles noted. Then looking back at the man, he shook his head. “There’s a difference between claiming to be nobility and being officially titled, Lott.”

The rogue’s brows furrowed in confusion for a second before his eyes widened imperceptibly in understanding. “Dungeon… titles. So they’re real?”

Miles nodded. “It’s what comes after Masters and Grandmasters. But speaking of,” he said, pouring himself some more of the mixture. It was made of cold brewed coffee and spirit, and it packed quite a punch, though the it couldn’t do much to him at this point. “Are there any Master or Grandmasters around?”

Lott shook his head, then paused. “Not… officially. The agreement between the nobility and guilds says that no Master or above can operate or intervene in the day-to-days of Rivergate. But there might be one or two around. If there are, I haven’t seen or heard anything, sir. I can ask around if you’d like.”

Miles shook his head. “No, leave it be. If you start sniffing they’ll start looking. I don’t plan or causing issues anyway. As I’ve said, I want to rest. And for that, I will need a couple of favors. That you would be compensated for.”

Lott briskly nodded. “Of course sir. Anything you need.”

Miles eyed the man as he sipped from the cup. Lott looked eager to serve. Though that might just be because he was very much aware this whole situation could have easily meant his death.

Oh well. I need some errands done. And the second identity thing can only be done by a Shadow anyway, Miles thought, lifting the bottle and gestured to the Shadow, who held his cup up with two hands.

“First, I need this encounter and conversation to stay secret. You seem smart enough. You recognized the magic I captured you with,” Miles began, and the Shadow gave him a slow nod. “I would have preferred if you didn’t but that’s fine. You keep my secret. My name and the ability you’ve seen. I will pay. Next, I need a new identity, but I’d rather keep my name. Can you manage something?”

Lott held the cup still, blinking a couple of times, then slowly put the cup down. “Can I speak freely, sir?”

Miles waved that off. “Of course. Go on.”

“With all due respect sir. You spoke a Cantic Rite. If I spoke of you or of what you asked me to keep to myself, I’d be breaking multiple tenets. I’ve worked too hard to be excommunicated now.”

Miles nodded, and he didn’t let the tiny pulse of unease show on his features. The Unspoken Rules applied for Shadows, and he wasn’t one, though Lott was assuming he was. Still, Miles didn’t correct him.

“Your loyalty is noted. But you’ll still be paid for your efforts.”

“Thank you, sir. As for the identity, we could say you’ve been born in the Dungeon and registered in another city-gate? Should be easy enough to manage. What archetype do you wish to declare in it?”

Miles hummed, as if in thought, then nodded. “Put me down as a Torchbearer. No last name.”

The rogue nodded thoughtfully. “Got it. Less of a chance of attracting the attention,” he muttered. “Do you wish for an official guild rank on it or would you rather do that yourself?”

“I’ll do it. Mixing up the truth and lie would be more effective.”

Lott nodded. “Of course sir. Do I bring it to you here?”

Miles eyed the man and nodded. “Do that. But,” Miles said, getting up. “We still don’t know each other well. So I’m putting a tracker on you until you come back.”

At his words, Lott paled a little, but he was quick to bow. “Of course, sir. I understand. I hope I’ll earn you trust in time.”

Turning away, Miles summoned the glowing blue book, hiding it from the rogue’s eyes, then touched the first page. It wasn’t ready, but he couldn’t cast the spell he needed himself.

Come out, Hazel, he ordered. The magic of the book pulsed, and a haze of intensely brow, purple and green magic billowed out of the book for a few second before stopping. When the process was well in progress, Miles sent the book away and waited as the fog cleared out.

The horns appeared first, almost shining in the afternoon light, then were followed by the intensely green eyes before the rest of Hazel’s sharp features came to light as the magic dissolved away to reveal her green and flowing robs. The marking on her skin shone in the daylight, though her hand was still missing.

“I’m still recovering, Miles,” she groused, giving him a sidelong glance, and Miles smiled at the cranky witch as she quickly took in the horrified Lott before looking around, curiously examining the space.

“The sooner you help me, the sooner you can back to resting,” he said. “I need you to put a tracker on this guy,” he said, pointing toward Lott with his thumb.

The fey witch’s smile spread wide, and her eyes glimmered. “Oh? Well. I can do that. As for the resting part… with how little mana around, that’s gonna take a while,” she said, turning to face the rogue as her fingers danced. “Alright, stay still,” she called out as her hand began glowing, and Lott took a step back, lips trembling. “Dying… Dream?”

“Lott!” Miles shouted, snapping the man out of his terror. “She’s not the same as what’s down in the Dungeon. And Hazel, no curses,” he said, pointing at her.

He’d caught her right as she was about to send the spell at the tip of her clawed finger. Hazel gave him a pout. “Boo. That’s boring. Not even a little one?”

“Nope. Just the tracker, please.”

Hazel sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fiiine.”

The spell shot out of her pointed finger, and it almost looked like Lott was about to dodge when his feet refused to leave the soil. The spell slammed into his stomach, worming itself near his core as he squirmed in discomfort. “You have to keep still,” she said, chuckling.

Miles just stared at her. “Did you have to freak him out like that?”

Hazel shrugged, brushing her dark hair to the side with one hand. “No, not really.”

Miles shook his head and walked toward Lott. “You’ll be fine. Here, for the inconvenience,” he said, digging into his storage for a few coins, only to frown as his fingers touched the first.

What was valuable up here? It’s been a while since he’d been to the surface. Were gold coins fine? Did he need to pull something better?

Wait, gold works just fine on the 11th floor. That’s around his level, right? Considering he’s terrified of Hazel, that should track, he concluded, pulling a spare pouch and dragging up a handful of gold coins.

The clinking of coins seemed to finally calm the rogue down, and once the ten or so gold coins were in the bag, he pulled the cord and walked to the rogue. “Here. Relax. Now I need you to help me with something before you leave. I’m gonna close that door, and I want you to try and open it from the outside, okay? Don’t blow it up, but anything else is fine. Try to damage it a little as well. I’ll give you five minutes. Understood?”

Lott nodded numbly, though there was a little life that entered his features as the heavy pouch hit his palm.

Over the next five minutes, Miles stood in front of the door, from the inside, and he was happy to realize he could actually sense the attempts at opening the door. It was like an alarm he felt, and he even sensed the attempts at damaging the wood. When the five minutes elapsed, he opened the door to find a red-faced and sweating Lott, and he turned eyed the door.

“I apologize, sir. I couldn’t open it.”

Miles waved that off. “That’s fine. It’s good enough,” he said as he looking up the man in the eyes. “As we said. Amends. Go apologize, and I’ll wait here for the new identification. When you come back, let me know what’s going on with the investigation. Understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

“Alright, see you later,” Miles said, shutting the door behind him only to find himself face to face with a grinning Hazel.

“So? What is this place? And how long did you intend on keeping it hidden from me?”