Next to the keep, Greenwood Barracks was a fenced-off rectangular compound with a courtyard in between two square buildings of rough-cut gray stone blocks. The northern three-story building was mostly bunk-bed lodgings above a canteen while the southern hall roofed an indoor training arena. A standard layout, favored by gods.

Isen was up at the crack of dawn inside the canteen, making a mug of hot coffee. Three teaspoons of sugar. Two splashes of steamed milk. A tap of chocolate powder. Perfect. Just like Mother made it.

He sat by the east-side window, faced the rising sun. A breath of bittersweet warmth filled his lungs before he sipped. The coffee was scalding hot, but his Vitality stat was more than sufficient to tank the heat damage.He drank a slurp. Warmth saturated his body, his polished platebody fogging around Cyesten’s eagle insignia.

Behind, lithe footsteps didn’t scuff on the floorboards. A young man. His black and gray Mage robes were trimmed with white jade and gold tassels, perhaps a legendary set of robes. He looked familiar; his brown hair was ear-length, and his muddy-green eyes were deep-set above hollow cheeks. Isen swore he had seen this man before.

“Are you Knight Lothar?” The man’s voice was quiet and breathy, as though his voice box were damaged.

“I am. Who addresses me?”

“Arcane Mage Wygal Magnair.”

The last name, Magnair, slapped Isen’s posture straight. Yes, the resemblance was there, uncanny. The fact that Isen hadn’t noticed was offensive. “My Lord, it is an honor to meet you. I hope your father and the king are well.”

Wygal’s head shook, his lips pressed together. He sighed through his nose. “My father has recently passed.”

Isen’s expression was appropriately sombre. “Sad news. I assume the faction will hold a day of mourning?”

“It’s not necessary. These are hard times already.” He gazed at the sun. His arms folded behind his back. “My father’s legacy and tenacious spirit will live on through me as I have inherited his place in King Desiric’s court. I am very aware of my youth and inexperience, so to prove myself, I will lead this party to clear that tier nine dungeon.”

Isen was in no position to protest. “I have full confidence in you, my lord.”

Wygal smirked. “While you are in my party, you shall freely speak your mind, Lothar.”

Cursive words were written mid air.

Wygal Magnair has invited you to his party. Do you accept?

Isen nodded, then sipped from his mug. His coffee was still hot though not scalding anymore. As he swallowed, seven party entries slid into the left side of his vision, Wygal at the top. Everyone was at max level, and four names were foreign to Isen. One name he recognized was Valia Faerel; the other was Lesfid Arber, a dungeoneering master from the local guild. Only Lesfid’s entry was grayed-out—too far from Isen’s position.

“Lord Hyera has spoken highly of you. I hope for your sake he was not boasting.” Wygal poured a glass of hot water, drank slowly.

Isen stopped himself from responding in a trained, formal manner. “I’ve cleared eleven tier three dungeons.”

“As he mentioned, but we all know tier threes are trivial.”

Isen’s ego was wounded. Unwisely, he argued, “Trivial? Perhaps.”

“No traps. No puzzles. No environmental hazards. Only two floors with two-phase minibosses. And, most of all, the loot may as well be nonexistent. Tier nines are the exact opposite. Are you sure you want to be this party’s tank? This is your only chance to back out, Lothar.” Wygal’s irises gleamed with an indigo tint. His stare was menacing.

Isen did not break eye contact. “I won’t back out, especially not with Valia in the party.”

“You know her?”

He swallowed a swig of coffee. “She was in my Tutorial School class, and also Greenwood School of Adventuring for the first year.” That was before her family had moved out of town. Her father had secured a high-paying job at Trogarth Town.

Wygal grunted. “Then you know she is a prodigy. Similar to yourself, apparently.”

A lilting voice drifted from across the room, “A prodigy? I’m flattered.” Valia was leaning against the doorframe, her violet eyes amused. She was paler than Isen remembered, and her new crimson robes accentuated her slim figure rather well, but the fabric wasn’t trimmed. A straight ivory staff, topped with a ruby about the size of a butterfly wing, magically clung to her back. She approached with an attractive gait, saying, “Isen. It’s good to see you again.”

“You too.” He grinned like a dumb schoolboy. “So you joined the Royal Guard? I thought you wanted to be a crafter.”

“Changed my mind.” She shrugged. “They offered me double the regular pay, and you know how my father is. Same for you, I guess?”

His gaze dipped for a second. “Funds are very limited on outskirt settlements like these.”

“Really? Greenwood looks like it’s prospering. Is it true the crime rate here is almost zero now?” She laughed—a chiming laugh. “Don’t tell me it’s your doing, Golden Boy Isen.”

“Nah.” His head shook as he drank lukewarm coffee. “Apparently it’s all old Madrog. You should see the guy; he even goes on patrols in pouring rain. I’ve never seen someone so dedicated to their job.”

Glass clinked as Wygal put down his cup. He muttered, “I hear it’s due to the presence of the Psionic Hexblade.”

The urge to roll eyes was strong. Isen drawled, “The townsfolk have had enough of him. And him keeping people safe? Did you hear what he did the other day? He’s a bloody menace. If it were up to me, he would be sent to man a northern outpost—away from civilized people.”

Wygal looked like he wanted to say something.

Valia was frowning. “Who? There’s a hex—” Her eyelashes fluttered. “Wait, did you say Psionic? Are you talking about Sorath Adanell? He’s a Hexblade?” Her shoulders bent inward slightly. Like many people, she wasn’t too fond of the Psionic Hexblade’s constant rude snooping.

