Gods, how did Leon do this? It was exhausting. Four hours listening to miners drink and swap stories was not my idea of a fun evening. Maybe if I threw myself through a nearby window, I could head back to the inn for a few hours of sleep.

Then again, that might raise some eyebrows. They may be drunk, and I might have earned some goodwill buying them drinks, but that would undoubtedly leave a lasting impression. I had gone out of my way to avoid that.

If I had not spent time around Leon and Julian, I would never have lasted. They both could enrapture a group with just their words and glide through conversations effortlessly. You could give me a century, and I doubt I would be half as good as them. Then again, I wanted to avoid being the center of attention, which remained in my skillset.

For one thing, my youthful and unremarkable appearance was a clear boon. I had changed into more casual clothes that would not stand out in a crowd. Some dirt rubbed onto my face, a bit of food, and several carefully placed tears and tousled, messy hair completed the look. I would look just like a fifteen-year-old commoner to the untrained eye. Which, I supposed, I was.

Although the miners spent most of their time gambling, bickering, brawling, or otherwise letting off steam, they occasionally traded stories. And in those stories, they let interesting bits slip that fit with what I knew about Aresford. The completed picture supported my initial assumption.

Markov's business was floundering. His family had, for decades, controlled several large mines, but in the past few years, that had begun to change. Delayed shipments, cave-ins, floods from underwater lakes, animal attacks on workers, and half-dozen other issues had chipped into his profits. They were not limited to just his holdings, but it seemed terrible luck revolved around the Baron.

By themselves, those would not cripple Markov, but the Baron was not uncontested in Aresford. His rivals smelt the metaphorical blood in the water and struck fast, buying up land or poaching workers. They offered deals to his typical vendors, undercutting his profits and purchasing up surpluses of equipment.

In short, the Baron was nearly destitute, and his business was in danger of collapsing entirely. I suspected this deal was an attempt to counter his losses and wrench back control before it was too late. It likely already was, but most would rather cling to their lost glory than admit defeat. It was why a gambler would stay at a table, trying to recover than walking away.

Though it looked like a mix of ill-fortune and savvy rivals at first glance, I doubted as much. Girem had taught me to recognize the patterns, and it all sounded a bit too structured to my ears. I would bet that one or more of Markov's competitors was behind the scheme.

Of course, it was all useless conjecture unless I could pinpoint the culprit. But I now knew Markov's motives, and more importantly, I had an idea of my competition.

A few weeks earlier, another noble had arrived at the city, causing a stir among the workers. He had rented a small home in the city center, not far from Markov's estate, and word about town was that he visited the man more than once. I even got a rough description of him, which was young, auburn-haired, and dressed in light-colored clothes most of the time.

Now, all I had to do was find out a way to leverage what I knew into something concrete. Easier said than done, but as I finished my mug of disgusting swill they called ale, I decided it was a problem for the morning.

Aresford's streets were eerily quiet when I stepped out of the tavern. Behind me, I heard the shouts as a few miners kept up their drinking and partying, apparently taking the chance to ignore their troubles for a time. I could not blame them.

The sky was dark overhead, with clouds covering the moon and stars. Torches hung from walls, and a few minor lightning spells helped illuminate the streets, but that still left me shrouded in shadows for the most part. A bitter wind swept through the narrow road, cutting right through my clothes. I drew my cloak tighter and began walking.

The cold, dark silence was terrible enough, but worst of all were the guards or lack thereof. They protected the walls, gates, and the town center, but there were too few of them and not enough gold to warrant watching everything. In this part of Aresford, if you could not pay for personal protection, no one cared.

As if answering my silent pleas, I heard muffled footsteps from behind me, accompanied by muttered words and the rustling of clothing. If I was still in Volaris, I would never have noticed, but here, in this dark, unfriendly city? Something told me it heralded nothing pleasant.

When I turned, my heart sank, and I hid a sigh.

Four men approached me from down the street, dressed in what looked like thick miner's attire. Their silhouettes looked tall and broad, standing shoulder to shoulder and blocking the road. I could not make out their faces well, but their posture looked tensed like a spring.

"Good evenin', mah lords," I said, twisting my voice into the same accent that Nick and his son had, "What can I do for ya?"

Their steps barely faltered as the tallest of the bunch said, "Not sure why a kid's out this way by himself, but don't much care. Purse down and walk away."

I wondered for a moment if it was bad luck or deliberate targeting of me before deciding on the former. It was a risky move with little benefit and far too much potential to backfire. Then again, people were not always wise, and Markov had already proven woefully short-sighted.

But in all likelihood, these were the sort of desperate criminals that tended to accumulate in these places. I had chosen a relatively rundown part of Aresford, hoping that Markov would not have spies here. It would certainly not look good if he found out I was looking for information to turn against him.

With that in mind, I took a few steps backward, screwing my features up with apparent confusion. My mana began gathering as I wove a spell, just in case. If I could diffuse this without violence, perfect, but there was no sense getting injured.

"I've not much coin, sir. My family's not much, you see. I was just-"

"Save it. Your clothes aren't too fancy, but they're unstained. And you look soft and well-fed, so you got enough to spare. Merchant's boy, I'd guess. Again, throw down the purse, run back to your parents and save us the trouble." the leader cut me off again. I noticed that one hand fell to his belt, touching something that hung there.

I mentally swore, but not at these criminals. I should have been smarter or more careful. Maybe if I had learned magic to fly or possibly turn invisible, I could have escaped. As it was, I might be able to get away in the dark, but it was not a sure thing.

If all I carried was some silver in a regular purse, I would have dropped it and walked away. But Julian's spatial pouch was too valuable to leave in the Pale Pauper, and I had brought it with me.

I made my decision, raising a hand to conjure a bolt of mana when I heard something from my right side. There was a blur of motion, the pattering of footsteps, and a grunting sound as someone darted out from between two buildings. They carried a long, flat object in one hand and, as they rose to their full height, brought it down with a shout towards my head.

Their size, strength, and momentum combined, lending their strike enough force to break bones. If it landed, it probably would crack my skull and leave me dazed; Easy pickings for a thief.

Unfortunately for them, my Traveler's Shield snapped into place an instant before their strike landed. The weapon, a club, shattered into a dozen pieces as a flash of emerald lit up the street.

The only sound was a clattering as wooden shards fell to the stone street. My attacker took a step back, looking at the foot or so left of the handle in his hands and then at my shimmering green shield. The light gave his face a sickly glow, illuminating the surrounding ten feet.

I had raised my arm almost without meaning to, trying to protect my face, but after a few seconds, it hit me. If that strike landed, I might have been too wounded to get help. Without any nearby guards, it could have been hours until someone found me. My journey would end here and now, on some dusty street in a rundown city.

My hand raised, and I stepped forward, placing my palm a half-foot from his chest, near his shoulder. He did not move, eyes widening in frozen panic as mana gathered in my hand. I did not condense it as much as usual and held it for just a second before releasing the bolt.

There was a sickening, wet crunch as the bones of his shoulder broke. He did not fly as far as I expected, only staggering back a few steps before smacking into the wall behind him. He fell to the ground with a muffled thud, grabbing the broken limb with his remaining arm. A second later, he screamed.

My ears rang, and I winced, stepping backward and resisting the urge to cover my ears. It was a primal sound that split the air and raised hairs on the back of my neck. I pushed it aside as I turned to face the others. My shield would block most things, but it was never a good idea to ignore threats.

Three had already run into the night, leaving their 'friend' behind, but their leader did not move. He had come closer, and I could see parts of his face now. His cheeks looked gaunt and weather, and there was a firm set to his jaw. Eyes glinted as they locked onto me, and I saw him take deep, heaving breaths.

I raised my hand and conjured another sphere of green, pointing it towards the man. Cold rage banished any possible sense of remorse I might usually feel, and I did not have to force the cold glare that I knew was on my face.

The man did not run or charge me but instead fell to his knees and pushed his forehead into the stones. The injured thief's screams had faded to soft whimpers, but he did not move.

"I beg your forgiveness, my lord. We did not know. Please, let my cousin go and punish me instead. It was my plan, not his."

Cousin? My mind briefly locked onto that, and I tried to spot any familial resemblance before pushing that down as well.

"Your defense is you would brutally injure and rob a normal boy, but only if they were defenseless?" I asked, my voice colder than a winter's night.

"Yes, my lord. I will accept any punishment you see fit."

I watched him beg and grovel, pleading for mercy, and it occurred to me that I held his life in my hands. He had no way to hurt me through my shield, and a single earnest spell would kill him. By his reckoning, I might as well be a god for all that he could do to me.

Slowly, I let the light of my bolt die, though my shield remained standing. Seconds passed before he raised his head just enough to look at me with wide eyes. His cousin still wept beside me, but he said nothing.

If I dragged them to the guards, they would be executed for attacking a mage. I could probably strike them down now and have to answer a few token questions, so it did not look like I was above the law, even though all mages were. Girem would probably say they deserved nothing better and would chastise me for letting them walk away.

But the thought of striking them down brought the taste of bile to my mouth. Killing a possible threat was pragmatic, but slaughtering a defenseless person was just...callous. My mentor had taught me for years that it was necessary one day, and that day would come soon, but not today.

So, I left the two thieves behind me and returned to the Pale Pauper. They would return to their homes, injured but hopefully too afraid to dare steal from another person. They would wonder if the mage would return to claim the lives he had spared.

And I would have to wonder if I had done the right thing or just left two people to bring more misery onto the world.