“Yeah,” Isen almost snarled, “he’s a bounty hunter now.” He drank the remainder of his coffee.

She tentatively asked, “How’s he doing? Has he taken in any big names?”

“Taken in?” He huffed. “He murdered four people the other day. All from List A.”

“What?” she whispered loudly. “I thought killing List A targets was outlawed years ago.”

Yes, that was true. He had forgotten. “I guess Greenwood didn’t get the memo. Lord Hyera didn’t seem to care.”

Wygal clarified, “Due to the situation here, exceptions have been made. Lethal force is permitted in the wilderness. I assume… Sorath killed his targets beyond faction lines.”

“He did,” Isen hated to say. “No remorse either. He was smiling when he showed us Cardon’s head. He’s a murderer, no better than Freya.”

Valia had gasped at the mention of Cardon. “He didn’t. Tell me it actually wasn’t Cardon.”

“Believe it. I had to take his head to the Morgue.” Drops of sour coffee splashed up Isen’s throat. A shiver shook his body under his armor.

“Oh my lord.” Valia winced. “Who were the other three?”

“Random guys from Freya’s gang. He didn’t bring back their heads.”

“So he didn’t even know what they did wrong?”

“Apparently not.”

Valia’s jaw dropped, showing flawless white teeth. “Is this really Sorath? I mean, he was kind of strange when we were thirteen, but this like something an insane serial killer would do. What happened to him the last five years?”

Isen thought back over the years and shrugged. “After he became a Hexblade, he became weirder and weirder every year. The class must’ve unlocked all the darkness in him.” Only a soul with natural dark affinity could become a dark class at such a young age. No wonder Sorath had been so strange even during Tutorial School.

Isen blinked as a memory tapped on his head. He looked at Valia. “During second year, there was a rumor going around that he stalked and harassed you, which is really why you left town. Is that true?”

Wygal’s eyes subtly widened in interest.

But Valia frowned. Confused. “He talked to me a couple times after school at the gate, but… I wouldn’t say that’s stalking or harassment. He was actually pretty nervous. He might’ve had a crush on me. I don’t know. We didn’t know each other well at all.”

So the rumor was a damned lie. If Theo and his friends were here right now, Isen would smack them unconscious with a hilt to the back of their heads. They had been no good trouble makers since the first year of Tutorial School. No surprise they had joined Freya’s gang. And Theo, like Cardon, was a named bounty target.

Wygal said, “You’re a beautiful young woman; I would wager half the boys in your year fancied you.” That was undoubtedly true.

Isen kept his lips tight on that one.

Valia mumbled, “Well, if he asked me out on a date, I might’ve said yes. I was pretty curious about his psionic affinity, to be honest.”

“I heard you ran away from him,” Isen said.

Her head swayed as she said with little confidence, “He just really surprised me with his mind-reading ability, and my father was already waiting for me.” Her eyes rolled. “Why are we even talking about Sorath? Don’t we have a dungeon to prepare for?”

“For one,” Wygal said, “the Psionic Hexblade is out there as we speak on a mission for Lord Hyera. Our assistance may be required.”

“What’s his mission?” Valia asked.

“Assassination. Freya.”

“Oh.”

Theo was still on Isen’s mind: “He’s probably going after Theo instead. They didn’t get along.” But few people had gotten along with Theo, which was why he he ran from the faction as a wanted outlaw. Shame. To be bluntly honest, the world could do without Theo and his friends. But that didn’t justify execution, in Isen’s opinion. Barbarity would only lead to more barbarity.

Valia nervously chewed on her lip, then asked, “Do you think he can do it? Is he that powerful?”

“One day,” Wygal said in a grim voice, “he may become more powerful than any of us can imagine. If he is as murderous as you say, Isen, we may have to preemptively intervene.”

For Isen, that was definitely an option.

“How do you know?” Valia again.

“The last recorded psionic was said to have the power to sink entire islands. It may be true. Off the coast north of Moonspear Town, a couple of our Water Mages found ruins on the seabed, but it was far too eroded to make any guesses.” Wygal massaged his neck. “As long as he’s loyal to the faction, as long as he has reason to be loyal, he is our asset.”

Valia slowly nodded. “You guys are paying him well, right?”

“Hyera can be a hard ass when it comes to gold, but I will see to it that Sorath’s more than fairly compensated.”Wygal’s attention cut to Isen, meanly. “I see you are in disagreement.”

“I am.” Isen sat straighter. “But I see your point. We should give him a chance. Right now, he hasn’t done anything unlawful.”

Wygal nodded. “He is merely doing his job—a job which the king has personally issued. Do not forget this. If our assistance is required, do not hesitate, especially you two. Do not let any personal grievances influence you. Understand?”

“I understand,” Valia said sternly.

“Yes, my lord.” Isen’s deeper voice echoed.

“Very well.” Wygal stood. “We’re leaving in ten minutes.”

A ping clanged.

Wygal Magnair orders you to assemble at the Barracks courtyard

In a conversational tone, Valia asked, “Why the courtyard? People will see us leave as a group.”

“I have the Perfect Group Invisibility skill.”

“Wow, really?” Valia’s eyes bulged.

Isen was similarly impressed.

“Did you forget who my father was?” Wygal said, smirking. “Let’s go. We have much ground to cover. And let’s hope Freya hasn’t already cleared that dungeon. Personally, I don’t think she can without sacrificing lives; too many traps”

Isen’s heart rate spiked. Tier nine. This was going to be tough. Thankfully, he wasn’t the party leader despite being the party tank. By Wygal’s confidence, it seemed as though he had already cleared hundreds of high-tier dungeons. At his age too. What riches could buy was astounding.